Catalyst Moon: Breach (Catalyst Moon Saga Book 2) Read online

  Stonewall staggered backward, pressing a hand to his wound. Even through his glove, he could feel a warm wetness spreading. Something thudded nearby; his own heart, or footsteps? But no, he was alone. Stupid.

  He was going to die without ever having seen Kali's face again.

  The demon raised its blade one last time.

  But the sword did not descend. Instead, the thrall leaned toward Stonewall, nostrils flaring in the manner of a wolf scenting prey. By the One, was the creature… investigating him? He seized his remaining dagger, tightened his grip on his sword and charged. If he had a chance to take this creature with him to Nox's void, he’d sodding well do it. He had to.

  When he was within reach, a single arrow skimmed through the shadows and bit into the demon's armpit, which the armor left exposed. The demon screamed wordlessly and turned, but another arrow followed the first and a third. Three figures sprang from the shadows and fell upon the thrall, and the creature soon collapsed beneath them, silent.

  Beacon straightened and turned to Stonewall. “Are you...?” He caught sight of Stonewall's side. “Ah. Never mind. Sit down, ser. I'll patch you up. Can someone give me a little light?”

  “On it.” Rook materialized from the trees; when she got close, she struck her tinderbox, illuminating the area with a warm, golden glow. “I suppose you need a real fire, though?”

  “I think the sergeant will appreciate it if I can see what I'm doing,” the mender replied as he helped Stonewall remove his gear. Milo began to collect wood and brush, while Beacon dug through the leather bag that held his mend-kit. “With all due respect, ser, after the last two weeks we've had, you're not the only one who's gotten good at killing these things.”

  “I had to act quickly,” Stonewall managed by way of explanation as Beacon began to dress his wound. The words fell flat.

  “Well, consider yourself lucky,” Beacon said amiably. “That thrall certainly did a number on you, but this could have been much worse.”

  In response, Flint muttered something Stonewall did not catch. He glanced at her, too quickly, and his side burned in response. “What was that, burnie?”

  “I said I'll get the horses, Sergeant,” she replied sharply, and slipped off.

  Rook hesitated, then jabbed her thumb toward the younger woman. “I'll go with her, ser. Maybe try to find some dinner, if we'll be here through the night.”

  She, too, trotted off before Stonewall could give permission. Perhaps he should have reprimanded them, but by now, Beacon had begun to clean his wound, and burning pain overrode thoughts of duty. “It's not as bad as it looks,” Beacon said. “When was your last burn?”

  “Nearly three weeks ago,” Stonewall replied. “But only a half-dose. I had a full dose about three days before that.” He watched as Beacon withdrew an herbal poultice and a jar of thalo gel from his kit. “Why?”

  “Thalo gel and the hematite in your blood will help speed the healing along.” The mender nodded to the poultice. “But I'm afraid this is still going to hurt.”

  Well, he'd earned the pain by acting the fool. Stonewall braced himself and tried to relax all at once. “Aye. Well, let's get this over with.”

  ***

  Cold gnawed through Milo's gear, numbing his nose and cheeks as he stood with his squad-mates. Of the moons, Atal was only a thin crescent tonight, while Seren's waxing face hid in the tree line. Through the branches above his head, stars glittered quietly in the inky sky.

  Eyes that burn like stars. It was not the cold that made Milo shiver. He took a deep breath to quell his nerves and did his best to hold the torch steady. Several paces away, their campfire pushed back against the darkness. Perhaps it was foolish to have a fire in the same woods where they had battled thralls, but even so, he welcomed the bubble of light and warmth against the night.

  Now that Beacon had stitched up Sergeant Stonewall, the three sentinels gathered around the fallen Aredian soldier, whose body was stiff and cool. Beacon gently removed the dead man's helmet; unlike the sentinels', the soldier's covered his entire face, with a hinged section over the jaw. He was an older fellow, with short gray hair and deep furrows across his brow. Upon closer inspection, Milo noticed laugh lines bracketing the soldier's mouth, which made him think the man had smiled often. The soldier's plate armor was finely crafted, heavy, shining bright despite the flecks of mud and blood that clung to the spiral and star etchings. There was no burning starlight in his eyes now, only the glazed look of the dead.

  “Poor sod must have been caught unawares,” Beacon said, indicating the wound upon the soldier's temple, which had bled down his neck. “Looks like he suffered a blow, but was still able to put his helmet back on before the thrall… took him.”

  The three men were silent until Milo murmured, “Nox, bring your spirit safely over the river.”

  “Tor, guide your steps into the next life,” Stonewall added, equally as quiet.

  “The One keeps you in all your days,” Beacon finished the familiar prayer, closing the fallen soldier's eyes as he spoke.

  Something snapped in the forest and Milo whirled, one hand on his dagger, heart racing. But there was nothing. Flint, he thought, trying to relax. Come back safely.

  “He was a captain,” Stonewall said, pointing to the copper insignia affixed the man's cuirass: a circle with three lines slashed through the center.

  “One of the missing queen's soldiers?” Beacon asked. “Commander Talon told us to keep an eye out for them while we searched for thralls.”

  Stonewall considered. “The army is patrolling the Canderi border. We're not that far from there, as the crow flies.”

  Milo's throat tightened. “Someone will be missing this poor fellow.”

  “Aye, and there might be others under his command who were…” Stonewall exhaled sharply. “Affected in this way. We should bring him back to Torin with us.”

  “Look at this.” Beacon pointed to the man's face; amid an aquiline nose and genteel features were angry red marks around his jaw that had a familiar pattern. The mender held up the helmet, indicating the edges. “The marks match his helmet, as if it… burned him.”

  “That's impossible,” Milo said. “How can a helmet burn a man? It didn't get hot somehow, did it?”

  “A mage could heat the metal and cause such an injury,” Beacon replied, frowning down at the soldier. “Remember what Gideon did to that city guard? It was right before you got here, ser,” he added, turning to look at the sergeant, whose gaze was distant. “The night Eris and Gideon Echina tried to escape. Apparently, one of the city guards tried to… detain them. The poor fellow will wear those scars on his face for the rest of his days, but he’s lucky the mage didn't burn his eyes out.”

  Milo shuddered at the implications. “Does that mean this captain was… possessed by a mage? Or are the mages involved in all this, somehow?”

  “I think we'd know if they were,” Beacon replied.

  “How?” Milo asked.

  Favoring his left side, Stonewall knelt by the soldier's midsection, lifted one of the dead man's hands, and removed the armored gauntlet. “More burn marks,” Stonewall said, indicating the backs of the man's fingers and hand. “Strange.”

  “It's as if the gauntlet burned his skin,” Beacon said, his copper-colored brows furrowed in thought. “See here? Their armor is much heavier than ours, because there's more metal. These marks are where it would have touched him.”

  Stonewall was silent, then glanced between Milo and Beacon. “We should check for more.”

  Surely it was sacrilege to strip a dead man of his armor. But what else could they do? Milo offered silent prayers to Mara and Tor as they searched the fallen soldier. Once the investigation was complete, they redressed the soldier as best they could, set the body far to one side, covered it with a spare cloak, and gathered around the fire.

  “There's a burn mark everywhere his plate armor touched his skin.” Beacon withdrew his gloves and held
his hands above the fire to warm them. “What in Ea's realm is going on?”

  “Maybe the demons can't abide the touch of holy metal?” Milo offered. “I heard that a Circle priest blesses each soldier's armor.”

  Beacon snorted. “That’s just a rumor. Besides, it's just metal, burnie. Not magic.”

  “Maybe it's its own kind of magic, a different sort than we're used to,” Milo replied. “Holy magic, I mean. Though,” he frowned, “would it still be called 'magic' if it came from the gods?”

  “Good question,” Beacon said. “You should definitely ask the next Circle priest we come across. They love discussing all things magical.”

  Stonewall threw another log on the fire and searched the tree line. “It reminds me of the Fata,” he said quietly.

  “The Fata?” Beacon said, lifting a brow. “Ser, forgive me, but I don't think glimmers have come to ravage the countryside.”

  “They can't touch metal,” the officer replied. “It burns them. Haven’t you heard those stories?”

  Milo glanced up at him. “Those are just children's tales, aren't they, ser?”

  Stonewall did not respond immediately. His light brown skin, which marked him as southern born and bred, seemed darker when he stood with his back to the fire, as he did now. After a moment he sighed and turned back to Milo and Beacon, settling down—wincing—across from them. “You're right, Milo. They're just silly children's stories.”

  “Then what caused the burn marks?” Beacon asked.

  No one had an answer.

  The sound of footsteps came from behind; the three men whirled with blades drawn, but it was only Flint and Rook, leading the sentinels' mounts. Milo sheathed his daggers to lift his hand in greeting, but paused at the stricken look on his twin sister's face as she and Rook tethered the horses. Flint had removed her helmet, so he could see how her blue eyes were narrowed and her black braid was mussed. Her pale cheeks were flushed with cold and anger and she gripped her sword hilt as if her life depended upon it.

  Sensing danger, Milo stepped toward her. “What is it, relah?”

  “No sign of game,” Rook answered as Flint paused a few paces away, sheathed her weapon, and crossed her arms before her chest. “But we… took care of the Canderi.”

  While Flint was an average height and build for a woman, Rook was petite, barely coming up to Milo's shoulder. Her dark blonde hair was neatly plaited and freckles covered her forehead, nose, and cheeks.

  “Aye,” Flint said. “Because those barbarians needed a sodding funeral after committing murder.” She kicked at a nearby branch, sending it clattering into the woods.

  “They were people, once,” Rook replied. She looked at the sergeant. “It wasn’t safe to burn them, but we gave them their rites.”

  “They only believe in their own ancestors,” Flint shot back. “You think they give a shit about our gods?”

  Rook gave the younger woman a warning look. “It was wrong to leave them.” She glanced at Sergeant Stonewall. “Right?”

  The officer was silent. “Thank you both,” he said at last. “You did the right thing. The Canderi are human, like us.”

  “Tell that to the folks at Torin, ser,” Flint ground out through clenched teeth. The honorific was more a hiss of air than an actual word.

  “Enough,” Sergeant Stonewall barked. “They’re dead, Flint. Show some sodding respect.”

  Milo’s twin glowered, but thank Mara, Milo caught her eye and shook his head, silently pleading with her not to make things worse. Her scowl deepened, but she was mercifully silent, although there was no telling how long that would last.

  Rook glanced around, her gaze landing on the fallen man. “We didn’t have much chance to search the Canderi. Did you learn anything from him?”

  After Stonewall described the burn marks, Milo asked, “Do you think the same thing's happened to others who have turned into thralls?”

  “Why wouldn't it?” Flint said. “The monsters have no trouble taking hold of the barbarians, or anyone.”

  Rook winced. “We didn't find anything else… amiss,” she added, looking at the officer again. “I think we're safe. For now.”

  Flint approached the fire and nudged one of the crackling logs. “We're not safe anywhere. Especially not at the ass-end of nothing. We have to get back to civilization.”

  “It's the dead of night,” Beacon said, stroking his short beard. “Not the ideal time to be stumbling through the woods. And it’s as cold as Nox’s tits; I can barely feel my face.”

  As if to prove a point, a fierce wind tore through the trees. Their shadows, already dancing in the fire’s glow, shifted and swayed, seeming to reach for the sentinels who'd gathered in the circle of light. Milo was not certain which idea appealed to him less: staying here, or venturing out into the darkness.

  “We don't have much food left,” he said at last, hoping to coax the others into a decision.

  Beacon snorted. “Trust a burnie to think with his stomach.”

  “I'm not a burnie anymore,” Milo replied, his ears growing hot. “Commander Talon practically said so herself.”

  “Have you needed any more hematite since your initial Burn?” Beacon asked.

  Milo was silent. Unlike his twin. Flint advanced on Beacon, glaring up at the lanky, copper-haired man. “At least he's not whining about the cold like a Redfern third tier frip who’s never spent a night in the open.”

  The mender, normally calm, returned Flint’s glare. “Sod off, burnie.”

  “Fucking make me. Or are you too busy grooming yourself?”

  Milo nearly intervened, then thought better of it. Only Lieutenant Dev, their former leader, had ever been able to keep Flint and Beacon's bickering to a minimum. If Milo said anything, he'd be drawn into their argument.

  Come on, ser, Milo thought. Just tell them both to shut up. Dev did it all the time. But Stonewall only looked between Flint and Beacon, frowning. Milo bit back a sigh of disappointment.

  Rook caught his gaze and glanced at their officer. “I'm sure the horses could use a rest, ser.”

  “Aye,” Beacon added. “We could all use a good night's sleep after the past fortnight we've had.”

  But Flint was already shaking her head. “We should go back now. Take that poor sod,” she gestured to the soldier, “back to Torin and make for Whitewater City right after. The commander must know what we found. We can sleep when we're dead.”

  They all looked at Stonewall, whose mouth opened – and closed again. His shoulders sank and the firelight cast black shadows around his eyes. At last he turned away from them and moved toward his dapple-gray mare, his words barely reaching the others as he walked away. “We'll rest tonight, and ride out at dawn.”

  Two

  The cell door opened silently. Eris’ heart raced as a dagger of light spread from the door, reaching for her. Two sentinels entered and flanked the opening. A third filled the space between them and stepped across the threshold.

  “How do you fare, little bird?”

  Rage swarmed Eris' vision and her blood beat harder, as if trying to break free of both the hematite-embedded collar around her neck and the hematite cuffs around her wrists. If she spoke, her voice would break. Keep quiet, she told herself. Don't give her the pleasure.

  Talon stood between Eris and freedom, one hand resting on the key that hung from her belt. Her helmet was tucked beneath her arm and her eyes looked black in the flickering torchlight from the corridor. “You’ve spent a fortnight alone. Have you had enough of stone walls?”

  Eris held her head high and focused on each inhale and exhale, though the press of the collar seemed tighter than ever.

  “She's gone mad, ser,” one of the other sentinels muttered. “Look at her eyes.”

  Talon raked her gaze up and down the mage before shaking her head. “No, Hornfel. Mage Echina is simply cross with me. Confinement does not agree with her.” The commander took a step forward so that she
was an arm's length from Eris, and knelt against the stone floor, where more hematite was embedded. “Isn't that right?”

  Eris clenched her jaw.

  “Stubborn.” Talon clucked her tongue as if scolding one of her burnies. “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, given the way your husband carried on.”

  “Gid? Where is he?” Eris’ anger fell away, leaving her cold with fear; suddenly her silence was a small concern in light of Gideon's fate.

  Talon smiled so that the lines around her eyes crinkled as if in true amusement, though there was steel behind her words. “Waiting for you.”

  Seren's light, this woman was maddening. Eris' heart began to race again and her breath shortened. “Where. Is. He?”

  “Safe and sound in the bastion.”

  Eris nearly sagged in relief and thanked the gods, but stopped herself from doing either. “Have you come to kill me?”

  Talon rose and nodded to someone beyond the door. Captain Cobalt stepped inside, seeming to take up every inch of space in the garrison cell. The scar on his left cheek twisted as he frowned at Eris, though he said nothing, only grabbed the cuffs that bound her wrists and lifted them—and her—until she stood. Eris’ mouth went dry and her breath caught.

  “I am releasing you back to the bastion,” Talon said as Eris found her footing. “But you will not be allowed to leave on any missions. You will be confined in the bastion until I say otherwise.”

  Which would likely be never. Bile rose in the back of Eris’ throat as the fierce hatred for the gray armored figures churned in her belly. “Do you truly believe you can imprison us forever?”

  “What I believe is not your concern,” Talon replied. “But I will tell you this: if any of my sentinels see you without that collar, you and your husband will regret it.”