Haven (War of the Princes) (24 page)

“No, young Lord Axton. The Lodestone remains with us until we can prove or disprove her Abilities. Thayer, please step forward,” the Senior Commander said, and I spun around to look at Rune.

           
“Sir,” he said stepping out two paces from the other Dragoons.

           
“You have already been debriefed, but I’ll ask again, is there any information that you can give us on the location where you first met the Lodestone?”
Fallux
asked, gravely serious.

           
If I’d felt my heart sputter before, I was certain I was about to have a full-blown heart attack in that moment. In my weakened state, my hands shook with uncontrollable tremors and I had to fight with all of my will to appear unaffected. I concentrated on slowly breathing in and out.

           
Rune didn’t look at me, but I couldn’t stop staring at him. My attention traveled from his Dragoon armor to the focused blue eyes set against his dusky skin. Could he give something away? Would he sell me out to his superiors? He didn’t know where I had come from within that cave, but if it were thoroughly explored, there would be nothing to protect that aquamarine pool and Haven Valley beyond. The safety and secrecy of my home rested on his shoulders, whether he knew it or not.

           
“I’m afraid not, Senior Commander,” Rune said calmly. “What little I remember of the ordeal is filled with ghosts and dreams. As you know, I was heavily wounded with
Lurcher
venom. I was hallucinating with fever. Nothing I remember will make any clear sense.”

           
Relief flooded through me like a whitewater river.

           
Fallux
nodded to Rune and he stepped back in line.

           
“Senior Commander,” a man in light militia armor said, getting up. “If she is proven to be a Lodestone, what will happen then?”

           
“We send for the Margrave,”
Fallux
said, seeming like he enjoyed the idea. “When he arrives, we will likely redouble our efforts to find more Lodestones.”

           
My breath caught in my throat. It was my worst fear. They were going to try to use me to find a way in to Haven. Shouting at them in defense wouldn’t do any good. I bit down on my bottom lip to keep it from shaking. I would not allow myself to reveal a single thing. Lying seemed the most logical option, but I didn’t know enough about the world to make it seem realistic. There was no choice for me but to remain silent.

           
“All that needs to be said has been. We are finished here,”
Fallux
said stepping away from the dais.

A pair of Dragoons ushered me out. We were the first to leave the meeting hall. I was tired beyond words from forcing myself not to speak. There was so much danger and even more to think about. Thirst raked cruelly at my throat. I tried to ignore the speckles dotting across my vision and the hot and cold flashes that made me feel nauseous. Weakness was not an option. Ignoring them didn’t do me any good. I fainted.

Chapter 23: The Tower

           
When I came to, I was in an octagonal room cluttered with pots, trays and tables of cold-withered herbs and vines. Tall windows screened with black iron grating gaped open on every other wall. The chill night air had free passage and I was grateful that in the single lamp mounted beside the door was a bulb instead of a candle.

           
I was too tired and weak to be aware of much else. I was lying atop Rune’s blanket and there was a dull silver tray with a stale hunk of bread and a tin cup of water beside me.

           
Fainting left me feeling nauseous and strange, but I wolfed down the bread and gulped down the water without hesitation. The bread was terrible, but it tasted wonderful to me just because it was edible and I was starving. That’s the magic of extreme hunger. The meager food was like a rock in my gnawing stomach, but somehow that was an improvement.

           
I burrowed into the Dragoon-issue blanket for warmth and fell quickly asleep. I did not dream. I was too exhausted for that. There were no pictures in my mind, no words, only blackness. At some point during that time, I felt warmth upon my fingertips, as though a gentle hand covered my own. My restful, faraway thoughts hummed happily for the comfort and security of a hand holding mine. The warmth faded. My hand grew cold. I doubted that anything but the whisper of a dream had ever visited me.

           
When I finally blinked open my eyes, I could hardly believe what I saw. I had left three slivers of rock-hard bread crust on my tray. They were gone and replaced by a fresh, crisp bread bowl, filled to the brim with piping hot stew. My tin cup had undergone a transformation too. It was almost overflowing with warm mulled cinnamon cider.

           
I stared at them for a moment, watching the thin steam curling from their tops, having trouble believing that what I saw was really there in front of me. It was too good to be true, and that made me think of Dylan.

           
Recoiling, I remembered what the Senior Commander had told me too. They were testing me somehow. Was this one of those tests?

           
I could still feel the ghost of the hand that held mine while I slept. It had been no cruel claw. It was gentle and comforting. Warmth spread through me from the inside out. I had thought it some kind of dream, but here was the proof. This was no test. Someone had been here to help me, maybe only moments before I had awakened.

           
Still starving and thirsty as ever, I wasn’t about to let a good thing go to waste. Prying the bread apart, I sopped up the hearty stew, savoring every bite. It was no fancy meal and it was messy to eat, but it was exactly what I had needed. On a normal day I wouldn’t have been able to finish eating such a large portion by myself, but in my famished state, I devoured every crumb and wiped the tray clean with my last strip of fluffy bread. By the time I washed it all down with the cup of cider, I finally began to feel more like myself.

           
I was warm, fed, and felt strength returning to me.

           
Now that I was full enough to think clearly, I decided that whoever had brought me my better meal was not supposed to. They had picked a food that would leave no evidence behind that it had been there.

           
Getting up, I stretched my legs and searched the room. There was nothing of interest but soil, plants and a few bags of fertilizer that I’d rather have avoided.

I walked to one of the windows and looked down. The height was dizzying. The Commander’s orders had been followed. I was in the conservatory tower. I could see the lower wings of the fortress, the battlements, the yard and even the stables below. I wondered if
Florian
was still there.

“Oh!” I gasped, remembering my goggles. Fitting them over my eyes, I looked down at the stable and used the side dial to activate the zoom feature. There, peeking his head out of a stall, was my dark silver gelding. I smiled a little, and pulled off the goggles.

Outside it was daylight but I couldn’t begin to know what time it was. The sky was smothered with dark brooding clouds. I could hardly see the Haven Mountains through them.

           
I paced the room, trying to hatch a plan to escape the tower, but I found no answers. With nothing to do but think, walk in circles, or sleep, I explored the cabinets and drawers. My small discovery yielded a small pack of clay. It was old and its packaging torn in places, leaving it a little dry for molding. Adding a few
drips
of water to it from a rusty watering can seemed to do the trick.

I sat down on the blanket and pretended that I was home in my room with my little clay birds. So there I hunched, in the tower of a dark Installment fortress, shaping and molding one of the sea birds I’d seen in the bay. When I was finished, and it looked as good as I could make it, I sat it down beside the silver tray.

Before I could make another, the Dragoon named March entered the tower room. Her brown hair was pulled neatly back in a bun and she wore the usual light Dragoon armor. Just as before, she struck me as calm, collected and professional. I couldn’t have been afraid of her the way I was with the Commanders. Like the other Dragoons, she had no silver corrupting her skin. She was human, not monster.

She looked at my dirty hands curiously, but didn’t notice the clay bird.

“Come with me,” she said neutrally.

I got up and followed her without complaint. What else could I have done? Outside my room there was a small passage that twisted down many spiral sets of stairs. We walked down, passing archer windows but not much else.

“March,” I said and received a sideways glance from her. “That is your name, right? March? That can’t be your first name.”

I’d hoped she’d tell me, but I didn’t get a single word out of her.

“I was wondering, if all Dragoons have an Ability, what’s yours?” I asked persistently.

“First rule of combat: Do not give away the nature of your Ability to your enemy until the last possible moment. When appropriately executed, the element of surprise can be your ultimate weapon,” March recited smoothly.

“I see what you’re saying, but I’m not your enemy,” I told her, wishing someone would lower their barriers enough for me to make a friend. But that’s what this was all about. Dragoons were allowed no friends, not even their fellow soldiers.

She continued to lead me down the winding stairs with no further comment. Sighing, I refused to let myself feel hopeless. I owed it to my dad to be strong and get home in one piece. He trusted me enough to let me go. I couldn’t let him down. Just thinking about him almost made my eyes mist up with tears. Stamping out my own weakness, I sternly told myself not to be childish. This lady Dragoon certainly wasn’t.

Our destination was a broad balcony room on the second floor. The long gallery overlooked a combat training room where several Dragoons were sparring. I had seen rowdy pub brawls before, where aside from black eyes and bruises, there was no harm done. What I looked at below was precise and skillful: a room full of deadly dances.

           
The fighters wore simple black uniforms without any armor and used an assortment of different weapons in their duels against one another. There were long and short swords, some with curved blades, daggers, axes, and spears with jagged ends. I couldn’t help but hold my breath with fear as they battled.

           
“Remember,” The familiar sound of Senior Commander
Fallux’s
voice rose above the clamor. “No Abilities! You are only as strong as your weakest point.”

“Fight! Keep up your guard! Don’t move on until your opponent is unconscious. This is last man standing, not a mercy match!” shouted a stocky man I spotted pacing the room along the sidelines. I assumed he was some sort of instructor. He had the look of a teacher.

The Senior Commander stood at the other end of the balcony walk, intently watching the practice battle below. We approached but my Dragoon escort didn’t address him. He didn’t look at me or acknowledge my presence so I assumed I was to wait. That was fine with me. I hated talking to him. March stood against the wall with no apparent interest in the training.

I had never seen such perfectly executed violence, and out of morbid curiosity, I was drawn to the scene. Like a moth on its unerring course to a flame, I couldn’t turn away. Having been raised within a peaceful culture, I was repulsed by the brutal techniques intended for killing. Yet, if I didn’t admit my curiosity, I’d be a liar. There was something so impressive about the way they swung their weapons, dodging and striking, wincing when hits connected, but battling on beyond their pain.

Among the dozen pairs of fighters, a man with caramel skin and brown hair caught my eye the most frequently. His fighting style was flashier than the others, but more importantly, he was fast. One by one, he outmaneuvered his opponents, matching their weapons with his light axe and sending them to the ground.

Whatever admiration I felt for the skill of the fighters dissipated quickly when I watched them literally bashing and beating each other unconscious. I squeezed my eyes shut whenever I had the misfortune to see it happen. When one man or woman was downed, the fighter who remained standing moved on to the next free opponent. The battle never paused.

As more of the dueling Dragoons fell, another combatant began to stand out to me. He was a huge, heavyset man with a bald head and a broadsword in his grip. With sheer power of brute force, he battered the other soldiers to the flagstones.

There were only three groups left. I knew it was only a matter of time before the agile, brown haired man would have to go up against the brawny, bald one.

Leaping over the bodies of his fallen comrades, the brown haired man confidently zeroed in on his next target. It wasn’t until the sweep of his axe forced his foe to dodge in my direction that I realized his opponent was Rune.