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Chapter Text

«Get up, Cycler. It’s time.»

The voice woke Sthenar from his troubled slumber. Despite the situation he was in, he felt grateful for that. In his dreams, he could not help but always see that face.

Sitting in his driver’s seat, he looked outside. The Blue Moon and the Red Moon still formed a line in the night sky, as if they were following the direction of the road ahead. He couldn’t have slept for more than a glassturn. Everything was quiet.

He turned toward the voice. He saw that it belonged to the short, stocky man with auburn hair, and he felt relief that it was that man who came tonight, and not the other one. He silently nodded and then got out of the vehicle. The stocky man flashed him an unpleasant, smug grin, squinting with his dark, point-like eyes.

Looking toward the back of his tetracycle, Sthenar saw that another vehicle had parked behind it. A rough cuboid with four wheels, big enough to hold five or six people, not counting the driver. They were not necessarily pleasant to look at, but they did their job and gave a man like Sthenar the means to make a living as a cycler, driving around the town those who were too tired or in too much of a hurry to walk.

But tonight my passengers will not be of the usual kind, he thought. He asked himself one more time how he managed to get involved in this thing, and one more time he told himself he knew the answer all too well. He looked at the driver’s seat of the other tetracycle. Perhaps, the person behind that glass was in exactly the same situation as him.

Once he reached the door on the back of his car, Sthenar opened it, but as he did that his eyes were drawn to the wall on his right. The light of the two moons shone on written words, old faded graffiti that he hadn’t noticed when he had parked there: “For our great sin/we deserve punishment/until the end of days”.

If that was a reference to something, he did not recognize it; as was to be expected, since he had never been good at studying. And yet, those words troubled him deeply. He felt they were written for him, as if they were some ill omen. He froze in place, gripped by an unease he was unable to explain or describe, until the stocky man roared at him: «They got on the car! Go back to your seat and start driving, quickly!»

Sthenar absentmindedly noticed that the other tetracycle had begun leaving, going back the way it came while emitting a low buzzing sound. He turned his eyes to the inside of his own car. He saw the three people he expected. Three pairs of tied hands and feet, three heads covered by cloth bags. A man, a woman… and the smaller shape of a young boy.

A strong hand grabbed him by the collar and Sthenar found himself at a hair’s breadth from the stocky man’s face. «Did you not hear me? Move it!»

He had just the time to think that with such a wrathful expression the combination of small eyes and wide nose made the man look like an angry boar, before he was violently pushed toward the driver’s seat. The message was clear enough for him.

As the man got on the vehicle and closed the door behind him, Sthenar went quickly back to his seat and started the car. The thermal plates on the back of the tetracycle opened up and the car started to slowly go forward, following the road.

Sthenar looked back one final time, glancing at the four passengers behind him for a single instant. Then the only one among them who was not tied punched the metal wall, warning him: «Eyes on the road, no distractions!» And he obeyed.

Sthenar wished he could tell himself that things were not as they seemed, that he was not helping criminals who had kidnapped an innocent family. Had he been a fool, he could have done so: all he needed to do was remember that the stocky man, even if at the moment he was not wearing his black uniform, was a spathar, one of the “eyes and ears of the Prince”, as they said; and that, like he had been told by the other man, the one who was absent tonight, the criminals were the three with bags over their heads.

But Sthenar was no fool, not that big a fool at least. He knew well what “crime” the three had committed. Or rather, what “crime” a single one of them had committed, and for which not only he, but his wife and son as well were being punished.

«For how much longer must we suffer your attempts at deceiving the people standing here before you, Sofron Arystid?»

The sentence echoed throughout the entire Hall of the Synedrion unchallenged, then the speaker continued: «It is not for devotion towards your august father the Prince that you have taken the mantle of regent, nor out of any sense of duty towards this nation, a sense of duty that you have never felt, as we are acutely aware! No, if now you sit on that chair the reason is merely your thirst for power! Otherwise, why would you have removed from their posts more than half of the officials who faithfully served your father for years, for decades in some cases, and replaced them with men whose reputation is dubious, in fact men whose only quality no one can cast doubt on is their loyalty to you and you alone?»

The speaker was the delegate Timios, from the city of Elis. Sthenar knew that because they had announced Timios’ name when he had rose from his bench to make his speech. The Hall of the Synedrion, a semi-circular series of rows of gray stone steps clad in sapphire-colored walls, was open to any citizen who wished to observe the meetings of the delegates hailing from the many cities of the Principate. It was there that they debated, they proposed laws, they relayed to the Prince the provinces’ grievances, they decided the future of the country. Sthenar was not very cultured: his brother was the one raised to make a name for himself, not him; but as every good citizen, he still knew how to read, write and do some math, and he had a moderate interest in politics.

So he knew, for example, that presently the Prince was absent. On the dark high chair located at the center of the hall, behind a large desk of the same color, at the point where the eyes of all the delegates converged, the place from which normally Prince Aryst would have presided over the Synedrion along with his councilors, now sat Sofron, Aryst’s younger son. An unusual sight for Sthenar, who had always seen only the old Prince on that chair, ever since he was a child.

«And I could say the same for the war against Dysis!» the delegate continued his vehement speech. «You often remind us that we cannot trust Dysis, that Dysis is evil, that Dysis must be stopped at all costs for the good of our children. But such a commendable worry is not the one that makes you send to the front the fathers and mothers of those children. Oh, not at all. You send them to the front for this!»

The man slipped a hand inside the white toga that symbolized his rank and occupation, and threw something in the direction of the man who sat in the Prince’s chair. It hit the floor with a metallic sound. Sthenar could not see very well from that distance, but it seemed to him that Sofron was rolling his eyes in exasperation. From the side of the hall opposite to delegate Timios, angry voices started to rise.

«Gold! Gold from the mines that Dysis reclaimed as its territory! The mines that once were property of our esteemed citizen Alop! The same citizen Alop who is father-in-law of your current War Councilor, strategos Leon Cryssid, who is sitting right there beside you at this very moment! Why are you lowering your head, strategos? Is there something you’re ashamed about?»

The angry voices grew even angrier. Sthenar even heard a few hisses. Somebody cried «Kick him out of this hall!», somebody else «Make him shut his filthy mouth!»

But the delegate went on, unperturbed: «In all the years he oversaw the Synedrion, your father never took a decision that was not his and only his: he listened to the people’s representatives gathered here from the whole of the nation, he consulted his councilors when necessary and then he came to his decision fairly and impartially, following his own heart and his own mind. Do you know why? He did so because he knew that the one answering to us, the people, for that decision would be him. Not his councilors, certainly not someone that is not even sitting in this hall! HIM ALONE!»

Timios had to scream that last sentence, in order to be heard above the cacophony of hostile cries. Some of the other delegates had stood up from their benches and were shaking their fists in threatening motions in his direction. But from his chair Sofron raised a hand, and in a few instants they all sat down again. Once they had quieted down, the Prince’s son spoke: «Delegate Timios, please, do conclude your address. And no one interrupt him.» His tone was calm and authoritative, but Sthenar still felt strangely uneasy.

Timios resumed: «Oh, be certain that I will, there is little left to say that is not blatant and obvious. I will be quick and I will be direct, compassionately cruel like the doctor who knows he has to cauterize a wound before it becomes infected, even if the patient will cry in pain!» He stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath. «You are not the Prince, Sofron, and must never become the Prince, for you have shown both now and many times in the past that you are not at all suited for that title. Yes, your father is very sick and can no longer attend these meetings, but that does not imply you can be his substitute. He has your mother, Kallista; let her take his place.»

There was no reaction in the hall. Sthenar thought he heard a soft laugh from some place behind Timios, but even if there had been one it was immediately stifled.

«Of course,» Timios continued «in this difficult time our Princess has understandably chosen to rather stay with her beloved husband and care for him. However, there is one more person you could, no, you should leave that chair to.»

Timios’ side of the Synedrion started to murmur. But it was a sound unlike the angry roars that had come from the other side a moment before. It was more organized, as if a choir were singing one single song.

«A person who has many times demonstrated their valor, unlike you.» The murmur became more intense. «A man you deliberately sent far from the capital, because you knew the people would side with him!» Timios once again raised his voice to a scream, but this time it was to surpass the enthusiastic cries of agreement coming from his side. «A man who, were he in your place, would not surround himself with incompetent sycophants, nor give in to undue pressure and call for a useless war to satisfy one man’s ravenous greed! No, the man I speak of would rule with more wisdom than even your father! Yes, you know who this man is, Sofron Arystid! The only one worthy of being regent is the legitimate future Prince, the hero of the Winter War, your older brother Stefan! If you still have a shred of dignity left in you, get off that chair and leave it to him!»

All around Timios, the delegates rose to their feet shouting «To him! To Stefan!» or «Prince Stefan!» or even just «Stefan! Stefan!»

Sthenar himself joined them, shouting that name. The delegate’s speech had certainly had an effect on him, but he had also heard disquieting rumors about Sofron around the city for a long time, and also… he just liked Stefan: after all, both he and Sthenar were elder brothers.

Right at that moment, the clouds that could be seen through the large skylight on the roof of the hall parted, and the sun’s rays divided the Synedrion cleanly in two: one side basked in light, where Timios and the crowd chanting «Stefan!» were, and one side in the shadow: there sat the delegates that had tried to silence Timios and that now were themselves silent.

It was such a beautiful and fitting image that for an instant Sthenar felt truly happy, and even managed to forget the face that tormented him in his nightmares.

«Sthenar Georgid, You’ve been a cycler for twenty-one years.»

«Twenty-two, in a month.»

An instant was all that happiness lasted. The morning that followed that meeting, they came to his door. The short man with auburn hair and the other one, pale-faced, with thick dark hair.

Their uniforms left no doubts on their occupation: coats as black as burnt wood, with trousers of the same color, and a red square of crossed swords embroidered on the right side of their chest. They were two spathari, members of the most feared warrior corps in the Principate. The spathari were feared everywhere, not only because they were fearsome fighters (as they had to be, for they were the Prince’s personal guards), but also, in fact mostly, because of their other duties: surveillance and security. They had the authority to conduct investigations, arrest suspects and interrogate them. A spathar wanting to speak with you was never something to look forward to. Sthenar knew that all too well.

After they made themselves comfortable, it was the pale-faced man who spoke first: «I know a Georgid who works with us. Are you brothers?»

«Yes.» was all Sthenar managed to say. He and his younger brother hadn’t spoken in years. Ever since Mom had died.

«Good. This will speed up procedures.» said the pale-faced man, flashing a faint smile.

«Am I under arrest?» Sthenar asked.

«I couldn’t say. Did you commit some crime, cycler Sthenar?» the man looked in his eyes, keeping the smile on his lips. However his gaze was cold, and Sthenar became afraid. For a moment, that face appeared before him. He tried to dispel the vision and find the strength to answer, but before he could manage to, the pale-faced man spoke again: «Choose your next words carefully.»

He knows, a voice in his head told him. He knows everything, throw yourself at his feet and confess! It is the only way to be given leniency!

But the words that came out of his mouth were: «No, of course not. I’m a law-abiding citizen.»

The smile faded from the man’s visage. «So be it.» he said, accompanying the words with a sound that could have been a sigh. He made a silent motion of the head to his red-haired companion, who answered in kind, nodding wordlessly. Then he looked at Sthenar again and said: «The tetracycle parked outside. Is it yours? We noticed it while we were coming.»

Sthenar could have said no. But if he did, then he would have had to explain why there was a car that did not belong to him in front of his house. So, he once again ignored the terrified voice in his head and said: «Yes, it is mine.»

«I’ve heard that many cyclers like to customize their vehicle, in order to make themselves stand out.»

«If customers recognize a tetracycle that has already served them in the past, they tend to seek that one again.» Sthenar explained. «Some of us paint theirs in a unique pattern, some others add ornaments...»

«And some of you draw a symbol on it.» he was interrupted by the stocky man. «You belong to this latter group, cycler Sthenar.»

Sthenar tried his best to remain calm. They already know everything, they’re just toying with you! the voice said to him. You already know how it’s going to end, confess now that you still have time!

«Your symbol are three white feathers on the side of the car, am I right?» asked the pale-faced man with dark hair.

The chain is tightening around your neck, do you not feel it? «Y-Yes. The idea came to my mother. The first feather is speed, the second one...»

«I am sure their meaning is incredibly interesting, but right now what we wish to know is whether there are other tetracycles painted with the same sign.» The man looked at Sthenar with cold indifference in his eyes. Gray eyes, like those of that face.

Sthenar was strongly tempted to lie. He felt the urge to say that many cyclers used similar symbols, that he was not the one they were looking for, that they had to go away and leave him alone.

But he could not do it: «No, there are not. If you see three white feathers on a car around Arlis, that’s me.»

«We did not see them.» the short man suddenly spoke. «But someone did. Four nights ago, on Secondhander Road.»

Sthenar fell silent. He let the pale-faced man do the speaking: «Four nights ago, on Secondhander Road, a man was run over, and died. A witness states that they saw three feathers on the side of the offending vehicle, that ran away without even offering aid.»

Sthenar had imagined the scene he was now part of many times, although he thought it would be the City Guards arresting him. In his mind, he had seen himself try to explain that he was tired that night; that it was raining and that the few lamps that lit up Secondhander Road were in bad need of maintenance; that when his own lantern finally shone on the terrified face of that man in the middle of the road he had immediately braked, but it was already too late; that he had understood right away that stopping and trying to give him some help would have been useless, that he didn’t want to go to prison, that he was an honest citizen and in all his life he had never hurt anyone.

«Cycler Sthenar Georgid, a little time ago I asked you if you had committed some crime. I had warned you to choose your answer carefully.»

However, not that it was actually happening, Sthenar couldn’t manage to say anything. It was as if he were in a stupor.

He woke back up only when the short man’s hand tightly closed around his arm.

«No. No!» He cried. «Please, don’t! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!»

«If you were so sorry, why did you run away and leave a fellow citizen to die alone under the rain?» The spathar’s face was a stone mask, devoid of any compassion.

«I beg you,» Sthenar continued, vaguely aware that he was very close to breaking down in tears, «don’t send me to prison. I implore you! I will die in there!»

«One life for another. Sounds fair to me.» said the short man, whose iron grip was making Sthenar’s hands lose sensibility.

At that moment, terror overcame any other feeling. Sthenar threw himself at the feet of the pale-faced man, with so much energy that the short man was forced to let him go.

«I beg of you, I don’t want to die! I’ll do anything, anything you want, just don’t send me to prison!»

Sthenar’s nerves had never been strong. He knew that flaw had earned him contempt from both his father and his younger brother. But there was nothing he could do about it. It always ended like that, ever since he was a kid.

And just like his father when he was a kid, the pale-faced man reacted with a sigh and said: «You are a coward, cycler Sthenar.»

But a moment later he added: «Fortunately for you, a coward is exactly the person we need.»

They told him they needed his help with an “operation”, that was the way they called it. That very night, Sthenar would bring his tetracycle to a certain place and then wait. Further instructions were pending. They did not explicitly tell him that doing this would make them turn a blind eye in regards to his incident, but he had no choice all the same.

A few hours later he did as they had ordered and waited in front of a large house in the Delegates’ Quarter, where members of the Synedrion resided during their time in office.

Not long after his arrival, the two spathari came out of the front door of the house, accompanied by other three figures: a man, a woman and a boy, all three tied up and with their heads covered.

«Who are these people?» Sthenar uneasily asked.

«None of your business, Cycler. Start the vehicle.» was the answer of the short man.

«Dangerous criminals we had to take into custody. You need to know nothing more.» the other one added.

Dangerous criminal? A child? Sthenar wondered, careful not to say it out loud. As careful as he had been when he had not asked why the spathari corps needed him when they had their own cars. Sthenar might have been an uneducated coward, but he was not a fool. What he was seeing was something irregular, something the rest of these men’s organization had to be kept in the dark about.

His suspects were reinforced when the two men did not direct him toward the prison but instead the opposite edge of the city. As Sthenar drove on, he heard the boy start to weep. The captured man spoke to the two spathari, with a booming voice that sounded powerful even under the thick dark cloth of the bag: «If you plan to kill me, do so and get this over with! Do you think I don’t know who sent you?»

Then, after a dull thud and a groan, Sthenar heard the voice of the short man: «Shut up!»

«Cowards! You and the man who hides behind you are all vile cowards!» the prisoner insisted.

«For the sake of your family, be quiet.» the voice of the pale-faced man.

Sthenar said nothing, he just kept silently driving in the direction he had been given. But he had recognized the prisoner’s voice. He had heard it in the Synedrion, the day before. The man sitting behind him, with his hands tied and a bag over his head, was delegate Timios from Elis.

Eventually, the two man made him stop the car. In front of them, Sthenar saw another tetracycle. And he understood he would not see their destination, just like the person who was about to drive the prisoners there had not seen where they were coming from.

«What do you intend to do with them? One of them is just a kid.» he asked at the end to the pale-faced man while he took the three out of the car.

The man gave him a strange look, maybe regretful for what he was doing, or at least that was what Sthenar chose to believe. Then he answered: «This does not concern you, cycler Sthenar. Go home, now. Your work is done for tonight, and you have seen nothing.»

«What do you mean “for tonight”? Will there be more?»

The pale-faced man smiled, the same unsettling smile he had shown him that morning.

«Of course.»

«Eyes on the road!» The short man repeated his previous warning, from behind Sthenar.

It had been one week since that night. Now Sthenar was driving his tetracycle out of the city, heading north-west. This time he knew their destination, he had convinced them to tell him, in an act of bravery that surprised even himself.

«If you want to use me, then you tell me where we’re going and… and I choose the route. O-Otherwise you can find somebody else.» he had told the pale-faced man, when the latter had come to meet him the night before.

And the pale-faced man had consented. «You must take us to the Great Bridge.» he had told him.

From the point on the road he was, Sthenar could already see the bridge, high up in the distance, a great structure stretched over a deep, narrow gorge. Its main function was connecting Arlis, the capital, with the Hendo Plain and the cities in the north of the Principate; without it, travelers from Arlis would have to go around the long mountain chain to the west to reach them, a deviation that would lengthen the journey by weeks.

But that was only its main function. Decades past, before the Liberation and the Principate, there was another name the people called it: the Bridge of Executions.

Sthenar couldn’t lie to himself, it was clear as day to him what would happen to his three passengers once they arrived there. This time the boy didn’t cry, and delegate Timios remained silent under his bag. By now the entire city knew of the sudden disappearance of him, his wife and his son. Even the dumbest of citizen, seeing those three, would put two and two together.

The two moons, now no longer aligned over the road, shed their light on the woods the tetracycle was entering. The only sound was the car’s low hum. It seemed that even all the animals had gone to sleep.

Suddenly, Sthenar left the main roead and took a narrow trail that wound through the trees. He heard a fist bang on the metal wall behind him, and then the irate voice of the short man: «Cycler! Where are you taking us?»

«It’s just a shortcut.» he answered.

That seemed to satisfy the spathar, who no longer complained.

The tetracycle continued on the trail, cautiously, without hurry, until the road behind them disappeared from view and then even deeper into the woods, where not even the light of the moons could enter and Sthenar had to use his lantern.

«Are you sure this is a shortcut?» the short man asked.

Sthenar did not answer. He was too busy watching the road in front of him.

The silence was absolute. Sthenar had visited those woods many times, at different hours both of the day and of the night, and no matter the time the animals never failed to make their voices heard. Their absence was bizarre.

Whether the spathar noticed it as well, nevertheless he did so too late.

When he banged again against the wall of the car and shouted «Hey!» Sthenar was already stopping the vehicle. In front of them, barely visible in the light of the lantern, a man had appeared, standing still in the middle of the trail. And many others like him had emerged from behind the trees and from inside the bushes, all around them. They were armed and wore a black uniform, the same one the short man would have worn in normal circumstances.

«You are surrounded. Get out of the car. Now.» said the man who had appeared on the trail. Sthenar obeyed, feeling more relaxed than he had been that entire week.

The man got closer. Sthenar looked at that familiar face, similar but not identical to his own, but before he could say anything the other one spoke, putting a hand on his shoulder: «You have done well, Brother. I will take it from here.»

The very same night he had drove his three prisoners away from their home, Sthenar had run to his brother to tell him everything, starting with the incident on Seconhander Road.

The moment he had seen that the two spathari were kidnapping a child, he had understood he was condemned no matter what he did. And at that point, something curious had happened in his mind. He had stopped being afraid. It was as if some part of him had accepted his fate. Now that he knew he would end up in jail or dead anyway, he found out that he wasn’t particularly worried about it. The important thing was saving those who were innocent. But if someone were to ask him why, Sthenar wouldn’t have known the answer.

His brother Galen patiently listened to his story, without interrupting him; he even comforted him when he got to the moment he saw the three captives and his voice broke: «There was even a kid, Galen… a little kid!»

They hadn’t seen each other in years, and yet his brother hadn’t even asked him what he wanted: he had just welcomed him in his house even at that late hour and had even offered him some food. Sthenar had always been convinced that his brother despised him, like their father did. And yet his kindness seemed so authentic...

«So, you have no clue where they might have been taken.» he had said, once Sthenar had finished.

«No, I’m sorry. But I know you can do something about it, you have to do something about it...»

«Yes, I know. We need to act.» Galen’s expression then had turned serious. «And not only to save the delegate and his family. Delegate Timios has been kidnapped because he spoke against Sofron Arystid. That man… he intends to proclaim himself Prince the moment his father dies, with the support of his sympathizers among the spathari. I’ve had a feeling for a long time already that he was preparing to take power in some way. Timios is a symbol of the opposition. By hitting him, Sofron is suppressing every voice that might go against his own. And yet, fortunately he made a mistake. By openly involving the spathari, he has shown his cards too soon. I will call a few colleagues I know I can trust, and then we will crush this conspiracy.

But to do that, I need your help, Sthenar. You said they will come for you again. When that happens, make them tell you their plans, get information out of them. Convince them. Then come back to me and we’ll devise a plan.»

«Convince them? And how am I supposed to?» Sthenar asked.

«What do you mean? Of the two of us, you’ve always been the clever one. I have no doubt you’ll manage.» had been his brother’s answer, delivered with a confident smile.

Sthenar had done what Galen asked of him, and even more. Once he knew their destination, it was he who suggested the ambush, and his brother had liked the idea.

Now Sthenar was resting with his back on the side of his tetracycle, while the spathari who had accompanied Galen were holding the short man like a dangerous suspect.

«Midas.» he heard his brother say. «So there’s Hektor Leonid behind all this. I should have known, considering who his father is.»

The short man, to whom Sthenar could now finally give a name, answered with a barked insult and an attempt to spit on his colleague’s face. Galen ignored him completely, and headed for the car’s door.

The three captives were still inside. And they still hadn’t said a single word. For a moment, Sthenar feared they were dead, but then he remembered they had entered the vehicle on their own two feet. He noticed that the man was thinner than he had been a week before, and that the boy was too.

«Delegate Timios? Don’t worry, you’re among friends now.»

The answer was almost a whisper, but in a familiar voice: «Who… Who are you?»

«Galen Georgid, Delegate. And fifteen other men you can trust.»

«Fifteen? So few? No one else?»

Sthenar suddenly felt a strange unease. The voice was familiar, but it didn’t remind him of the man he had listened to in the Synedrion.

«Have no fear, more of our allies lie in wait in the city, but first things first: we have to ensure your safety. After that, we can move all together against Sofron Arystid and bring back justice.»

«Ah. Good.» said slowly the man with the head covered by a bag. «Perfect.»

An instant later, Galen fell on the ground, out of the car. Then Sthenar heard a sound like the crack of a whip, and one of the men who were holding Midas cried out, gripping his own shoulder. After a second crack, another man collapsed to the ground, with a hole on the side of his head. A third man barely had the time to shout: «We’re under attack!», before Midas was on him. A single punch threw the man against a tree a few feet away, where he remained still, his chest caved in. Midas turned his attention to the man wounded in the shoulder, who was still stunned. Looking at Midas, Sthenar didn’t notice only his beast-like grin but also that now suddenly he was wearing a white band on his forehead and gloves that glinted like metal on his hands.

A loud groan brought his eyes back to the tetracycle. His brother was thrashing on the ground. Around his arms and legs now there were thin ropes that seemed made of metal, glinting like Midas’ gloves.

Though they were supposed to be tied up, the three captives stood up from their seats and exited the car. Galen managed to cry: «It’s a disguise! That man isn’t the delegate!» then the boy hit him with a kick to the stomach. The spathar who had been wounded in the shoulder took out his mikra, aimed at the man with a bag on his face and pulled the trigger, but the bullet cutting through the air with a cracking sound didn’t reach its target. It was blocked by a wall of metal that had suddenly formed between the two men. A moment later, the spathar’s head was cleanly cut off, by the woman, with a sword she did not have in her hand a moment before.

Someone hit Sthenar in the head, making his consciousness wane. The last things he saw were other men in black emerging from the trees, and the man he thought was a captive removing the cloth bag from his head, revealing a face Sthenar knew, but different from delegate Timios’.

A pale face, with gray eyes and thick dark hair.

Galen could not move. He was tied up in such a way that he couldn’t even turn his body. All the information he had on the battle raging around him came in the form of noise and screams. He prayed that his men managed to reorganize and cursed his own naivety.

The conspirators were spathari, just like him: how could he think that his brother hadn’t been under surveillance? They had probably known from the start that Sthenar had talked to him. And instead of disposing of him, they had used him to set up a trap in which Galen and his companions had been caught like the greenest of rookies.

The sounds of battle were dying down. One side had won, and since nobody was untying him Galen understood it was not his.

«Take six or seven, as prisoners. Kill the others.» A powerful voice, the tone of a man sure of himself.

Steps drawing closer. «What do we do with him, Captain?» A young voice, still partially bearing the acute timbre of a child’s.

«Bring that one to me.»

Suddenly, the grip of the metallic ropes on his legs loosened and Galen was forced to stand up with a jerk.

The first thing he saw were the bodies. Sfudas lied back on a tree trunk, Takhis and Kharumen were collapsed on the grass not much farther. He recognized Takhis by the fact he held his mikra in his left hand: his head was gone. And there were others, so many others. All dead because of my sutpidity, Galen told himself.

«Move, let’s not make the captain wait.» the owner of the childish voice told him: a boy so young he could have been his son. Brown hair, Big green eyes and a confident smile, the one wore by young people who still think they could never die. He was dressed in civilian clothes a few sizes too big, and on his forehead there was a thin silvery band.

«What did you do to the real son of delegate Timios?» Galen asked.

«No questions.» said the boy. «Come on now, let’s go.»

He made no movement, and yet Galen felt himself being dragged forward by the ropes around his arms and chest.

What psychic mastery, he thought. He did not know that boy, but something in his head told him he should.

They proceeded toward a group of people about thirty feet from the tetracycle. By the light of the lantern that had been uncovered, Galen saw half a dozen of his men gathered in a corner on their knees, under the watchful eye of a lean spathar who kept his long hair tied at the base of the neck and in whose hand spinned a thin, sharp disk. In another corner, a young man sat against a tree holding a hand over his bleeding abdomen. At least we managed to hurt one, Galen told himself bitterly. He noticed the man who had pretended to be delegate Timios: he was caring to the wounded man. And now that he could see his face, Galen recognized him. Eulogh, another one of Hektor’s men.

He knew then as well the identity of the woman who had played the part of the delegate’s wife, just before he saw her in front of him.

Antendra and Midas seemed to be expecting him. Like good little underlings, they stood to the two sides of a tall, imposing man: probably Galen would have barely reached his chin with the top of his head if he got close. His most striking characteristic though was not his height but rather his blonde hair, which gave the impression he was wearing a golden crown on his head.

Galen knew that man, but even if that were the first time they met, that hair would have been enough to tell him who he was looking at: there was a single spathar whose hair were of that rare color.

«Hektor Leonid. Do you have any idea what it is you’re doing?»

«Is it not obvious?» said the man, raising an eyebrow. «I am stopping a conspiracy against the Principate. Delegate Timios confessed that he was plotting to assassinate regent Sofron, with the complicity of some members of the spathari corps.»

Despite the situation, Galen laughed. «Do you expect the people to believe you?»

Hektor gave an amused hum. «No. But what the people believe will make no difference. What the delegates and our comrades will know, that’s what matters: they will know what awaits those who oppose the established order.»

«Those who oppose the Regent, you mean.»

«Different names for the same thing.» Hektor replied, with smile that probably was meant to be compassionate.

«Interesting. Tell me, is that a thought that came to you on your own or are those words your father taught you to repeat?» Galen asked, baring his teeth. Among the spathari there was a persistent rumor that Hektor owed the rank of captain mostly to his father, strategos Leon.

«How dare you!?» Antendra snarled, taking one threatening step toward him, but Hektor stopped her with a light motion of his hand. The smile had vanished from his lips.

«Galen Georgid, I could have ordered Thesor to kill you together with your companions, or I could have arrested you and made sure you never saw sunlight again. Even right now I could just let Antendra cut off your head for your insult, something that, as we both see, she’d be very glad to do. But despite you very clearly not reciprocating, I have much respect for you. And so I have decided that your death will be one worthy of a warrior. Thesor, free him.»

The boy nodded. An instant later, a metal armband appeared on his wrist, while the ropes that held Galen disappeared.

Galen looked at the boy, and finally he remembered the tales he had heard about a child prodigy who had started training as a spathar when he was not even ten years old. Until that moment, he had thought them too absurd to be true.

The boy, Thesor, drew back, as did Antendra and Midas, forming a sort of arena inside which only Galen and Hektor remained.

Hektor was tying his band around his forehead, without hurry. «You’re considered a peerless swordsman. I’ve been anxious to measure myself against you for a very long time. This is the perfect chance.»

Galen took out his own band and did the same. He knew that whatever happened he would not see the dawn again, but if he managed to take a man like Hektor with him in death, it would be worth it.

He took a deep breath. He held out his left arm and sent an impulse through his control band. The sklerygron armband he wore on his wrist turned in a long thin sword, blazing white in his hand.

«Nobody interfere.» Hektor said, as he held both arms in front of his chest, his fists clenched one over the other. An instant later, a giant sword materialized in his hands.

«Come,» he egged Galen on with a cruel grin. «on your guard.»

He moved with a speed that his large sword belied.

Galen dodged the slash, but couldn’t manage to take advantage of it and hit his adversary, because despite the weight put in the motion Hektor had already recovered and put himself in position for a thrust.

The scene repeated many times, with marginal differences. Galen just could not get close. It was as if that giant sword were weightless, and yet the gashes it left on the ground and trees left no doubt in his mind: if he tried to block that blade with his own he would be cleaved in two.

How much psychic mastery did that man possess? Even Galen himself had to accept as inevitable the weight of the weapon in his hand, a weight that as the fight dragged on was making him more and more fatigued. Every slash came closer to hitting him than the preceding one.

«Is that all? You disappoint me, Galen.» said Hektor, who didn’t even seem mildly tired. Or disappointed, really, if his smile was any indication.

Galen understood he had to take a gamble. He knew he could never block a blow from that two-handed sword, but maybe...

He stopped, with a large tree trunk behind him. Hektor took immediate advantage of that momentary hesitation and raised his sword over his head.

When the blade fell on him from above, Galen stood still until the last possible moment, holding his sword above himself. Then he moved a single step to the side and angled his weapon downward, letting his opponent’s sword slide on it, as he used the bare minimum of resistance needed to deviate the blow.

The two-handed sword hit the trunk and made a cut about ten fingers deep inside it.

That was his chance.

Like Galen had deduced, until that point Hektor had restrained himself, expecting him to dodge his blows and keeping himself ready to react. Hektor knew that Galen would never do something as foolish as turn the fight into a clash of raw strength, in which he was clearly superior, and would instead rely on speed. But when he had seen Galen standing still, incapable of drawing back any further and apparently intending to parry his blow, Hektor had decided to call on all his strength, for the first time during the duel. And Galen had turned that strength against him. Now his sword was stuck in the wood and Galen was free to hit him.

The fight still wasn’t a guaranteed win for Galen, an expert warrior had many ways to recover from such a blunder. But Hektor had been surprised by the unexpected action of his opponent. For one single instant, Hektor was confused.

That single instant would be enough.

Galen lunged at his enemy, aiming straight for his head.

But then, something bizarre happened.

Hektor let go of his sword with one hand, bringing that to his breast.

He bent his back.

And Galen flew past him, unable to stop, and fell to the ground.

Once he tried to get back up, he was unable to.

Turning with great difficulty on his back, Galen saw that both his legs had been severed under the knee. And finally realized he was in searing pain.

In front of him, Hektor was drawing out his large sword from the tree trunk, using a single hand, while the other one held a second, shorter blade.

«I must give you credit.» he said. «Even if only at the end, you forced me to get serious.»

His smile was gone. He seemed far more disappointed now than before. But when he turned to look at his opponent in the eyes, his snide expression came back.

«Nevertheless, I find it hard to believe that this is the best you old-timers have to offer.»

If he said anything more, Galen did not hear it. The fallen man closed his eyes, begged his comrades for forgiveness and prayed the pain would not last long.

His wish was granted.

Sthenar had watched the duel from his angle, on his knees together with those among his brothers’ spathari who had survived.

The man with his hair tied behind his neck hadn’t given a single glance to the scene behind him, his gaze remaining vigilantly fixated on his captives. Whether the reason for that was his sense of duty, certainty that his captain would win or utter indifference to the affair, Sthenar would never know.

«We are done here. Let us go.» said the man his brother had called Hektor. «Once we are at the prison we will interrogate those men and make them tell us who else is involved.»

«Captain.» said the guard. «What do we do with him?» he pointed at Sthenar.

Hektor seemed to ponder the question for an instant, then he said: «It is unlikely he has any information. I will take care of him.»

He made his two swords touch, and the two weapons joined and changed shape. Now he was wielding with both hands something that looked like an enormous hammer.

Sthenar became conscious that his fellow captives were trying to get as far from him as they could, but he didn’t blame them. He had expected his fear to come back, but it did not. On the contrary, he was feeling weirdly relieved.

As Hektor drew closer, the only things Sthenar thought about were the face of the man he had run over and that graffiti he had seen on the wall less than an hour ago.

And when the hammer fell on his head, his final thought was that his days were ending earlier than expected.

For him, the punishment was already over.

Chapter Text

Kal was tired.

His standard military cape protected him from the night’s cold, but the dolikos he carried on his shoulder was starting to feel heavy.

Luckily, it was almost dawn. Soon his shift would be over. If he fell asleep while he mounted guard on the tower, he would never be able to look his father in the eyes again.

Considering what he was guarding, one small laxity in his vigilance wouldn’t have been the end of the world: ever since he was born, the border had always been quiet. And it seemed the Three Kingdoms had no intention to break the Long Truce today either. But for Kal it was a matter of principle. He had been given a duty and he would never allow his weaknesses to prevent him from fulfilling it at the best of his ability.

He looked at the scenery before him, the still slumbering city of Elis. Its roofs, their color muddled in the grayness that precedes sunrise, sloped softly down to the shore of the Tuon river. And beyond that vast, dark furrow he could see a great forest, at the moment still shrouded in darkness. Somewhere beyond that, to the north-east if he remembered correctly what Ark had told him, there was Istak, one of the three capitals of the Three Kingdoms.

Kal brought his gaze back to the city he was watching over. Soon it would start to wake, beginning with the harbor, down there. At that very moment, right under him, the watchers were leaving the fortress for the first patrol rounds of the day.

The boy heard the footsteps of someone walking up the tower’s steps. He thought it must be Barys, coming to start his own shift and let Kal go home. Although, if it actually was Barys he would be coming early: a very bizarre occurrence, knowing that man.

But once that person emerged on top of the steps, Kal immediately straightened up to attention.

«Already awake, my Exarch?»

«I wish.» exarch Stefan answered him with a bitter laugh, motioning him to be at ease. «No, tonight I did not go to sleep either.» He then headed to the parapet and his eyes set on the horizon, but toward the west, opposite the border. In that direction there was only a vast plain, in which a single faraway light shone: a telegraph tower.

Kal easily realized what had kept the Exarch awake all night. Only a scant few days had passed since, through that very telegraph, the news had come that delegate Timios had been arrested, sentenced to death and executed for conspiracy. And a few hours after that, a logothetes had come, directly from Arlis, the capital. Kal hadn’t been present to the meeting between that magistrate and the Exarch: he had heard they had talked about simple tax collection, nothing out of the ordinary, and that the visitor had accepted the host’s generous offer to prolong his stay and enjoy the Rook’s hospitality. However, there were disquieting rumors spreading among the citizens, and throughout the city there was a growing unease.

Kal approached the Exarch. Whatever the truth may be, the expression on the man’s face, adorned by a thin mustache and a short beard, plainly showed that somber thoughts were on his mind. And yet even in that gloomy mood his figure, clad in dark green clothes barely less plain and practical than the uniform Kal was wearing and wrapped in a cloak of the same color, radiated unbending confidence.

«How old are you?» he suddenly asked Kal, turning his attention to the boy. In his deep voice there was a note of sincere curiosity.

«Seventeen, my Exarch.» rispose lui.

«You are young.» the Exarch looked at him with admiration, or at least that was what Kal felt. «What is your name?»

«Kal... I mean, Kalos. Kalos Aregonid.»

«Ah.» the man exclaimed, as if that name had cleared some unuttered question. «I know your father. He must be proud of you.»

The compliment made Kal feel a little embarrassed. He managed to only say: «I... I hope he is, my Exarch.»

The Exarch gave him a fatherly smile, so tender and reassuring that the previous harsh seriousness on his face almost seemed to have been a trick of the light. «Is it the first time you’re on watch here at this hour?»

«Uh... Yes, my Exarch.»

«Then come, this morning we will enjoy the spectacle together.»

Having said that, he moved to the opposite side of the tower, looking at the border. «There are clouds too. It will be even better than usual.»

Kal followed his gaze and looked at the place where the sky was changing color. The night’s dark blue gave way to gradually brighter hues against which, little by little, the jagged contours of the Egul Mountains became visible in the distance.

Then it was the clouds’ turn to change color, which they did much faster, while the ground was still dark. At first they grew red, as if a great fire had been lit in the sky. After that they turned rosy, of the color of those precious stones Kal had sometimes seen worn by visiting dignitaries. And then finally they took on a pale golden sheen.

And it was only then that the shimmering globe of the Sun started to peek from behind the horizon, bathing with its light the top of the tower and of the fortress and revealing the shining white color of its sturdy walls.

Kal turned his gaze downward and watched the light climb down the long shaft of the tower and then spread in every direction: the roofs of Elis lit up of many different colors. The Tuon’s dark furrow became a deep blue. And the vast forest beyond it, now caressed by the Sun as it started to rise in the sky, was an intense green.

The Exarch was right. Kal wouldn’t know how to describe it, if not by using the word “spectacle”.

«No matter how many times I watch it, I never get bored of it.»

He heard Stefan talking to him, but neither looked away from the scene in front of them.

«A fitting reward for a sleepless night, do you not agree?»

One glassturn later Barys came, late as usual, to begin his shift, and Kal was free to go rest.

Once he left the Rook, the boy took a moment to look back at it. Seen from below, the building made him feel all its imposing presence. It was the work of architects who lived thousands of years ago, long before the coming of Man. The scholars said that its appearance, a sort of ellipse stretched from east to west with the large circular tower at one extremity rising high over the walls, brought to mind an ancient animal with a long neck and covered in white feathers. Yes, a “swan” if Kal remembered correctly. It had to be a truly majestic creature; if it actually ever really existed, of course.

He heard a door opening and closing behind him. Turning again toward the city, he saw a drowsy-looking woman leaving the house to his left and heading to the building on the opposite side of the road, that had its facade partially covered by a wooden panel. In a little while, that panel would be lifted, showing the merchandise it was covering. The other shopkeepers of the main street, a straight line that connected the Rook to the harbor, were likewise starting to open their stores.

Kal took a right turn and left the main street, passing by a man who carried a large empty sack. Soon, a line of people just like that man would form in front of the Rook, waiting for the monthly distribution of grain. Kal didn’t envy the colleagues assigned to that duty: it was far from rare for disorders to spark during the distribution, and this month they would probably be worse than usual.

But he’d rather not think about it now. He needed to sleep. And to eat something before that.

He knew that taking another right turn he would find the West Wall Tavern, where the food was pretty good, but there was a place he thought was even better, so he kept going straight.

To his left, the walls of the houses prevented sunlight from reaching the alley, except for the narrow intervals between the buildings. They were rich houses, but not extremely so: houses of the kind a family like Kal’s could afford.

He reached the end of the road. After the last two houses he had to turn left. But suddenly, from the second to last house he heard noises. Dry, knocking sounds, repeating and yet devoid of any discernible rhythm.

Kal smiled: he didn’t expect her to be awake already. Breakfast could wait.

He passed through the entrance arch into the square front yard surrounded by walls that separated the house proper from the road. The days the owner was present, he could usually be found there, but at the moment that man was away, stationed far to the north. Right now, the house was in the care of the man’s aged parents, who despite the noise were probably still asleep in their bedroom.

While the source of that noise was right in front of Kal, who watched her silently, careful to not make her lose concentration: the fourth and youngest inhabitant of the house, currently training with the practice dummy that stood near the left wall.

Fyra was wearing loose pants fastened at the ankles and a sleeveless gilek over a white kamisa, clothes that didn’t impede movement, and she had her control band around her forehead. Both her hands and her feet, otherwise naked, were covered in a thin film of silvery metal.

Though she was too far from the dummy for her arm to reach it, the girl moved as if to attack it with the edge of her left hand in a slicing motion. And the blow reached its intended target, as a short blade emerged from her hand, covering the remaining distance. Quickly drawing her arm back and leaving no trace of that blade, Fyra launched a second attack, this time kicking with her right leg. Another blade grew out of her foot and reached the dummy with a dull thud.

At the moment the blades were blunted, but Kal knew they could become sharp as razors and cut flesh and sinews like soft cheese if necessary.

Anyone who was able to use sklerygron had their own specialty: most people psychically shaped it, through a control band, in tools for work, such as hammers, hatchets, hoes.

Then there were those who used it for fighting, and Fyra was among them: she covered her hands and feet with it, turning all four into lethal weapons with a range that was hard to guess for an enemy in the middle of a battle.

Making sklerygron change form almost constantly like she did was harder than it looked, not everyone was able to: Kal himself preferred to turn his armband into a long staff and keep it in that form while fighting. He had heard there were people capable of manipulating it in far more complex patterns, but he had never seen them in person.

Fyra seemed ready to hit the man-shaped dummy a third time, but she instead turned suddenly and saw him. For a single instant she looked startled, but the surprise on her face was immediately replaced by an ominous grin.

«Enjoying what you see, Kal?»

She loved to tease him like that. He opted to ignore her.

«Aren’t you afraid of waking your grandparents?» he asked.

«Of course I do. That’s why I’m making as little noise as I can.»

As she said that last sentence, she started hitting the practice dummy again.

«But, I can’t, help it.» She seemed apologetic as she spoke between attacks: «I, have to keep, training. It keeps me, used, to the feeling.»

Kal thought to himself that it would be much easier to have a conversation if she just stopped for a moment.

But he understood what she meant. In the end, the purpose of training was just that: to get body and mind “used” to each other, to maintain awareness of one’s self, one’s abilities and limits. Before military service, he had always thought training meant memorizing sequences of moves, attacks and counterattacks, like a math problem: “if they move like this, you answer like that” and so on. Reality was a bit more complex: it was less about “answering” and more about knowing how to parry or dodge, limiting damage to a minimum, while at the same time being ready to attack, taking advantage of any opening the opponent presented, without getting bogged down in preconceived patterns.

Fyra’s blows had no regularity, she threw them from ever-changing directions and at wildly varied intervals, making it very hard if not impossible to recognize any pattern. She wasn’t teaching her muscles a precise and predictable series of movements one after the other: each attack was an isolate element, perfectly interchangeable with any other. Her purpose was teaching her mind to get rid of hesitation, while maintaining alertness and focus on the present moment.

Her period of obligatory military service had already ended one year ago by now, and yet she kept training like this every morning.

Kal felt the need to ask, even if he already knew how she would answer: «If you really feel this need to “keep yourself used to the feeling”, Why don’t you join the City Watch?»

«And, be under, the command, of braggarts like Elef? No, thank you.» Fyra said without either turning or stopping.

In his heart, Kal felt she had a point, however he also felt obligated to defend his colleague and superior: «Oh, come on, Elef is a friend: we all grew up together. And, by the way, not everyone is like him.»

This time Fyra stopped her movements, sighing. As the sklerygron on her hands and feet condensed in two bracelets and two anklets, she stepped back from the practice dummy and turned toward Kal, giving him the patient look of somebody who understands they need to be clearer.

«Like him or not, I don’t like being under the command of anyone but myself. Especially when I’m also kept in the dark about what’s really happening.»

Fyra had no sympathy for authority, Kal knew that very well. She had always been like that, ever since they were little. And yet, maybe because of his fatigue after the long night, he took offense to the second part of her answer: «Don’t tell me you believe those rumors now.»

She snorted: «You don’t tell me you really believe the story about the “taxes”.»

«Why shouldn’t I?»

«Because the harvest isn’t over yet! Don’t you think the logothetes came a bit too early, if his purpose was to collect the yearly quota?»

Kal was left momentarily speechless. Fyra wasn’t wrong, actually.

«Well, but maybe that’s the reason he hasn’t left yet.» he said, though, after thinking about it: «He’s waiting for the harvest to be over, and in the meantime he’s enjoying his stay.»

«Oh, sure.» she replied, in a mocking tone: «He must be enjoying it very much, since he never leaves his room and there are two guards in front of his door day and night.»

«Those are for his protection.» Kal said immediately. «And how do you know this anyway?»

Fyra gave him a compassionate smile: «You’re not the only member of the City Watch I talk to, you know? You’re not even the only boy in the City Watch I talk to, just so you know.»

As he heard those words, Kal felt a weird emotion, one he could not really comprehend or describe.

Whatever it was, though, it must have appeared on his face, because Fyra opened her eyes wide, seemingly noticing something in his expression. Then, as if she understood better than he himself what he was feeling, she grinned in her malicious way he knew so well.

«Oh, did I hurt you with that? You really thought you were the only one?»

She got closer, passing a hand through her chestnut hair. Kal instinctively made a step back.

«Even now that you’re taller than me, deep down you’re still the same little kid you were all these years ago.»

Kal didn’t like being reminded of his childhood, the fact he had always been the smallest of their group of friends. And she knew that. Knowing her, he felt he needed to brace himself.

Fyra kept talking, getting ever closer: «Little shy Kal, who is always afraid of making the others angry…»

She put her hands on his shoulders and whispered softly in his ear:

«...and who needs his big sister Fyra all for himself.»

As he expected.

«Don’t joke about this!» Kal drew himself back, as she burst into laughter.

«You should see your face right now!» Fyra said, while she took her breath. «And I am not joking. You wouldn’t have turned red up to your ears if that weren’t the truth! And I’m sure that’s also the reason you want me to join the City Watch! As big and strong as you are, you still want me to be with you and protect you!»

«That’s not true!» Anger and embarrassment made Kal feel all the fatigue he had accumulated. He remembered that his plan for the morning was to go eat something and then get home and sleep. And he was more than glad of having remembered that.

«We’ll talk about this some other time. I have to go now.»

«Sure, sure. Why don’t you just admit it? Do so, and maybe I’ll consider your proposal!» she told him while he was already leaving through the arch.

As he put as much distance as he could between himself and that house, Kal thought back to Fyra’s words and the effect they’d had: why did they make him lose his cool like that? Was it because she still treated him like a little kid? Or was it because there was a grain of truth in what she had said, that he didn’t want to admit? Or was it maybe because of both reasons? He wondered: did he really want to be the only boy she talked to? It made no sense, it would be unfeasible. And plus, what was the problem if she treated him like a child? She had always done so.

He felt that if he kept thinking about it he would realize something uncomfortable, so he stopped asking himself useless questions. Luckily, he had just gotten to his destination.

Chapter Text

Eumela’s tavern, The Bull and the Frog, welcomed all travelers who entered the city through the South Gate, which meant it had less customers than if it stood near the West Gate, but still more than enough to make a business. Next to it, you could find Filel’s workshop, where you could fix your car if needed. Inbetween these, all in the same building, stood the door that led to the house of the husband-and-wife duo of owners of the two enterprises.

At the moment, the workshop was closed, but Kal heard noises from behind its massive door: it was probably about to open for the day. He entered the tavern and sat at the bar.

He looked around: for a moment, he thought he was the only one inside, but from his position he saw the Old Man was there as well, sitting on his usual chair in a corner. Kal didn’t know his name; those few times somebody mentioned him they always called him just “the Old Man”. As far as he knew, he lived somewhere south of the city, along the river. He earned his living as a fisher and a hunter. Once in a while he came to town to sell pelts and offered the tavern some of the game he caught; in exchange, Eumela cooked him some nice dish that was almost certainly better than anything he ate normally.

«Good morning.» Kal said.

The Old Man’s answer was little more than a low-pitched mumble. Kal didn’t expect anything more: he was a man of few words. That hollow-cheeked face, on which the boy had never seen a smile, framed by a thick and unkempt gray beard, tended to scare most people off, especially children: Kal knew that because he too had been scared of it. But with time he had understood that despite his looks the Old Man wasn’t a bad person.

Less than a glassturn later, A door behind the bar opened and there was Eumela Eremina, the owner of the tavern, holding a dish with bread and cheese on a plate.

«Here you go.» she said with a smile, putting the dish on the table in front of the Old Man.

He once again answered with an unclear mumble, but Kal was pretty sure he heard a «Thank you.» somewhere in there.

Eumela went back behind the counter and turned her attention to the boy: «Woke up early today, Kal? Or you’re coming from the night shift?»

«The second one.» he answered.

«Then it’s on the house.»

The woman was already heading for the kitchen, but Kal stopped her: «No, I can pay.»

«You sure?»

Only then Kal looked into his pockets and realized he had no money on hand.

The hostess retreated through the door she had entered from, with a hearty laugh: «Don’t worry. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last!»

Kal just sat there, feeling a little embarrassed. That woman had always had a soft spot for him, probably because he was one of her son’s friends, but he tried his best to not take advantage of that.

When Eumela came back, the Old Man had already finished eating and had left, without a word.

«Here you go: lowbread with milkpaste and honey!»

Kal took a bite off the flat disk of bread: he felt the acidity of the paste spread over it, and the sweetness of the honey that softened it. Ever since he was a kid, it had been one of his favorite foods.

«Very tasty. Thank you.» he said, once he finished.

«I know you’ve always liked it. You and Mak have similar tastes.» Eumela replied, smiling.

«Is Mak already up?»

The woman’s smile turned in an exasperated frown: «I’m not even sure he went to bed yesterday. He asked his father to have some time in the workshop and then...»

She was interrupted by a bout of ecstatic laughter coming from the other side of the wall behind her: whoever was laughing like that had to be extremely satisfied with something.

The laugh was followed by a high-pitched excited voice, that Kal recognized as belonging to Mak: «Yes, yes! ...No. No, no no NO!»

After that, there was a loud metallic crash, that made the walls shake.

Mak’s voice turned into an anguished cry. Another voice, lower in pitch and calmer, replied to him: «I told you it wouldn’t work.»

Kal recognized that one as well.

Eumela snorted, then she turned her neck to the door behind the counter and roared: «Makar! What on Earth is happening there? Please tell me you didn’t break the Watch’s tetracycle! I swear, if you put us in trouble with one of your dad’s clients again I’ll...!»

«Is Ark there with him too?» Kal had already stood up from his chair, trying to take a peek at the scene on the other side of the door. Curiosity had gotten the best of him.

«Eh? Ah, yes, I think he is...»

«Can I go see?»

Eumela hesitated for a few instants, probably pondering the options. Then she said: «Fine. And if you manage to convince my son to get out of there, I’m offering you lunch and dinner for free as well!»

Kal didn’t care about the offer, but nevertheless he smiled as he walked through the door.

He found himself in the entrance corridor to Eumela’s house. Right in front of him, another doorway, symmetrically opposite to the one he had entered from, led to her husband’s workshop. He passed through this second doorway, and was welcomed by an unusual sight.

All the windows were shut, leaving most of the room covered in shadow. A large, partially disassembled tetracycle stood in a dark corner, as if abandoned. At the foot of the tall pillar in the center of the room, under the dim light of a small lamp, Mak was bent over with a control band around his large head. He was apparently looking intently at the underside of a small vehicle he was lifting with his strong arms, but that vehicle was of a kind Kal had never seen before: it looked like a large metal disk, surmounted by a rough handrail and something similar to the handlebar of a dicycle, but it had no visible wheels.

«There’s the issue! All of this quadrant is misaligned!» Mak shouted, clearly talking to himself more than to anyone else, as he pointed to some place on the disk.

The underside of the object was a grid of dozens and dozens of small circular holes, from which small white beads peeked out, like many little jewels.

Kal knew what those were, everyone knew it: force crystals. You could see them on the back of every car and there was one inside every mikra and dolikos. He wasn’t an expert, but nevertheless he knew that about ten of them were enough to move a big dicycle. And yet, at a rapid glance, under that weird disk there seemed to be a few hundred. What was all that energy needed for? And why under the disk, on the side that was apparently meant to face the ground?

There could only be one single answer.

«Are you trying to make this thing fly, Mak?»

He was unprepared for the surprised yelp of the other boy, combined with the sound of the vehicle suddenly left falling back to the ground.

«Kal!? What are you doing here? How long have you been here? What... what time is it?»

Now that he was looking at Kal, Kal saw that Mak looked extremely tired: his curly hair had grown disorderly and there were dark circles under his eyes.

«Time to go to sleep, I think.» he told him, compassionately.

«Go to sleep? No, not now. I’m almost there...» Mak brought an uneasy hand to his temple.

«Listen to him, for your own good.»

Kal jolted up, before he remembered that when he was in the tavern he had heard a second voice, then he turned: as he expected, Ark’s slim figure had suddenly appeared to his right.

Mak had been startled only because he was tired, otherwise he would have noticed Kal long before Kal spoke. But Ark was different: that young man had a great talent for not being noticed unless he deliberately revealed his presence.

As usual, his face showed no expression, something Kal was very well used to. He noticed he looked less tired than Mak. In one hand he was holding a book, but this too was usual for him.

«Not you too, now!» Mak replied to his other friend. «I just need to open the thermal plate here, realign the quadrant and then it will work!»

«It will not. The quadrant misaligned because the plate is defective. Furthermore, probably the crystals aren’t spread enough and they interfere with one another.»

«The plate can’t be defective, maybe you just didn’t assemble it correctly! And crystals can’t interfere with each other if they’re all the same size! I cut them personally!» Not even a sleepless night could keep Makar Fidelid calm when someone doubted his ability.

«You cut them in the dead of night, while you were tired and sleepy, under the light of that one single lamp.» Ark said, pointing at it.

At this point, Mak was fuming. The armband he wore on his right wrist immediately became a large wrench.

Kal watched him start to unscrew the panel on the underside of the vehicle he had been working on, but as he could no longer resist his own curiosity he then asked Ark: «Is he really trying to build a flying machine?»

«Yup.» was the curt answer he got.

That had been Mak’s childhood dream, everyone knew it. He had inherited from his father both his talent and his passion for machines, but not his natural ability to keep his feet on the ground, in more than one sense. Even now that he had a job in the workshop, clearly he had still got all of his ingenuity and his willingness to experiment.

«And the noise from before was...»

«An attempt at takeoff.» Ark continued the sentence for him.

Kal was used to his friend’s untalkativeness, but right now he didn’t have the patience to humor him; so he gave him a look that clearly said “Tell me more, please.”

Ark resisted for some time, then he continued: «It worked, for a few moments. Then the defective plate buckled and a few crystals got out of alignment, so the thing started to spin out of control.»

As funny as the mental image of a huge spinning top suspended in midair was, Kal understood that such an accident could be very dangerous, especially considering the magnitude of forces involved. The fact the workshop had suffered no damage was a miracle in itself.

«I guess Mak wanted to be the one on board, while you uncovered the inhibitor.» Kal pointed at the spherical object on top of the pillar in the center of the room. It was another force crystal, about as big as his own head. He had never paid the technical explanations much attention, but he knew that bigger crystals inhibited smaller crystals, allowing, people such as a mechanic, for example, to work with them without the risk of an energy discharge.

«You’re halfway right. Yes, Mak was the one on board, but I didn’t do anything. He had the readiness to immediately shut the thermal covers on the plate, so the machine just fell to the ground like a boulder.»

A dry snap told the two of them that Mak had opened the disk. They say him rummage around inside it for a moment, then he drew something out and turned toward them, holding in his hands two small white crystals.

«Here, look!» he said to Ark.

Kal looked as well. They were teardrop-shaped, round at one extremity and pointed at the other.

Mak shook both hands, emphasizing his point: «They’re identical! They’re all perfectly of the same size! Satisfied?»

Kal got closer to the opened-up disk. Seen inside the machine, the crystals appeared to him like many little jagged teeth sticking out of an oval surface, gray and opaque, aiming at the sky. Above them there was another oval surface, full of little indentations.

«Mak.» He called his friend and pointed to an area of the lower oval. «Is it normal for this part here to be bent like that?»

Mak looked where he was pointing: «Of course it’s not, it got damaged in the fall. But it’s not a problem, All it needs is some hammering and it’ll be fine.»

«Huh. This one too?» This time Kal pointed at the upper oval.

Mak opened his eyes wide, got closer and examined the area Kal had pointed to and then remained silent for a long time. Something told Kal that in this case it would not be fine with just some hammering.

The young man’s following gestures confirmed Kal’s feeling. Mak put his hands in his hair and let out a pained groan as if somebody had stepped on his foot.

«The crystals’ push deformed the plate! But how!? According to my calculations it shouldn’t have! I had the alloy made to my specifications!»

«I had told you, Mak.» Ark intervened: «That plate is defective. It happens, sometimes.»

Mak groaned again, his arms falling limp on his sides, but right at that moment there was a loud, forceful knock at the large door of the workshop.

«Open, in the name of the Law!» said a voice that sounded all too familiar to Kal.

Mak shivered and gave a worried look to the tetracycle in a corner, then he gulped and opened the door.

As Kal had suspected, the disgruntled face that appeared beyond it was unmistakably his colleague Elef’s.

The young decarch of the Watch stormed into the workshop without waiting for Mak to open the door all the way. Two other men followed him, but Kal didn’t recognize them: they must have been assigned to him only recently.

«What is happening here, Mechanic?» the decarch spoke, looking at Mak. «A concerned citizen told us of a great ruckus coming from the inside of this establishment. Who is committing public nuisance this early in the morning?» Kal was sure Elef had noticed him, but apparently his old friend had opted to ignore him.

«N-Nothing is happening, just a small accident, nobody got hurt.» Mak fearfully answered.

Elef approached him with a threatening look, and said: «You must have misheard me, mechanic Makar Filelid. I did not ask if anyone got hurt. I asked “who is committing public nuisance”. The sun has risen barely three glassturns ago. The citizens are still in the process of waking up. Do you know that provoking loud noises outside of working hours is a criminal offense? And what is that contraption?»

He had turned his gaze to the (potentially) flying machine.

For a brief moment, a joyous glint appeared in Mak’s eyes: Kal was certain he was about to start a long and excited description of his invention.

However the decarch continued, without waiting for an answer: «Another one of your idiocies. Where is our tetracycle?»

The excitement in Mak’s eyes turned into terror. The boy was paralyzed, but Elef had no difficulty in finding what he was looking for even without his help. And once he did, he became furious.

«We entrusted it to you five days ago!» he exclaimed, while his two subordinates nodded in unison. «How come is it still in this condition?»

Mak tried to answer, but once again the person he was talking to wasn’t interested in having one. «Instead of working on what you’re paid to do you waste your time with useless rubbish? Don’t you understand you’re undermining the city’s security? We need that car!»

Kal did not feel any need to object, not yet at least: despite how dramatically he was putting it, his superior was fundamentally right.

But as Mak tried to utter an apology, Elef continued: «You really have no idea what is about to happen, do you? But how could you, after all? You’ve always been just a big, dumb simpleton. There’s a reason you remained a civilian instead of entering the military.»

His stern, authoritarian tone now had a tinge of authentic anger, as if he had taken personal offense to what he had seen.

Kal decided it was time to say something: «Alright, alright. That’s enough, Elef, he got the message...»

«You will address me as Decarch Eleutar, watchman Kalos!» Elef interrupted him, his voice rising suddenly to almost a screech.

Then he turned his attention back to Mak, hissing: «You are under the impression that I will turn a blind eye to this because we are friends. And so you convinced yourself you can afford to neglect your duties. I need you to understand this: even if we grew up together, I am not going to tolerate your perennial dumbness at all. Not in a situation like this.»

Mak kept his head low, without saying anything. To someone who didn’t know him, he might have seemed to be about to start a fight, but despite his size Mak was a timid and meek soul: he could never hurt anyone. He just wasn’t the best with words, unless the topic was machines. Because of that, most people considered him dimwitted and treated him accordingly. He had gotten used to it and took no offense.

However, Elef wasn’t “most people”: Elef knew him, he knew Mak was anything but “dumb”, and yet he was still insulting him like that.

«Now you get to work on the tetracycle and you fix it by sunset. Am I clear?»

Mak began nodding in wordless resignation, but suddenly a new voice made itself heard.

«He’s been awake all night, let him go to sleep. If you actually want a job well done, at least.»

Ark, who had been silent until now, had fixed his indecipherable gaze on Elef.

As soon as he saw him, Elef bared his teeth.

«Now I see. You are the one behind this, are you not? Mechanic Makar, now you see he consequences of the bad company you keep What is a coward like you doing outside the safety of his house, hmm?»

He moved toward him, with the clear intention of intimidating him, but Ark’s expression did not change in the slightest.

«The work will be done well. Otherwise...»

«“Otherwise” what, Elef? You’ll punish him? You’ll throw him in the dungeon? So you’ll be both one tetracycle and one mechanic less. What a great result.»

Elef was speechless, as his face turned purple with rage.

«I-I won’t accept this tone from a draft evader, Artor Deutarid!» He finally said, almost screaming.

At that point, for the first time since the conversation had started, Ark visibly frowned.

«You know that, don’t you?» Elef continued, seemingly calming down now that he felt he had the advantage. «Dodging the draft is a crime against the Principate. Had anyone else committed it, they’d have been arrested and sentenced to prison. You were only spared because of your name!»

Kal felt the air in the room become heavy. Elef had a different tone than when he was speaking to Mak: the emotion in his voice now was genuine hatred.

He tried to step between the two, but Elef froze him with a glance.

Then he turned to Ark again and continued: «Makar, I can forgive: all things aside, we are still friends. You, however… our friendship ended when I discovered what kind of spineless piece of garbage you are. I will not allow you to make more trouble than what you’ve already made. Get out of my sight. Immediately.»

Unlike Mak, Ark didn’t lower his gaze. Though his indifference was now tinged with unease, the young man kept looking at the decarch straight in the eyes.

And as he did so, he opened his mouth to speak.

«Didn’t you hear me?» Elef insisted.

«You got one thing wrong.» Ark said, pronouncing each word slowly, «I was never your friend.»

Before Kal could make a move, his superior had materialized his sword, grabbed Ark by the collar of his kamisa and pushed him against the wall, pointing the blade at his neck. Even the two subordinated with him had been caught by surprise and hadn’t been able to stop him.

«You...!» Elef looked like an animal, with bared teeth and eyes opened wide. «This is my chance! I won’t let you ruin it!»

Ark though had his lips curved in a soft smile.

«I have no idea of what chance you’re talking about, but you’re the one ruining it.»

Elef uttered a confused “Huh?”

«Remind me, Decarch.» Ark continued, calmly, as if there were no weapon a few fingers from his throat. «How do you call what you’re doing right now? “Excessive use of force”? Or maybe would “Abuse of power” be more fitting?»

Elef’s hold loosened a little as his wrathful expression turned to horror.

Ark went on: «You do know that it is a crime even for a watcher to attack any citizen without due provocation, do you? And as you said before, thanks to my name I’m not even just “any” citizen. You should be more careful. Especially when you’re in front of one, two...» he looked to each of the persons present in turn «...three, four witnesses.»

Elef dematerialized his sword and let Ark fall to the ground.

Then, after a few deep breaths, he snarled: «One day you’ll no longer have your dad protecting you.»

And after abruptly turning to Mak: «The tetracycle must be ready for tomorrow morning.»

He headed to the door of the workshop, but halfway there he stopped, pointed at the lamp hanging from the central pillar and shouted: «And for the love of Man change the water in that thing! Can’t you see the phosphorae are dying?!»

After that he finally left, followed by his two subordinates.

Mak quickly unscrewed the lamp’s bulb and then left through the door that led to his home.

Meanwhile, Ark had stood back up and unruffled his clothes. His expression was once again completely neutral.

«He wouldn’t have lashed out like that if he didn’t still consider you his friend.» Kal felt he needed to say that. He, Ark, Mak, Elef, Fyra and Agatha as well. All of them had grown up together. He had accepted that each would walk a different path one day, but he couldn’t stand the thought of a sour and abrupt breakup, not for them.

Ark said nothing. Kal tried to read whatever thoughts were brewing behind that face, but as usual with Ark, he was unable to.

«Do you… do you really mean to tell your father what happened?»

He asked him even as he hoped with all his heart to already know the answer. Deutar Artorid was a powerful man: one word from him would be enough to have Elef demoted, or straight up dishonorably dismissed from the City Watch.

Ark’s answer came in the form of another question: «Do you think I’m the kind of guy who does something like that?»

Hearing that, Kal smiled. That was the answer he was looking for.

Mak came back with the lightbulb visibly cleaner and filled with water, and screwed it back on its support.

«Alright, I’ll go to sleep now.» he said. «But first I have to tidy up the workshop.»

«I’ll take care of that.» Ark replied, «You just go.»

Mak gave him a surprised look, but before he could say anything Ark continued: «I know where the tools go, don’t worry.»

«N-No, it’s not that.» Mak said. «It’s… well, thank you.» he finished, with a tired smile.

«Don’t mention it.» Ark didn’t smile back, but neither Mak nor Kal expected anything more.

And Kal too felt it was time to go and get some sleep.

He bid goodbye to his two friends and took the way home.

He headed east up to the end of the row of buildings, then he turned north.

To his left he could see the Orchards, the one cultivated field inside the walls. The bean pods were slowly maturing on their vines. A few more weeks and they’d be ready for reaping. They contributed to less than a tenth of the city’s supply of food, but in an emergency they were nevertheless better than nothing.

About a glassturn later, Kal was finally home.

He passed the entrance trying to not make a sound. As far as he knew, the rest of his family was still asleep.

But when he got to the door to his bedroom, a greeting spoken in a low voice behind his back disproved that assumption.

«Welcome back.»

Turning toward the voice, Kal saw his sister Agatha standing in front of the kitchen. She seemed to have just woken up.

«Hi.» he said to her.

«How was the night?»

«I’m a little tired. Mom and Dad?»

«Mom is still asleep. Dad went to the Rook, he said that he’ll be busy all day.»

Kal found it strange: that day his father was supposed to have the morning off. He briefly thought back to the Exarch’s words, but he was just too sleepy for any deep reflection.

«Did you eat breakfast?» his sister asked him.

«Yeah, don’t worry. I’m gonna go sleep for a few hours.» he answered, smiling thankfully to her.

«Alright.» She smiled back then headed back to the kitchen, almost certainly to finish her own breakfast, interrupted by his arrival.

Kal got in his room, closed the door, got undressed and threw himself on the bed.

He let his thoughts wander aimlessly for a few deep breaths, then he fell asleep.

He wouldn’t wake up before lunchtime.

Chapter Text

The room was located in the south-eastern corner of the Rook.

Originally it had been a larger hall, but partition walls were built to cut it into four separate chambers. The ceiling was remarkably high, the only window a long vertical slit on the wall. In the winter, it was too cold and dark to be occupied, however at this time of the year it was maybe the most pleasant accommodation in the entire fortress, after the Exarch’s own quarters.

But of course, Helena didn’t expect her guest to appreciate it.

«Why are you here, child?»

As she entered the room, she had found logothetes Niketh on his feet, standing by the window. Everything in him, from the curve of his mouth under a shaggy beard to the stiffness in is shoulders, to the tenseness in his arms and legs, suggested frustration and impatience.

«I thought you might like some breakfast, Logothetes, and maybe some company to go with it as well.» she had answered, and from behind her Ergon came in, trusty as ever, with a covered tray and two plates, followed by captain Astor.

Now Helena and the magistrate were sitting on the opposite sides of the table. The tray held two slices of spinach pie, that Ergon promptly served on the plates.

«I heard you were born in Ronun, like our dear captain Astor here. Spinach pie is your local specialty, if I am not mistaken? I must confess I myself have never tried it, so I will have to rely on your judgment to know if our cook’s recreation is worthy of the original.» she told him, with a smile.

«I followed the recipe at the best of my ability.» Ergon added, giving the logothetes another smile.

However, Niketh replied to neither. He kept looking at his slice, with an expression that even Helena was having difficulty reading.

Does he fear it’s poisoned? The young woman wondered.

She used her knife to cut a small piece of her slice, not too small though, and with an elegant motion of her fork she brought it to her mouth. Then she took her plate and offered it to the logothetes, beckoning him to give his to her.

He accepted the exchange and began eating. But still he gave no sign of wanting to start a conversation. Helena understood she had to push him a little further.

«You are a veteran of the Winter War, are you not?» she said. «Like Astor and my father.»

For a brief moment, Niketh’s mandible stopped moving. Helena took it as a good sign and continued, ignoring Astor suddenly tensing up beside her.

«I heard that you distinguished yourself in valor. Although at the start of the war you were suspect of treason.»

The first sentence was not true, but a little flattery would hardly hurt.

«I know not who talked to you about any “valor” of mine, child,» he answered «but they lied. I did nothing worthy of note.»

«Oh, you are too modest.» Helena encouraged him.

«It is but the truth.» he replied. «Ask your captain of the Watch, the one standing right there.»

Helena turned to Astor, in an impeccable show of fake surprise.

«Oh! So you two are more than just fellow Ronunans! You know each other!»

«Of course we do.» Niketh said, in a weird tone that conveyed some unsaid implication Helena could not grasp. «We were fellow soldiers as well. And fellow suspects.»

Naturally, she was already aware of that. But she kept feigning astonishment. Showing oneself as too well informed made interlocutors wary and cautious. And Helena needed Niketh to trust her.

«However, we both were fully exonerated.» the logothetes continued. «We gave proof of our loyalty and the Principate’s justice acquitted us of all charges.»

The look he gave Helena while he spoke that last sentence said more than enough by itself.

“The same will happen to your father, if he will just do as I told him.”

A mere few hours after the news came of delegate Timios’ arrest, Niketh had appeared in Elis, asking to speak with her father. He had invited him to hand himself over and let Niketh bring him to Arlis, to be put on a fair trial and explain in front of the whole nation that he was not involved in his delegate’s conspiracy.

Helena had hoped to use Niketh’s history of past accusations to make the magistrate understand their situation, but it appeared that plan was turning against her.

Still, the girl refused to give up.

«At the time, there was actual justice in the Principate.» she said.

«There still is.» he answered, with conviction.

«Where, Logothetes? In Arlis, where all those who still had the courage to speak against the Regent have been sentenced to death?»

«You speak of criminals and nothing more.»

«Their one and only crime was to say the truth.»

Niketh hesitated. Helena felt she was breaking through.

«You are a man of great intelligence, Niketh Axyristid. You must have realized it too. Sofron plans to make himself Prince. That is the reason he silenced every voice that would dare to denounce his inadequacy. There was never any conspiracy.»

The logothetes furrowed his brow. She had him now.

«Are you sure» she said, speaking every word slowly and clearly «that having a man like him leading the Principate is the future you want?»

Suddenly, Niketh opened his eyes wide and gazed at her with an intensity he had not shown until now. Helena couldn’t say whether this was a good or a bad sign. With the corner of her eye, she noticed that though she had finished her slice of pie, half of Niketh’s was still on the plate.

«You are right, Helena Dorina.» the man said, after taking a deep breath. Helena was glad to hear him calling her by her name instead of “child”.

«How could I not realize it until this moment?» he continued.

Helena smiled. Father would be very pleased with her.

«How could I be such a fool as to not understand the reason behind this farce?» The final word was a wrathful growl. And Helena finally knew she had made a mistake.

«The pie, my town’s favorite dish. Astor, my old comrade in arms. Clearly, you were attempting to put me at ease. But why? I could not understand it. At first, I though this was your way of apologizing for your father imprisoning me in what I thought was a forgivable panicked state. Yet, the more we talked, the more I gleaned that you wanted something from me. But what could that be?»

Helena gulped. She felt herself grow pale.

«Only now, I finally know. Yes, there was no conspiracy in Arlis. The real conspiracy is here.»

Helena stood up from her chair.

«I had come here sure of your father’s innocence! But he is plotting against the Regent! And you were trying to bring me to his side!»

At that point, Niketh started laughing. A bitter laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

She could stand having failed. She could stand having been read like a book. But ridicule… that, she could not stand.

As she exited the room, without bothering to look gracious as she did so, Helena heard the logothetes shout her one final warning: «If you really love your father, convince him, not me! Bring him back to reason! You still have time!»

«So? How did it go?»

Her father was about to finish his own breakfast, sitting at the table in the Rook’s great hall. Despite his clear tiredness, he welcomed Helena with a gentle smile. But the hint of self-satifaction in his voice did not escape the girl’s notice.

«I... have failed, Father. I could not convince him. Furthermore...»

«...Now Niketh knows the truth.» he concluded the phrase for her.

Seeing her surprised expression, Stefan continued, lying back on his chair and stroking his beard: «Dear daughter, Niketh did not become a logothetes through his contacts. He is a deeply perceptive man. If he had had no doubt about my innocence until now, the reason was only his fear of having any. He always trusted me. ...Prauss! Zalekh! What news?»

He rose from his chair and turned his gaze to the second and third captains of the Watch, who had just entered the hall. Old Prauss approached him and handed him a small metal tube, no larger than the palm of his gloved hand. Zalekh stopped a little farther back, and said: «Dysis has answered.»

«I know that.» Helena replied, slightly irritated by both his father answer and his distraction. «That is exactly why I thought it would be easy to bring him to our side. If he is as perceptive as you say, why does he insist supporting Sofron?»

Her father ignored her, opened the tube and took out a small roll of paper, which he read wordlessly while Ergon cleared the table and left in the direction of the kitchen. Then, after a short while, her father looked up from the paper and sighed: «We could not expect anything more from the Hypatos. He has deployed his troops on the border, but no reinforcements will be sent. He intends to wait for our action before attacking from his side.»

«Coward.» Prauss said in a low growl, baring his teeth. The complex map of wrinkles and scars on his face probably made his expression more fearsome than he intended it to be.

«No, they are simply following the plan to the letter. If you feel any anger, direct it to Timios. It was that pompous imbecile who forced us to greatly speed up our timetable. He should have never provoked my brother like he did.»

«True, but still…» Zalekh spoke.

«Dysis gave us the weapons. We’ll make do with them.» Stefan interrupted him. «Now, Prauss, you go to the harbor: there should be one last shipment to take care of. You, Zalekh, gather your men: I want three more sentinels to the north-west. Astor, you come with me.»

The two dismissed captains made a bow, first to him and then to Helena. This seemingly reminded the Exarch that his daughter was there as well, and finally Stefan looked at her again.

Helena thought she needed to repeat her question, to which she was still waiting for an answer, but her father picked up where they had left off, as if there had been no interruption.

«Niketh is not supporting your uncle. What he supports is order in the Principate, as he has always done. His loyalties lie with the institution, not with the people who embody it. In this particular circumstance he is making a mistake, but I am not going to blame him for it. Those like him will join us in due time, once I am Prince. And they will have a fundamental role in the process to reform this nation.»

A role, Helena thought. Recently she had developed a deep hatred for that word.

«You mean like me?» she asked, already knowing the answer.

Her father hesitated for a moment, then he said, in a satisfied tone: «Exactly.»

«You knew I would fail. You knew I would not be able to convince logothetes Niketh.»

«Of course I knew. I know him since before you were born.»

«Then why did you let me try?» Again, Helena already knew the answer, and could not help but sound angry.

«Two reasons. The first one was that your attempt would have no negative repercussions whatsoever. Niketh will not stop perusing our hospitality before what he knows ceases to matter. The second one,» her father paused for a moment, as if he were looking for the right words, «was that I was certain this would be an instructive experience for you.»

He gave her a compassionate look.

«You are a splendid young woman, Helena. You are resolute, intelligent and resourceful. Those are all virtues that will be of great help to you as long as you live, if you take the time to cultivate them. And my heart fills with joy when I see your desire to use those virtues to assist me. But such is not your role. You will assist me, but not here and not now. Each and every one of us has one precise duty. You already know which is yours. Please, do not burden yourself with more.»

He concluded caressing her cheek, tenderly, as he often did. Then he left the hall, followed by Astor.

Helena stood alone, the bitter words she wanted to say to him left unspoken in her mind.

How can I convince you I can do much more for you than what you think, Father?

Chapter Text

«Can’t say it’s not a nice place.» Alek whispered.

«Yeah.» Orin answered him.

«Imagine the sight from up there.» Alek made a slight nod toward the large tower that dominated the fortress on top of the hill.

«And the duke expects to be able to launch a surprise attack.» he continued, still in a low voice.

From up there, any approaching army would be seen from more than ten stadia away. The idea was foolish. Elis could be conquered only after a long siege. Alek wondered, and it was not the first time he did, if it was worth it.

«What the duke thinks is his own problem. Let’s find my…» Orin stopped for a moment, then he resumed «Let’s find logothetes Niketh and then get out of here.»

Alek felt no small admiration for his colleague’s effort to remain calm and professional.

The very day delegate Timios had been sentenced to death, Orin’s father had suddenly left. He had gone to Elis on his own initiative, to ask exarch Stefan to personally deny the accusations. Nothing had been heard of him since. In the few days that had passed, the situation in Arlis had only gotten more tense. Regent Sofron had ordered to capture Stefan alive or dead, and strategos Leon had mustered an army to carry that order out. An army that right now was a few miles away, marching under duke Zeloth.

Orin and Alek had used their authority to be included as bodyguards for the duke and then precede the troops to Elis, in order to have at least the slightest chance of finding the logothetes alive. Because if (or rather, once) Elis sentinels sighted the approaching host, Niketh would become nothing but a hostage. Alek assumed they had about one day to fulfill their mission.

«We have time to grab something to eat. Let’s go.» he said to his colleague.

«I’m not hungry.» Orin answered.

«You will be. Or do you want me to make that an order?» Even if it was only due to his seniority, Alek was at least informally of a higher rank.

Orin groaned in protest; Alek took it for an “alright, fine”.

So, making their way through the thick lunchtime crowd, the two spathari entered the first tavern they found: a cozy-looking building which had a bull and a frog for a sign.

As it turned out, Orin actually was hungry.

As the two ate a fish-based lunch, Alek started to inconspicuously listen to the other customers talking. Food wasn’t the only reason he had entered that establishment: they needed information. Logothetes Niketh would not be found by searching aimlessly.

Luckily or unluckily, the tavern was nearly full. Some customers looked like travelers, much like themselves, but most of them gave him the impression of being locals. People dressed in simple clothes, that prioritized practicality rather than elegance but were clearly not made for long journeys.

«I believe something must have change in the recipe. Ever since a few weeks ago, bread tastes different here.» Alek heard from a table to his right.

No. He disregarded the rest of the conversation. It was of no importance to them.

«This morning my little girl said her first word!» A wave of congratulations followed those words, somewhere behind him.

No.

«I mean, flying has always been man’s dream, hasn’t it? The idea of a flying machine is already present in the oldest texts we know of, you know this better than me. And I am one single step from actually creating one! How can I not be excited?»

«I understand perfectly, Mak. But the soup is getting cold.»

No.

«Who gives a damn about the Regent! Even if the accusations were true, what did Arlis ever do for us except making us pay them taxes? The rot take him and the rest of the Principate, I say!»

I should take note of the name and face of whoever said that… but no.

«Old Prauss came to collect the usual shipment! When will he learn that changing out of his captain’s uniform makes no difference when you have a face like his? I’d recognize those scars anywhere!»

The voice came from his left. The words “Prauss” and “captain” drew his attention. Alek knew that captain Prauss Kleptid of the Elis watchers was exarch Stefan’s right-hand man. Even the physical description was a match: he was infamous for the scars on his face, that he flaunted as some kind of war badge even if they had been caused by a peacetime accident, if what Alek heard was true.

Thinking of scars, he was reminded for a moment of Eureth. He wondered where that man’s wanderings were taking him right now.

But he rapidly came back to the present. He located the table the voice had come from. A group of four, five men was sitting there: their features were rough, their skin burnt by long hours of work under the sun. All the men’s attention was on one of their own, a fellow with red unruly hair and an unkempt beard, but whose eyes shone vividly as they darted from one member of their little gang to another without ever stopping, preventing any one of them to turn theirs away.

Alek understood that the speaker had been him. And that he was a man used to let his mouth run free.

«Did you manage to see what was inside it this time, Pol?» one of the others asked.

«You bet I didn’t!» the man named Pol exclaimed. «Didn’t even attempt to get close! There was watchers everywhere! Masked, masked badly, but they were there! Prauss is stupid, but not that stupid!»

A loud round of laughter.

«Plus,» Pol resumed after the laughter died down «is there any need to see it? We all know what our exarch is doing here. It’s been going on for months: sometimes Prauss comes down to the harbor with his lackeys and tries not to draw any attention as he takes one or two sealed crates, almost always unloaded from a ship that docked that same day.»

«You mean it’s smuggled goods?»

«That’s the obvious part, you moron!»

Another round of laughter.

«No, the question is what is being smuggled. But as I said, there can be only one answer.»

«Come on, Pol, tell us!»

«Yeah, Pol, don’t leave us hanging!»

«Oh no, oh no no no!» Pol said. «I will not say it out loud. You never know who’s listening after all.»

A few laughs, but more uncertain.

«What I can say is this. Remember when that magistrate came from Arlis, a few days ago?»

«The one that wanted to collect our taxes?»

«Precisely, that’s what they told us. But if his purpose was collecting taxes… why is he still here? And why does he stay in the Rook all day without ever getting out since he arrived?»

Murmurs of «Well...» and «Now that I think about it...»

«Listen here.» Pol said, lowering his voice, then he spread his arms and drew his comrades at the table closer, starting to talk in a conspiratorial tone: «The talk of taxes is a load of crap. The reason that man has come here, and the reason nobody is making him set one foot outside of the Rook, are those crates. And I think we’ll all soon find out what’s inside of them, once our beloved Exarch asks us to… do our part for the good of the Principate.»

That last sentence was little more than a whisper, but it was still loud enough.

«Heard that?» Alek asked Orin.

«Heard that.» his colleague replied, having long since emptied his plate.

«Heard what?» a third voice asked, before the two had the time to stand up from their chairs.

Both turned with a startle. Without either noticing, two men had approached while they were listening to Pol. Alek guessed they were around twenty years old, like him. One was muscular, he had the body of someone who is used to eat a lot and work just as much, and his child-like face showed a bit of worry. The other one was leaner, didn’t look like a big laborer and was looking at them with what seemed to be vague interest.

The moment the two spathari turned toward them, the muscular one looked away, embarrassed. But the other one had no reaction. He kept meeting their gaze, unflinching.

«Nothing.» Alek answered, feeling suddenly uneasy: «Nothing that concerns you.»

The young man showed no sign of nervousness: «I see you’re travelers. May I ask you who you are, where you come from and what you’re looking for?»

The spathar felt that every eye in the tavern was now on them, including those of Pol and his gang.

Making a silent curse against that young man, Alek snarled: «No.» then he stood up together with Orin and left with all the speed he could muster without running.

On the counter, he left the money for the food.

Fortunately, they had heard enough.

The two quickly turned a corner and started rising a slope. As Alek checked they weren’t being followed, he told Orin: «If the army attacks, they’ll have to deal with every single inhabitant of Elis.»

They reached a wider street, running perpendicular to the one they came from.

«Exarch Stefan is amassing weapons!» Alek continued.

To their left, the fortress the locals apparently called “the Rook” loomed over them from the top of the hill. That was his destination.

«Somebody has to warn the duke.»

«My answer is no.» Orin replied.

Alek stopped, even if that was more or less the reaction he expected.

«What do you mean?» he asked, to be sure.

«You won’t send me back to the duke. You mean to go save the logothetes on your own, don’t you? Forget it.»

«I may order you to go.»

«Do it and I’ll disobey. He’s my father.»

«That’s precisely the reason I don’t want you to come with me. Imagine if we found him wounded, or worse.»

«If you can withstand such a sight, I can too. I’m as much an adult as you.» Orin made a step forward.

«That’s not the point.» Alek pushed him back with one arm. «Are you sure you’d be able to keep your wits about you? Even if you discovered they butchered your own father?»

Orin looked him in the eyes: «How would you feel if our roles were reversed and your father was the one in danger?»

Alek read in his friend’s brown eyes the late realization of what he had just said. He made a bitter chuckle.

«Alright, wrong example.» Orin granted. «But you understood what I mean.»

«Yes, you’re right.» Alek admitted. «Fine, you’ve convinced me. We’ll go together. Try to not slow me down.»

He started walking again.

«You try to not slow me down.» Orin followed him.

Despite the situation, Alek smiled. He felt the tension of the last few days had relaxed a little bit.

He was still deep in thought when they reached the gates of the fortress and a loud thump drew his attention.

In front of the large door, he saw a man lying on the ground and three figures in military uniform. The man held in his hands an empty cloth sack. Judging from the scene, he had been pushed by the three. That, or he had been forcibly thrown to the ground.

«Elef, come on, you know me, don’t abandon a family friend in dire straits...» the man began, as he tried to get up.

One of the three in uniform, a youth with short fair hair, took a step forward. On his face there was a mixture of irritation and plain spite. That expression and that hair color reminded Alek of unpleasant memories.

«The fact that I know you is the reason I am certain you’re lying to me. You’ve already had your ration, Klazon. Go home.» the youth said.

«And what about my children?» the man said, finally back on his feet.

The three moved closer.

Alek saw that it was their chance. He motioned to Orin and circumvented the guards as their attention was focused on the beggar.

«You don’t have any, Klazon.»

The main door was not an option. Probably they’d just find more guards on the other side. They’d better go around and look for another entrance.

«I do, actually! My wife just gave birth, this morning! Quintuplets!»

Alek walked alongside the wall of the fortress, going left, until the scene in front of the gates disappeared from view.

«You said the same thing last month. And last time it was quadruplets.»

Alek didn’t hear the rest of the dialogue, if it had a continuation. He and Orin now were in the gap between the outer walls of the city and those of the fortress. There was no trace of any guard, and a dozen feet above their heads he saw an opening: a window. That would become their way in, he decided.

He put a hand on the rough surface of the wall and started climbing. Orin did the same without any need to tell him anything.

The fortress was an ancient structure, built not by human hands, like Arlis’ Great Palace. From a distance, it looked like a single chiseled block of white stone, as magnificent in the midday light as in the redness of sunset. But from up close it revealed to observers it was made of many carefully cut stones.
Though time hadn’t eaten into the building’s sturdiness, the millennia had worn out the smooth surface that those stone probably once presented, leaving cracks, holes and clefts that now offered the two spathari useful if not very easy handholds.

In less than a glassturn, Alek and Orin reached the window and climbed inside. They found themselves in a dark and unadorned corridor.

It took them a few blinks for their eyes to get used to the darkness. And to see the four mikrai pointed against them.

Before either of them could even only attempt to escape back through the window, they were pinned to the floor.

«Intruders. What do we do with them?» one of the guards asked, in a strangely dubious tone, as if he really didn’t know what to do in that situation.

Another guard, a woman, said: «Let’s bring them to captain Zalekh, for now. He will decide.»

They were led up a narrow stairway. Alek judged they were in the southeastern area of the fortress. On top of the stairs, he saw a door flanked by two men in uniform. The door was opened, and he and Orin were thrown inside.

He heard a vaguely nasal voice: «Who are those?»

And another one, answering: «We don’t know, Captain. They were trying to sneak into the Rook.»

Then a third one, one that he recognized immediately: «Orin!»

Lifting his gaze, he saw the owner of the third voice rush toward Orin, still stunned. He was the man they had been looking for, logothetes Niketh. Once he reached the young man, Niketh embraced him as if to protect him.

«What are you doing in this place? And you, Alek?» he said, turning his head toward him.

«Well, I guess we have the answer to our question.» Alek heard the nasal voice once again.

He saw a man, sitting at a table behind Niketh. He wore a slightly more elaborate version of the watchers’ dark green jacket. One fringe of his black hair covered his forehead, almost down to his long and narrow eyebrows. His dark eyes showed no particular emotion.

«You two can go. You two though will stay. I will need you soon enough.» he said to someone behind Alek’s back, probably the guards who brought them there.

Uneasily, Alek stood up. He didn’t know what would happen, but whatever it was he would not suffer it lying down.

«Relax. No one here is going to hurt you.» the sitting man told him.

«You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you.» he replied, sneering.

«Wait, Alek. I think he’s telling the truth.» said the logothetes.

The man snorted, his mouth curving in a barely visible smile. «The Exarch has low tolerance for unexpected factors at this moment. He has ordered to kill any intruder on sight. And yet, you two still draw breath. And not only that. In time, once your befuddlement has worn off, you will realize nobody took your weapons away. What does this tell you?»

Alek touched his arm and his side. Yes, the sklerygron bracer, his control band and his mikra were still each in its place.

«Who are you?» he asked the man. Orin and the logothetess too had fixed their eyes on him, waiting for an answer.

The man stood up and walked closer to the three.

«My name is Zalekh. Alas, My father’s name is not known to me.» Those words made Alek feel something almost akin to physical pain. «I am the third captain of the Elis City Watch. But more importantly at this junction, as I was saying to logothetes Niketh less than a glassturn ago… I am a concerned citizen.»

As he spoke that last sentence, his expression darkened.

«What concerns you?» Alek asked.

«That which my exarch intends to do. Stefan is planning rebellion. He has struck a deal with Dysis and gathered enough weapons for every man and woman in the city. He wants to declare war on the Regent and drag us all with him. He must we stopped, wouldn’t you agree?»

Alek relaxed his tension a little. He still wasn’t sure if he could trust that man, but he didn’t seem to be lying. «So you’re saying you’re on our side?» he asked.

«Exactly.» Zalekh answered, slowly enunciating every syllable.

«And how do you propose to stop him?»

«Stefan has most of the populace on his side. Though they’re not privy to their exarch plans, among the inhabitants of Elis you’ll find little sympathy for the Regent. But most of them have touched no weapon in years, they’re civilians who have forgotten any training. The Watch will be the real heart of Stefan’s army, and they are another matter entirely. The soldiers have sworn loyalty to the Principate, not to the Exarch. Only those higher in rank are directly involved in the conspiracy. Stefan expects the others to follow their commanders unquestioningly once the plan is set in motion. However, I doubt it will be so easy to convince the youngest and most uncompromising to renounce their pledges. I, for my part, have explained the situation to my subordinates, and they are with me.»

«A mutiny. You will prevent Stefan’s rebellion by starting your own?» Alek was still unconvinced.

«Would that really be a rebellion? It would be against a traitor to the Principate.» Zalekh smiled enigmatically. «We are a third of the armed forces in the city. All that I need is a small help from outside.»

«Duke Zeloth and his army!» Orin suddenly exclaimed.

«Not one other word, Orin!» Alek chided him. All that man said could still be a ruse to gain information from them.

«I appreciate your lack of trust. It means you’re not a fool.» Zalekh said. «But I don’t need you to tell me anything. All I need is that once you’ve gone your way you report back to whoever might be interested and willing to collaborate… that the Regent has friends inside these walls. And that, were the right conditions met, these friends will be ready to act.

«So you’re letting us go?» Orin asked. Then he looked at his father. «...What about him?»

Zalekh slightly bent the corners of his mouth, in what was probably meant to be a deeply apologetic expression: «Too many people know of his presence here and keep an eye on him. He has to stay. But you have my word: I will let no harm be done to him.»

Orin looked satisfied with the reply. And Alek understood that he now saw that man as a friend.

«Now, let us take care of getting you out.» Zalekh said, turning his gaze to the two watchmen who had stayed in the room, standing a little away, close to the door.

«First things first, take off your clothes.»

About a glassturn later, Alek and Orin were leaving the Fortress from the front gate, accompanied by Zalekh.

The captain had made them wear two watchmen uniforms and then had guided them to the exit.

«Now you can change back, then take the road to your right. At the first junction go right again and you will see the walls. Hug them while going left and you will reach the West Gate. Here we say our goodbyes. Good luck.»

«One last thing.» Alek said. «Why are you doing all this?»

Zalekh gave him a surprised look. «I though I had told you already. I am a loyal and concerned citizen.»

«Fine. Allow me to correct my question. What are you getting out of this? What do you hope to gain by betraying your exarch?»

Before he answered, Zalekh drew a deep breath.

«I love this country. And I love this city. Here I was born and raised, like my mother before me. If I have permission to be honest, I doubt there’s a single person who loves it more than me. Or who knows it better than me. Not even Stefan.»

Finally, Alek understood. «And when all of this story is over, Elis will need a new exarch. One who knows and loves this city. And who maybe is provenly loyal to the Regent.»

Zalekh’s only answer was: «I trust that, when the time comes, the Regent in his wisdom will choose the right person.» then he went back inside the fortress, disappearing from view.

Alek and Orin followed his direction, they reached the West Gate and left the city behind, going back to duke Zeloth with their message.

The sky was clouding over. It would probably rain tomorrow.

Chapter Text

When Kal left home, the sun had long risen behind the clouds.

Normally he rose from bed early, but staying up all night on the tower the day before yesterday had impacted his sleep schedule.

His father hadn’t awakened him before leaving for his guard shift. Luckily Kal was free that morning, so he could pass the time however he wished.

So he decided he would take a leisurely walk down to the harbor.

Setting off toward the main street, he passed in front of his neighbor’s house. And he narrowly avoided bumping into a little boy who right at that moment suddenly emerged running from that house’s entrance arch.

«Careful, Gelos.» A calm voice, belonging to someone who was moderately worried but not panicking.

Following the child, out of the arch came the tall and strongly built figure of Kydalim, Kal’s neighbor.

The man stopped for a single instant, flashing him an apologetic smile, then resumed following his son, without staying too close but not letting him out of his sight. He must have been his fourth child, or maybe the fifth, Kal didn’t really know. They were a large family.

The young man carried on, passing in front of Ark’s house. He saw a woman in the front yard, watering some plants. He recognized his friend’s mother.

Semna Tritina turned as if she had felt his presence, and glared at him with hostility, before snorting and going back to her flowers. Kal wasn’t offended. It was that woman’s way of saying “good morning”.

After Ark’s house came Fyra’s. That morning she wasn’t in the front yard. She was probably already in town. Thinking back to what had happened the day before, Kal decided that it was better this way.

Now he had arrived to the far end of the block of houses. If he took a right turn he would reach the main street, and from there he could go down to the harbor.

But right at that moment, suddenly he became aware of a dull sound, like a constant low rumble in the distance. It was coming from outside the walls, to the west.

He was taken by a sudden feeling of dread and forced himself to drive it away. It was impossible, if that was happening somebody would have already sounded the alarm. And yet, even if just out of curiosity, he opted to go up the walls and see what was going on. So he kept going straight, toward the West Wall.

The closed Kal got and the stronger the sound became. Once he was almost below the walls, he saw a watchwoman descend the stairs that led to the battlements as fast as she could, before sprinting in the direction of the Rook.

The feeling of dread came back, and this time the boy was unable to chase it away.

He went up the stairs and reached the top of the wall.

The first two things he saw were the siren to his right and a watchman standing to his left. The watchman was a boy less than a year older than him that Kal had met a few times, but they weren’t part of the same company: on his uniform he wore the insignia of a silver diamond, Kal’s was a golden star.

Nevertheless, the older boy greeted him: «Hey! You’re Kalos, of captain Astor’s company! What are you doing here at this hour? It’s our turn to patrol the west side of the wall.»

He sounded cheerful and unbothered, but Kal noticed that his expression was tensely worried.

He looked at the plain beyond the walls.

And saw the column of soldiers approaching.

There were hundreds of them, maybe a thousand. They were marching steadily. The sound Kal had heard was that of the stones moved by their advance along the road. He judged it would take them less than an hour to reach the gates.

He had to sound the alarm.

One part of his mind lazily wondered why nobody had done so yet, but he was already reaching for the siren’s handle.

«Don’t move!»

Kal looked at the watchman again. His comrade in arms was pointing the long barrel of his dolikos right at him. That answered his question, as painful an answer as it was.

«I don’t want to do this.» the watchman said, clearly terrified. «I swear I don’t, but I will if you sound the alarm. You’re a nice guy. Don’t make me do this.»

Kal asked: «What are you doing? What is going on?»

«Go home.» the boy answered. «Go back home and lock the door. By lunchtime it will all be over. They’re here only for Stefan. Get down those stairs and pretend you saw nothing.»

Only then Kal realized that the incoming soldiers were wearing the blue colors of the Principate military. And in an instant he understood that the rumors he had refused to believe were all true: there was going to be war between exarch Stefan and the Regent.

«Don’t throw your life away.» the watchman continued. «They won’t hurt anybody. All they’ll do is take Stefan away. In the end, that’s what he deserves. It’s justice, nothing else.»

Kal was unable to immediately refute those words. Technically, the watchman was right. If the exarch had betrayed the Principate, he had to be arrested and punished for his crimes. It was justice, like he said.

And yet…

Despite his pledge, despite the duty to the Principate he was taught to have, Kal felt that would be wrong.

He just had to think of the city. Not the exarch, but the citizens. His family. His friends.

«“They won’t hurt anybody”?» he answered, repeating the watchman’s words. «There’s hundreds of them, all armed. They’re not here for one lone man!»

«They’re here for Stefan and all his supporters!» the watchman admitted. The dolikos trembled slightly in his hands. «But they’ll have no reason to harm those who don’t fight! Go back home and you’ll be safe!»

«So whoever is found outside on the streets will be considered an enemy? Is this “justice” for you? Answer me!»

The boy hesitated. The grip on his dolikos loosened. For an instant, he looked away, toward the approaching army.

That instant was enough.

With a speed and precision that caught Kal himself by surprise, he grabbed the barrel of the weapon with one hand, moved it away and lunged forward, getting out of its range.

Then, closing the other hand in a fist, he punched the watchman right in the face.

He felt something break.

The watchman fell on his back, conscious but apparently stunned. Blood gushed out of his nose, now a little more crooked than a few moments before.

Kal rushed to the siren and started turning the handle. The only feeling that came from his right hand was pain, but he ignored it.

The siren’s rotor started to spin, and out of its horn came a powerful sound, like a wolf’s howl, spreading through the air and reaching every ear in town.

Helena heard the alarm while he was eating breakfast with her father in the Rook’s great hall.

The two were used to eating in silence, because her father was better at speeches than at normal conversations, but she was fine with that. It was a precious moment of quiet, just for the two of them.

Just before the siren, Helena had heard approaching footsteps from behind the hall’s door. However, she had not given that noise much thought. It probably just meant the start of another busy morning.

Then came the siren’s wail, and barely a few moments later the door was opened with far more violence than usual. In barged a dozen watchers, surrounding father and daughter.

At first, Helena thought they came to protect them from whatever had caused the alarm, but when her father rose from the table and asked: «What is happening?» two watchers drew their weapons and pointed them at him.

Helena did not even try to stand up. She cautiously turned her head to the door behind her and saw the person who entered following the guards.

«Captain Zalekh! What is the meaning of this?» she exclaimed, even as he feared to already know the answer.

The third captain of the watch was wearing his control band and held in his hand a thin bluish sword. He approached them without hurry, and spoke to her father as if she did not even exist: «Stefan Arystid, you are under arrest for smuggling of weapons, conspiracy against the Principate and high treason.»

«Wha… what?» her father replied, dumbfounded.

Zalekh ignored his words as well and continued: «You will be escorted to Arlis, where you will be judged for your crimes in front of the Synedrion for your crimes.»

Helena was speechless. She had imagined many possible scenarios for the upcoming war, but in none of them had she considered treason. And clearly neither did her father.

«I trusted you!» he said. There was no anger in his voice, only sadness. «Why are you doing this? Are you being blackmailed?»

Zalekh’s expression remained unreadable: «At this moment, the armory where you stored all mikrai and dolikoi you bought from Dysis in exchange for your treason is under our control. You have lost.»

«Is it envy?» Helena’s father insisted. «Are you still angry at me and Astor because he was made first captain in your stead? I know you would never betray us for money, you’re not that greedy. Answer me!»

He made one step toward Zalekh. In an instant, two watchmen restrained him and pinned him against the table, unable to move a muscle.

The captain sighed: «Even at this point, Stefan Arystid, you are unable to even conceive the idea that you’re in the wrong.»

«Because he is not!» Helena screamed, and for the first time since he entered the hall Zalekh laid his eyes on her.

The girl understood she could not hesitate: she had to use all her abilities, she had to convince him, before this brief interval of attention ended.

«Zalekh, how much evidence did my father give you of the corruption in the Principate over these years? How can you still not believe him? If you really care about justice, then release us this instant!»

Zalekh approached her. Helena was sure she was breaking through to him. She only needed one final push. What could she say that would affect him the most…?

The punch caught her utterly unprepared.

She fell to the floor, curling up and instinctively grasping her abdomen.

Inside the haze of pain, she still managed to hear Zalekh’s voice: «Had such a speech come out of your father’s lips I might have listened. For it would have been sincere. Spare your empty words for someone foolish enough to be tricked by them, little girl. And stay there. The next time you open your mouth to annoy me I will use my sword.»

Helena could only whimper. For the pain, for her humiliation, but most of all for the overwhelming sense of powerlessness she was feeling.

Was everything really going to end like this? She could not accept it.

At that moment, she heard screams and the noise of someone fighting.

«What the...?» Zalekh’s voice.

A sound like the crack of a whip.

A surprised shout.

Running footsteps.

More cracks, more screams and then the sound of metal against metal.

«Astor! Take the Exarch and run!» another voice. Prauss.

Helena forced herself to open her eyes. She saw a man standing over her. She recognized him.

«Give me your hand, Helena Dorina.» captain Astor said.

She held out her hand and he helped her stand up.

She saw her father, not far from her. He had been freed from the watchers who had restrained him, but he was still clearly in shock. Behind him, Prauss pointed his sword at Zalekh, keeping him away from them.

«Go!» he shouted as more watchers were already pouring into the hall from all entrances.

Helena’s father looked at him, for a single moment, and nodded. In that gesture, Helena saw all his gratitude and all his respect. And a farewell.

Then her father turned to her and Astor. He said only three words, to the captain: «Lead the way!»

And the three started running.

Kal felt movement behind him.

He let the handle go and turned back.

The watchman he had hit was now back on his feet and had drawn his mikra. He instantly realized he wouldn’t be able to stop him in time.

The boy took aim.

There was a crack, and then the watchman arched his back and fell forward, with a gargled cry. On his back, Kal saw a bleeding round hole.

Kal was momentarily paralyzed. However he heard a voice calling him.

«Kal! On your feet, Kal! Look at me!»

He realized a man had approached him. He saw the mikra in his hand. And then he recognized his stern face, to which, according to many adult acquaintances, his own had taken after.

«Dad...» he said. But then he looked once more to the corpse in front of him.

He had had no qualms about fighting him. He had punched him in the face. But he had never wanted to...

«You, you’ve...»

«Yes. I know.» His father said. «But if I didn’t, he would have killed you.»

Kal knew his father was right. But it was nevertheless hard to accept.

«Now listen to me. We have little time.» His father locked eyes with him. «We’ve been betrayed. Captain Zalekh and his company sold themselves out to the Regent. The only reason there’s still hope for us is that our captains were suspicious of him.»

Kal was still in a daze. «What are you talking about?»

«Don’t interrupt me! You have to go to the harbor. Captain Astor has planned for an evacuation. Follow your captain and take che citizens to safety.»

«What do you mean “take to safety”? What about the city?»

«The city is lost, Kal!» his father shouted. On his face, the boy saw despair. That face that he had almost always seen stoically calm.

«If we had stayed united, we might have had a chance to resist. But now that we’re fighting among ourselves… Please. Take your sister, take your mother and go to the harbor.»

Kal was about to obey, but then he noticed.

«...What about you?»

His father shook his head. «Evacuating the citizens through the harbor is the duty of your company. The duty of mine...» he made a step back and looked at the approaching army. «...is to keep them away from you for as long as it will be possible.»

«But...» the boy started to object.

«You have your orders, watchman Kalos Aregonid. Go and carry them out.» his father interrupted him, without turning back to him.

Kal felt like insisting. But he knew that would be useless. His father was right. Both of them had their duty.

He rushed down the stairs.

Praying whatever god was listening that today wouldn’t be the last time they saw each other.

Chapter Text

Elef was ecstatic.

From the moment he heard the siren’s howl, he knew this would be the day he had been waiting for.

His superiors had given him no information, but Elef was not a fool: he had listened to the rumors going around in his company and he had figured out that captain Prauss suspected someone would betray the Exarch.

Something had happened in the Rook a few glassturns ago, this was clear. Perhaps the traitors, whoever they were, had made their move. Elef could not know, busy as he was patrolling the streets. But he did notice some colleagues warn all passersby to go back to their homes.

He had found it a wise precaution: if the traitors were hiding among the citizenry, that would limit their freedom to act. So he had joined his colleagues, even if they were of another company, and now he was going door to door giving the order to stay inside.

It was a simple matter. He knocked, the people inside saw his uniform, listened attentively and then obediently gave sign that they understood.

The thought that he, a son of lowly farmers, commanded such respect never failed to elate him. He had worked long and hard to enter the Watch, and just as long and hard to earn his promotion to decarch. Now every single citizen was in awe of his authority. Also, his parents were finally being treated with the deference they deserved.

However, he still hadn’t reached his true goal. Yes, today he would rise even higher.

His daydream was interrupted as he saw a known face in front of him.

Long chestnut hair, thick eyebrows, amber eyes, a small, slightly upturned nose, pronounced chin.

«Fyra Eufyina!» he called out to her.

The girl stopped, turned and looked at him. Her temporary surprise gave way to annoyance.

«What do you want?» she asked, with the haughty tone she always assumed when she talked to him. Undoubtedly, she was convinced he wouldn’t notice. But today he was going to give her a lesson. You didn’t talk like that to a decarch of the City Watch.

«Did you not hear the alarm? Go back home immediately, and stay there. By orders of the Exarch.»

She seemed to scrutinize him for a few instant, narrowing her eyes.

Then she said: «Alright.» turned her back and resumed walking.

Her prompt compliance satisfied Elef, and yet the young man could not help finding it strange. He had expected he’d need some more effort to convince her.

Then he became suspicious.

«I’ll accompany you. I know the way to your house from here.»

«Thank you, but strange as it may seem to you I know it as well. Don’t bother.»

At that point he was certain of it. Fyra was trying to deceive him. She had no intention of going back home.

She was always like that. She paid heed to no authority whatsoever. Even when she was being given advice for her own good, she ignored it out of pure spite. Elef really couldn’t stand her.

Still, he could not let her go. In the end, no matter how detestable she was, she was still a citizen he had a duty to protect. Also, if something happened to her, he would feel sorry on a personal level. More for Kalos than for her, but still.

So he set off following her.

Reaching an intersection after a few dozen steps, just like he had feared the girl kept going straight instead of taking the street that led to her home.

«You’re going the wrong way.» he said, though he knew expecting her to be more agreeable after being caught in the act was naive. He knew her too well.

She ignored him.

«Fyra Eufyina, if you don’t turn back immediately I will be forced to arrest you.»

She kept ignoring him.

Elef felt his anger rising. He had been more than gracious with her, even if he knew from the start that the only language an idiot like her would understand was force. Probably, no, certainly she was acting like that because she thought his threats were toothless. He was going to prove her wrong.

He walked faster, rapidly drawing closer.

When he reached her, he firmly grabbed her shoulder with one hand.

«Maybe you don’t understand the gravity of the situa-»

Suddenly he felt a forceful jerk, and an instant later he found himself lying on the ground.

«Oh! Sorry!» Fyra said, leaning over his head in a completely different position from where she was before. After a moment of confusion, the young man realized it was him who had moved, ending up in front of her as if he had jumped over her shoulder.

«It happens sometimes,» she continued «when people touch me without warning. You’re not hurt, I hope. I’d feel sorry if you were, even if, uh, more for someone else than for you.»

She offered him a hand, but Elef slapped it away.

«T-This is assaulting a public officer! You won’t get away with this, I swear it!»

His patience had reached its limit. Not even the thought that this would be the last day anyone looked down on him could keep him calm anymore.

He was about to draw his mikra, when a voice rang out to the two of them. «What are you doing? The gates have been opened!»

Elef turned to the voice. He recognized a fellow watchwoman, wearing on her breast the gray fist of his own company.

«I was trying to explain to this citizen here that she has to go home...» he said.

«Go home!? Didn’t you hear the orders? The citizens have to go to the harbor, you idiot!» the woman scolded him.

All Elef managed to say in reply was a dumbfounded: «...What?»

«Listen, never mind. You.» she said to Fyra. «Head to the harbor, as fast as you can, and if you have any relatives take them with you. We’re evacuating the city.»

Fyra started running, as if she didn’t need to be told twice.

Then Elef’s companion laid eyes on him once more. «And you’re coming with me. The enemies have entered the city, we have to hold them back until the evacuation is complete! Move!»

This woke the young man from his daze.

Elef immediately stood back up and followed the watchwoman.

Yes, the enemies had entered the city, and only he and his companions stood between them and the defenseless citizens.

His parents had given him the name Eleutar. It meant “born free”, but it was also the name of one of the heroes of the Winter War.

Today he would cover himself in glory and finally become worthy of the name he bore. He would no longer be only a decarch of the City Watch.

Today was the day Eleutar Krommynid would become a hero.

«Being betrayed in this way... was not a possibility I had considered.» Stefan said, speaking slowly.

Helena looked at her father. She looked at the beads of sweat on his brow, at the pained expression on his face, and at his hand grasping his side. While they were leaving the Rook, they had met more watchers of Zalekh’s company. They had managed to run past them, but not before they unloaded all their dolikoi in their direction.

Her father had denied having been hurt and kept feigning being fine, so she was forcing herself to act as if he were.

«No man or woman of good heart could have expected that, my Exarch.» Astor answered him. «You had granted Zalekh a place among your guards, and elevated him to captain. His ingratitude will not be forgotten, nor will it go unpunished.»

«No, Astor, now is not the time for begrudging each other.» Helena’s father replied. «Zalekh is merely… a foolish boy. Rather, tell me: are the preparations complete?»

«Yes. The boats are ready.»

Boats? Helena wondered.

«Where are we going, Astor?» she asked, even as she realized that she sounded ridiculously clueless.

«The day this crisis began, I asked your father permission to set up an evacuation plan, so that we’d be prepared for the worst.» the captain answered her, tersely but respectfully. «There are boats waiting for us at the harbor. We’ll row past the Tuon and flee on the other bank.»

«But the other bank belongs to...»

«I know.» Her father interrupted her. «But what other choice do we have?»

Looking in front of her, Helena now could make out the large crowd assembled in front of the harbor’s landing. Half a dozen large boats had been moored on the riverbank, and uniformed men and women were making the citizens board them in an orderly manner.

Once they were closer, the young woman started to hear the voices of the people amassed there. Some were worried, others were despairing, other still were furious.

«Where will we go now? What’s going to happen to us?» «Don’t worry, Mom. I’m here with you, and there’s Kal too...»

«Here, Grandpa, Grandma, this way. Relax, It’ll be alright...»

«There’s not enough boats for everyone! That was the reason I told you to hurry when we heard the warning! Now we’ll be trapped here and it’ll be all your fault, Artor! And of course your father is out of town right now! I knew it was going to end like this!» «Of course, Mother...»

«Kara! Did anyone see my wife? Kara!»

Captain Astor made a gesture with one hand and one of the watchers approached them. It was a man whose jacket seemed a little too small for his frame, and whose posture suggested profound laziness. As he walked toward them he opened the flask he held in one hand and drew a long sip, but in doing so he wet his black unruly beard. Helena had seen him before, but no name came to her mind.

«Barys. How goes the evacuation?» Astor asked.

«What do you expect me to say, Captain? Not well.» the watchman answered, putting the flask back inside the jacket. «You can see it too, there’s too few boats. Counting the space for food supplies and equipment, there’s enough for twenty people on each, but...»

«Can you make more than one journey?» Stefan cut in, in a pained voice.

«If you order us to, we will, my Exarch. But sooner or later the enemy is going to reach the harbor, we don’t have a lot of time.»

Helena ignored the lack of respect in the man’s voice and said: «How many boats have sailed already?»

«How many? None, Helena Dorina.» Barys said. «We’ve just finished loading the first one, they’re just waiting for you.»

«For me?» she asked, puzzled.

Barys led the three to one end of the boats’ landing, to a boat already almost full. Among the people on board, Helena identified Ergon, who seemed to be looking at nothing in the distance, with dullened eyes.

«Quick now, Helena.» her father said to her, motioning her to get on the boat.

«No!» her reply was immediate. She had realized what he was trying to do.

«Don’t start arguing with me.» he insisted. «They’ve been waiting just for you.»

«I can’t leave you here!»

«You have to get to safety… But I can’t be the first to leave. I am the Exarch, I have a responsibility... I have a duty toward these people.»

«If you have that duty, I have it too! I am your daughter!» Helena felt her frustration rising, but she forced herself to calm down. There would be no use in screaming, on the contrary it would make the situation worse. She had to find a way to convince her father, and find it fast, before he was ready to respond.

«What… what duty do you have toward them? The duty to make them panic? How do you think they will react, seeing you in such a state? You’re wounded!»

«I am not wounded. It is...» her father clearly suppressed a groan «...only a scratch.»

«Father,» she took the hand he kept on his side and forcefully moved it, revealing a hole in his gilek and a dark spot around it. «you need to learn to be a better liar.»

Helena saw that now he was the one desperately looking for a way to talk back. She did not give him the time to find one.

«Get on the boat. I will stay here, in your stead.»

Her father opened his eyes wide: «Helena...»

«Don’t start arguing with me. They’re waiting just for you.»

Now that she had turned his own words against him, her father seemed to concede. He boarded the boat and sat down, trying to not worsen his wound.

«Astor. Go with him.» she told the captain, who up to that point had stood by silently.

«No.» her father stopped her, raising a hand. «You stay with her, Astor. Barys, I entrust myself to you for this crossing.»

The other man who up to that point had stood by silently got on the boat and immediately started to assign the oars and give instructions.

Slowly, the boat began leaving the shore.

By the time it was about ten feet away, her father called out: «Helena!»

She heard him say something, but the cacophony of voices around her made it difficult to hear.

Maybe: «Don’t die.»

Once the boat had left, Helena shifted her attention to the crowd. She saw a sea of confused faces, worried faces, faces tired and devoid of hope. On her right, a girl was trying to comfort an old couple. On her left, a young man in civilian clothes who nevertheless held a watcher’s dolikos was trying to convince a woman and a girl who was probably the latter’s daughter to board one of the boats, unsuccessfully. However, the scene her eyes were drawn to was that of a man shouldering his way through the mass of people, followed by three children. Looking in the direction, she saw a woman, with two more children, who seemed to be calling the man. As he reached her, the man hug her tightly, then he looked at the children with obvious relief. But a moment later, Helena saw his expression change. She saw him say something to the woman, although she could not hear the words. The smile vanished from the woman’s face as well, as if she had realized something terrible, as she answered him. Immediately the man shouted, looking around frantically: «Auntie! AUNTIE!»

At that point, Helena drew closer: «What is happening? Can I help?»

When the man saw her, he looked puzzled. But then he looked at Astor, and this made him realize who he was speaking to.

«Helena Dorina, I thank you.» he said, respectfully bowing his head. «My name is Kydalim Andorid. It’s about my aunt. When we were ordered to head to the harbor, our children were not home. I and my wife split to go find them, but in the confusion each of us was convinced my old aunt was with the other. I have to find her! She’s very old, and...»

«Do you mean her mind is no longer with her?» She asked, instinctively.

«No, no! Earth, no.» the man, Kydalim, responded immediately. «Her mind is all very much still with her, the issue is… she is voiceless. She lost the gift of speech many years ago, when she was still young, before the Liberation.»

«I see.» There was no need to say more.

«So she must be afraid and in need of help, unable to speak with anyone. I have to go find her.»

«You can’t go alone! I’m coming too!» the woman spoke out.

«And we abandon the children alone, Kara?» the man replied.

Seeing that they were about to start a heated discussion, Helena said: «I can send a few watchers to look for her, all I need is for you to describe us how this woman looks like.»

«I’ll go.» a voice behind her.

Helena turned and saw the young man she had glimpsed before, the one who was trying to make the two women board a boat. Looking closer, she realized he was a green-eyed boy, younger than her, and yet he had spoken with the mature determination of someone many times his age.

«These are my neighbors, I know the old lady they speak of.» he continued «If there’s anyone in the Watch capable of finding her quickly, that’s me. Send me, Helena Dorina.»

«What is your name?»

«Kalos Aregonid.»

Helena felt this boy named Kalos would have volunteered with or without her offer of help to the couple.

«So be it. Kalos Aregonid, go and make this family whole again. May no one of us be left behind.» She proclaimed. Yes, that sounded sufficiently inspiring.

«I’m coming with you.» another voice.

This time it was a young man about her age, with black hair and dark eyes. But he was not a watchman.

«Ark, there’s no need.» said the boy who had volunteered.

«Yes, there is. Watchman or not, you can’t go alone.» the other replied.

«But you are a civilian.» Helena told him.

«I know. That means I don’t need your orders or your permission, Helena Dorina. I merely said out loud what I am going to do.» he replied. He had spoken with extreme impudence, but what struck her was the coldness in his gaze: in those eyes, there was a feeling she was unable to read.

Before she could ponder what that could be, she heard a third voice: «Hey, if you go I’m coming too! You two will need someone to protect you!»

Another civilian, a girl with chestnut hair, wearing a control band. Helena did not bother trying to dissuade her. «Does anyone else want to join?» she asked to the small circle of people that had formed around them.

She had spoken in jest, and yet two hands rose from the crowd. The people parted and made way for a green-eyed girl and another young man.

«Agatha, no. You have to stay with Mom...» said the boy around which this bizarre group had coalesced.

«Mom said it’s better if I stay with you.» the green-eyed girl interrupted him, apparently putting an end to the arguing. Helena thought she saw a quick hostile glare the girl gave the other one, the one called Fyra, but it lasted a mere instant, so perhaps it had been only an impression.

«For me it’s the same.» said the other newcomer, the young man. «I mean, her mother didn’t tell me, mine did, and more precisely she said it’s better if I stay with all of them, and she didn’t use those exact words, but… you get the point.»

«Kal.» Kydalim said. «Would you… would all of you really do this for us?»

«Of course.» the dark-haired, cold-eyed youth, the one called Ark, answered immediately. He even seemed to smile slightly.

«You don’t even need to ask!» echoed the girl who had joined right after him.

The others joined them, nodding.

«Trust us.» Kalos finished. «We’ll find her.»

Kydalim, clearly moved, put his hands on the boy’s shoulders: «...Thank you. You’re a good kid. You all are wonderful. I am in your debt. We’ll be waiting for you on the far shore.»

He took his wife’s hand and left toward the boats, with their children in tow.

The five who remained set off back toward the city, but they had made barely a few steps when Helena heard a shrill scream: «Where do you think you’re going, Artor?»

Pushing and shoving through the crowd, a woman made her way to the group. She reached out and grabbed Ark by his arm.

«Leave this stuff to more capable people! Come on, I found a boat!» she told him.

«That’s great, Mother. Then get on it.» he answered, with utter indifference. He did not shake the woman’s hand off, but he made no movement in the direction she was pulling him either.

She seemed to become even angrier: «That’s what I’m about to do! But you’re not going to leave me alone, are you?»

«I’ll come back as soon as I can.»

«And what if you don’t?»

«I trust you’ll find the strength to carry on.»

«Listen, Artor,» by now the woman looked desperate «this isn’t one of your books. Stop acting like a fool!»

«Mother, I am going. You’re free to follow me, if you so wish, although I’d rather you wait here, or even better you get on board one of the boats and flee to safety. Whatever you choose to do though, I am going. This will not change.»

Finally, the woman gave up. She let the young man go and retreated into the crowd. As she left, Helena heard her murmur: «Crazy. His father abandons me here while he has fun with some lover somewhere, and he is completely crazy. What did I do wrong…?»

Ark did not watch her leave. He looked at his companions and they set off again, in the other direction.

Chapter Text

Elef saw his last remaining companion fall backward, a hole on his chest. And realized he was the only one left.

They had tried to push the enemy back outside the gates, but they had failed and had been forced to pull back instead: there were too many of them. If only the traitors hadn’t been backing them up…

They had manged to temporarily stop them by putting two tetracycles sideways across the street. Behind that barricade they had split into groups of three: the first watcher leaned out and shot with his dolikos, while the second one reloaded his own and the third one prepared to switch places with the first, in a continuous rotation. It was a standard fighting formation that every soldier was taught. But the enemies were better markspeople, and far too soon some of the groups of three had become groups of two, breaking down their attack pattern.

Elef reloaded his dolikos, swearing under his breath. He knew the only reason the enemy hadn’t charged at him yet was that they were unsure how many opponents still lied behind the barricade. However, soon, once they saw that the shooting had stopped, they would start to get closer.

His eyes fell on the woman who had led him there. She’d been one of the last to die. Now she lied on her belly a few feet from him, her face out of view.

He immediately looked away and shook his head. He was still unharmed, fortunately. He summoned up his courage, telling himself that if he survived he would certainly become a legend. And even if he died, he wouldn’t fall before taking as many enemies with him as he could. Yes, just like his honored namesake.

After, what was there to fear in dying? It was just an instant, nothing more. He probably wouldn’t even realize it.

He heard someone running, from the other side of the barricade. One enemy was approaching. Elef looked at his dolikos and smiled: they would find him ready.

The enemy now had climbed on the tetracycle behind which he was crouching. Elef drew a single long breath, then let his training do the rest.

He rose, turned, aimed at the heart and pulled the trigger. The thermal plate that covered the dolikos’ force crystal opened, bringing it into contact with the air. A hearbeat later, the bullet popped out of the weapon’s long barrel, with a loud crack.

There was a gargled cry and a spurt of blood, then the enemy fell forward from the teracycle, on the ground beside Elef, letting go of the screlygron sword that he carried.

It was a man, bald and with light eyes. Eyes that now were fixated on him. Elef had blundered, he hadn’t hit the heart. The man was still alive, and was desperately but unsuccessfully trying to breathe. Blood trickled from his mouth, a little more with each raspy wheeze.

The boy was unable to look away. In those eyes he saw fear, a call for help, but most of all he saw pain.

He felt his legs were shaking.

Instants passed, one after the other, but still the man wouldn’t die, he kept wheezing, a sound that got more and more distressing.

Suddenly, his nostrils were assailed by the smell of blood, that up to that point he had managed to ignore. He started to feel sick.

Then he heard a crack, as a bullet hit him.

Elef fell down. The first thing he felt was something warm and wet flowing down his chest. The second one was pain. Excruciating pain, a pain greater than any he had ever felt before. He tried to feel his shoulder, where he figured out he had been hit, but even that small movement left him in agony.

He screamed, with all the voice he had. Even if it was of no use.

He tried to concentrate and calm his breath. As he did, his eyes turned back to the man lying beside him. He was still alive. His chest was a large red stain and his eyes now were clouded and glazed, and yet he kept weakly trying to breathe.

It this what it feels like, when you get shot? He couldn’t help but ask that to himself. It seemed to him that an eternity had passed since he had shot that man. All that time… did he feel this pain all throughout that time?

This wasn’t what they had taught him.

The enemies were getting closer, he heard their footsteps. He looked for his dolikos, but moving his head caused him another piercing wave of pain.

Then Elef knew, clearly and without a doubt.

He knew he was going to die there. Without taking any huge and memorable number of enemies with him, without making anything worthy of being remembered, without becoming a hero. He was going to die like a dog, in a pool of his own blood.

And inside of him, something snapped.

«I don’t want to die.» he heard himself speak those words, sobbing, unable to stop.

«I don’t wanna die! Help! Somebody help me! Please!»

Somebody answered.

«...Elef? Elef!»

The steps grew faster, as Elef realized they were coming from his side of the barricade, until they stopped in front of him. He didn’t need to move his neck to see Kalos, he had recognized the voice.

There were others with him. One of these others walked past him, stopping right behind the barricade, and said something to Kal. He noticed this thanks to those wits he had managed to keep. Unfortunately, he hadn’t kept enough to control himself.

«Please! Please! I don’t wanna die!» he kept whimpering.

He reached out with one arm, a stupid gesture but one he couldn’t help making. Furthermore he made it with his wounded arm. He didn’t have to wait long for the consequences to manifest themselves, and then Elef once more screamed in pain.

«If you still have the strength to scream like that, you’re not going to die.» said another familiar voice: it was Fyra. «Come on, you have to get away from here. I’ll give you a hand.»

Elef found the courage to raise his head. Fyra was offering him a hand, like she had done a few hours before. He turned on his back, cautiously and gritting his teeth, and took her outstretched hand with his uninjured arm. He felt his self-control returning.

Fyra dragged him away for a few feet, then he helped him get up. Once he was once again standing up, Elef noticed that Kalos had moved. He was close to the barricade now, speaking with…

What is HE doing here?

«Why can’t I stay here?» Kalos was asking.

«Because you know that old woman better than me. Leave the dolikos and the bullets to me and go take her. I’ll keep those soldiers occupied.» Artor answered.

«I can’t leave you here alone.»

«He won’t be alone.» said… was that Makar? «I’ll stay with him.»

«I’ll stay too.» said a girl that at first glance Elef didn’t recognize.

«Agatha, are you insane? I shouldn’t have even allowed you to come with us!»

«Will you stop treating me like a child? We were born the same day. If you can risk your life, I can too.»

«Curse it!» Kalos said, in exasperation. «Ark, say something to her! She always listened to you more than to me anyway.»

«Agatha, take this bag of bullets and sit here. Mak, you take this one and sit there. I’ll stay in the middle. Each time I pass you a dolikos, you reload it and then pass it back to me. We need a good rhythm. And the moment I say run, no matter what’s happening, you two run. Clear?»

«Ark!»

«I can take a dolikos and shoot too!»

«I told you the plan. Either you accept it or you go with your brother.»

Elef didn’t see the rest of the discussion, because his attention was drawn back to Fyra: «Can you walk on your own?»

He realized she was supporting him, with a hand around his waist.

He shook her off, with more violence than he intended to use, and grunted for the pain the movement had caused.

«Well, I’ll take that for a yes.» she said.

Elef was just about to apologize, when Kal came back to them, frowning. «Let’s go, quickly.» was the only thing he said, before heading for one of the houses.

Fyra followed him.

Elef looked back once more, toward the barricade. Artor, Makar and Agatha had put themselves in position. Artor held a dolikos, Makar was loading another.

As he stopped looking and left like the other two, he felt a muddled emotion well up inside him.

Was it embarrassment and shame for having been offered help by someone like Fyra? Partly.

Was it anger toward a coward like Artor? That, too. But why?

At last, he understood. Most of all, it was frustration with himself. Because he had panicked like a stupid little kid. Like a nobody. Just like a coward like Artor.

But he was no coward. That was impossible.

It’s been only an accident, he told himself, it won’t happen again.

Next time it will be different.

«What’s wrong?» Alek inquired.

The four soldiers in front of him were huddling together behind the corner of a house. Every now and then, the first in line angled his dolikos beyond the wall and let a bullet loose.

Up to that point, the assault had proceeded virtually unimpeded. The defenders had been caught by surprise, without having time to mount an organized resistance.

«The road’s blocked, they’re covering behind two cars!» one of the soldiers answered him, shouting to be heard above the sounds of battle all around them.

«Well, get around them! There’s a parallel street that way!» Alek replied in annoyance, pointing his arm behind his shoulders, to the north. Without the traitors’ assistance, this bunch of incompetent idiots would have never managed to threaten Elis.

«Don’t go around giving us orders, boy! You’re not our commander!» another one of the soldiers shouted at him, before a third one barked a silencing «Hey!»

«Who is your commander, then?» Alek asked, without batting an eye. Proud, as well as incompetent: wonderful combination, he thought. Unfortunately for them, it wasn’t his first time dealing with military people that resented the spathari.

The third soldier looked at him: «I am. If circumventing that barricade were so simple, we’d have done so. But on the street you pointed at, Spathar, there’s a second one, and it’s much better defended. There could be another parallel street, that way.» he pointed south, in the opposite direction «But in order to reach it we’d have to cross this street and get out of cover. And there’s a good marksperson behind those cars. I have no intention of ordering any of my subordinates to put themselves in such danger.»

«And no intention of putting yourself in it either, right?» Alek told him, with a cruel smile. The commander lowered his gaze, in shame.

«Count yourself lucky. I’ll do it for you. You take care of covering me.» he concluded, drawing his mikra and putting himself next to the corner of the wall. The soldier in the front was more than happy to exchange places.

Alek peeked out for a moment, to get an idea of the situation on the road. He saw the two tetracycles and caught a glimpse of a dolikos’ barrel, then he moved back behind the wall right before a bullet loudly bounced off of it.

He had seen enough. He took a deep breath, nodded to the four people behind him and then he dashed forward, out of cover. Without stopping, he aimed his mikra around the area where he had seen the barrel come of of the barricade and pulled the trigger. His purpose wasn’t to hit the enemy, only to prevent him from shooting. The bullet bounced on one of the cars, but did what it was meant to do: the enemy kept laying low.

Behind him, Alek heard the soldiers start shooting as well. He kept running, reached the other corner and jumped behind the wall. Not only was he unscathed; the marksperson had been completely unable to shoot.

Alek proceeded down the road, temporarily moving away from the fighting, while the thermal plate on his mikra automatically closed, signaling him it was once again ready to be used.

In a short time, he found the parallel street he needed: a narrow alley that not even the midday sun would be able to light up. He took it.

He had kept in mind the approximate location of the barricade. All he needed to do now was take the first side road that would lead behind it. Even if the noise would cover his footsteps anyway, he made an effort to be as quiet as possible, resisting the urge to run and taking care not to step on the puddles that littered the road.

It was beginning to lightly rain. Alek felt the control band around his neck and the bracer on his right arm. If the rain made crystalarms unusable, he’d have to use screlygron.

The side road he found was an even darker and narrower alley, a mere strip of ground separating two houses. Once he reached its end, Alek cautiously leaned out. He was about twenty feet behind the two tetracycles. Among the corpses, he could clearly see three people close together: he counted two weapons.

He took out one bullet from the bag on his belt and reloaded his mikra. As he did so, he heard his tree targets talk to each other.

«It’s about to rain, Ark.» a male voice.

«Yes, I noticed. Soon the dolikoi will be useless.» another male voice.

«What do we do?» a female voice.

Alek walked out of the side road and drew closer, careful to not be spotted. Now he saw that the three people were two men and one girl. They weren’t wearing the guards’ uniform, and had their backs turned. He prepared his mikra.

«What I said before. You two run to Kal.»

«And you?»

«I have an idea to stop the soldiers here, you don’t have to worry about that.»

The girl was the one closer to him… but she was also the only one unarmed. Looking at the other two, they felt somewhat familiar, but more importantly the one on the right didn’t have his fingers on the trigger. At that point, the choice was obvious.

«Ark… do you really have an idea?»

«Of course I do.»

«Halt!» he said, in a firm voice, aiming his weapon at the man in the center. «Hands up!»

The two to the sides turned to him with a yelp, but the one in his sights reacted only with a slight stiffening of the shoulders.

«You turn as well, come on.» Alek told him.

The young man complied, slowly raising his arms, but without letting go of the dolikos.

Once they were face to face, Alek recognized him. And the young man seemed to recognize Alek in turn.

«You… you’re the one from the tavern, yesterday.» he said.

«No talking.» Alek replied «Drop the dolikos.»

The sky was lit by a sudden flash.

Alek saw with the corner of the eye that the other man, to his right, was moving.

«Mak, no. Remember what I told you.» said the one he was aiming the mikra at.

«I said no talking!» said Alek again, but the last word was drowned by a roar of thunder. A heartbeat later, what had up to that point been only light rain became a torrential downpour.

Alek swore wordlessly. Now the mikra was useless. But it didn’t’ matter: he still had the-

He didn’t have the time to finish that thought.

The very moment the rain had intensified, the young man in front of him had lunged at him, holding his long weapon like a club.

Alek managed to protect his head with one arm, but nevertheless the strike made him fall to his knees.

«Now!» He heard the young man shout.

Alek heard movement to his right and to his left, and realized the other two were running away, but he kept his focus on the armed young man, who didn’t seem to be about to run. This surprised him.

«Are you… making them escape?» he asked, as he stood back up. Had the young man tried to run as well, he would have slain all three, civilians or not. He had given them the chance of surrendering and they had thrown it away.

But the thought that this non-combatant was trying to keep him occupied in order to allow the others to get away struck him. And amused him.

«Do you think… you’re at my level? Haven’t you realized who I am? I am spathar.»

«I don’t care about who you are!» the man snarled back as he lunged at him again.

However, this time Alek was prepared.

He sent a quick impulse through his control band and made a fluid motion with his right arm.

The improvised club of his opponent split in two before it even reached Alek, leaving in the young man’s hands only a short remnant of the barrel.

Alek pointed at him the thin blade his bracer had turned into.

«Had I wanted to, I could have severed your head from your body as well. We spathari are among the most fearsome warriors in the entire Principate, you fool!»

The young man didn’t answer. He threw away what remained of the dolikos and raised his fists.

Alek, who had expected to scare him or at least discourage him, was speechless. He couldn’t understand whether the person in front of him was a complete idiot or a raging lunatic.

«Not only you still want to face me, but you want to do so without even a weapon?»

All the young man said was «I don’t need any.»

That was the last straw for Alek. The spathar burst out laughing. He could kill him with a single thrust and carry on the assault, but something prevented him to. It didn’t seem right. Idiot or lunatic that he was, this young man was the first civilian ever who didn’t cower in fear at the sight of his uniform or of his sword since the day he had joined the spathari corps. He reminded him of days long gone, of events that belonged to another life.

«You know what?» he said in the end, turning his blade back into a bracer, putting his mikra back in its holster and cracking his fingers. «Neither do I.»

Chapter Text

It wasn’t the first time Kal entered Kydalim’s house, however he’d always seen at most the main entrance hall, which was now deserted. He’d have to look for the old aunt in the other rooms.

He was about to call for her, when he finally, finally realized something that made him feel very stupid.

«Kal… what is that old lady’s name?» Fyra asked, to his right, as if to echo his own thoughts: she had realized it too.

«I… I don’t know.» he replied, dejected. He had never heard his neighbor nor anyone else in the family call her by name, everyone called her “Auntie”.

«What does it matter? She wouldn’t hear us anyway.» Elef said. Kal had explained the matter to him. Now that his injured shoulder and arm had been bandaged, haphazardly as they were, the young man’s temperament was back the way Kal knew well. However, his pale complexion, the beads of sweat on his brow and the dark circles around his eyes belied the fact that, no matter the airs he put, his friend was still weakened.

«She’s mute, Elef. Not deaf.» he answered him. «We might draw her to us if we called her.»

«If she’s home, you mean.» his friend said, in a tone that implied: “Which is not as likely as you think”.

«Let’s pray she is.» Kal concluded. If she wasn’t there he’d really have no idea where to look.

«Fyra, you check the rooms to the right. I’ll check those to the left. Elef, you...»

«Hey, I’m the highest in rank here.» Elef interrupted him. «I’m giving the orders.»

«Ah, alright.» Kal answered, unperturbed because he expected that reaction. «What are your orders, then?»

Elef looked surprised, as if he were the one not expecting that response. After a brief, confused silence, he said: «W-Well, I’ll go check the rooms further back. You and Fyra do as you said.»

The three of them immediately got to work.

Kal opened the first door to his left: he entered a bedroom, small but in which someone had nevertheless managed to cram three beds. Wooden toys lied scattered and abandoned on the floor. No trace of the old lady.

He passed to the second door: another bedroom, this time with a single bed. On a small table close to it he found a book, and also a strange object: to Kal at first it looked like a small square box, of the right size to be comfortably held in one hand, but it was too slim to contain anything that came to mind. Out of curiosity, he opened the lid: inside there was nothing, only a flat surface, of a pale blue color. He noticed small strings of cloth attached to the lid. Through those strings, a metal cylinder had been inserted, pointy at one end and flat at the other. It reminded him of a pen.

Following a sudden presentment he could not explain, Kal decided to take the strange item with him.

The third and final room on the left side of the entrance hall looked like a dining room. On a modest table, set for one, Kal saw an unfinished lunch, as if the person who had been eating had been forced to leave in haste.

Set for one. Maybe it meant nothing. Or maybe…

Kal left quickly and met Fyra, who was just then leaving the third room on her side. Seeing him, she shook her head.

«Hey, don’t run! I found her! Come here!» They both heard Elef’s voice.

The two immediately ran in the direction of the voice, passing from the hall to an inner courtyard surrounded by a sloped canopy. In its center, under the open sky, there was a small garden. Kal noticed it had started raining.

They found Elef in a corner of the courtyard. In front of him there was a small, short and crooked figure: her gray hair was messy, her fearful eyes locked on the boy in front of her.

«Come on, granny. Come with us.» Elef stepped forward.

She vigorously shook her head.

«Listen, we don’t have time for this.» Elef grabbed her arm.

The old lady shook him off and slapped him on the cheek.

«Ah! Why, you…!» the boy raised his fist.

«Elef, stop!» Kal intervened. «Can’t you see she’s terrified?»

For an instant, Elef’s face showed something similar to remorse. Then the young man looked away, lowered his arm and stepped back.

Kal tried to talk to the woman: «Don’t worry. We’re here to help.»

All that did was make the old lady move her suspicious gaze to him. He understood her. After all, from her point of view they were nothing but three intruders.

«Do you recognize me? I’m Kalos. I’m your neighbor. We’ve met a few times.»

On the old lady’s face, hostility gave way to uncertainty.

Kal had an intuition, and took out the strange item he had found in the bedchamber.

«This is yours, right?»

The old lady violently took it from his hands, holding it like a precious treasure, then her gaze passed many times from the item to him. Finally, she gave him a smile, which he saw as grateful and, maybe, trusting.

With the agility of someone who had made those gestures endless times, the woman opened the object, took out the cylinder and started to pass it on the blue surface, holding it indeed like a pen.

After a few moments, she handed the object to Kal. On the surface she had written a few words, hastily and with little care for grammar, but with precision and in such a way that they’d be easy to read.

“Woke up late. Nobody home. Noise outside. Everyone, where?”

Kal had confirmation of what he had presumed: the boject was a writing tablet, the way the old lady communicated with the rest of her family.

«Everyone is at the harbor. Come with us and we’ll lead you there. Kydalim and the others are waiting for you.» he told her, giving the tablet back to her.

She opened her eyes wide and looked at the courtyard, at the garden, at the canopy, then she started writing again and a few moments later gave once more the tablet to him.

“Are we leaving?”

In those few words, Kal felt a deep sadness and worry.

«Yes, we have to leave. But we’ll come back.» he answered her, handing back the tablet.

The old lady’s shoulders slumped and she pursed her lips, but she nodded and held out her hand. Kal took it, hoping to transmit her a sense of security he himself had little of.

«Kal! KAL!» at that moment, he heard the voice of Agatha coming from the entrance hall.

Immediately afterwards, she and Mak barged into the inner courtyard.

«Kal! Ark is… he’s...!»

The raining had stopped, as quickly as it had begun.

Ark was on the ground, his back against a wall. His face was covered in bruises and blood trickled from his mouth.

«What the…?» Kal heard Elef exclaim behind him.

«Don’t get any closer.» said the man who had a mikra pointed at Ark’s head. He was clad in a black coat: this was enough to identify him as a spathar.

«I only need to pull this trigger and your friend is dead.»

He was talking to Fyra, who was already trying to rush at him.

From behind the man, other soldiers were approaching.

«You there, kid.» now his light eyes were on Kal. He had called him “kid”, but from what he could see of the man’s face under his dark hair he didn’t seem much older than him. «Something tells me you’re the leader of this leader of this little bunch. Am I wrong?»

Kal didn’ t answer.

«You look very close to each other. I’m sure you’d feel bad if something happened to your friend here. And right now I am feeling unusually merciful, so let’s make a deal: Those who cannot fight surrender to us; those who can, do what they must to suppress this rebellion; and nobody gets hurt…» he glanced to Ark «...nobody gets hurt further.»

Kal had no intention of agreeing, but he needed to buy time. So he asked: «Can I trust you?»

«Kal, don’t even think about it!» Ark cried, clearly straining himself.

«You stay quiet!» the man said to him, before going back to Kal without moving his mikra: «You have my word.»

Kal had to find a way to disarm him. He pretended to be pondering the man’s offer, or at least he hoped he was giving that impression.

«Kid, my patience is running thin. I will count to three. Yes or no.»

Kal panicked: I need more time!

«One.»

«Kal, take the others and run!» Ark said.

«Two.»

The man moved the mikra’s barrel closer to Ark’s head.

«Three.»

Kal heard a sound. Not the crack of a mikra though, it was more similar to the thump of something heavy falling down from above. That sound reached his ears before his eyes could comprehend what had happened in front of them.

Between him and the man, a figure had appeared. A huge frame, covered in a dark cloak. The first thing Kal clearly identified was that the figure brandished a large sklerygron sword.

«What…?» the spathar was unable to finish the sentence.

As quick as lightning, the figure was on him, covering him from Kal’s view. The boy heard a strike, a scream, a second strike and then a thud.

The figure moved, and beyond it Kal saw the spathar lying on the ground: he wasn’t bleeding, but he was unconscious. Looking again at the figure, Kal realized the sword was blunted, like a training weapon: it was unable to cut anything in that form.

Fyra rushed to Ark, followed by Agatha, and the two of them helped him stand up.

In the meantime, the cloaked figure moved between Kal and the soldiers, who were still startled by its sudden appearance.

It turned, and finally Kal recognized him.

A hollow-cheeked face, on which the boy had never seen a smile, framed by a thick and unkempt gray beard.

«Old Man.» he called him, with the only name he knew.

The man threw a glance at someone behind Kal, then looked once again at him and said:

«Take her to safety.»

Just that. Then he rushed toward the soldiers.

It took a while to Kal to understand that he was referring to the old lady, behind him at that moment.

He had a great number of questions, but now was not the time.

He turned to Mak and Elef and said: «We have to go.»

Once Fyra and Agatha came back with Ark, who luckily was able to walk, Kal took the old lady’s hand and set off for the harbor.

But after a few steps, Mak turned in another direction.

«Something came to mind.» he said, before disappearing behind a corner, apparently heading for the South Gate. «You go on to the harbor. If you still find a boat, fine. Otherwise wait for me there.»

Compared with an hour before, the harbor had emptied. The vast crowd of people had vanished, and so the boats. Kal wanted to believe everyone had managed to escape.

One single vessel remained.

«Artor! Over here!» someone on board that was waving their arms in their direction.

Semna Tritina’s only reaction to seeing his son’s bruises was a disappointed frown, as if she expected that. «Come on, get on board.» she said. «This rabble wanted to leave you behind, but I told them your father would know of it, so now this last spot is reserved for you. Let’s move.»

Kal looked at the boat: it seemed to be already almost overcrowded, there probably really was one single seat left.

Most of those on board were keeping their head low, yet some looked toward them. Among these, Kal noticed Helena Dorina and captain Astor. In their eyes, he saw pity and a tinge of shame.

He looked at the old lady beside him. But before he could say anything, Ark spoke.

«Good.» said the young man to his mother. Then he approached the old lady. Held out his hand and accompanied her to the boat.

«What on Earth are you doing?» his mother protested. «I told you it’s the only spot left!»

«And I heard you. I’m bequeathing it to her, I’m staying.» he replied, and without a moment of hesitation he helped the old lady sit down beside the flabbergasted woman.

«Artor! Do you have any idea how hard I’ve had to fight to convince these people to wait for you? Any idea of how many wretches I’ve had to drive away so that there’d be still a place for you?»

«No, I don’t.» Ark’s tone was cold as ice. «And frankly I do not care.»

«Artor…»

«Enough, Mother. This woman has a loving family to go back to.» Then Ark turned to Helena: «Kydalim and the others are safe, I presume.»

«Yes, the whole family has already left on one of the other boats. I made sure of that.» she answered.

As Semna sat down dejectedly, muttering something in a low voice, the Exarch’s daughter added: «What is your name, citizen?»

Ark took a while to answer, as if the question had caught him by surprise, but he finally said: «Artor Deutarid.»

«Artor Deutarid.» she repeated. «Are you sure about your decision?»

«Yes.»

«There will be no more boats after this. You will be trapped on this side of the river.»

«I know.» Ark looked at Kal and the others. «So will they. One way or another, we’ll manage.»

Helena nodded, as if there were no need to say anything more. «I will make so that the woman you entrusted me with rejoins her family. Whatever happens, know you have performed a most noble act. May fortune assist you.» then she spoke to Kal and the rest. «May fortune assist all of you.»

Ark left the boat, while Helena motioned captain Astor, who immediately said, in a steady voice: «Oars ready!»

The boat left the shore.

As he watched it get farther and farther until it became a vague shape in the distance, Kal realized that now that Kydalim’s aunt was safe he had no idea what to do.

Fyra seemed to share his uncertainty, as she asked: «What now?»

His first thought was to tell her they had to leave the city and follow the river to the south, looking for another landing with boats to board somewhere. However, how could they evade the assailants?

Then he remembered.

«Mak told us to wait for him here, And that is what we’ll do, for now.»

Elef appeared to be about to complain, but right at that moment everyone hears a weird noise, like a low buzz, similar but not identical to the one some tetracycles made.

Turning his head toward the source of the noise, Kal saw something incredible. Or rather, something that would have been incredible if he hadn’t heard about it the day before.

Mak was coming toward them flying.

The large metal disk Kal had seen in Filel’s workshop, now was floating in the air, with Mak piloting it via the handlebar-like equipment on it.

The boy gently brought his machine down to earth.

«Sorry I took this long.» was the first thing he said. «But I got a little excited. The machine works, you see? It works!»

«What… what is this?» Agatha asked, watching the strange contraption with interest.

«Oh, I’m glad you asked!» he answered, still with a large smile on his face. «I haven’t decided how to call it yet, but it it a machine of my creation that-»

«That will allow us to cross the river!» Kal said, happy for his friend but also for the fact that now they had a way out.

But then he heard voices drawing closer.

«Oh, I think they saw me.» Mak said, suddenly serious. «Come on, everyone get on board!»

Luckily, the disk was wide enough for all of them. Once he confirmed that everyone had boarded, Mak grabbed the handlebar once again and pushed a switch that Kal had not noticed the day before. Immediately, the machine rose through the air.

It felt unusual, and not entirely pleasant. Kal grabbed the handrail, looking for a bit of security, and saw that the others were doing the same.

«Ready?» asked Mak. «Let’s go!»

The boy pushed the handlebar forward and the disk tilted slightly in that direction, beginning to move as it kept rising.

Kal watched the buildings of the harbor slowly grow smaller and smaller beneath him.

«So, what do you say?» Mak asked, clearly having the time of his life.

«Aren’t we a little too high up already?» Fyra asked, in a worried tone.

«If the water touches the crystals under the disk, we’re done for!» he explained. «We’ll fall in the middle of the river! We have to rise even higher to be completely safe! Don’t worry and enjoy the view!»

Now there were soldiers gathering at the harbor. One pointed his finger at them, another took up his dolikos.

Kal was distracted by a vibration he suddenly felt under his feet.

«What’s happening?» he asked, an instant before the machine violently tilted to one side.

«Curse it!» Mak pushed the handlebar in the opposite direction, as if trying to compensate. «Something must have given way again! Move to that side, we have to keep it steady!»

At that moment, one bullet bounced loudly against the underside of the disk.

And right after it, a second one.

The disk jumped up.

Kal held to the handrail with both hands, and so did Agatha and Fyra and the other passengers.

But Mak had been using one hand to point, and the other one had been on the handlebar.

Kal saw him lose his footing, dragging the handlebar with him. The disk tilted even further.

A heartbeat later, as if Mak had realized what he had been doing, Kal saw him deliberately let go of the handlebar.

It all happened in a few moments.

Kal acted without thinking. Before Mak fell out of the flying vehicle, he grabbed his hand. At the same time, Fyra reached out to the handlebar and pulled it toward herself, without letting go of the handrail.

Somehow, the machine was once again level, although it was slowly dropping down and Mak now dangled out of it in an extremely precarious position.

As Kal pulled him up, he heard Elef say: «Curse you and this deathtrap, Mak!»

Despite the situation, surprisingly Mak laughed.

«You called me “Mak”! How long was it since-»

The sentence stopped there.

A bullet hit him in the back.

And the hand Kal was holding lost any grip.

The boy saw him fall, without a sound, his face frozen in apparent astonishment.

Mak fell in the water, disappearing from view.

One breath later, the disk was shaken by a vibration stronger than all that preceded it, and started spinning.

Kal lost any sense of direction. He was vaguely aware of Agatha preventing him from falling, but the rest of the world had become a swirl of screams over the merciless blowing of the wind.

Eventually there was a strong impact and his face was splashed with water, as the machine gradually slowed down. Kal came back to his senses, realizing the vehicle had crashed in the river.

Without the crystals’ push, the disk soon stopped. For the moment it was floating, but Kal had the feeling that wouldn’t last long.

He looked around. Agatha was still holding him, with a worried look on her face. Fyra seemed to be catching her breath, all color gone from her face. Elef was holding his injured arm, groaning. Ark was looking at something in the distance, to the north. Kal followed his gaze and saw Elis harbor, farther than he expected. He judged they were about half a mile down the river. Then he saw the eastern bank, covered in trees. It was close, but not close enough to say getting there would be easy.

They were trapped, adrift among the river currents.

And slowly but surely, they were sinking.

Chapter Text

Kal put his mind to work.

The shore was too far away to be reached by swimming: it would be too dangerous in that current. He had to find a way to get the wreck on which they were standing closer to the riverbank. He looked at his hands: empty. If only he had an oar…

His gaze fell on the armband on his right arm. And suddenly he had an idea.

I’ve never attempted this before. But it’s our only chance. I have to try.

He focused, closing his eyes. He visualized the armband in his mind and then he imagined to hold his staff in his hand, feeling its weight and texture.

When he opened them again, the armband had become a long ad thin dark-colored rod in his hands.

Now comes the difficult part.

He focused again, but this time he attempted to change the mental image that his training had taught him to recall without effort and keep fixed in a corner of him mind.

One extremity of the rod now had to flatten and grow larger, to offer more surface to the water. It had to stop being a staff and become an oar.

His own reflexes, conditioned in years of practice, opposed him: he was doing what he had been expressly taught not to do. The mental image had to be strong, clear, immutable. Otherwise the sklerygron would lose cohesion, unless you had a greater talent than what he possessed.

However Kal refused to yield, fighting back against his own mind that insisted in trying to take back to the form it was “meant” to have the object it had been used to think of as a “staff”.

And finally he felt he had won the struggle. Opening his eyes, he saw that the rod had changed shape, adapting to his will. He felt tired, but was still surprised by the ease with which he had succeeded. He expected it would be far harder to concentrate, but it was as if, unconsciously, he had employed in that effort all of his mental resources, refusing to think about anything else.

«Where is Makar?»

It was Elef who asked that. And suddenly Kal became aware that all eyes were on him. Every look told a different emotion: Elef was puzzled, Fyra was worried, Agatha seemed sorry, as if she already knew what had transpired, and Ark looked like his main interest was in the oar now in Kal’s hands.

«He’s right. Where is he?» Fyra asked.

All Kal could do was shake his head.

Fyra fell on her knees, before swearing and beat an impotent fist on the ground. The movement made the disk sway back and forth in a worrying way.

Ark stopped her, putting a hand on her shoulder: «Fyra. I’m sorry, but now we need your help.»

Kal felt the need so say something of his own: «Ark is right. We... we’re still alive, after all.»

Too late he realized that maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say.

Fyra gave him a spiteful glare, and hissed: «Shut up.»

That glare and those words hurt him more than he expected.

«Fyra.» Ark called her back. «Look where we are. We’re sinking. Kal has used his sklerygron to make an oar, and I think that was a good idea: we need to move away from here. Can you do the same thing he did?»

She turned to Ark. She was still angry, and yet to Kal she seemed less harsh than when she had responded to him.

«How can you… how can you be so calm?»

Ark didn’t answer, instead he replied: «Can you, or can you not?»

Fyra squinted. After a few moment, she answered: «No, I can’t. But I can do this.»

She stood up and went to the wreck’s handrail. With two quick slashes with her left arm, she cut away a long vertical bar, and then a second one.

«There, make yourself useful as well.» she threw one of them to Ark, who promptly caught it.

«Give one to me too!» said Agatha, who was readily obliged.

«Me too...» said Elef, but then he stopped, looking at his injured arm.

«You stay where you are.» Kal told him. «We will split: two on one side, two on the other. Let’s keep this thing level and go that way.» he pointed at the shore, a steep slope that rose up to the edge of the trees.

Everyone did as he said, and Mak’s flying machine, which necessity had turned into a raft, started to move away from the middle of the river.

Keeping his oar’s shape was greatly taxing for Kal’s psyche, an effort compounded by the physical exertion. He’d have preferred to go faster, reach the shore and leave at least one of their problems behind them, but it was like the disk was wading in mud: probably water had already seeped inside. Soon if would sink like a rock, with them still on it if they didn’t hurry.

«We’ve done what we could.» he said, when he understood the disk was too heavy to move it closer to the riverbank. «We’re close enough to continue by swimming.»

«Swimming?» Elef exclaimed. «I, I can’t. Not with my arm like this.» He looked at Kal as If he were begging him.

He was right. They were close, but the current was still rather strong; someone in his condition would never be able to swim to shore. And if another took him on their shoulders as they swam, both would drown.

Kal rapidly looked for a solution. There wasn’t much time. The disk had already gone under, water reached his ankles.

He noticed that without he had absentmindedly turned his oar back into an armband.

I did it once. I can do it again.

«Are you able to grab on to something, with your good arm?» he asked Elef.

«Well, yeah, I think I do.»

«Then this is what we’ll do. I and the other will get to the shore, you wait here.» He immediately saw Elef starting to complain, but he continued: «I will reach out for you with my staff from there. Grab on to it and don’t let go, we’ll drag you to shore.»

«From there? Have you seen how far it is? You’ll never reach me!» Elef was despairing.

«Trust me.» Kal said, looking at him in the eyes. «I won’t leave you here. I’m not losing two friends today.»

This seemed to calm Elef down.

«Fine. I’ll trust you.» he moved to the center of the disk, waiting.

Kal jumped in the water and immediately got swimming with all his might toward the shore. The river was freezing cold, and with every stroke he felt his muscles groan, but he grit his teeth and forced himself to keep going.

The instant he felt earth under his feet he rushed up the slope, until he was fully on dry land.

He turned. He saw Agatha, Ark and Fyra a short way behind him. He didn’t need to worry about them. He then shifted his gaze to Elef.

The boy had not moved from his position, he was standing still and looking in Kal’s direction.

Kal held out his left arm. He felt the sklerygron staff in his hand. Then, as he had done earlier, he tried to change the image of the staff in his mind.

This time the shape had to remain fundamentally the same. What had to change, a lot, would be the length, and this presented a different issue. To all appearances, imagining “the same staff but longer” didn’t sound complicated, but had Kal limited himself to do just that, the result would be something frail and completely useless. The sklerygron would simply assume a longer configuration, compromising its solidity. No, Kal had to imagine a whole new staff, longer than usual but at the same time no less sturdy. That the form was the same he was used to visualize, in this case made everything much harder.

Kal lost his sense of time, but eventually realized his hand held a long shaft. He immediately held it out toward Elef and watched him grab it. Then he started to pull him toward himself.

He was vaguely aware that some of the others had come to give him a hand, but he was too concentrated on keeping the staff in its new shape to understand who they were. He felt that if he got distracted for a single blinking moment, the sklerygron would fail.

The last information his senses communicated to him was that Elef had reached the shore.

After that, Kal let himself fall down exhausted, and lost consciousness.

When he woke up, he found Fyra sitting beside him.

«How are you feeling?» she asked.

«Well-rested.» he answered, still drowsy. His throat was parched. He sat up and looked around. He saw that Agatha and the others were close by. Elef was laying on the grass, resting, Ark was saying something to Agatha, as they both looked at the forest.

«How long was I asleep?» he asked, his voice still hoarse.

«A couple of hours, I think. With the sky overcast like this, it’s hard to know for sure.» the girl put a hand in her jacket, taking out a small flask. «Here, drink.»

Kal had seen that flask before: he had an identical one, that now probably lied somewhere in the barracks of the Rook. He blurted out: «Is that your father’s?»

«Great, if you recognize it it means your brain is still working perfectly. I was worried.» Fyra momentarily drew back the hand offering it to him. «But no, this was my father’s, it’s mine now.»

For a few moments, she looked at the flask, with a melancholic expression. Then she shook her head, as if she wanted to drive away some thought, and once again offered it to him: «But it doesn’t matter now. Come on, drink.»

She had always been like that. When they were little, she always took care of him with little gestures like that.

Kal realized he was lost in remembrance when she said: «Drink. I can immediately go refill it, don’t worry.»

He accepted the flask and took a sip. The cold water going down his throat aroused him completely from his torpor. He gave the flask back, with a «Thank you.» and then he took a deep breath. Now that he had cleared his mind, there was something he had to tell her.

But as he spoke, he realized Fyra too was saying something.

«I’m sorry.» «I owe you an apology.»

Both were left dumbstruck, looking in each other’s eyes.

Kal was the first one to try speaking again: «Apologies… for what?»

«For before, when…» she stopped, without ending the sentence. «I wasn’t myself then. I got angry with the last person I should have. I acted like you hadn’t done all that you could to…» she stopped again, sighing and frowning. «I’m sorry, I really am.»

«You mustn’t.» Kal told her. «In the end, you were right. I was insensitive, I said the first thing that came to mind. You had the right to be angry.»

«No, that’s not true.» She replied. She seemed to have calmed down. «You only said the truth. We’re still alive. So we have to think about surviving.»

At that point, she turned her gaze far away, to the north-west. It took Kal a while to realize she was looking toward Elis. Something in her pose and her expression troubled him. He had the impression Fyra had become some wild animal, patiently but eagerly looking at a prey.

«And sooner or later, we’ll get our revenge. For Mak, too.»

With that last sentence, the girl moved away, toward the river, likely to refill her flask.

Kal didn’t have the courage to tell her that when he had said those words, that wasn’t what he had meant.

Chapter Text

Agatha entered the woods.

After spending a few hours resting and letting her clothes dry, she had realized she was hungry. She knew that soon they would have to depart again and try to join back with the rest of the Elis denizens, but she hoped to find at least a few berries before leaving.

Ark had told her to not stray too far, but she was nevertheless surprised by the speed at which the forest dullened the sound of the river current, as a symphony of other noises took its place: the rustling of leaves, the whistling of the wind, the tapping of raindrops that some treetops had retained.

Until that day, Agatha had been in the woods only in her grandmother’s tales. Old Jatra loved to tell her grandchildren of when, as a young girl during the Liberation from Slavery, she and her companions who had escaped from their masters had hidden in Ralbuss Forest; Agatha never really understood where that forest was, but she guessed somewhere near Arlis.

And of the many adventures (that was how she called them, Agatha now could understand, because her purpose in telling them was entertaining the children, not burdening them with her own grief) she had lived there, the family’s favorite was the one in which one night, in the darkness, she had met a terrifying beast… and also her future husband.

Yes, that was the way she always introduced that tale, and right after that she’d say “And no, the beast wasn’t him.” and then everyone would laugh, even Grandfather if he was present.

The two held two different versions of the story: both began with grandma Jatra alone, away from her group, meeting a boy who belonged to a different group of fugitives with the same idea as her own in regard of where to hide. Suddenly, both heard a low growl and noticed two large shining eyes looking at them from the shadows. According to Grandfather, who loved tales only slightly less than Grandmother, the two of them connected immediately, the beast was a bear come to spoil the tender moment and he had bravely faced him with an improvised spear while Grandma was paralyzed with fear. The details of the epic fight changed every time, but in the end he triumphed over the creature, earning eternal gratitude and admiration from the girl he had saved. According to Grandma instead, their very first interaction had been a loud argument, the beast was a wolf drawn to the commotion and both had been paralyzed with fear, though the creature contented itself with a brief look and then left without giving them a second thought.

Suddenly, Agatha realized that while lost in her memories she had kept walking. And now the river was nowhere to be found, no matter in which direction she looked.

She tried her best not to panic, but now, in the scant light the tree branches didn’t block, as she was surrounded by the dark pillars of the tree trunks she was forcefully reminded of the face Grandma made when they asked her to describe the beast. No matter what really had happened, had it been a bear, a wolf or some other thing, it was clear that despite the exciting way she told her tale the experience had traumatized her.

The girl heard a new noise join the sounds of the forest. The noise of something moving through the bushes.

“It was ugly.” Grandma said, “With a long, deformed muzzle and pointy teeth. And those eyes… Large, yellow, bulging out and hungry.”

Something emerged from behind a tree.

«Is everything fine?»

Agatha shrieked instinctively, but she managed to hold her impulse to run away, long enough to realize that that “something” was Ark.

«I thought we might as well look for food for everyone.» he continued. «We’ll do faster with the two of us. And it’ll be safer too.»

Agatha, catching her breath, cursed her runaway imagination and answered: «Yes... You’re right.»

When they came back near the river, the light was beginning to wane.

With Ark’s help, Agatha had hoarded up a lot of berries and also found some fruit.

They hadn’t talked much, due also to the bruises on Ark’s face. Now that they weren’t in immediate danger anymore and fatigue started to set in, Agatha thought it had to be painful for him to even open his mouth. At one point, while they were side by side, she had looked at his face, for no particular reason. On his right cheek, a purple, bloated triangle was extending its tip downward. There was a split in his upper lip, and the wound was covered in a blackish lump of dried blood.

«Does it hurt? Your face, I mean.» She had asked, almost without thinking.

He had turned toward her, showing her that his left side was in no better condition: the eyelid was dark and swollen, preventing him from fully opening the eye, and a long cut ran along most of his eyebrow.

Agatha had regretted that question, feeling stupid: of course it had to hurt!

But he had answered: «A little.» and then had gone back to gathering berries.

They had had no further exchange.

They had wrapped the food in Agatha’s travel cloak (she was very happy to have resisted the temptation to throw it away as she was swimming toward the shore) and taken the way back.

Her original plan was to look for some food only for herself, but she was glad she had done something useful for everyone, although it had required much more time.

This was the reason she felt hurt when, the moment she put the cloak down saying: «Look what we have found!» and was about to start eating, the first reply she received was a «Stop, you fool!» shouted in a hoarse voice.

Elef looked like he had just woken up. He took the berry she had in her hand, looked at it for a moment and then threw it in the water in a furious gesture, only to immediately grasp his injured shoulder, a reminder he had to avoid moving like that. However, the pain seemed to only make him angrier.

«What is your problem? Can’t you recognize a poisonous berry when you see one? What did your parents teach you?»

Agatha was speechless. Elef wasn’t like Fyra, but she still wasn’t all that familiar with him. He was the oldest of their group, and even if the difference in age had mattered less and less as they grew up, she had known him since the time he was twice as tall as her, and a part of her still felt intimidated by him.

Elef crouched near the heap of berries, a much more cautious movement this time, and rustled in it for a while. Then he took one, identical to the one Agatha was about to put in her mouth and to many others in the bunch.

«These are blue crowns.» he said, and he pointed at a circle of thin protrusions they had, similar to short eyelashes. «You recognize them by their shape, here. You eat just one of them, and you’ll have trouble breathing for the next hour. You eat three, and you die suffocated! Were you trying to kill us all?»

«N-No, I just wanted to...» Agatha realized she was terrified. She had never seen Elef so furious: his blood-shot eyes and his harsh voice made him seem more like an animal than a person.

But fear wasn’t the only thing she felt. Agatha felt sorry.

She had no idea of the danger that she had been in, that she had almost put everyone in. She just thought she had done something useful…

And then she remembered her original plan. Had she been alone, knowing nothing of the poison and driven by hunger, she’d have eaten all the berries she found and would have died horribly, with no one to help her or even know where she was. If it hadn’t been for…

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

«It’s alright. Nobody got hurt, Elef. Calm down.»

It was Ark.

But Elef gave no sign of calming down.

«You… You read all those books and in the real world you can’t tell one leaf or fruit from another…»

He stepped closer, more threatening than before. But suddenly he was shaken by a coughing fit so violent he barely managed to keep himself standing.

Agatha tried to help him, but he pushed her away with one arm (again, a cautious movement even in its impulsiveness).

«Throw all those blue crowns away.» he pointed at the heap of berries. «The other ones are fine.» he added afterwards, in a different tone. «And you make yourself useful as well!» he concluded, talking to Ark, then he moved back to where more or less he had been sleeping before and sat down.

Agatha and Ark thoroughly sorted the berries, with Elef sometimes interjecting and pointing at one they had missed, and then they threw all the poisonous ones in the river.

As they finished, before going back to the others, Agatha found the courage to ask the boy a question: «Did you… know of the poison? I mean, did you know I could have eaten something poisonous if I went in the forest alone?»

After a few moments of silence, he answered: «It came to my mind, after you left.»

«So… when you went looking for me, and said you wanted to look for food for everyone… that was a lie, the real reason was to protect me.»

«...That, too.» was his only answer, as he started going back.

And Agatha followed him.

She knew she wouldn’t have a longer answer from him. And that was fine.

«Let’s go.» Kalos said, after eating. «For now we’ll follow the river northward, but let’s move away from the shore. We have to meet back with the others.»

Elef didn’t remember anyone electing Kalos as leader, but right now he didn’t have the strength to complain.

He was cold. And all his limbs hurt, not only his injured shoulder.

He followed the others wordlessly, gritting his teeth.

The five set off, entering the woods as much as was needed to evade possible eyes looking for them from the west bank without losing sight of the river. They used every last gleam of reddish light on the horizon to proceed, then, once night finished falling and it became so dark that even seeing the river became difficult, they stopped.

Sitting down behind a huge boulder, Fyra gathered some branches and twigs then used her sklerygron to cut and shape two pieces of wood: one became a pointy stick, on the other she cut a flat surface with a small hollow. She put the stick into the hollow and started rubbing the two objects one against the other, until she lit a small campfire.

Elef was very grateful for the warmth. He sat as close as possible to the fire, stretching out his uninjured arm almost to the point of touching the flame, and for some time he lost himself in the pleasant feeling.

«What will we do, then?» he heard Agatha ask.

«What do you mean?» Kalos’ voice.

«Once we find the others. What will we do after that?»

There was a long silent pause, then once more Kalos’ voice.

«I don’t know.»

«We’ll think about it when we get there.» That was Fyra. «For now, it’s best to focus on the present.»

Typical Fyra, Elef thought. No plans, no long-term vision, no ability to put things in perspective whatsoever. Everything that girl had, she had it because her father was military. If Elef and her traded places, it she had been the one born to lowly farmers, by now he’d have probably been made captain already, while Fyra wouldn’t have even tried to rise above her condition.

Feeling his anger rise, he closed his outstretched hand into a fist and took a deep breath. And this caused him a coughing fit.

Once that subsided, the young man suddenly noticed something strange.

«Hey!» he called the others. «There’s a light, there.»

«Where?» Agatha asked.

Elef stood up and pointed at it. It was a small bright point, far away to the north, among the trees.

«I don’t see anything.» Kalos said.

«Me neither.» Fyra said.

«There is one, I’m telling you! It’s far away, but I see it clearly!» he replied, in frustration. He’d always had a really sharp eye, and now he was feeling as if he were a child again, trying to convince his ever-disbelieving parents.

«He’s right.» said the one member of the group who had been silent until now. Artor pointed in the same direction Elef had and continued: «There’s something there. I can’t see it clearly, but it could be a fire like ours.»

«Oh! It’s true. Now I see it too.» Fyra said, in a surprised tone.

Had the situation been different, Elef would have exploded in rage: he could accept Kalos in command, but the group taking Artor seriously instead of him… that was unacceptable.

Still, there were more pressing matters at the moment.

«Maybe it’s the citizens! We have to get closer and make ourselves known! HEY! WE’RE HE-» Before he could finish his sentence, someone shut his mouth with a hand.

«Don’t be stupid!» Fyra’s voice. «A small campfire for all those people? No, those are not the citizens. It must be someone else.»

Elef was about to complain, but he realized that actually Fyra was right, and if he had only stopped and thought about it for a moment he would have realized it on his own. What was wrong with him?

It’s the cold, he answered himself. Because of this cursed cold I can’t think straight. I have to go back to the fire.

Right at that moment Fyra loosened her grip and gave him a weird look, that he had neither the time nor the willingness to decipher.

«Go back to the fire. And stay there.» she told him, as if there were any need for that, then she spoke to the others: «And you stay with him. I’ll go see what that light is. It won’t take long.»

Elef saw her approach Kalos and tell him something, but he didn’t care enough to listen. He went back to sitting where he was before and tried to warm himself as much as possible.

It was pleasant, but even as he sat so close to the fire he was starting to feel cold. Probably, the fire was already dying. He could have tried to rekindle it, but he felt so tired...

He was stirred from his torpor by a new unknown weight around his shoulders. It took him a while to realize it was a cloak.

«Cover yourself with this.» Kalos’ voice. Maybe.

«I have mine. I don’t need another.» he answered it, though confusedly.

«Well, I don’t need it either. You keep it.»

Elef no longer had the strength to reply. He’d have liked to shrug the thing off, but as he slowly formulated that thought he realized that, wrapped up as he was, he was less cold than before.

And he told himself that, yeah, he could keep it after all.

Kal watched Elef’s head slowly bow down until the boy fell asleep lying back on the boulder, then he turned his attention to the flame that flickered far away in the darkness where Fyra had gone.

The silence was broken only by the crackling of their fire. Ark and Agatha were still awake, but none of the three said anything.

Suddenly, that small light in the distance went out.

No noise reached their ears, and yet Kal couldn’t help feeling a lump of unease forming up in his throat. He was taken by the urge to go and look for Fyra, but he kept it under control. He could not abandon the others, not with Elef like that. Still, Fyra could be in danger. What to do? What to do?

He realized he was panicking. He took a deep breath and tried to see the matter from a more distant point of view.

Fyra was strong, he knew that.

His options were: either go look for her and save her in case she had found herself in a situation she was unable to handle on her own (which was only a possibility), and in doing so leave his sister, Ark and Elef to themselves, in a situation they were certainly unable to handle; or stay with them and trust his friend.

Kal chose the latter.

Time passed at a painfully slow pace, but eventually Kal heard rustling nearby, and a moment later Fyra appeared, coming back to their campfire. She seemed uninjured, thought tired.

«What happened?» he asked.

«They must have realized I was getting close.» she answered. «Whoever they were, they put out the fire and disappeared in the dark.»

«Oh.» The tension Kal had felt before vanished. He noticed Ark too was sighing in relief.

«But there’s more.» Fyra continued, calling everyone’s attention back to her. «As I tried to find my way again, after the fire was put out, I headed for the riverbank. And I found the boats.»

At that point Kal stood up.

«Are you sure? Did you find some of the citizens or some footprints?»

She raised her hands in a gesture that asked for calm, then shook her head: «I am sure, but there was nobody there. And there was too little light to see footprints. We’ll have to get back there once the sun is up.»

Kal sat back down, realizing that hoping for more would be asking too much. Even as things were, they were much closer to getting back with the others than they had been an hour before.

Altough maybe it won’t be enough. He looked ad Elef. Even in his sleep, his breathing was ragged, and though he was wrapped in two different cloaks, sometimes his body was shaken by tremors.

«Kal.» Fyra called him. «What do we do with him? He’s got a high fever, I felt it earlier.»

«If we find the others quickly enough, they’ll surely be able to heal him.» was his terse response.

«And if we don’t find them quickly enough?» Agatha asked, joining in with a worried tone.

Kal gave his sister a sincere answer.

«I don’t know. I really don’t know.»