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The pine forests dampened some sounds of her passage, but her training kicked in and she slowed enough to keep her steps completely silent. As she came upon Pilgrim Springs, she tried to swallow her fear—and Alem’s, and Owen’s—so she could do what she did best, but her efforts were useless. When she rounded the bend and the springs came into view, she could not stop the scream that burst from her throat.
Alem lay bloody on the shore, Owen kneeling beside him. From their frantic emotional states, Verve sensed both were alive, but terrified. A figure in hematite armor stood over them, dagger raised, blood gleaming on the edge. No thoughts or emotions emanated from the figure; they may as well have been made of stone. But with a drop of her stomach, Verve recognized his armor: this was one of the mercenaries working for Danya, training her Chosen.
Verve’s bracelet was already unraveled. She grabbed both ends and leaped for the mercenary’s neck, where there was a small gap — just big enough for the wire to slip through and bite into skin. The merc had enough time to curse before Verve wrapped the wire around his neck and pulled backward with all of her considerable strength.
Someone screamed. Fear choked the air: not just hers, but all around her, like wildfire sweeping over the world. But Verve ignored it, because she had to finish this, and braced her feet upon the sandy shore as she tugged the wire. The merc struggled, kicking back at her with heavy, spiked boots, jabbing at her with steel plates on his armored elbows. Blows pummeled Verve’s thigh and ribs, but her grip didn’t waver. The mercenary’s head tipped back, smashing into Verve’s nose. Pain made her head spin and her vision swirl, but she still held the bastard fast. At last he collapsed to the sandy shore, gasping, writhing, and then went still.
Verve didn’t let go, not for several long minutes, long enough to ensure the merc wasn’t playing possum. When at last she deemed him truly dead, she pulled back her wire bracelet, wincing at the spots on her hands where the wire had cut her, too, and went over to Alem and Owen on shaking steps.
“He’s alive,” Owen said, eyes huge as he knelt by Alem. His training spear lay on the ground beside him. “The mercenary tried to grab Alem, but I did what you taught me and struck him from behind. But then he got a bad swipe in and Alem went down. The bastard’s dead now, right?”
Verve nodded and bent to Alem. His eyes fluttered open, and he gave her a weak smile. “Are you all right?”
Tears slipped down her nose as she cupped his cheek with her bloody palm. “Don’t worry about me. I’m…”
Screams still echoed in her mind. Fear drummed in her heart. The smell of smoke crept through the forest to reach her.
None of them were memories.
Lotis’s warning gong rang through the trees, echoing off of the water. Verve flung open her mind and reached out for Lotis, and found the village engulfed in terror wrought by blank figures who surely wore hematite armor.
The Chosen were there.
And she wasn’t.
* * *
Black smoke bruised the pure blue sky. Shouts hung in the air, interspersed with the heavy tread of boots and the snap of flames. But it was the Lotis villagers’ terror that propelled Verve back along the path she’d come, fueling her steps with desperation. She’d snatched up the mercenary’s dagger, but the familiar weight in her grip was a cold comfort.
Had the merc stumbled on Alem and Owen out of luck, or was this a multi-pronged attack on Lotis and its inhabitants? Fae spears and other thorny plants stuck in her bare feet; she squelched through cold mud, but nothing mattered but Lotis. Behind her, Owen and Alem came slowly. Both had urged her to return first, but a part of Verve hated to leave them behind, too, because what if the worst happened?
The worst has already happened. Because you let it. This is all your fault. The thoughts sounded like Danya’s voice.
As she ran, Verve reached out with her meridian senses again, trying to assess how many of Atal’s Chosen had come — and who she might face once she got there. She found only flashes of pain and terror, and blank voids in her senses. The Chosen’s training ran deep. Verve knew better than most.
Her chest ached. What if she found Usko there? Or Brak or Livia, or any of the kids she’d helped raise? By the One, she was such a fool even to hope she’d ever be free of Danya.
I can’t do this.
I must.
Within her heart, Space-Between-Stars urged, there might be another way.
If only that were true.
Verve burst back into the clearing just outside of the village, close to Alem’s cottage. At first, she couldn’t see for the smoke. New flames blazed upon many of the structures within Lotis — except the Tipsy Willow. Fighting back a cough, Verve crouched low and tried to calm herself enough to think clearly and not focus on the spots of blood marring the ground. She crept around Alem’s cottage to get a better look at the tavern.
About a dozen of the Chosen, their trainers, and a few mercenaries Verve did not recognize surrounded the Willow, blades at the ready while several of the mercenaries hammered the tavern door with axes. But the clay and brushthorn mixture held strong, and some of the attackers limped — Klaret’s traps had worked, to some extent. Although Verve’s heart ached at the idea of hurting any of her former fellow Chosen, relief washed through her limbs at the sight of the older trainers and the unfamiliar mercenaries. None of the attackers looked to be the younger sort; a small mercy.
But while Lotis’s fortifications may have helped the village protect itself, Verve was the vital component. She had a job to do, one she’d sorely neglected. She had only two measly weapons, no shoes, and still had to battle the turmoil of not only her own fear, but also that of the villagers. But she was their only hope. She gripped her stolen dagger and steeled herself, then stepped around Alem’s cottage.
“Hey, ugly,” she called. Trainer Aya turned, and Verve allowed herself a snicker. “Tired of teaching little ones how to kill?”
The Chosen tensed, but Trainer Aya made a swiping gesture with her hand. “Ignore her,” she barked. “You have your orders. Find the dendric mage.”
“They’re not here,” Verve said as she approached her former allies, trying to inject every bit of swagger she could into her steps. “But I am. Or are you too frightened to face someone who can actually fight back?”
Trainer Aya gestured again, and three of the mercenaries peeled off from the main group to lunge at Verve, who ducked out of the way. One merc, she felled with a vicious blow to the back of their knees, another spot where their armor didn’t adequately protect them. The mercenary cried out and collapsed, and Verve snatched up their axe. A weapon in each hand just felt right. She circled the other two mercs, assessing the situation. That first success had been mostly luck and timing; little chance either would repeat itself. But even if Verve had all of her gear, she’d be hard-pressed to defeat this many foes on her own.
