15

Ferrak’s hair swayed in long wet tendrils to his shoulder as he paced the streets of Kalis. Every few steps saw him reaching to again shove the hair out of his eyes. Under normal circumstances, a simple spell would have kept him dry, but being days away from the capital left him eating civilian food, and he knew he could not replenish his blood supply as readily as normal. A sense that blood might be precious in the coming days left him not wanting to waste what he had on frivolous spells. No, best to embrace the rain. He’d done so as a child. It would be fine.

Thoughts of bloody beef made his mouth water as he quickened his pace through the village. If only he had acted sooner in Lieve, he wouldn’t be stranded in this backwater town. The colors made his eyes ache, even in the dim light before dawn. An orb of light floated before him as he searched the city, which did take a small amount of blood and a trickle more as he constantly had to adjust its direction. The orb was a simple creation, a variation of a basic fire spell. It burned as brightly as a lantern, but it would not harm anything it touched. A necessary expense as the light from the horizon was not yet bright enough. The streets were poorly cobbled at best, and he would not fail the Blood-Emperor by twisting an ankle now.

The swell of blood on his fingers burned in a steady golden light before the rain could wash it away. It was not yet time to pop the corks on the chilled vials on his hip, enticing as they were.

Ferrak passed through the lone western gate without question. No one would bother a town so far away from…everything. Lieve was nearby, but still well over a days’ walk. The lack of guards was unsettling, but the city was probably too garish for anyone to want to intrude anyway.

Seisk was gone.

Ferrak had told him hours ago to stake out a position several hundred feet from the gate with orders to leave his post only if he saw the Edarians escaping. Had they known they were being followed? They must have, or they would not have moved so quickly. Seisk would be capable enough to deal with them, though. The wingless ermen would be no match for even a single well-trained soldier. The sculptor would be useless, as would the Healer without her wings. The human woman had been, what, a kitchen maid?

That still troubled him. Why was a human traveling with them? Hostage? Traitor? Ferrak had seen her in the train station in Garenesh and several times along the rails to Lieve, but she hadn’t seemed distressed, and she’d never tried to escape them, but surely she would not be traveling with wingless fugitives of her own free will.

How did these people deal with such constant, fierce storms? He wiped his hand over his face again to brush hair away. Definitely getting it cut when I’m back home.

Ferrak expected to find Seisk with a group of detained ermen. He was a good soldier, always eager to follow orders. The spearman knew how to get things done. Sure, he may have broken a few erman bones in the process, but it would be easy enough for Ferrak to heal them and get them carted back to the capital. He found himself yearning for civilization again already. He may even return to the city to find a promotion waiting for him. Execution of the Blood-Emperor’s command so quickly would surely garner favor. His hard work would finally—

A mound lay next to a tree some distance from the road. With nothing else of note in the area, and no sign of Seisk along the road to the west, Ferrak approached the mound. Even at a distance, in the swelling light of morning and by his own light, he could see a boot sticking out of it. Ferrak knelt and began sweeping the brush cover away.

Seisk lay staring at the sky, rain falling into his open eyes. Bruises dotted the man’s face. His mouth hung slack above a neck that looked like it had been split open with his own weapon, as the spear itself was missing. How could he have been beaten so badly? Those three should have been nothing before him, even if they had managed a coordinated attack.

But… the spear was gone. Ferrak thought that couldn’t be right. He glanced about in a panic. The spear was gone. Seisk was dead, and his spear was gone.

Hibranth had mentioned that the third erman was a Sentinel. Was he a spearman? Possibly a lancer? Ferrak couldn’t remember; weapons seemed little more than ceremonial to most bloodmages. He did remember learning that the Edarian military still trained with such weapons. Even without access to aether, an Edarian soldier was meant to be on equal footing with their human counterparts in mundane combat. An erman could be a threat even without wings if they could overcome the adjustment to balance. He shuddered as he mopped a hand over Seisk’s face. If that was true, there would be no stopping an Edarian army.

The body before him was proof enough of that.

Rain finally sputtered to a stop as the first true rays of sunlight pierced the eastern cloud cover. It was a new day, and Ferrak would make sure that it was someone’s last. Surely the Blood-Emperor would be just as satisfied if he returned with two ermen rather than three.

Seisk had been a good man. Ferrak would make someone pay for his death.

The orb of light before him dwindled and winked out as the pinprick on his fingertip healed and the fuel source died. Ferrak did not bother resummoning it.

It was time for new spells.

—

Detar climbed the stairwell leading to the top of one of the Celestial Palace’s tallest spires. Strong cross breezes blew across the open platform as he stepped onto the landing. A good one, one that comforted him in his old age as it sailed over his bare scalp. How long had it been since he had paused to consider such things? Appreciation of gentle breezes may not be commonplace among the Seranian military, but an old man could stop to savor his remaining time.

Pigeons cooed and fluttered energetically in their cages, likely mistaking him for a handler. He wished he had brought feed with him as he rubbed a gloved thumb over a cote’s latch and flicked it open. They were useful and loyal creatures, and Detar liked to reward either trait when possible. As he stooped to look into the cage, he managed not to groan. Age crept like a vine, one that he knew would break him soon enough. He allowed himself to wince at the ache; he was alone on this platform.

Detar looked among the birds bearing hollow tubes on their legs until he spotted one with a blue strip of paper wrapped along its length. Blue was from Lieve. He folded gentle fingers over the bird, careful not to harm the poor thing. It flapped its wings lazily but did not resist his touch. Detar plucked the tube from the pigeon's leg before returning it to its perch. “Thank you, friend,” he said with a weathered smile and a soothing pat. The bird flapped its wings in a way that reminded Detar of the way that Theop’s wings did when he was lost in thought now.

It was still difficult to think of that boy as Serana’s leader. Perhaps the leader of more than just Serana soon, if he fulfilled his vision of uniting humanity. Humans did deserve to stand on their own two legs instead of beneath the sheltering wings of the ermen.

But was that really a thing to enter into war over? The ermen seemed peaceful enough. Their merchant classes were eager to take money and goods from the human nations, but they had never sought land or conquest.

But, as Theop insisted, how long would that peace hold? If blades crossed between the nations, any Edarian teenager would be a threat to the most seasoned of bloodmages, not to mention the humans’ common foot soldiers. Open war between ermen and humans would be nothing more than a one-sided slaughter, a genocide. Theop was right to try and balance the scales.

Detar walked away from the pigeon cotes and leaned his elbows over the platform’s railing. He pulled the tiny stopper from the message tube and shook the contents into his hand before planting the tube in his breast pocket. Garenesh lay sprawled out before him in the early morning light, and the tower even gave a view of the distant northern mountains. If he strained his eyes, he could see individual people walking along the streets. Smoke rose from buildings across the city as people prepared their morning meals. With the high winds, the city’s view was almost peaceful. Very little noise drifted up this high. All the trains were gone from the central station, but it was still a bustling center of commerce to rival the Trade Plaza.

There were no soldiers in the training grounds on the city’s northern edge. Most of the local military had been summoned east, toward the Dresk border now that word had been insidiously spread that it was Dresk who had infiltrated and attacked military installations within Garenesh itself. Theop would reshape maps, if necessary. Humans would stand whole, defiant in their existence. Whatever it took. A part of Detar regretted not being at the Dresk border, but Theop trusted him enough to leave his adviser in charge of local affairs during his absence. It was amazing that young Theop was already able to wield aether like an erman so effectively after only a few days since his surgery. Aether seemed less of a hurdle to him than his ability to maintain balance while walking. Flight proved impossible through conventional means with the awkwardness of six overlapping wings, but Theop had quickly learned that he could levitate and move with alarming speeds using huge amounts of aether. The mobility was certainly a boon to the Blood-Emperor; Theop had feared he may be unable to move as quickly as before with the burden the wings provided.

Theop had already shown great skill using aether for destruction, usually to greater result than through his own blood magic. His insistence that blood magic was inferior led Theop to redoubling his efforts to understand erman capabilities.

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Such determination to protect the integrity of his own people.

Humans should be able to stand on their own. They needed no mercy from benevolent superiors. Detar nodded. Theop was right in this. He felt a welling of pride as he unrolled the thin paper. The enclosed letter was written in a neat, compact script.

Sire,

Arrived in Lieve. Alerted garrison. Spotted two of the three, with another. Human.

Pursuing west.

Ferrak

Detar rolled the note again before sliding it back into the tube. He would report the note to Hibranth and see what the general had to say about this Ferrak. He hoped Ferrak would not overstep any boundaries with overzealousness.

Two of the three, and another. Human. Those words puzzled Detar. His forehead wrinkled as he scanned the city. The sculptor, the soldier, and the healer. Hibranth had said that they might have spotted the sculptor and healer at the train depot, and that a human woman had accompanied them. Maybe it was time to ask more questions around the sites where Serana had held the erman detainees.

Odd that they were heading west from Lieve, as well. Detar had been certain the report would say they left north, toward the Chasar border. That would have given them their shortest route of escape, but still they had moved west. The only things in that direction were a grim death against the Eternal Tempest and a floating continent they could not reach.

Odd.

The men searching Garenesh had turned up no sign of the Sentinel. That was unsettling. If the Edarian government learned what had happened before Serana was prepared, it would prove disastrous even if Theop had begun to master aether. Detar’s sword suddenly felt heavier on his hip. Perhaps it was time to look for the missing erman himself. Surely the Sentinel had fled the city, or he would have already found some means to alert his people. Focal points of erman activity remained under heavy surveillance in Garenesh, but Sentinels spent more time in the city and they would have more connections than most other ermen.

Could something have drawn him away?

Theop would see his people through these challenging times. Detar could not wield any form of magic, but he had once been named a master swordsman. He knew people doubted his abilities in his old age—rightfully so, to some extent—but he knew he remained at least twice as capable as his critics. He gripped the hilt as he spun around and returned to the stairwell.

Theop wanted humanity to prove themselves able to stand on their own feet, and Detar was determined to set the precedent.

—

It felt good, holding a spear again. Right, even. Seranian steel was lighter than that used in the Sentinels’ weapons. It was a stout material—especially when imbued with strength from a bloodmage, as this one seemed to be—but holding it did feel awkward. Not a bad weapon by any means, but the shaft was shorter than Martel liked, and he feared a faster swing would throw him off balance.

The rain had broken several hours earlier, and the Tempest’s cool breezes took its place. Those winds seemed harmless some miles away, and that felt misleading. The storm’s fury lived within its face, those white, stabbing forks of lightning flashing beneath the storm and continent that now dominated the western horizon. He was glad that Caru had latched onto the plan; he was only half sure of it himself.

Martel had ventured into the storm some years earlier as part of his Sentinel training, but not even the Edarian military required its initiates to stay in for very long. The white lightning was fine, but the colored lightning deeper within had a way of twisting aether in dangerous ways. Although the storm was outwardly bound to the natural forces of weather, there was more to it than that. The storm drove the very aetheric elements of the planet itself. It was as though the world roared at the twin moons with its own form of wild power, churning its protest through an unending tempest.

Martel knew dipping into the storm to evade the Seranians would be reckless and he hated to have Kimke in any more danger than she’d already been through.

He definitely felt an attraction to the woman, and had since they had met. It was a dignified attraction, if he said so himself. Nothing at all like Caru and Mieta, stealing glances at each other every moment they thought the other wasn’t looking. Adorable for people half their ages, but merely amusing now. Martel himself preferred women with sleek and slender wings, but he didn’t fault Kimke for that loss. It was the same as his. He remembered her wings had had gentle forms, golden and flawless. What a senseless loss. He remembered the spear entering the human’s throat, and smiled.

Caru turned from sneaking a glance at the human girl. “What’s got you smiling?” he asked.

“What?” Martel said. “I can’t smile?”

Caru shrugged. “I never said you couldn’t, but I didn’t hear anything funny, and I know I could use a laugh.”

Mieta leaned over from Caru’s other side, looking up at Martel. “It’s a good smile,” she said, grinning. “I like it. Suits you better now than it did when we met you on the train.”

Martel blanched. Smiling at a man’s death suited him better? What was he becoming?

“It is a good smile,” Kimke said. “It always was. It’s like watching a happy bear the moment before he eats you.”

Martel roared with laughter. He found Kimke’s wit refreshing, even if it often led to a little goading and prodding. It was nice to be with someone who wasn’t always filling the conversation with overt compliments. She had a strong will to her and seemed to know her own mind.

He strode forward, planting the butt of the spear into the dirt with each step as a walking staff. “A bear?” he asked. “No lions? Dragons? I guess being a bear might not be so bad. I could get used to sleeping for a few months at a time.”

“Bears are fine,” Kimke said, patting his arm.

The spear felt odd in his hands, not because it had a strange weight to it, or because it was too short, but because he had killed a man with it only a few hours earlier. It felt strange that the others could already bring themselves to smile, to make jokes. He wished he felt the same way. He had killed only a small handful of men in his life, and he regretted each one.

Even the Seranian, now that guilt for his flare of satisfaction had set in.

He wished he felt less pity for the dead man, even if he had been on their trail, hunting them, wanting to haul them back to isolated cells in Garenesh. That man would have seen them imprisoned again, but Martel understood that he was only following orders. It was beyond his authority to question the mission, handed to him from the Blood-Emperor to General Hibranth to his own captain. Maybe he’d been a good man. What would Martel have done if given similar orders? It wasn’t something he wanted to think about. He had killed a man of his own volition. No one had ordered Martel to kill the man; it had only been something that had felt right in that moment. He would not see himself locked in a solitary room again, waiting in the dark to be mutilated and questioned and beaten. He shuddered, knowing that Caru and Kimke had gone through the same.

Was it possible to feel pity for the dead man while also not regretting what he’d done? Martel shook his head.

Martel was the kind of man to stand in the pouring rain and jam a man’s own spear through his neck. Kimke had suffered enough violence. She deserved better. She deserved better than him.

Even so, the others had stayed behind to watch. Caru had been cold, emotionless. It was a side of the man Martel would never have expected. Maybe he’d been wrong to think of Caru as a soft man for being an artist instead of a soldier. But the Seranians had spent two weeks forging the three ermen into new creatures. No longer erman, but not willing to be human. It wasn’t easy to think of himself as erman any longer, but he had to cling to something. He would still protect ermen. That was his sworn duty, and even losing his wings wouldn’t cause him to break his oath. Most ermen now would see his protection as laughable, but they were no longer his problem. He would make these two his priority, and see them through to whatever lay at the end of this road. And Mieta, he supposed. Their plight was not hers by necessity, but she’d taken it upon herself to help them, and he respected her because of it. She wasn’t an erman, but she had proved to be more than human in his eyes. She could have gone her own way, but she’d thrown her lot in with Edaria, and would now be bound to their fate.

“Our bear looks thoughtful,” Kimke said.

Martel looked down his left arm to her upturned eyes, so blue, so deep and pure. She really did deserve better than him. “Merely thinking of how to repay what I owe,” he said.

Kimke laughed softly. “Silly bear,” she said. “Who holds your debt? Not me, that’s for sure.”

Caru followed with his own soft laughter. “If anything, I owe you my life. You saved me this morning, after all.”

“Only acting within the line of duty,” Martel said lightly. “Any Sentinel would have done the same.”

“I wonder about that, but I hope you’re right,” Caru said.

“You saved all of our lives,” Mieta said. “If not for you, we would have never stood a chance.” Martel saw Caru wince at that.

Martel felt a certain welling of pride as he acknowledged the truth of her words. Perhaps it had been a more excessive rescue than he would have liked, and the soldier’s death was regrettable, but Martel knew he’d fight any humans that would come against him if it meant keeping these people safe. He had killed a man, yet Kimke was free beneath an open sky. That was the kind of reward he could bring himself to live with.

“You know,” Mieta said after a long pause, “there is one thing you can do to repay your debt.” She grinned wickedly.

“Name a price,” he said.

“As soon as we get to safety, you have to take Kimke on a date.”

Kimke sputtered at his side, and she wouldn’t make eye contact when he looked over to her. Her cheeks were pink.

Caru laughed. “I didn’t think Martel would ever be speechless!”

Martel worked for a moment before a sound would come out, and he found himself laughing. “Fine, if she’ll have me.”

Kimke turned and punched him playfully in his shoulder. “Of course, you skullbashing idiot. I thought you’d never ask.”

“Well, then, let’s get somewhere safe, at haste!” The Tempest loomed ahead, lightning crackling within the depths.