The Enchanter's Daughter

[Breaker]

Sequel to The Enchanter's Journal.

The streets of Knife’s Edge never seemed to end. You could walk all night in that icy city and never see the same track twice. You could walk all day and never see a friendly face. The civil war hadn’t just separated church from state; it tore families apart at the seams. Everywhere I looked lay broken houses, broken hearts, and broken lives. I never really stopped to think about it before. How many husbands and wives differ in faith? Start a religious riot outside their window and you’ll find out. Each time I heard a front door swinging loose on its hinges or saw a bar boarded up, I wondered. Where had the inhabitants gone? Were the yawning cupboards and bare shelves emptied by opportunistic looters, or rampant pillagers? Shards of furniture littered the frozen roads in neighbourhoods that resembled tiny ghost towns. And then I turned a corner and bathed in the pale lamplight of a wealthy locale with their Watch Patrols on the quarter hour. The city’s high walls and fortified defences became obsolete as it ate itself from the inside out.

I felt like a rat in a mad scientist’s maze. For all my training and advanced senses, each new turn I took made me feel a little more lost. I had given up on the idea of spending more than one night at any inn. Half the time I couldn’t find my way back to the last place I stayed. The other half I worried the rioters would ransack my belongings if I left anything behind. What began as a meticulous, methodical womanhunt devolved into feverish pacing through anonymous districts. Stress balled in the back of my neck and the arctic air kept my muscles strung tighter than a sitar. I couldn’t meditate. Meditation required focus, and calm breathing. Each inhale stabbed my lungs like an icemold spike, the ensuing exhale a puff of steam that wreathed my face. I had my head stuck in the damn clouds.

Tinker’s instructions had seemed so simple. Travel to Knife’s Edge, find his daughter. Not as easy as it sounds. Just getting into the city gave me a headache when I had to convince the guards I wasn’t a zealot terrorist come to stir up more mobs of ethereal sheep. But the real problem arose when I found the charity Tinker told me she worked at. The old crone who ran the place barely spared enough time to tell me Kristina Rythadine had quit when the war started. No idea where she lived, no idea where she went, no sir I can’t help you now if you don’t need a bowl of soup, please step outside. The idea of Kristina alone amidst the insanity didn’t sit well with me. The more I searched the more the possibility occurred to me that she had either left the city or died in it. But I couldn’t stop. The memory of Tinker’s pleading eyes and the portrait of Kristina that hung over his fireplace haunted my conscience. The old alchemist had made me a pair of enchanted boots when we first met, tools to help me stop his son from releasing untold evil upon Salvar. And he cried tears of joy when I told him I hadn’t killed Geoffrey Rythadine. The poor hermit loved his children too much.

My sole consolation was that if I couldn’t find Kristina, no way in hell had Geoff located her. That twisted bastard planned to hold his own sister hostage to force their father into making weapons of war. Weapons that could turn the tide in favour of the Ethereal Sway. Until I arrived in Knife’s Edge I didn’t really care who won. Civil war always had its reasons, and they didn’t interest me much. But the church’s urban guerrilla tactics made it clear that the Crown needed to emerge victorious, and soon. Riots ripped through the city’s less fortunate districts on a daily basis, leaving a trail of murdered men and raped women. Every time I saw a caved in roof my steps snapped a little faster. I had to find Kristina before she fell afoul of the zealots.

Frost crackled beneath the breaker boots. The street had gone from square stones to frozen mud in the space of a single step. As if the masons had run out of bricks, or flipped a coin and moved off to a new location. I hated walking on those unfinished roads. No matter how I worked for silence, the steady crunching announced my presence like a delegation of tiny heralds. Here comes the dumbass who can’t find a needle in a haystack. Tinker you old bastard, why didn’t you give me more information?

The sound of splintering wood rent the night air like a small explosion.

“No, please! Stay away! James, quick, they’re coming in the door!”

The woman’s panicked screams stopped. As if someone had switched the channel from one radio drama to the next, her husband’s voice replaced it.

“Sons of whores, come any closer and you’ll taste my pike! Sharon, get behind me!”

My head whipped towards the noise like a flag when the wind changes. I sprinted, squinting through the murky darkness. Moving shapes were all I could see at first, shapes that got sharper by the second. A group of men in rough coats and patched caps wielding rusted weapons. Rabble recruited by the Sway, they stormed the front door of the only house on the block still occupied. They hovered just shy of the shattered door, kept at bay by a long bladed spear that thrust outwards again and again. Bottlenecked in the thin opening, James fought valiantly but didn’t last long. A sword slashed through the haft of the pike that looked old as the city itself. Selane screamed again as the ruffians poured into her house. I ran like a cheetah, arms and legs a blur, focused on the flickering light in the doorway where screams of terror had turned to pain.

I couldn’t find Kristina. No way in hell would I let these innocent people die.

[Breaker]

The rabble forced their way into James and Sharon’s entry hall, but the narrow construction jammed them temporarily in a tight pack.

I hit them like a wrecking ball. Head down, shoulders hunched, charging at full speed. A bull in bloodlust would be more subtle.

My kinetic energy shattered the group. The man my shoulder actually hit went straight through the wall, dusty timbers decorating his broken spine. How they kept the room warm with such shoddy insulation, I couldn’t imagine. The man at the front of the group pitched forward straight onto the rusty dagger James now wielded. The three in the middle collapsed under the concussive force and I trampled straight over them, barely avoided doing the same to the man I saved. The rabble found their feet quickly and wisely turned to run. I let them get to the street before I struck.

There’s no proper way to attack three men at the same time, even from behind. I launched myself through the air, composed as a gymnast on the dismount. My steely arms wrapped around one’s neck while my knees and boots struck the other two. Down we went, my arms constricting like a pair of pythons around the first man’s throat. As he choked the last of his life away I saw James following in my wake, barefoot on the ice with murder in his eyes. He looked middle aged, probably a retired soldier. Rusted as it was, his blade buried itself in the first hood’s chest. The second acted fast, swinging his sword and laying James’ chest open. My elbow crushed his skull before he could swing it again. Both men fell at the same time, one dead, the other dying. Blood bubbled between James’ lips and leaked from his chest to mingle with the frozen mush.

I dropped at his side, my first aid training coming back from years before. One bare hand pressed hard on the wound, hopelessly trying to keep it closed. The other lifted the victim’s unconscious head, to keep blood from pooling in his throat. I didn’t know what more to do. The gash looked fatal to my inexperienced eyes. Nothing to do but watch the man die in my arms as his blood stained the sleeve of my jacket.

Something moving like a freight train saved me from that particular displeasure.

It knocked me a clean two yards away from the bleeding man. I landed hard on my back, the coarse road digging between each vertebra. A person, on top of me, grappling to the mounted position. Two slim hands hammered on my skull, precise open palm strikes that smashed the back of my head onto unforgiving ground. I reacted instinctively, bridged and rolled, wound up on top. Powerful legs locked around my torso, controlling my posture as the palms continued to rain upwards. I saw stars for a second, forced my weight down on top of my assailant and wormed an arm across her throat. A woman. I could feel firm breasts pressed against me, even through heavy winter clothing. My eyes cleared as I managed to pin both her arms. I stared at what I saw until she kicked me off. Stood up and kept staring. She tried to kick me in the groin. I caught the heavy leather boot and tossed it upwards. Smooth as silk she turned a back handspring, her other foot collided with my jaw. I staggered, but the blow had finally knocked my tongue loose. Even then I choked on the single word. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement of pure certainty. I had seen this valkyrie before, in the portrait over Tinker’s fireplace.

“Kristina.”

[Breaker]

I half expected the name to work like an incantation, magically ending Kristina’s vicious onslaught. It didn’t. She dove in again with reckless abandon. At that point I realized she had brought backup. Two men and a woman, standing like spectres in the darkness. The woman dropped to James’ side, working on the wound with expertise that put my amateur attempt to shame. The men advanced in Kristina’s wake, curved swords whispering from sheathes like angry backbiters. The situation suddenly became clear to me. They thought I had been attacking James. I met Kristina’s rush head on, gripped a wrist and shifted my hips. Wrenched her arm behind her back with one hand while the other snatched the dagger from her belt. Pressed the keen edge to her throat like I meant it. I could have killed her eleven different ways with my bare hands, but something about seeing a knife on a friend’s neck has a tendency to stop the bravest warriors in their tracks. The swordsmen halted but stood their ground, never lowering their blades.

“Let her go now, and we’ll let you live.” The taller of the two called. Like a serious business proposition. He and his partner held their battle stances like statues hewn from living rock. It wouldn’t be easy to talk them down.

“You’ve made an error in judgement buddy. I saved that man and his wife. She’s inside, unconscious but alive. Put up your blade and I’ll let Kristina go.” My hostage struggled like a chained leopard, but I had both her arms pinned in a crushing grip. The swordsmen showed no sign of backing down.

“So you say,” The tall swordsman growled. Again her name failed to charm them. “But we’re the law around here, and I say you’re guilty until proven innocent. You’ve got three seconds before I take your head off.” I saw him tense up, shoulders tightening, a blue vein pulsing in his cheek. I improvised.

“You’d be dead before you swung your sword,” I called as a stiff chilling breeze swept between us. Then I lowered my head to Kristina’s ear and whispered as fast as I could.

“Your father Tinker Rythadine sent me to find you. Your brother Geoff is here, looking to use you to force Tinker to give him enchantments for the war. I’ve been to Tinker’s old church, and I’ve been in his house, in his basement. His workshop. I recognized you from the portrait on the mantle.” The words came out in a rush of steam that temporarily clouded around both of us. When it cleared I saw her friends take a step forwards. She stopped struggling, frozen against me like a sapling in midwinter. The swordsmen took another step, and Kristina made her decision.

“Sheathe arms.” She barked the command like a drill Sergeant. The tall man’s face twisted in distaste but he slammed his blade into its scabbard as quickly as his partner. The shorter man remained completely impassive, but that may have been because of the thick white scar that ran diagonally across his face. Gently, I replaced Kristina’s dagger in her belt and released the lock on her wrist. She snatched my arm and spun, trying to reverse our position, but ran into unmoving ironclad muscles. I placed one wide hand on her chest and shoved her away. She looked graceful even staggering on the uneven road.

“There’s a woman unconscious inside. I don’t know how badly she’s hurt,” I repeated myself. Kristina took it in stride, a consummate professional.

“Matthews, get in there and make sure she’s alright. Don’t let her come outside; she doesn’t need to see her husband like this.” She directed the command at the short scar faced fellow. He nodded, impassive as ever, and trotted towards the shattered door. I opened my mouth, but the tall swordsman beat me to it.

“We can’t trust his word, Nina. We should lock him up just to be sure.” He was the only member of the foursome not wearing a hat. Greasy black hair fell just past his ears and he stroked his sword hilt lovingly, probably without noticing it. A dangerous man.

“I give the orders, Lieutenant.” Her tone matched the city itself for iciness. “You’d best remember that if—“

“My wife! Sharon!” I looked down. James was awake, and delirious with pain. “Sharon, is she alive? That man saved us, we killed those damn Roughcoats eh boy? Good show- OW- all around. Where’s Sharon?” He strained to stand but the healer held him down, her soft voice soothing his worries.

“She’s fine, your wife is fine. It’s you I’d worry about. Stay still, by the Frost.” James relaxed slightly and the woman resumed wrapping gauze thickly around his torso.

“That man needs to be properly stitched up,” Kristina spoke loud enough for all to hear, but aimed her stern gaze at the tall Lieutenant. “Arvide, you’re in charge of the crew. Get these people to a safe house, make sure they’re comfortable, then take the rest of the night off. This man,” she jerked her head towards me, “Is a friend of my father’s. He’ll help me finish the shift.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, so I stood with my arms crossed, staring confidently into the tall Lieutenant’s eyes. For a moment I thought he would take a swing at me, but then he turned and stomped over to help the healer tend to James. Kristina gestured for me to follow her. Confused, I did so, the two of us crunching side by side down the road. I wondered which of us was going to have more questions.

[Breaker]

The streets of Knife’s Edge seemed warmer with Kristina by my side. She knew the twisting alleys better than any map, navigating a path that kept us in the slums where lantern light still danced in the windows. Where people still needed protection. I walked in silence for a time, studying her in my peripheral vision. She moved with intentional military stiffness, belaying the natural grace that rose to the surface when she fought. Like a flower that only bloomed under heavy fire. Her dark brown hair tucked up inside a dark cap, but I could not mistake that rosebud shaped face, or the eyes like molten chocolate. In Tinker’s portrait they had shown warmth, compassion. As she studied me in her peripheral they could have frozen flame. Our eyes locked for a second, then we both looked away. I opened my mouth to speak just as she did the same, and we both stopped awkwardly as our words jumbled like wood smoke in the frigid night air.

“You go first,” she suggested. She tugged at her coat lapels and re-settled her belt, as if the situation had embarrassed her. But she didn’t sound embarrassed. Her tone carried much of the same authority it had when she spoke to her lieutenant. A superior officer being friendly to an underling.

“Very well,” I mused, glancing down a darkened alley. “I’ll ask the first question, but only if you give the first answer. And only after you put that knife away; you won’t need it.”

She re-sheathed the dagger she had tried to hide in her sleeve and looked straight at me. Face already red from the cold, I couldn’t tell if she blushed. But I doubted it.

“These streets are dangerous at night.” She stated, completely matter of fact. Not explaining to me. Like I didn’t already know that.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’m here to protect you.” I struck a heroic pose. She chuckled, a little genuine mirth drawing dimples that I had yet to see in her rosy cheeks. We walked in silence for a short while. The noiseless night pressed in on us, but it no longer placed a weight on my shoulders. I felt as if the hardest part of my job had ended. I found Kristina, and for the moment, had won her trust.

“How is my father?” She asked, “I haven’t made contact with him in some time.” Probably at least a year, I thought, considering how little information he gave me.

“Tinker’s doing great. He’s a genius for one thing. Still lives in that cabin on the mountain. He’s worried sick about you, though.” I locked my eyes into hers, hoping she might agree to leave the city. “You really should come away with me. Your brother is in the city, and he’s godamn determined to find you.” She turned away, pretending to see movement in an empty alley.

“I’m not leaving,” She stated, and the small amount of warmth that had entered her tone when she asked about Tinker vanished faster than the heat of her exhale. “I’m sworn to protect Knife’s Edge from itself, and I’ll be here until they burn this place to the ground.” She crossed her arms across her breasts with an air of finality. I felt like I should stomp the ground, bellow “Yes ma’am!” and march out of her office. Instead I shrugged and kicked a broken piece of chair down the street. It skittered noisily against the frozen ground. I waited for it to settle, then responded.

I said, “That’s fine. We’ll stay here. Nothing in this city can harm you while I’m around.” She twisted her shoulders like she might hit me, but then laughed again. Real warmth emanated from her, fighting back the frost as surely as a bonfire.

“Anyways,” I went on, sweeping the area with my eyes, “You could tell me exactly what we’re doing on this “Shift” I’m helping you finish up.” For a moment I listened, really listened. The cold affected me less than most people. I could hear the controlled shivers that ran through her body, and how her breath came in quick gasps. I went on, “But if you don’t mind, could we do it somewhere warmer? I’m not quite used to your Salvarian winter.”

“Certainly,” She said mockingly, but with a genuine smile, “We’ve patrolled enough for one night. Follow me.”

She changed direction and led me down a smaller, twisting side street. Trash littered the ground, most of it frozen solid from long exposure to the elements. Like the petrified bones of what had once been a peaceful community. Kristina increased our pace considerably. She must have been even colder than I thought. Even so, no one less perceptive than me would have noticed anything as she spoke.

“When the riots started, the City Guard requested reinforcement from the military.” She rubbed her gloves together, trying to generate friction through heavy leather. I kept my bare jammed deep in my pockets. No reason to show her that I didn’t need insulation.

“I trained soldiers in hand to hand combat before that,” she continued, “but when they started looking for volunteers, I joined the first riot squad we had. It was easier back then. Normally our informers had us on the spot before anything really happened. We’d arrest the instigators and disperse the crowd. Had to crack a few skulls in the process, but that’s how the frost freezes.”

Her eyes glowed when she mentioned cracking skulls. I chuckled as we rounded a corner, emerging into an alley that boasted a single lantern pole. Two soldiers with short spears and bucklers stood against a door that the lamp illuminated. They obviously recognized Kristina, because they didn’t give me a second look.

“So how did riot police evolve into these little groups?” I inquired, moving quickly to keep up. I figured the door must have been our destination, because Kristina lengthened her stride again.

“Some Sway mastermind separated the rabble into shock troops and assigned groups of men districts. Every night groups like the one you took out break into a few houses each. They take what’s valuable and give the occupants a choice; join the Sway or die. We call them Roughcoats, and there’s a kill or capture imperative on them. Come on!”

She finally broke out of the stiff military gait and ran the last few yards to the illuminated door. Her natural grace came back then, and it wasn’t until she turned and beckoned for me that I realized I had stopped moving. I uprooted myself and jogged to join her. The lantern reflected an angelic glow on her face, a glow that stayed with her even when we stepped into the darkened interior. She smiled and touched my shoulder, our first contact since she tried to smash my face in.

“Welcome to the Hideaway,” she beamed.

[Breaker]

The Hideaway resembled the love child of a coffee shop and night club. Kristina led me to a table in the quieter section of the space. Mismatched chairs surrounded surfaces of all shapes and sizes, patrons crowded together to make room. In the opposite corner a long bar served everything from hot meals to liquor shots. Kristina deposited her heavy coat on a chair and told me to wait. I swung my jacket off and draped it across the ladder-like back of an oaken chair, then sat down and watched Kristina. She looked fantastic. Her coat had been covering a long sleeved leather shirt that clung to every curve of her body. The stiff military posture she carried outside dissolved as she mingled through the dance floor that surrounded the bar. An acoustic band bordered the hardwood area, playing a quickstep rhythm that had the dancers sweating and calling for more. I scoped the room out, and realized that everyone in it was either with a soldier, or some kind of law enforcement themselves. A cop bar. Not like any I had seen before though.

Kristina returned, placed a steaming mug of black coffee in front of me. It smelled so strong I didn’t detect the shot of whisky she added until I sipped it. The harsh brew warmed me from the inside out. My frigid muscles loosened up in the warm atmosphere of the club. It felt good. Kristina sipped from her mug and then continued the explanation she had left off outside.

“Anyways,” she drawled, drawing the first ‘A’ out in a long syllable, “We split the original riot police up into squads. We work six days on, two days off. There are two five hour shifts each night, and I prefer the latter one,” she looked up from warming her hands over her mug and directed a friendly grin at me. “I like to watch the sun rise. We spend as much time as we can bear patrolling the slums, but as you can see,” she gestured grandly at the packed establishment, “Well, it’s cold outside. We have watchers all over the city who can call us if anything significant happens.” She quirked an eyebrow at me over her mug as she sipped. I took the bait.

“How exactly do they call you?” I inquired, genuinely curious. The Salvarian Military had a pretty good system going, from the sound of it. But communication made a pivotal point in any security operation, and I didn’t see any radios. Kristina’s eyes sparkled. I knew she hoped I would ask that question. She raised one finger and tapped her temple. Elegant hands despite the calluses that proved long hours of weapons training.

“I’m a telepath. It’s standard training for Salvarian Special Forces.” From the playful facial expression I thought for a moment that she was teasing me. But she went on: “Every squad leader has similar abilities. In fact, Lieutenant Arvide would probably have control of mine if he had the mentality for it.” She rolled her eyes in exaggerated fashion. I returned the smile with a cunning wink.

“He wants you, you know.” I intoned in mock-gossip, “I could tell.” I chuckled as she punched me in the arm, hard enough that I almost spilled my coffee.

“Lieutenant Arvide? No way, not chance. And ouch... I’d better stick with palm strikes from now on.” She shook her hand, loosening potentially bruised knuckles. I laughed.

“Oh trust me, he wants you. He just won’t say anything ‘cuz he knows he hasn’t got a chance.” I finished the sentence with a low growl. Kristina slammed her empty mug on the table, choking as she tried not to laugh around the hot liquid in her mouth. I finished my drink as she cleared her throat. Something had piqued my curiosity, and I took the lapse in conversation to bring it up.

“You know... your fighting style reminded me a lot of your brother’s. You two learned from the same teacher, didn’t you?” I hoped that she wouldn’t take offense at being compared to her sibling. She didn’t; in fact she answered the question very casually.

“Yeah, Dad got us both learning from a young age. We reached the third tier of the mountain together. I dunno’ if Geoff kept training after that or not, but I used to kick his ass around the courtyard every day.” She waved to someone by the bar and got a wave back.

For a moment I lost myself in my thoughts. Geoff had mentioned the same thing when I fought him. Tiers of the Mountain. I didn’t mention it, but Geoff must have kept training, because his technique was considerably more deadly than hers. I looked up to ask Kristina what “tiers of the mountain” meant, but something else caught my attention. Her posture. For most of the conversation she leaned inwards, focused on me. That changed. She sat back in her chair, hands clasped on the table rather than around the still-warm mug. And her eyes strayed between me and the far corner of the room. Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe I read too much into her actions. But I doubted it. I took a gamble.

“Tell me something, Lieutenant Kristina of the Salvarian Special Forces,” I intoned in a mock-formal voice, “Would it be completely out of line if I asked you to dance?”

The cautious look in her eyes evolved into a shining smile. She stood up and took my hand, flipped her hair back as she tugged me to my feet.

“Call me Nina.” She whispered as she led me across the room.

[Breaker]

I never considered myself much of a dancer. Normally I avoided it, for safety reasons as much as personal reservations. All those bodies boiling together provide assassins with ideal cover to sneak up and stick a knife in you. But I followed Nina as she towed me across the room. I needed to watch her back, after all, and felt confident she would do the same for me. Besides, the exclusive patronage of the Hideaway made it a pretty stupid place to kill someone. We shouldered our way between riot police and soldiers until we neared the centre of the hardwood floor. Nina’s grip shifted on my hand as she faced me, but she didn’t let go. It felt odd, holding a woman’s hand almost as callused as my own. Especially considering the feminine softness of her curvy body and cupid lips. High cheekbones made dimples when she smiled. Her hips swayed and flicked to the smooth rhythm. Her leather shirt shimmered in the lamplight as her shoulders snaked in long rolling patterns. It wasn’t until she gave me a friendly elbow to the stomach that I remembered I should be dancing as well.

I started moving, adjusted my pace to the beat of the music. Glanced around the room to see what the other guys were doing. It seemed pretty simple, and boring. But I refused to embarrass myself like a schoolboy at his first semiformal. So I had never danced before. I knew footwork from Muay Thai. Possessed the grace and fluidity from many forms of Kung Fu. I could even do a few wild Capoeira spinning jump kicks. Probably not the best idea on a crowded dance floor, so I stuck with the smaller stuff. I shifted my weight faster, pulse pounding along with the rapid fire bongo drums. As I became one with the other flailing dancers I felt more at home amidst the smell of sweat and alcohol. Nina swayed closer to me, and somehow as I worked through a softened form of tiger-crane, my hand landed on her arm. I ran my fingertips up the supple leather to her shoulder. Her slim muscles shifted beneath the form-fitting garment, hot blood easily tangible to my superhuman senses. She lifted both arms above her head and performed a slow turn, brushing up against me. When her arms came down they stopped on my shoulders. Slim fingers laced on the back of my neck. I held her close and we moved like one. She stepped and bobbed, twisted and twirled, but always came back to me.

The music slowed gradually; the band didn’t bother stopping. They just played straight from one tune to the next. I felt a little relieved as we settled into a slow, almost waltzing weave. I was less likely to land a metal boot on someone’s foot this way. As I grew more confident with the step I managed to lead rather than follow. I leaned down and pressed my cheek to hers, my lips millimetres from her ear as if to whisper sweet nothings.

“I never knew being this close to you could be so... non-painful, Lieutenant.” I actually shouted to overcome the music. Her laugh sounded like summer rain, so exotic in that icy realm.

“I told you to call me Nina,” she responded, and nipped my neck with ivory teeth. I grinned, straightened up a touch and gazed into her eyes. An open gate to paradise couldn’t have looked more inviting.

I didn’t date, per say, but women ended up in my bed one way or another. Being a semi-celebrity as an undefeated Dajas Pagoda warrior certainly helped. I liked to think of myself as fairly charming, but romantic dinners and walks on the beach just didn’t fit into my schedule. Normally I expressed interest in an attractive girl and before I knew it we’d be in, or at least near my room. So I couldn’t consider myself an expert in finding the right moment to give a kiss. But if that wasn’t one there’s probably no such thing. Locked together by our bodies and eyes, we could have been alone despite the other dancers that bumped into us on a regular basis. I leaned down, tilted my head. And then Kristina’s eyes rolled back in her skull and she melted into my arms, limp as a dry rose.

[Breaker]

I cradled her wilted form protectively in my arms. I searched the club for a threat while my hands checked her body for injuries. Nothing. I dropped to one knee, held her against my chest. No need to check for a pulse; I could feel her heart beating strong and regular against my own. My fingers massaged her neck gently as I yelled in her ear.

“Nina, wake up! What’s wrong with you? Nina!” I reached blindly and grabbed the nearest body. Dragged a young man over by the ankle, him hopping awkwardly and bellowing in anger.

“Jomil’s Rags! Let me go you hulking oaf of a—“ I struck him dumb with a single look. It took an effort to keep my voice calm and level.

“She passed out, I don’t know why. Get me a healer.” Although I spoke to the boy, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Kristina’s serene face. The boy tapped me on the shoulder, a quizzical expression on his face.

“It’s okay uh, Sir. She’s just receiving instructions. Look, she’s not alone. Something big must be happening; I’m glad my unit commander isn’t one of ‘em. I get to stay here.”

The boy pointed out several other fallen soldiers, then crept away when my attention turned to them. Five or six men and women had passed out in similar fashion to Nina. I was the only one in the establishment who acted alarmed. Mostly, the other telepaths’ underlings propped their leaders up in chairs. They donned winter clothing and paid bills, waiting in a bizarre ritual for their superiors to regain consciousness. The band stopped playing, for the drummer had keeled over off his stool. The relaxed, fun atmosphere tightened into tense anticipation. It was really, really weird.

I lifted Nina in my arms and carried her back to our table. Dropped some money on the oaken surface, donned my jacket, and picked up Kristina’s things. I managed to thread her arms through her coat without too much trouble. Stuck the thick leather gloves on her hands and stuffed the woollen cap on her head. All the while I wished that the Salvarian military had taught their special forces to resist the cold as well as communicate telepathically. Or maybe instead of. I picked the well-wrapped girl up again and found my way out the door.

The night air hit me like a thousand icy needles. Even the dim lighting of the club seemed bright and chipper by comparison to the lonely lantern pole outside. The armed guards turned to face me, one incredulous, the other knowing.

“Must be getting an assignment,” the knowing guard said, nudging his companion. “Or else she just had too much to drink!”

They chortled together for a moment. I got the feeling it was a recurring joke. Sentry duty had bored them to the point of stupidity.

“I heard that, Adams.” I looked down in surprise. Kristina achieved an appearance of military severity despite her compromising position. I dumped her on her feet. She straightened her hat and coat, eyes burning a hole in the hapless guard’s skull. “You can be my demonstration partner next time I teach your class, Adams. Be wary, both of you. Half the force is about to come out those doors.” She turned and stalked away, ignored the identical salutes she received from both guards. Adams the comedian looked like he might vomit. I couldn’t resist a quick quip.

“Try calling her Nina, Adams. She likes that.” I winked and hurried after Kristina, chuckling at the panicked look the guard gave me. He practically soiled himself at the idea of being on a pet name basis with Lieutenant Rythadine. I caught up, easily matching her marching stride.

“How long were you awake for?” I asked, the familiar puff of steam ensconcing my head.

“Long enough to know you’re built like a frosted mountain.” Her enticing voice sounded odd coming from a body with such military posture. Odd, but certainly not unattractive. I found myself wondering where we would be if she hadn’t passed out.

“You could have warned me that you faint when your telepathy kicks in.” I admonished. She made a pouty face, mock sorrow that showed just how full her lips were.

“Did I frighten you, tough guy? Did you cry for me?” Her sad puppy eyes could have broken my heart. Even looking straight at me, she avoided tripping over half a frostbitten table.

“Not really,” I lied, “actually I just thought you were faking it to get me to call you Nina. Good thing your friends stopped me from tossing you in a snow bank eh?” She started to giggle then slammed her stern soldier’s mask back into place. The starless sky showed more emotion than her ramrod spine.

“We’ve got a job to do, Josh. Take it seriously.” I nodded in mock severity.

“Right behind you, Lieutenant.” Her mask slipped in favour of a grin when she backhanded me in the shoulder. Somewhere in the darkness the biting breeze banged a loose door against its house over and over again. I sympathized with the house.

“If you keep calling me by my rank, I’ll start treating you like a Private,” She warned, shaking a leather wrapped finger under my nose. The threat carried some weight when I recalled the guardsman’s primal fear.

“Fine by me,” I countered, “But only if I can be your demonstration partner at the next class.” I made the term ‘demonstration partner’ sound as dirty as possible. My voice dipped to a lower octave, deeper than the wind as it moaned between buildings.

She nearly missed a step, and not because of the uneven, icebound road. Staggered closer to me and grabbed my hand for balance. The militaristic posture vanished as she rose to her toes.

“If I had you in one of my classes—“ She whispered.
“You could have me anywhere,” I cut her off.
“I’d wipe the mats with you.” She continued.
“I’d spank you if you tried,” I growled. Her eyebrows rose to her hairline.
“I dare you,” she declared.

Her winter weight pants dulled the sound, but the smack still echoed amidst the darkened, empty houses. One moment my palm struck her ass, the next she had me wedged against a stone wall. Nearly uprooted my hair as she grabbed two handfuls and pulled my mouth down to hers. Her legs and arms wrapped around me, a full body embrace that eradicated the cold faster than demon fire.

[Breaker]

The wind carried a current that amped every pore on my body. I closed my eyes, shut out the bleak buildings of the slums around us. The rough rock wall bored into my back, but its frigid fingers served only to escalate the thrill of the burning body pressed against mine. Kristina caressed the carved wood muscles on my chest. I held her with one hand; the other stroked the soft skin of her swanlike neck. Her full lips, firm yet supple, slid down my jaw line to the sensitive spot on my throat. Fearless fingers explored the buttons of her coat, my breath hot and heavy against her hat.

“Lieutenant, you’ll be court marshalled,” I mumbled against her ear. Aroused blood boiled through me as I cupped her full breast. But the comment was ill chosen. Her enrapt form stiffened against me. She pulled away, kissed me one last time and dropped to the permafrost. Kissed me again, shoved me hard in the chest and about faced. My skull smacked the stone wall as her parade ground bawl slashed the thin air.

“Berevar’s blanket on a jilted glacier! Cronen, this is no time for that. We’ve got a job to do!” Her voice only wavered a little when she tripped on the headboard of a dismantled bed. Stumbled and caught herself then kept right on marching. As if I started it. Well, perhaps we shared the blame. I took a moment to adjust myself then followed her, rubbing my head gingerly. I began to see why the lesser soldiers feared Kristina Rythadine. But the same qualities that scared them more than a night naked outdoors attracted me to her. She carried enough vitality to inspire the entire abandoned district. My long legs propelled me along the desolate road until I reached her side. She stared straight ahead, but I knew that the color of her cheeks didn’t come from the cold. Best not to mention it.

“What are we dealing with? I inquired. Out of habit my eyes returned to roving the shadowy corners and side streets. At least that way I didn’t have to watch her flashing legs and nymph like face. I needed to calm down, get my mind ready for combat. “How much detail did you get in your uh... telepathic briefing?” I occupied myself too much with pretending to scan our surroundings and slipped on a slick patch of ice. Nina caught my elbow on a reflex, kept me on my feet. We looked at each other for an instant, the electric contact tangible through glove and sleeve. As if that current carried an unspoken agreement we separated and went on walking. Two yards of chilled air formed a barrier between us.

“I’ll explain when we get there. Five minute walk tops.” She sounded strained. So I wasn’t the only one who needed a cold shower. As we travelled the buildings changed from lodgings to low standing warehouses and two story barns. Same social class, equally as uninhabited, but the structures differed. Still no movement in the shadows. Nothing to distract me. Although the arctic climate allowed little precipitation, small banks of snow accumulated wherever walls met. I detoured to one of the banks, plucked a handful of slush and rubbed it across my face and neck. It had about the same result as tossing the slush on a bonfire. The silence between us smothered me. It was our first truly awkward moment since she jumped me hours earlier. I cast about for a conversation starter and came up with something decent.

“Was that some kind of curse? Berevar’s blanket on a... jilted glacier? What the hell does that mean?” She quirked an eyebrow as though I had asked why the sun rises. “Oh come on,” I defended myself, “I’ve been in Salvar for less than two months. I’m not exactly an expert on local turns of phrase. Look, I know that Berevar is the northern border, but—“ She took a deep breath and cut me off in a needlessly patient voice.

“Yes, Berevar borders our northern territories. But we’re not friendly with the orcs that reside there.” She touched her dagger, perhaps unconsciously, at the mention of orcs. “In fact, there’s enough bad blood that we rarely venture into the orcish domain, and they behave likewise. The only conflicts we have beyond skirmishes are verbal. It’s common knowledge here that the orcs refer to themselves as a blanket that coddles Salvar, a blanket that could smother us at any time.” The patient tone receded as anger heated her voice, and she walked faster, feet thrashing the frozen road. “Of course, they are far too unorganized to challenge our military force. Berevar’s blanket is a ludicrous concept, Cronen.” She swelled with pride as she went on, and I had to look away from the generous bosom that bulged against her coat. “Are you not interested in hearing the rest?” She asked when my head turned. I barely managed to not stammer.

“Just keeping a lookout. Don’t want any of those nasty orcs jumping out of the shadows and stealing you away, princess.” I heard her shift as if to hit me, but the blow never came. A good thing. Any contact at that point would have been counterproductive.

“I can care for myself,” she snipped, but continued the explanation. I listened with genuine curiosity. Knowing so little about the foreign lands I visited often became tiresome. “Glaciers are a symbol we take pride in. They represent the people of Salvar; strong, unstoppable, always moving towards a final goal. Some say coming between a Salvarian and their desire is as good as starting a shoving match with a glacier. So; a jilted glacier is a person who doesn’t achieve what they—" She stopped herself before she finished the sentence, but I understood the meaning. I could no more have halted the smile that spread across my face than win a shoving match with a glacier.

“If it’s any consolation, I think you’re a very graceful glacier,” I commented. She buried her face up to those sparkling brown eyes in her collar, but I knew a similar smile possessed her. I satisfied myself with a mental image of her dimples. We walked in a comfortable silence for a few minutes; the only sounds my crackling footsteps and her controlled breathing. I could keep my respirations quiet, but she used an indecipherable trick to stalk silently. I started to ask about it, but spotted a light in the distance. The flickering luminance of a lamp shone through a barn’s wall, the ancient structure riddled with cracks that resembled a glowing spiderweb. I looked to Kristina. She nodded, held a finger to her lips, and drew me into the shadows between two warehouses. Her voice barely reached my hypersensitive ears.

“These buildings are used for storage...”

[Breaker]

The calm night took on a cutting edge as we crept in tandem towards the glowing barn. The latticework of hair-thin cracks gave the building a ghastly visage. It leered at us as if inviting invasion. We stopped twenty yards away in the lee of a nearly identical structure.

“These buildings are used for storage,” Kristina whispered, a thin plume of steam barely escaping her lips. “Obsolete weapons and medical supplies, mostly. Before the riots started we had two guards to every building at night. Now it’s two for the entire district. The contents of any one of these buildings could provide weaponry for a small army.” While she spoke her focus never shifted from the glimmering barn. Assessing the risk. Looking for entrances, exits, possible threats. The same once-over I had performed from a hundred yards out. Superior vision certainly has its benefits. She said, “How do you think we should approach?”

“You stay here while I check it out,” I replied. I was half-joking. Half, because I really did think that would be the best way to approach it. But I knew she wouldn’t agree. She ignored my suggestion entirely, so I proposed a plan B. “Fine. I’ll hit the door. When it goes down you slide past me, cover the right corner. I’ll be in right behind you and take the main room.” She couldn’t argue with that. She got to go in first, but hopefully would end up out of the way if anything happened. I hoped I was over preparing. But I couldn’t put any stake on that hope. Like two earthbound clouds we crept to the barn’s large double doors. I breathed in, rolled my shoulders and exhaled silently. Held up three fingers, and Nina nodded. I put down one finger. Planted my feet. Put down the second finger, bounced my knees a bit, then dropped the last digit. I kicked the right hand door at the hinges where the wood had rotted most.

Whump!

No splintering. Time and weather had taken their toll on the door, and the decayed timbers separated from the hinges almost silently. The door hit the ground and in the rush of air sent a billow of sawdust and hay everywhere. If it had splintered, I might not have heard the twin snicks of two crossbows firing almost simultaneously. Kristina charged past, following the plan, but I caught her and swept us both to the ground.

Thwap-thwap!

Two crossbow bolts impaled the empty road just behind us. I assessed the scenario at light speed. Two crossbow bolts meant two snipers in the hayloft, one a little faster than the other. Two snipers in the hayloft meant at least twice as many footmen on the ground. In the same instant as we landed I hauled Nina back upright. She followed the manhandling as gracefully as possible. Good reflexes, good instincts. She would know what to do. I tossed her like a ragdoll, high into the air. Heard her landing muffled by the loose hay up top. Heard the shouts of panic from the snipers who suddenly found a wildcat in their midst. The dust settled, and the onslaught began.

Four men on the floor, as I predicted. Two rushed me almost together. Similar to how one of the bowmen had faster reflexes, one of the footmen had longer legs. A coarse battle cry ripped through his thick beard as he charged, swinging an axe in a downward stroke. Probably would have split my skull if I let it hit me. I did three things at once; ducked, stepped into him, and plucked the prevaldia bayonet from my boot. The roar of attack turned to a cry of surprise as he tripped over my shoulder, then a wail of pain when my dagger hamstringed him. He landed like a leaky garbage bag. Whimpered his last few breaths away as blood flowed freely from the severed femoral artery. The fact that I had gone straight through him altered his partner’s game plan. The second man’s cracked teeth grinned like a jolly roger as spindly legs circled him away. While he prepared for a straight thrust with his spear I threw my bayonet. Droplets of blood spattered from the pirouetting blade until it buried itself in his throat. The skeletal mouth gaped in pain. A hollow gurgle announced his imminent death as he fell in slow motion. The sawdust did a good job of absorbing the vital fluid that seeped from his ruined windpipe.

The second pair of men seemed of a different breed. One tall and lanky, the other short and stout. Both heads shaved, and both moved with a deadly grace. Identical knowing grins flitted across their faces. “We’ve seen your type before,” they seemed to say, “you’re as good as dead,” they implied. The skinheads circled in opposite directions, put me between them. Good strategy, but not great. They made the same fundamental mistake as the Roughcoats I had already killed. They expected me to wait for their attack to defend myself. I preferred to get my retaliation in first.

I rushed the lanky man. Used a crescent kick to sweep his thin rapier blade aside. I didn’t give him an inch. Got right up in his face, too close even to punch. My elbows smashed him one after the other, like machine gun fire. He crumpled after the first two, but I managed to hit him three more times before he fell out of range. I sensed the stocky man’s approach, heard his thundering footfalls on the grubby floorboards. I turned to face him, throwing a spinning sidekick. Lethal as a helicopter rotor, but he ducked away. Came at me again in shower of short quick stabs. I had rarely seen a weapon like the one he wielded. A short push dagger. An assassin’s tool, possibly poisoned. I didn’t take any chances. When he stepped too close I gripped his wrist and yanked him off balance. He stumbled and I caught his throat in my free hand. Unforgiving fingers formed an eagles claw that tore his jugular out. He became a crimson fountain as he fell to the floor.

I moved to retrieve my dagger and a falling corpse missed me by inches. It thudded on the ground, neck twisted to an unnatural angle, blank eyes staring in shock. I looked up and saw Nina glaring down at me.

“That’s for tossing me without warning, you rat!” She panted.
“I thought you’d enjoy a roll in the hay with a couple Roughcoats.” I shot back.
“One of them got away. Jumped out the back hatch and bolted.” The full weight of the situation hit me. Someone had tried to have us assassinated, quite specifically. And whoever it was, they now knew they had failed.

[Breaker]

The room was hardly appropriate to house the mastermind who would bring down the Crown of Salvar. The harbinger of the Ethereal Sway. The man who would finally set the oppressed people of the northern nation free. Even as a temporary residence, it fell far below what he deserved. The wallpaper grimaced sourly with watermarks that spread to all four corners. The corners were something the legend of a man loathed. He longed to return to the round chambers of his mountain home. There, his students revered him. Soon all of Salvar would follow in their footsteps. His plans had been thrown askew so often that he deemed it necessary to venture to Knife’s Edge, where he could oversee the operation firsthand. He sat upon the lumpy mattress, reading a book on arctic creatures. The penmanship was elegant, the voice active and exciting. It should be; he had written it.

The bed made an uncomfortable seat, but the room’s only chair looked prone to collapse under a butterfly’s weight, let alone his own muscular bulk. So he endured the bed. He was the sole occupant of the First Tier of the Mountain; he had suffered greater travesties. One of the bedroom’s doors led to a shoddy toilet, the other a dismal antechamber. The prime suite at the excuse for an inn his protégé had selected. The Mountain Master felt tempted to barge into the antechamber, throw his weight about and curse his underlings until they soiled themselves. Like the feared leaders in the stories children read. But his fathomless patience would never wear thin. Showing weakness through such primitive rage would only undermine him in the eyes of his followers. They already knew his power, and knew he did not hesitate to punish incompetence with death. But none of those he employed were incompetent. When there was information to be had, he would have it. Until then, he enjoyed re-reading about the various strengths of arctic wolves, and meditated on the importance of a proper bed.


In the antechamber, Geoffrey Rythadine paced like a tiger caught in a pitfall. The room only allowed him five steps before he had to turn and march in the other direction. Five steps, past the ramshackle table and two folding chairs, stop at the wall, turn. Five steps back, stop at the bookshelf, turn, repeat. He had tried reading, but couldn’t focus. His men had left three hours ago! He should have at least heard from them. A messenger. Anything. But time passed, and still they did not arrive. Each time he paced towards the shelf his eyes focused on brass knob of the front door, praying to the Sway for it to turn. Each time he paced in the opposite direction his eyes dilated in fear of the possibility that the bedroom door might open. But that door stayed shut as well. He couldn’t comprehend the self control of his master. The legendary man had tucked himself away with a book penned by his own hand three hours prior. Geoff felt ready to explode. Another hour and he would reduce the table to splinters from sheer frustration. How long could it take those morons to kill Cronen and lock his sister away? He had sent six of them, just to be sure. Only heroes in stupid stories survived being attacked by six men.

The door opened. The front door. Geoff spun around, a maniacal expression on his face. For a moment he only stared, and then slumped into one of the chairs. It creaked dangerously, but held.

“Oh,” he mumbled, his head in his hands, “it’s just you.”

The man at the door closed it silently behind him and took the room’s other seat. It didn’t make a sound, but the man was rail thin. A telepath who worked for the Salvarian Special Forces. A traitor with a price, one which Geoff had doubled. The telepath barely had an inch of hair, and as usual it lay perfectly combed upon his egg shaped skull.

“Have the others returned yet?” The dandy in the ultrafine woollen cloak asked. Stupid question for a telepath.

“What do you think? – No.” Geoff added as an afterthought. The skinny fellow could project telepathic messages across miles, but couldn’t figure out which of his fancy wolf skin boots went on which foot. Geoff wouldn’t put it past the turncoat to make a crucial mistake. “What message did you send her? Tell me exactly man, word for word. I haven’t got anything else to occupy my time.”

“Well,” the telepath said, and took a deep breath. “I waited five minutes after you started the riots, just as you said. By that time I could feel the air thick with telepathic frequencies. I sent Kristina this message;” the fool’s voice droned like a fly trapped in a glass, but Geoff forced himself to listen. “Raiders in the warehousing district. Small group, suggest stealthy approach. Then I checked the ambush.” The dandy unclasped his cloak and rolled his shoulders, shedding the garment onto the chair back. “Geoff, you haven’t got a thing to worry about. The Master himself couldn’t have survived the trap they laid.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Geoff warned, a glimmer of danger showing through the haggard worry in his eyes. “The Master has survived worse things than you can imagine. Did you know that he once—“

The anecdote ended abruptly as the front door burst open. The telepath scrambled to his feet with a cry of shock, wringing his hands. A broad shouldered man spilled through the door and slammed it behind him. The bookshelf nearly toppled as the man leaned against it, chest heaving, dark hair matted with sweat and blood. A large swelling grew just above his right ear. His eyes flicked wildly from Geoff to the alarmed telepath who was just regaining his seat.

“Calm down man! Take a breath and spit it out, tell me what happened. Where are the others?” The pitch of Geoff’s voice rose at the end as he realized the dark haired man returned alone. He recognized the bleeding fellow; one of the sharpshooters he had hired to put a quarrel in Cronen’s heart. Geoff’s fingernails gouged furrows in the table’s cheap varnish. He did not anticipate good news. The sniper took a moment to gather himself, then spoke in a rush of partially slurred syllables.

“We set it up just as you said sir. We had it all planned out for them to come through the door, and they did but by the icemold, that Breaker moved so fast. He got ‘imself and the Lieutenant past our arrows, and smite me if he didn’t toss her straight up into the loft!” Geoff stared in stupefaction as the man took a few more breaths.

“You mean to tell me my sweet, endearing sister gave you that lump?” He spat the words like venom. The sniper shook his head, then winced and clutched it haplessly before continuing.

“No sir. She snapped my mate’s neck ‘afore either of us could lay another shaft. I went out the back window rather’n face her, knocked my head on the ground. But sir... I peeked in before I left. Cronen killed the four we had on the ground. I dunno’ ‘ow he did it, but he did! They was all layin’ there and he just stood among ‘em like a flaming hero outta’ some book...”

The injured man trailed off as Geoff closed his eyes. He breathed deep, meditating as his master had taught him. For a full five minutes the room remained silent. The sniper’s panting receded until he had his breathing under proper control. At last Geoff opened his eyes, and an unnatural calm radiated from them.

“Very well. You obviously went up against a superior force, and you alone survived. This is my fault for not assigning more men of a higher calibre. May I trust that we will retain your services in the future?” The sharpshooter looked like he was about to nod, but thought better of it and spoke the agreement instead.

“Yes sir. Although, I’d prefer taking a shot from say, a hundred yards away next time. I’d rather not be in the same room as your sister ever again. Well, unless she was chained down, like after we catch her. D’ye suppose I could—“

Geoff’s chair clattered to the floor. He moved over the table and across the room faster than the eye could follow. One seemingly bare hand seized the larger man’s collar and lifted him off his feet, slammed him against the wall. Contorted rage crumpled the young Rythadine’s normally handsome face as he growled in a demonic voice.

“No one touches my sister. Tell the others they failed miserably.”

The sniper had a chance to take one last breath before Geoff’s elbow struck his sternum. There was a sound like crackling eggshells as his ribcage collapsed onto his lungs, snuffing the life out of him. He crumpled the floor and Geoff stepped away, his face a serene mask once more.

“Get rid of that,” he said, gesturing at the corpse. The telepath squeaked in fright at the very idea. Geoff massaged his temples. “Alright then, find someone who can, then get back here and wait. I’ll have new instructions for you soon.”

No point in putting it off. Geoff walked to the bedroom door and pushed through it, praying to the Sway that it would not be his day to die.