Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Death’s Flow

Victor Klayin

Copyright © 2024 Victor Klayin

All rights reserved.

The Kingdom of Ayrn

Chapter 1

The Flow weaves through the world, filling it with life, bringing about every thought, emotion and experience, good and bad. It makes no exceptions, it plays no favorites. It even creates pain, as it shot through Zaleck’s arms, jolting him awake and shaking him into awareness. He grimaced before opening his eyes, letting out a weak moan while struggling to break free of his restraints. His wrists throbbed and his ankles burned just as his blurry vision resolved the environment around him.

Whatever happened, he could not scream. Not again. Biting down as much agony as he could, he tried holding back further groaning and moaning.

He shook his head as slow as he could to get the disheveled white locks of hair away from his view, though even that sent a lancing pain through his shoulders.

As he lay on the floor inside the covered wagon, he could at least keep his bound ankles and wrists from chafing if he didn’t move. The wagon didn’t sway anymore, to his relief, and voices outside meant they might have stopped for now. Last time he’d woken up, the wagon had rocked so hard that even if he stayed still, the tight binds scraped at his pale skin with an intense burning.

This time, however, no one came to grab him, tighten his binds, or force a liquid down his throat. In fact, from outside he heard the sounds of argument—a heated, shouting discussion.

A closed desk pressed him against the wall, while an overturned chair that had fallen on his hips made shuffling on the floor even more painful. The handle of a club stood out from the half-open wooden chest beside the entrance. Zaleck remembered that club all too well, the back of his head still swelling from when it had stopped him from almost escaping. However, with no one around for now, he could at least breathe, gasp, and try to get his bearings. Through the open door, the day shone too bright for early morning, so maybe it was about lunchtime.

His throat rasped as he tried, in vain, to keep from coughing through his gagged mouth. By the two suns, he would have done anything for a glass of water. Anything, except ask for it. For the time being, no one seemed to know he had woken up. Even if he couldn’t escape just yet, if he had but a few moments to be alone, he would take them. He would endure the grating thirst and clenching hunger if only to not look at those two men again.

He struggled under ever-growing pain for as long as he could. Whenever he closed his eyes, or even blinked, he could still see his mother, waving him goodbye as he went to play with Namek. “Don’t go too far,” she had told him. He could still feel his father patting him on the shoulder, telling him they’d save a piece of cake from the town fair, and that he shouldn’t take long.

But he did go too far, and he did take too long. Namek had wanted to show him the hiding spot he found, from where he said he peeked at Nyra bathing once. Though she’d never even looked at Zaleck before, he could at least sit where Namek did, and imagine what Namek once saw.

They never got there, though. In the thick of the woods, through the dark moonless night, Namek tripped, falling down before Zaleck. Only as Zaleck reached his friend did he notice the arrow sticking from his chest as Namek gasped, eyes wide. One step back was all he took before stumbling on the large man, one of the group of four who grabbed, gagged, tied him up, and beat him unconscious.

Nothing like that ever happened in Kaldhill. Until it did. To him.

From there on, in the brief moments he’d woken again, drowsy and nauseated, he’d been in this wagon. He’d been brought back to awareness by the pain of his binds, only to be put back to sleep before ever wholly waking up.

Gods knew how many days had passed. His parents would never know what had happened to him. They would never hear him say he was sorry, that he should not have gone so far. He would never tell Namek to maybe go there some other time.

His mother had made him wear his best clothes for the fair. His only good clothes. Now, his shirt had ripped open almost entirely, both sleeves gone. His pants had more holes than fabric. Every hole and rip highlighted a bruise or a welt against his pale white skin, alongside red strips of dried blood.

His stupid heart knotted in his chest, his damn throat clasped, and in spite of all his effort a sob came out, then another, and another. Stubborn tears rolled down, and before he knew it, he was crying again.

Steps came closer, carrying with them a mounting dread, beat by beat. Zaleck had to be silent, pretend to sleep again, but he couldn’t. His chest just shook too much. The man appeared in the wagon door, blocking almost all light with his burly frame, greasy hair, shaggy beard, and hammer-like hands. The very sight of those fists made Zaleck gasp for the damp air coming through his gag.

“Oy!” the man cried to someone outside. “The brat’s wake ’gain!”

The man came to him, rolled him over, and tested his binds. Zaleck didn’t want to resist, didn’t even want to give him the least bit of reaction. Still, his wrists flared up again, and his whole body jolted in response to the sudden agony. A low and stifled scream came out. He would have pled with the man if only he hadn’t done that so many times before.

The outer light was again blocked as another man, thinner and older, came into the wagon. Zaleck knew this one too, the one who always made him sleep. The thought of swallowing that tonic they had forced into him so many times made his stomach lurch. Though it seemed the nausea would be too much to hold, nothing came up.

“D’we still have the potion?” the burly man asked.

“Oh, yes,” the thin man answered with a thick accent, like a snake ready to strike. “We have enough for the whole trip.”

He rummaged through the desk until he came up once more with the dark glass of that foul liquid.

Zaleck could not do it again. He could not go to sleep anymore. He struggled; pain be damned. He tried twisting his legs and shaking his arms, but the burly man held him with stone fists. Zaleck opened his mouth even more, his jaw bursting in anguish, forcing out his strongest scream, though only a muffled cry was audible.

The thin man approached, open vial in hand. “Ungag him,” he said.

As the burly man loosened his gag, Zaleck summoned all the breath he still had in a last, hopeless attempt.

“Help!” he cried out “Somebody, please! Anyone! Help!”

With but a finger, the burly man held his jaw open as the thin man approached with that bile-smelling vial.

Zaleck’s breath couldn’t come any faster, his mind focused on finding any way out of there, his body so torn with pain that each movement throbbed. Yet again, no one would come. Never again would someone come. He would never return home, embrace his mother, or help his father on the farm. Torn inside and out, pain lancing through his whole body, his screams fading in his throat, Zaleck tensed his fists, widening his eyes in an anger that could not escape.

Something broke inside of him. Some kind of dam that had always been there burst wide open, and a feeling, a flow of pure emotion shot out.

Let me out! He couldn’t scream anymore, but the thought came with the same anguish.

Somehow unheard, from somewhere unseen, some “thing” answered. A silent answer, a quiet understanding, coming from whatever it was that flowed through him. Zaleck had done something, pushed some force away from him as he prayed for help.

“Hold him still!” the thin man said.

“Brat’s fighting harder today!”

Zaleck twisted as much as he could, until his head was grabbed from behind and his mouth forced open once more by log-thick fingers. He tried biting, but his jaw wouldn’t close. The thin man attempted to turn the vial in his open mouth, but Zaleck gasped the liquid away. The burly man then forced his tongue down until Zaleck had no more ways to fight back.

Screams came from outside the wagon. Louder and louder, more and more urgent. So much that the thin man looked back, annoyed.

“Keep holding him,” he commanded, then took one step out of the wagon.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded at the door, just before his silhouetted head was thrust to the side by an arrow, a shot of blood spraying all around as his body crashed down.

“Devils!” the burly man said. He released Zaleck, letting him fall limp on the wagon floor, grasping for breath and relief. As the man rose, he picked up the club from the floor.

The cries and screams continued as he stepped out. “There! There,” they said, and “Over here!” Metal clashed and rang sporadically along with, grunts of pain and anguish that almost mimicked Zaleck’s own, thuds crashing onto earthen ground. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped, with just a few groans and muffled cries fading out.

Zaleck took some time to catch his breath, which was even harder as the vial with the sleeping tonic had spilled just beside him. This time, his belly twisted so bad at the smell that pure bile came lurching out.

Yet no one came back to check on him. Outside the wagon, the day remained a complete blur, but even after being bound, gagged and tossed around for so long, as the silence stretched, he dared hope once again.

“Someone,” he said. He wanted it to be a scream, but all he could do was moan as his jaw shot back at the effort. “Help me,” he repeated. “Someone, please. Help.”

Outside light beamed around a shape at the entrance as another man appeared. A new one, wearing ragged clothes and holding a sword dripping with blood. He approached Zaleck and only when he frowned did Zaleck realize this man was completely bald. So much that he didn’t even have eyebrows. He didn’t seem very old, not like elder Vana, Kaldhill’s chief, whose face was just a wrinkled leather, though older than Zaleck’s father, for sure. And those arms, a swath of muscles, so unlike his own lanky sticks. When he spoke, his voice had a weathered softness to it. Much like his dad spoke to him sometimes.

“Gods! Are you alright?” Then he closed his eyes for a moment. “Stupid question. Don’t answer that. Let’s get you out of here, shall we?”

Even though Zaleck had no idea who the man was, while he started to unbind Zaleck’s hands, tears came rolling out faster than before.

Even trying to move his fingers had his hands shooting up pain. When his wrists were free, trying to look at them sent piercing jabs all though his shoulders. The skin around them had become black as soot, and dark red strips ran along his pale arms in places where he must have bled.

Zaleck looked at the man as he unbound his feet.

“Thank you,” he croaked.

The man looked at him and placed his hand on Zaleck’s head. He also had reddened wrists, and his bare arms lay witness to several cuts and bruises.

“Were you . . . tied up as well?” Zaleck asked, his voice breaking, and not just because of the onset of adolescence.

The man half smiled, as if trying to laugh but too tired for it.

“I am called Arneth,” he said.

“Zal—Zaleck”

“Zaleck. Pleased to meet you, lad. Do you think you can stand?”

Zaleck tried to lean on the wagon wall for support, but even touching it made his hand burn from the effort. Arneth held him by the shoulders and helped him up. Zaleck stood for a few heartbeats while everything around him spun in a wave of dizziness. He would have fallen down if Arneth hadn’t held him yet again. He breathed in, more exhausted than he remembered ever being. After a few moments, he found his footing.

Though his lanky frame had him towering over other boys his age, Zaleck stood only as tall as Arneth’s chest. Held by the arm as he stumbled every two steps, Zaleck stepped out of the wagon and into daylight once more.

Two other wagons encircled a lit campfire, one of them just a big metal cell. At their center, the salty and pungent scent of vegetables and butter coming from a cooking pot drew Zaleck a step closer to it. The aroma alone enough to breathe new life into him.

One step was all he took, however, as all around the campfire, scores of vacant eyes met his gaze, their butchered bodies covered in blood. Some arms and legs twitched and contorted—a few people were still dying. The whole place was a red, muddy mess of blood. Some of the people wore thick clothing, some wielded blades or clubs, some wore rags, and some not even that. Most bodies lay still while blood seeped from open wounds. Others twitched their arms or legs, the life ebbing away from them.

The thin man who made him sleep had fallen right beside the wagon with his arms contorted behind his back. He opened and closed his mouth as the arrow at his neck drew more and more blood. The burly man who beat him, three steps away, lay on the floor still clutching his club, his other hand spasming in the mud, his gut open, entrails spilled before him.

Only Zaleck, Arneth, and a young woman were standing. She wasn’t as tall as Arneth, and seemed even younger, though still much older than Zaleck. Long, wavy red hair fell down on ragged clothes that almost let her breasts show. Though whip marks and bruises covered her arms and legs, she still found strength to grip at a bow with a nocked arrow like a prowling hunter. Intense, dark eyes made bigger by a thin face and diminutive nose locked on Arneth and Zaleck as they came out of the wagon, widening as she saw them.

“What’s that? What was that kid doing in there?”

“It seems there was yet another to be released,” Arneth replied. “I dare say I think they had something special prepared for the poor lad. He was being kept drugged the whole way.”

Zaleck couldn’t help but stare at the dying people all around him. Waves of sudden dizziness still hit him at moments, so it was hard to even piece the scene together.

Something tugged at his mind, like someone whispering close to him. When he heard these mental calls, he would turn in their direction, only to look at another dying person letting out their final breath. Zaleck could swear that each one of these last breaths was flowing into him, and each time he would get a bit more alert, a bit less tired than before, as more and more people around him died.

“Hey,” the woman snapped at him, yanking his attention back at her. “Look at me, boy.” She knelt before Zaleck.

Through her bloodstained face and bruised arms, her gaze spoke back to him. She lowered her voice as if in an awkward effort to soothe him.

“It’s alright now. They are all gone.”

Zaleck shook at her words. His arms and legs weighed him down. He was exhausted from struggling, being forced to sleep and waking up only to find himself bound over and over again, and his only reply was to raise his hand and place it on her shoulder.

The woman raised her own hand, wiping the tears from his face.

“You can call me Vellis,” she said.

“Y . . . you can call me Zaleck,” he half croaked.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Zaleck. We’re in a major bind here. We’re lost, we’re tired, we just killed a bunch of slavers—though some got away—and we really have to get out of here as quickly as we can.”

Zaleck tried to think of something to say, but in the end just nodded back.

Arneth approached them, carrying the steaming cooking pot.

“How about we first recover what we can, then we take whatever is useful from these bodies, grab their horses, and go back the way we came? If the ones who escaped come back, stealing won’t make much of a difference after we slaughtered the whole lot.”

Vellis stood up, glancing at him sideways. “I like your way of thinking, sir.”

The three of them moved away from the campfire, and it seemed Arneth sat Zaleck away from it intentionally, facing the two of them such that he would not see the dying and the corpses. In spite of that, Zaleck could still feel them. Every life that extinguished was a small burst of some kind of fire flaring up inside of him—not a physical feeling, but something like a very vivid imagination that he just knew had to be real. So much that if he shut his eyes, he could picture, in his mind, their last moments. One yelled as a blade pierced him from behind; another clawed at an open throat. Another still grasped at his open belly.

Arneth handed him a bowl only half filled with the stew’s broth.

“I think you have not been fed for a good many days, Zaleck. You have to start eating again slowly, and drink a lot. Take this. If you feel very hungry, let me know.”

Zaleck took his time to eat, hands still hurting with every move, his back struggling with the effort. His fingers twitched from time to time. Still, he would have gulped down the whole stew if he could, even though the broth mingled with silent tears, even though he was here, in an unnamed forest, and his family was so, so far away.

He’d survived it, though, and if he managed to overcome those slavers, he would find his family again.

Chapter 2

Zaleck walked back to the campsite to help Arneth and Vellis retrieve the slaver’s valuables. Vellis took but one glance at him.

“You should not be here, boy.”

Where should he be, then? Sitting with his back to them, pretending he didn’t know they were robbing the dead?

“I can help.”

“No, you can’t. You can barely walk. We’ll work this out, thank you.”

Vellis continued selecting weapons and tools from the caravan while Arneth unharnessed their horses from the wagons. Zaleck didn’t move, and Vellis kept glancing at him.

“No one prepared us for this,” he said.

“What?” Vellis asked.

“At church, I learned a lot of blessings for the dead, but no one ever taught me to curse them.”

Vellis frowned while raising her eyebrows. She approached him.

“Well, I’ve been to the army, and I learned a lot of curses back then. Here’s one.”

She turned back to the slaver’s corpses. “May your next life be miserable and long.”

That seemed easy.

“May you rot in the seven hells before climbing back again,” Zaleck said.

“Good one! And may your climb be filled with thorns.”

Zaleck looked down, another knot forming deep in his throat, but Vellis placed her hand on his head, tousling his hair as she half chuckled, somehow untying that inner knot as well.

Ravens and crows were already perched at the tree branches when Arneth approached them with three saddled horses carrying half-filled saddlebags.

“Our mounts. Do you feel you can ride, Zaleck?”

Zaleck hesitated before approaching one of the horses, running his hand along its neck. Never before had he owned a horse. He’d ridden a pony once, when his family took their produce to sell in town alongside other families, but he could hardly reach the reins back then, and no one let him ride it as fast as he wanted to. Now he could have a proper horse. With how sore his body was, plus his dizziness, that would make for a hard ride.

“Yeah. I can,” he said.

The slavers had a lot of food to steal. They also had weapons, so when the three of them left the camp, they rode with blades and bows in their saddlebags. Even when Zaleck picked up a chipped sword from the corpses, Vellis and Arneth looked at him for a while but didn’t stop him. Swinging it felt clunky, as its momentum carried his own arms with it, but it would be better than nothing.

Zaleck kept shuffling in this seat between moans and winces through the ride. Each time he did, he stole a glance at Arneth, hoping the man wouldn’t make him ride with one of them. If Arneth noticed it, he let Zaleck have what little fun he could through the afternoon.

The path through the forest twisted and turned for hours, surrounding the silent trio with its own brand of chirps and caws and tweets. The trees to both sides were so packed they’d have trouble if they were to ride straight into the woods.

When Theos, the first sun, set, Arneth said they had better find a place to stop for the day. When Satar, the second sun, filled the sky in its green-red twilight, they had already unpacked in a clearing and Vellis was stoking a fire.

Zaleck could not stop looking at his wrists. His uncle Ramir came to mind. The man had once cut himself when falling from the roof of his house. Over the following days, the wound became infected, and in the end, everyone in the family’d had to chip in to get a doctor to come and cut off his leg.

Zaleck didn’t want to lose his hands, but what could he do? They hurt so much.

“I am very surprised, Lady Vellis,” Arneth said as he cooked something sweet and spicy in the stew, “that a competent huntress such as you got captured by those slavers alongside myself.”

Vellis blinked once before answering. “Oh, my! A lady? I don’t think anyone has ever called me that.”

Arneth smirked. Vellis ran her hand through her hair.

“I do know my way around a bow, but why would you say that?”

“By the way you moved back at the camp, prowling. By the way you wielded the bow when we fought, very sure, almost professional.”

“My, are you the perceptive one!” Vellis squinted. “So, what if I’m a huntress?”

Arneth checked on the pot “I say this because it may have crossed your mind that since we are all free now, you would have a better chance of survival if you go your own way.”

“Really?” she asked. Zaleck couldn’t quite tell, but there almost seemed to be a defiant tone in her voice. These two seemed to be measuring each other up, like they still didn’t trust one another even after escaping together. But then, they had slaughtered a much larger group of slavers. They had every reason to try assessing one another.

Arneth replied, “Of the three of us, you are the one who can most easily run away from the slavers who escaped, if they come after us.”

“Am I? Why?”

Arneth sat down for a bit, as if he was wondering whether he even had to answer or not.

“Just look at us!” he said, pointing at himself and Zaleck. “I am a completely bald guy, and the boy has white hair and pale skin. Anyone who sees us can easily recognize us, which makes us very simple to track. You, however, knowing your way around the wild, could just disappear.”

“And why would I want to disappear?”

“Why wouldn’t you? Surviving both capture and escaping a group of slavers like that, we dodged an arrow back there. When they come back for us, they’ll track us wherever we go. Do you want to be with us when that happens?”

Vellis glanced from Arneth to Zaleck and back to Arneth. Zaleck ran his hand through his hair, where she had played with it, almost dreading her answer.

“Why would they come for us? We took out the lot of them. Only four escaped. Unless they are complete idiots, they’ll know what’s best for them, and they’ll not come back. I say we’re free right now!”

“Well, I say we’re not.” Arneth got up and passed on the stew pot to Vellis. “They will come, and they will come for you, Zaleck.”

Zaleck recoiled a bit as the man turned to him.

“For me? But, why?”

“I don’t know. But I only found out they had you this morning, when we escaped. Before that, I was one of the first people they captured, all the way up in Ironmount. This means they have been keeping you unconscious for many, many days, and if they went to the trouble of doing that, it’s because they wanted you, specifically.”

In the light from the campfire, shadows danced on the trees around them as well as their faces, as if menacing slavers crept at them from the dark at every moment.

“Sure, Arneth,” Vellis said, “but I mean, look at him! It’s not hard to imagine why he’d be so valuable. I can see some noble from the southern nations paying a small fortune for a boy like him.”

“Your point has merits, Vellis, but I don’t think that’s what’s happening here. If they just wanted someone like him to sell for a good price, why keep him sedated? There’s no reason to spend this amount of time and expensive potions for just another pretty slave. He could have just as well traveled in the same cart we were in. No, they wanted him unconscious. They needed him not to know where he was going. Why would they go through so much trouble? I can’t answer that, but I can also infer that your kidnapping, Zaleck, was targeted.”

Arneth and Vellis both looked at him. He recoiled from their gaze, like a mouse being studied by two eagles.

“I s’pose . . .” he said, “but why? I’m just a farmer. My family’s not rich at all. No one cares about us.”

“Whatever the reason,” Arneth said, “they’ll come, and when they do, it’ll be four against two. Not good odds on our side.”

Zaleck got up. Not as fast as he wanted, though. “I can fight as well.”

Vellis tilted her head. “Oh, really? A soldier, now, are you? Who taught you, then? Where did you learn? How many battles have you been in? Maybe you care to show us some moves?”

Zaleck clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, regretting it right away as his hands spasmed in pain. Since he could not stop from panting, he turned his back to them and took two steps into the dark.

“You have a way with kids, don’t you, Miss Vellis?” Arneth said.

“Oh, shut up!”

A hand touched his shoulder, and Zaleck turned to find Arneth offering him a bowl of pottage. They sat back in silence, Zaleck eating as slow as he could, trying to get the flavor to dissolve the bitterness of Vellis’s true comments.

Zaleck thought she would say something—she should say something—but instead, she just ate along with them.

“Am I . . . going to be alright, Mister Arneth?” he asked.

Arneth pursed his lips, hesitating before answering.

“Well, your wounds have closed, and at least it seems you’ll heal well enough. As to whether you’ll really be alright, I don’t know. I’ll do everything I can to help you, I can tell you that. And this, too—I’ll help you get back home.”

If the guy who’d ended a whole slaver caravan would help him, he’d make it for sure.

“You will?”

Arneth nodded.

“But, why?”

The man locked eyes with Zaleck, his expression calm and distant.

“You’re my responsibility now.”

“Why? You did nothing wrong,” Zaleck said.

“Blame and responsibility are not the same thing, Zaleck. I am not to blame for what happened, but I can help you. I choose to make it my responsibility.”

Vellis raised her eyebrows, seeming almost about to scoff, but instead turning away.

They ate in further silence, Zaleck absorbed in his own inner demons, while Vellis also kept her silence and Arneth sat like he was in a library or something. How could he stay so still and speak with such calm when his arms and legs showed as many wounds as Zaleck’s? He couldn’t even close his eyes without seeing those two men who’d kept him bound for so long.

“Mister Arneth, don’t your wounds hurt?”

“There is some discomfort, yes.”

“How come you don’t seem to care?”

Arneth leaned his head back, glancing up. A softness came to his voice, a hint of melancholy. “Every discomfort is a chance for me to train my mind.”

“Train your mind?”

“Concentration. Meditation. It helps to withstand situations such as these. It helps you think clearly, and to think clearly is to live clearly. It’s all about practice.”

“Could I learn?”

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Vellis interjected, “if you’re fine with being beat up every day until you get used to it. That kind of training is brutal.”

Zaleck frowned at her.

“Look,” she said, “one way or another, it’s best to face pain on your own terms. Life will beat you up. Hells, it already has. Find a way to be prepared for it.” She put her bowl aside and got up. “Well, I saw a small stream just before we set up camp here, and I for one am in need of a bath. I advise you, boys, to do the same in turn.”

She started walking away, but as she passed by Arneth, she stopped and turned to face him.

“Payback,” she said in a low, menacing voice.

Arneth looked at her but didn’t reply.

“All that we did back there,” Vellis said in a low tone, “all of the blood we spilled when we got out of the cage, that was not enough for me. They want to come after us? I say let them come. I welcome the hunt. I’ll sharpen a knife for each one of their throats.”

Arneth nodded at her. She stepped a bit farther away, then again stopped and spoke, almost as an afterthought. “Oh, and by the way, thanks for the save.”

“The save?” Arneth asked.

“Yes. For opening up the cage door.”

“Oh, I didn’t do that,”

Vellis frowned. “You didn’t? You were the closest to the door. Who opened it, then?”

“That’s just it,” Arneth said, “no one did. It opened by itself.”

Vellis took a step back and half smiled. She raised a pointed finger at him for joking, but his expression remained serious. Her frown deepened, betraying just a bit of wariness.

Zaleck found a mound of earth that looked soft enough to lie down on and tried his best to go to sleep. He had to. They’d ridden half the day, and tomorrow they would push the full day. Still, he just couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes. Those two men were dead—he’d seen their lifeless bodies sprawled on red mud, leaking a puddle of blood. Somehow, though, that only made it worse, because now he would see them, the burly man with his open belly and the thin man with an arrow through his neck, whenever he closed his eyes.

Only the red moon Zytov was up, the white Volea already having set, and even it was waning. A night was clear enough that he could see most stars.

Could he even go back home? Zaleck didn’t know how much time had passed, or how far away he was. If too long had gone by, maybe mom and dad had just moved on. After all, he’d always been so different that many people asked if he even was their kid. What if he was all alone then? What would he do? Could Vellis teach him to shoot, or Arneth teach him to fight?

He held back sleep, not wanting to go back to the cart, to be bound again, to cry out for help without anyone ever coming for him. He dreaded and dreaded until the sound of birds shook him awake, as the first light of Theos pierced the sky.

Every muscle throbbed when he moved, and his hands still sent prickling jabs of pain when he wrapped his fingers around something, but that day he gritted his teeth and went on with it. Damned if he’d let that stop him again.

The three of them picked up their camp tools, but as Arneth was loading up his horse, Vellis snapped his saddlebags close.

“I was not joking, Arneth,” she said, pointing at him and Zaleck. “You two. A bath. Right now. Then we move on.”

Arneth chuckled. “I’ll go first,” he said.

Zaleck figured he would just get it over with quick so they could go back to getting the hell out of this place as soon as possible. Instead, when his turn came, he had to take his time—the grime and dirt seemed encrusted beneath his skin. He also had to slow down whenever the throbbing in his arms grew too strong as he scrubbed himself. However, he did find time for a brief chuckle. He wanted to get home so bad, and yet here was Vellis, telling him to bathe just like his mom would do from time to time.

He couldn’t even put his rags back on, as they also stank so much that even he couldn’t stand them, so he scrubbed them in the river as well. When he got back to the camp, drenched to the last strand of hair, Vellis raised her chin, appraising him, nodding only once before they moved on.

The trio rode all morning, stopping for a quick meal at midday. Afternoon had just started when the forest dwindled away, widening up to an expansive plain. A large river ran on the horizon.

“I think,” Vellis said, “that is the Ravanni River. If so, this must have been the Roran Woods. We must be close to Wolfpine.”

“Are you sure?” Arneth asked. “How can you tell?”

“Well, I know we moved many days southward. And I remember passing by the Chiorn River some days ago. Only the Ravanni is this large south of the Chiorn. If we follow it, we should get to Wolfpine.”

“Do you know where we are?” Zaleck asked, “do you know where my home is?”

“Where do you come from, Zal?” Vellis asked.

“Kaldhill.”

Vellis frowned a bit. It was Arneth who replied.

“A small farming community north of the Nelliar Mountains. Very isolated. I’d say we are about . . . three weeks’ ride south of your home, Zaleck.” Arneth touched his shoulder with a reassuring pat. “You are going home, lad. It just may take a while.”

Zaleck would go through many whiles if that meant going back. Arneth’s words, distant though they might have been, would hold him up for days to come. A grin formed. They had already won over pain, weariness, and certain slavery. What were a few more days of riding now?

Chapter 3

For three days, Zaleck, Arneth, and Vellis rode along the coast of the Ravanni, a river so wide they even lost sight of the other bank at times. Followed by rolling clouds and the blowing autumn winds, they started meeting houses and small villages as they traveled.

On their first night, they found an inn by the road, but before entering wearing only rags, they got a new set of clothes from nearby houses in exchange from some of the supplies they’d stolen.

Arneth was still easing Zaleck into regular meals, but faced with a plate of charbroiled eggs, roasted pork, and buttered sourdough, the boy had to struggle to keep from gulping down the whole plate.

On the second and third days, they rested at small farmhouses. Built with timber, the structures had thatched roofs layered over planks of wood. They reminded Zaleck very much of his home, with just one or two bedrooms each, so much so that on the second night, in the early morn, he turned and moaned, “I’m coming, Mom,” though it was only Vellis calling for him. He didn’t mention it, but he noticed her glancing at him with tender eyes throughout the next day.

With the river running to their right as they rode, and endless fields of wheat spreading left, they met more and more people on the way as they got closer to Wolfpine.

“We should name our horses,” Zaleck said on the second afternoon.

“What?” Vellis replied.

“We should name them!” Zaleck said. Wasn’t that obvious?

“Zaleck,” Vellis said, “these are stolen horses. We’re going to get rid of them first chance we get. You wanna name them? Fine! Mine is called ‘Solong.’”

Zaleck pouted for a few moments before giving his own answer. “I’m gonna call mine ‘Savior’.”

Vellis rolled her eyes, but Arneth surprised him with a smile. “Well, mine is called ‘Ethellus.’”

“What kind of a name is that?” Vellis asked.

“It’s from Old Alterion. It means ‘Endless fields,’ because that’s where we are now.” He motioned all around.

“Come on!” Zaleck said “I’ll race Etelos!” he spurred his horse onward, the wind rushing past him as he raised the corners of his mouth in the first smile he’d flashed since his capture.

He almost fell twice as Savior tossed his head around. Arneth caught up to him in no time.

“Nice try. Keep it up, Zaleck. You’ll get the hang of it eventually.” The smallest smirk on his face did seem to say otherwise.

Although Zaleck had been to cities a few times, the sheer amount and diversity of people he saw as they approached was unlike anywhere he remembered. Every day they grew nearer to Wolfpine, they’d meet another kind of people. A few farmers once, then peddlers sometime later, even a circus troupe the day before they would reach the city.

Always, on those occasions, people would stare at him. At first, he flinched at them. What were they thinking, after all? Had they never seen an albino before? Sure, he was different, but sometimes, that was just . . . tiring.

Zaleck wasn’t the only one drawing attention, though. Arneth drew just as many stares, though in his case he stared back. Most of them averted their gaze when that happened. Some, though, would instead bow their heads at him, like he was some priest or noble, which seemed just strange.

Through it all, day after day, Zaleck’s pain lessened and his wrists seemed a bit less injured. From being almost black at the slaver’s campsite, they had faded to a yellowish-brown. His grip strength returned as well, something he realized as he tightened his hands around the reins whenever someone appeared on the road.

Vellis and Arneth would often scan the fields, and a few times Vellis rode ahead or behind them, trying to catch any signs that they were being followed. Zaleck always held his breath in those moments, and always exhaled, relieved, when she came back with nothing.

“Either these guys are master trackers, or they are just not coming after us,” she said.

After three days on the road, Wolfpine came into view—a sprawling city on an island that looked like a ship made of stone, with the castle at the back and the church tower at its center sticking out like masts lined southward. Multistoried houses crammed together, edging closer and closer to the river, seeming to defy nature—the ports held an entire neighborhood build atop water. The sheer size of it left Zaleck gaping. Vellis had to actually slip a finger under his chin to close his mouth.

“Are we going to the castle?” he said.

“Now why would you have that idea?” Vellis asked.

“Eh—we were kidnapped, and by slavers! There’s no slavery in the kingdom. We should tell someone.”

Vellis and Arneth exchanged a quick glance, and Arneth tilted his head.

“Those were eight armed slavers and three carts, Zaleck. It doesn’t matter that they only used side roads to carry us. They would not be operating this deep into Ayrn without the backing of some noble. Unless we know who that is, it’s best we avoid castles for now.”

“So, couldn’t we be walking right into whoever is trying to get us?”

“Hmmm.” Vellis mulled it over. “I don’t think so. Wolfpine is ruled by Countess Yanna Deranis, and that woman is loyal to a fault. She has to be, what with her being the queen’s mother and all. I just can’t see her managing a clandestine slave trade on the side.” She lowered her voice. “Still, maybe this slaver business doesn’t reach as high up as her. We should be careful.”

Each entrance into Wolfpine passed over one of seven stone arch bridges. The northern one, which they approached, wide enough that four or five wagons could drive over it at the same time. Even so, people were crowded in lines as they moved in and out of the city.

Once they were across, the streets, cobblestone labyrinths that widened and shrank with no apparent rhythm, held so many people elbowing one another, crying, offering something, fighting or flirting with one another, that Zaleck couldn’t help but turn his head constantly as they passed.

Arneth and Vellis, however, just rode straight through the throng on Solong and Ethellus, forcing people out of their way as if they were nobles themselves.

“I think I should try to find a good deal for our ‘acquired equipment’ as soon as possible,” Vellis suggested.

“I agree,” Arneth said. “Find us at the Flying Tortoise later on. I’ll rent a room for you as well.”

“You’ve been here before?” she asked, surprise coloring her voice just a bit, though Zaleck couldn’t tell if she was mocking him or not.

“Oh, no,” he answered, “but I’ve read about it.”

Vellis raised an eyebrow, turned, and rode down a wide street that in the distance ended at a big marketplace and the city’s church.

“That’s a big church,” Zaleck said.

“It’s a cathedral.”

“Isn’t that just a big church?”

Arneth grinned. “I suppose. The Church has its own guards and knights, and the cathedrals are where they train and live. That’s why it’s so tall. Outside of mass, people are clashing swords and spears in there.”

The man took the reins from Savior and nudged it alongside Ethellus as they rode through the streets.

“Arneth,” Zaleck called. Arneth glanced at him. “Why do some people bow their head to you?”

“Because they have probably met others like me and had their minds filled with any one of many types of nonsense.”

“There are others like you?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, “a whole castle of us. Way, way up north. The Verian Tower.”

“And is everyone there bald like you?”

He chuckled. “Almost everyone, yes.”

“Why?”

Arneth leaned toward him as he answered. “Because what comes with the baldness is what really matters.”

“And what’s that?”

“Knowledge. About everything.”

“Can I visit?” Zaleck asked.

Arneth tilted his head, smirking just a bit. “And what would you like to learn there, young Zaleck?”

“Well, I don’t know, but anything is fine, really. You know so much stuff, and I can’t even read yet. I’m sure if you asked one of your friends there, I could—”

Arneth raised a finger at him, his expression changing as a shadow crossed his eyes.

“What is it?” Zaleck asked, but Arneth just scanned the street around them. He kept them standing still for what seemed like too long, turning his head around, watching everyone walk past them.

At last, he turned back to Zaleck. “We are in danger.”

Zaleck blinked. “What?”

“Something’s not right. We are in danger. Serious danger. Right now.”

He looked around, mirroring Arneth. Every house here had two or three stories, as if to engulf the very sky above them. The throng of people had dwindled, but still the number of passersby was enough that they had to squeeze around the pair’s horses.

“Zaleck,” Arneth snapped at him, the urgency in his voice alarming, “listen to me. Ride. Ride as fast as you can after me.”

Arneth turned Ethellus, spurring him. “Hyah!” he screamed, darting down the street. “Make way!” he said, and everyone before him jumped out of the way. All Zaleck could do was try to follow, but the man wasn’t making it easy.

“Arneth! Wait!” he called, as Arneth rode farther and farther away.

The pair raced through the crowded streets like two maniacs on the run. Arneth overturned market stalls, forcing people to jump into one another, even knocking some over if they weren’t fast enough to move away.

One old lady just couldn’t react in time. Arneth avoided her by a hair’s breadth. Zaleck almost bumped into her as well, with Savior fighting harder and harder against his command, shaking his head over to one side or another.

Down wide and narrow streets Zaleck raced, running away from nobody. Not in front, nor behind or beside them—no riders ever came. The only danger in town was the two of them, their speeding horses pushing people out of their way.

“Arneth, there’s no one!” Zaleck cried to no one. Where was Arneth?

Which corner had he turned? How far away was he? Zaleck raced through Wolfpine, and as he crossed a wide street, guards at the far end were running at him.

Damn. Arneth had gotten so far ahead he’d lost him, and the city guards were coming for Zaleck. Now he knew where the danger was.

Turning at random would do him no good. He didn’t even know how to get to that inn they’d mentioned, but there, through the church, a gatehouse tower stood out—the closest way out of town he could find. Turning Savior around, he raced onward, following the largest streets he could.

Zaleck galloped through the market square by the church. “Make way!” he screamed. A dozen or so merchants jumped away from him, stalls and stands breaking as Savior bumped into them. The more Zaleck pushed him, the more his horse was riled up. Cries and yells rose from behind, but at least everyone before him opened up a path.

Guards closed in, coming from the side streets, but the exit bridge ahead beckoned. He would make it. He might not know where to go from there, but at least he’d be out of the city.

Then Arneth appeared right beside him, galloping in from another side street.

“Good. You caught up!”

“You’re crazy!”

The two of them bolted out of Wolfpine over the north bridge, away from the city houses and into the wheat fields. Arneth turned toward the setting suns on the hills beyond, already a few strides ahead.

“Arneth! Please! Wait!”

But all the man would do was look back over his shoulder and motion for him to catch up, even though Zaleck was losing more ground.

A heartbeat later, Arneth stopped spurring Ethellus until Zaleck had managed to catch up. He took on Savior’s reins while still yelling.

“Come! Quick!”

“But Arneth! What’s going on?”

“Look back,” he said.

Zaleck turned back toward Wolfpine just in time to see a group of four riders emerge from the city, chasing after them, weapons at their belts. Not guards, but the slavers who’d escaped the massacre back at the camp. How had Arneth known?

“Can you control Savior?” the man asked.

“I don’t know how!” Zaleck said.

Arneth let go of Savior’s reins and spurred Ethellus onward.

“Then learn! Hyah!”

Then learn?

Zaleck did his best to imitate Arneth.

“Hyah!” he shouted, though not as loud or as fast. To his surprise, though, Savior responded, his wild tossing now focused on racing ahead. Wind blew past Zaleck as he raced faster and faster.

Then he was doing it! He was on a horse, going faster than he’d ever gone, galloping and gaining speed toward the setting suns, the earthy scent of fresh grass rushing by him, the horse galloping just like his heart beat. The people behind him meant to kill him or worse, and yet Zaleck found himself grinning.

“Hyah!” he screamed again, and this time, he meant it.

In spite of his newfound talent, however, the four riders kept gaining on them. Savior still got too riled up at points, rebelling against Zaleck’s commands. Arneth seemed to noticed this as well, as he kept looking back at them and the riders more and more.

“Zaleck!” Arneth yelled, pointing just ahead. “There.”

On the slope of a nearby mount, silhouetted by the twilight sunbeams, a lone ruined tower stood defiant. As soon as Arneth pointed in its direction, he veered Ethellus onto a side road. Zaleck followed as best he could, still struggling with control.

The dirt road they were now on twisted around ever-increasing trees, through rising elevation. The four riders had covered at least half the distance between them.

As the light faded, Ethellus and Savior tired and the pathway became more treacherous. Raw speed became less of an issue, though, as their pursuers would be forced to slow down as well.

Zaleck and Arneth went round and round the mount until, at last, they came upon a short set of ruined steps leading up to the tower’s open archways. The sky still held on to its last blue glow before nighttime, and far to the east, the first stars already shone. The distant Wolfpine skyline was all lit up from torches and oil lamps, and from their vantage point, they could see the riders approaching below.

The ruins may once have been a fortress that overlooked the entire plains. Only a tower remained, the other walls no more than neck high. The tower, demolished as it was, had but one floor and half a stairway. The path they took ended at the tower steps. Farther on, a ravine greeted them with an otherwise breathtaking view of the valley.

They had nowhere else to run.

Arneth dismounted and left Ethellus on a bay that at one time long ago may have served as part of a stable.

“Quick,” he said, helping Zaleck dismount as well.

Zaleck’s heartbeats drummed faster and faster, counting down the moments until the riders caught up with them. Running away was just not an option. The inside of the tower had only a single circular room and an ascending stairway into nothing—nowhere to hide, at least not for long.

“What now?” Zaleck asked.

“Now,” Arneth said as he pulled a sword from his saddlebag, “now we face them.”

Zaleck gasped. “What?”

Chapter 4

Zaleck and Arneth didn’t have to wait long for the four riders to catch up to them. The two moved to the top of the tower’s stairs, just before its entrance, so that at least their pursuers would have to leave their horses behind in order to reach them.

Little more than their yellowish outlines were visible as twilight receded on the hills. The first rider dismounted and approached with grinning malevolence.

“We want nothing from you, mate. Just give us the boy and you may yet walk away.”

He spoke with the same accent as Zaleck’s capturers, and at the sound Zaleck’s heart raced again, causing him to clench his fists and grit his teeth.

“I don’t think I’m ready to do that, slaver. Turn back and you may yet walk away,” Arneth replied, his tone so cold Zaleck barely recognized it.

The man paused his advance. Still, the others had all drawn swords, and the first one raised his arms as wide as his grin.

“It’s four against one, mate. You don’t go against these odds.”

“Really? Well from where I’m standing, I think it’s three against one. In our favor.”

Zaleck glanced at Arneth. What kind of a bluff was that? Or was he just crazy? The four men took a step toward them, their supposed leader seeming to lose his patience.

“Last chance, baldy. This doesn’t have to get messy.”

They were dressed just like the campfire slavers, with frayed gambesons and worn-out brigandines, but the leader had a mail shirt and coif. In both numbers and equipment, they far overpowered Arneth and Zaleck.

“You have no idea who you’re up against, do you?” Arneth said.

The leader scowled, spitting to the side. His eyes narrowed, all pretense gone.

“As you wish, baldy!”

“Vellis, that’s your cue!” Arneth cried out.

An arrow shot from the darkened bushes behind the men. It went through one of the four, straight into his throat, pushing him forward as he stumbled with a gasp and a spray of his own blood.

Zaleck cried out in surprise. Two of the remaining men advanced at them, while the last turned around and ran toward the bushes where the arrow had come from.

Zaleck ran into the ruins of the keep, his feet scattering loose pebbles and stones over the uneven floor. The stairs that had once led up to the upper floors now stood broken about halfway. The walls reached only as high as his neck, and there was no second floor at all. Zaleck had no place to hide in there, except maybe beneath the steps. Whoever came for him would be taller, stronger, armed and armored. His only chance to try to run away.

He climbed the inner stairs as high as he could. He might not have any advantage, but he did have stones.

Their leader, chainmail-clad, stepped into the tower. As he glanced around, Zaleck threw a stone at him. It struck him in the shoulder, though it could have just as well flown past him for all good it did.

The slaver climbed the steps, sword raised. Zaleck threw another stone at him, square in the face. The man reeled this time, stumbling on the steps for a moment. Zaleck turned around and jumped down.

He hit the floor, falling badly on his ankle, twisting it in a jolt of pain. He cried out, and as he tried to run away, the lance of pain running up his leg made him stumble. A crack in the tower wall, hidden by the darkness and large enough for him to squeeze through, would be his only chance of escaping.

He stepped over the crack, but the slaver was already climbing down the stairs,coming for him. Zaleck even might have made it, if only there had been somewhere he could have run to, but beyond the crack there was just the sharp ravine leading into the dark.

The slaver grabbed Zaleck’s twisted ankle, bringing him down as he yelled. The boy bumped his head against the stone floor with a thud that dizzied him. He kicked at the slaver’s hand until the man lost his grip and release him.

Zaleck grabbed another stone from the floor, bigger than his own hand, and dashed it into the slaver, swinging it at his face. Before the strike connected, though, the slaver grabbed his hand, pulling Zaleck closer to him. The tip of his sword tasted Zaleck’s neck.

He should have stopped—the sharp blade at his neck could easily kill. But his wrists still hurt from being bound; the stink of his captors back at the cart still sickened him. He could not allow that to happen again, whatever the cost.

Zaleck kicked at the slaver and punched his arm. His only good foot had no support, and his fists still hurt too much. In a fluid motion, the slaver let go of Zaleck’s wrist and grabbed his neck, pressing the sword such that its tip sent another jolt of pain, this time through Zaleck’s throat.

“I’ve got the boy!” he shouted.

Zaleck felt the burly man holding him all over again, the thin man forcing him to drink the foul tonic that put him to sleep. His hands twitched as if they were bound once more, and his legs gave out as if his feet had been tied up again.

“Let go of me, let go!” he gasped. The man pulled him up, the cold sting of the sword on his neck. Zaleck should have stopped, but his panic caused him to thrash even more. He would not go back to the wagon—he could not.

“Let go!” he screamed. “Get away!”

Just like before, something broke inside of him. Like a dam cracking and letting out a furious flood, the sparks that burst within him all flared up. A wave inside of him started to move, like a second type of blood firing up within. It flowed from him alongside his cries and into the slaver.

As if the slaver were a ragdoll thrown by an invisible mighty hand, the man let go of Zaleck, catapulted up into the air. He shot away from the ruined keep, over the canopy of trees, falling in the bushes beyond. A scream followed the cracking sound of twigs and bones as he landed.

Zaleck gasped. His twisted ankle and his neck, moist with blood, urged him to scream, but his mind could not let go of the image of that slaver being thrown away in the air.

What the hells had just happened?

Grunts and ringing metal from outside drew him back to the tower. That had been one of the slavers; Arneth was still fighting another one. Limping back out, Zaleck winced while the man held back his opponent’s thrusts and jabs.

Those guys could fight. They’d advance, exchange blows in the gloom faster than Zaleck could see, than fall back again, assessing each other. Even if he’d had a sword, Zaleck would have been useless to Arneth.

He did still have rocks, though. As the combatants parted from another exchange, Zaleck threw them at Arneth’s opponent. One missed, but the other hit him in the face, and the man let out a split-second grunt.

It was enough time for Arneth to thrust his blade through the slaver’s opening. His sword plunged straight into the man’s chest, between his brigandine’s plates. Arneth pulled it out and thrust it again at the slaver’s hand, forcing him to drop the sword.

The man fell down, twitching, blood gushing through his wound as he eyed Arneth in sheer disbelief.

Just like that, the fight was over. Zaleck’s heart still thumped, and his legs still wobbled as he tried to limp. Arneth offered him a hand, helping him regain his footing.

The man Arneth had struck kept thrashing on the ground, blood running down the stair steps, but he moved slower and slower until at last he ceased. Once again, something burst into Zaleck, like a spark that had been ignited in his mind. It carried small, strange images. Memories—not of his own life, but of someone else’s.

“Are you alright?” Arneth asked.

No! Couldn’t the man see his neck had just been cut? But Zaleck could only babble.

“What . . . what did I . . .” He didn’t even know where to look. To Arneth, to the dead slaver behind him, or to the bushes beyond, where he’d somehow sent the other one.

Arneth helped Zaleck sit down on the steps. The man’s hands ran over his ankle.

“It’s not sprained, just dislocated,” Arneth said.

“Yes,” Zaleck winced, “can you—GAAAAH!”

Arneth twisted Zaleck’s foot back into position faster than a painful, agonizing, heartbeat. Zaleck gasped for a while as the man patted his shoulder.

“There. Fixed now.”

He also took his scarf and tied it around Zaleck’s neck. A bit too tight for his taste, but his complaints died out in a grunt of pain.

“Come,” Arneth said, helping him up. Zaleck limped behind him, still pressing against his neck wound.

As they headed down the flight of stairs, Vellis appeared before them.

“You have some explaining to do.” She pointed at Arneth.

“And I will. Soon. First, did you take care of the other one?”

“Yes, Arneth, I ‘took care’ of the other one. How the crap did you know that—”

“Later, Vellis, please,” Arneth snapped as he neared the fallen man whom Zaleck had thrown away. The slaver moaned and winced, his face and arms covered with cuts as he grasped at his leg, bent in the middle.

Arneth grabbed him by the scruff of his mail shirt, pressing him against a tree.

“You see?” he said, pointing at himself, Zaleck, and Vellis. “Three against one. You do not go against these odds.”

The man spit blood, but amid the agony of pain, a mask of rage held his answers back.

“Now, you will tell us what we want to know.”

“Go to hell,” the man spat. “I’m dead either way.”

“Let’s try diplomacy, then,” Arneth said. “Answer my questions, and we just might let you live.”

“The hell we will!” Vellis said.

“He nearly killed me!” Zaleck complained.

“Both of you, please! I’m trying to conduct a civil interrogation here.”

Vellis crossed her arms and raised her chin. The slaver’s eyes shone with anger, highlighted in the dusk by his growing paleness.

“Now, what is the name of this little group of yours?”

The man gritted his teeth, flaring his nostrils, silent but for a grimace.

“Listen. I’ve been level with you the whole time. So, I say to you now, you tell me what I want to know, and I’ll let you live.” Arneth used one hand to squeeze the man’s bent leg a bit. His scream came loud enough that Zaleck took a step back, shaking.

“Fine, fine!” he said. “We’re the White Serpents.”

“White Serpents. You gotta love those mercenary group names. Now, how did you find us, and what were your orders?”

“We . . .” The man spoke between gasps for breath. “We just, we got away from you when you escaped, then headed straight to town. When we saw you there, alone with the boy, we just, we thought we could get you. You—You’re not the target, we just had to deliver the boy. We were told to capture you lot so people would think there were slavers running around.”

“Who hired you?”

“I don’t know. Some fancy outfit from Highport. I never dealt with them. Only the captain did.”

“And where’s your captain now?”

“B-back in the city. Highport. He’s in the Salty Swords inn.”

“How many more of you ‘White Serpents’ are there?”

“Ten. With the captain.” Arneth squeezed his leg even more. The man screamed so high Zaleck winced as if the pain was his own.

“I swear! I swear! There’s no one else.”

Arneth let go of the man, who crumpled down, screaming even more.

“As promised, you are free to go,” he said.

“No way!” Vellis snapped. “You can’t be serious.”

“We promised, Vellis.”

“You promised. This is a mistake, Arneth, and you damn well know it.”

The man was already crawling out toward one of their horses.

“Maybe so, but this time, Vellis, this one time, you are going to have to trust me.”

Vellis narrowed her eyes and raised her hands. “You were very, very lucky that Zaleck caused such a ruckus in the market that I had to come after you, you know?”

Arneth nodded. “Very lucky indeed. Thank you for the save.”

Vellis squinted her eyes even further, as if she were trying to find a reason to be suspicious of him, but it didn’t last. A soft groan of pain came from the bushes behind her.

“Oh, damn!” she said, sounding more annoyed than worried, as she turned her back, drew a dagger from her belt and walked toward the trees.

Once more, something lit up within Zaleck, another spark, and by now he knew what it meant. Someone else had just died nearby. Hands shaking, he sat down on the grass, looking at Arneth.

“I—I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Vellis came back, unfazed after having killed a wounded man in cold blood. Arneth turned and sat before Zaleck.

“Now why would you say that, Zaleck?” he asked.

“You—you saw what I did didn’t you? There’s something happening . . . in me. I made that man fly away.”

Arneth pointed toward the ruined tower’s entrance, at the man he’d killed moments ago.

“See that man, Zaleck?”

Zaleck nodded.

“What’s his name?”

“What?”

“I want you to tell me his name.”

Zaleck would have laughed were it not for what he had just done and seen once again. Instead, he smirked.

“Come on,” he said.

“I’m serious. Close your eyes, think of that man, look inside of you, and remember his name.”

“I—I can’t. How can I . . .” Then it hit him, an understanding seeping into his mind unbidden, like when you want so much not to think of something that it becomes the only thing you think of. “Gorvan Zalk! He’s called Gorvan Zalk!” He gasped. “How do I know this?”

“Oh, by the bloody crap from hells!” Vellis cried out.

Arneth, unmoved by Vellis’s outburst, answered Zaleck.

“Because you are deathtouched.”

“I’m . . . what?”

“You’re deathtouched. You can summon and control the Flow.”

“You can do magic, boy.” Vellis explained.

“I’m . . . a flowcaster?”

Flowcasters, the ones who wove the Flow. Even up in Kaldhill they knew of them. The mages who had saved, and then almost destroyed, the world. Sorcerers and sorceresses who summoned lightning, lived in floating cities, and defied the very laws of nature. The saviors who’d fought and trapped the Ashen Lord, only to then try to take over the world themselves.

Zaleck was one of them?

“For real? But, how? I’ve never done anything like that.”

“Deathtouched only come into their abilities at specific moments in their lives,” Arneth said. “They can awaken if they go through a very traumatic experience.”

Vellis pointed at Zaleck. “That’s why they needed him to be asleep the whole time,” she said. “They were trying not to rile up his magic.”

Zaleck got up, helped by Arneth.

“You mean,” he said, “like in the stories? Of the seven mages, the fall of Atris and the Dominion of Death?”

“Well, I see you paid attention to church sermon. Yes, just like in the stories. Back then, there were a lot of deathtouched. Nowadays, however, after the Church of The Twelve purged most of them, they are very rare. You are very rare.”

“Well,” Vellis said, “that explains a lot.”

“Yes,” Arneth agreed, “and it paints an even greater target on us. If they captured you because they knew you are deathtouched, they will never stop coming after us.”

“Amazing, isn’t it?” she replied. “And you just let one of them go.”

Chapter 5

The fiery hues of the setting suns now faded into silhouettes against a deepening indigo sky. The tree’s shadows stretched across the landscape, casting the mountainside in a premature nighttime of its own. The rustle of creatures grew as crickets came out of their hiding spots, their chirps interrupted by the hoot of an owl.

Thuds and scratches dampened the night sounds as Vellis dragged the bodies of the three fallen slavers over and Arneth threw them together.

“These guys had a lot of random stuff,” she said. “It’d be a shame to waste it all.”

Arneth raised his eyebrowless brows. “I sense a proposition coming.”

“Well, I know a good fence close by. I can go there and get some pounds for all this loot, and then meet you back at the—What’s the name of that inn again?”

“Flying Tortoise. Yes. That mercenary is in all probability going to try reaching Highport. That’s a day’s ride from here. If he rides all night, he’ll be there by midday tomorrow. Then his friends will come back for us—that’s another day’s ride. We have time to spend the night at an inn today, and then talk about our options.”

High night had fallen when Zaleck, Arneth, and Vellis exited the side road leading to the ruined tower, heading back on the main road toward Wolfpine. The hubbub of the day had dwindled to a few lights in roadside taverns, as well as the permanent reddish glow of streetlamps that covered the city even from a distance.

“Well,” Vellis said, “do try not to provoke another merc group in the meantime, will you?”

Arneth nodded as she rode away into the many farmhouses scattered throughout the fields.

“What’s a ‘fence’?” Zaleck asked as he and Arneth rode on.

“It’s the name given to a person who buys stolen goods.”

“Are we thieves, Mister Arneth?”

“I don’t think the people we took these from would prosecute us on that, Zaleck.”

“So . . . graverobbers, then?”

“We never dug up any grave, have we?”

Zaleck was sure that somehow what they were doing was wrong. He could almost hear his mother berating him for stealing from the dead. Almost, because she wasn’t here, and he couldn’t find a way around Arneth’s logic on his own.

In the night, riding slower and unable to see the whole road, the way back into town seemed longer than the way out.

“Mister Arneth . . . so, eh, I’m a flowcaster, right? But what’s this ‘Flow,’ really? And what does it mean that I’m ‘deathtouched’?”

“Well, I’m not a flowcaster myself, Zaleck, so I can only give you secondhand information that I’ve read in books.”

“That’s fine. I bet you’ve read lots of books!”

“That I have. So, the Flow, as it is called, is the flow of life. Everything in the world is surrounded by the flow of life, even objects like rocks, clouds and rivers, even things like knowledge and memory. Flowcasters can sense and control the Flow, but there’s a catch. Flowcasters only sense and control the Flow when it’s strongest, and the Flow is at its strongest in two specific moments: when someone dies, and when someone is born. If you sense the flow of death, you are called a ‘deathtouched,’ and if you sense the flow of birth, you are called a ‘lifegiven.’”

“And . . . what can I do with it?”

“Nearly anything.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Can I . . . fly?”

Arneth chuckled.

“Yes, Zaleck, you can fly, but only once. Whenever you use the Flow to do something, you can never, ever do that same thing again.”

“Bummer! But why?”

“I’m sorry, but you’d need an actual flowcaster to explain that to you. However, there is something I must tell you, something every book I’ve read on the subject warns against. You must not ever, ever, for any reason, use the Flow to directly kill someone. If you do, very bad things happen.”

“Like what?”

“Well, stories tell many versions of that. For instance, this one guy used the Flow to kill a man, and everyone in the same city withered away right then. There’s one of a girl who used the Flow to send a bolt of lightning down on a man who wronged her father, and the whole region was drowned in a deluge that lasted for weeks. There are many such stories, each one worse than the other. Bottom line is: Don’t do it. The Flow is powerful, but also very dangerous. I would suggest that you try not to use it at all until you get proper training.”

“Try not to use it? But I don’t even know what I’m doing!”

“Well, pay attention, then.”

Zaleck gasped in disbelief. That was easy for him to say. He came from a castle and knew lots of things and could even fight with a sword, but who would want to teach Zaleck? He was a farm boy from nowhere important, who didn’t have a penny, and the only thing he knew how to do was help his father on the fields. Not to mention how he looked.

Many fewer people were coming in and out of Wolfpine by the time they neared the northern bridge, so few that the two guards on patrol pointed at Zaleck and Arneth and began talking to each other as soon as the pair came into view.

“Eh . . . Mister Arneth, I think we may have problems entering the city. When we ran away last time, I think some guards saw me.”

Arneth nodded. “Of course. Let me handle it.”

“Halt!” A guard shouted before they’d even crossed the bridge. “You are both wanted for the vandalization of property in the market. Come with us.”

Arneth leaned down from his saddle. “My good officer. Could we not explain to you what happened?”

“You will explain this, alright, to the constable.”

“Are you sure? I feel I must give you an explanation.”

The guard approached Ethellus, spear at the ready.

“Dismount and come at once,” he said.

“Thorien,” Arneth said. The man took a step back, widening his eyes.

“How do you—”

“You see, Thorien, the thing is, we were being chased by brigands. They chased us all the way up that keep.” Arneth pointed westward. “And we just survived the assault. My son, here—” He pointed at Zaleck, who perked up in his seat. “He was wounded, and we need assistance immediately. We must go into town right away. Now, I could follow you to the constable, and tell him the whole story. You could also let me in now, then check up on what I told you, and then you could tell the constable whatever you wanted about who defeated those brigands.”

Thorien eased his grip on his spear, a slight frown on his face.

“Your son was wounded, you say?”

“Yes, look.” Arneth pulled down Zaleck’s scarf, by now all splotched with blood. Zaleck almost winced, but the gesture didn’t hurt as much as he’d expect.

The guard squinted at the sight of his wound.

“Alright, move along. We’ll check your story out.”

“Much obliged.” Arneth nodded.

Zaleck ran over the conversation once or twice in his mind before realizing he would not understand what had just happened on his own.

“Arneth, what did you just do, back at the bridge?”

“I played with his greed and worry.” He sounded almost smug. “Always potent motivators.”

“Right, but . . . how did you know his name?”

“Oh, that? I read the other guard’s lips at a distance when they were talking to each other.”

Zaleck raised his eyebrows. If he could do that, what else could Arneth do?

At night, the streets of Wolfpine were drained of their full daily human throng. Zaleck could even ride Savior without worrying about everyone around him. A lot of people still walked the streets, though, some even looking shadier than before. In spite of that, no one bothered them on their way to the inn, an oversized wooden building near one of the city entrances with a large stable on the side. Its whole ceiling was a top-down ship that made it indeed look like a tortoise.

Arneth haggled for three adjacent rooms with the innkeeper and soon enough handed Zaleck a key. He stared at it for a moment. This would be his first time sleeping anywhere alone. Always before there had been his brothers, or his father, or his friends, or even Arneth and Vellis. Opening the inn room by himself even made him feel a hint of exploration.

A brief exploration, though. The room almost didn’t have enough space for him, featuring just a window, a wooden chest, and a bed. A bed. An actual bed with a mattress and a pillow, and he would sleep on it.

Arneth entered the room after Zaleck, which nearly used up all of its space. He sat down on the bed, holding a bottle.

“Come here,” he said, uncorking it.

“What’s that?”

“Gin, to clean your cut. We don’t want it getting infected on this bed. Now, hold. This will sting a little.”

It did sting. Zaleck bit his teeth as he grunted under the hot flash of pain in his neck. When Arneth tied the scarf up again around it, however, the burning had already died down to a throbbing.

“Now, try to have a good night. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Zaleck lay on the bed, which seemed like it would engulf him whole. So much softer than his pile of hay back home. The pillow, too, felt like someone who would hug him all through the night. He lay down to rest for a bit, but his whole body got so heavy.

So many things had happened. He’d killed three people—or rather, helped Arneth and Vellis kill them. Then he’d found out he could do magic, and the way he galloped on Savior. He could still fell the wind and the speed, and the horseback pulsing underneath . . .

Someone knocked on his door. The slits of sunlight shining through the window blinded him briefly while his eyelids tried to remain closed. Birds called outside. Somehow, morning had come.

Still groggy from sleep, he opened the door. A boy just a bit older than him stood outside.

“Hi, ehm, I was told to tell you your bath is ready.”

“Eh?” Zaleck groaned.

“Your bath is ready”—the boy pointed to a room at the end of the corridor—“and the red-haired lady told me to tell you you’d better take it or she’ll scrub your grime with her own knife. She seemed serious.”

Zaleck nodded, and the boy went away.

A few minutes into his bath, the scent of fresh pastries wafting from the floor below was enough to make the rest of the scrubbing and cleaning a torturous exercise in restraint. Zaleck got dressed as fast as he could before running down the flight of stairs into the floor-level tavern.

A good number of people already filled the place with raucous banter, arguments, and random shouting. Like always, some of them took note of him as he appeared, but only one person raised his arm at him—Arneth, at a table by the corner. Vellis sat by his side, measuring Zaleck up and down as he approached.

“Good,” she said. “That bath cost me three pennies, you know?”

“What’s with you and baths, anyway?” Zaleck asked.

“What’s with you and being filthy, farm boy?”

“Vellis and I were just discussing our next steps, Zaleck. Join us.”

Arneth didn’t have to invite him. The morning-baked bread and half-cured cheese on the table were already invitation enough, though the true irresistible pull came from the butter-fried sausages.

“I’m gonna have to pay for an extra meal just for you!” Vellis said.

“He’s growing,” Arneth said.

She shook her head. “Not if we can’t lose those serpent guys.”

“Yes, we already have horses and funds for a trip north, but if we take the main roads, they will find us again for sure. I think we’d better find a local map with side roads we can use to draw as little attention as possible.”

“That’ll be irrelevant, Arneth. These guys know where they’ve captured us. At the very least, they know where they’ve captured Zaleck. They can very well go all the way north and just wait for us there.”

“So, what are you proposing? That we face an entire mercenary company, the three of us?”

“Hah! You are very kind if you are counting on young Zal here.”

“Hey, I can help!” Zaleck said.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full, boy!” Vellis snapped.

“Yes, mom!”

A sudden silence overcame him as soon as he realized what he’d just said. She wasn’t his mother; his mother was many days away, and maybe even thought he was dead. Why would he say that? He didn’t even want Vellis to be his mother; she was a cold-blooded killer who looked nothing like Mom, or any mother for that matter.

And yet, Vellis also looked taken aback. Zaleck didn’t know—he’d never asked—but maybe she also had a mother waiting for her.

“I—Sorry,” he said.

Vellis patted his head, an awkward caress. Were those tears in her eyes?

“It’s alright, Zal.”

The three took some bites in silence, as if each waiting for someone else to break the moment. Though Zaleck didn’t want to have snapped at Vellis like that, he also didn’t want to not have said it. After all, she did pat his head because of it. The silence lengthened the feeling that remained in his hair, such that he would have let it go on for much longer had Vellis not spoken first.

“Anyway, what I am proposing is that we go with the only option we have left.” She leaned forward. “We lay them a trap.”

Arneth leaned back in his chair. Zaleck missed a breath as his fingertips grew cold. Not so much at what Vellis implied, but more so because she sounded so excited at the prospect of killing ten people.

“Ten against three? Paraphrasing our deceased nemeses, ‘we don’t go against these odds.’”

“We do, with a plan. If we set up the place the right way, we can grab them, Arneth.”

The man closed his eyes while pressing his fingers on his forehead. He frowned for a bit, as if he were making some great effort in his mind.

“It’s possible,” he said at last, “but we need to leave their captain alive.”

“Oh, come on, Arneth? Would you have me fight with a hand tied to my back?”

“Someone hired the White Serpents, Vellis. If we just kill them all, we’ll never know.”

Vellis raised her chin. “Fine, we’ll try to leave their leader alive.”

“Also, if you plan on laying them a trap, someone has to be bait.”

Arneth and Vellis exchanged a long glance, like they were daring one another to speak.

“Eh, I can do it,” Zaleck said. Both turned at him.

“You’re not going to be bait, Zal!” Vellis said.

“It’s me they want. It has to be me.”

“We are not putting you at greater risk,” Arneth said.

“But I have magic. I can make a flowcast and—”

“No!” they said in unison.

“Zaleck you are not a flowcaster yet.” Vellis’s tone was hushed now. “You are an untrained flowcaster. Right now, you are a disaster waiting to happen. The stories of untrained flowcasters are the stuff of nightmares. You have to promise not to flowcast again.”

“She’s right, Zaleck. You have to try to control yourself.”

Zaleck would have answered, if he only had an answer to give. Instead, he just puffed. Arneth touched his shoulder.

“I’ll do it, Zal. Vellis is a markswoman, she has to stay hidden. You are the one they want, so if they see you, they’ll kill anyone else just to get to you. It has to be me.”

It made sense, of course. Even if it meant Zaleck would be more useless than an empty sack of grain.

“So, how do we do it, then?” he asked.

“We do it in the woods,” Vellis said. “We find a good spot, prepare the place, leave enough hints for them to find us, and wait. But if we are going to pull this off, we need to go to the market first.”

Chapter 6

Theron Vangard paced around a dark low table at the center of the room, trying, and almost failing, to keep from strangling the smelly, dirty, incompetent mercenary who sat at one of the plush seats.

Midday light filtered through the ornate lattice windows, casting a kaleidoscope of pastel hues across the room. Gold threads on the wall tapestries shimmered, highlighting historical scenes of battles and victories. The wooden floor, polished to a high sheen, reflected the light in warm tones when not covered in handwoven carpets of geometric designs.

Beyond the windows, the morning hubbub of harbor life seeped through the thick glass—the creaking gangplanks no more than a whisper, the shouts from the market no more than a ruffle. The room, too, could hardly be felt rocking as the ship stood docked, more stable than any other due to its size alone.

The only other person in the room, Duke Calahan Orr, shot him a sidelong glance, tensing as if expecting Theron to lash out at any minute.

“Thrown away, you say? Into the air?” Theron asked again.

“That’s what he said, your eminence. Thrown into the air like some invisible giant grabbed him and tossed him up.”

Theron pressed two of his fingers on his forehead while taking a deep breath, his jeweled rings glistening at the mercenary. The boy had awakened, with no one around to guide him. It was just a matter of time, now—little time—until he got himself killed or caused some catastrophe. Theron’s only options now were to either go back home, or throw caution out the window.

“What about that other one, the bald one?”

“Eh, just some bald guy. A swordsman, he said. Your eminence.”

“Does he have eyebrows?”

The mercenary frowned.

“Eyebrows? Eh, I don’t know. Hm, maybe not. He said the guy is all bald.”

As if things couldn’t get any worse.

“Your eminence, if I may ask, what are your orders?”

Theron swiveled around, facing the mercenary with the most intense stare he could muster without poking the man’s eyeballs out with his nails.

“Your orders? Your orders have been given, Captain. Many days ago. Have they been fulfilled?”

“No, your eminence, but the whole caravan is now—”

“Have they been fulfilled?” Theron screamed, arms shaking.

The mercenary swallowed dry, looking down.

“No, your eminence.”

“You were very well paid for this job. If you are still inane enough that you need further orders, go back to your miserable company and find a way to make it happen!”

The mercenary opened his mouth. He clearly wanted to say something, some kind of excuse or cop-out, but Theron stopped his thoughts in their tracks.

“Now, Captain!”

The mercenary stumbled out of the room, almost tripping over his own legs. When the door shut behind him, Theron let out a weary sigh.

“This is a disaster,” he said as he sat before Duke Orr.

The duke smelled the wine in his cup while swirling it, taking a sip that rested in its mouth for a time before saying anything. “Don’t you think they may still be able to complete the job?”

Theron glanced back at the bearded, austere, middle-aged man. “I think not. People do have a way of surprising us, though, and if they manage to do it, I’ll be surprised indeed.”

“Ten mercenaries against a boy and two people, and you think they can’t do it?”

“They are not just two people. There’s a Daht’Gahren among them. When one of them is involved, you can very well multiply their numbers tenfold. That’s why we banished them all from Kaylor. That’s why the secrecy of this arrangement was paramount, so these people wouldn’t get involved. You see, unlike you northerners, we know how dangerous they are.”

Duke Orr squinted his eyes, a gesture that made his knife-sharp nose seem all the more diminutive.

“They are scholar monks. They don’t interfere in politics.”

“Open your eyes, Your Highness. They already rule all of the north and you just haven’t realized it yet. One day, though, you will. Just when it’ll be about too late to do anything. Then, it’s going to be another purge all over, just like it was with flowcasters. Though this time, it may be the whole nobility.”

Duke Orr stood, scoffing as he moved up to the wooden wine stand by the wall. The man didn’t even ask to uncork another bottle before taking out a thirty-year vintage rose.

The sacrifices one had to make to keep an alliance.

“The boy is awake,” Calahan said. “He’s flowoven at least once now. Shouldn’t you take care of this—I mean, on your own, Your Eminence? After all, being a flowcaster yourself, you may be the only one in the kingdom who can stop him.”

Theron also stood up. It was already bad enough that Calahan Orr towered over him when they both stood side by side, but he’d be damned if he let that man talk to him while he sat down.

“Do you really think it’s advisable, my dear duke? What would the queen, your sister, do when she found out a Kaylor archpriest is gallivanting on her lands unchecked? Who would she turn to for explanations? It’s already a miracle those three escapees didn’t go to Countess Deranis for help. That sycophant could have thrown a mountain of boulders on our scheme. We do not need the attention.”

Calahan pursed his lips.

“Point taken. Nevertheless, I’ll send a scout of my own after the mercenaries. Whether they succeed or fail, we must know that immediately.”

“A sensible precaution. Just mind that he doesn’t wear your colors. Maybe we can still do this with a measure of secrecy.”

Calahan Orr drank the wine drip by drip. He almost seemed about to say something when a tug pulled at Theron from behind—a soft, constant touch coming from his shadow on the wall.

The others wanted to talk to him.

Theron made a show of weariness, frowning and waving around.

“I require my chambers now, Highness. All this business was very tiring, and I need to meditate on what happened.”

Calahan nodded. He left the cup at the table while bowing as deeply as his station required, and not an inch more.

“I’ll keep you informed of the progress.”

“Gratitude,” Theron replied.

As Calahan left, he locked the windows and lowered the curtains in the room, casting it in a heavy gloom. From a cabinet, he took out a dark metallic oil lantern. He opened the lamp’s lid and stepped away. His shadow upon the wall silhouetted by the lamp light.

Turning to his shadow, he clasped his hands, bringing them close to his mouth. He whispered at one of his rings, the black one, made of raven bone. Ravens were reliable messengers.

“Veza Ossori. Xallan Na’Hali.”

The tug from before intensified, becoming a pull that spread it apart. His own shadow deformed, twisted, split up on the wall, becoming two other shadows, one from Archpriest Veza, the other from Archpriest Xallan. Two shapes in the wall before him, all dark except for the golden skull tattoo the three of them wore on their foreheads. That sign shone yellow-gold on the wall, casting its own soft glow.

Shadows could not hear nor speak, but they could whisper, and as they spoke, Theron heard their voices as if from right behind his neck. Their presence was so close he could almost turn around and see them, if he didn’t know better. They remained thousands of miles away, back in Kaylor.

“Theron,” Veza said, her shadow mirroring her movement from so far. “What news?”

“The mercenaries found the boy.” He bit his lip. “And then he escaped.”

“Escaped?” Xallan said “He’s awake?”

“Yes. He’s awake and he’s already flowoven once.”

“That is suboptimal,” Veza replied. Even her shadow, sitting at her plush throne, betrayed her ire. Through her whispers, her earrings and bracelets clinked as she moved her head. “What are your current plans?”

“We have to thread very carefully right now. There’s a Daht’Gahren involved. He’s helping the boy.”

“How did that happen?” Xallan asked. With his shadow donned in armor, Theron caught the smallest whiff of musk and desert shrubs. He was in a campaign right now. “This was supposed to take place in complete secrecy.”

Theron closed his eyes and sighed.

“I assume there’s only so much secrecy we can count on when an archpriest himself comes to Ayrn. My very presence here may have sparked their awareness.”

“You should have approached him personally,” Veza replied in her usual bossy tone. “They are poor farmers; you would have easily won them over.”

“Well, that ship has sailed now. Furthermore, if the Daht’Gahren found us, even though we did everything we could to keep this secret, you can be sure I would never get close to the boy’s village. After all, they do live less than five hundred miles from Verian.” Theron clenched and unclenched his fists a few times. “What news from the front, Xallan?”

“Rebels everywhere. I’ve just had to flay two spies from my company. The rumors spread ever faster.”

“Things are just a little more stable in the city,” Veza said. “There’s talk in the streets and the court, but no one has dared mention this openly to me yet.”

“How much time do you assess we have until the situation is critical?”

“Theron,” Xallan said, making no effort to hide his impatience, “three cities are already in open rebellion. The situation is critical right now.”

“What about that other possible flowcaster? The girl from Trasya?”

“I got a report last week about her,” Veza said. “It seems that a boy tried to take advantage of her and she turned him to stone. Her whole village was then petrified, and the statues started walking around, destroying the other communities. She did not survive. This boy is our only chance at the cleansing right now.”

“Theron,” Xallan said, “tell us you have a plan.”

“I do. I still have a sizeable mercenary group hunting for them, and if that fails, well, I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

“Very well, Theron,” Veza said, “but I, for one, would take matters into my hands right now. Nevertheless, let’s see how this plays out.”

Theron bowed his head, a gesture followed by the other two. As he unclasped his hands, the shadows of the other archpriests faded, their tug going away and gloom taking over the room once more. An overbearing dizziness took hold of him. By luck he kept standing, the wooden bench he leaned on preventing him from falling down. Every time, these communications took more and more of a toll. Last time he’d slept for a whole day. In a day, everything could go wrong.

He half dragged himself to the bed beside the other wall, panting as he lay. The dizziness had him wandering, unconsciousness eating at his thoughts. If he were to sleep for a day once more, he had no choice but to trust in the limited competence of local nobles and mercenaries.

Chapter 7

Creaking wooden carts, vendors advertising their wares, the chatter of haggling customers. Wolfpine’s market held, at any time of the day, more people than all of Kaldhill, the town near Zaleck’s home.

Butchers selling cured meat beside fishmonger stalls, fresh with catch. Vegetable and flower stalls beside cloth merchants. The whole city walked through those wide streets made small by the labyrinthine array of stands. With all the hagglers and peddlers, a simple stroll would be enough to acquaint oneself with the latest prices as well as news—gossip ran faster than flies, after all.

Zaleck, Arneth, and Vellis spent most of their time at the tool vendors, where Arneth and Vellis purchased picks and shovels, knives and axes. A bit later they stopped at a cloth stall to get Arneth a quality gambeson. At all times, they kept as far from the food stalls as possible, since those were the ones Zaleck had overturned the most when galloping through the market the day before.

It was the weaponsmiths, however, that drew Zaleck’s attention and excitement.

“Are we going to get me a new sword?” he asked. Vellis had sold the chipped one he’d gotten from the slaver’s caravan the night before.

“No, Zaleck, we’re not getting you a sword,” she replied, almost inaudible beneath the bustle of the crowd.

“But you all have weapons,” he said, “I have to protect myself somehow, too!”

“We know how to use them, Zaleck,” Arneth explained.

“Well, you can teach me!”

“Zaleck, it takes more than three days on the road to learn how to use a blade.”

“Okay, so I’ll not be a master, but come on! Everyone we meet tries to kill us! And we’re gonna go against a whole bunch of them. I need to have a way to fight back!”

“You’re just going to hurt yourself.”

“And is that better than being kidnapped again? Come on! You know I need it. I really do.”

Vellis sighed. “He’s not gonna stop, Arneth.”

“Listen, Zaleck, having a sword is not just parading around with it. You have to know how to care for the blade. Do you know how to do it?”

“No, but . . . You can teach me that, too! You know so much stuff, it won’t take long to teach me. I promise I’ll only use it when you let me!”

“Fine,” Arneth said, defeated at last, “but you’ll keep it sheathed and only ever take it out when I tell you, understand?”

“Yeah! I’ll do it. You’ll see! Come on, the weaponsmiths are over there!”

At last, they got Zaleck a smaller sword, more fitting for his size and strength, and a pair of training wooden swords for him and Arneth.

The suns rose midway through morning as they left the town over its southern bridge.

“Did you say you were in the army, Vellis?” Zaleck asked.

Vellis looked down, her silence answer enough that he should’ve dropped the subject. He didn’t, but he also looked down when he spoke.

“My mom said I had a brother who went to the army too. He didn’t come back, though.”

“Many of those boys didn’t,” Vellis whispered. She glanced back up as she inhaled, like someone taking in a medicine. “How far away do you reckon they are, Arneth?” she asked, louder.

“I assume they must be making way toward Wolfpine in all haste. Ten people, riding horses—that’ll put them still a few hours away. I’d say they’ll meet with us late night, if they follow our trail properly.”

“How are they even gonna find us?” Zaleck asked.

“We spent the better part of the day in the market,” said Vellis. “A bald man and an albino boy, and we left town in view of everyone. Not to mention, after yesterday, every guard in Wolfpine knows very well who you are. They’d have to be utterly incompetent not to follow us. In any case, we need a place that neutralizes their horses, which means, that way.” She pointed to some woods on the horizon, a bit southwest from the road.

Soon, they were walking around the woods until they found a proper place to camp, which had to be just the right mix of uneven ground with overgrown bushes. The kind of place you could trip and fell if you were running at night.

Vellis looked around the area, hands on her waist.

“A whole day to set up traps all over this place. Oh, joy!”

Then the real work started, and it was no joy. Arneth selected a number of nearby trees for them to chop down. Vellis had them cut and move even more bushes into the camp. All three of them hacked at logs, dug ditches, and carried scrubs well into the afternoon. They had but a quick bite of dry meat and cheese for lunch.

Over time, the small clearing became an island surrounded by hidden ditches and spikes. Even Zaleck’s calluses opened up into a few blisters with their incessant work. At least they did it under the cool shade of trees, and later, at night. Doing it under the suns would have been torture for him.

Before dark, Arneth had them use ropes to bend a few tree branches, tying their tips on a bunch of sticks that formed a platform.

“A spring trap?” Vellis asked. “What are you going to use that for, Arneth?”

“The campfire.”

They lit the campfire over the trap, and though Vellis seemed to find that just plain wrong, she didn’t object, not with the little time they had to set the place up.

Darkness had slowed their work to a near halt, hunger threatened to make them faint, and sweat drenched them whole when Arneth said, “That’s it. This will have to do.”

“Are you sure, Arneth?” Vellis said. “The left flank still has some open spaces we could improve.”

“I’m sure, Vellis, because they are almost here.”

Vellis widened her eyes, glancing all around. “Where?”

“There.” Arneth pointed at a pitch-black spot amid the trees in which nothing could be seen, with the campfire’s glare so close.

“I see nothing,” she said.

“Trust me on this.”

“Last time I trusted you, you let go a guy who brought ten brigands back on us.”

Arneth turned to her, gritting his teeth. “Hide. Now.”

She narrowed her eyes at him like someone ready to snap back, a look that stayed on her face as she walked away.

“What do I do?” Zaleck asked, still panting.

“Lie down on that ditch we dug. I’ll cover you with foliage. Whatever happens, you do not get out of there, you make no sound. Understood?”

Zaleck nodded.

Arneth covered him in bushes as he lay in the dirt, then looked straight into Zaleck’s eyes and said, “Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine.”

“How can you know?” Zaleck asked.

He winked at him.

“Because I’ve seen the future.”

Zaleck sighed, as it was about the only thing he could do at the time. Arneth took a few steps away from him and sat beside the campfire.

Throughout the night, they waited.

The way Arneth had said it, it seemed to Zaleck the slavers were right upon them, about to strike at any minute. Instead, the chirps of crickets grew deafening, the hoots and caws of birds had him glancing in every direction. His own heartbeat grew to a dreadful rhythm. The shadows cast by the campfire danced on the trees, mocking him for even believing he would ever be safe again. Twice he almost asked, “Are you sure they’re here?”, but on both occasions, by coincidence or some weird intuition, Arneth would look at him and gesture for him to wait a bit more.

Small critters scurried through his legs and arms. Zaleck frowned and bit his lip as he held back the need to scratch them.

Zaleck thought the slavers would just show up, like at the ruined keep. Then they’d talk for a bit with Arneth, he’d say something haughty, and they’d attack. Instead, from the darkness, an arrow shot past Arneth. No warning, just a shot at the head that missed him by a finger.

Arneth threw himself down. Two other shots passed him by. Those would have hit him square in the chest had he not ducked. He half stood and then dived down again. Three more shots missed him.

Three heartbeats passed before the voice came from beneath the dark. “Give us the boy.”

“Come get him,” Arneth replied.

No one came, though. Zaleck had to remember to breathe and unclench his fists. The slavers could have won right then. All they had to do was wait them out. They had to have brought food for a few days, whereas he, Arneth, and Vellis had nothing to eat or drink. If the slavers played the waiting game, it was over.

Instead, they made the mistake Arneth and Vellis had counted on.

“Get him, boys!” someone said.

Five men dashed into their camp, wearing heavy, dirty gambesons and mismatched hauberks, wielding chipped longswords and axes. Three of them stumbled into ditches filled with loose bushes. Another fell with an arrow between the eyes, courtesy of Vellis. Only one reached Arneth, but he was already up, sword in hand, striking at the man’s wrist. The opponent stepped back, parrying the blow, and Arneth counterswung his blade, which the man also parried, but then Arneth followed his attack with a kick in the chest that had the slaver reeling back.

The other three men who had fallen already stood back up, though one of them was thrown aside by an arrow in the neck. The two advanced at Arneth. The first one, who had stumbled back, only had time to get up when yet another of Vellis’s arrows struck him in the chest.

Already, three sparks had burst within Zaleck—the slaver’s death flows.

Three arrows shot past Arneth, missing him only just.

“Get the archer!” someone cried from within the woods.

Arneth stepped back as he parried a sword thrust and an axe swing. In his last defense, the impact had his weapon spin around for a counterstrike that the slaver also parried. Arneth stepped back as the axe almost chopped off his hand.

Vellis’s arrow missed one of the opponents right as the slaver’s arrows missed Arneth. He was skipping around the tight space surrounding the campfire. The opponent with the axe advanced and Arneth stepped beside him, hanging on a foot from stepping on a ditch, like he was some sort of ballet dancer. The opponent, however, stumbled into the ditch, falling flat-faced on loose branches. His cry was cut short by an arrow in the nape.

Rustling came from beside the campfire, as the other slavers probably maneuvered, looking for Vellis.

Arneth and his last opponent took a step back, eyeing each other. Arneth, however, never stopped jumping around. Arrow after arrow came from the woods, always missing him just so.

“You idiots!” someone shouted from beyond.

Arneth lunged at his opponent with a flurry of blows that forced him into a series of parries as he stepped back once, twice, and straight into another ditch. Arneth dove into him, sword first. The man’s last grunt came with muffled surprise.

Zaleck’s own breathing became the single loudest sound for a time. Arneth crawled through the floor, slower than a snail, toward the campfire. His dirty face was reddened by the flames. For a beat, he exchanged a glance with Zaleck before getting up and running toward the fire.

Two more arrows shot at Arneth, and this time one found his leg. He stumbled and fell beside the campfire, just far enough that his sword could reach the end of the rope and spring the trap.

The whole campfire was thrown up, spreading into a few dozen improvised torches that fell all over the woods. A few silhouettes flashed among the shadows, guiding one, two, three of Vellis’s arrows.

Another death flow burst within Zaleck. Six slavers had already lost their lives.

Arneth held back a grunt, but still it came as a stifled moan. Their camp had drowned in darkness, while small pockets of light flickered from beyond.

“Do you still want to go on?” Arneth said. He may have sounded confident, but even Zaleck could see the blood trickling down his leg. Whichever way this would go, it would have to end fast if Arneth was to have a chance of surviving.

Cries of surprise came from the woods. Zaleck could make out two people engaging one another amid the trees.

Arneth stood up, limping on one leg while scarlet strands of blood ran down the other. He opened up his arms.

“What’s the matter? You want the boy?”

Arneth limped toward Zaleck’s hideout, grunting and wincing. He started removing the bushes over Zaleck, who tried pleading for Arneth to stop with his expression alone—didn’t he have to keep hidden?

Instead, Arneth grabbed him by the collar and raised him up.

“He’s right here!” Arneth said.

Two arrows shot out, one meeting Arneth in the shoulder. Before Arneth could even stumble down, a second arrow from beside them shot at where the others had come from. Another death flow flared.

Arneth fell back, bringing Zaleck on top of him.

The last two slavers dashed into their camp, straight at Zaleck. They took three steps before falling in a ditch. As they got up, Vellis came into view, running at them, knives in hand. She jumped at one, digging her knives into his neck, bringing him down yet again. The last slaver swung at her, but she rolled aside, flipping back up acrobatically.

Vellis and the man measured each other.

“It’s over,” she said, “don’t be stupid.”

The man’s wide eyes let Zaleck know he understood very well what she’d said. Still, he advanced at her. She parried the blow, throwing a knife at his face. The man’s blade deflected her throw into a cut to his cheek, but Vellis’s second weapon dug into his wrist. She grabbed his arm, twisting her whole body over his, forcing him down face first with a thud.

Zaleck stood up, in spite of his trembling legs.

Over. Was it over?

“Arneth, are you alright?”

With an arrow through his leg, another at his shoulder, he said, “I’ve been better, Zaleck.”

Zaleck could not keep a chuckle down.

Vellis, sitting atop the pinned slaver, turned back to them.

“How bad is it, Arneth?”

“Bad enough,” he said. “I need help. But I can wait for your friendly interrogation. Go, Zaleck. You’ll want to hear this.”

Zaleck took slow steps toward Vellis, though he stole a few glances at Arneth.

“Now, you’ll talk!” Vellis told the slaver. Through a grimace, her captive spat in her face. That only made her smile.

“No,” Zaleck said.

“No what?” Vellis asked.

“No. I’m taking Arneth into the city right now. He cannot wait.”

Vellis nodded. Then she punched the fallen slaver’s face once, twice, three times, knocking him down.

“You’re right,” she said, “Arneth, he’s taking you to a doctor right now. You go, Zaleck. Take him back to town. I’ll take care of this one here, and then I’ll find you.”

Between heavier and heavier breaths, Arneth nodded.

Chapter 8

Vellis and Zaleck helped Arneth mount Ethellus, smearing their hands in the blood that ran down his chest and leg. Arneth winced and frowned all the way but managed to sit almost upright as they started riding.

“Take me . . . to the Bald Flowers . . . in the church district,” Arneth whispered.

“What’s that, Arneth?” Zaleck replied.

“The Bald Flowers. It’s . . . an apothecary . . .”

Zaleck nodded. With Volea already up, and Zytov still to rise, they’d be back in town in the dead of night. Way past curfew, that was for sure. Still, with Arneth bleeding as he was, the guards had to let them in.

With the city skyline still in sight, Arneth leaned forward on his horse, almost falling down a couple of times. They had to ride much slower than before. His face got paler and paler, blood dripping through his leg and arm, and yet whenever he glanced at Zaleck, he blinked and nodded as if everything were fine.

Nothing was fine, though.

As they neared the bridge, the two guards on duty pointed at them.

“Hey, look at that! It’s the little market thug from yesterday!”

“Halt!” the other guard said as he advanced.

“Please!” Zaleck said. “We need to go in. He’s in a bad shape. We need a doctor.”

“You’re coming with us, that’s what! You can talk to the garrison doctor.”

“Please, look at him!” Zaleck shouted, pointing at the ever-bloodier Arneth.

Both guards paused. Their eyes darted from Arneth to Zaleck, expressions shifting between duty and worry.

Arneth put a hand in his pocket and let three silver pounds drop on the floor.

“Please!” Zaleck repeated. “We’re going to the Bald Flowers—just let us go there, then you can take me wherever you want.”

One guard stepped up, picking up the silver coins. “Come on,” he said, “I know the way.”

The guard took Arneth’s reins as he escorted them through town up to the two-storied house crammed in an alley in a mazelike neighborhood of Wolfpine. By then, Arneth had slumped on his saddle, and Zaleck could not get him back up.

Zaleck knocked frantically on the door. Twice, people from nearby houses shouted for him to stop, but he only ceased when the lock clicked and the door swung open.

He took a step back, for the briefest moment thinking Arneth had been cured by magic and stood before him. Instead, a woman greeted them—as bald as Arneth, even down to having no eyebrows, and a bit younger, with a hawkish nose that overshadowed her bright eyes and even fuller lips. She squinted at them like someone who had just thought of about a dozen swear words. As soon as her eyes lay on Arneth, she motioned them to get in with a large frown.

A thick, pungent scent of lavender, beeswax,, and wood struck Zaleck as he entered the wooden room. Rows upon rows of vials and tonics lined the shelves that covered the walls, leaving little space for the chairs and the center table. The woman ordered the guard to take Arneth inside, only glancing at Zaleck in passing. “Wait here.”

“Is he going to be alright?”

“Wait here,” she repeated, moving farther into a corridor with no additional explanations.

Zaleck sat at a chair, only then allowing himself to breathe in slower. His shaking hands were brown and red, his whole clothing dirty and ragged. He would have cried, if only his eyes would stay open for enough time, if only his head wouldn’t doze off every minute or so, if only . . .

Hands shook him awake. The bald doctor woman calling for him.

“Boy! Boy, what’s your name?”

“Eh! Zaleck!” he said with a start.

“Okay, Zaleck, listen up.” Was it morning already? No, the shut windows, the damp smell of night dew, and the distant lapping of the flowing river told him night still hung over Wolfpine.

“You were badly wounded, do you hear me?” the woman said.

“No,” he replied, “I’m fine, really.”

The woman took his cheeks in her hands, forcing him to face her.

“Lad, learn to take a hint, alright? You were badly wounded.”

Zaleck nodded, and she proceeded to wrap a bloody bandage around his head and arm. No sooner had she finished than a knock came on the door.

She stood up and opened it. Two guards eyed her, glancing at him in passing.

“Miss Derith, we’ve known that a wanted troublemaker is here. An albino boy who caused a ruckus in the market yesterday.”

“Yes, he’s here, as you can see. I’m treating him.”

“Well, if your treatment is finished, we have orders to take him with us,” the guard said, like someone who didn’t actually care if her treatment were done or not.

“He took a severe blow to the head and a nasty gash at his arm, so no, I’m not done treating him. You can come back in two days, officers. In fact, you can let Guard Captain Morhall know that I want an explanation for all this. Twice now, we’ve had brigands operating in view of the city, attacking and wounding travelers as they please. Where’s the countess guards when we need them? Do I have to turn my apothecary into a hospital now? Is that why we pay her 10 percent of everything we buy and sell in this city? Let him know I want full accountability for that, you hear?”

The guard, taken aback at her outburst, babbled. “Yes, Miss Derith, but our orders—”

“You’ll fulfill your orders in two days. Before that, he’s my patient. Have a good night.”

She slammed the door on their faces. Zaleck jumped at the sound.

As the guards moved away, he blinked and babbled as well. “Eh, thank you . . .”

Derith stared at him, arms crossed, eyes as narrow as pins. “Come with me. Let’s get you somewhere for the night.”

Zaleck followed her through the narrow corridor with but three doors in it, at the end of which she showed him to a room a bit smaller than the Flying Tortoise’s, if that was possible.

“Arneth—is he gonna be okay?”

“I’ll tell you that tomorrow. For now, get some rest,” she replied, halfway closing the door behind her.

Zaleck lay on the bed and removed the bandages. The bed filled half the room, and yet enveloped him whole as he lay. He exhaled, almost as weary and dizzy as if he did have a blow to the head. Whenever he closed his eyes, Arneth’s image would flash, arrows striking him, his blood everywhere, the never-ending ride back to town . . .

He yanked himself awake with a spasm. Bright light pierced his eyes, even though they remained as heavy as his chest. Dogs barked and roosters crowed, the early sounds of morning in the city. Zaleck curled up on the bed, and even though he would want to stay there the whole day if he could, he still had to find out about Arneth.

The same pungent spicy aromas as the night before hit him when he opened the door. Beyond the corridor, two people spoke—the melodic, sharp voice of Vellis countered by the dry, throaty tones of Arneth.

Zaleck met them at the main room in the shop, where Derith had first told him to wait. Vellis sat opposite Arneth, sharing cookies, milk, bread, and sausage with him as they talked in hushed tones.

“Oh, my!” Vellis said.

Arneth turned to Zaleck. He was pale, though not as much as the night before. Beneath a clean shirt and pants, the stripes of clean bandages showed.

“Zaleck,” Vellis said, “do you know what you need?”

To eat, to understand what’s going on, to find himself a teacher, to go back home. Instead, he said, “A bath.”

“That’s my boy!”

“All in due time, Vellis,” Arneth said. “First, let the boy have some breakfast.”

“Are you okay?” Zaleck asked as he sat down and grabbed a bite of bread.

“I’m alive, and when I die, it will not be because of these wounds. As for the rest, I don’t think I’ll be running again anytime soon.”

“You’ll be lucky to ever walk without a limp again,” a soft, high-pitched voice said behind Zaleck. Derith, the bald doctor, stood at the back entrance of the room.

She and Arneth stared into each other’s eyes for a moment that seemed to exclude everyone else in the room. He stood up, slow, only wincing once.

“Vellis, Zaleck,” he said, “I have the honor of introducing you to Derith Halar, professor of behavioral prediction at the Verian Tower, keeper of the arcane lore section of the library, and a very bright pupil of mine, who sometimes likes to play doctor in random cities. Professor Halar, meet Zaleck and Vellis.”

The woman nodded at each of them in turn.

“Very pleased to meet you, Vellis. Glad to see you awake, young Zaleck. And, Master Farhan, it’s not a random city at all. I’ve been living here for a year now.”

Arneth motioned for her to sit. A silence followed as they stared each other down.

“Try the cookies!” Zaleck said, since no one else was opening their mouth.

“Thank you, my dear. I think I will.”

“If I may ask, Master,” Derith started, “what brings you to my humble shop, with so many arrows in you that I took you for a porcupine?”

Arneth raised a brow.

“Ever the melodramatic, Professor. You did a great job with my wounds, but I ask you to spare me the obviousness. You set up shop in Wolfpine because I’d be passing by this city.”

“Do you know what this is, Master?” Derith said, pointing at Arneth’s bandages. “That’s reduction to zero freedom. You messed with fate again, didn’t you? And you did it here, in Wolfpine, because you knew I’d be here to sew you up.”

Arneth crossed his arms.

“I wouldn’t dream of imposing on you like that, Professor. Not on purpose. You made your position clear the day I left. All of you did.”

“Yet here you are. Master, please, I watched your speech, like everyone else, but what you were asking of us was—unparalleled.”

“I never thought that doing the right thing would be called ‘unparalleled.’”

“But consider the personal cost!” She indicated his wounds again.

“Consider the cost if nothing is done.”

“Only if your calculations hold true. Your passage on the third and ninth archetypal derivations raised much discussion.”

Derith had the smallest possible bite of a cookie before continuing.

“I hope you don’t expect me to join you, Master.”

“Why, never!”

“Then, please, come back. Whatever happens, the Tower will endure. We always have.”

Arneth sighed.

“Remember the third orto-psychological series, Professor. After 144 terms, the result converges into one.”

“Master, you are one of our most brilliant calculators. Your loss is keenly felt by the faculty staff. We need you.”

“If you need me, Professor, come with me.”

Derith lowered her eyes, then closed them and winced. “Forgive me, but I cannot.”

Arneth frowned with the smallest expression of sadness.

“I hope you have had a good breakfast, at least.”

Derith rose, turned to Zaleck and Vellis, and seemed to bore into their soul with her stare.

“You are in very good company. Follow him in everything, whatever it is. He was my master for ten years, and I once thought I would follow him into the hells themselves. How wrong I was. I can only beseech you both to be a better person than I. Now, I have to go to the guardhouse to sort out the mess you made, young man,” she said, staring right through Zaleck’s soul. “Stay as long as you need. Close the door when you leave.”

She touched her forehead with two fingers.

“May your mind be clear,” she said to Arneth.

“May your answers be true,” he replied with the same gesture.

She turned to leave, but Arneth extended his hand to her, three golden crowns and a small note folded between his fingers.

“That should cover the fines.”

Derith took the coins and note without taking her eyes off him. “It should.”

She frowned for the briefest moment before leaving in a hurried stride.

Zaleck and Vellis looked at each other before turning back to Arneth, whose obvious sadness continued to slow down his breakfast.

“Wait a minute,” Vellis said, “were you two—in love?”

Arneth closed his eyes, opened them into two thin slits, looked aside at Vellis, and twisted the corners of his mouth. She raised her hands and lay back.

“Alright, okay, none of my business. But the way you spoke to each other . . . what you said . . . you’re both one of those monks, aren’t you? Those guys who can predict the future . . . the . . .”

Arneth met her stare.

“Daht’Gahren. We are called the Daht’Gahren.”

Vellis’s eyes went wide. “God’s Crap. I never thought I’d meet one of you.” She sounded not just surprised, but also a little bit intimidated. “I have not one but two freaks with me!”

“What’s a Daht’Gahren?” Zaleck asked.

Vellis leaned back in her chair, watching Arneth. He took his time sipping the last of his milk while the hubbub of morning life started to rise in the streets outside.

“We are a group of scholars dedicated to studying knowledge itself. The name comes from Old Alterion, meaning ‘Truth-seeker’.”

“You do much more than study, though. You guys can read minds and predict the future!”

“Nonsense,” he said, chewing on his bread, “no one can predict the future or read minds, not unless they’re a flowcaster. However, we do study human behavior so much that we are able to observe a person and, analyzing subtle signs from their bodies, deduce what they are thinking about.”

“No way!” Zaleck said.

“It’s true,” Arneth replied.

“Okay, what am I thinking about then?” Zaleck imagined Savior, and when he raced with him two days ago.

Arneth closed his eyes and sighed, like he’d had to do that a hundred times, and by now the demonstration had lost all novelty. He didn’t even look at Zaleck to respond.

“You are thinking of when you galloped with Savior. The left corner of your mouth raised slightly and your center eyebrows fluttered just a bit, which means, in your case, that you’re thinking about something exciting. Also, your hand grasped your cup a bit more, the same way you grasped your reins when you galloped.”

“No way . . .” Zaleck said.

“Well, I am never playing five-suits with you, that’s for sure!” Vellis said. “What about this whole future prediction thing?”

“We do not predict the future. No one can. But we can calculate the most probable outcomes out of certain situations. We can look at entire cities, or kingdoms, and read their overall patterns of behavior. This allows us to predict what they are about to do, and how all these actions interact. We structure that into mathematical formulas, and by solving these formulas, we can calculate the fate of the world.”

Zaleck’s mouth could not have gotten wider. “How is that even possible?” he said.

Arneth leaned back in his chair, gesturing wider than usual. “Well, for instance, have you ever noticed how when birds fly low, it almost always means it’s going rain?”

“Of course. Everyone knows that.”

“Well, then, you know a pattern that lets you predict the future. Let’s say we decide to give ‘birds’ number one, ‘flying low’ number two, and ‘rain’ number three, we can say, instead, that one plus two equals three. That’s, with a very crude example, how fate calculus works. You don’t even have to know why one thing leads to another; you just have to decode their patterns.”

Vellis threw her hands up. “Alright, okay, I’ll take that. But if that’s the case, I only have one question for you. How is it that you, a master among the Daht’Gahren, managed to get captured by a bunch of half-competent slavers?”

Arneth almost sound amused. “I will not answer that, Miss Vellis. You will. Please, recall for us the events leading up to our release from the slavers.”

Chapter 9

Vellis frowned as she started to recount her version of their capture.

“Okay, let’s see . . . I was captured around Kayle’s Hold. I was hunting in the woods nearby, not a lot of game there, so prices are good for meat and leather, when I noticed some movement and happened upon their caravan. I thought I was being stealthy when I approached them, but it turns out the morons had also found me, and managed to get me from behind. I guess I was so focused on what I was seeing that they got me on a blind spot. It’s not always you find an entire caravan of frigging slavers in the woods. When I woke up, I was in that cell wagon. You weren’t there yet, but a bunch of others were. Remember Patrish, the baker? He was there already. There were three carts, one being our cell, and it was clear that one of the other carts held something, hmm, special, because two of those guys would very regularly go in there.”

In spite of himself, Zaleck winced and covered his wrists.

“Anyway . . . Some days went by.” Vellis closed her eyes for a bit, wincing as well. “Gods, I still dream about that, you know? Those nights when the crappers would just select one of us women to—have their way with . . .” Vellis breathed in before continuing. “Either way, a week in and you came along. The slavers weren’t ones for conversation, but the smith who was with us, Gorath, giant of a man, he got you to chat for a bit, remember? You said you got captured at night, while you were out in the woods. I always thought it strange, that a guy like you would be traveling alone on a backwater road like that. You seemed to at least have the means to buy travel protection for yourself. In any case, you were with us then.

“You were a strange one, Arneth. Oh, you were! Always trying to make small talk with our captors. At first, I even thought you were kind of stupid, you know? You did seem a bit—damaged. You were always getting on their nerves, too. They would try to ignore you, but eventually one of them would always get to our cell and tell you to shut up, only for you to go back to your jabbering sometime later.

“They always took us on side roads. I knew because even though I could tell we were going south, we never came in view of any large city. I think it was a week after you were captured, that day when you just would not keep quiet. They told you to shut it time and again, and you just didn’t, so they took you out of the cell, and . . . well, you know . . . they beat the crap out of you. We all watched it. They whipped you and caned you, and screamed at you, but I say, I’ll never forget that moment, because through it all, you said nothing. You didn’t scream, you didn’t yell, you didn’t resist. You just . . . took it.

“When they shoved you back in the cell, bloody and battered and exhausted though you were, I knew right then you weren’t damaged at all. No, you had a plan. Mind you, I thought it was a bad plan, maybe something like ‘If I can’t escape, at least I’ll make their lives as miserable as possible,’ which was, you know, just useless. But you gotta admire a guy willing to go so far just to get back at those idiots.

“Still, we went on, and you also kept on yapping at them, but . . . a bit less than before. Then we went into the Roran Woods, and something changed. With you, I mean. You started to say some very, very specific things about them. I remember when you’d say to one of them something like, ‘What would your fiancée say if she found out what you are doing?’ and ‘Is that what your mother died for, just so you could trade other people’s lives?’ and things like that. Boy, did that rile them up! They got, like, completely freaked out by you. And you got the lot of them, all eight, to come at our cell and just scream at you. I thought ‘That’s it, this guy’s gonna kill us all now’. Other people there thought the same. Gorath was also telling you to shut up, and Patrish, he was just crying for you to stop.

“But did you stop? Oh no, you went on, and on, and on, spouting personal details about everyone there, so much that I think the only reason those guys didn’t kill you right then was because they were so freaked out by you.

“Until one of them, that mountain of a brute, he said, ‘We forgot the sleep!’ or some such, and rushed into their special cart, and next thing I knew he yelled ‘Oy, the brat’s wake ’gain!’—which, now I know, was when Zaleck woke up. And another guy went into the cart with him.

“And that was it, right? That was when it happened. I thought that one of them had opened the cage to get you out and kill you right there, or that you had picked the lock or something, but as you said, the lock opened by itself, and hell broke loose. Gorath jumped out and just crushed one of those guys’ heads, and after him I also escaped, and then we were all running. Of course, they were still eight armed men, so they did what they would do, and started to hack anyone who got out of the cell. Gorath took a sword to the chest and one in the neck before he fell, but I was already out, and by then I had taken a bow and some arrows, and did any of them miss? Not one. You came out too, picked up a sword, and I dare say you were half-competent with it yourself.

“By The Twelve, we painted the mud with their blood! If you ask me, it was all too fast. Too fast for them. I think I killed two of them. I remember poor Patrish, he tried to pick up a club, he wanted to fight too, but he never got to raise it. A crossbow bolt in the chest was all he got.

“But, anyway, the crappers had taken more people than they could manage. We ended four of them right there, and the other four just ran away. They also butchered us, too. You and I, we were the only ones left standing. Us, and of course you, Zaleck. I swear to you, when I saw Arneth taking you out of the wagon, and you were just . . . so scared, I would have killed them all over again.”

Zaleck listened to Vellis’s tale, trying his best to keep quiet. Every word of hers seemed to bring him back to the wagon, and he found his breathing getting heavier and heavier. When he couldn’t hold it anymore, he threw himself at Vellis, grabbing her in the strongest hug he could, squinting his eyes so that not one tear would drop. They did, though.

To his surprise, she hugged him back, caressing his dirty hair with callused fingers until he let go in his own time.

“Thank you, Miss Vellis. Thank you,” he said.

“Thank him,” she said, motioning to Arneth. “It was all your doing, wasn’t it? You’re the one who released us. You let yourself get captured—to release us.”

“It was a group effort,” he said, like an off-hand remark.

“I see now,” she said, “how you manipulated them like puppets. But how did you know there was a flowcaster in the wagon, and that he would open the cage for us?”

“Oh, I didn’t. Fate calculus will not give you exact answers, such as ‘this fact will occur, then that fact, then that one.’ It’s more a game of possibilities. What I knew was that if I interrupted their regular trips into the ‘special’ wagon, as you put it, we had a very, very good chance of escaping.”

Arneth looked down, letting out a brief sigh. “In the end, though, too many of us died. We were eleven people in the cell, and only we two remained. I should have been more careful.”

“Hey,” Vellis said, “you’ll hear no complaints from me.”

“Nor me!” Zaleck added.

Arneth nodded with a very timid smile.

“But I mean it,” Vellis said, “I owe you big time. If I can ever repay it, let me know.”

“It’s easy to repay me, Miss Vellis.”

“Really?” Vellis raised an eyebrow, like someone who’d been waiting for the other shoe that was just about to drop.

“One day, soon—and you’ll know when this day comes—I want you to do the right thing, instead of the thing you should.”

Vellis bit her lower lip. “You Daht’Gahren . . . you sure know how to wrap us all around you, don’t you?”

“You asked for it.” Arneth licked the sausage grease off his fingers. “Now, about our slaver. What did you learn?”

“Oh, yes! My, that’s a doozy. Don’t get up. You’re gonna want to be sitting down for this. Those guys were hired by none other than, get this, a frigging archpriest from the Theocracy of Kaylor.”

Arneth raised his brows. Zaleck frowned. “What’s Kaylor?” he asked.

“Maybe you know it by its nickname. The Death Kingdom. It’s the largest of the southern nations. There, slavery is legalized and criminals are executed in public every day. Kaylor is ruled by three archpriests, flowcasters all.”

The Death Kingdom! Zaleck had heard about it. Who hadn’t? But how to know which stories were true? His dad seemed to believe them all: that in the Death Kingdom your body still served the priests after death; that it once was a forest, but had become a desert because the priests sucked the very life out of the land; that the priests could hear whenever someone spoke their name anywhere in the kingdom. His mom, however, always scoffed at those tales. “If those things were true,” she would say, “we’d all be their slaves by now.”

Well, mom, it seemed they were indeed enslaving people here in the north.

“Oh, but there’s more,” Vellis continued, “One of these archpriests, the one who hired them—Theron Vangard is his name—he’s in a ship, docked right here in our good kingdom of Ayrn, in Highport harbor. You and I”—she pointed at Arneth—“were just spoils for them, but Theron himself hired them to bring them an albino boy from Kaldhill.”

Zaleck gasped. That should not have come as a surprise, knowing what he knew by then, but to hear it confirmed like that did make him clench his fists, bracing himself.

“What about their support from Ayrn? Have you learned if there is someone from our own kingdom who is helping them?”

“Yeah, there is, but the guy we caught wasn’t very keen on names. Whoever is helping them spoke only to Theron, and the slavers did see them but don’t know who they are.”

Arneth frowned. “Where is he? Maybe I can talk to him.”

Vellis tilted her head, widening her eyes just a touch.

Arneth nodded. “Oh, of course.”

Zaleck sighed. It was already bad enough that a priest from the south wanted to enslave him, but if there were nobles from his own kingdom helping, what hope could he even have of escaping? And if that weren’t bad enough, the one guy they’d interrogated had seen them, but couldn’t tell their names.

Had seen them. They had seen them, and Zaleck had within him, right there, the death flows of all those slavers. Death flows carried the memories of the deceased—could he search those memories and find out who those nobles were?

As he turned inward, the sparks of the dead flared up in his mind, so real he almost believed that if he opened his eyes, they’d be right in front of him. Some of those sparks were brighter than others. The sparks from the caravan slavers had already died down to a candlelight, whereas those from the ones who’d died just yesterday still burned like bonfires.

Within each spark, random images appeared and disappeared. Zaleck just had to focus on one such spark, and those images would take him over, like memories he himself had lived. Entering a recruitment office for the first time, sharpening a sword and hoping it wouldn’t break before a battle, resting at night beneath a myriad stars. Random memories that never fully formed and never told a story either. Images without context.

Still, he tried thinking about being in Highport, even though he himself had never been to the city. The memories kept coming, on and on, random as always, but the very focus on the name of the city did seem to shift them somehow. Walking over wooden planks, playing dice at a tavern, looking at a harbor that extended as far as he could see, a man on a tabard talking to someone important—

That was it. The man on the tabard.

Like trying to remember a dream as soon as you wake up, Zaleck focused on pulling that memory, bringing back any details he might have missed. A nobleman holding a bag of gold popped into his mind, wearing the same tabard.

“Blue . . .” he said, eyes still closed, “blue and yellow on a checkered pattern . . .”

Some design or a drawing in the tabard seemed to draw him in. That drawing was important. The dead man whose memories he searched had thought that picture important. What was it?

“A sheaf of wheat. . . crossed by a sword on a blue-and-yellow-checkered pattern,” he said.

Opening his eyes was almost like waking up, returning from somewhere so far away his very mind had to adjust to being back in Derith’s apothecary.

Vellis and Arneth were looking at him.

“Zal, why did you just describe the coat of arms of Duke Calahan Orr?” Vellis asked.

“That’s the guy,” he said. “I looked into the images of the flows of the people you killed yesterday. That’s the man who talked with their boss.”

Vellis widened her eyes. Arneth asked, “Are you sure, Zaleck?”

“Eh—I think so.”

Vellis leaned forward. “Zaleck, this guy you just identified is the queen’s brother. He’s one of the most powerful Ayrnian dukes. If we move against him, we have to be sure.”

“Well, I can’t really be sure, you know? It’s, like, very hard to find something in there. They did see someone with this symbol in their clothes talking to someone they thought was very important.”

Arneth scratched his own chin. “It could be someone from his retinue, and not the duke himself. If it is him, though, we are in deep trouble. They’ll find us, wherever we go.”

“Oh, I know a lot of places they would never find us,” Vellis said.

“You’re talking about running away?” Arneth asked.

“What else? The Death Kingdom and Ayrn are after us. There’s just nothing else for us to do.”

“Alright, but for how long do you mean to run?”

“For as long as it takes. Forever.”

“Do you want to keep running away for the rest of your life?”

“Okay then, not forever, but . . . we could go to your Verian Tower. I’m sure this archpriest Theron is not going to mess with the Daht’Gahren.”

Arneth lowered his head. He spoke with a measured reluctance. “We would not be welcomed at Verian.”

“Why not?”

“The Tower has had a strict policy of political neutrality for many centuries now. This is a core tenet of our group. If we get there, and they find out we are embroiled in this intrigue, which they will, they would just send us away.”

“Political intrigue? Arneth, this is the kidnapping of a child!”

Zaleck was no child, but maybe this wasn’t the best moment to say that.

“And Theron’s an archpriest of the Theocracy of Kaylor,” Arneth replied.

“Does that give him the right to just go wherever he wants and make slaves of whoever he wishes?”

“Slavery was banned here in Ayrn five hundred years ago, but you see, then, that this is a political issue. If Theron is defying Ayrn’s sovereignty by kidnapping its citizens, the Tower will not take sides in it. We’ll not find help with the Daht’Gahren.”

“Bunch of cowards, if you ask me.”

Arneth sighed.

“Wherever we go,” Zaleck said, “even if we hide away forever, they’ll come for Mom and Dad, won’t they?”

“I’m afraid so, Zaleck. Theron left his seat of power to come here, personally, just to kidnap you. He does seem desperate.”

Zaleck’s hands shook at the mere thought of what he was going to say. He did not want to speak it; he’d much rather hide away with Vellis. But if he did that, not only he would never go back home, there would also never be a home to go back to. He breathed in, forcing the words to come out before he could regret them.

“Let’s go there. Let’s go to Highport.”

“What?” Vellis said, “Are you out of your frigging mind?”

“I—I don’t want to go, but we have to. This guy is the person behind all this. He’s the one who took us from home. I don’t know what he wants, but we will never find out if we run away.”

“Listen, Zaleck!” Vellis spoke as if trying to remain patient. “You do not show up for a darn teacup by the sea with the maniac who sent a bunch of thugs to enslave, torture and kidnap you!”

“Hmm . . .” Arneth said.

“No! Don’t you ‘hmm’ me, sir!”

“If I could just have one conversation with that guy, I could indeed find out all of his plans.”

“You too, Arneth? You too? Are you both damaged? Have you already forgotten what he did to us? What he did to me? And you want me to just . . . knock on his door for a chat?”

Vellis stood up, pacing back and forth in the room, not even minding to wipe her tears, just throwing her hands up.

“You know what? I just— I can’t. I’m sorry, but this is too much. We have a chance here, do you understand it? We can leave this madness behind.”

“No, Vellis,” Arneth said, “remember our talk on our first free night? It’s you who have a chance. Zaleck and I, we will never outrun someone with so many resources. We’re too recognizable.”

Vellis pointed at Zaleck. “He is a frigging flowcaster! Let’s find him a teacher, and in a few months, he’ll fly over Kaylor and rain fire down on this archpriest.”

Zaleck would never be able to do that, though, not from what Arneth had told him—he could not use the Flow to kill. Still, Arneth had also told Zaleck, “You can do almost anything.” Could he learn to fly over a city and attack someone from above? The legends and stories from the Atris Imperium were full of those things, but could he learn to do that in months? And then, did his family even have months? Would Theron just do nothing while Zaleck came into his power? The man had to somehow know that he was a flowcaster, and it did not seem like he would waste any time to get what he wanted.

“Vellis,” Zaleck said, “I need you. Please, come with us.”

“Gaaah!” Vellis screamed, pressing her hand against her forehead. “You are really going to do it, aren’t you? You’re going to just walk onto this guy’s ship for a chat!”

No one answered.

“Like hell I’ll let you do this alone. Like hell! But we need a plan. If we just waltz in there like we own the place, you can be sure we’ll never walk out.”

Arneth limped up to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Then let’s plan.”

Chapter 10

The three of them left the city after restocking on supplies and getting Arneth a walking cane, which he couldn’t proceed without. Vellis still tried to bring back the topic of Derith once.

“Are you sure you don’t even want to say goodbye to your friend, Arneth?”

After he flat out ignored her question, she made it a point to not talk to him either for the rest of the day.

Zaleck didn’t mind that her stubbornness might have made her forget about selling their stolen horses. Thus, when they left Wolfpine, they still rode Savior, Ethellus, and Solong.

The way from Wolfpine to Highport turned from a straight road on a plain into a wayward path across the hills. Wind blew strong at the end of the afternoon, carrying with it the faintest scent of the sea, a salty, thick breeze that, though Zaleck had never smelled it before, brought about the times when he’d sailed away with his company—

No, those were death flow memories, not his own. Had he delved too deep into that slaver’s spark?

The mountainous horizon caused sunset to come earlier, and as soon as both suns had set beneath the hilltops, Arneth suggested that they stop at one of the many roadside inns.

The whole route, in fact, never grew too devoid of houses, farms, and small villages. The number of people heading in their direction and passing them the other way built up the idea within Zaleck that they were nearing the center of the world. Thus, they had their pick of taverns and inns along the way, settling on a large house with stables and a small chicken farm by the side. The sign held a picture of a bed, fork and many feathers.

Compared to what he had been used to at home, dinner was lavish. Cooked cabbages with olive oil and salt seasoning, half an entire roasted pork, the skin cracking in his mouth as he chewed, and even watered wine for himself.

However, he was not to sleep right after eating, as he would have liked to. Instead, Arneth got up. “Take your sword and come out to the back of the inn, Zaleck.”

“What?”

“You wanted to learn how to use it, didn’t you? We start today.”

Zaleck could not have been there faster, sword drawn and humming to himself. However, before Zaleck could say anything, Arneth spat. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Zaleck blinked, and Arneth explained. “Listen, you never, ever train with a metal blade, do you understand? These things are made for killing and wounding, and they are very good at it. Whenever you train, you will use the wooden sword. That can already hurt you enough.”

He took one last look at his shiny new sword before scabbarding it and taking out the practice weapon.

“Now,” Arneth said, “what’s lesson one in swordfight?”

“Eh . . . never train with a true sword?”

Arneth let out a brief chuckle. “ Let’s call that lesson zero. Lesson one is: Don’t get hit.”

“Right,” Zaleck said, smiling.

“I mean it. When you are hit, if you survive, you will be either bleeding or in pain. In both cases, you will be at a severe disadvantage. More often than not, a fight is decided by whoever draws first blood. Therefore, you do everything you can to not get hit. Got it?”

Zaleck nodded.

“That’s why we will start with some defensive moves. Copy what I do, as if I were a mirror.”

Arneth started to show Zaleck some moves, but his leg kept him from performing the proper sequences, and he grunted whenever he raised his sword too high. Zaleck dropped his stance to support him, only to be rebuffed once again.

“Stay back, stay in the form,” Arneth said.

Though Zaleck had to make it a point to not assist him a couple more times, Arneth proceeded with the lesson at his own pace. When he couldn’t move due to his injuries, he would instead move Zaleck’s own legs and arms to show him the right sequences.

Over the next hours, Arneth told him how to hold the sword, how to advance, how to retreat, how to parry, and how to dodge. He gave Zaleck a series of movements to train on his own, and forced him to repeat them over, and over, and over, until his arms were on fire and his fingers trembled.

Swordfighting practice wasn’t quite as fun as he’d thought it would be.

Both moons were high in the sky. Zaleck couldn’t keep his eyes open and his legs standing for much longer. Luckily, Arneth finally called it a night.

“That’s it for today. Remember the basic forms I taught you. I want you to practice them every night from now on. Twenty times each form. They are the simplest forms, but they will save your life against someone who has just now picked up a blade.”

Zaleck wanted to answer, but he could only pant. Arneth patted his back. “Let’s go to sleep now. Tomorrow will be a busier day.”

He nodded. He did not remember how he got to the room and slept, or even if the bed was soft, hard, small or large. All he knew was waking up the following day as the roosters crowed out morning from the small farm by the inn, and how his sore arms refused to obey as he bathed.

Still, there was something else that morning, as he dressed up and fastened his sword belt—a notion, the faintest feeling that before, he was just wearing something nice on his belt, whereas now, he had in fact earned that weapon. Even if just a little bit.

The way south twisted and turned, hill after hill until, nearing midday, they turned a bend around a cliffside path and it came into view. Highport.

If Zaleck had thought Wolfpine large, Highport could only be described as gigantic. An immense and chaotic tapestry woven out across a sprawling bay down below. Its many hills cast unmoving waves around the bay, like looking at a crumpled sheet made of stone houses that appeared and disappeared as sea mist rolled over them. Dozens of keeps towered above the mists atop each hill, such that the houses themselves seemed to flow down from each fortress. They bumped into each other on the streets, clinging to their sides like piles and piles of miniature playsets.

Narrow cobblestone streets wound like ribbons through Highport, disappearing and reappearing amid clusters of stone and timber-framed buildings, their stone floors fused by overuse. Their wooden structures were dark, and their gabled roofs painted the city with a brown-gray mosaic from above. Almost every wall, awash with a palette of earthy tones, adorned with vibrant banners, added splashes of color from one or another noble house.

The Great Sea stretched onward, starting from the crisscrossed harbor. The longest bridges Zaleck had ever seen extended between the many small islets. Those, the houses, and the ports created a watery labyrinth for the hundreds of ships going to and from the city.

Far away as they were, only the faintest of the city’s smells and sounds reached them. The salty tang of the sea meshed with the barest earthy aroma of fresh-baked bread. A hint of the smoky scent of the blacksmiths at work tainted the scent, along with the slightest odor of refuse piling up on the streets. It all came with the distant call of seagulls, the ping of the blacksmith’s anvils, and the rustle of laughter from children.

Highport huddled between two large hills that pressed against it from enormous cliffsides. Atop each one of them, a metallic structure stood mounted on fortified keeps made of square towers. On each of those structures, enormous curved mirrors reflected sunlight upward, although the many wheels and cranks within did make it seem like those mirrors could be moved around.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Arneth said.

Zaleck turned to him. Any reply would just not have been enough. “Is this . . . the biggest city in the world.”

“Oh, no,” Vellis said. “It is the largest city in Ayrn, for sure, and I think it’s one of the largest on the continent, but way south there are much larger cities. Ul-Akar, the capital of the Church of The Twelve, that’s the greatest city in Unaris.”

“I—I never thought there were so many people in the world.”

Vellis and Arneth laughed.

Arneth pointed far away. “There,” he said, “look at that.”

The ship Arneth indicated towered above any other in Highport’s mazelike harbor. Even from this distance, its massive hull shimmered with an iridescent sheen, outlining the carving of a snake winding across the side. From as far away as they were, it seemed like it could just leap out from the ship and swallow other vessels whole, its head sculpted in the bow, mouth open, fangs bared, eyes glistening in metallic paint.

Atop the tallest of its five masts, a flag fluttered, large enough that even they could see the drawing of three intertwined skulls.

“Yeah,” Vellis said, “I suppose waving around the banner of the Theocracy of Kaylor is a sure way to let us know where to go.”

“Also,” Arneth said, “a sure way to let anyone know who’s there.”

“That ship’s a fortress! Getting out of there alive won’t be easy.”

“We may also have more immediate problems,” Arneth said.

Vellis frowned at him, and he continued. “When Zaleck rode me back to Wolfpine, after our confrontation in the woods, I caught sight of a rider following us. Since no one bothered us after that, I can only assume it was a scout for Duke Orr, and that by now Highport’s guard will let him know as soon as we step into the city.”

Vellis lowered her head, staring from beneath frowning eyebrows. “And you didn’t think to let us know that before?”

Arneth just shrugged.

“Okay,” Vellis sighed, “I may know of a way in.”

“Through the sewers?” Zaleck asked.

“No!” she spat. “Whatever gave you that idea? We are not going in the sewers, alright? There.” She pointed at a small woods just outside the northern city walls, the trees so packed the walls themselves could hardly be seen. “There’s a small crack there, enough for a person to pass. Some less reputable merchants used that to smuggle drinks and whores during the war. Do you think that scout saw me, Arneth, or just the two of you?”

“Just us. That happened while you were questioning the captive.”

“Alright. I’ll go leave our horses at the gates, then meet you there to guide you in.”

“Let’s go, then,” Arneth said, “it may not seem like it, but we still have a few hours’ ride ahead of us before we reach the city gates.”

He had to be exaggerating. Highport was right there! It couldn’t take them so long to get to the gates.

However, the road still wound around a number of hills as they descended to sea level. They watched the city growing closer and closer, from many different angles, until at last they came upon the northern gates a few hours before sunset.

Vellis parted with them as they walked the rest of the way into the woods Vellis had mentioned. Arneth still limped, at times stopping to catch his breath.

“Is Vellis going to sell our horses?” Zaleck asked, half hoping the answer would be no.

“No one is allowed on horseback within Highport except for the city watch and the duke’s retinue,” Arneth explained.

Zaleck frowned. “Bummer. Why?”

“Just another one of those random laws noblemen like to come up with,” he said. “Duke Calahan Orr’s niece owns all the stables by the walls. Forbidding horses into the city made her a fortune overnight.”

Vellis met them a few moments later. Together, they walked beside a stone wall taller than most trees, but also clearly older than any of them. The lime-covered stones would make climbing impossible, except for where the ivy had grown so thick that even a child could climb it.

Vellis found her crack in the wall beneath thick bushes that had become overgrown around it. She and Zaleck hacked at it, clearing up a darkened path that each of them would have to crawl into to pass to the other side.

Vellis sighed and tilted her head. “Well, still beats the sewers.”

Dusted and dirty, the three of them emerged into Highport’s side streets, greeted by tight stone stairways going up or down with neither pattern nor rhythm. Arneth came last, having to be pulled by Vellis as he couldn’t drag himself with his wounded leg.

No sooner had they all passed into Highport than someone turned a corner right beside them. A young man, nearly a boy, even, though the beard made him look older. Not a guard, but the sword at his belt, the brocaded blue shirt and shining leather boots could only belong to a noble.

For a breathless heartbeat, he glanced at the three of them. Then Vellis jumped at him, grabbing his arms as her whole body swung around, mounting over him from behind, causing him to fall flat on the floor. He had time to draw his sword and even swing it at Vellis before falling down, missing her, but the dull impact made him drop its handle. On top of the nobleman, Vellis drew her daggers in a swift motion.

“No!” Zaleck cried out.

Vellis glanced at him.

“Please, Vel, no!” he repeated.

“No other way, Zal. He has to go.”

“He’s done nothing.”

“He will, though.”

Arneth, leaning on the city wall, said, “ Zaleck is right, spare him.”

“Oh, no. Not again.”

Arneth, picking up his cane, knelt down before the man. “Lad, what’s your name?” he asked.

The man gritted his teeth, closed his eyes and, seeming resigned to his fate, responded.

“Keltrak.”

“Very well, Keltrak. I am a master Daht’Gahren from the Verian Tower. Do you know who we are?”

Keltrak widened his eyes, in surprise or rage or both. He nodded.

“Very well. Keltrak, if we let you go now, and you forget this ever happened, and tell no one of this, tomorrow I’ll tell you how you can save your family from ruin.”

Even immobilized on the ground, face held against the cold cobblestone, Keltrak managed to gasp.

“Do we have a deal, Keltrak?” Arneth asked. Vellis scoffed.

Keltrak nodded again.

Arneth stood up. “Please, Vellis. Let him go. I believe he’s being sincere.”

Vellis stood as well. Like another cat himself, Keltrak rolled aside, picking up his sword as he jumped up. They stared at one another, blades pointed, until Keltrak spun his sword, sheathing it again. Eyes narrowing beneath a frown, he stepped back twice, then turned and ran away.

“Oh, my,” Vellis said, cleaning the dust off her pants and blouse, “you have a way of leaving loose ends behind, don’t you?”

Arneth sighed. “Yes. I have a way of avoiding unnecessary murders in my wake.”

He started limping onward, and all Zaleck and Vellis could do was follow.

They walked along bending streets and wayward alleyways that sometimes opened up into much larger streets. Zaleck soon realized that he could not fathom where in the city he was, where he was going to, or even where he had come from.

As if reading his mind, Arneth turned to him and said, “Look there.” He pointed at a huge tower that pierced through the treetops of houses from a distance. At its top, a noticeable metal gong stood silent.

“That’s the gong tower of Saint Enarius’s Cathedral. You can find out where you are anywhere in town by comparing where it is in relation to those buildings over there,” he said, motioning to the two fortresses atop the beachside cliffs. “When you know this, it’s almost impossible to get lost in Highport.”

“Oh.”

Arneth did seem to know where he was going, because though he moved slowly, limping on his cane, he led them farther into an older part of town. A second wall separated that region from the other neighborhoods, but instead of going through it, and through another guard station, he veered aside, into a building that took up a whole block. At its double-sided entrance, a sign with a bed and a fish swung in the wind.

“This is the Sleeping Sturgeon. As good a place to stay as any,” he said.

“You go in,” Vellis said. “I want to use what daylight we have left to take a closer look at that ship.”

“Are you going to be back before curfew, Miss Vellis?” Zaleck asked. It was, after all, a city big enough to get lost in.

“There’s no curfew in Highport,” she said. “and drop the ‘Miss.’”

“No curfew?” That was a first.

“City’s too big to try and keep people out of the streets any time of day. Anyway, I’m off.” She waved at them as she left.

“Shouldn’t we go too?” Zaleck asked Arneth.

“You and I would be recognized right away, Zaleck. She is the best person for this reconnaissance. Come on.”

They both ate a quick meal after Arneth had haggled their rooms. Zaleck ate as fast as he could, even though the boneless fish with almond sauce was something to die for, because he knew very well what was coming next.

Arneth noticed that, too, because he had a slight smirk when he said, “Are you ready for more?”

“Oh yeah!”

“We’re going to make a swordsman out of you yet.”

Back at a small alley used by the inn staff—the inn even had a staff!—Arneth once again submitted Zaleck to a lengthy and grueling session of sword practice. This time, he focused on attack moves. For hours, Zaleck had to repeat cuts, thrusts, jabs, and ripostes. His arms, still a bit sore from the night before, couldn’t keep up as much as he wanted to, and for the latter half of the lesson, he was wincing as he swallowed constant groans of pain.

Even on a backstreet as they were, there was no avoiding being seen in Highport. Over time, more and more people stopped to watch that strange albino boy training in swordfighting with a bald man. When Arneth called it for the night, they had already gathered a small audience around them, pointing and staring at the two.

Zaleck found himself looking away from the small crowd more and more at the end of the session, and was halfway glad it had ended when they walked back into the inn.

“One last advice for the day, Zaleck,” Arneth said when they reached their rooms, “I’m teaching you a bit of swordplay, but you would do well to diversify. Spears, maces, knives, you know. You’ll never want to be the best swordsman in the world, because one day most of your efforts will go toward becoming a good flowcaster. For you, it might be more important to be versatile than an expert, okay?”

Zaleck nodded, only having half heard what he said, the other half of him more worried about his burning arms, wobbling legs, and burdened eyelids.

Chapter 11

Zaleck’s day started with pain. Even when he’d helped his father with the harvest, which would be soon starting, his arms had never throbbed so much. Bathing was hard enough, and getting dressed only a bit easier. Every single joint burned, even all the way to his back. It was good he was learning to use a sword, but for the first time he wondered whether he might see this through if Arneth insisted on training him like this every night.

He got to the inn’s tavern before Arneth or Vellis, choosing a table as far away from the crowd as possible. Even so, as he made his way there, the shifting eyes of the other patrons led him to walk as fast as he could without running. Waiting for the barman to serve him was a struggle between looking down while also stealing some glances just to see if the other patrons were still looking at him.

It was easier to feel unseen while eating, and the buttered sourdough, crab meat, and cooked shrimp invited him to look down even more. He almost jumped on his seat when someone grabbed the chair right before him. Arneth.

“It seems you’ve started already. How are you feeling today?”

“I didn’t know training was going to be so hard.”

“Everything worth doing is hard, Zaleck, but it gets easier with time.”

“Yeah, but how much time? My arms are falling off already!”

“More than two days, I can assure you of that.”

Which was not reassuring at all. “Where’s Vellis?” he asked while finishing his meal, as Arneth started with his own.

“She came back late night yesterday. She might take some time to wake up.”

“But did she look at the ship? Does she have a plan?”

“We’ll talk about this after she’s here.”

It was easy for him to say this, of course. He wasn’t the one being hunted down by slavers from across the sea. Still, his tone also made it clear that there was nothing for Zaleck to do about it but wait. As Arneth ate his breakfast in agonizing slowness, frowns of intense effort ran over his face.

“Are you alright?” Zaleck asked.

“Yes. I’m working on something right now.”

Maybe that was one of those Daht’Gahren things he did. Zaleck leaned forward.

“Are you calculating the future?” he whispered.

Arneth glanced at him, letting out a very brief chuckle. “Yes, Zaleck.”

“Are you really going to save that guy’s family?”

“If I can finish my calculations, I will.”

Zaleck leaned back, trying to penetrate into Daht’Gahren secrets as Arneth worked his magic, but all the man ever did was frown, look around in sharp glances, close his eyes, and one time shake his head. At last, he exhaled, like someone who’d just ran for a mile.

“Did you do it? Did you save his family?”

“As best as I can, yes.”

Anyone else saying that would have had Zaleck scoffing. Instead, he could only say, “Wow . . .” He took a sip of orange juice, and then the idea hit his mind. “Can’t you calculate what’s going to happen to us?”

Arneth leaned back.

“Zaleck, that’s about all I’ve been doing since I met you.”

Clanking metal and a rustle of comments announced a fully armored man entering the tavern, sword in belt and a heater shield at his back, clad in a painted and polished plate mail. Just the armor alone had to be worth more than a year’s harvest from Zaleck’s whole village. Through the man’s open helm, he recognized the puffy red eyes and overgrown beard as Keltrak’s.

“Arneth . . .” he said.

Arneth ate as if nothing was happening, even when every other pair of eyes in the tavern followed that walking fortress toward them. However, he did answer.

“I see him, Zaleck.”

See him? Did he have eyes in the back of his neck? Still, by then Zaleck knew better than to doubt Arneth when he was being serious, and Arneth was always serious.

The armored man stopped a few steps away from them. From this distance, the small chinks in his armor showed, and a bit of his tabard seemed stained with some dark thing that resisted washing. Zaleck sighed in relief at the tabard’s coat of arms—it was not Duke Orr’s.

“Forgive me, sirs,” he intoned with a southern accent, where each letter was emphasized.

Arneth rose to meet him, leaning on his cane while still holding his spoon, nodding his head just a touch.

“No apologies needed, my lord.”

Keltrak took of his helmet, eyeing Arneth from head to toe. “Here I am, master. I am lord Keltrak Azareen, son of Baron Verek Azareen and commander of Highport’s tenth guard.”

“Ah, my lord, a pleasure to meet you properly this time. You speak to master Arneth Farhan, high calculator of the Daht’Gahren from Verian Tower, but the title is only meant for our own. You may address me as ‘Professor,’ if it suits you. This here is young Zaleck, who is under my care, and whose astuteness avoided a disaster yesterday.”

Arneth was so formal all of a sudden. He talked with Keltrak like a nobleman himself. He always used difficult words, but he never talked to Zaleck or Vellis like that. Keltrak glanced at Zaleck before speaking to Arneth again, and the look was enough to make Zaleck recoil a bit. He knew why Keltrak was here, but what if he decided to just take them away to the duke, or to Theron’s ship?

Zaleck could not let that happen. Not after Arneth said he was “under his care.” Something in the way Arneth had said that gave Zaleck enough strength to pull himself a little bit straighter.

“Professor,” Keltrak said, “after our surprise meeting yesterday, I have come to learn there’s an open call in the guard for two people matching your descriptions. I should, by rights, report the two of you at once.”

“You should,” Arneth agreed, “but you haven’t.”

Keltrak took a step toward him. “Did you mean what you said yesterday, professor?”

“My good lord, I always mean what I say.”

Arneth took a step back, as if measuring Keltrak, who seemed to become a bit uncomfortable just then, not unlike how Zaleck felt when Arneth stared at him, too.

“Listen closely. Today you will attend a dinner at your father’s house where an elder, I don’t know if it’ll be a man or a woman, but an elder merchant will arrive with a business proposition. Do not send them away, as your father will be inclined to do. That person will try to appear confident and in control. In reality, though, they’ll be quite desperate for a deal. Tell your father he may ask whatever terms he desire. If he can match that person’s request, you will have a very favorable deal that’ll provide you with a much-needed income for the next couple of years.”

Keltrak gripped his hands, breathing faster and faster as Arneth spoke. The pause that followed only emphasized how amazed—and just a touch afraid—he had to be.

“I . . . Well, I . . . I’ll say. I—I cannot thank you enough, Master Farhan.”

Arneth smiled for a heartbeat. “You have already done enough. And you will continue to do enough. However, if you find it in yourself to be even more generous, I do have something to ask of you.”

“Then but name your price,” Keltrak spoke, too quickly.

Arneth approached the man, who seemed smaller and smaller beside him. His voice was nearly inaudible.

“Starting tomorrow,” he began, but moved his hands as he spoke and lost the grip on his spoon. It flew right at Zaleck’s forehead, causing him to fumble to catch it before it fell.

“That is what I ask,” Arneth said, and for the life of him Zaleck could not remember what Arneth had just asked of Keltrak, although it did seem to be related to him, by the way Keltrak now glanced at him and frowned.

“It will be done as you ask, Master Farhan.” Keltrak stepped back, bowing down to his chest.

Only after he had left did Arneth sit back down again.

“Ah,” he said, “nothing like a noble in dire financial needs to do your bidding, don’t you agree?”

“Eh . . . I guess. What did you ask him for?”

Arneth lowered his head, looking at Zaleck through his nonexistent eyebrows.

“You will find out, Zaleck. In due time.”

Would he ever get a straight answer from this man?

“Are we going to take much time here?” Not that he wanted to part with the food and lodging of the Sleeping Sturgeon, but being this close to whoever wanted to enslave him was not his idea of fun.

“We’ve been here for a night and already we almost murdered a noble and interfered in local politics. No, we should not take long.”

Still, Arneth ate his breakfast slower than Zaleck thought possible. He found himself almost dozing off at times.

“Can anyone become a Daht’Gahren, Arneth?” he asked after starting himself alert.

“Yes. It’s easier if the training starts when the candidate is young, but I’ve seen adults enroll in the Tower and manage to graduate, so yes, anyone can do it, Zaleck”—he winked at him—“even you. But I have to tell you, the training is brutal. We are taught to memorize and exert our minds with such intensity that at one point, every student loses all of their hair due to the stress. For every thousand candidates, only one graduates.”

“What happens to those who fail?”

“Oh, they go back to their homes and go on to have very productive lives. Even if a candidate doesn’t manage to graduate all the way, what they learn in the Tower lasts them for a lifetime. Several failed students have gone on to become historians, philosophers, astronomers, mathematicians, investigators who had a lasting impact on the world. But you will have to wait to know more about it, if you ever want to, because . . .”

Arneth raised his hand, pointing backward, to the tavern entrance right as Vellis came in, striding toward them.

“Have you told him the plan?” she asked Arneth.

“Oh, no. You do that with so much more . . . flair.”

Vellis smirked. “Of course.” She turned to Zaleck. “So, yesterday I went to see this ship of ours. It’s called the Emerald Viper.”

“Right.” Zaleck perked up on his seat.

“It’s huge. It’s a monster of a ship, and that archpriest Theron is there for sure. He arrived two months ago and rarely went out. He brought about a hundred or so soldiers of his personal guard with him. These are elite soldiers trained in Kaylor’s badlands. Those guys are no joke. The ship itself must have about two hundred more sailors and servants, so basically, there’s no way we can fight our way into or out of there.”

“That seems bad.”

“‘Bad’ is the mother of creativity, Zal. It only means we cannot fight, but we can talk! So, the idea is that Arneth will take you in there as if he were handing you over to Theron. He’ll say something like he wants money for you or some such. Arneth will have his conversation with the guy, and”—she turned to Arneth—“you’d better be as good as you sold yourself to be.”

“Oh, he is!” Zaleck said.

“Anyway, once you’re in there, you need to go to one of the ship’s windows, any one of them, and drop a fabric from it. That will be my signal. I’ll come up to the ship’s plank, pretending to be a messenger from Duke Orr, bringing a small token of friendship. No guard in their right mind will not let me pass. I will hire some boy from the harbor to come with me, carrying an empty chest. Once I am inside, I’ll find you.”

“How will you find us?” Zaleck asked.

“The ship is big, but it’s not a whole city. It should not be a problem.”

“What if a guard wants to come with you?”

“Well, I hope that doesn’t happen. If it does, I’ll have to knock them out and hide them as soon as I can. The important thing is that in the meantime, you will find a way to stay alone in a room for a time. We think this will not be impossible. Theron will feel pretty confident in his own ship. That’s when I’ll go to you.”

“What if Theron doesn’t want to leave us alone?”

“That will be really bad, Zaleck, because it means that as soon as I enter the room, I’ll kill him.”

She said that so matter-of-factly that Zaleck had to blink twice before replying.

“What?”

“No two ways about it, and I’ll not lose sleep over it.”

In fact, Zaleck was pretty sure Vellis didn’t lose sleep after killing anyone.

“I’d rather not have to do this, though. The political ramifications would be—complex. Regardless, when we’re back together, I’ll switch you over with the boy who came with me.”

“Eh,” Zaleck said, touching his pearl-white hair, “are you sure you aren’t forgetting anything?”

Vellis took a black vial from her pocket and placed it on the table.

“I am. This is a tincture with which we’ll dye your hair. I also got some powder for your skin. I will go into the ship with a black-haired boy, and I’ll leave the ship with a black-haired boy.”

“And how do you,” Zaleck asked Arneth, “and the other boy leave the ship?”

“We’ll jump out a window and swim. It’s a noisy harbor. No one will notice. And after that,” Vellis concluded, “we’ll just run away as fast as we can.”

Zaleck had never had to plan a break into anywhere so full of soldiers, nor had he ever even been near a ship. The plan did seem sound, but in the back of his mind there were so many things he could be asking, if only he could name them.

“Can’t this . . . go wrong somehow?”

Vellis chuckled. “Of course it can! There’s a hundred ways this can go wrong. The thing is, no plan is perfect, Zal, but any plan is better than no plan.”

“But . . .” he started to say, only to find he didn’t know how to continue.

“We do this today, Zaleck,” Vellis said. “We do this now.”

“Now?”

“The sooner the better,” Arneth said. “Zaleck, do you agree?”

Did he? Only then did Zaleck have a hint of the danger Vellis and Arneth were going to face, all to help him. Both of them could walk away and just leave him behind. It would even be better for them if they did. Instead, they seemed very much willing to risk neck and limb to help him, a farm boy they’d just met. For that alone, he had to go along.

“Well, why do I even have to go?” Zaleck asked. “You’re a Daht’Gahren—won’t Theron have to talk to you if you knock on his door?”

“In fact, no. The Theocracy of Kaylor banished all Daht’Gahren from their lands three hundred years ago precisely because they did not want us anywhere close to them. To talk to an archpriest, face-to-face, I must have something he desperately needs, and that has to be you. I’m sorry about this, Zaleck.”

“But, are you sure you can find out all of Theron’s plan just by talking to him?”

“After what you just witnessed, Zaleck, do you have to ask?”

He did not. Still, it took some effort for him to stand up, as if his legs also felt the danger he was about to face, and his chest refused to breathe this close to certain death.

“L-let’s do it, then!”

They all rose. For better or worse, the three walked out of the Inn, into the morning suns, toward the docks.

Chapter 12

Step by step, Zaleck, Arneth, and Vellis moved closer and closer to the city docks along the streets of Highport. Under the high morning suns, Zaleck shielded his eyes as he navigated through the shrill sounds of running children and the hopeless cacophony of peddlers and vendors. Turning over the market square, the thick beach air seemed to clog his lungs, breathing coming harder and harder.

Though the harbor was straight ahead, Zaleck couldn’t help but dart his eyes all around him. Yes, they did have a plan, and he was beside a Daht’Gahren who could calculate the future and a stone-cold killer huntress, but they were about to face a small army head-on. He might never see Kaldhill again, might never tell his dad of everything he’d learned, or his mom of all the sights he’d seen. If either of them were beside him right then, hells, even one of his brothers, he would bear it. Instead, only their memories accompanied him—that, and the hope that Vellis’s plan would somehow work out.

And yet, the whole way, Arneth and Vellis never urged him onward. They didn’t even touch him or grab his hand to make him walk faster, which they very well could have. Instead, as he walked slower and slower, they kept close beside him, like two guardian statues.

They turned down a street so large even the multitude of people coming to and fro wasn’t enough to fill it whole. There, at its end, after a slight incline down, Highport’s harbor spread outward, a maze of wooden walkways—and at its end, the towering floating fortress that was the Emerald Viper.

Zaleck halted, in spite of his best efforts, and couldn’t help choking. Arneth turned to him, kneeling down and looking him eye to eye.

“Are you alright, Zaleck?”

He wasn’t, but he nodded just the same.

“Zaleck,” he said, “we can still turn back. If you want, we can move away and come up with another plan, or even leave Highport behind.”

That certainly sounded better.

“But . . .” Zaleck said instead, “you said we have to move quickly.”

“I did.” Arneth gripped his shoulder, and as if that alone could transfer confidence into him, Zaleck drew himself up a bit. Arneth continued, “But that doesn’t mean we have to go on if you don’t want to.”

Zaleck closed his eyes. To turn back, get their horses, and gallop all the way back north into Kaldhill, he could do that. He would see his family again. Yes, they’d all be in danger, but he wouldn’t be so . . . lost.

The scene from the slaver caravan flashed before him once again. All those people dead. They would all be his family if he didn’t move on. More than that, though, he might never find out what was going on. Why had he even been taken captive in the first place?

Thus, against all better judgment, and in spite of how much he missed his parents, Zaleck swallowed dry and, with shaking hands, spoke.

“Let’s go.”

Arneth stood up and turned to Vellis. “Then we should split here.”

“We should,” she agreed. “I’ll meet you again when you ask me to save your skins.”

Arneth nodded, and she turned away, disappearing within the mass of people. He turned back to Zaleck.

“Now it’s just us.”

Instead of answering, Zaleck took his hand, and they walked together in silence toward the Emerald Viper. They were almost like just any other father and son on the street, if the father was all bald and the son all pale.

Zaleck and Arneth approached the harbor, tightening their grip with each step toward the colossal ship. The painted serpent grew larger, a foreboding figure against the sky. Five decks high, the ship humbled any other merchant or military Ayrnian vessel docked at the harbor. Its curved prow and intricate carvings seeming to dance and twist in the morning light.

From its upper decks, the tips of an array of arbalests shot out. Hundreds of people walked the ship. At the main gangplank, which led into its interior instead of the upper deck, four soldiers stood watch, baking under the sun beneath their white-painted plate armor. Everywhere on the ship, on each of its sails, on its mast, and in the soldier’s armor, three intertwined golden skulls marked them as coming from the Theocracy of Kaylor.

The guards turned to Arneth and Zaleck. “Halt,” one said. “Who are you?”

Zaleck tightened his shoulders, trying to keep his arms from shaking. The man had the same accent as the slavers from the caravan, the same as the two men who’d kept him tied up, asleep and nauseated, for weeks.

“I am Master Arneth Farhan from Verian Tower. I come to present the albino flowcaster to archpriest Theron Vangard,” Arneth said.

The guard widened his eyes, almost gasping, before extending his hand.

“I’ll be needing your weapons, sir.”

Zaleck didn’t expect to feel half-naked as he handed his blade to the guard. The guard moved aside, motioning the two of them to go into the ship. The other guard escorted them.

The gangplank creaked beneath them as they left their lives behind, entering the belly of the painted beast.

The ship’s interior shone in a white pastel decor, a high contrast to the rich colors of every single inn and tavern they’d been thus far. If not for the colors, however, the entrance room would have been like any other regular room in a large house. Sofas and tables lined the walls, beneath portraits and hanging potted plants. The ceiling was cut in a mezzanine with side stairs leading upward. The escorting guard motioned for them to wait while he moved farther into the ship.

Though this was his first time in this or any other ship, for that matter, Zaleck couldn’t shake an almost overbearing déjà vu. Everywhere he glanced, it was like his mind was on the verge of remembering something very familiar. As much as he tried to resolve this feeling, though, it remained vague, a memory that only further eluded him the more he tried to recall it.

The guard returned with another man behind, middle-aged, his beard trimmed to perfection, underlying the seriousness of two bright, dark eyes that shone with too much intensity for Zaleck’s comfort. His light beige robe was interrupted by a thick, silvery belt. However, it was at his forehead that Zaleck could not stop staring, at the single golden skull tattooed above his eyes. How did anyone manage to make a golden tattoo?

The man stopped as soon as he saw Zaleck. A half chuckle, half smirk came out, and he stepped forward leisurely.

“Be welcome, Master Daht’Gahren. I must say very, very few things surprise me nowadays, and yet you managed to achieve it with flying colors. I am Theron Vangard, archpriest of the Theocracy of Kaylor, and I am very pleased to welcome you to my ship.”

His calculated tone reminded Zaleck of a cat waiting to strike. There was honey in his voice, but like the honey you’d pour on a table when you wanted to catch flies. If even Zaleck realized that, he couldn’t begin to imagine what was going through Arneth’s mind right then.

“I am Arneth Farhan, high calculator of the Daht’Gahren, and this is— Well, you don’t really care, do you?”

Theron raised a thick eyebrow, causing his tattooed skull to scoff.

“Oh, but I do. I care very much indeed. In fact, I can guarantee that I know exactly who this is, far more than you, High Calculator.” Theron extended his hand toward the inside of the ship. “Please, come with me. Let’s talk in my quarters.”

The three walked down a narrow corridor. A few soldiers made way for them, bowing as they passed.

Theron’s quarters took the whole back part of the ship, even extending one deck upward. A geometric carpet filled the floor, stopping just short of the fluffy bed to the right and the stands filled with drinks and books to the left. A table and four chairs at the center made it clear this was not only a bedroom, but also a meeting room. In fact, Zaleck was pretty sure he had met Theron in this very room at least once before. He, or someone from his death flows.

“I must say,” Theron said as he sat down on the largest chair, “I am intrigued as to why a master Daht’Gahren would deign himself to assist in my woes.”

Zaleck sat down, the fluffy padded chair caressing him—a poisonous caress.

“Oh, not a very special reason, archpriest Theron—”

“Your Eminence is the proper way to address me.”

Arneth nodded. “Not a very special reason, Your Eminence. I was among those your slavers captured, and after I murdered the lot of them and found out the boy is a flowcaster, decided to play for the winning side.”

Theron leaned back. “Indeed? Captured, you say? And you alone escaped?”

“I am sure Your Eminence must be acquainted with the abilities of my peers. It was not a hard escape, for one such as I. May I ask, what are your plans for the boy?”

“Why? Do we have a sentimental Daht’Gahren here?”

“I’m sure it must be very abstract for you, Your Eminence, but escaping and killing slavers together does tend to bond people. I can’t help but have a measure of care for him.”

“Well, I’m sure you can imagine what our plans are. Teachers, instruction, that sort of thing. Aren’t you more interested in your own reward?”

Arneth leaned back. “Oh, I would consider it reward enough if I could just accompany you back to Kaylor, and be granted permission to study in its vast libraries.”

Theron winced just a bit. “That cannot be, Professor. I am on a tight schedule and am needed back at once. Bringing an uninvited guest would be problematic.”

“Curious,” Arneth replied. “If that is so, why would you send a slaver group to ‘pick him up’? Were you not expecting more merchandise to come along with the young boy, like me?”

Zaleck crumpled in his chair as Arneth talked about him as if he weren’t even there. The stare of those two men for some reason had his eyes watering up, and he found himself unable to look up.

Theron bit his lip and rose. “That is enough, Professor. You will be content with a reward of one hundred crowns. That is a far more generous price than you would get for him anywhere else. Remain here while I retrieve your payment.”

As soon as Theron left the room, Arneth stood up. “We need to leave. Right now.”

Zaleck forced himself to look at Arneth, in spite of how he had just treated him. He couldn’t hide the hurt in his voice. “Did you find out what his plan is, at least?”

“I think I did, and if I’m right, it’s worse than I thought. Everybody knows Kaylor is a nation ruled by three flowcasters. What they don’t know is that it’s always been the same flowcasters, for centuries. When they start to, well, wear down, I didn’t get this part straight, but at certain moments they need to do this thing—a ritual, I think that’s what it is—that allows them to steal the Flow from a natural flowcaster, cleanse their own power, and live for another lifetime.”

“He wants to—steal my youth?”

“No, Zaleck, he wants to steal your power and your youth and then kill you, and he is preparing for it right now. When he comes back, in moments, he will kill me and take you somewhere belowdecks to be sacrificed.”

“Let’s send Vellis the sign!”

“We have less time than that! By the time Vellis gets here, we’ll be long dead.” Arneth pressed his fingers against his own forehead. “This is it, then. This is it. Still, damn it, it’s hard!”

Arneth moved toward one of the windows. He tried opening it, but in spite of his efforts, it didn’t even rattle. He sighed.

“Locked. Anyway, you can’t swim, can you?”

Zaleck shook his head.

“Alright. Let’s go out the way we came, then.”

“But, how?”

“Running. Very fast.”

Outrun a whole ship of soldiers and sailors, all intent on stopping them? They’d have to be very, very fast to do that, and Arneth couldn’t outrun an ant right now. Zaleck clenched his fists.

“Your leg,” he said.

“It’s all about ignoring the pain, Zaleck.”

Right. If that was the only way, so be it.

“Okay, let’s go!” He almost shouted it.

Arneth moved toward the door and grabbed its knob. Before turning it, he said, “One more thing.”

“What?”

“A day will come when you will look back and wonder if any of this was your choice. You will wonder if I manipulated you all the way, or if you really did all those things on your own. When that day comes, remember this. I cannot see every detail of the future; I only see some things. I am not a puppeteer, I am just another piece on this board, one who tried to move in order to protect you and Vellis from the other players. Everything I did was so you could yourself have a choice. If you, by any chance, look back to this day and hate me, I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me, or at least to know my reasons. Do you understand?”

He didn’t, but still Zaleck nodded just so Arneth would hurry up.

Arneth opened the door. A soldier right in front of them turned, but before the man had any chance to react, Arneth punched his throat with clenched fingers. The man fell, gasping for breath, a sudden panic masking his face.

Arneth limped over the soldier, and Zaleck jumped. They moved along the narrow corridor, dodging one soldier, then another. Arneth used his cane to trip a third one who entered the corridor, opening up the way for Zaleck to escape.

Zaleck darted, blind to everything but the exit, screams and shouts rising behind him. The doorway out was closed, but Zaleck opened it and—

He stopped right there. The gangplank had been removed. The harbor drifted away. The ship was leaving port.

Zaleck turned around, his chest hammering as he gritted his teeth, which felt stiff as death itself. Arneth threw himself toward the open door, but it slammed shut, as a soldier blocked their way.

Bows and loaded crossbows were raised at them. Dozens of arrows and bolts, right in Zaleck’s face. Theron Vangard appeared on the far side of the room, trying and failing to feign a casual voice.

“Oh, you wound me, Professor Farhan. And I thought we had an understanding.”

“And I thought we could even have an understanding, Theron,” Arneth replied as he turned.

Theron frowned when Arneth used his first name. “There’s no need for further unpleasantness, Professor. Hand over the boy and you just might live.”

“I’m afraid it’s you who is misinterpreting the danger here, Theron. Let us go, and you just might live.”

“Oh, there’s that Daht’Gahren arrogance I’ve come to know. Come now, Professor. You know this only ends one way.”

Arneth sighed. When he spoke, he did seem sad. “Unfortunately, I do. It ends in fire and blood, it ends in heartache and hurt, but for everyone on this ship, it ends here.”

Theron took a step forward, his eyes so wide they seemed like two dark suns in the sky. He spoke between clenched teeth. “I tire of this charade.” He raised his finger at them. “Kill him.”

All of Zaleck’s chest exploded in a scream. “No!”

Arneth turned around, hugging him. His body shook once, twice, a third and fourth time as arrows pierced his back. In spite of all his strength, he groaned.

“Arneth! No!”

Arneth’s grip lessened as he slumped down. Zaleck continued to hold him, trying to get him up. He spoke faster and faster, even though his voice was breaking harder and harder.

“Arneth! Stand up! Please, don’t die!”

“Quickly,” came Theron’s dry and rough voice, “put the boy under!”

Zaleck screamed, as loud as he could, as if that could mend things. “Arneth! Arneth! Come back!”

Arneth stared at him, weaker and weaker. Small, watery pools formed in his eyes as blood filled his mouth, and he coughed. One of his hands touched Zaleck’s face, and for once he seemed so, so sad that it brought all of Zaleck’s hopes down with him.

Then came the inner flash, the burst of power within Zaleck telling him, without a doubt, that Arneth had died.

He held on to him; he had to hold on and never let go. Yet a hand grasped at his shirt from behind and he was yanked up, shaking. He would not stop screaming.

A slender man approached, bringing once again the foul tincture that would make him sleep. Zaleck twisted and struggled against the soldier who held him. He clenched his jaw, but another soldier forced his mouth open.

That could not happen again. Would not happen. His dad, his mom—he would not lose them. Arneth was gone, but his spark still flared within him alongside the slavers’, their flow running unimpeded. After all those months, after being kidnapped and pursued and attacked, grabbed and treated like a thing, again something broke within Zaleck. Like a raging dam being torn down, like a flood that could not be stopped, he let it all out, in a single command of pure unbridled wrath.

Burn, he ordered. Burn!

Zaleck exploded. Fire gushed from every one of his pores, from his mouth and eyes, filling the soldiers, the room, the whole ship, expanding in a colossal scream of rage.

“Burn!” he screamed aloud. Fire blew even more, explosion after explosion, all around him. His body floated up, suspended by the Flow as he exhausted his breath in tears that would never be formed in such heat.

Arneth was gone, and it was all his fault.

Chapter 13

Zaleck crashed on the flaming floor. From all around him, searing heat crisped its way into him as he breathed, causing him to choke and cough. Fire everywhere, flaming and crumbling debris, smoke so thick he couldn’t see the end of the room, and somehow he still lived.

As his vision clouded and his breath hurt at every gasp, he knew he would soon pass out. He should have already passed out, but his awareness was held, forced open by dozens, maybe hundreds of sparks flaring up inside.

Yet more and more bursts of power, Flow coming in through the deaths of all sailors coursed through his veins, holding him awake even if they did nothing to stop the pain.

Above him, a huge fiery hole had burst through three decks above, revealing the sky. The two masts of the ship that he could see held flaming sails like sheets of hell. All around him came screams as people burned to a crisp, their whole bodies aflame, dying one after another, bursting new power inside of him each time.

The ship heaved, tilting the floor, bringing all the debris to one side of the room. Zaleck tried to hold on to anything, at all but his hands grasped at air as he was thrust into a burning pile of flames.

He didn’t burn, though. Heat seared his throat, smoke clawed at his eyes, his sleeves and tunic were consumed by flames, but his skin would not catch fire.

The floor creaked as it tilted even more.

Leaving this room right now was all that mattered, but somehow, the exit was not there—no, it was there, only one deck above. His explosion had also burst through the ground, and he’d fallen belowdecks.

He couldn’t cough anymore, the air so hot that the pain itself caused him to lurch and vomit. He stumbled onward, into a corridor, only to step back as a person, a mass of writhing flames, thrashed around before him, the agony searing into his ears. Zaleck blindly stepped into another room. Somewhere, there had to be a way out.

More debris fell, two conflagrating charred bodies, their metal armor seared into calcinated skin.

Zaleck ducked, the air by the floor almost breathable again, enough that he could get his bearings. He might not be burning himself, but he could still choke to death. Even in this room, smoke filled the ceiling, like a dark water flowing in upside down.

Zaleck crawled back into the previous room, now a mass of debris that could hardly be traversed, leaping flames blocking all sight. He felt along the wall to a gap and entered another corridor to his right. The passage tilted up, the end shining with daylight.

With no more breaths to take, he stumbled onward, climbing. His sight spun around, twisting and stretching, as dizziness overtook him.

A violent creaking sound thundered, and the whole tilted passage slumped back to normal. Thrust forward, Zaleck rolled on to the end of the corridor.

There, a window, and below, the sea. At last fresh air, renewing his awareness as he took in hungry gasps. He could not swim, but he refused to suffocate on a crumbling ship either.

He jumped.

The cold water sent a shocking jolt through his muscles. Waving his arms and legs, he tried, without knowing how, to go back up again, to not breathe, to not swallow the water. His body reacted—it needed air, it needed relief. How would he swim upward? Where was up anyway?

As he turned and turned in the water, a plank fell on his leg, forcing his mouth open in a muffled scream. Water rushed in. He coughed, and even more water came in. He grasped at anything, flailed at nothing, his mind wrapped around the onset of numbness.

A shape loomed over him, a person in the water, their hands grasping his arms, and at last his cloudy vision won over. Darkness embraced him.

Someone screamed out his name, bringing him back. His throat burned as he coughed, as light pierced his eyes and his limbs shook with cold. People towered around him. Somehow, he was lying down. His throat rasped and rebelled at each drop of water he spit out.

“Zaleck!” Someone kneeled beside him. Vellis. “Zaleck, thank gods!”

Around them a small mass of people huddled, staring down. Zaleck tried to get up, only then realizing that someone had thrown a blanket over him. Of course, his clothes had all become burnt rags in the explosion.

Vellis, drenched to her last hair, helped him sit down. The dizziness made this a greater effort than he would have expected. As water ran down his ears, the stifled sounds of the city resolved into a great commotion. People pointed over to one side, and when he did sit down at last, a number of those who had gathered around Vellis turned away.

Kneeling, she held him as she helped him refocus. As soon as he managed to breathe, his throat closed up again in a sob, his own tears mixing with seawater.

He looked at Vellis, trying to say something. He had to tell her what had happened, but all he could see still was Arneth dying in front of him. His mouth trembled, and before he knew it, he threw himself over her, the sobs now too strong to be kept down, the moaning having grown into a constant wail. He held her, and she held him back, his lungs lurching, trying to undo the knot within his chest.

“They killed him,” he said. “He’s gone, he’s gone!”

He’s gone, and I did it, he should have said, but it was that last part that kept closing up in his throat, refusing to come out.

Vellis kept him close for as long as he clutched her in. He didn’t know how long that was, but her embrace held him like no other that he could recall.

They parted slowly. When he managed to look into her eyes again, she spoke.

“Do you think you can stand up?”

Zaleck nodded, though he soon learned how wrong he was. Vellis had to prop him up, adjusting his cloak, as his legs wouldn’t support him even one step without stumbling. As he held on to her like a walking pillar, they stepped away from the mass gathering at the harbor.

Vellis took him to an alley between two large wooden houses, where she sat him on a barrel. All of Zaleck’s body seemed to weigh tons, though the way she handled him reminded him of how his sister would play with a doll.

She opened a backpack and handed him pants and a shirt.

“These are the clothes I was going to give you to switch over after I had met you in the ship.”

Zaleck also needed help dressing up, as his arms couldn’t even pull the pants up, but Vellis helped him without a sound. She then gave him a waterskin, and only after the first gulp did he realize how much he needed it.

Once his throat had stopped hurting and he could breathe again, he said, “You saved me again.”

Vellis nodded with a quiet smile. “I saw you jumping out of, well, whatever the hell was left of the ship, and dove in to get you. You were passed out when I took you back. Gods, Zaleck, for a moment I thought I’d lost you too.”

Zaleck attempted to smile, and he would have, had she not said that last word. It crumpled his throat once again, bringing his eyes down as he fought another wild moan that tried to get out.

“Zal,” she said, “did you do that? Do you know what you did?”

Zaleck couldn’t bring himself to answer, so he just shook his head.

“Boy, you brought the whole ship down! It just . . . I’ve never seen anything like it. It blew up from inside, broke in half. In the blink of an eye, the whole ship turned into hellfire.”

Zaleck tried to look at the harbor, but even if he could have moved his head, the masses blocked any view.

“He . . .” He needed to say it. He had to tell her about it, no matter how much it hurt. “They killed him, Vellis. Arneth found out that priest guy was going to kill us both, so we tried to run away”—he had to swallow to go on—“but then they got us, and they . . .” Damn it, why couldn’t he tell her about it? “He held me, and they . . .”

“Hey!” Vellis said, touching his cheek. “It’s alright, okay? I got it.”

Zaleck wiped his eyes. “Well, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, flowcaster.”

He had to laugh at that. Only once, because his lungs still burned at the effort.

“I— I want to see it. Will you help me?”

“Sure thing. Here.”

She held his hand, and grabbed his shoulder when he stumbled once again after a few steps.

It seemed the whole city had come to the harbor, people huddling together, trying to get a glimpse of the flaming ship. Many, many armored guards had opened up a way for a group who were working on the explosion’s survivors, diving into the water and bringing back sailors who escaped the brunt of Zaleck’s flames.

He and Vellis slithered through the crowd. The Emerald Viper had devolved into a mass of debris strewn across the water, forcing even other ships away. Its hull had splintered and broken in many places now. Heaved to the side, the ship took on water, its masts cracked and its burned-out sails floating on the surface holding together various groups of clutter.

It still burned. What was left of the hull and masts and sails ran with searing hot flames, even the parts touching water. Fire raced through the hull, even in the underwater portion of the ship.

Something else burned as well. Zaleck found it by following the hundreds of hands beside him that pointed downward. There, beneath the burning ship, under a thick sheet of bubbling seawater, several glowing lights moved, flickering yellow. At first, they seemed to move at random, but as a group, they all headed slowly toward the harbor.

Zaleck frowned, trying to discern what those lights meant. A sudden sense came to him, like when Arneth had asked him to say the name of the person who’d died, and he found out the name even without ever having known that person.

Zaleck somehow knew those bright glowing underwater lights. He remembered them in an instinctive way, because they were also still within him.

The people from the ship. The guards he’d killed with his explosion. That was what those glowing lights were, and they still moved.

“Zaleck,” Vellis said, “I don’t like the look of this.”

“Miss Vellis,” he said, “I like it even less.”

She didn’t even tell him to drop the “Miss” this time.

Zaleck tried to concentrate of the feeling of those lights, that remembrance of the people he’d burned; maybe doing that, he could understand something about what was going on. As he did it, some kind of understanding passed on from him to those things, a sense of knowing each other. Those moving underwater lights had seen him somehow, in their minds. It was like looking into another person’s eyes as they also looked back at you, only it happened in his imagination.

The burning lights, which had been to this point moving with no aim, started to all shift with purpose, toward the city. One of them reached the wooden harbor support beams and began to rise, smoky bubbles coming up right above it.

One of the onlookers screamed, then another, and then a chorus of cries took over the multitude. That flickering underwater light was a person. A human body that still burned and climbed its way upward through the harbor planks, causing it to also catch fire.

“Holy crapping flaming hells!” Vellis said.

Each one of those flickering lights, and there were dozens of them, was one of the ship’s guards who’d taken the brunt of Zaleck’s flames, the soldiers who’d murdered Arneth. Their metallic armor had fused with their charred skin, creating a fiery monstrosity that never went out, advancing toward the city. Were they even still alive? No, Zaleck knew they weren’t. Each of their death flows, even now, burst within him.

A wave of panic ran through the multitude at the harbor as they all started to flee. An actual stampede resounded through the wooden boards as thousands and thousands of people ran. They understood what was happening even less than Zaleck, but anyone could understand the danger of an armored, flaming zombie crawling its way through the harbor, burning anything it touched.

“Zaleck, let’s get out of here,” Vellis said as people were knocked from the harbor into the water amid the chaos.

She turned back when Zaleck remained in place.

“Vellis . . .” he said. “I did this!”

How he could undo this, he had no idea, but could he really run away?

The first flaming, undead soldier reached the top of the harbor. The city’s guards, the ones who resisted their instinctive fear, advanced, hacking at it with their spears. The flaming soldier, however, took little notice of the weapons and advanced, burning the guard with its touch.

Any other soldier still at the harbor fled after that.

Vellis grabbed Zaleck’s arm. “Listen to me! It doesn’t matter if you or the gods themselves did this. We. Are. Leaving.”

She pulled him on, and this time he didn’t resist. As fast as they could, they fled the harbor, its fiery destruction and the flaming consequences of what Zaleck had done.

Chapter 14

Vellis’s hand guided him through the winding streets amid many-storied stone and wooden houses. Up and down flights of stairs they went, over small bridges and under stone archways, even under a three-level aqueduct at some point. Zaleck tried to orient himself based on the church tower and the cliff mirrors, but even when he managed to pinpoint those landmarks, he couldn’t remember how they looked from anywhere else in the city.

He yanked his hand away. “Wait, wait! Where are we going?”

“Away, Zaleck. Far away.”

“But do you even know where we are anymore?”

Vellis put a hand on her waist. “I’ve been to this city before, you know.”

“Right, so where are we going?”

“We are getting the heck out of here, that’s where, but first”—she pointed at his still-bare feet—“you need a new pair of boots.”

Zaleck looked down, then back at her, nodding. He didn’t ask about it anymore, but Vellis also seemed to slow down a bit, enough for Zaleck not to feel she would tear off his arm.

As they went into the cobbler store, the quiet within almost made Zaleck forget that right there on the harbor, an army of dead Kaylorite soldiers on fire was killing everyone on sight. Still, little by little, news arrived of what was happening. The distant screams seemed to be getting closer.

As they left the store, Zaleck said, “But Vel . . . Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“Anything we can do? Did you see that? Did you actually frigging see that? What could we possibly do?”

“I don’t know. But I did that, it’s my fault!”

“Right, okay. Can you undo that?”

Zaleck, eyes down, shook his head.

“Then our way is that way,” she said, pointing at the hills north. “Here in Highport, there is an actual army, did you hear? I’m not talking about a sizeable guard, I’m not talking about a few hundred soldiers, no, an actual army of thousands. I know that because I was once a part of it. If they can’t solve this problem, that is just one more reason for us to get the heck away.”

“But shouldn’t we tell someone?”

She leaned closer, speaking in but a whisper. “Boy, a diplomatic ship carrying the ruler of one of the most powerful nations in Unaris just exploded in the harbor. If anyone with authority even suspects you had something to do with that, you can be sure you’ll be locked up, tried, and condemned to death, which is exactly what Arneth was trying to avoid. No one can find out. Got me?”

Zaleck nodded.

Scores of soldiers passed them by, some even riding horses, running toward the harbor, as Zaleck and Vellis neared the northern gates. Every time they passed, he would flinch a bit, expecting someone to call at him, expecting some of them to be Duke Orr’s.

And then they were.

“Hey, you!” a voice shouted from right beside them. Two soldiers, chainmail-clad, spears at the ready, pointed at Zaleck and Vellis. Their tabards held the same coat of arms Zaleck had seen in the slaver’s flow memories.

For a heartbeat, the four of them glanced at each other. Could he even outrun such tall guys on a city as big as this? These were not like the brigands they’d fought, who wore only frayed gambesons and whom Vellis had managed to snipe from far away. Could they fight against two armored men with such long weapons?

Vellis seemed to think so, because she stepped toward one of them, drawing her daggers, knocking the spear aside and thrusting the blade under his jaw.

The other soldier stepped back, eyes going wide as he readied his spear. Vellis pulled her dagger away from the dying soldier. As Zaleck blinked, she sheathed her blades and grabbed the dying soldier’s spear before he could even slump to the ground. Another death flow burst within.

The other guard opened his mouth and Vellis stepped up, striking with the spear, forcing him to fall back. Whatever he was about to scream turned into grunts as he strove to keep her attacks at bay. She advanced, lightning fast, forcing the soldier into an ever-defensive position.

Zaleck saw the opening. If he picked up the shortsword from the fallen soldier, he could strike at Vellis’s opponent from behind, between the chainmail and the mail coif. Instead, he stepped back. How could he strike at a man who’d done him no wrong? He was no Vellis.

Her opponent backed up until he hit a stone wall. Vellis swung her spear in a wide arc, opening herself for an attack, which came right on cue. Dodging the incoming spear, she drew and threw a dagger at the man’s face, the blade nicking his cheek. He cried, half in pain, half in surprise. Time enough for Vellis to pierce his neck with her spear.

Don’t get hit, Arneth said.

The second soldier stumbled back, gasping blood. Before he finished sliding down to the floor, Vellis ran to Zaleck and grabbed his trembling hand, resuming their flight.

Three, four heartbeats. That was how long it had taken her to finish two armored soldiers. Who was this woman?

Zaleck could not keep from shaking anymore. He hardly even felt his hands or feet. Vellis must have sensed his hesitation, because she took him to an alley, kneeling before him as she grasped his shoulders.

“It was them or us, Zaleck. Them or us,” she said as she also gasped for air. “Whatever happened back there, put that out of your mind.”

“B-but—but we didn’t even hear what they had to say! What if they were just going to ask us something? What if they had no idea who we were?”

Vellis paused, like that was the first time this had crossed her mind. She breathed deep. “Put that out of your mind, Zal. They are dead. We are not. We move on.”

They did move on, but Zaleck kept asking himself if he was truly safe beside her.

They weren’t the only ones retrieving their horses from the stables just outside of town. A good number of people, most with blank panic on their faces, also rode north in all haste. By now the news shouted around them was conflicting. Kaylor was attacking the city, Ayrn had declared war on Kaylor and killed the archpriest, the whole harbor was on fire. A few people even managed to say that magical soldiers on fire were rampaging through the streets.

Once again, Zaleck’s heart clutched at his chest when Vellis asked the stableboy to bring them the three horses: Savior, Solong, and Ethellus.

They left Highport, galloping as fast as they could, for as long as their horses could carry them, even though the road north twisted and turned enough that it seemed intent on slowing them down.

About midday, when they crested the hills from which the whole city could be seen below, Highport stood with a wall of fire running across its houses. The harbor was invisible through the smoke, and many neighborhoods were lined in pathways of flames. The previous scent of sea and fish now brought blood and ash with it.

It seemed that the army Vellis mentioned hadn’t solved the issue.

They weren’t the only ones to witness that in fearful awe. Many other travelers had stopped by the roadside to contemplate the ravaging flames that devoured Highport.

“By the gods . . .” Vellis whispered.

“Vel—”

“Not now, Zaleck. Later.”

Neither said anything for the rest of the afternoon. As the two suns started to set beneath distant hills, Vellis finally spoke.

“I don’t want to spend this night at an inn, Zaleck. I think it’s best if we camp somewhere off the road, in the woods.”

“What, why?”

“I just don’t want to risk it, that’s all. I think we may be too exposed.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t be if you hadn’t killed two guards in cold blood!”

“Enough, Zal!”

He pouted. Maybe they wouldn’t be if he hadn’t blown up a ship full of people as well, so she might be right.

She led the way into thick bushes and trees whose tops opened wide, unlike those from Kaldhill that grew much taller. At one point, she dismounted on what seemed like just another spot in the wild.

“This will do. Tie the horses and gather some stones and firewood. I’ll hunt us some game for the night.”

“Do you need help?”

Vellis half smiled. “I’d like that, but if you’ve never hunted before, you’ll only get in my way right now. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Okay.”

Zaleck found a good grazing spot for their mounts, and after tying them, caressed them a little, trying to sense how tired they were. He had no idea how to do that, though. He stroked Ethellus’s mane a while longer, as if he had an obligation to say something to him, to tell him his rider wouldn’t come back. Silence spoke better than any excuse he might make.

Setting up the small camp, he tried imitating what Arneth and Vellis had done the first night after they escaped the slavers, propping the firewood he picked up in a circle of surrounding stones.

After starting the fire with the flint from their backpacks, he sat down and waited, with nothing but his thoughts and the memories he could not deny, control, or forget.

In the thick of night, Vellis came back with two rabbits. “You started the fire already. Good. Help me out with the rabbits?”

Zaleck cut the skin off one, following Vellis’s guidance. A few moments later, they both sat down before the fire as the meat started to roast.

“I could have taken an elk,” Vellis said, “but we would have problems carrying it. Have you eaten elk before, Zaleck?”

What was she even talking about? Arneth was dead, he’d killed an entire ship, and she’d flat out murdered two guards, and now she talked about eating elk?

Even surrounded by the silence of their mutual loss, Zaleck could not help but devour his rabbit. Its meat was just tender enough under the crispy skin to have him licking his fingers in no time.

Vellis softened her voice in an excess of caution.

“Tell me, Zal. That priest guy. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Zaleck closed his eyes, trying to sense within him if Theron’s spark was there. Doing it was like turning to look at a room full of candles, only without his eyes. Yet each shone with perfect distinction, burning bright with their unique identities.

So many of them. So many lives lost, so many memories. As soon as he focused on one, memories flooded him, forcing him to either pull back or drown in them. They came with no control, no reason, like a stream of delirious consciousness. Zaleck delved into one, two, ten sparks, and still so many more flared within him.

He sighed. “I . . . don’t know, Vel. There’re just too many sparks. I don’t know how to look for him. Maybe he’s there, maybe not. It’s all a mess.”

Zaleck let heavy silence embrace him again, but every owl hoot in the forest sounded like another accusation.

“Well, to me, he’s dead,” Vellis said after too long a time.

“This is the time he would be training me,” Zaleck said, ignoring her words. “This is the time he would be showing me how to fight until I got so tired, I couldn’t stay up anymore.”

They looked into each other’s eyes across the campfire.

“And I . . . I can’t give him his seeds,” he said.

Vellis frowned.

“Arneth,” Zaleck said, “I can’t give him his seeds.”

“What seeds?”

Zaleck sighed, pushing down the jolt of heaviness that threatened to drown him in tears once again.

“Back home . . . when someone dies, we each take a few seeds and put it over them. That way, when they wake up on the Golden Fields, they’ll have something to plant, so they can wait for us with their harvest, but I can’t give Arneth his seeds.”

Why was his voice breaking again?

Vellis stood up and sat beside Zaleck.

“Well, back home we never did that, so I guess there’s no one waiting for me with a harvest. But do you know what we did? We would take something from the person who’s gone, or something that reminded us of them, and we would say something we wanted to tell that person, one last time, and then throw that in the fire. That way, when it burned, it would carry our message to them on the Golden Fields.”

Zaleck looked down. Did he even have something of Arneth?

Vellis took a twig from the pile before it burned, broke it, then took a string and started to tie it up.

“What’s that?” Zaleck asked.

“That’s Arneth.”

“That’s a stick that looks like a T.” Vellis lowered her eyes, sighing. Could Zaleck have said something more stupid than that? “Sorry. You’re right. That’s Arneth.”

“Look,” she said, “these here are his arms, then his legs, and this is the rope that he released you from at the caravan.”

Zaleck gave her a smaller stick. “And this is his sword.”

“Yes, and his sword.”

“And he’s even bald.”

Vellis smiled. “Yes. He’s even bald.”

She stood up, followed by Zaleck. She stared into the poor excuse of a doll for a long time before saying anything.

“Arneth . . . I could never understand you. Half the time I didn’t know why you did what you did, but when I did know, that’s when I saw that you’re the type of guy to help anyone in need. You saved our lives, you bald oaf, and didn’t even stick around for me to save yours in return. It’s not fair, you know. I don’t know where you Daht’Gahren go when you die, but I hope wherever it is, there’s a lot of books there. You deserve them.”

Vellis extended the doll to Zaleck, who took it with trembling fingers, trying his best to keep it from collapsing.

Zaleck extended his hand, drawing one of Vellis’s daggers from her sheath. She frowned, and the expression deepened when Zaleck prickled his hand with it.

“What’re you doing, Zal?”

“You said we take something that belonged to the person. Arneth saved my life. So, I’m kind of like, his, now. I’m giving a piece of myself back to him.”

Vellis raised her eyebrows a little.

What would Zaleck even tell this blood-stained doll? Nothing popped into his mind. Yet, after the first word, they all came, one after another, rolling out by themselves through his cheek.

“Arneth . . . you didn’t finish my training. I wanted you to teach me how to fight—and I wanted you to meet my mom and dad. I wanted to show them how you saved my life. They would believe it if you were with me. I wanted to do so many things, and I wanted to do them . . . with you.” Wiping his eyes, swallowing tears, he would not stop now. “But you know what? I’ll train like you showed me. I’ll do that, and then when we meet again, I’ll tell you: Arneth, look how much I’ve learned. And you taught me first!”

Zaleck threw the doll into the fire, and as the flames devoured it, its ashes climbed up with the smoke, carrying their messages away.

“Goodbye,” Zaleck whispered.

Vellis tousled his already messy hair and moved away to lie down for the night. Zaleck tried to find the least bad spot to sleep as well. He saw that doll’s ashes in his mind for quite some time.

“Vel,” he said.

“What?” she gruntled.

“You made it up, didn’t you?”

“Made what up?”

“This thing with the fire and the doll—you didn’t really do this back at your home, did you?”

He could hear Vellis turning on the ground, could even imagine her expression as she said, “you are too smart for your own good, Zaleck. Sleep well.”

Zaleck shuffled on the earth.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

There was no pillow, and the hard ground brought back all his sores from the last days, and several insects bit him throughout the night—and yet, he did sleep well.

Chapter 15

Thrown back against the ship’s wall by the explosion, Theron Vangard had but an eyeblink to raise a magical shield before the brunt of the boy’s flowcast hit him. Wave after wave of flames pressed against his defense, sliding away from the shield that created a zone of safety less than an inch away from him.

The walls around him did not have that protection, though, and before Theron could grunt with the effort, the ship’s hull burned away, propelling him out of the Emerald Viper. He flew over the waters on Highport Harbor.

Theron hit the water like a brick wall, his concentration slipping away as he tumbled underwater. His shoulder was yanked back, dislocated, and he almost lost his breath. By sheer reflex, he kept from swallowing seawater.

His left arm pushed against the current, but his right one lanced with pain. Swimming came as a torture. His lungs burned for a gasp of air. When he emerged, his first breath came with a scream.

The Emerald Viper, his four-storied flagship, floated before him, broken in half as flames ate at its hull, sails, and sailors. Bent at the center, where the explosion cleaved it like the strike of a giant sword, it heaved, burning even against water. Dozens of condemned seamen thrashed, aflame, as they dove into the sea.

With a thunderous crack, the ship broke at the middle, one half tilting forward, the other back. Right at him. Theron’s eyes went wide, the whole upper deck appearing as half the hull and sails lunged at him.

He tried to ignore the pain in his shoulder and swim away from the ship, but his arm just wouldn’t respond. He lapped once, twice, and then his own ship crashed down on him. Pushed back and down by the force of water, Theron twisted and turned against the current, holding his breath as much as he could.

Until he couldn’t anymore. Water rushed into his lungs.

A cold shiver ran over him. His hand spasmed when he gasped.

Alive. In a bed. Gasping for air, with heavy eyelids, somehow, he found his way into a palace of sorts. Rescued, most likely—and whoever’d treated him had taken off his rings.

The room had vibrant blue and red tapestries hanging from the walls, a stand with bottles and cups, a desk with papers and inkwells. On his own bed, goose-feather mattresses and pillows held him, along with the clean silk sheets that covered him. The whole place had a floral scent, like the ones used to hide acrid medicine, or poison.

Such corny decor and tasteless furniture could only be found in the north. Above the doorway to his left, Duke Calahan Orr’s coat of arms stood out, announcing to whoever rested here who really owned the place.

Northern nobles had this custom of calling their servants with a bell, and true to their mediocrity, the bedside table had one such silver bell waiting.

Theron propped himself up, reaching for the bell, but a wave of dizziness forced him to lie back once again. A fit of coughing took over him for more than a minute, pounding his head.

This was not what drowning felt like. That was the effect of his clogged Flow. The flame shield he’d raised to protect against the boy’s magic must have taken a greater toll than he’d expected. One or two more flowcasts—that might be all he had left in him.

The door opened. A lean-faced youth with a lively tunic and sharp eyes entered, carrying a silver tray with a meal and drink.

“My lord! You are awake!” he said.

Theron would have corrected his ignorance. “Eminence,” not “lord,” but another cough prevented him. He beckoned the boy closer.

“How long”—a cough—“have I been out?”

“You were brought here yesterday, my lord. The doctors said you were very weak, but should make a good recovery. They expected you’d wake up sooner, though.”

Snakes and jackals, he’d lost a whole day again?

It would be too much to ask a young servant about the hunt for the albino flowcaster, so he asked for the next most important thing.

“My rings! Where are my rings?”

The boy opened a drawer by a desk. “Everything you were wearing was put here, my lord.”

Theron waved at him. “Bring them to me! Now!”

At least he still had his five rings. That he lost the Emerald Viper was bad enough; losing his rings would have been a calamity. Only when he put them back on did he allow himself a sigh of relief.

“Fetch me—Duke Calahan.”

“My lord, I am sorry, but the duke is not available at the moment.”

Theron glanced at the boy, who took a step back. “Where is he?”

“There’s an emergency in the city, my lord. The duke is addressing it.”

“Listen here, you twat! You will address me as ‘Your Eminence.’ Send him a messenger, and tell him if he values his life, and that of everyone in this city, he will return and listen to me.”

The boy bowed.

“Now!” Another cough.

The servant left the tray at a stand and hurried out.

Theron lay back once more. Thirst and hunger gnawed at him, but the pounding in his skull kept him from caring. His last flowcast had left him exhausted for days. Now this headache. The next one would have him bedridden for weeks, and then, death.

He needed the boy!

Faint cries and screams reached him from the open window, and a scent of ash wafted beneath the room’s aromatics. The city burned, then. Was that the form of this paradox flow, an ever-growing fire?

Hours stretched as the headache slowly receded into a small throbbing behind his eyelids. Theron forced himself to get up, walk toward the tray, and take a bite of whatever bland meal they’d prepared him. He did not expect the taste of white pepper and harlick sauce. Someone in this household knew Kaylorite cuisine.

Clinking metal and loud cursing announced the coming of Calahan even before he burst open the doors into Theron’s room. Theron would have stood up, but he didn’t want to give the duke the pleasure of witnessing a dizzy spell.

Calahan breathed in. To approach the archpriest with a face drenched in sweat and hurried gestures bordered on insolence, if only Theron didn’t also know what they were up against.

“Your Eminence!” he said. “I’m glad to see you awake, but there is an unprecedented crisis ongoing. I beseech you, be brief.”

“Yes, yes. A crisis. What is it? Is it a fire that’s ever growing and can’t be put out?”

Calahan frowned a bit. “It’s . . . some sort of army. Of flaming dead people.”

Theron nodded. His handpicked sailors, his personal guard. Reduced to . . . this.

“What you are facing, Highness, has a name. It’s called a ‘paradox flow.’ It’s what happens when a flowcaster uses magic to kill. You cannot fight against it. This army cannot be defeated. You must pull back your men, and let it run its course.”

“Let it run its course? They are setting the whole city ablaze!”

“Do you have news of the boy?”

Calahan took a step toward him. “Screw your albino! We are losing the city!”

Theron punched the table, the gesture sending another pounding up his skull.

“You imbecile moron! I am a flowcaster, and I know what I’m talking about. You will answer me. Do you have news of the boy?”

Calahan’s hand clenched the hilt of his sword. With a gesture, he could have cut Theron’s throat, and his contorted face made it seem he wanted to. Instead, he gritted his teeth, flared his nostrils, and answered.

“I have news he left the city through the north gate. He was with a woman, but not with the Daht’Gahren. The current crisis prevented me from sending anyone after him.”

“Very well.” Theron leaned forward, pressing his fingers against his forehead. “It’s the boy who created the paradox flow. The paradox is attracted to its creator—it senses him, and wants to reach him, because the boy created it, and only he can undo it. Pull back your men, let this army run its course, and they’ll follow him north. The more you fight against them, the more you’ll delay them, and it’s your city that pays the price.”

Calahan raised his chin, his eyes darting left and right, like someone already forming a plan. Northern nobles, infighting among infighting. Even now, while his city burned, Calahan thought of it as just another political game.

“I thank you for your assistance, Your Eminence. And forgive my outburst.”

“Now,” Theron said, standing up, leaning on the wall for support, “if you’ll provide me with an escort, it’s time I go after the boy myself.”

“Forgive me for saying it, Your Eminence, but you are in no condition to ride. We can still maintain our arrangement. I’ll send a party of my own men to fetch him. No. In fact, I’ll do it myself.”

Yes, Calahan, make it look like you are so worried about me, while you just want to nab the flowcaster yourself.

He was right about one thing, however. Theron was in no condition to go anywhere. He could hardly hold on to a spoon, much less a strapping lad.

Theron nodded. “Very well, Highness. You have a better chance at getting to him in your own country after all. I’ll await your return.”

Calahan nodded, closing the doors behind him much more gently than he’d opened them.

Would he be able to grab the boy this time, though? Theron did send an entire mercenary company after him, only to have them all slaughtered. He didn’t have the Daht’Gahren, anymore, though, but who was this woman?

Calahan had no idea what he was about to face. The boy had already used the Flow to kill once; what was to prevent him from doing it again? With a paradox flow already on the loose, though, the time for caution was over.

Theron might indeed not be in condition to ride, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t follow. He stretched his right hand to the room’s window, fingers open.

Would he make the summon? Could he trust Calahan’s servants to take care of his unconscious body, even though they wouldn’t know what was happening? They did feed and clean him through his last bout of unconsciousness, though. Maybe they’d just continue to do so.

“Eagle,” he called, letting his hand rest on the table. A vulture would have answered it at once—there should be dozens of them over the city right now—but he’d be damned if he would go into one of those filthy birds.

Moments later, an eagle landed on the windowsill. Red and yellow feathers on its wings, white plumes on its forehead. A regal bird. A fitting vessel. Theron raised his hand to touch it, and the animal leaned its head forward in response. Theron’s finger, the one with the ring with intertwining silver-copper strands, brushed at the bird’s feathers.

For a breath, Theron’s vision doubled, seeing from both his and the eagle’s eyes. Then, only the eagle’s. As his spirit became crushed into the tiny body of the bird, he ruffled his feathers, crying out with his sharp, high-pitched whistling.

His human body slumped at the chair before him, unconscious once more. Theron’s mind, now inside the eagle, commanded it to jump away, spread its wings and fly. Even trapped in such a smaller body, Theron relished in its stamina, its ability to breathe unimpeded, its sharp clarity. This was a healthy bird. More often than not, he forgot how good it felt to spread his wings and fly.

Let Calahan go and look for the boy. Theron would follow, from above.

Chapter 16

As Zaleck and Vellis rode toward Wolfpine the next day, hooves thundered in the distance. Zaleck curled his fingers and raised his eyebrows at Vellis when the cloud of dust rose on the horizon.

A line of mounted knights rode on, straight at them, rows of metal-clad warriors who seemed fused with their horse armor.

As the cavalry drew nearer, the ground started to shake with each rhythmic beat of their hooves. The riders, perched atop their mounts, stared straight ahead, ignoring whoever else might be in their way.

Zaleck and Vellis scrambled to the side of the road as the horses raced past them, dimming their vision with dust while the column passed them by. Two other bystanders on the road also avoided them, and a peddler on his cart curled up in panic as the riders passed him by. The clinking of the knights’ armor melded with the snorts and breaths of the horses, spurred by the thundering rhythm of the charge.

Zaleck wanted to scream at them, yell and tell them to stop. They’d only find burning death back at Highport. However, even if they stopped to listen to a boy, even if they believed him, which they wouldn’t, that would only raise unwanted suspicion.

After they both stopped coughing and the dust somehow subsided, Vellis spoke. “It seems news of Highport has reached Wolfpine.”

“I wish I could do something for them.”

“No use worrying about what you can’t do, Zal. I think they’re answering a summons that came just as the mess on the harbor started. Did you see how many riders there were? I think at least a hundred. They’ll get to Highport to find it’s all solved by now.”

Zaleck wasn’t so sure, though. Within him still flared the spark of each of the soldiers he had burned, a reminder of when he became a raging inferno. Just thinking about them made images pop up in his mind—glimpses of fights with soldiers and burning houses. Yes, they still walked this world.

A mere three days had passed since Zaleck and Vellis had been in Wolfpine, and yet, this could very well be a different city they arrived to.

Indeed, rows of guards patrolled the entrance bridges, and checkpoints had been mounted on each one. The familiar murmur of daily life, the chatter of merchants, and the laughter of children had all been replaced by tense silence, broken by the subdued talk of citizens, who side-eyed the soldiers.

A guard approached them as they passed by the bridge. Eyes locked on Zaleck, he addressed Vellis. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“Nothing is ‘wrong’ with him,” Vellis answered.

“Is he sick or something?”

“Vel, really, it’s al—” Zaleck started, only to be cut short by a gesture from Vellis.

“He’s not ‘sick,’ officer, that’s just who he is,” she said.

The guard seemed not to believe her, but as there were many more people to check up on, he motioned for them to move along.

“Countess extended curfew to half past sunrise and half to sunset. Go straight where you need. Word is there’s some army approaching.”

As they entered the now-silent Wolfpine, Zaleck rode beside Vellis.

“Thanks, Vel, but I do get that a lot.”

Vellis turned to him after a quick, narrow-eyed glance back at the bridge. Her voice came with a tender touch, mixed with a bit of anger.

“All the more reason for you not to take crap from anyone.”

Zaleck turned away, biting his lip. This was not the first time his complexion had set him apart. Even at home, where his brothers bore the sun-kissed hues of working the fields, his skin remained always pale, like he was never meant to be among them. It wasn’t just the skin tone, though. Since he’d been old enough to help the family, each day under the sun was a trial, skin blistering and burning, rebelling against the very life he had been born into.

Even when younger, he had been the subject of whispers, the other children keeping a cautious distance as if his color were a contagion. His mom, with her soft words and soothing hands, had been his sanctuary. Dad, with his understanding pragmatism and fierce protective stare, had been his shield. The only ones who saw past his pallor into the son they cherished.

Through the years, whispers turned into taunts. “Ghostie,” “Snow-Boy,” and “Milk-Boy” were nicknames thrown his way, a reminder of his eternal place away from true friendship. Whenever he accompanied his father into town, a dozen stares would weigh him down, always with a silent judgment underneath.

Even he himself once doubted that he was their child. The conversation when his mother grabbed his arms and told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was hers, was his first memory of truly wanting to take back something he’d said.

Even the church, with its promises of acceptance and brotherhood, had offered little solace. After all, church dogma itself set him apart. Wasn’t white what everyone was supposed to wear at funerals?

Any person who didn’t just isolate him received him with a mix of curiosity and unspoken suspicion. Was his albinism a mark of a blessing from The Twelve, or an ashen curse? In their indecision, they always kept him at arm’s length.

Only in the solitude of the fields, with the crows for company, did Zaleck find a semblance of peace. The plants and the earth asked no questions; they cared not for the color of his skin. Yet, even there, his difference was a barrier, with the suns’ relentless gaze a constant adversary.

A guard asking if he was sick? He’d had worse.

Still, even though she didn’t need to say anything, Vellis had stood up for him like few ever had. He rode closer to her after that.

Wolfpine’s streets, once so full of peasant life, stood half-empty. Everyone moved with a hurried purpose, faces etched with worry. Many market stalls stood empty. The peddlers who still held market cast glances all over as if praying for patrons.

Here and there, improvised barricades of barrels, carts, and furniture snaked through the streets, creating a labyrinth of makeshift defenses.

“We need to go by the market,” Vellis said.

“Can we get me a new sword?”

“Fine, we’ll get you a new sword, Zal, but what we do need is to sell this horse”—pointing at Ethellus—“and get some protection.”

A pang in his chest, though just for a heartbeat.

“Ethellus . . .” Zaleck said, as if to remind Vellis of his name, even though he knew he’d said it low enough she wouldn’t hear it. “Protection?” he asked, louder this time.

“Armor.”

Zaleck’s eyes widened. “Do we have that much money?”

Vellis winked at him. “Watch and learn, kid.”

For years, Zaleck had gone with his father to Kaldhill to sell their harvest, or with his mother to help her carry supplies back home. None of them haggled as well as Arneth, but Vellis, she was on a whole other level. She would exalt qualities on the horse she was selling that Zal was pretty sure she just made up on the spot. She would spin sob stories of how much she needed the money, then threaten to leave, only to have the stablemaster follow her with a new offer. Intertwine that with many, many compliments to the stablemaster that had him blushing at times.

The first offer they got for Ethellus had been a crown and fifty pounds; she ended up packing three crowns in the end.

Then, at the armorer’s stalls, the same display as before, only in reverse. She would find the flimsiest defects on armor and blow them up tenfold. She would visit competing merchants in sight of one another, and even ask them their opinion on each other. The woman was a market monster like Zaleck had never seen.

He even came out of that shopping trip with a few ideas on what to say next time he had to trade something.

Vellis got them both a padded gambeson, chain mail shirt and pants, and a chain coif. Wearing all this metal brought a strange feeling, almost as if Zaleck had become a knight himself. Or maybe a squire. Either way, he’d never felt quite so hardened, although he would have liked if someone had told him just how hot it would all be.

She also got him the sword he asked for, even if it seemed she wasn’t quite so keen on getting the best price by then.

As the day drew slowly to a close, and with a tighter curfew, she had to finish her business sooner rather than later.

At a general store they got bedrolls and travel rations.

“We’ll not be staying here tonight, Zal.”

“What? Why not?”

“It’s best if we move on.”

“This means . . . we’ll sleep in the woods again?”

Vellis didn’t answer, even after Zaleck sulked beside her for the rest of the afternoon.

The sky was all hues of amber and crimson as the two of them rode westward across the plain. Zaleck stroked the mane of tired Savior, as he thought the poor mount would also be adjusting to the new weight on its back. Around them, the plain stretched out in an expanse of wheat, beans, and barley, dotted with farmhouses that were more and more just silhouettes against the twilight sky.

“We’re going west,” Zaleck said.

“The north road is too wide open. It’s best if we stop by those hills today.”

“That’s close to the ruins where the slavers chased us.”

“Those ruins are called Dessari Keep, and yes, we’ll be close to them, though a little bit over.”

Their path led them toward a group of hills that rose from the plain’s edge, covered with wild grass and dotted with the occasional tree. Their slopes, bathed in the soft light of the sunsets, took on a golden hue, basking in the day’s last warmth. The rhythmic clopping of their horses’ hooves carried them onward as light faded little by little, steady and unassuming. Shadows lengthened across the plain while the first stars began to twinkle. In the distance, the muted sounds of the farms faded away, replaced by the rustling of the grass and the occasional call of a bird heading home.

They ate a brief dinner. The dry meat refused to be chewed and swallowed. The bread went down grating at the throat without oil or butter to ease its way in. Zaleck was starting to take off his chainmail when Vellis spoke.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“I’m going to train.”

“Then train. In armor.”

“But it’s heavy, and I can barely move!”

“Why the—what’s the use of learning to use a sword if you will only use it without armor? You need both, okay? If you feel uncomfortable, then train harder, but you do not take it off, understood?”

Zaleck huffed. “Yes, Vellis.”

“Zaleck, look at me.”

He did.

“Armor saves lives, do you hear?”

“Yeah, yeah! I hear you, okay?”

“Then say it.”

“What?”

“Come on! Say it.”

“Armor saves lives!” he spouted.

“Good. Now go train.”

Zaleck practiced all the moves and sequences Arneth had taught him. At times, he almost forgot one detail or another, but each time, when performing the whole sequence over again, he would remember the proper form once more.

Night covered the fields and hills, and even after he was tired enough to be breathless and sweaty enough to be smelling, he knew Arneth would have had him go through the sequence one more time if he could. Then again, then again, until he was about to collapse.

The bedrolls Vellis had acquired were only a little bit worse than his hay pile back home, so sleep didn’t take long to catch up to him. Still, he thought back to the Flying Tortoise all the way into dreaming.

A jolt shook him awake, the remnants of a nightmare wasting away as late night advanced. Some dream about people screaming and burning flames that he was just glad to let go.

It took him a few breaths to get his heart to slow down. Now that the campfire had gone out, his gambeson wasn’t so hot against the night’s cold. Sleeping in his armor wasn’t that bad of an idea after all, if only his mail coif wouldn’t pull so much at his hair.

Even the insects had retired for the day this late night. Across their small campfire, Vellis’s empty bedroll—

Where was Vellis?

Zaleck sat up, widening his eyes in hopes of being mistaken. He wasn’t, though. She wasn’t there.

He stood up, hearing nothing but the muted sounds of night from all around.

Even in armor, it now seemed any number of things could kill him right then. More slavers sneaking up on him, for instance.

Had she gone away and left him behind?

Solong was still hitched to his tree, as was Savior. So wherever she’d gone, no, she hadn’t abandoned him.

“Eh . . . Vel?” he risked saying. His voice sounded weak through the hills.

“Vellis?” he said, louder.

No reply but the whistling of the breeze through the hills and a few bird calls.

“Vellis!” he shouted. “Vellis, where are you?”

She should have been back by now, whatever she had gone out to do. What if she was injured? What if she’d been taken by slavers?

“Veeeellis!” he cried out, and replied to himself a little later as his echo came from the hills.

No signs of her anywhere. No reply. He would have called her again, but his voice came out in a whisper.

“Vel . . .”

What would he do without her? Who would take him back home?

He wanted to run, anywhere, to find her, but his legs shook so much he stumbled, and couldn’t find strength to get up anymore. Instead, he curled up, the darkness choking him, the night’s cold forcing him to tremble far more than it should have. Alone again. Abandoned once more.

A rustle of leaves, a human shape approaching through the darkness.

Vellis ran at him, gripping him by the shoulders. “Zaleck! Hey, I’m here. It’s alright.”

Zaleck wrapped her in a weak hug. He grasped at her back as tight as possible to keep his fingers from shaking.

“Where were you?” he whispered.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I went out to try to hunt something. I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d wake up. You always sleep so sound.”

Zaleck looked down, wincing at his own shame.

“I’m useless,” he said.

“Don’t you say that!” Vellis snapped.

“It’s true, though. I’m useless. You and Arneth have to keep saving me, and I’m always messing everything up.”

“If by ‘always’ you mean that one time you blew up a whole crapping ship to avenge our fallen friend, then I’d say I’d much rather be as useless as you.”

He didn’t laugh. It wasn’t revenge. He just—he was angry, damn it!

“I need to practice more,” he said, unwinding from Vellis’s embrace, crawling back to his bedroll.

“I need to practice more. I need to practice more,” he repeated until exhaustion once again set in, and his dreams became malformed images of the times when Arneth had trained him.

Chapter 17

The suns’ lights seeped through the canopy of trees with an apathetic grayness as dawn broke over the hillside. Zaleck, worn from his troubled night, his body stiff and protesting from the ground’s unforgiving hardness, stirred from his slumber beside the remnants of the night’s campfire.

The whole valley below had become a dull gray as morning mist enveloped everything around them. Even the trees by their side seemed more distant, as if The Twelve had decided to erase the very world, and only their little campfire remained now.

Zaleck and Vellis ate breakfast in silence. At times, she looked like she would almost say something, but maybe he looked too forlorn for her to actually do it.

“Where can I take a bath?” he asked.

“Oh, no. Let’s just move on today, Zal.”

Zaleck frowned. That was unlike her, even more when he himself thought he needed some washing.

As he packed his bag and Vellis kicked the campfire around, she turned, eyes wide, her hands going for her bow.

“What’s wrong?”

Still looking around, she approached him and with a soft hand brought him behind her. It was like she had sensed wolves or some other animal ready to strike, even though he’d heard nothing.

In fact, he did hear nothing.

Vellis sighed, eyes sagging with heavy eyelids, though the expression melted away when she yelled, commanding.

“Come out!”

Three people emerged from behind trees. Two men, each holding knives, and one woman, bow in hand with a nocked arrow. With chain mail over brigandines from head to toe, the three were only a bit less protected than actual knights. They all stared at Vellis and Zaleck with a mix of annoyance and irony.

“Red,” one of the men said.

“Skane, Elbows, Penny,” Vellis replied, pushing Zaleck even further behind her.

The first man, Skane it seemed, with big eyes over a straight nose, opened his arms. “Come on, Red. You know what happens now.”

Vellis nocked an arrow to her bow. Daggers were raised, and the other woman, Penny, with braided hair revealing a scarred face and fair eyes, raised her bow at them. Of her arrow, Zaleck only saw the tip. If she shot it, she’d pierce him right through the eyes.

“Vel, what’s happening?” Zaleck asked, a bit breathless.

Skane took a stealthy step forward, almost like stepping on eggs. “Red, the boy is right there! Come on, finish the contract and let’s go.”

Finish the contract?

Vellis cursed under her breath.

“Is that it, Red?” Penny asked. “Is that frigging it? Ten years together, and that’s how you want to end it?”

“No,” Vellis said, “I’d much rather we just part ways.”

“It’s a contract!” Elbows said.

“And he’s a kid! A kid, for hell’s sake! Even we have a line we do not cross.”

Penny slightly lowered her bow. Skane and Elbows kept their daggers up.

Vellis grunted. “Step away,” she said. “No one has to die here.”

“No.” Penny said. “One person does have to die here.”

For a moment, it seemed no one would do anything, and they’d stay like that, staring at each other forever, without ever taking another breath.

Then, chaos.

Vellis ducked to the side, kicking Zaleck away from her. He flew back as Penny’s arrow whistled right before his face.

Daggers flew, missing their marks. Skane and Elbows advanced.

Zaleck scrambled to get back up.

“Run!” Vellis screamed. He jumped behind a tree as another arrow sliced the side of his mail shirt. His sword drawn, he glanced at Vellis for the briefest of moments before another of Penny’s arrows passed him by, deflecting on his mail coif.

Armor did save lives.

Vellis grunted as she faced the two men farther away. Penny’s steps drew closer. He had to either run away or advance at her.

Zaleck ran, jumping and rolling on the ground. Another arrow landed just beside his hand. He tripped over his feet, nearly falling down, as an arrow whistled by his ear. Ducking behind another tree, he heard a thud in the wood before him and recoiled.

That woman was not aiming to wound. If she were half as good as Vellis, it wouldn’t matter how far Zaleck ran—one of her arrows would find him, and one would be enough. His only chance was to render her bow useless. Run at her, sword drawn, and strike.

Zaleck swallowed as Penny’s steps approached, fast. Her or him, just like with the guards in Highport, only this time he was pretty sure of her intentions.

He feigned stepping out from behind the tree, quickly retreating as an arrow zoomed by. Right as it passed, he dashed forward at Penny, striking with the largest lunge Arneth taught him.

Before he could blink, Penny had let go of her bow and drawn a dagger and a shortsword. Lightning-fast, she knocked his strike aside, grinning. Grinning!

She struck twice. Zaleck waved the sword, parrying her dagger, then her sword, reeling back at the impact. She advanced, striking forward. Zaleck retreated, barely able to keep her attacks at bay. By reflex alone, he connected a riposte after a sword strike that met her right hand. Her sword dropped as she yelled in pain.

Penny pushed on, stepping over his sword reach, her dagger biting deep into his arm, straight through.

Icy pain shot through Zaleck’s arm. His hand jerked the sword away as he screamed in shock and disbelief.

He was hit.

Penny pulled at her dagger, bringing all of him closer. He punched her face, straight in the nose. Penny reeled back as they parted.

Zaleck pressed against his throbbing, blood-moist wound. Penny raised her dagger and lunged. Zaleck jumped backward, dodging her strike once, his quickening breath rising with increased panic.

This was it. This was how he would die.

Penny thrust yet again, but Zaleck ran at her this time. Her blade stabbed through his mail and gambeson, licking his belly. Two jolts of agony now seared him from within. He rammed into her, and they both went down. Penny twisted midfall, grabbing him and crashing right on top of him.

He couldn’t stop screaming now. Pinned down, Zaleck waved his legs and arms, struggling in vain against Penny, who sat over him.

Her hands moved up, grasping at the dagger pointing down. Zaleck didn’t have breath enough to scream louder.

But he did have the Flow. Hundreds of sparks flaring within him, filling his veins with immaterial fire that coursed through him in a hurricane.

He pushed her away with the flow, as fast as he could.

Nothing happened. Penny’s dagger came down. Zaleck’s struggle, plus his armor, caused her to miss his neck only just, biting into his shoulder instead, flaring up a shock that made him scream until he ran out of breath. The whole world spun around in swirling torture.

What could he use against her? What did he have? Arneth had said he could do anything.

Grass.

Penny brought the blade up again, and Zaleck pushed her back with his hands, but his arms were too short for her. He thought of the grass entangling her, immobilizing her, and pushed the Flow into the ground with his mind.

Penny’s blade descended, its tip nicking at Zaleck’s neck as it stopped. She struggled, pulled back as enormous grass blades entwined her. Zaleck crawled back, leaning on a tree as he tried to get up. Penny tore at the hundreds of grass blades that now pulled her down.

Vellis stumbled into sight, falling on top of Penny with a dagger that met her throat straight on.

Zaleck’s arm, belly, and shoulder wouldn’t stop throbbing in pain, but Vellis’s armor was all dark red. She stood up, groggy, turning to him. Her chain mail had been pierced in various points, a gash in her left arm, her face a mask of red splotches.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then stumbled and fell down beside Zaleck.

The inner flares came. One, two, three. Skane, Elbows, and Penny at last.

Zaleck crawled to Vellis, his hand soaked with his own blood, his shoulder burning all through his arm.

“Vel! Vellis!”

Vellis turned over to face him. She raised a bloody arm, which Zaleck grasped with his one good hand. Her eyelids looked heavier and heavier, her breath almost gone.

“Ride!” she whispered

“What?”

“Ride, Zal. Ride to Wolfpine. Get . . . help . . .”

She slumped down on the unnatural high grass, her heavy breathing growing weaker.

Zaleck stood up, leaning against the tree trunk, grunting in pain with every step. He could see almost nothing in this fog, and he didn’t think he would even survive walking up to Savior. He stumbled, hoping the horse would remember the way back to Wolfpine, and that he could hang on to him, even if it seemed his arm would just fall off.

Limping to where they hitched the horses, Zaleck gasped and moaned in pain. It wasn’t just the fog clouding his vision right then. He had to try three times before mounting Savior, as his arm would not get a grip on the saddle, and his belly burned harder and harder. Even after mounting, the very sight of the red mess he’d made almost made him faint.

Still, he would make it. He had to make it, for Vellis.

“Hyah!” he said, much too soft to start galloping. Still, Savior clopped on.

Beneath the heavy cloak of fog, Zaleck soon emerged from the hillside onto the road toward Wolfpine, hunched over the back of his horse. If he let Vellis die back there, he wouldn’t even feel her Flow, being so far away. He would have nothing left of her.

He could not be that useless. He wouldn’t let it happen.

Still, the chance of losing her, the pain that burst with every step of Savior’s, his blood trickling down, all of it had him wincing more and more as he rode.

Clinging to the reins with a grip both desperate and weakening, his eyes fixated on the resolving skyline of the city as he fought against the will to close them once and for all. Stubbornness alone held the thread of his consciousness.

Bridge guards saw him first, running at him before he knew they were there.

“Boy, what happened?” one of them yelled.

“Attacked. Doctor. Bald Flowers,” he moaned.

“Here, come,” one of the guards said, picking up Zaleck’s reins and running with him into the city. In the renewed clangor of the horse’s gallop, each jolt sent a fresh wave of agony coursing through him that had him wishing he would just pass out.

As they navigated the labyrinthine streets into town, his vision began to fade at last, the edges of his consciousness fraying under the relentless assault of pain and exhaustion. The guard knocked on a door, and some shape answered. Someone took him down of the saddle. Someone shook him and asked what had happened.

Zaleck raised his arm, pointing westward.

“Vellis. Help . . . hills . . . Dessari Keep . . . attacked . . .”

His breath failed him, as he had failed Vellis. Darkness embraced him as he cried out in his mind. He’d made it. Whether he lived or died, he’d made it to Derith.

Chapter 18

Zaleck stirred, emerging from a deep, dreamless sleep. The blurriness around resolved into wooden walls and shelves filled with corked bottles. The mattress beneath him, which yielded to his weight, and the pillow that seemed to hug comfort into his face reminded him of where he ought to be.

Raising a hand to shield his eyes, a jab of dulled pain ran up through his arm. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the rafters in the small room, filling the air with a familiar pungent scent of chamomile, mint, and sage mingled with beeswax and woodsmoke. Light seeped in through a small window, its pane casting a square of soft illumination upon the wooden floor.

For a moment, Zaleck lay still, his mind grasping at what had happened. He felt for his shoulder, only to find it bandaged, wrapped and tender to the touch. It still ached with a dull, persistent throb, but he found he could bear it.

As he tried to sit up, dizziness washed over him, coaxing him back to the bed. The door opened, and Derith came in. She glanced at him and pulled up a chair, sitting beside his bed.

“Good morning,” she said.

Zaleck opened his eyes.

“Hi . . .” he managed to whisper, his voice a hoarse rasp. Then Vellis, dying alone in the hills, flashed back into his mind, bringing him once again upward, dizziness be damned.

“Vellis!” he said.

“She’s resting,” Derith said, “right next door.”

Zaleck wiped his brow, smiling as much as pain permitted.

“Take it easy, young Zaleck. Vellis was close to dead when I found her, but you were not much better when you got here.”

Derith handed him a dark vial that she took from the shelf. The smell, so like that sleeping tonic that had been forced onto him by slavers, made him recoil. Derith held it, unmoving, as she explained.

“This is to help with the pain a little. You do need rest, but I know a patient who won’t stay down when I see one, so at least take this.”

He took the medicine drop by drop. It did flare up a nausea, but only just.

“How did you, uh, know where to find Vellis?”

Derith raised her eyebrowless brow.

“Because I am not only a doctor, but also a Daht’Gahren. When you got here, waving around and pointing that way, by the time you passed out you had very well given me the whole map on how to find her.”

“Oh. Thanks, ma’am. Thank you very much!”

“Don’t mention it. It’s not for free, you know, but I’ll cut a nice deal for a friend of Arneth.”

Arneth. Zaleck closed his eyes as he lowered his head.

“I see,” Derith said. “Can you tell me about it?”

Zaleck wasn’t at all sure he wanted to. He figured he would only give her a brief summary and that would be it. Instead, word after word came out, easier and easier, and he found himself telling Derith every single detail. Even after he had finished, he would still go on, reliving some moments again. There was something about relaying her the tale that had him perk up on his bed, his chest somewhat lighter.

Derith leaned back on her chair. Just like Arneth, her expressions were all blank, although a few frowns of care and sadness shone through her façade.

“So, you’re a flowcaster. Of course!”

“Of course?”

“Yes. When we first met, I knew I had picked up signs of transcendent derivation in your seventh and eleventh component lines.”

“Uh . . . what?”

“I mean, you did give me subtle signs of being a flowcaster, but I was too worried back then to notice.”

“I did?”

“Subtle signs. It’s not like you go walking around screaming ‘I’m a flowcaster’ to any Daht’Gahren who can see you—maybe because you still haven’t come into your full powers just yet.”

“But I’ve done so many things already! I threw a guy away, and—and I opened up the slaver’s locks, and in the ship . . .”

“Oh, Zaleck. You can do so much more!”

“Do you understand floweaving? Can you teach me?”

“I do understand it, in academical terms, but teach you I cannot. Even though I am an expert in the field, I’m not a flowcaster myself. For proper training, you need one.”

“Can you at least explain what happened at the harbor? With the ship?”

Derith pulled her chair closer and lowered her voice a bit, much like his father did when he was going to give him bad news.

“I can. What happened, Zaleck, is that you used the Flow to kill a lot of people. And it’s not that they died because they were around and got caught up in the cast, no—you wanted them all to die, didn’t you?”

Zaleck lowered his eyes and shuffled his feet. He’d been angry. They had killed Arneth. What was he supposed to do?

Derith went on.

“So, that’s a big ‘no’ in magic. You see, every single thing is one with the Flow. If you use the flow of life with the intent to end life, the Flow itself rebels against you. It doesn’t want life to end like that. So, what happens, is that you create what is known as a ‘paradox flow.’ The Flow reverts back unto you, and creates a magical anomaly that will try to eliminate the very thing that caused it to exist. You.”

Zaleck gasped. “You mean those soldiers on fire . . . they wanna kill me?”

“And nothing will stop them until they have burned you down.”

No. That couldn’t be. After all this running away, after all Arneth and Vellis had done to save his life, he was gonna have to die anyway? Would he never see his family again?

“I . . .” His voice shook. “I didn’t know! I didn’t know. It’s not fair!”

Derith took his hands with hers. “I’m telling you how it is, Zaleck, and you must know it if you want to have any chance of fixing this.”

Zaleck held his breath as he leaned forward. “Can I fix this?”

“I think it’s possible. Difficult and unlikely, but possible.”

“How?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t actually know. I can’t tell you that.”

Zaleck blinked in disbelief. Was she toying with him?

“But you can,” she said.

Yeah, she was toying with him.

“No,” he said, “I really, really don’t know how!”

“But you once did. If you manage to flowcast your mind back into one of your previous lives, you may remember a time where you knew how to solve this. Then, you can pull from within yourself the knowledge of what you must do.”

“Back to a previous life?”

“Yes. One in which you were a trained flowcaster, and knew about fixing a paradox.”

Zaleck threw his hands up. “But what if I’ve never been a flowcaster in any life before?”

“You are a natural flowcaster, Zaleck. You were born with this ability, and that only happens because in a previous life you studied and developed it on your own. So you can be very much sure that at least once before, you were a trained flowcaster, and you knew all about this.”

Zaleck ran a hand through his hair. He would run both, if his shoulder weren’t complaining so much. He had listened, like everybody, to the church sermons about the cycle of sequential lives and how everyone reincarnated, life after life, until they experienced every pleasure and pain in the world. But to hear it stated so matter-of-fact, by a scholar like Derith, that was unnerving. It was like she had lifted up the veil of secret from the world, and with one single strike eliminated all mysteries.

Yet, for all her assuredness, he himself, in this life, was not a trained flowcaster yet, so how could he flowcast into a previous life?

“Can I even do it?” he asked.

“No,” she stated, hammering onto his hopes. “A flowcast like this is very complex, and it requires precise study. You are far from this. I could help you, though. At the Verian Tower, we learn a way to influence other people’s dreaming mind and force them to do things against their awareness. We call this a ‘Trance Casting.’ In short, I can put you under a trance, give you specific instructions, and you will obey them. You, being a flowcaster, can follow my instructions and weave the flowcast that will take you to a past life.”

Zaleck blinked. “I—I don’t think I get it.”

“To tell you the truth, there is some risk involved. We might be dealing with forces beyond both our understandings, and it may have unforeseen consequences, but that’s all I can offer you.”

“Okay . . .” If that was what it would take, he was onboard with this thing he had to do.

“Small hiccup, though. We need to do it at the place where you cast the paradox. Diving into a past life is very, very complex and can easily take you to some totally different life or to some useless memory, and you only get one shot at this. If we are to maximize our chances, we need to be as close as possible to were you created the problem you’re trying to fix. This will let your mind focus on the goal much more easily.”

“You mean . . . back in Highport?”

“I mean at the harbor, at the pier. If possible, in the same spot the ship was at that time.”

Zaleck nodded. Back in Highport, the city he’d left burning, with an unbeatable magical army intent on killing him on the way, right after murdering two guards from the duke in cahoots with Theron. Just the thought of going back there made his stomach lurch. If he didn’t go, though, how many more thousands would die because of his mistake?

“Would you, do it?” he asked. “Would you come with me to Highport?”

Derith sighed, glancing downward. “I’m not a fan of taking on this much risk, but in memory of Arneth, I’d do it.”

Zaleck touched her shoulders, like Vellis had done with him so many times.

“Thank you,” he said.

Derith stood. “But for now, you still need rest. Your chainmail and gambeson protected you from the worst of those cuts, but you still got a nasty gash at the shoulder.”

Someone moaned from a nearby room. Vellis. Zaleck got up, and he would have stumbled back down had Derith not held him in her arms.

“What did I just tell you? Calm down, boy.”

Zaleck turned to her, and she sighed while pressing her fingers against her forehead. She offered him her arm, and step by step led him to Vellis’s room, to the talk he’d never thought he would dread so much.

Chapter 19

The corridor leading to Vellis’s room could be crossed with three steps. Still, each of Zaleck’s came more measured than the last, his heart racing while he tried to smile. He would see her alive once again; she would recover now. That alone made him breathe easier. Still, those words would not leave his mind, his almost every thought.

“Finish the contract.”

What contract?

As he approached the door, his hand hesitated on the handle. Zaleck took a moment to compose himself, drawing in a deep breath that did little to calm him. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside with Derith’s help, into a resting room only a bit larger than his own, a lit fireplace by a wall and light seeping in through half-open windows.

There, propped up on a bed with an array of pillows, lay Vellis, haggard and worn, cleaned, combed, with bandages peeking out from under a clean linen shirt. Color had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes, bright and alert, fixed upon him as he entered.

A smile, small but beaming, broke across her face. A weary smile, returned by Zaleck’s as the knot of worry that had since lodged itself in his chest eased away.

He ran a hand through her hair.

“Hi, Vel.”

“Hey, Zal,” she replied, raising a hand at his face, “Look at me, Zal.”

“I’m looking.”

“I want you to remember me here. I am breathing, coughing, thinking, fearing, and hoping again thanks to you. You saved my life, boy. As sure as I saved yours, you saved mine. I want you to remember this next time you decide to think you are ‘useless,’ do you understand?”

Zaleck wanted to answer, but he embraced her instead. Derith disapproved with a scoff from behind him. Vellis returned his embrace, and for the briefest and most silent moment, they just looked into each other’s faces.

He pulled up a chair while Derith had a look at Vellis’s bandages.

“How long was I out?” Vellis asked.

“A day or so.”

Zaleck and Vellis both gasped.

“A whole day?” he asked.

“I had to keep you both asleep. Your wounds were grave, and I know your kind of people. You would get out of bed as soon as you woke up, which”—she pointed at Zaleck—“as you can see, I was right about. I’ll leave you two now, but whatever you do, do it slowly.”

As she left, Zaleck and Vellis looked at one another yet again, letting unspoken uneasiness take hold, tearing down their smiles of relief.

“Vel, what happened?”

Vellis closed her eyes for a moment, raising her head as much as she could while lying in bed before answering.

“Remember when I said I’m a huntress? Well, that’s true, but”—she closed her eyes for a bit, frowning as she breathed in—“I don’t hunt game. I hunt . . . people.”

Zaleck widened his eyes.

“I’m an assassin, Zaleck. I get paid to take other people’s lives. When I was captured by that slaver caravan, I was actually following them. I had taken on a contract to kill one of their captives.”

One of their captives? But if that was the case, then the contract was fulfilled, because everyone else from the caravan was already dead, except . . .

“Me? You got hired to kill me?” Zaleck said, standing up.

Vellis nodded.

He took two steps back, his arm sending a small jolt of pain while he clenched his fist.

“Oh, come now, Zal. You know I’m not going to do it, right? If I wanted, I could have just taken you and Arneth out the first night we spent, I could have not helped you both against the slavers in the keep, I could have let you drown in the harbor. You know I’m not going to do it, don’t you?”

She was right, of course. It made no sense that she would just now confess that and then kill him. It also made her come into focus. The way she killed people without a second thought, the way she fought armed opponents like it was just something else she would do in her day. The revelation should not have come as a surprise to him.

But still, he hesitated. She took on a contract to kill him. And only now was she telling him.

“Why, though?” he asked.

“Why what? Why did I take the contract, or why didn’t I kill you?”

Zaleck shrugged.

“Because I didn’t know you’d be a kid, that’s why! No one told me the albino prisoner I had to kill would be a child. When Arneth got you out of that wagon, when I first laid eyes on you, I knew it, right then, that I couldn’t go along with it. And through everything that happened since . . . well, I guess I really thought I could take you back home without you ever finding it out. Without them ever finding out as well.”

“But why didn’t you tell me, Vel?”

“Oh come on, Zal! How do you think that conversation would go, heh? ‘Hey, hi! I’m Vellis, I’m an assassin hired to kill you, but I’ve had a change of heart. Pleased to meet you!’ Really? Would you have believed that?”

Yeah, it didn’t seem the best thing to do, which was why he even surprised himself when he said, “I would, Vellis. I would have believed that, just so you know.”

Vellis smiled, extending her hand to touch Zaleck’s. “Oh, Zal. You are so blessedly naive!”

He blinked. Blessedly naive? Was that even a compliment?

Vellis turned, groaning a bit, and started to push herself up to a sitting position. Zaleck helped her as much as he could given his own pain. She winced a few times, glancing once at the door, as if trying not to make too much noise. Some of her paleness returned, even though she didn’t faint.

As she sat, Vellis closed her eyes for a bit and breathed in. A little color came back to her face before she said anything.

“I . . .” she began, “I once had a son, a family, you know?”

“I didn’t.”

Vellis chuckled. She went on, at times taking pauses when it seemed the knots in her voice were growing too strong.

“My Emerich, I had the greatest crush on him since I was . . . younger than you. He was just a bit older than me, and I dreamt of marrying him all through my childhood. When I came of age, he started looking at me . . . well, you’ll know what I mean in a few years. We got married, I became a huntress like him—a normal huntress, I mean—and we lived on a little house everyone in the village got together to build. It’s just something we did for newlyweds. A few years later came Olon, my little rascal. It wasn’t an easy life, I’m sure you know that too. Some years the hunt was so bad we could barely eat, sometimes village gossip got so nasty I just couldn’t take it, some people got sick, some people died. It was . . . life, you know? Still, today I think back on those days, when we would huddle up to sleep, the three of us, or when Em would caress me with those big burly hands of his . . . or even on those long walks when we were both going in or coming back from a hunt. I think on those days— I had no idea, but I think I was happy.”

Zaleck couldn’t take his eyes of Vellis, even if in his mind he had already gone back home too, to days that seemed so much like those she described. Yeah, all through the bad and the loneliness, somehow, he was also happy back then.

Vellis’s voice broke a few times as she went on.

“Then one day, I was out hunting alone. Em had stayed in the village to trade some of our game. It wasn’t a good hunting day; I had to go farther into the forest than I used to, so when I heard the noise . . . We lived close to Allanar, way east, near the Aelorian border, and one day, Aeloria just attacked. Their soldiers came to our village, ransacking, burning, taking whatever they wanted. We knew how to defend ourselves from brigands, but these were armed and armored soldiers. When I heard the noise, the smoke was already high. I went back, running like never before, back home . . . And when I got there . . .”

Vellis looked down, clenching her hands. She took a deep breath and stopped trembling.

“My Em, he was just—lying there, in a pool of his own blood. Two soldiers were in our house, and Olon, he was still so young, he wouldn’t stop crying. They had killed my husband. Right before my son.”

Vellis tried once again to control herself, but her effort didn’t prevent a lone sob from coming out.

“Damn it, it’s been so long since I told that to anyone. I’m sorry.”

Zaleck took her hand, and she squeezed his in return.

“That moment, I—I don’t know what came over me. I just didn’t care anymore. I raised my bow and took one of those soldiers down, right beneath the helmet, where he had no armor. The other turned around, and I shot him too, but my arrow just glanced off his plate. He came at me, and he was maybe four steps away, so I shot again, in his knee joint, and he went down, screaming. I shot again, but I hit his helmet this time . . . Then, when I nocked my last arrow, and aimed it right at his head, that man, that dirty, old, wretched man, he just thrust his sword into my son.”

Vellis covered her face, clutching her hands in fists.

“I mean, he was just there, crying, and he wouldn’t hurt anyone, and that man killed him for no reason! Out of spite!”

She wiped her eyes. “Well, I shot him dead right there, and Olon, he was still crying, but oh Gods he looked so afraid. I held him, and tried to soothe him. I sang him a song, and he got weaker and weaker, and then he was gone. My son—was gone.

“I held him. I don’t know for how long, but other soldiers were getting close, and I couldn’t stay there, so I got up and ran away. I couldn’t even bury Em and Olon, I had to leave them there.

“After that I was so . . . I wanted to kill them, as many as I could before dying myself, so I found the first keep in my way and enlisted in the army. They were just so glad to have as many people as they could. I joined so I could kill Aelorians, and by the hells, I did. I became very, very good at it. Three years into the war, I would snipe dozens of soldiers whenever I went on the field, and by the end of it, I never missed. That was when I got my nickname, Red Widow.

“In fact, I got so good that I found only a few others who could match me in killing. We became a little band back then, an elite unit, they would say. Then, the war ended, and we were out of a job, and the best thing we knew how to do was kill people, so we went on killing. It didn’t take much for us to get our first contract, then a second, and a third, and soon, we had a reputation. We were the Orphans of Grief. Skane, Elbows, Penny and me—Red. In time, we got some very high-profile jobs.

“When I got your contract, I had no idea you would be a kid. I think the client didn’t know either, I was only told to kill an albino who had just been captured by slavers. I had been doing this for a long time, Zal, but I never took a contract on a child. I never would.”

Zaleck wasn’t a child, either, but if that was what kept him alive, he would not argue with her.

He wiped his eyes so he could better look at Vellis. They stared into each other’s faces, an unspoken understanding between them. He thought he would say “I’m sorry for your son” but found he just knew he didn’t have to.

Instead, he got up and went to the wooden shelves, taking a few empty bottles and removing their corks. Then he moved to the fireplace, took a few sticks, and started to stick the corks together.

“What are you doing, Zaleck?”

Zaleck turned to her, extending his mishmash of corks and sticks.

“This is Olon. You see, here is his little head, then his arms . . .”

Vellis raised the saddest smile Zaleck had ever seen. “Oh, Zal!”

He turned back again toward the fireplace, holding the pretend-doll in his hands, staring into it as if it were indeed a child. He spoke.

“Hi, Olon. I’m Zaleck. You don’t know me, I guess, but I know your mom. She’s amazing, you know. She saved my life about three—no, four times now. She’s right here, you see. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry you didn’t get to spend your life with her. I’m not very good at taking care of her, but I’m learning, and I’ll keep her safe until it’s her time to meet you again. Look, she misses you very much, okay? I think she always will. But she’s incredible. She’s so incredible she even taught me how to talk to you. So now I’m here, not to tell you goodbye, but ‘see you soon.’ Try not to make a lot of fuss over there, she’ll need a nice home to be with you and Em. That’s it, Olon. Be at peace.”

The doll didn’t move nor reply, but Zaleck made believe that wherever Olon was, he was smiling back at Vellis.

Vellis, having got up, placed a hand on Zaleck’s shoulder, asking for the doll. As she took it, she also turned to the fireplace, although she seemed to take much longer to start. Her tears dried up on her face with the heat.

“My son, I—I’m sorry, son. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for all the times I got mad at you, I’m sorry for not getting you a toy horse, even though it would have cost us a year’s wages. Above all, I’m sorry for leaving you and Em that day, for not saving you when I could. It should have been me, son. I should have died in your place. I would, if I could, but instead, I stayed, and you went away. So now I got to live for the three of us. I . . . I know you are sad at me, Olon. I know you would not have liked me to kill so many people because of you. So if you can, son, please . . . forgive me. I have not been living as I should—for you, for Em, for us. But I will try, Olon. I’ll try to make you and Em proud again, so I can meet you with a smile. I hope you are happy, because I am not. I have never been. But now—I’ll try. Goodbye, my son. Stay safe.”

She threw the doll into the fire, then covered her head with one hand, bending over until she was sitting on the floor. Her back shook a bit as she cried with barely a sound, and whenever Zaleck heard a muffled groan, he would step back even more.

That was her goodbye, something between her and her family. Zaleck opened the door as quietly as he could and left, so she would have all the time she needed to talk to Olon and Em one last time.

Chapter 20

Zaleck entered the apothecary’s main room, where carved wooden chairs stood beside shelves filled with herbs, plants, and bottles. The whole place had that “Derith” scent of lavender, beeswax, and wood, a bit reminiscent of his mother’s own backyard when it rained. Derith, a teacup on her lap, followed him with her gaze as he sat before her, crossing his arms when an icy draft floated in through an open window. Beyond, city sounds came alive while midday approached.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

Zaleck lowered his eyes before answering. “Not bad.”

“The pain?”

“It’s much better, really.”

A center table full of sliced bread, fried sausages, and steamed vegetables invited Zaleck for a bittersweet breakfast.

As Derith poured him a cup of tea, he asked, with a cautious tone, “Miss Derith, could I, um, ask you something personal?”

Derith raised her left brow. “I’m intrigued. Go on.”

“Were you and Arneth—in love?”

Derith lowered her eyes, smiling to her own teacup.

“I cared for him very much, and I believe he also cared for me just the same. However, love is something that doesn’t come easy for us. You see, I believe that to love someone is to put them above everything else, and I don’t think Arneth could put anyone before his own pursuit of knowledge. Just like I can’t.”

Zaleck swallowed dry. Arneth had given his life to save Zaleck’s. If that wasn’t putting him above everything else, nothing was. Would he ever be able to do that for someone else?

Derith sipped her tea in slow motion. “I also wanted to ask you something, Zaleck. After you got here and I treated you, when I went to Dessari Keep to look for Vellis, I saw some strange things. Can you tell me what’s the deal with the grass up there?”

“The . . . grass?”

“It’s very, very big, and it keeps growing. Not only that, but it’s entangling anyone who goes there. I took a couple of guards with me, and we had to hack our way through to Vellis.”

“Oh, I’ve, um, flowoven up there, and I ordered the grass to grow and trap the woman who was attacking me.”

Derith placed her teacup on the table as she stared at Zaleck. “Fascinating.”

“You said it’s still growing?”

“Yes. It’s a common danger in untrained flowcasters like you—you can sometimes flowcast, but you don’t know how to stop the Flow that you set in motion. As luck would have it, though, that may have saved Vellis’s life. When I got to her, she was so entangled that the grass’s pressure on her wounds may been what prevented further bleeding.”

“Is it ever going to stop growing?”

“I don’t know. I think so, but it may take a while. Years, I mean. I think it’s not going to be an issue, though. It happened on an isolated hill. It’s possible no one will get hurt because of it. But you should take a lot of care in what you do with the Flow, Zaleck. At least until you find proper training.”

He scoffed. “Like I could! There’s a bunch of . . . flamewalking zombies coming after me!”

Derith furrowed her brow. “I can see how that complicates things. Still, you must try.”

Zaleck ran his fingers over his bandages, over his belly, shoulder and arm, looking for where the touch was more tender. He’d never been this hurt before—in fact, he’d never even been stabbed before, at all—and yet there he was, bandaged, a bit groggy, but still alive. It seemed to him like he should be incapable of even getting up. Whenever someone said “so and so got stabbed” that almost always meant the person died right then. Could it be because he was a flowcaster, or had he just been lucky?

If luck, though, that luck seemed to be balanced out by the fact that there was a frigging magical army coming after him. Zaleck turned inward, imagining the inside of his body filled with tiny specks of light. As soon as he did, those specks, which were just his imagination a moment before, grew too clear to be just something he was making up. Once again, there were dozens of sparks, death flows, bursting within, clearer and more real than anything else around him. Of those, many belonged to the soldiers he had killed on Theron’s ship. Could he sense them, like he had at the harbor? Could he find out where they were even at a distance?

Zaleck focused on one such spark. Its name, Hasur Malfar, came flooding into his mind, along with disconnecting images. A copper-skinned woman kissing him, her lips pressing against his as he drew her close in raging desire. A huge man beating him as he flew over the room and a screaming woman trying to defend him . . .

And then a sense—no, a certainty. A kind of knowing that pointed to a particular direction and distance. Zaleck just knew, without a doubt, where the body of Hasur was. He wouldn’t be able to point to it on a map, but he would know how to get there. As for the distance, it seemed like maybe a day’s walk, maybe less.

At the same time, though, the spark flared back at him. The body of Hasur, flaming, undead, wherever it was, turned to him across the distance. In a flash, while Zaleck found out where Hasur’s body was, it also found out where he was. That flare picked up, like a contagion, across all the others, and from within his own mind, Zaleck could sense the whole army turning. It started walking, no, running at him.

His eyes went wide. Derith’s house appeared around him again, yanking him back with a start. Once more, he sat before her, though the feeling, the perception of the flaming army, remained in his mind, like a second eye he could not shut out anymore.

Zaleck jumped up from his chair.

Derith raised her left brow. “Did I not tell you to take it easy?”

“The—the flamewalkers, I can sense them.”

Derith leaned in closer. “Really? How far away are they?”

“I don’t know. Close, I think. Closer.”

“How fast are they coming?”

“It’s hard to tell. But—they are running, I think, running here. Miss Derith, we have to let the guards know.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Yesterday, while you recovered, the countess took most of the city guard and rode south. I assume now they were all killed, because none came back. All that’s left in Wolfpine is a token unit. The city is unguarded, Zaleck.”

He tried not to sound too frantic.

“Then we have to warn everyone else!”

Derith leaned back with a slight frown. For a moment, it seemed like she’d say something like “Do we? It’s not my problem,” but she shook her head, then nodded right after.

“The church gong will do it,” she said. “We climb the tower and hit it. If it sounds outside of mass, people will know it’s an emergency. It only ever rings like this during war times.”

“Let’s go!” Zaleck said, stepping out into the city.

Through Wolfpine’s winding, cobbled streets, he ran, his every muscle aflame. Breathing in ragged gasps that tore through dulled shoulder pinches, he darted past bewildered onlookers as he screamed between breaths. “Run! An army is coming! Run away!”

His voice cracked under the strain, and he almost stumbled once, only to be supported by Derith, who was following. By then, she wasn’t telling him to take it easy anymore.

Tradesmen and housewives, blacksmiths and bakers emerged from their houses and shops, drawn by the commotion.

As they ran, windows flew open, heads peered out, wide eyes stared at them. Doors creaked on their hinges as people stepped out. Zaleck’s cries wove through the city, while he attempted to spread as much fear and urgency as he could.

His face started to streak with sweat, but he did not stop to witness the effects of his warnings. Above the housetops, the church tower beckoned, guiding him through labyrinthine streets up to the main city square, the same one where Vellis had bought his sword and armor, where he’d overturned market stalls dashing after Arneth.

Wolfpine’s cathedral, built like a small keep sidled by three towers, stood open at that time of the morning. Early mass had just ended, and some people were still trickling out as Zaleck dashed toward the building. A circular rose window, split in twelve sectors, one for each of the God-Aspects, lit the floor just past the enormous wooden double doors.

Inside the cool, hushed interior, novices already spread the pews aside, opening the way for the daily training of their guards. Across the stone floor, illuminated by the kaleidoscopic light from the vaulted glass ceiling, the entrance to the main tower had two guards already at service. The gong stood atop that tower.

Zaleck and Derith hurried across the church stone floor, their footsteps echoing through the aisle in a slowing rhythm as she pulled him back.

The city might be undefended, but the one place they had to go had to be guarded by two armed men. At least Vellis wasn’t with them, or else she’d kill these ones too.

“What do we do now, miss Derith?”

She squinted at them for a time. They must have noticed it, because they both looked back at her across the aisle.

“Can we go through the back?” Zaleck asked.

“No. There’s no other entrance. Look, Zaleck, if I do this”—Derith made a gesture with three fingers, like someone asking him to hurry up, but only with half the fingers—“you run into the tower and don’t stop for nothing, understood?”

Zaleck nodded.

Derith approached the guards. One of them raised a hand at her, while the other gripped his halberd.

“What’s that all about?” the guard said.

“We have to go up the tower, Markham!” Derith said.

The guard replied, “No one is allowed other than church folk, miss Derith.”

“Well, then get some church folk here right now!” she almost sounded anxious.

“The bishop is not here. He left for the keep this morning. Something’s going on there.”

“I tell you what’s going on!” Zaleck said. “There’s an army coming—”

A sharp gesture from Derith silenced him. She took a step forward.

“Markham, you’re having a bit of a problem in your home, aren’t you? An illness.”

The guard straightened himself up. “Um . . . yes . . . my younger daughter, she’s been with fever for three days now.”

“And you too, right Borgoth? An issue with your . . . mother.”

The other guard frowned, looking at Markham sideways before answering.

“Yes, she’s been having these headaches, but it could be nothing, Miss Derith.”

“It could be nothing, boys, but it could also be something, and the sooner we diagnose them, the better. You should get them to a proper doctor.”

“Thank you, Miss Derith,” Markham replied, “but we can’t really go to the doctor anytime someone in our house has a fever. Maybe it’s best we wait a while, you know?”

“Nonsense! If money is the problem, let’s do it like this—you bring them into my apothecary, and I’ll have a look at them. If it’s nothing, they just go back home, but if they do need treatment, we can talk expenses then. How about that?”

The men exchanged glances. “Would you do that, Miss Derith?” Markham asked.

Derith ran her hand through her chin, her three lower fingers making the gesture she’d mentioned to Zaleck. Only then did he realize that as Derith talked, she had moved aside, drawing the guard’s glances as she created an opening behind them for Zaleck to sneak through.

Zaleck pressed his side against the wall, tiptoeing his way past them into the church tower. As soon as he was out of their reach, he dashed onward again.

With steps worn smooth by centuries of use, the staircase became a dizzying climb. The very walls seemed to close in on him, as Zaleck’s own breathing came harder and harder with the effort and the pain.

Higher and higher he climbed, the air growing cooler and the light dimmer. His hands gripped the cold stone for balance, his legs burning. At the top, the gong waited, a silent giant, its bronze surface reflecting daylight, illuminating and heating the top of the tower.

Metal clanged from beneath as the guards now raced after him. Zaleck took the gong mallet with both hands, raising it with an effort that seemed to burst his shoulder back open. His first strike sounded hollow and low. For the second, he twisted his whole body, trying to add as much momentum as he could.

The deafening boom resounded in the tower. Zaleck’s dizziness rose at the sound, but still he rang it again, and again, until thick hands grabbed him and took the mallet away.

“You frigging rascal! What do you think you are doing?” Borgoth said.

Zaleck struggled against the guard, extending his hand outward.

“There,” he said, “look!”

From atop the church tower, beyond the sprawling city beneath them, over the fields and the roads that spanned away, the horizon stood ablaze. A flaming, uneven line moved, spreading toward the city against nature’s laws. Yet through the flames, small shapes could be identified, burning walking bodies, as their owners ran at speed. The fields that spread through the horizon now served as a stage for a macabre dance of fire.

The two guards stood silent as the distant, surreal scene unfolded. Seeming incapable of conciliating their eyes with reason, Markham could only say, “Holy crap!”

Borgoth’s grip eased enough for Zaleck to struggle away. Yet after he slumped through the floor, he too pushed himself up, his good hand gripping the stone parapet with a white-knuckled intensity.

Borgoth, eyes wide and mouth trembling, took the mallet with one hand and rang it. The booming ring came deafening, louder than anything Zaleck had done before.

Zaleck started to slink back down, eyes as heavy as he was breathless, only to be held up by Derith.

“How—fascinating,” she said. “Horrific, but fascinating.”

Still the gong rang, and Derith threw Zaleck’s good arm over her shoulder as she helped him walk the stairs back down.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“Thank me if we survive this,” Derith said.

If they survived this. Zaleck could only imagine how many people this abomination of an army had already killed, all because he’d had no idea what he was unleashing. He could argue for ignorance, but no matter his defense, each one of those deaths had happened because of him. He might outrun the flamewalkers, but he could not outrun his conscience.

“I—I know how we can survive this, Miss Derith.”

“Oh?” She stopped climbing down the stairs as she propped him up before her.

“I think they can sense me. I think I can draw them to me.”

“How?”

“It’s hard to explain. I just . . . think of them. It’s like I’m taunting them, saying, ‘Hey, I’m here, come get me,’ only it’s in my mind. I’ve done it at the harbor, in Highport, and now, in your house. If I take a horse, I think I can draw them away.”

“You’ll rip open your stitches, bleed, and die before the day is through, Zaleck.”

Zaleck gripped her arm.

“I—I don’t want anyone else to die because of me!”

Derith sighed as she cursed, “Damn you, Arneth, for bringing me into this.” She looked back at him. “I have a cart. I’ll ride it while you and Vellis come on the back. Let’s hope it’s fast enough.”

Chapter 21

Zaleck dashed out of the church alongside Derith, the gong still ringing throughout Wolfpine. Farther away, the shuffling sounds of movement and distant clamor told him that somewhere to the south, people were taking notice of the incoming danger. Already, from beyond the rooftops, thin columns of smoke started to rise.

Salesman and peddlers looked around as citizens ran past them, some trying to run, others trying to find out what was going on, everyone asking why the gong was ringing.

As they went down a wide street, what few guards remained in town ran past them, converging in the church.

Zaleck gripped Derith’s hand. Her bald head shining with sweat, her eyes fixed forward. “This way!” she said over the din, her voice almost inaudible as she pulled him toward the maze of alleyways that led to her home.

The streets now teemed with citizens as a tide of humanity surged from all directions. They weaved through the growing crowd, their progress sometimes impeded by the number of people.

A cart laden with produce had overturned, spilling its contents and creating a slippery obstacle. Zaleck stumbled over a squashed melon but was kept from falling as Derith pulled him along by his good arm.

Derith led him into narrow side streets, avoiding most of the people. Breathless, they emerged through a wider street, over a small incline from which most of the city could be seen. There, beyond the river, an actual wall of fire, created by the dozens of walking flaming bodies, advanced at Wolfpine. At him.

A few guards attempted to block their path through the stone bridge leading into town by barricading it with carts and crates, but even from this distance it was clear their effort would be in vain. The flamewalkers could just walk past the blockade as their flames smoldered the wooden barrier.

“Here!” Derith hissed, pulling Zaleck into a shadowed alleyway.

As they neared Derith’s home, the sound of hooves thundered behind them. They darted aside just as a horse, its rider aiming straight ahead through the street, ran toward the city’s castle. Zaleck’s breath came in ragged gasps, whatever strength he had left tested to its limits.

Vellis met them at Derith’s living room. “What’s going on?”

“They’re here!” Zaleck said. “The flamewalkers.”

Derith walked past Vellis into the back of the house. “Come, come,” she said.

“What? But, how?” Vellis asked.

“They’re after me, Vel,” Zaleck answered, still following Derith. “They can sense me, and they are coming for me.”

Through the back door, Zaleck found Derith’s cart. The pair worked as fast as his wounds would let them, hitching Derith’s horse and tying Solong and Savior at its side.

“That makes no sense!” Vellis said, clambering onto the cart with Derith’s help.

“I made them by killing them,” Zaleck explained, “but that cannot happen—it’s, like, forbidden or something—so they are coming to get me, to undo what I did. It’s like a magic that won’t go away.”

Derith gripped the reins, urgency punctuating her voice. “Hold on!”

Zaleck braced himself as the cart lurched forward, the horse neighing. The three of them careened down the street, through debris and the occasional straggler, the fighting of soldiers dimming behind them.

“Wait!” Zaleck said. “Where are we going?”

“The east bridge,” Derith replied. “We’ll take a turn south at the Howler Bridge farther ahead.”

“But that’ll force the army into going through the whole city to get me. Wolfpine will be in ruins.”

“Do you have any suggestion?”

“That way!” Zaleck pointed south.

“At them?” Vellis said.

“The guards were barricading that bridge just now,” Derith answered.

“That’ll not hold them for long. Look, there are many side streets here, right? This city is like a maze, so when they break through, we let them follow us a bit into the city, then we turn back and go through the south bridge. Very few houses will burn this way.”

Vellis winced. Derith bit her lip.

“It’ll be very close,” she said, with an odd calm, “but we can do it.” She spurred the cart onward, turning on a street corner and taking the first entry southward. They now rode against the multitude of Wolfpine’s citizens, who were attempting to flee the terror.

Past panicked families, salesmen carrying their whole inventory, men and women almost trampling each other and even other riders and carts moving outward, they trudged toward the city center. As they neared the church, the streets gradually drained of people, becoming an empty labyrinth broken only by the sounds of the fleeing mass behind them, and fighting soldiers ahead.

Along more and more streets they rode, nearing the rising smoke and fighting screams. What few people remained in Wolfpine locked their doors and windows as they passed, until they came upon the street leading to the south bridge.

There, they saw it.

The dozens of flaming Kaylorite soldiers huddled together so close that their flames engulfed one another, creating a fiery vortex around the group. The air shimmered, as if the world itself trembled at the sight. The heat seemed so intense that nearby rooftops just ignited, the flames spreading beyond what the charred bodies could touch. Their eyes had become sockets, where intense flaming spheres burned brighter than the rest, and their once-metallic armor had melded into their desiccated skin, fusing them in a hellish visage of flaming wrath.

Backing away, a group of city guards, against odds and reason, attempted to keep them at bay with long spears whose metallic orange tips had already started to melt. Even as the flaming soldiers advanced, the guards would push them back into their group, keeping them from entering the city using the bridge’s narrow width.

“Crap!” Vellis said. “If those are not the bravest and stupidest city guards I’ve ever seen!”

“We can’t get through while they keep them back,” Derith said. “They’re buying time for the people to flee. We have to wait it out.”

“But they’ll all die!” Zaleck said.

“You don’t know that, Zal. Maybe some will escape.”

He was, actually, pretty sure they would all die. Unless he did something. Closing his eyes, he sighed. His answer to whether or not he’d ever be able to sacrifice himself to save someone else’s life was about to be answered.

Zaleck jumped down from the cart, his hurt shoulder stabbing him with a quick jolt.

“I’ll draw them,” he said. “You ride away, and when they’ve cleared the bridge, turn and go back there. I’ll run back at you, and we’ll escape.”

“You have got to be joking me!” Vellis said.

“You’ll do no such thing!” Derith followed.

Zaleck locked eyes with the two women. He raised his brow, almost asking them to let him do it, even while he pressed his lips against each other at the thought.

Derith leaned her head back. Understanding dawning in her expression. “Are you sure you can outrun them?” she asked.

“What?” Vellis said, “You can’t be serious! He’s a kid! And he’s wounded! Aren’t you a doctor?”

“He’s got it right, Vellis. This cart can outrun them in a straight line, but if we have to take a turn anywhere, we’ll have to slow down and be surrounded. Zaleck, do you think you are fast enough?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“Run fast and take no chances,” Derith said. “Run like the hells themselves are coming after you, because they will be. We’ll wait until you get there, so if you can’t do it, well, we’ll all burn down together.”

“You are both insane!” Vellis said, defeat underlying her voice.

Derith pushed the cart onward and turned on a side street. When they left his sight, Zaleck took a step toward the soldiers. He thought about turning inward, and calling to the army with the Flow, as he had twice before.

This time, he didn’t have to.

One of the flaming soldiers seemed to have “seen” him, if those things could even see anything, because it turned in his direction, screaming and pointing. Something in those distant, flaming eyes locked into his mind, as if Zaleck had been cornered by a beast with an insatiable hunger. All the other burning soldiers followed the same gesture, and as one, ignoring the city’s guards, they advanced.

Yeah. Come and get me.

The guards, thrown back by the marauding army, still tried to pull themselves up and poke at some of the flamewalkers from the side or back. Some of those did stumble and fall, only to rise up again, all heading straight at Zaleck.

He had created those abominations. There had to be a way he could end them as well. At least he could try using the Flow to stop them. Since they were flaming corpses, a gale of ice should freeze them all. That was it. He would blow such a cold wind into them that he’d freeze them all.

With the soldiers about a hundred paces away, Zaleck turned inward, focusing on the sparks of death’s flow that burned within him, where he now knew his power came from. The sparks burned brighter, flaring up, a cyclone of ethereal force suffusing his blood. The soldiers were about halfway to him when he imagined the wind, focused on all of the soldiers freezing as they stood, and pushed the Flow outward.

Nothing happened. Zaleck pushed out the Flow again, the soldiers a ten-pace way.

Nothing happened again. Just as they were about to grab him, Zaleck turned and ran, pushing his legs one after another, into a desperate flight for his life.

He sprinted down the narrow, winding streets, the hot breath of the flaming army at his back. Behind him, the roar of the fire mingled with the guttural moans of the soldiers, creating an abominable chorus that spurred his legs even faster, in spite of the ache in his arm and belly.

The streets, hemmed in by two-story houses, seemed to constrict around him. The shadows thrown by the fire morphed into his own shadow on the walls. The heat from the approaching inferno licking at his back fueled his panic even more.

Zaleck turned a corner once, twice as he ran. Where was he now? Did he even know which way to go? Every turn he made seemed to lead him into another alley, and throughout the frantic flight his mind raced, trying to find the way out of town once again. The sounds of the flaming army grew louder, inching ever closer.

Glancing over his shoulder, Zaleck saw the flamewalkers winding their way through the alleys. A tide of fire spewed beside them, setting aflame every house they passed.

Farther to one side, the distant church tower still rang at the city’s center. To the other, a thick column of smoke rose. The smoke, of course! The plaza where the guards had fought back the army still burned the hottest. That was where he would find his exit.

With steps wider than before, pushed forward by the unrelenting heatwave that came before the soldiers, Zaleck clenched his teeth, biting back the pain, letting fear alone push him as his bandages dampened with blood.

The smoke ahead cleared enough for him to see the arching stone bridge out of town. Derith’s cart appeared just before it. Zaleck burst onto the main thoroughfare, where the houses were painted with swirling flames, the final stretch of his flight. Atop the cart, Vellis screamed at Derith, and they started to move.

Zaleck pushed himself, legs pumping, breath coming in ragged gasps, as he stepped onto the bridge. Growls and grunts approached from behind. Some immense heat scraped at his back, a searing burn that began spreading through his clothes.

Zaleck extended a hand to Vellis as the cart moved away. Vellis took it but winced at the effort, and the spasm made her drop him. Zaleck almost fell as he stumbled, but he kept his footing enough to stay a step ahead the mass of soldiers.

Again, he reached out, this time grasping at her wrist with every last bit of strength, biting back against the pain. He and Vellis both screamed as she pulled him upward.

“Go! Go!” she yelled, beating at Zaleck’s back with her cloak.

Dizzy, panting, and coughing, Zaleck turned back to Wolfpine. The mass of flaming soldiers still pursued him, but they couldn’t keep up with Derith’s cart. As they moved away, drawing the army out of the city, Zaleck stumbled back, breathless and worn. His eyes clouded, and he stared at Vellis’s face, which covered the whole sky before him as she held him.

“We . . . we did it,” he said.

“You are one crazy farm boy, did you know that?”

Zaleck laughed once, coughed twice, and let the weariness overtake him as the cart sped down the road south, away from Wolfpine and back toward Highport.

Chapter 22

Zaleck still panted, nearly out of breath, when Derith switched seats with Vellis, coming to the back of the cart to change his bandages.

A trickle of blood had started seeping from his shoulder wound once again, so Derith bandaged it tight enough that his fingers went numb for a while. Zaleck winced and gritted his teeth as she worked, forcing himself to not moan about it anymore.

Vellis handed him a waterskin to drink as she finished. The flavor of mint tea filled his mouth as he gulped it. She was probably the only person alive who filled a waterskin with mint tea.

“Professor Derith,” he said, “you—you know a lot about floweaving, don’t you?”

She nodded. “I have studied and committed to memory the arcane library at Zal-Hadesh.”

That seemed important, even though Zaleck had no idea what Zal-Hadesh was.

“I, um—back in the city, I tried floweaving an icy wind to freeze the soldiers, but even though I’ve flowoven three times now, this time I couldn’t. Do you know why?”

Derith eyed him with a sidelong glance and sighed. “I’m not even going to mention the fact that you’ve been repeatedly warned not to try floweaving anymore. Instead, tell me this: When you’ve flowoven those three times before, were you afraid?”

Zaleck nodded.

“Very afraid? Were you fighting for your life?”

He nodded again.

“Sometimes, when a flowcaster has no training, the Flow can manifest on its own, in moments of great fear or stress. That’s almost always how a person learns they have the gift. Outside of those moments, you need three things to flowcast. A clear image of what you are trying to accomplish, enough Flow within you to achieve it, and the proper mental state, called ‘arthesis.’ Achieving arthesis on your own, at will, is the main focus of most floweaving training. I’m not surprised you couldn’t cast it, but I am surprised that even though you tried to do it, you still manage to outrun them.”

Zaleck chuckled. “I couldn’t let you burn, could I?”

Derith extended a hand, patting his shoulder.

“Also,” he went on, “do you know why we can’t flowcast the same thing more than once?”

“As the theory goes, the Flow runs in your body through small ducts that are quite like veins and arteries. They are called ‘pathways.’ When you flowcast, you channel so much flow that it burns away your pathways. So, when you try to channel the Flow through the same pathways again, you can’t do it, because they are damaged.”

“And . . . what happens if I damage all of my pathways?”

“You die.”

Zaleck widened his eyes. “So, floweaving can kill me?”

“Yes, but it takes a number of flowcasts to get to that point. It’s hard to say exactly how many, because if you only flowcast weak effects that don’t require too much Flow, you can do that for much longer. On average, I’ve read that the number of flowcasts you can make in your whole life is about a hundred.”

“Oh. That seems like a lot.”

Derith grinned. “You say that now, but you may think otherwise after you’re past your eightieth flowcast. Still, even the limitation of only floweaving an effect once can be . . . worked around.”

“How?”

“With what are called perennial flows. Even a thousand years ago, flowcasters already felt constrained by this limitation, so they came up with an alternative. The idea is to weave a flowcast that never expires around an object, and this object, then, can do specific things on command. These are perennial flows. It’s the source of those tales of magical swords and flying castles.”

Horse hooves thundered from far to the south. Zaleck raised his head, trying to get a look at the riders as soon as they appeared. His weariness was enough that he’d rather just let them pass, but with the flamewalkers so near, whoever was coming had to be told.

The riders’ glistening armor shone like sparkling daylight stars. Three horses approached, their saddles and tabards marking them as military.

Zaleck let his mouth drop as soon as their coat of arms became visible. A sheaf of wheat crossed by a sword on a blue-and-yellow-checkered pattern.

“Oh, craps!” Vellis said.

Two of the riders, full-plate clad, rode like two invincible fortresses that only an arbalest could unseat. The rider at the center, though not as armored, towered over the other two not only in size, but also with his menacing stare. A short, trimmed beard lay under a diminutive nose that highlighted the ever-serious look, that sat on a body built like a bear. Zaleck had seen him before, through the flow images of the slavers. Duke Calahan Orr himself.

Duke Orr and his retinue rode straight at them, circling Derith’s cart once before stopping in front of them. Zaleck followed them as they rode around, though Duke Orr wouldn’t stop looking at Vellis.

“The Red Widow herself,” he said. “I should have known one of the Orphans was involved when the number of bodies started piling up in this debacle.”

Vellis met his stare with a dead-serious look of her own, even if the number of reddened bandages she sported somewhat dissolved her bravado.

“Duke Calahan Orr,” she said. “A face I never thought, or hoped, to see again.”

“I see introductions are unnecessary,” he said, pointing at Zaleck. “You’re coming with us, boy.”

The man in cahoots with Theron, the one who’d silently betrayed Ayrn’s principles and conspired to make a slave and then a sacrifice out of him. The duke might’ve been followed by two soldiers who might as well be invincible, but whatever happened, Zaleck would not let this man bully him.

He stood up.

“My name is Zaleck, and you will address me as Flowcaster.”

Duke Orr tilted his head aside, narrowing his eyes. He opened his mouth, but before he said anything, Derith jumped up beside Zaleck, touching his shoulders while addressing the duke.

“My lord, there’s no need for violence. We will go with you willingly.”

Zaleck and Vellis turned to her. “What?” they both said.

“Read the situation, you two. We cannot outrun and we cannot fight them. They’ve already won. We might as well go with them and avoid any unpleasantness.”

Duke Orr leaned forward in his seat.

“I always knew I could count on Daht’Gahren propriety. What say you, young flowcaster? Will you abide?”

Zaleck glanced at Calahan, then back at Derith. He could hardly believe what he was hearing, but the slightest nod from Derith gave him the impression that she did have something up her sleeve.

They had a long way to Highport. If Derith had a plan, Zaleck could give her the benefit of the doubt. Still, it took an effort for him to breathe deep and spit out an answer from between clenching teeth.

“I will go with you, Duke Orr.”

Vellis leaned back, frowning a bit. She also glanced at Derith but said nothing.

The duke flicked his hand, and his two knights fell beside Derith’s cart while he turned around, leading the group through the road south.

Zaleck sat back down. Derith mounted Solong and untied it, riding beside Duke Orr. Vellis frowned more and more. At one point, she turned to Zaleck, whispering, “You two better be damn sure you know what you’re doing.”

He shrugged, and Vellis rolled her eyes with a sigh.

“We’re doomed,” she said.

Zaleck sensed it before he saw it. Like imagining a dark cloud just up ahead, a fog in his mind made of bad news and danger that had him looking around for any sign of trouble. A mix of imagination and uneasiness that left him swallowing dry as he searched for its meaning.

Only when he said it aloud did he realize what it was.

“There’s death up ahead.”

A group of burned-out farmhouses came into view, their charred timbers jutting up among darkened fields where a small cloud of carrion birds circled overhead. Scores and scores of bodies filled the way by the road, their blackened shapes charred, charcoal statues in vague human shapes. Here and there, some faces could be discerned, frozen in expressions of pain and surprise. A foul scent of burnt meat hung heavy in the air.

Scores of vultures circled the clearing, descending and feeding on the dead. A single eagle, high above them all, scouted the place as well.

“Those are . . .” Zaleck said.

“Wolfpine’s soldiers.” Vellis pointed to a large pole sticking up from the ground. “And I’d wager that was the countess’s banner.”

Duke Orr leaned back, glancing at Zaleck. His voice came out venomous.

“Behold your work, Flowcaster!”

The horse’s clops echoed through the fields, answered at times by the cawing of the carrion birds. Zaleck forced himself to look at the calcinated field, to remember that this was his own doing, but he could not contain the lurching in his stomach that forced him to turn away and vomit. Vellis held him by the side of the cart, supporting him as he emptied his stomach, shaking every one of his bones in the process.

She also seemed to be searching for a reason to look away, but she chose the worst possible words to say to him.

“This was not your fault, Zaleck.”

“Really?” he answered, daring even himself to believe it. “To me, it looks like it is.”

The horses also whickered and neighed at the smell. Duke Orr waved for them to trot on. Zaleck was just glad to leave the scene behind.

“My lord,” Derith said, riding closer to the duke. “I was hoping we could talk.”

Duke Orr turned at her, displeasure in his answer. “Can I ever stop a Daht’Gahren from speaking?”

Derith perked up in her seat, as if taken aback by the abrupt answer. “My lord, you are intent on handing young Zaleck to Archpriest Theron, are you not?”

Once more, he turned to her, though this time he didn’t answer.

“My lord,” she continued, “the Theocracy of Kaylor is a slaver nation. Archpriest Theron sent a secret caravan of slavers to capture Zaleck and Vellis, and they would have succeeded if Vellis hadn’t escaped. Not only that, but Archpriest Theron aims to sacrifice young Zaleck in a dark ritual. You are giving one of your subjects, a kid, away to a slaver and murderer, my lord.”

Duke Orr lowered his head just a bit. “I do not expect you to understand the political intricacies of this situation.”

“Then I beg of you, enlighten me, my lord.”

He shuffled in his seat.

“You think I like being in this position? You think I take pleasure in this? Let me explain it to you, then, since it isn’t obvious by now. Your ‘kid’ back there blew up a military vessel from one of the strongest southern nations. He did it in my harbor, with the ruler of said nation inside. Hundreds of soldiers, sailors, and courtiers died. This is an act of war if there ever was one. A war which, I might add, we cannot win, because the very magic he cast then turned against us and demolished our defenses. Now, Archpriest Theron only asks for one thing to forget all about this fiasco, and it is that boy. Either we give him one boy, or it’s war against Kaylor for everyone.”

Zaleck looked down, breathing hard. The duke was not wrong, but what could he do? Surrender to Theron and die? And what if he didn’t—how many more would die when Kaylor attacked?

“I understand the danger, my lord. Five hundred years ago, arguments just like that must have been made as well. Ayrn voted to banish slavery, the first kingdom to ever do so, because we believe that every life is worth living. We knew, at that time, that the other nations would go to war against us for that, and they did. But still, banishing slavery was the right thing to do back then, just as protecting everyone from it is still the right thing to do now. Especially the kids.”

“Woman,” Duke Orr snapped, “If they attack, we are done for, don’t you get it?”

“And you’d rather live in dishonor than die fighting for what’s right? What happened to the principles that guide us, my lord?”

“I will hear no more of this. You will cease this jabbering and know your place. Remember your Verian Tower is permitted to be independent only by the grace of our queen. I beseech you to not jeopardize that.”

Derith pressed a hand to her forehead. The flicker that caught Zaleck’s eye seemed like just a twitch of her fingers at first. It took a few moments for him to realize that she was flicking her three fingers at him.

The very gesture they’d agreed would mean that he had to run, when they were back at the church.

Did this mean Derith wanted Zaleck to run away? Where to? Forward, and Duke Orr would grab him with no effort. To the right, plains stretched on, with hills at the horizon. To the left, the closest woods were at least a few minutes ride away. Back, and he’d face the flamewalkers once more. Not to mention, Savior was still tied to the cart, and before he untied it the knights would already be upon him.

Well, wherever she wanted him to run to, he couldn’t just stay there. If Theron was going to kill him anyway, he might as well try to run away.

Zaleck jumped at one of the knights, crossing the distance from the cart to the horse in a leap. He rammed into the knight, grabbing him by the chest. The knight lost control of his horse for a moment, which went rearing, sending the two of them to the ground.

He leapt back up, and though the knight also recovered, Zaleck had no plate armor to make getting up so awkward.

Zaleck grabbed the horse’s saddle, pulling himself up and grabbing the reins.

“Hyah!” he said.

He galloped away from the cart, turning around in an arc.

“Get him,” the duke said, no hurry at all in his voice.

Zaleck rode northward, toward the flamewalkers.

Let’s see if I can lose them twice.

The other rider approached, much faster than Zaleck rode, as his horse started tossing his head around.

Zaleck galloped for but half a mile, and already the rider sidled him. He pulled him back, unseating and bringing him down just as he fell on top of him. Zaleck tried to get up again, but the knight held him by his legs.

Pressing his chest against the floor with a hand, the knight immobilized Zaleck while calling for his horse.

Zaleck kicked and struggled, but even when he struck at the knight, he only bruised his own feet and hands against the plate mail. He grunted and screamed, angry and frustrated, but the knight might as well be deaf.

The other knight arrived. The duke rode slowly toward them.

“Here,” the knight who held him said, “hold him while I get the rope.”

The second knight continued pressing him against the ground while the first one got up. He turned Zaleck around, two dark eyes shining at him from behind the closed helmet, then propped him back up, still grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

“Oy,” the first knight said, coming back with a rope, “I said to keep him down. We have to tie him up.”

Zaleck struggled, grunting. Not again! He punched and kicked at the knight, not moving him an inch.

“Oy, what’s wrong?” the first knight said to the second.

The second knight threw Zaleck down. He hit the hard ground in a thud that took all his breath. Then the knight drew his sword and thrust it into the first one’s neck, the blade going into a gap in his armor, though his opponent’s sword parried the brunt of the blow.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Duke Orr bellowed.

While the two knights parted, eyeing each other, weapons drawn, the second one said, “Forgive me, but I’d rather die fighting for what’s right, my Lord.”

Zaleck knew this gruffy, hoarse, low voice. Keltrak Azareen.

The duke dismounted, drawing his blade.

“So be it! Kill him,” he ordered.

Zaleck scrambled to rise while Duke Orr advanced at Keltrak as well.

A shadow passed behind the duke, a metallic flash where he once had been. He stepped aside, blade raised as a ringing announced his lightning-fast parry.

Vellis had just jumped at him, daggers drawn. She’d have cut his neck open from behind had he not somehow parried her attack.

Keltrak and the other knight dashed at one another, holding their blades with both hands and thrusting them at each other’s armor, looking for a way in. If not for being metal-clad and for the sharp swords, they could very well have been two kids wrestling in the mud.

Vellis and the duke circled one another, daring to see who’d strike first. Duke Orr advanced, their blades ringing once against each other before they split back. Vellis winced. From what Zaleck had seen of her, she’d have finished him already if not for her wounds.

“Zaleck!” Derith cried out from atop Solong. She held in her hand his scabbarded swords. “Did you or did you not learn how to use these?” she said, throwing him the weapons.

He had, indeed. Drawing his blade, he went for the duke, who cursed.

“I tried to take you in the easy way, boy, but the archpriest only wants you alive. It doesn’t matter if—”

The man stepped back as Vellis advanced, her blades flashing cuts before her that he struggled to parry. Zaleck advanced from behind, connecting a series of attacks that took away all of his initiative. Duke Orr retreated, positioning Zaleck beside Vellis.

Keltrak had wrestled the other knight to the ground. They locked arms, both trying to penetrate the other’s armor with their thrusts.

“You idiots!” the duke said to Vellis and Zaleck, “you’ll kill us all.”

“Oh, Calahan,” Vellis said, “just shut up and die.”

“Ladies first.”

They both advanced, clashing weapons faster than Zaleck could follow. He circled the duke, but before he could flank him, Vellis lost her footing, stumbling down, into his sword. She twisted as she fell, attempting a dodge, but still the blade sliced through her bandages, opening a gash at her belly.

“Vellis, no!” Zaleck shouted, running at the duke. He thrust at him however he could, all technique abandoned.

Duke Orr stepped aside. With a swing of his sword, he sent Zaleck’s blade flying. Zaleck stumbled while, in a single step, Duke Orr grabbed him by the neck.

Then they both went down, as Keltrak dashed into his lord. Zaleck scrambled to get up while Keltrak pummeled the duke with his metal gauntlet. Duke Orr punched at him, his blade striking Keltrak’s plate several times, but Keltrak hammered his face down, breaking his nose and jaw, piercing his eye, hammering him down until the duke stopped flailing, still and silent at last.

The other knight, whom Keltrak had fought against, lay still on the ground, a sword sticking out of his helmet.

Two death flows burst into Zaleck as he ran to Vellis.

“Vel! Vel!” he said.

Vellis, still awake, pressing a hand against her belly, gripped his shoulder with her other, bloody hand.

“Calm down, Zal. Keep calm.”

Derith, already by their side, said, “Help me get her on the cart.”

As they lifted her up, Derith cried out to Keltrak.

“Hey, you, lordling. Take your horse and come with us. You don’t want to stay here when they come.” She pointed north, where the line of flamewalkers was already visible again.

Keltrak mounted his horse, riding alongside them as they put more distance between themselves and the flamewalkers.

“Crap!” he said. “I’ve just killed the queen’s brother.”

Derith gave him the cart’s reins to pull as she stepped back, to where Zaleck pressed against Vellis’s wound.

“Professor, is she going to be alright?”

“Hard to say, Zal. Get my bag. We’re going to have to sew her up.”

Chapter 23

Derith’s cart rolled over the plains as they started turning into hills.

Zaleck leaned over Vellis, her ragged breath coming slower and slower as he and Derith pressed against the cut in her belly.

Derith opened her medicine pouch, retrieving a line and needle as she examined the wound.

“How can I help?” Zaleck asked.

“Put one hand here,” Derith said, indicating Vellis’s wound. “No, not on the wound, a bit above it. That’s it, and the other one here.” She indicated Vellis’s forehead.

“What for?”

“Just do it, Zaleck. Stay like this, and imagine your flow going into Vellis, through the wound, then back into you from her forehead, then again into her wound. Imagine the Flow circulating through you. Just keep still and do this.”

Zaleck nodded.

The cart jolted over the uneven road, but Derith’s hands moved with precision as she passed the line through the needle.

Blood seeped from the gash across Vellis’s abdomen. Derith uncorked a bottle of wine from her backpack, washing the wound with it, its sharp scent mingling with those of sweat and leather. Vellis winced, teeth clenched, while gripping the edge of the cart with a hand.

Derith began to stitch. The needle pierced the skin, and she pulled the thread through with measured movements. Vellis’s breath hitched with each entry and exit of the needle, just as the cart’s wheels creaked.

Zaleck, trying to keep steady as well, imagined his flow running through Vellis as Derith instructed. At first, nothing happened. As it went on, he found himself breathing harder and harder, a discomfort growing in his belly, until it became a tug, growing into a pinch of pain. He winced alongside Vellis.

“Derith, I think my own belly wound is also opening,” he said.

“No, it’s not—you are feeling Vellis’s wound. Keep at it.”

Vellis’s wound? Yes, that was true. That was not his belly, that was hers! He felt both his and Vellis’s belly, as if his body had suddenly doubled. He breathed, and she breathed as well. She grunted, and he grunted too. He was her, and she was him.

Zaleck gasped at such an expansive sensation. She gasped as well. The Flow now ran through them like an unbidden river, joining them as one. They looked into each other, and for the first time in his life, Zaleck saw himself through someone else’s eyes. A worried, pale boy, dirt and blood smearing his whole face, hiding some of his freckles. His bright eyes stared wide at her. Pain running through him just as through her, and in spite of that he still did his best to save her.

Gods, if she’d ever had a son like him, she would not have been prouder.

If he ever had a mother like her, he’d never feel alone again.

Vellis’s belly tugged with hurt at the two of them as Derith stitched it close. A dull pain, now, distant and detached, compared to the intense current of the Flow.

Derith tied off the last stitch, a rough line now holding the flesh together. While she wrapped a tight bandage over it, Vellis and Zaleck both exhaled, the tension in their bodies easing.

The cart continued on its way, the steady trot of the horses and the sounds of the distant woods blending with the labored breathing of the three occupants. Derith packed away her tools, her movements methodical.

“You can stop now, Zaleck,” she said.

He reluctantly removed his hands from Vellis, tearing them away from each other. He stared into her face for the longest time. Whatever he said would just spoil the moment.

Zaleck crawled backward. Vellis fell asleep almost at once.

“Professor . . . what have I done?”

“It’s called syncing. It’s when flowcasters synchronize their flow with someone else’s. I’m sorry I didn’t have time to explain it to you. I’ve read this experience is, well, intimate, but syncing is a powerful tool to help stabilize wounds, and Vellis needed that.”

“I . . . Uh, no, you don’t have to apologize.”

Zaleck braced himself by the side of the cart as it trudged on its southward path, reliving every single thought he’d had while syncing with Vellis. Which ones were his, and which were hers? In those moments, were they even two people, or had they become one mind?

Along the rest of the road, scorch marks dotted the landscape, and every farming community they had passed before now lay either abandoned or destroyed.

Keltrak rode close to the cart, turning to Derith.

“Keltrak Azareen, Professor.”

Derith nodded at him. “Derith Halar.”

“Professor . . . I’ve heard the Daht’Gahren can read minds and control people with their voice. Forgive me for asking, but I must know . . . Did you manipulate me into killing Duke Orr?”

Derith glanced at him sideways. “You want to find someone else to blame for what you did, don’t you? Well, don’t look at me. I exposed the truth, but your choices were your own.”

“But did you know I’d betray lord Orr if I knew the truth?”

“I knew it was a strong possibility. Would you rather have stayed ignorant?”

Keltrak looked aside. “I’d rather not have become a traitor to my kingdom. I am a hunted man now.”

“Oh, don’t be so defeatist. No one saw what happened, and no one will recognize those two corpses after a hundred or so dead flaming bodies pass over them, charring them to a crisp. Only the four of us know the truth, and I won’t tell if you don’t.”

As if to hammer the point in, an eagle called out far above them, circling like before.

“The five of us, you mean,” Keltrak said. “Your other Daht’Gahren friend is in on this, isn’t he?”

“Other Daht’Gahren?” Derith asked.

“Master Arneth Farhan, whom I first met with the boy.” Keltrak pointed at Zaleck.

Zaleck pulled himself up.

“Lord Keltrak . . .” he said. “Arneth is— He was killed. By Theron Vangard and Duke Orr.”

Keltrak frowned, lowering his head. “I . . . was unaware. Forgive me.”

“But why did you bring him up?” Zaleck asked.

“Well, he’s the one who sent me here. After he flat out told me how to save my family from ruin, the one thing he asked of me was to stay as close as possible to Duke Orr, and to do my best to ride by his side over the following days. That’s the only reason I’m here. Had I known I’d end up killing him, I might have reconsidered.”

“Well,” Derith said, “if it’s any consolation, Arneth did have a way of getting us all to do what we least want to.”

Keltrak sighed, riding away from them for a while, never ceasing to cast sidelong glances at Derith with a frown and a scowl.

As afternoon gave way to twilight, Derith kept their riding pace instead of looking for a place to stop.

“We ride through the night,” she said. “This way, we may reach Highport tomorrow morning, and we cannot afford to give those things time to catch up on us. So try to get comfortable back there.”

“I can relieve you, Professor,” Keltrak said.

Derith looked at him for a moment. “Rest. I’ll call you to take the reins by midnight.”

Zaleck did try to sleep as Derith suggested, but instead he lay in the back of the cart aching for dreams that would not come. The cart jolted and swayed on the uneven road, each creak and groan of the wheels a jarring lullaby that kept slumber at bay. The night breeze grew icy cold, seeping coolness into his very bones that even his shivering would not banish.

After turning in the same spot for hours, Zaleck finally opened his eyes to a bright blanket of stars. Only one of the moons was still up, and dim starlight filled the roadway, glinting just so in the dew-covered cobblestones.

Wobbling, he pulled himself to the rider’s seat beside Derith.

“Can’t sleep, heh?” she said.

“Uh-huh.” He nodded.

“Well, no one can blame you,” she said with a sigh.

The cart rolled somewhat faster than Zaleck expected for a ride through a starlit night. But then, the faint reddish glow behind them was still a thing, and Derith might be right to push them through the night faster than the flamewalkers could reach them.

“Zaleck, what do you miss most about home?” Derith asked.

Zaleck would have started at her question—Derith, engaging in casual conversation?—but his arms and legs weighed too much for him to react properly.

“I don’t know, uh . . . I guess, my mom’s food. I mean, we do eat very well at the inns, but Mom would put the vegetables in the oven, and take them out when they were just the right way of crispy on the outside and soft in the inside. She also does this thing with eggs—she separates the yolk from the whites, then she whips up the white into a cream. Then she joins it with the yolk again and puts them in the oven. The eggs become, like, I don’t know, kind of a cake. They are all fluffy in the inside, and they just melt in your mouth. And she does this every day, you know?”

Derith chuckled. “Now you’ve got my mouth watering.”

Zaleck smirked, followed by a sigh. “Helping Dad in the fields, though. I guess I miss that the most.”

“What, really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Of all things, you miss farmwork?”

“I like doing something that grows. I like it when we go to sell it at the market, later on, and I know that something I did is going to someone else’s table. It’s rough work, yeah, but what can I say? I like it. Dad never complained about it either, and I like doing it . . .” Another sigh. “With him.”

The wheels creaked, turning many times before Derith replied.

“I think I know what you mean. Back at the Tower, one thing I liked to do a lot was go to the kitchen and come up with new tea blends. At lunch, many students would line up just to find out what new flavor I had come up with.”

“Do you miss it? The Tower?”

Now it was Derith who sighed. “I miss teaching. I miss looking into a student’s face and finding out they just realized what I’m trying to tell them. I do not miss the politics, though. You know, for a group of people who flaunt themselves for not interfering in politics, we are pretty political ourselves. Just imagine dealing with a dozen or so teachers, all of whom can read each other’s intentions. The machination is on another level there.”

Starlight gloom turned Derith’s face into a pale outline amid the dark.

“I’m sorry for asking,” Zaleck said, “but was Arneth your teacher? Did you learn from him?”

Derith nodded.

“How was he, back at the Tower?”

Faint moonlight glinted in her eyes as she spoke. “Very stern. As a teacher, he was merciless. I mean, if you got just a hint of an answer wrong, he’d discount the whole question. Still, there was this other side to him. He had this unbelievable patience. If you didn’t get something he explained, and asked a question, he would spend as much time as needed explaining it again until you got it right. I myself never got to be that patient with my students. I think for that alone, he was much beloved in the Tower.”

Zaleck yawned.

“Miss Derith . . . in the Tower, did you learn of a way to help us get to sleep?”

She smiled. “Well, we did learn many more ways to stay awake through the night, that’s for sure, but here’s one thing you can do. Can you remember the feeling you had when you gazed into a large vista for the first time, or when you enter a very high building? The very first feeling, when it seems your mind expands and your thoughts all go blank?”

Zaleck nodded.

“So here’s what you do. You lie down back there, and you take three very deep, very slow breaths, and then imagine that feeling again. Keep it in your mind for as long as you can. When you realize you’ve lost the feeling, take three long breaths again, and start over. Do that, and see how fast you fall asleep.”

Zaleck crawled to the back of the cart, lying between Vellis and Keltrak.

Vellis turned, embracing him. Her warm touch eased the night’s cold somewhat. Zaleck even chuckled when he thought how cross she should be that none of them had had a proper bath that day.

In the cart’s wooden floor, Zaleck’s limbs became cramped and sore. All that had happened that day kept running through his mind: the burning farms, the lifeless eyes of the fallen soldiers, the death of Duke Calahan Orr, syncing with Vellis . . . vivid memories flickered behind his eyelids each time he closed them.

Thinking of a beautiful vista was much harder than it seemed. Yet, he did breathe slowly, going back to the first time he saw Highport, his mind drifting farther and farther away . . .

At one point, Zaleck was jolted away from a dreamless sleep, heart racing as a momentary panic gripped him. No, this was not the slaver’s cart. He would not be put to sleep again. He was free now, saved by Arneth and Vellis.

Vellis’s steady breathing centered him back. How she managed to sleep like that, on an open cart on a bumpy road, he couldn’t guess. Still, it was a good thing she did, as she somehow lulled him back into the dark.

What would his family be doing now, back home? Would his father have started harvest already? Would they have fixed the leak in the ceiling? It almost never rained back home; when it did, it dripped just above his haystack. Would they have had the harvest fair by now? If they did, Mom would have made a pie for everyone. He would not have her pie this year. He may not ever have it again, if he didn’t find a way to . . .

The first light of dawn blinded him awake as the cart jostled on a curve. Every one of Zaleck’s limbs dragged him down, and his eyes still wanted to close, but the unrelenting suns had other plans for him. Hammered by their light, he pushed himself up as his stomach grumbled and his head spun.

Vellis also stirred from sleep, lying down opposite him in the cart. Zaleck stole wary glances at her. By the way she also shot furtive gazes at him, he just knew she was also thinking about what they felt and thought when they synced.

Farther below, in the beach valley, Highport appeared before them once again. This time, though, instead of the sprawling living city that took over the horizon, it greeted them as a battered, burnt, and beaten place. A few smoke plumes still rose, and entire neighborhoods had been charred black as if immense godlike hands had scribbled the city with gigantic charcoal.

Keltrak already rode beside their cart again.

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

Derith took a breath before answering, and though she still seemed as unreachable as a bald statue, her voice betrayed a weariness that seemed to take her to the brink of desperation.

“I’ll take Zaleck to the harbor. There I’ll put him in a trance and help him flowcast into his past lives, and hopefully he’ll learn how to defeat those monsters.”

Vellis, leaning up at the back of the cart, said, “Say that again? You’ll—help him flowcast into his past lives?”

“Yes”.

“And hopefully he’ll learn how to defeat the flaming army?” Vellis sounded unconvinced.

“That’s the best I got. That’s all I can do. If that fails, I guess we should all just run away.”

“Professor Derith, have you ever done anything like this before?” Keltrak asked.

“Oh, I’m very good at trancing people.”

“But have you ever done that to an untrained flowcaster?”

“Have I ever?” Derith turned to Keltrak. “Lord, I had never even met a flowcaster before Zaleck. Have you any idea how rare they are nowadays? I’d wager you could count all flowcasters in the world with your fingers. And that’s accounting for the three archpriests of the Death Kingdom of Kaylor.”

Keltrak stared back at her with an icy steel glance. “A ‘no’ would have sufficed.”

“Look at that harbor,” Vellis said, pointing down at the city. “There’re scores of soldiers in there. How are we—”

“We?” Derith said. “There’s no ‘we.’ I’ll go there with Zaleck, you and Lord Keltrak will stay back in the city.”

“Like hell we will,” Vellis said. “He and I are the only ones who can even pretend to hold our own in a fight against—”

“You couldn’t hold your own against a breeze if it blew on you, Vellis. You need rest and a bed, and you need it for at least a week. This will already be hard enough without having you leaking whatever blood you have left, holding us back. As for Keltrak, we don’t need him clinking beside us as we sneak past the city guard. Stay back, you two. Find an inn, and wait for us to return.”

“But how are you two going to—”

“We’ll find a way, Vellis. Gods, could you be a more stubborn patient?”

Vellis looked away, pursing her mouth and mumbling. Keltrak frowned, glancing between the women.

“We’ll have to enter the city by your secret passage again, Vellis. Can you do it?” Zaleck asked.

“I don’t think we’ll have to do it this time, Zaleck. Look.” Vellis pointed at Highport’s northern gates. No guards there now. In fact, most of the gates were just gone, their remaining edges blackened and burned. The stables outside the city had been reduced to cinders, and people entered Highport with their horses and carts without anyone raising their voices or hands to stop them.

As they descended the hills back into Highport, the last stretch of the road had them struggling against a wave of people fleeing the city. At first, Derith tried to warn them that the flaming army was returning, and some of them indeed turned back, but in the end, there were just too many people for her to keep it up.

As they entered Highport again, it took Derith but a moment to find an inn that would take them. She exchanged nary two words with Vellis and Keltrak before leading Zaleck back south, into the place where he’d lost Arneth, blown up a whole ship, and caused so many people to die.

Chapter 24

Not three days ago, Highport had burst with merchants, ships, salespeople, families going to and fro in a chaotic dance that brought life and danger to every corner of its streets. Now, though, that life had been burned down, suffused and killed, and from the vibrance of before, only the danger remained. Its streets were hollowed out by scorch marks, its few people hurrying along as if still trying to escape the flamewalkers. No one spoke too loud anymore, but the rustle of hushes was everywhere.

As Zaleck and Derith walked through the now-desolate thoroughfares, their footsteps seemed to amplify Highport’s eerie silence. People moved out of their way or turned their heads aside when they passed.

Derith, however, walked beside him with such a proud and disapproving stance that it looked like she owned the whole city. Her decisive steps pushed people even farther away, and as a result they strode southward unimpeded.

Many of the neighborhoods they passed bore the scars of Zaleck’s magic. Centuries-old buildings now stood covered in black soot, the acrid smell of ash filled the air, and some burned-out corpses had not yet been removed from the road. Here and there, ragged signs hung before their doors, their colors faded, their emblems unrecognizable.

As they neared the harbor, the soft, rhythmic lapping of the sea brought Zaleck back to the Emerald Viper, to the faces of the soldiers he killed, and to Arneth dying in his arms. His hand squeezed Derith’s with a spasm, but when she turned to him, he made sure she’d only see the determination of moving forward, even if they both walked slower at each step.

The harbor had become a fortress in its own right. Guards patrolled the docks, their armor worn out and dirty enough that they almost didn’t glint in the sunlight, their spears and swords at the ready. Some ships still floated anchored in the docks, sails furled, decks bristling with soldiers. If Highport had an army on its streets before, it now had an entire military campaign.

Right before they emerged into the harbor proper, Derith yanked Zaleck aside into an alley and forced him to a knee beneath a crate alongside her. He was about to complain, as his arm throbbed under her grip, but her finger to his lips and her steel glance kept him silent.

A small clinking of steps grew louder as a guard patrol came into view, passing right where they had been. Derith only sighed after they had moved on.

“It doesn’t seem like we’ll just walk there,” she whispered.

“Why are there so many soldiers here? I thought they would be, well, dead.”

“I suppose those who were here did die, Zaleck, but think about it. Something attacks the most populated city in Ayrn and kills most of its soldiers. Every nearby noble will have sent their forces here, and that’s only until news of this reach the queen. When that happens, Highport will be locked down. Also, consider what Calahan said about the destruction of Kaylor’s ship. These soldiers are preparing for war.”

Zaleck chanced another peak at the harbor. Small groups of soldiers walked everywhere, staring in every direction. Farther away, in the plaza where the flamewalkers had climbed out of the water, a neck-high pile of blackened bodies had been arranged.

“Can’t we sneak past them?” he asked.

“Unlikely.”

“Then what do we do now?”

Derith contorted her face as if sudden intense pain had just run through her.

“We go under,” she said.

“Under?”

“There.” She pointed at a manhole a bit into the alley.

Zaleck looked at her in disbelief, trying to find in her expression any indication she was joking.

He chuckled. “Well, it’s a good thing Vellis isn’t here. She’d never go for this.”

“Don’t I know it?” Derith said.

“Okay.” Zaleck breathed deep. “If we gotta do it, let’s do it.”

With a shared nod, they approached the manhole. As slow as possible, they both started to lift the cover. Zaleck, holding back his grunts, tried his best to do it with his only good arm. The stink that wafted up had a pungent mix of decay and dampness that overwhelmed the salty breeze from the harbor. Derith wrinkled her nose and began climbing down the ladder, disappearing below. Zaleck followed, pushing back the cover above them with a muted clang, plunging them into near-total darkness.

“Are you alright?” Derith asked. “How’s your arm?”

“It hurts,” he said, “but not so much.”

“Alright. Come on, then.” She took his hand, pulling him along. How could she even navigate in that gloom?

With the splashes of their steps echoing off the stone walls, Derith led the way, her hand trailing along the slimy wall. The thick and stifling air made each breath a laborious effort. They trudged through the shallow stream of murky water, their progress slow and treacherous.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. Junction after junction, each choice became a gamble. Judging from the lights and sounds from above, they seemed to be nearing the harbor, but if the two of them parted, Zaleck wouldn’t know how to go back or forward.

“These tunnels are so large . . .” he said.

“Highport Harbor was built on top of another city that existed before, a city that became these sewers. These walls here were once houses and shops.”

“Oh . . .”

The sounds of waves grew louder as they walked. Retracing their path a few times, Derith led them toward where the beach seemed to be until, at last, crashing waves sounded from another manhole above them.

“I think this is it. At least, I don’t know how to get closer without an actual map. Let me go first.”

Derith climbed up, pushing the cover so she could peek out. Daylight almost blinded Zaleck as she widened the gap and left the sewer, motioning for him to follow.

The size of the ladder alone told him he would be leaving the sewer somewhere beneath city level. As they came up in an open passageway that sidled the harbor, the crashing of waves right beside them drowned out the sounds of the metallic lid being put back in place.

Above them, the gangplanks of the harbor formed a ceiling that cracked with the steps of soldiers. Before them, the support beams created a forest of wooden pillars, holding a labyrinth of passageways and corridors.

There, ahead of them, perched atop a handrail beneath the harbor, another eagle glanced at them. A white-plumed head, just like the one that had circled them overhead when they met the duke. Zaleck frowned. Many people would think seeing such a bird a sign of good luck, yet something unnerving stirred within Zaleck. A glimpse of a sense of wrongness came from that eagle.

The stone wall beside them opened up all the way to the city, sporting an array of scorch marks throughout its stones and wooden columns. That was the wall the flamewalkers had first climbed up and into the city.

“I think this is as close as we’ll get,” Zaleck said.

“Alright,” Derith said, “let’s go a bit over there just so we don’t do it while smelling puke from the sewers.”

“What happens now?”

“Now I’ll put you into a trance.”

“Is this . . . going to hurt?”

Derith smirked. “No, it’s not going to hurt. But even if it did, you’d still do it, right?”

He smiled back.

Derith took a small notebook from her coat and a piece of charcoal from her pocket. She glanced at Zaleck a few times as she wrote in her notebook. As she finished, she showed him a bunch of lines and curves scribbled at random on the page.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“This is a magic sigil,” she said. “Remember when I said one of the things you need to flowcast is a clear image of what you are trying to accomplish? Well, that’s easy for concrete things, like creating fire or summoning rain, but how can you imagine remembering a past life? You don’t know what your past life was like, so how can you create an image of something you don’t know?”

“Yeah, how?”

“Many centuries ago, before the Atris Imperium, when there were flowcasters everywhere, they came up with the concept of magic sigils. You see, our minds are actually split in two, the waking mind and the sleeping mind. Everything you think and talk and see, happens in your waking mind. However, at night, when you go to sleep, the waking mind dissolves and the sleeping mind takes over. It is the sleeping mind that has the ability to imagine things that you’ve never seen before.”

She pointed at the sigil she’d drawn. “When you look at this, your waking mind sees a bunch of scribbles and nothing more, but your sleeping mind knows exactly what this is about. A magic sigil is a drawing that has the ability to make your sleeping mind think of something your waking mind cannot possibly know.”

“Wow,” Zaleck said. “I don’t think I got any of it, but ‘wow’ anyway.”

“Now, it’s very important you do everything I tell you to do, okay?”

Zaleck nodded.

“Lie there. Try to be as comfortable as possible, and look into the sigil.”

Derith held the sigil before him and started moving it from one side to another, almost in the same rhythm as the waves beneath them. She continued speaking with a voice both slow and low.

“Listen to my voice, and look into the sigil. Feel everything else slipping away. Forget where you are, forget your legs and arms, forget your fingers and your face. Just look at the sigil and listen to me. There is nothing else. Only the sigil exists, only my voice guides you.”

She spoke slower and slower, dragging Zaleck down, almost making him sleep again.

“You are getting heavy. Everything slips away, until you are floating. Only you exist, you and the sigil. Move with the sigil, feel it in you. It pulls you in. Your eyes are getting heavier and heavier, but even as you close them, the sigil remains.

“You are flowing, you are free. You are the Flow. You are the sigil.”

Something stirred up within Zaleck, all over him, surrounding him. Unlike before, when the Flow burst in a torrent, this time it rocked him gently, pulling him along into what seemed like a current into forever.

“The sigil is light. See it illuminated. Feel it hot. You are illuminated, you are hot.”

He was. Indeed he was. Without noticing time or space, without even a body, Zaleck lit up in a shower of energy.

“Now, Zaleck, you are going back. You are returning. Go back to your home, to your family . . .”

Again, he was at the farm, holding a hoe for the first time, helping out his father. It was so heavy, and yet his father used it with such ease. How sad he would be, if he found out how many people his son would kill one day . . .

“Go back, to when you were very small . . .”

His mother in the kitchen, and something sweet in the air. She was preparing something, something for him, and he wanted it because she said it was a special day. Does she know, can she even imagine her son is a flowcaster?

“Further back, to before you were born . . .”

Zaleck floated in water, colorful water, while the muffled sounds of people surrounded him. Sometimes someone would touch the water; sometimes he tried to move but couldn’t. Everything was so tight, and yet so peaceful.

“Now, Zaleck, go back to before this life. Go, now!”

Chapter 25

Beri Ezzari spurred his horse, Suncloud, ever faster as he rode up the path to Deadtree Hill. The sky had just turned blue as morning started, and even after riding all night and almost dozing off twice, still he rode as fast as Suncloud could stand.

The barren steppes expanded around him as the pathway up grew steeper and steeper. Even after dismounting, he ran, stumbling and gasping, all the way up. Sweaty locks of white hair clouded his vision as his braids became loose, and the sun already battering his pale skin tried in vain to get him to slow down. Still, he ran, so close he was now that saving Amira even seemed possible.

The top of Deadtree Hill overlooked the entire northern valley, a vision of gray only dotted with shy spots of green. No shadows ran through the valley, as even the clouds seemed wary of showing up that day. Beside the titular deadtree, another rider awaited with mismatched leather jerking tied up by improvised straps taken from dead soldiers. His grimy face a mask of dread as, beneath murderous eyes, he held Amira before him, a knife at her throat.

Darik pressed the blade at her neck, forcing Beri’s wife to lean back, almost falling down. Yet she eyed her captor with a fierce stare, arms and legs steady, fisted hands tied up at her back.

“That’s close enough, Silver!” Darik said, calling Beri by his childhood nickname.

“I’m here, Tooths,” Beri replied with Darik’s nickname as well. “No weapons, as you asked. I’m the one you want. Let her go!”

“As if I’d let her leave, Silver.”

Darik whistled, and six other riders rose from around Beri, crossbows pointed at him.

A trap—how obvious. Beri had known that would be the case, just as Darik had known he had to come.

“Only six, Tooths? Is that all you have left?”

Darik pressed the knife until a drop of blood ran down Amira’s neck.

“By the spirits, Beri!” she said. “Can’t you hold your tongue even now?”

Beri swallowed. “I’m here, Darik. What do you want now?”

“I want what’s mine by right! The people you stole from me!” He shook Amira as he screamed.

“They chose me, Darik! You had your chance.”

“Floweaving tricks! You turned them away from me!”

“Alright!” Beri cried out. “Let’s go back. I’ll—I’ll step down! You can do the trials again! Just let her go.”

Darik stared at him, his wild eyes fixed on Beri’s for a moment. No mercy behind those eyes, no second chances, and no reasoning. Beri sensed his movement even before Darik shifted his stare away.

“No, Darik, she’s carrying my—”

Darik’s dagger went into Amira’s throat, a gush of blood spraying as he pushed it away, slicing half her neck. The movement was so fast that her cries drowned in her own blood before she could even utter them.

“No!” Beri screamed.

Before Amira even touched the ground, he had already gone into arthesis, the death flow of thousands bursting within him. His own scream turned inward, drawing in all of his accumulated Flow in one single cast.

Darik raised his hand, and his followers let loose the bolts, but the roaring gale had already started to blow, and they all missed their mark. Beri had already summoned fire in his life, when he led his people away from Noanir; he had already summoned stone, when he created a city for them; even water, when he drew forth the oasis that they still used; but he had never summoned wind yet. Now, though, wind would blow. A whole tornado would carry his rage.

Amira gurgled as her blood sprayed to the floor. Beri locked eyes with her, his vision half-obscured by the dirt already rising in the gale.

Darik advanced at him, knife in hand. Two steps he took, stabbing at his chest, but the knife just nicked at his skin as Darik was thrown upward, suspended by the tornado Beri brought forth. He should have killed Darik when he had the chance, and now, as his wife died in the dirt, he’d make sure no one ever made the same mistake again.

Wind blew into Darik, through his mouth and nose, into eyes that imploded. The entire tornado entered his body in less than a heartbeat, into his lungs, rupturing his veins, bursting every one of his limbs from the inside out. Even his bones burst into pieces, as his eternal rival, his childhood friend, the betrayer of the steppes, Darik Hatar blew up into nothing.

Beri screamed, and Darik’s blood sprayed all over his face as he fell. His followers could have shot him right there, if they wanted. Instead, they ran away before Beri even realized they were gone.

He crawled up to Amira, who still struggled on the ground. He had time to hold her face close to his, to look one last time into those deep dark eyes, before she closed them forever. His scream rose up to the skies, echoing through the valley. One single, mourning cry for his eternal companion. Her death flow flared up within him, filled with the memories of when they met in the alleyways of Channai, when they made love under the city harbor, when they married on Mount Silent.

Then another burst, smaller but much brighter. Their child, flaring away from life before ever being born. She’d have been a daughter, and even as she passed on to the other side, her soft Flow enveloped Beri in the only embrace he would ever have with his baby.

Beri held his wife as he gritted his teeth in helpless rage. He would take her back to the town, bury her, mourn her forever, if only he didn’t already know he had to leave that place. He’d killed Darik with the Flow, the First of the Five Forbiddances. He had lied, cheated, tricked, and stolen with the Flow, but killing was one thing he should never have done.

Wind started blowing again, though this time not at his command. It blew back to where Darik had burst open, bringing with it his blood and gore. Beri stood up, stepping away from the summit. A new cyclone was forming, carrying not only wind and dust, but also every bit of Darik’s remains in a twisting storm of meat, bone, and blood.

Beri didn’t wait for the cyclone to form before running away. Dizzy and stumbling, he ran, breathing through a rasping throat as the very air seemed to refuse helping him.

Damn it! He had been warned, over and over again! How could he have done that? And what could he have done instead?

Suncloud’s lowered head and dropped ears told Beri she hadn’t recovered enough as he mounted her again in a fluid jump. She sensed his hurry, as he sensed her weariness, but to stay would be to die, and to save them both, he spurred her once again into a gallop, climbing down from deadtree hill. They rode at no more than a canter, but still enough to escape the incoming whirlwind.

Behind him, a blood-red twister extended all the way up into the sky, a thin line of paradox flow hunting for him.

“I’m sorry, girl, but for both our sakes, you have to ride!”

Away from the hill they rode. Knowing the paradox would pursue him forever, he wouldn’t dare ride back into town. The steppes extended all the way in every direction, but though Beri knew he couldn’t escape the paradox through any of them, there was only one where he could find hope. He rode north, toward the Whistling Canyon.

The suns battered his skin as they rose, and his throat rasped with every breath. Still, through the whole morning he rode, well into the afternoon, until the tornado coming for him became a sliver in the horizon, and then vanished beneath the rolling plains. In his mind’s eye, though, Beri could sense it, coming for him across any distance, just as he knew it sensed him.

The steppes seemed to disappear into nothing as he neared the Whistling Canyon. Extending across the horizon, the cliff seemed to mark the very end of the world. Only when Beri rode very close to the edge would he see the valley of cracked land extending below, shaped into sinuous paths. The unceasing, howling winds that ran through them were what gave the canyon its name.

At the edge of the canyon, mounted around the only trees that could be seen for miles, Erona’s tent flapped as the late-afternoon wind beat upon it with its whispering low chords. Her goats grazed around unpenned, as they had long since learned there was nowhere else they could eat but here.

Beri dismounted, falling as his own legs shook too much to keep him up. Suncloud, also exhausted, found the first patch of grass she could to graze on with half-closed eyes. Beri caught his breath before stumbling toward the tent.

She waited for him at the entrance. Tall as an empress, chin up with the unbeatable pride of one who’d lived for centuries. Her blue silk dress, a rival to any lady’s, highlighted her deepest-dark skin as it exuded power, as if someone had cut out a piece of the night itself and shaped it in the form of a woman. Erona Aellar, his mentor.

She waited as he approached, even though he knew he must look like a famished hyena, and felt even worse. She would only ever offer him what he asked of her, and he had not asked for help, yet.

“Teacher,” he croaked.

“Beri, my child!” she said, even though by then she looked younger than he did. “Come in.”

Inside her tent the smell of her broth, spicy rich and sweet, would have been enough to bring him to tears, if only his thirst didn’t do it first when he eyed her jar of goat milk.

“You must be parched. At least, you look like it.”

“Please, teacher, a jar.”

She handed him the milk, but as he took it, she leaned closer, gazing at him with the same piercing stare that had saved him from the gutter as a child. She sat back with the understanding, tender expression Beri had seen so many times before.

“Tell me everything,” she said.

Beri related Darik’s trap, and how he once again, for the last time, had tried to kill him. He choked when he explained how that had cost Amira’s life and how he’d drawn upon the Flow to destroy that miserable traitor. Erona lowered her eyes, frowning just a bit. No tears came to her—they never did—but her voice brought, for the first time Beri ever heard, a deep pity.

“Oh, Beri! Beri, my little silver mouse.”

“She’s gone, Rona. She’s just gone!”

She placed her hand on his shoulder as he continued.

“You once said mercy is never a mistake, Rona. Well, this time I wish I would not have followed your advice. I wish I would have killed him back then.”

Erona stood up and brought them the broth he’d been cooking.

“And now the paradox is coming for me,” he concluded.

“What form did it take?” she asked.

“It’s a cyclone of blood. Darik’s blood.”

Erona sighed.

“Teacher, is there a way for me to destroy it?”

She took a spoonful of broth before answering. “Well, you could die. If you die, the paradox goes away.”

Beri bore through her as if he would shatter stone with his gaze.

“Is. There. Any. Other. Way?”

Erona leaned back. “I have attempted many epiphanies in search of this answer. This has been a mystery to flowcasters across all times. Some casters have managed to dissolve a paradox flow, while others, even learned ones, failed to do so even though they tried for years. However, I think I have received some hints at an answer. There is, indeed, a way to overcome a paradox flow. One way which is three ways. Three in one. The way of justice, through which you must accept the punishment for your actions; the way of forgiveness, through which you must regret what you did and seek penance; the way of power, through which you must resist the very forces you unleashed upon the world. But Beri, even if you do manage to dissolve the paradox, I must warn you. If you survive this, you will lose the ability to flowcast.”

Beri’s eyes widened as he listened to her. So, this was it? Was Darik’s victory complete, then? The monster had taken away his wife and child, and now even his floweaving. In the end, Beri would lose everything to that traitorous scum. He had to force his fists to unclench before he drew blood from his own hands.

“Dry hells! He deserved it, and I get to pay for it!”

Erona sipped her milk. “The Flow makes no exceptions; the Flow plays no favorites.”

“Yes, the first lesson. Well, I am never going to regret killing that rat, and there’s no one who could ever punish me for ridding the world from the likes of him. I have had a darn good teacher, though, so it’ll be the way of power. What should I do?”

“I don’t really know, Beri. I’ve told you everything I know about this. This has always been a vague subject. As for what specific actions you must take, your guess is as good as mine.”

“Do I just . . . walk up to the cyclone and, what? Let it shred me?”

“That’ll likely kill you,” she agreed. “I think, and I know you’re not going to like hearing this, but I think it’s supposed to be vague because it’s something each one has to discover on their own.”

Beri stood up and paced around Erona’s tent. Floweaving was much easier when he was leading his people away from an army, or raising a city from the depths of the desert, but how could he resist the forces he himself wanted to bring into the world? They came to him because he’d wanted to kill Darik, because he’d wanted to destroy him whole. How could he just not want it anymore?

“I wish I would just go back home,” he said, defeated. “I want to bury my wife, and miss her being beside me for the rest of my life.”

Erona walked to him, cupping his face with her hands. “You go do what you have to do, Chief Rider of the Harani people. If you fall, I’ll bury you both side by side, and I’ll mourn the both of you until your next lives.”

Erona Aellar—she’d never been one to turn and twist the tongue.

“But you’ll do it tomorrow. Today, you rest here. Let the cyclone come at us through the night. At least this way, you won’t abuse poor Suncloud anymore.”

Beri touched foreheads with Erona, then pulled her in an embrace, dry and rough as desert sand, only alleviated by his single tear.

The next day opened up with the distant sound of the roaring gale. To the south, the red strip of wind ripping the horizon from ground to sky advanced on Erona’s tent.

They held each other’s hands and touched foreheads, teacher and student, one last time before Beri started his walk. On and on he strode, still uncertain of how he would do this. Nevertheless, the cyclone loomed larger, tendrils of blood twisting around its whirling shape, pieces of bone dancing higher up. The sounds grew deafening, the blowing wind chafing at his skin, threatening to yank him up from the ground. At one point, his arm couldn’t protect his face anymore, and he could only advance if he covered his eyes.

Still, within him, the memory of his flowcast burst as strong as the twister before him, like a hunger yearning to devour its creation. Beri attempted to look up, but by then the twister was almost upon him, wind and Flow engulfing him from within and without. He opened his arms wide.

“Here I am, damn you! Come at me!”

Instead of wind, Flow, or even power itself, something struck him from behind, a force so strong his whole body was thrown forward. Darkness engulfed him as his arms and legs spasmed. He hit the ground numb as his vision was yanked away, and death beckoned. Amira herself appeared, from the other side, coming to embrace him one more time.

Chapter 26

The eagle circled the four-story keep one more time, going around its three circular towers, flying over the stone city much lower that it would have liked to.

In its mind, the memories from the life before, when it was . . . more . . . jumbled together, muddling its tiny head. It had to enter the keep, that it knew, but from which window? They all looked the same, with their colorful curtains, all filled with humans. It had to stay away from humans.

Yet it knew it had to find one human in particular. Who was it again? Him. It was him. But who was him? It had known so clearly up until a moment before, and now his body’s name eluded it.

Someone threw open a pair of curtains at the keep. A human female, eyeing the eagle just as it eyed her. Behind the female, a room surrounded by stone, filled with human trinkets and the stink of their death. Inside that room, though, something beckoned the eagle, something that drew it in, forcing it to circle even closer.

Yes, that was the body it sought. That was where it had to go. Still, it could not go in there while the female human remained. Circling the keep again, it found the woman still stared at it whenever she came into view. She pointed at the eagle, like she wanted to hunt it.

It had to fly away, but it also had to go into the room with the woman. It could not escape this pull, no matter how dangerous. The eagle circled the keep once more, this time opening a wide arc as it maneuvered. It turned, taking height for a better dive. The woman behind the wall was still staring at it. The eagle had to fly away from her, but it would not do so until touching the body, no matter how many humans wanted to hunt it.

It dove, straight into the window. The human female jumped away as it passed through the square stone opening, closing its wings right as it flew past. A beat after, as it dashed through the room, it opened the wings wide, flapping them as hard as it could.

The speed was too much, though. The eagle bumped on the floor, bouncing back up with cracking bones, tumbling as it rolled over sheets of human fabric. Cracks and jolts of pain lanced through its body, its wings misshapen, its leg bent to the wrong side.

The eagle cried out, as high as it could. That had been its last dive, but it had made it. It landed right over the body beneath the fabric, the old human. Him.

The eagle bent its head, touching the human’s hand.

Stretching and expanding without a body, his breath once again growing heavier, his body weighing him down once more, Theron Vangard stirred in his bed.

Shrill cries brought him awake even faster. A maid four steps from him, eyes darting in terror, yelled nonstop, pointing at him and at his bed. There, a splotch of red marked the landing pad of the eagle he’d once been.

Servants rushed into the room, only to stop by the door at the gruesome and uncanny sight. Theron flexed his arms and legs, pushing the eagle’s body away. The room spun around him as he continued to struggle with the memories. Remembering what had happened when possessing birds was much like trying to recall a dream, but this was one dream he needed to recall in detail.

He hardly took notice of the hubbub of servants around him. Their questions and apologies only confused him as he refocused on what he’d seen and heard while in the eagle. Only by sheer luck had he managed to come back. This cast was meant to be used for a few hours at most. He’d used it for three days straight.

Only as he attempted to get up from his bed did he listen to what one of Calahan’s servants told him.

“ . . . yet, Your Eminence. You are still too weak.”

The aging woman who spoke to him had to be a physician. Only one of them could sound so bossy and at the same time so worried.

“Nonsense,” he said, even if he couldn’t remember half of what she’d said, “I’m fine. I’ll just fly there in an instant.”

“You’ll . . . do what, Your Eminence?”

No, not fly, walk. He had to walk now.

“I’m fine I said. Where are my clothes?”

“I insist, Your Eminence, at least let us wait for the duke’s return—”

“The duke’s dead!” Theron spat. Everyone in the room grew silent. “Murdered on the way to Wolfpine. I saw it. He’s not coming back.”

Theron pushed himself up while everyone else processed what he’d just said. The physician woman was quick to support him.

“Be that as it may, Your Eminence, you need rest. We don’t know if your condition—”

“My condition was a flowcast, woman.” Theron pointed at the crushed eagle by his bed. “I was in that bird’s body, following Duke Orr. I am not sick, at least not in any way you can help me. What I do need, though, are my clothes, and, by the Laws, a glass of wine.”

Servants, their mouths agape, slowly moved to obey him. The physician let him go as soon as he found his footing by himself. She took a step back, bowing.

“What’s your name, woman?” Theron said.

“I am Doctor Heliss Maravant, Your Eminence.”

“Very well, Doctor Maravant. I thank you for your care during my . . . incapacitation. I am in your gratitude.”

She bowed even deeper as she moved away from the room.

Still groggy and more than a bit dizzy, Theron donned the palest tunic and overcoat he could find at the dresser. He adjusted his rings a few times, and had another coughing spell as he drank his wine.

Being an eagle made thinking very hard, but he already missed its vitality.

Servants and guards bowed to him as he strode out of Calahan’s keep, into Highport proper. The boy was performing a regression cast right now. Such a cast took hours at best. Though the suns had already passed halfway into twilight, it was likely Theron had more than enough time to grab him. Never before had the boy been so vulnerable. The only problem remained the Daht’Gahren, and for that, he’d have to rely on his unwilling ally.

The roadway out of Calahan’s keep offered a vantage point from which he could see the largest part of town. The chaotic harbor to his left, the labyrinthine streets before him, and the northern walls to his right. There, the advancing flame and smoke marked the arrival of the boy’s paradox flow once more. Every single able-bodied soldier seemed to have converged there, a sizeable army preparing for their own inexorable destruction.

He knew the lordling had taken that “Red” woman to an inn, but that had been hours ago. Where would he be right now? If he was halfway smart, he’d have fled to his own estate, wherever that was.

No, a boy who cried “I’d rather die fighting for what’s right” was not the type of person to hide back in his home. He would be at the gates, alongside every other soldier.

Though he knew precisely the location of the incoming army, Theron miscalculated just how messy Highport’s streets were. It was a wonder anyone managed to get anywhere in that city. Not like Kaylorite cities at all, where they could just remove people from their homes to build better, neater roadways.

Still, the smoke plume, the sounds of shouting orders, and the growing smell of burning flesh were enough of a compass to guide him toward the battleground. The first soldiers he met, likely a reserve force, took little notice of him. Eventually, an armored rider approached.

“Move away, citizen! It’s hell up there.”

“I’m—” Theron restrained himself. Maybe announcing that was an archpriest wasn’t the best play here. “I have urgent news for . . .” What was his name again? The eagle knew it! Storms! The lordling’s name!

“Save yourself, whoever you are!” The rider turned around, spurring his horse.

“Keltrak!” Theron shouted. The rider turned back to him.

“I have urgent news for Lord Keltrak.”

Only the barest hint of the rider’s eyes could be seen through the helm, and yet Theron managed to see him squint.

Shouts from farther away drew the rider’s attention, and he only glanced back at Theron before saying, “You’ll find him in the tenth. Thataway.” He pointed, then galloped onward.

Theron walked through three more companies in reserve. The tenth, lancers, stood just behind a unit of archers who cast a pouring rain of arrows over the walls at the paradox flow. Wooden arrows. Had these people learned nothing? Or were they actually trying to thrash their ammunition?

This close to the northern walls, the smoke column stood like a black tornado in slow motion, advancing on the city. Scores of soldiers flowed out to meet them while others ran back into the city, burned and seared.

Keltrak Azareen, yes, that was his name, stood by three other soldiers, talking about some useless strategy or some such. Theron approached him from his back, until one of his men drew their commander’s attention at him.

Keltrak shifted his stance as he turned around, tensing such that even beneath armor, Theron saw his nervousness.

“You,” Keltrak said, “it’s you!”

Theron smiled. It was good to be recognized once in a while.

“Leave us,” Keltrak told his men. “You have your orders.” He took a step at Theron, removing his helmet.

“You will come with me and help me, young lord.”

Keltrak frowned. “Eminence, forgive me, but I am not under your service nor—”

“Let’s kick the anthill, shall we? I know what you did to Duke Orr. I saw it.”

Keltrak’s face went pale. Still, he tried holding on to his pretense. “Eminence, I know not what you speak of.”

“Really? You ‘know not’ how you plastered his face down into the mud with this very gauntlet? Is that his blood smearing it? I was there, I saw it all. And if you are enough of an idiot that you need me to spell it out for you, know that I’ll tell it to your good queen unless you come with me right now and do exactly as I say.”

Keltrak narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “It will be your word against mine.”

“Yes, and I’m an archpriest of Kaylor. Who are you, again? Oh, yes, no one. Also, my word will come with a precise description that can easily be corroborated. Do not test me further, lad, and come along.”

Theron turned south and strode on. Two heartbeats later, the clanking steps of Keltrak followed.

As they moved toward the Harbor, Keltrak moved beside Theron.

“Very well, then. What is it you want me to do?”

“Kill the Daht’Gahren.”

“Derith? She couldn’t possibly stop you even if she wanted to.”

“All you need to know, young lord, is that I want her dead and the boy alive.”

“Well, unfortunately, I don’t have a clue as to where she is.”

“Well, fortunately, I know precisely where she is.”

The streets they passed soon became empty and silent alleyways as Highport’s populace had either fled or hid by now. The way from the harbor to the north gates was precisely the way the paradox flow had moved when it first left town, such that everything around them was a charred desolation of demolished houses, some of which still burned.

Keltrak, clanking beside Theron in his metal plates, did such a poor job of hiding his thoughts that Theron had to chuckle.

“You are thinking of the Red woman.”

As Keltrak offered no answer, Theron continued. “Yes, she fights well, and she’s fast, I’ll give her that, but she’s gravely wounded and weak. Whatever danger she might have once posed to me, I can assure you, it means nothing now.”

As they passed what may have once been a plaza, with a stone well at its center, Keltrak moved a step behind Theron.

Theron only realized it after the fact. A sharp sword blade cut at his neck. Inches before contact, a soft boom, a miniature thunder, threw it away with an unrelenting force.

Keltrak stumbled and his sword flew away from his hand, landing at the other side of the plaza. His face was a puzzled mask as Theron turned to him.

“From the back, young lordling? Really? What about all that honor and your ‘I’d rather die fighting for what’s right’?”

Keltrak crawled away from him.

“W—What . . .”

“What happened? Oh, please! You think I would have come to this forsaken land with no actual protection? I am a flowcaster, you dimwit! The likes of you never had a chance against the likes of me!”

Keltrak threw a handful of stone pebbles at Theron, one of which struck him in the cheek.

Theron hissed. He extended his hand, flicking his middle finger down.

Keltrak fell to the ground, his whole armor pressing against his skin, its weight amplified a hundredfold. He grunted, still trying to get up, but none of his plates moved an inch.

Theron approached him, step by step.

“You should have just followed my orders, lordling. It seems you northerners have a monopoly on stupidity. But you, at least, should rejoice.”

Theron reached for Keltrak’s dagger. As he touched it, its weight went suddenly back to normal.

“After all,” Theron said, drawing the blade, “your wish will be granted. You will die fighting for what’s right.”

Keltrak gasped, his eyes bulging with the effort. His hands and feet squirmed as it seemed he drew every last bit of strength to overcome the weight of his own armor. It wasn’t enough.

“I wouldn’t call this much of a fight, though. Would you?” Theron teased.

Theron slowly sliced Keltrak’s throat, opening it from one side to another. Keltrak gasped, his mouth opening in a vain attempt to say something, or maybe, from the look on his face, curse him one last time.

As he died, Theron scowled. The lordling was just another gamble that hadn’t paid off. Theron wiped the blood off the dagger, stashing it in his belt as he moved on.

It seemed he would have to do the dirty work himself, after all.

Chapter 27

The crashing waves tried to lull Zaleck back to sleep, just as the cold stone floor shook him awake at the high-pitched sound of terns. He blinked, trying to adjust to the yellowish light that filtered through the cracks among the wooden beams above. The damp and briny air, the heavy scent of sea, and the echo of water lapping against the harbor walls reverberated through the passageway.

He sat up, reaching out for Derith, finding nothing beside him. That jerked his eyes wide open. Where was she? She should have been here, beside him. Instead, the silence was only broken by the distant, muffled sounds of the soldiers patrolling above.

As he rose to his feet, his body stiff and aching, he reached for the back of his head, where he had just felt something hitting and killing him. No, that was Beri. Something hitting and killing Beri. Was that his past life? For real? Had he been Beri Ezzari, Harani rider of the steppes? He remembered Beri’s words, Beri’s thoughts, Beri’s own feelings as if that had all happened to him. At the same time, as if it had been but a vivid dream. It did happen to him, but it was all, somehow, too distant.

Still, at least he’d gotten the answers he was looking for, such as they were.

The narrow passageway seemed even colder than before. Above him, the harbor still sounded alive with the clanking of armor, the harsh voices of soldiers, the occasional heavy thud of boots on the wooden docks. The terns, though. They would only come out in the afternoon, but it had been morning when he and Derith got there. How long had he been asleep?

At least the weird eagle from before was nowhere to be found.

He had to find a way out of there, though emerging into a harbor crawling with hostile soldiers might not have been the best idea. He could go back into the sewers, but without Derith, he might never find a way out. The smell wasn’t at all inviting, either.

Creeping along the passageway, stepping as silently as he could, Zaleck kept one hand against the wall to steady himself as he walked on stones slick with moisture and moss. The sounds above grew louder, and he pressed himself against the wall as voices streamed above him, their conversation muffled.

Maybe he could wait until night, or until gaps in the patrols allowed him to creep under the harbor and he somehow found a way. The place did hold a maze of wooden passageways and planks going up and down, giving him various choices for emerging upon the harbor.

Erona Aellar’s words still resounded within him, though. Three ways to defeat the flamewalkers: the way of justice, the way of forgiveness, and the way of power. Well, he would never forgive Arneth’s killers, and he had no training whatsoever, so almost no power. All that was left for him was the way of justice: to accept punishment for his actions. What could that mean, except going straight up and surrendering to the soldiers above?

Was that it? Would that dissolve the paradox flow? One way or another, he had nothing else to lose by then.

Finding a ladder up was far easier than trying to sneak past the patrols. The suns still beat down on the harbor, blinding him as he climbed, coming up just beside two soldiers.

The sheer look of disbelief on the soldier’s face would have had him laughing, if only it didn’t also come with such raw anger as a soldier said.

“What are you doing here, boy? The harbor is sealed off!”

“Well, I—” Zaleck started, standing up, only to be interrupted by blinding pain as the other soldier grabbed him by his wounded arm.

His sudden shrill scream made the guard release him and step back.

“I’m hurt!” Zaleck yelled.

The guard stepped forward again, grabbed him a bit less roughly, and helped him stand up.

“What are you doing here, boy?” he said.

“I—I have to talk to someone. I . . . I’m the one who created the fire army that killed everyone here!” There, he’d said it.

The guards eyed each other, one rolling his eyes, the other sighing.

“It’s true!” he said.

The soldier tossed him toward the city. “Get out of here, boy. Go back to your parents.”

Somehow, he hadn’t counted on them not believing him, or even just letting him go. Damn it, if he could flowcast, he’d show them how serious he was.

Maybe he could at least use them to find Derith.

“Eh . . . I’m actually looking for my mom. She’s a bit taller than me, and bald. Her name’s Derith. Have you seen her?”

One of the guards squinted at him. “You’re her kid? You don’t look like it.”

“Maybe he’s adopted,” the other one said.

“Please, where can I find her?”

“Fine, come with me,” the guard who tossed him said, walking toward the houses by the harbor.

Zaleck followed along, passing other patrol groups and the mount of burned bodies piled up at the plaza, whose twisted limbs and petrified, eyeless faces Zaleck could not stop looking at. An army of rats, flies, and cockroaches surrounded the pile, adding putrefaction to the stench of charred human meat. No guards walked close to that pile, either.

They went into a stone house by the plaza, whose blackened walls and empty windows told silent tales of the combat that had taken place just a few days before. Soldiers inside glanced at them as they entered, passing through rooms filled with weapons, crates, and people. In a room beside them, four soldiers ate at a table. Zaleck’s stomach grumbled as he saw them, reminding him he’d eaten nothing the whole day.

The guard let him into a corridor sidled with metal doors made of intersecting iron bars. A cell block. He pointed at a cell.

Within, Derith sat like an offended queen, her eyes locking with his, back straight and chin raised.

“Well, how nice of you to drop by for a visit, Zaleck,” she said.

“Uh . . . hi, Mom!”

Derith nodded with a slight smirk.

“Is this boy your son?” the guard asked.

“Oh, Officer, I hope he hasn’t given you any trouble.”

“The harbor is closed. I should have locked him up. Where do you live?”

“I live in Wolfpine, officer, but the city is destroyed. Right now, I have nowhere to go.”

The guard grasped at the cell bars. “Why didn’t you say that when I locked you up? There’s a refugee camp being setup by the north walls. Now you’ll have to stay here until the constable decides what to do with you.”

“I understand, Officer. Please, let me just talk to the boy for a moment, then he’ll leave your sight.”

The guard shot a glance at Zaleck, then turned and left.

Zaleck smirked at her.

“You . . . you didn’t lie!”

She raised her brow, shrugging a little.

“Lying is so classless. It’s much more fun having the truth work for you. Now, you almost had me worried, you know? Still, in spite of our surroundings, it is nice to see you up again.”

“What happened?”

“Well—let’s say floweaving into past lives took longer than I’d expected. You were out for so long that at one point, a soldier patrol started coming our way. I was worried they’d find us and wake you up before you had time to process your memories, so I left and drew them away from you. They caught me, of course, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“I got worried too!”

Derith nudged up a corner of her mouth. “I must say! I thought these louts would know better than to treat a Daht’Gahren like this. They will hear from the Tower, I can assure you that. But tell me, dear, did it work? Did you learn how to defeat the paradox flow?”

Zaleck nodded. “I did, but I don’t know how that helps us. There are three ways—the way of justice, the way of forgiveness, and the way of power—but Erona, that was my teacher in my past life, she didn’t know too much about it either.”

“Erona?” Derith raised her left brow. “You don’t mean Erona Aellar, by any chance?”

“Yeah, that’s her. You know her?”

“Well, no, but I do know of her. Erona Aellar, the night walking, the immortal lifegiven. She’s the most famous flowcaster there is. And, she’s old. Very, very old. Centuries old. If she couldn’t give you specific instructions, I’m afraid no one can.”

“She was this goat herder hermit back then. She lived alone, but Beri, I mean, me and her, we liked each other a lot. She taught me since I was a child, I mean, in my other life. Not that I’m still a child now, because I’m not anymore.”

Derith nodded a bit. “I got it.”

Zaleck leaned back, regretting having scraped his back against the stinking, mossy wall.

“What do we do now?” he said.

“We wait.”

“We wait?”

“Oh, we have our work cut out for us. The flamewalkers must be near by now. The city will be in an uproar, and that soldier you just spoke to will either remember you and let us go, or I’ll stay here until the whole army comes and burns me down.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“Afraid not.”

Zaleck gripped at her cell bars. There had to be a way out. He was a flowcaster, damn it.

“I—I kind of remember going into arthesis when I was Beri. I can try to do it now, and flowcast you out of here.”

Derith replied, unmoved. “By all means, please do.”

Zaleck thought back to the one flowcast he remembered casting as Beri, the one that had killed Darik. He’d gone into arthesis in almost no time back then, but the memory remained fresh in his mind, like he had just done it. He focused on that feeling, a kind of hyperawareness coupled with intense detachment, like floating above everything, being taken by the Flow. The memory was so clear he could see it happening again.

It was, however, just a memory, and try as he might, arthesis itself eluded him.

“I—I can’t,” he said at last.

“Do not feel so discouraged, Zaleck. It was unlikely from the start. Even naturals like you struggle to reach arthesis for years before floweaving at will.”

Zaleck almost sat down, but thought maybe he could stay standing for a while, at least try to keep his clothes from stinking even more.

Even the faintest smell of breakfast coming from the distant rooms tortured Zaleck as he struggled between his filth and his complaining belly. If he had been asleep for half a day, maybe the army would be almost upon Highport again. Could he sense it? Should he try it, considering both times he’d done it before, the army had also sensed him back and run even faster at him?

Hells, if they were going to arrive anyway, at least Zaleck might have an idea of when. Closing his eyes, he retreated back into the sense of his death flows. This time, however, he tried to do it bit by bit. Instead of just diving into the feeling headlong, he attempted to dip his mind into it, to sense the army without letting it sense him. Was there even such a thing as mental stealth? If there wasn’t, Zaleck was trying to invent it.

There they were, flaring just as bright as before, the dozens of Flows from the burning soldiers. They felt a bit distant, though not as much as before. There was a sense of approach as well, of a closing gap between them. Zaleck could almost tell how long they’d take to reach him. Almost, until—

Gasping for breath as he yanked himself back into awareness, Zaleck turned to Derith, who still looked at him.

“Yeah, they’re coming alright. They’re like, right at the city.”

Derith pondered that. “Then we’ll soon see signs of activity among the soldiers.”

In fact, the guard who’d taken him here hadn’t returned, and even the banter of the other officers in nearby rooms had faded. It sounded like while he sought for the flaming army in his mind, the guards had all left the building.

Someone stepped into the corridor. Softer steps than a guard’s, as this person wore no metal armor. Walking like a prowling panther, her wavy braids and bright eyes betrayed the kind soul beneath the stony face.

“Vellis!” Zaleck almost screamed.

“Took you long enough,” Derith said, standing up.

Vellis came up to Derith’s cell door. “I’m saving your butt, then we’re even—got it?”

Derith chuckled. “I wasn’t aware we were keeping tabs, but how did you get in?”

“Well, I followed you, of course. You didn’t think I’d let you come here by yourself? Granted, it was a long wait, and I lost you when you entered the sewers, because I was definitely not going in there. I knew that you’d find yourself in trouble without me, though, so when the guards shoved you in here, all I had to do was wait a bit, and walk in.”

“But how did you get past all the guards?”

“Well, I would have just snuck past the lot of them, probably, but Keltrak had this idea. He went to the north gate, letting everyone on duty there know of the incoming army. Then he got a summons from the captain and brought it here, diverting everyone from the harbor to the gates. As soon as they all cleared the place, I got in. They must all be fighting up north right now.”

Zaleck hugged her, a gesture warily reciprocated. “Gods, you need all the baths in the world!” she said.

He laughed.

Chapter 28

Zaleck stepped back as Vellis picked the lock of Derith’s cell. Incapable of containing himself any longer, he dashed into the room where the guards had been eating. Stale bread and moldy cheese would never have been his favorite breakfast, but right then they went down his throat like honey on cake.

“Now,” Vellis said as she and Derith found him, “do you mind telling me why the both of you are in this place?”

“I have found the way to defeat the flamewalkers, Vel,” Zaleck answered as he swallowed. “There’re three ways, called the way of justice, the way of forgiveness, and the way of power. I thought if I surrendered to the guards and confessed what I did, that I’d be following the way of justice, but they didn’t even believe me.”

Vellis perked herself up while lowering her head, looking at Zaleck through her eyebrows.

“Well, good for you they didn’t believe you. Justice? Seriously, Zal, that”—she pointed toward the cell block—“is not justice. That is institutionalized revenge. You’ll find no justice in Ayrn’s nobility. In fact, you won’t find it in any nobility.”

That was probably true. Zaleck had surrendered, after all, and the army’s presence still flared within him. If he was mistaken about that, then what could he do? Only one thing. His voice came sad and forlorn.

“Then we—I—have to face them.”

“They are at the city,” Vellis said. “Everyone with a weapon is at the northern gates.”

Zaleck looked down, speaking more to himself than anyone else. “They’re all going to die.”

“We could take our horses in the confusion, go out through the northeastern gate, and goad them into following us—you—before they get here.”

Zaleck closed his eyes and frowned. Yes, they could do that. Again. And for how long? Forever? Would he keep running from those things for the rest of his life? Even if he did, though, someone would still be caught in this eternal escaping.

“No,” he said, “we face them here.”

“Face them? We have to make a run for it.” Vellis closed her eyes and leaned on a wall, heaving.

Derith supported her before she fainted, helping her sit on a chair.

“You can’t even stroll out of here, much less run,” Derith said.

“Then you go,” Vellis said between deep breaths, “save yourselves. I’ll find you later on.”

“We’re not leaving you behind, Vel!” Zaleck said.

“You must!” she snapped. “Think about it. I’ll actually be safer if you get away from here. Go. I’ll find you.” She caressed his neck, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I’ll always find you.”

Zaleck half smiled at her.

“Eat, and find a place to rest,” Derith told her, “you need at least a week’s rest.”

Vellis waved them away, a dizzy spell taking over her.

Zaleck shot Vellis a few glances before he and Derith left the building. Rats scurried away from them as they strode through the plaza gangplanks, the current silence only heightening the distant clangs, shouts, and screams. Smoke already rose to the north.

As they walked, the one single person in the whole harbor approached them.

Zaleck froze, his hands going numb. The haggard approaching man half stumbled toward them, and yet his imposing stare made Zaleck retreat a step. Not for his clean, pastel, silky robes, nor his jeweled hands or impeccable boots. It was the golden skull tattoo in his forehead that made Zaleck’s stomach lurch. A reddened bruise at his cheek intensified his scowl.

Theron Vangard, alive and angry, stopped a few steps before the two.

Derith widened her eyes, gasping.

“You know,” Theron said, “I have zero patience for diplomacy games right now, so if you’ll both excuse me.” He raised his hand at Derith, flicking a finger downward at her.

A quick burst flared within Zaleck, like a semi-death flow.

Derith fell like a lump sack of grain. Grunting and crying in surprise, she twisted, her arms and legs twitching while she winced.

“Za—leck—run,” she managed to say.

He couldn’t, though. Not for anything Theron had done; his legs just refused to obey, his chest breathing heavy while his fingers trembled.

Just like Beri, he should have killed that man when he had the chance. Hells, he’d tried to! How had Theron survived the blast?

“Much better, now,” Theron said, approaching Zaleck as he coughed. “Gives us time for a brief chat.”

Zaleck retreated a step more. Theron stopped right beside the fallen Derith, who still struggled, seemingly crushed by an invisible weight.

“You are a resourceful lad, aren’t you?” Theron said.

He took another step back.

“Here’s the deal, boy. Come with me on your own. If you do, I give you my word your family will be well cared for. Your parents, brothers, sister, they’ll be taken to Kaylor to live a life of luxury they would never have had otherwise, for as long as they live. I can even guarantee they will never get sick, and will live long, healthy lives.”

Theron winced so much as he spoke that it was like his skull tattoo scoffed at every one of his words.

“You—you want to kill me!”

Theron straightened himself, briefly looking as pale as Vellis.

“I’ll not deny that. Still, my offer is true. Come with me, and your family will never want for anything else.”

“The paradox flow . . .”

“We’ll take care of that as well.”

Of course he would. If Zaleck died, it would go away, after all.

If Theron were true to his word, his family would never have to plow the fields anymore. They’d never sleep under a leaky roof again, go hungry in winter, or worry about the next harvest. They’d even be free to raise his brothers and sister, never having to worry which of them will be taken to fight in the next war. A life of comfort and health. He could give that to his mom, dad, brothers, and sister. All he had to do was die. In fact, he would die one way or another, since he hadn’t found a way to dissolve the paradox.

If Theron were true to his word.

“How can I know it’s not just a trick?” Zaleck asked.

Theron advanced with a menacing stare. “Listen here, you twat! Bow down and thank me for my mercy while you can, if you have any love for your family and for these people.” He waved back at Derith, winced as if under a great effort, and kneeled, gasping under coughs.

Derith rose slowly to her knees as if from under immense pressure. Theron clenched his fist, and she was once more brought down with a stifled scream. The archpriest glanced back at him. “Time’s up. I should have known thinking would never be the strong suit of an urchin farmer like you.”

The man was an arm’s length away from him, kneeling, coughing, and still thought to threaten him.

No more. Zaleck drew his sword and advanced.

He swung at Theron, his blade cutting downward into his bowed head. Again, a small burst flared within him, coming from Theron. Before the attack connected, though, an intense back blow struck his arm, like an invisible wall of wind pressing against his blade, throwing it back, sending it flying from Zaleck’s hand.

Zaleck stumbled, falling on his back. His sword clanged away from him.

“You are as thick as they come, aren’t you, brat?” Theron said, rising. “You really think you have any chance against me?”

Zaleck crawled back, trying to get up, but in two steps Theron was upon him, grasping him by the neck, crushing it with ringed fingers. Zaleck gasped, punching and kicking him back.

Theron struck his nose with a crack. Zaleck’s whole body shook with the pain, the jolt filling his face with agony. He screamed, raising his hands to his eyes.

Theron raised his fist again. A bright metallic flash passed beside him, and once more a brief flow ran through Zaleck. This time, though, he realized it came from Theron’s hand.

A dagger had been thrown at him, then pushed back just like his sword. Vellis stumbled onto the plaza.

“Really?” she said, “can’t you take three steps without my having to save your ass?”

Zaleck blew his lungs trying to warn her, but Theron’s grip on his neck turned his cries into gasps.

Theron once again flicked a finger down. Another inner burst, and Vellis fell to the ground, crushed by an unseen pressure.

How had Theron made the same flowcast twice? And why did he use his hands? Whenever Zaleck did it, the Flow came from deep within him—he never had to make any sort of gesture for it to work.

No, he didn’t use his hands, but his rings! The Flow bursts came from his rings. Somehow, he wasn’t floweaving, his rings were. Perennials. Those were the perennials Derith had told him about!

Theron raised his fist as Zaleck again, but his hand lowered slightly, his face bowing down as he coughed. His face paled, and for a moment, his grip on Zaleck lessened.

He broke free, stumbling as pressure mounted in his whole face through the blinding throbs coming from his nose.

His rings were the key to his powers—so what? Zaleck still could not use his sword, or dagger.

“Run, Zaleck!” Vellis grunted.

“Run!” Derith repeated.

And leave the two of them to die? Theron had all but flat-out stated he’d do it. He wouldn’t take three steps before Theron flicked his finger at him, too.

Zaleck dashed through the plaza, picking up his sword, for all the good it would do.

Theron stood up as well, scowling. He walked toward Derith.

“I’ve always known,” he said, “that between fear and hope, fear is a much more powerful motivator.”

Zaleck advanced. Theron kneeled before Derith, drawing the dagger from his belt.

“No!” Zaleck cried as he halted.

“Oh, now I have your attention, do I?”

“No, please! Don’t kill her.”

“Well you see, boy, I still have the Red woman to use as leverage. This is just to show you how serious I am!”

Theron raised his dagger. Zaleck gripped his sword. Striking him with it would just push it away again.

And yet, something had struck his cheek. Very recently, by the look of the bruise. Also, when Theron had held Zaleck by the neck, Zaleck’s punches and kicks weren’t thrown back.

Metal! Whatever cast protected him, it only worked on metal.

Zaleck advanced, drawing his sword. His other sword, the wooden one.

The swing struck Theron right in the face, throwing him to the ground beside Derith.

“Why, you—”

Zaleck stepped over him, sword raised. Theron rolled to the side as his wooden sword hit the ground.

“Enough!” Theron spat, flicking his finger at Zaleck.

Zaleck’s clothes pulled him downward, pressing against his every muscle. His scream came as a growling puff, the very air in his lungs pushed out by his shirt.

Theron knelt before him. He moved Zaleck’s arms away and adjusted his head so he’d look at Vellis.

“I did try to be nice about this. I need you alive, not in one piece. Now, you’ll watch me bleed the two of them, just before I cut off your arms.”

Zaleck thrashed on the floor. He’d have cried out, but for all his efforts he could only choke.

Theron strolled over to his dagger, picking it up. Turning around, he walked to Vellis. As he kneeled on her back, her wide eyes glanced at Zaleck, her mouth opening and closing in slight gasps.

If he would ever flowcast again, even one last time, this would have to be it. He’d done it four times now; he’d done it in his past life. He knew the feeling. He even knew the feeling of what happened when it failed.

Zaleck called for it, demanded his death flows to flare up. Hundreds of tiny lights sparked within him. Flow coursed through his body, igniting his awareness. His nostrils flared hot air, his heart pumped faster, his very veins on fire.

Theron glanced at him, a frown on his face. Within him, something also sparked, a muted, dull light, much like Zaleck’s own, but far more intricate. A sense of a darkened fire twisting around sticky black branches.

Zaleck knew if he pushed it, the Flow wouldn’t go. The blatant difference in his emotions from now to the ship, or to the hills or the slaver caravan, made him sure of that. He didn’t have enough despair, enough hopelessness. That was why Theron hadn’t attacked him directly. He knew better than anyone how far he could take Zaleck.

But he still remembered Beri, attacking Darik after Amira was struck. His emotions now were very much like then. Back then, all he had to do was pull his thoughts back, let his mind drift for the blink of an eye and become the raging flow, instead of try to control it. Yes, he wasn’t going to push the flow, he wouldn’t order it like a servant. He would just move. He was the Flow. The Flow was him.

Every one of his pores opened wide; his hair stood up. His thoughts expanded all over the plaza, taking in every splint of every wooden plank. For the briefest moment, he was one with everything around him, even the invisible cyclone within, the fiery tornado made of the Flow that coursed through his arms, legs, and heart.

Arthesis, at last.

Theron stood, eyes wide. His Flow swirled within him, twisting over itself countless times in a dance of energy around his body. Zaleck didn’t see it, but he knew it as if a new set of eyes had opened up inside. He focused his Flow. Instead of Theron’s intricate dance, it came as a raging tempest, invisible blue lightning twisting over the unseen yellow magma inside of him.

He could crush Theron. The archpriest’s feeble remaining Flow wouldn’t withstand the first strike.

“You lost,” Zaleck croaked.

Theron stumbled back, his eyes flaring hatred. “Impossible!”

“Let us go,” he said. “Take a ship and get away from here.”

Theron narrowed his eyes. His whole expression so much like Darik’s that Zaleck knew very well what he would do. He stepped over Vellis again, dagger raised.

Zaleck pushed his Flow into Theron, straight at his hand. Not all of it, just a smidge this time. Theron countered, creating a mesh around him through which Zaleck’s flow bounced away.

He pushed the Flow, more and more, like a constant whistle rather than a scream. Theron maintained his own shield as he kneeled before Vellis, frowning and scowling.

Suddenly, Zaleck turned the Flow downward, not at Theron anymore, but at the wooden gangplanks right beneath him. A single, clear image in his mind.

Wood, crack!

The floor beneath Theron gave in. He stumbled, the wooden planks breaking as if rotten. As he slid down, he managed to grab on to the boards, but his eyes dozed off, a faint spell running through them, and he lost his grip, disappearing below. Vellis slid down after him.

Two thuds came from the open hole in the floor. All of the pressure over Zaleck went away. He breathed in, through a throbbing nose and sharp pain both dulled by the Flow.

Derith also stood up, wobbly and heaving.

The cracks in the ground extended, reaching for more and more wooden planks, breaking the support beams, the whole plaza around them.

Zaleck and Derith fell down, the wood around them breaking over and over. As they landed on the sandy beach below, sawdust fell all around them instead of the wooden dock.

Ten steps away, Vellis stood over Theron, both of them unmoving. No death flow had yet burst within Zaleck. The two of them still lived, but for how long?

Chapter 29

Zaleck and Derith walked over the unconscious Vellis and Theron. By then, the feeling of arthesis had all but vanished.

While Derith examined Vellis with her clinical gaze, Zaleck kneeled before her, picking up both her hands. He imagined the Flow again, running from him to her, then back at him, syncing with her once more.

She stirred, the edge of her consciousness coming back as Zaleck infused her with vitality.

“She’s just fainted,” Derith said. “She must have landed on top of Theron.”

Vellis’s eyes fluttered. She gazed at Zaleck and Derith through heavy eyelids and gasping breaths.

“Hey,” she said, “you did it! You really did it! You flowove at will.”

“Yes,” Derith said, glancing at him, “impressive indeed.”

Vellis tilted her head at Theron. “Is this it? Is he gone?”

“No,” Zaleck said. “He’s still alive, barely.”

“Well, come on! Let’s end the bastard and be done with it.”

Zaleck touched Theron’s forehead. Out of arthesis, his flow receded to an almost imperceptible current. Still, Zaleck got that same sense of darkness coming from within, like looking into a filthy sewer, only this filth was Theron’s own Flow. In fact, the sense was just a bit darker than before. It seemed his last flowcast had “burned him” from within, and his life now hung by a thread.

Zaleck stood up, he and Derith contemplating the hopeless Theron.

“I don’t think he’s going to flowcast again. Remember you told me how floweaving damages our pathways, Derith? I think his are almost gone now.”

“Nevertheless,” Vellis said, “he needs to die. We know he’s coming back for us if we let him live. Let’s not make the same mistake Arneth did.”

Zaleck closed his eyes, frowning. Arneth’s face flashed before him again, not as he had last seen him, filled with arrows and gasping blood, but snarky and ironic as he taught him swordplay. His killer, finally at Zaleck’s mercy, and yet whatever they did, it wouldn’t bring Arneth back. It might even push him away. Arneth was the one who always tried for peaceful resolutions. He would not approve of Zaleck killing Theron in cold blood.

Zaleck’s chest sagged heavier than it had ever been.

He opened his eyes, staring into Vellis’s.

“An act of mercy is never a mistake, Vel.”

Vellis scoffed. “Has Arneth rubbed off on you that much?”

Not Arneth—this was Erona. Still, she was right.

“Look,” Zaleck said, “if we kill him, we know what happens. Kaylor declares war and comes back for all of us. If we don’t kill him, there’s at least a chance for peace.”

“I agree with you,” Derith said. “Plus, I don’t think he’s coming back. If he does, he knows he’s going to face a young flowcaster, and he’s only brave when he’s capturing defenseless kids.”

Vellis turned on the sand, leaning over Theron. Zaleck tensed as she did it, but he relaxed again when she didn’t pick up her blades. Instead, she took Theron’s hand and removed his rings, one by one.

“There. Now we know he’ll never flowcast again.”

The way back up the harbor took much longer than the way down. Zaleck’s destruction had obliterated a whole section of docks, and as they walked to the nearest stairways, not only did Vellis have to be supported by Zaleck, but Derith carried the unconscious Theron through gangplanks and passageways that avoided most of the ladders.

Only a few ships remained docked in the harbor. The four of them slogged toward the nearest one, a fishing vessel that could, nevertheless, cross the Great Sea. The captain wasn’t keen on taking on an unconscious archpriest of Kaylor, but Derith wrote him a letter of credit that ceased all arguments.

As the ship moved away from the harbor, Zaleck and Vellis touched hands. Now, at last, they were truly free.

Faint, growling sounds approached from the city.

“The undead,” Vellis said. “They must have broken through the city defenses.”

“Zaleck, Vellis, we need to leave,” Derith said.

Zaleck took a few steps toward the city before turning back to the two women, their silhouettes framed before the double twilight.

He swallowed dry and bit his lip. To stay would be to condemn them all. By his side, they’d be in far too much danger. What could they do anyway? Back in Wolfpine, the flamewalkers had almost gotten him when he tried running away, and with Vellis being this weak, they’d have to walk much slower now, whereas the flamewalkers would never get tired or hungry.

Back in Wolfpine . . .

Zaleck breathed in, his eyes narrowing. “Y’all go away. I’m done running.”

“What?” Vellis asked.

“That’s it, Vel. I’m not running from them anymore.”

“You’re joking, right? Tell me you have a plan.”

Zaleck approached them, almost pleading. “I—I think I understand it.”

“Understand what?” Derith said.

“What’s going on, what they . . . are. Back in Wolfpine, when I called for them, and I wanted them to follow me, they all came straight at me. When I first saw them, right there”—he pointed to another dock by the harbor—“they didn’t come for me, even though I was right beside them.”

Footsteps drew closer, growls approaching along with a red glow.

Vellis knelt down, speaking too fast. “What do you mean, Zaleck?”

“I think, they are . . . me.”

“Like, you can control them?”

“No, not like that. When I made them, after Arneth . . . after they killed him, I was very angry. I think that’s what they are, they are my anger. I can’t control my anger, it just comes, but also, it’s a part of me.”

Vellis looked around before replying. “So what?”

So now, he would meet them. Now, he would end this the only way he knew how. The way of justice had failed him, the way of mercy was beyond him, and the way of power was still far too advanced for him. Only one option remained, the first one Erona had proposed to Beri, the first one he’d rejected, and the only one left. He could die.

This time, there was no other way.

Zaleck frowned as he closed his eyes and breathed in, chest trembling. He took a step away from Vellis, but her hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“What are you doing, Zal?”

“I—I have to face them, Vel.”

Flaming shapes popped up from the streets.

“Are you in-frigging-sane?” she almost screamed.

“They are me, Vel. They’ll never go away unless I go away too. That’s how it has to be.” Zaleck’s voice shook, but at least it didn’t break.

Derith took a step backward, eyeing him from head to toe, her eyes slightly squinted, mouth softly raised, as if she were—proud—of him.

Vellis held both his shoulders with her hands. More flamewalkers approached, coming at them from the streets to the north.

“Tell me you know what you’re doing, Zal!”

He opened his mouth, but what good would lying be if she’d see it right through him? His throat knotted up, preventing him from saying anything.

He took a step backward. Vellis opened her mouth, frowning a bit, breathing harder, as she reached out for him once more.

“No!” she said. “No, no, no, no, no! You are not doing this!”

Again, he opened his mouth, and this time he forced the words out. “I have to, Vel.”

“I’m not letting you, you understand? We’ll find another way!”

“There is no other way.”

“Then we run. We run forever, but I’m not losing you, Zal! I’m not!” Her eyes watered, though by then Zaleck could barely make out her blurred shape.

“I’m not letting anyone else die because of me!” he said.

“Look at me!” she said. “None of that”—she pointed at the incoming army, finger trembling—“is your fault, you understand? You did nothing wrong!”

Zaleck breathed in, taking a heartbeat to get his speech back together.

“Blame and responsibility are different things, Vel. Maybe I’m not to blame, but I can stop this, so I choose to make it my responsibility.”

“No!” She broke down, hugging him. “You can’t! Not you! I promised I’d take you home. I promised you. You can’t do this!”

“Please, Vel.” He hugged her back, his voice now breaking beyond his control.

He stepped away, and to his surprise, she let him.

“Tell Mom and Dad I’m sorry I couldn’t go back. I love them all.”

Vellis frowned while raising her eyebrows, still staring at him. He took a step back, then another, and then he turned around and kept on walking at the flaming dead, back straight, chin up. He’d made them, and now he would end them.

The roaring growls of the flamewalkers intensified. They all saw him now, and like famished beasts, converged upon him step by step.

Ten, twelve paces away, the heat was already enough to have him sweating. Yet the army didn’t run. Instead, they seemed like a crowd gathering to watch Zaleck come. A charred crowd on fire.

He walked until the flamewalkers surrounded him. Breath escaped him when the searing heat struck, forcing him to kneel and gasp. The beasts stopped two arm’s lengths away, their flames melding in a vortex of fire around him. Inhaling brough agony down his throat, his eyes burned so much that keeping them open took all his strength. Yet he forced himself to stand up again.

His legs gave way once, but the second time he got up. Death itself surrounded him. Burned-out limbs clawing at him, hollowed-out faces growling at him. Charred skin fused with melted armor, and on each monstrous face, agony, pain, and despair tore out through their growls.

He wanted to seem brave. He wanted to open his eyes and tell them, “You wanted me? Here I am,” like Beri had, but instead he cowered as each pore of his skin seemed to come alight with agonizing heat.

The dead bodies raised their hands at Zaleck. The once-unbearable heat grew now such that part of his pants and shirt caught fire. Zaleck kneeled, incapable of keeping the pain at bay.

He screamed in agony.

Every soldier screamed in response, a chorus of growling agony joining his.

So, this was it. This was how he would die.

The flamewalkers spoke. Not with words, not through growls, but Zaleck heard their voice within him, coming from beyond their death flows.

“Say our names!” they said.

They could not mean it. If they wanted to kill him, let them kill him, please kill him, but Zaleck would not speak to them.

“Say our names!” the chorus repeated.

He refused. He could not. He would not speak aloud the name of Arneth’s killers. Even kneeling down, Zaleck could not hold out the pain. He tried stifling it into moans as much as he could, but still they came out as screams of pure hurt.

“Say. Our. Names!” they commanded.

Fine. They wanted their names? They wanted the name of Arneth’s killer? If that was how was going down, so be it.

Zaleck pushed himself up one last time, and opened his arms—sleeves catching fire at once—and cried out.

“Zaleck! Zaleck Iavari!”

The flames of all the dead soldiers danced before him, swirling in a speeding vortex of flaring light that leapt from one soldier into another, the fire converging into the body of the closest soldier. That body shone like a third sun before Zaleck, all the flames flowing into its raised arm, shooting a swirling beam of pure mortal heat right into Zaleck’s own chest.

Shock, searing agony, and impossible pain thrust him back like a ragdoll. He fell to the ground with a distant thud. Nothingness overcame him.

Chapter 30

Sunlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, caressing Zaleck with a warm glow that brought him back to life. The rough-hewn wooden beams of the ceiling, the wooden furnishings beside him, lavender and cinnamon in the air. It all seemed like waking up in Derith’s house again, only this time, he knew by the ceiling and the city sounds this was the Sleeping Sturgeon, a room very much like the one where he’d stayed before.

For a moment, he lay still, moving his bandaged arms, touching his bandaged chest, testing his bandaged legs. He should have been burned to a crisp, blackened and buried. How was it that, instead, he could still move, his breathing coming in a steady, if somewhat shallow, rhythm.

He attempted to sit up, and though he almost fell back when he failed to sense the wall beside him, no pain shot through, not even in his nose. He had become a living bandage indeed, white cotton against his pale skin.

The room door creaked open, and a bald, eyebrowless woman came in, a tray of food on her hands. For once, her look betrayed a certain kind of concern, her eyes softening as she saw that Zaleck was awake.

“You know,” Derith said, “we have to stop meeting like this.”

“Derith.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “What . . . happened?”

“We should ask you that, instead,” Derith left the tray beside Zaleck and turned to outside the room, “He’s awake,” she cried out.

“I—I’m alive,” he said.

“It would seem so.”

Decisive, soft footsteps heralded the coming of another woman, ever the predator, only this time frowning in an expression that could just as well have been utter relief or immense worry.

“Zal!” Vellis said, coming into the room. She knelt before him, running her hand over his bandages.

“I— Did I do it? Are the flamewalkers gone?”

“Are they gone?” Vellis said, “boy, you don’t know the half of it. Those monsters walked up to you, surrounded you until your clothes burst on fire, and then you stood back up, screamed something at them, and . . . destroyed them. They made a kind of a vortex of fire that blew up, and all that was left was you, on the ground. Even the fire on your clothes had gone out. I tell you, I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. It was like that army had taken away fire itself when you destroyed them—and I mean it. For two days, no one could even light a candle in the city, a fireplace, anything.”

“Two days? How long was I asleep?”

“Four days,” Derith said. “I kept you asleep so you could heal better. You needed it.”

“How do you feel?” Vellis knelt before him, running her hands over his arms and head. Only then did he realize there was something different on his head. Only stubs, where once there had been long locks.

“Oh,” Derith said, “we had to cut your hair. It was all messed up after the fire. Let’s take a look at you. Meanwhile, have some milk.”

Zaleck took a sip of milk that fired up his parched throat. He drank the rest of the cup while Derith removed the bandages from his right arm.

A burn mark ran its length like a wavy tongue, along and up his shoulder. It meshed with the scar from the knife cut he had taken.

“That’s nicer than I thought,” she said.

His left arm wasn’t too different. Two scorch marks ran from elbow to shoulder, but considering what he’d faced, it could have been far, far worse.

In his chest, though, where he’d taken the brunt of the flames, a scar shaped like a whirlpool covered almost his whole upper torso. Centered in his chest, focused right at his sternum, it still throbbed a bit, seeming a little swollen.

Derith frowned. “I’ll add some more paste and we’ll redress that. You better drink everything Vellis brings you from now on.”

Vellis nudged his face up with a hand. “Hey!” she said, “It’s alright. After a while, it’ll even give you something nice to tell the girls about.”

Zaleck half smiled. The whirlpool scar in his chest didn’t bother him. The scorch marks in his arms didn’t bother him. What bothered him was the utter silence. Like he had always been connected to something, only he’d never realized it before. Now, though, he was cut off, abandoned. It was like losing a friend, or a piece of himself, an ear or an eye. He was less than before, alone, abandoned. A void.

Erona had said it. He’d known it would happen, if he survived. He just didn’t expect it to feel . . . like screaming in a desert.

“It’s gone, Vellis,” he said, almost as if she could somehow help him. “The Flow is gone. I can’t feel it anymore.”

Derith turned around from her workbench when he said that. Vellis brought him close and hugged him. He let her, as he couldn’t stop anyone from doing anything right then.

“I’ve read about this,” Derith said. “I’m sorry, Zaleck, but if I may be direct, it was best if it happened now, before you developed your powers. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling, but a trained flowcaster who loses touch with the Flow is said to become very, very depressed. Some even take their own lives. You, however, still have a lot to live for.”

Zaleck lowered his eyes. It almost was like life wasn’t worth living anymore, like nothing else mattered. But Derith was right. Somehow, he’d survived, and that, against all odds, meant he could go home at last.

“Hey,” Vellis said, “Derith and I think this should belong to you.” She handed Zaleck a piece of cloth.

Inside, five rings, their inlaid jewels glistening, each with a different color. Even one of them was already worth a fortune.

“Theron . . . he used these to attack us,” he said.

“Yes,” Derith explained, “perennials. That he would have so many with him . . . he spared no expense to try to get you.”

“Take them, Zaleck. If anyone deserve them, it’s you,” Vellis said.

Zaleck nodded, pocketing the rings.

“Hey, what happened to Keltrak?” he asked.

Derith and Vellis glanced at one another. He didn’t have to be a Daht’Gahren to know what that look meant.

“They found him in the city,” Derith said, “dead. Murdered. No one knows who did it, but I looked into it. He was last seen during the flamewalker attack, walking behind a man with a tattoo of a skull in his head.”

Zaleck sighed. “He fought to protect me, even when he didn’t have to. Even when he had everything to lose.”

Vellis took his hand. They squeezed each other’s fingers as they looked down.

“How do we go on, Vel? How can we continue when so many people gave their lives for us?”

Vellis looked up for a heartbeat before answering.

“We do everything we can, whatever it is, but we find a way to be happy. If they gave their lives for us, they’d want for nothing less.”

Zaleck smiled. “Yeah, I think I can do that now.”

“By the way,” Derith said as she started to redress Zaleck’s chest wound, “I have a message for you, Vellis. Though I think it’s for both of you.”

“A message?” Vellis asked.

“From Arneth.”

They both perked up.

“He told me to give you this message in case you survived, when we met at my house in Wolfpine.”

The note he handed her. Vellis seemed to remember as well, because her eyes widened a bit and she took a sharp breath in.

“Alright. What’s the message?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘I was the one who hired you.’”

Vellis’s eyes could not have gotten larger. Zaleck had to remember to close his mouth.

Derith glanced at them from between her nonexistent eyebrows.

“Can you explain?”

“He’s the one who hired me! He was the one who hired me to take out Zaleck.”

“Didn’t you know who had hired you?” Zaleck asked.

“No. Sometimes these contracts came through intermediaries, as in this case. If he’s the one who hired me . . .” Vellis stood up, pacing the room. “Wily devil! He got me to that caravan on purpose. He put me on your path, Zaleck. Somehow, he knew you’d need someone by your side after he was gone.” She scoffed to herself. “And in doing that, he also got me out of the Orphans of Grief. Plans within plans, was there anything we did he didn’t anticipate?”

“He answered me that, Vel,” Zaleck said. “He said he only gave us options, but that our choices have always been our own.”

Vellis turned to Derith. “Is that what being a Daht’Gahren is like? Machinations and plans, secrets and deceit wherever you go?”

Derith stood up to answer. “Arneth was a true master of the Tower. The masters are said to have such a command of fate calculus that, yes, they can indeed manipulate the destiny of the world. However, as you both know, few do that, because it’s a known fact in fate calculus that once you add yourself to the equation, once you attempt to change something, the very laws of fate crush you down. There’s a whole mathematical proof for that. We call this ‘Reduction to Zero Freedom.’ The more you change fate, the worse the consequences are for you.”

Right. The more Arneth helped them, the more he hurt himself, until he lost his very life. Zaleck sighed. He’d once thought Arneth a friend, but how do you call someone who gives their life to save a complete stranger? Many friends, many fathers even, wouldn’t do that.

Derith got up to the door.

“Keep the bandages clean for about two weeks,” she said. “I have to go now. I need to report all this to the Tower. I know you will want to leave as soon as you can—which is, let’s face it, right now—and drawing as little attention as possible. I had your horses tied up at the back of the inn.”

“Will we ever see you again, Derith?” Zaleck asked.

She looked at him for a while as the corners of her mouth rose, as if wondering whether or not to smile.

“Who knows? Fate works mysteriously. But it can be calculated, and I’ll keep you both as a term in my equations from now on.”

She put two fingers to her forehead, mirroring the gesture she and Arneth had made when they parted.

“May your minds be clear.”

Zaleck repeated the gesture at her. “May your answers be true.”

She smiled as she left.

Vellis sat up beside Zaleck. He took her hand, and she grasped his with both of hers.

“Are we really going home now?”

Vellis smiled. “Yes, Zal. We are really going home.”

Chapter 31

Right before they left, as they retrieved their horses, Zaleck realized that through all they’ve been together, Vellis still hadn’t given Solong a proper name.

“Hey, Vel,” he said as they rode away from Highport, “how about giving Solong a real name? You said we’d sell him right away, and yet here he is!”

Vellis scoffed at first.

It took her a day to reply.

“Alright, Zaleck. You win. I’ll give Solong another name. Hereby, he is known as ‘Scarlet.’”

“Scarlet is a girl’s name,” Zaleck said. “Yours is a boy.”

Vellis looked at Scarlet for a while. “Tell you what, if he complains about it, I’ll change it.”

As they passed Wolfpine, among all the things Vellis bought and sold, she got Zaleck what she called “a very special present”—something he, in fact, may had never held before. He frowned, uncertain, when she put a book in his hands.

“I—I can’t read, Vel.”

“Not for long, Zal, because from here to Kaldhill, I’ll teach you the basics. Every night, after you’ve trained with your sword—and had your bath—we’ll read a few lines together.”

Zaleck tilted his head. If Vellis thought this would be such a special present, he could indulge her on the way home at least, even if this book was not going to help him fight or farm better.

As they rode north, the world around them transformed. Cloudy autumn gave way to the biting early winter winds. Each day on the road one more tree would turn yellow, one more field would be harvested, and a bit earlier they would sleep.

They went through forests ablaze with deep crimsons, fiery oranges, and shimmering golds. Leaves often rustled in the wind as they passed, creating a mosaic of color that crunched under the hooves of their horses.

Every night, Zaleck repeated the sequences Arneth had taught him. Sometimes, when she felt like it, Vellis interceded, explaining how in a real fight, his opponent wouldn’t care for the proper sequence, and having mock fights with him.

As she promised, she also taught Zaleck a new letter each night, and read some piece of the book with him. She’d soon have him read her a few lines, no matter how slow. He eventually realized it was a story book. One of those books nobles would give a nanny to read to their children. Regardless, The Adventures of Baron Mousetrap beckoned him every night, and in spite of himself, Zaleck did start to like this “reading” thing.

The fields that once stretched forever got smaller and smaller as they passed Ironmount and started the climb up the Nelliar Mountains. The roads twisted and wound, and more often than not, one bend would end up in a view of the valley south that made them stop for a while, just so they could take it in for a moment.

They were passing by a modest city beside a straight, deep river, when Vellis said, “This is Harnstead.”

Zaleck’s father sometimes came to this town to sell their produce, and he rushed Savior to the market. The harvest fair had already passed, however, and he found no one he knew there. Strange, though—from the way his dad talked about it, he’d thought Harnstead to be so much bigger.

Over the next days, Zaleck would spur his horse whenever they passed by a farmhouse. Vellis almost had to take his reins so he wouldn’t overextend Savior, but it was impossible to keep him still.

Then, one day, they passed by two steep hills beside the road, and only when they were right beneath them did Zaleck recognize the Titan’s Cut. That was a day’s walk south of home. Of home.

Galloping as fast as their horses could stand, he led Vellis through Kaldhill pass, beside Old Brigham’s pond, over the Misty Woods, until coming upon a large stubble field. There, a girl about half Zaleck’s age played with some dolls. Farther away, a stone house with straw ceiling let out a smoke plume from a hole in the roof.

Zaleck’s hands shook on Savior’s reins. The girl stood up, half her dress brown with dirt, hair falling over her face, the bright eyes beneath transfixed upon Zaleck, the dolls slipping from her hand.

“Hey, Rina!” Zaleck said between short breaths.

Rina turned around and ran away into the house, screaming.

“Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!”

Zaleck dismounted in time to see a woman come out the house. Her dark hair was in a bun as she often wore it, though some wild strands would always shoot out, framing her face. Round eyes that could both cry and smile with the same fire. Callused hands from working the fields, which she wiped in her apron, half-white with flour, though Zaleck could also see them shaking as she brought them to cover her mouth. A single cry escaped her. A piercing moan that seemed to hold so much joy her own mouth couldn’t translate it.

Instead, she ran at Zaleck, as he ran at her, everything around him blurring as he wanted to tell her everything and yet found nothing to say. They embraced in a wild, fierce hug, bringing each other as close as their breath could take them, running their hands across one another’s backs, heads, faces.

“Oh! Oh, my boy!” she said as her hug turned into caress, then back again in a hug.

“Mom!” he replied, voice breaking in a pitch so high he even sounded like a kid again. “Mom, I’m back!”

She held him a bit farther, taking him in head to toe.

“Oh, by the gods, you’ve grown! And look at you. A proper knight!”

Zaleck cupped his mother’s face with his hands. She also had a few more lines around the eyes, and a few more gray strands, but whatever had happened, he wanted to remember them all as they were right there.

A few shouts came from farther away as more people approached. A big, slender man, with a knife-trimmed scraggly beard that on some days was even, on some was uneven, and three more boys behind him. It took them a heartbeat as they saw Zaleck before also starting to run at him.

“Zal! Zal!” the man cried, also sounding like a kid when he embraced him alongside his mother.

“Dad! I’m here. I’m back.”

“Gods, Zal! We looked for you a whole month! We rode out through the whole valley, son!”

“Nonsense!” his mother said. “This one never stopped looking, that’s the truth. Even today at daybreak he talked about going over some places he might have missed.”

“Son,” his father said, “who’s this?”

Zaleck stepped back so they would all have a look at Vellis.

“Mom, Dad, this is Vellis. She’s a—a huntress. And she saved me. A lot. was kidnapped by slavers, but she saved me. Vel, this is my mom, Zida, and my dad, Iavad.”

Vellis bowed.

“Miss Zida, Mister Iavad. I am so, so glad to meet you. You have a very brave son. In fact, he also saved me more than once.”

Zaleck couldn’t and wouldn’t contain his smile as he took her hand, bringing her closer.

His mom stood up, wiping her tears as she turned to Vellis.

“Oh, you must stay with us! Please, we want to know everything.”

Whatever Vellis thought of Zaleck’s house, she kept it to herself. She seemed sincere when she said, “I’ll be very glad to stay for a few days.”

“What few days!” his dad said. “You brought our son back! Winter with us! We could use a huntress, you know.”

Zaleck chuckled.

“Yeah, Vel. We could use a huntress—like you.”

Vellis winked at him.

Supper that night was filled with Vellis’s and Zaleck’s tales of Arneth, the death kingdom of Kaylor, the flaming army and floweaving. His mother seemed to indulge them, and his father seemed to outright doubt them, but Zaleck’s scars proved their point, as well as Vellis’s prowess with the bow, which she displayed for many days after. Of all they went through, they only kept to themselves the fact that Vellis had been hired to kill him. They didn’t even need to talk that over with one another; it became a silent understanding that this detail belonged to them alone.

They never told anyone of the rings, either, and though Zaleck suspected the power they contained, they reminded him too much of Theron to use them, and too much of Arneth to sell them.

Vellis stayed with them throughout the winter, and though his mom tried to exchange some recipes with her, it was clear her best skills were in bringing in meat rather than preparing it. Still, it was the first winter in Zaleck’s memory that they had so much meat to eat.

Zaleck trained every night after his chores, and after supper it became a tradition that they’d all get together to hear him read a bit more of his book. When that was finished, his father got him another at the city, and then another still.

Though harvest was over, house repairs, tool crafting, and chores kept everyone busy. At times, Vellis took Zaleck, his dad and brothers hunting, and taught them more than a few tricks with the bow.

More than once, when everybody was asleep, Zaleck would stay up, staring at the window south, toward Wolfpine and Highport. In those moments, he thought back to the times when he’d brought forth fire, made a person fly away, remembered his past life, and destroyed an army of flaming zombies. On those nights, he always tried to feel death’s flow again, and though nothing responded, though only inner silence reigned where once had been the very warmth of life itself, these feelings only lasted until someone called him back to sleep. Then he would lie down beside his brothers and Vellis. Not a feather bed like at the Sleeping Sturgeon, but it had his mother’s warmth, his father’s strength, Vellis’s lavender smell, and his brothers and sister huddled by.

Almost every night, he fell asleep with a smile.

Thanks for making it this far.

At last, we have seen Zaleck back home, and helped Vellis find a new home of her own. I can’t express how grateful I am that you chose to spend your time with my story and characters.

Your experience with this book means the world to me. Now that we’ve come to the last page, I have one small favor to ask.

Would you consider sharing your honest thoughts about the book in a review?

Here's the link for the book review page.

Your feedback, whether it’s a star rating, a few words or several paragraphs, can make an enormous difference. Not only does it help other readers decide if this book is right for them, but it also provides me with invaluable insights as I continue to grow as a writer.

The Flow Tales will continue in: “The Whirlpool Scar”.

Until then, I bid you farewell, and:

May your mind be clear,

May your answers be true.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A big thanks to everyone who made this book possible, and who contributed to it one way or another:

Beta Readers:

Erin Lehman

Fernanda Granzier

J. Flowers-Olnowich

Maddy D

Pikko’s House

Copy Editing / Proofreading:

Dylan Garity

Cover Art and Design:

Daniel Schmelling