Short Stories from the Network Series Page 19

  He nearly choked on another swallow of tea. Of course the dragons visited her, the Dragonmaster. Still, imagining the giant creatures tromping around Letum Wood gave him pause.

  “Do you own this property?” he asked, studying the walls anew. The close, thick walls of the Ranks suddenly felt secure and downright cozy when he imagined dragons prowling around outside.

  “Letum Wood owns itself,” she quipped. “And to answer your next question, witches haven’t seen the dragons in years because Letum Wood protects them. Just like Mildred does,” she added quietly.

  Merrick’s brow furrowed. Such a simple detail, yet so many complicated effects rippled from it. “Why doesn’t Mildred want witches to know?”

  Sanna scowled. “Protect them from poachers seeking black ivory. Letum Wood protects the dragons most of the time, but witches still slip by. Pah. Doesn’t matter. The dragons take care of them if Letum Wood doesn’t.”

  Merrick lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  She snapped her teeth together. “Lunch.”

  “Of course.”

  Sanna held up a finger. “If you think you hear a dragon, just transport away. It’s the dragons you can’t hear you have to worry about. The end of your life will be a blanket of fire or basket of teeth. Either way—you’ll go fast.” She chortled. “Not a bad way to go, really. I’ve seen worse.”

  Merrick flexed his hand, his thoughts racing. The chills had subsided, leaving him weak and wrung out. With no clock, he had no idea how much time had passed.

  They fell into casual conversation—she said no more about the Dragonmasters, and he asked no more questions. She sliced a few pieces of bread, rooted cheese out of a cold box, and they ate in cordial silence. The food restored his energy. Time passed in a strange way. It felt like minutes, but hours slid by while the storm raged itself out. When her pile of wood dwindled, he wrapped the blanket around himself more tightly and stepped outside. Her pathetic pile was on its last pieces. But the wind had calmed.

  “You’re almost out of wood, Sanna,” he said, closing the door firmly behind him, sending new firewood to the hearth with a spell. Fat snowflakes still drifted from the sky, settling in his hair like flecks of glitter. He brushed them free. The pressure on his tingly feet felt uncomfortably sharp still, but his blood seemed to move more freely.

  “Tiberius normally provides it for me,” she said. “Mildred’s order.”

  He tested his clothes. Mostly dry. He murmured an incantation under his breath to finish the job and shucked the blanket off. The dying winds would clear up his visibility so he could find his token now.

  As if she read his mind, she said, “You can’t be thinking of going back out there.”

  “I’m not. I’m planning on it.”

  Her frown morphed into candid amusement. “You’ve already failed.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Then why are you doing it?”

  “I don’t leave a job unfinished.”

  “I like you, Merrick. You’ve got spunk. You’re clearly an idiot, but at least you have spunk. Come back and chop my firewood tomorrow. You won’t have a job, so might as well do something productive.”

  “Sure, Sanna,” he said, sliding his shirt over his head. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

  “You owe me at least that much for drinking all my tea and finishing off my food.”

  “I agree.”

  She scowled. “Not too early. I don’t wake much before noon, mind you. I’ll curse you if you wake me up too soon.”

  His pack had solidified into a ball of canvas and ice during the storm, which had frozen it to the ground. With a couple of incantations and sturdy kicks, he broke it free. Although twice its original weight now, Merrick cleared the snow and ice crystals and heaved the pack onto his back. He staggered under the weight and then headed toward the bridge.

  Thanks to Sanna’s revelations, Merrick eyed the murky depths of Letum Wood with newfound respect as he stumbled around the quiet forest. Half an hour later, he found the right trail. An hour later, a square of bright color winked down at him from halfway up a thick tree.

  He let out a heavy sigh. All that work for such a small thing.

  Ten minutes later, he set off for the castle, token in his bag. The thick clouds and dense canopy blocked the morning light. Snow poured off the boughs in glittering waterfalls as he trudged past.

  Within an hour, he broke through Letum Wood and into an empty field outside Chatham Castle. No waiting Guardians. No recruits. No Daniel. Without Letum Wood looming large overhead, the world seemed lighter. Yet gray. Dismal. Only a few turrets of the castle were visible through the soft-falling snow.

  He tromped through the field, up the Wall steps, and over to the Gatehouse. The sound of heavy laughter came from inside. Daniel. Tiberius. A few Captains. With his breath billowing in plumes, Merrick pounded on the door. The laughter stopped. Heavy footsteps trod to the door. The door cracked open, revealing two confused eyes and a burst of heat from within. Daniel blinked.

  “Merrick?”

  Merrick dropped his pack with a crunch, yanked the token free, and held it out. “I know I’m late,” he said, sniffling. “But I didn’t transport. My pack is twice the weight now.”

  I almost died, he thought of adding, but bypassed the melodramatics.

  Daniel stared at the wooden square. His mouth bobbed open and closed. Tiberius appeared behind him.

  “Sanna wrote,” Daniel said. “Said you fell in the creek.”

  “I did.”

  Daniel lifted an eyebrow. “Why did you go back for your token?” He glanced down, nudging the pack with a foot. “The rest of the recruits have been back for hours.”

  Merrick hesitated. Had he missed something? Why wouldn’t he be here? A hint of tension in Daniel’s expression caught him off guard. He wouldn’t be a bit surprised if they were playing some sort of game. Maybe the time limit had been a farce. Maybe they just wanted to test his mental limits.

  “I never leave a job unfinished,” Merrick said, forcing himself to meet Tiberius’s beady eyes. The morning of the Wringer flashed back through his mind. Tiberius’s distrust hadn’t waned in the interim. If anything, Merrick’s tenacity had just made it worse.

  Daniel studied him for a long pause.

  “Then, congratulations. That’s what I like to hear. Time limit didn’t really matter—not in weather like this. Welcome to the Guardians, Merrick,” he said with a nod. “Go get something to eat and take the rest of the day off. You’ll receive your first assignment in the morning.”

  Merrick,

  Farah accepted your Dragonmaster report. I will look in more detail at what we know, but I am happy to hear that the Dragonmasters continue. I congratulate you on obtaining new information. The potential for it to impact us directly is small, but it’s still important to understand.

  Keep going.

  —Wolfgang

  On a calm day in the late spring, Merrick hung his bow on the peg designated for him within the elite contingent of Archers. The rest of the elite Archers milled in conversation behind him, stuck in an age-old war over feathers.

  The conversation slid in and out of his mind like Jacqui and her girlish antics used to. He missed her persistent requests to play dolls or carry her on his back. Nine months had passed since he’d seen her. Merrick turned his back to the calendar and pushed away the fact that it was also his nineteenth birthday. Kally had always made him fat, stuffed pastries for breakfast. The sweet raisins and creamy insides filled his belly with a long-lasting sweetness.

  He shucked off his boots, thick with the warm mud of early summer. The deluge of recent rain intensified the already stifling heat. He longed for a cool burst of mountain air.

  A voice called above the din as he stripped off his half-armor.

  “Merrick. Rolph wants to see you.”

  The entire room silenced. Damen—the newly appointed Captain of the Archers—filled the doorway.
The Archers gave Merrick a sidelong glance. His infamous trek through the snow had earned him notoriety that he didn’t want. Only he and one other recruit had returned with a token. The rest of them had retested and passed under calmer skies. Now they regarded him with a weird mix of camaraderie and awe.

  “Yes, sir,” Merrick said. “I’m on my way.”

  The door slammed shut behind Damen. A chorus of ooh morphed into guffaws and rising questions. Merrick shot a few quips and disappeared outside leaving them rolling with laughter. A wave of heat hit him like a boulder.

  Rolph, the Captain of Advancement, stood with his hands folded behind his back. He extended an arm, which Merrick clasped.

  “Good to meet you, Merrick. Join me at the top of the Wall, will you?”

  Damen nodded as Merrick followed Rolph up the stairs. In the distance, the sunset lit Letum Wood on fire. Sweat trickled down Merrick’s back. When the sun went down, everything humidified. He hated it.

  “How can I help you, sir?” Merrick asked when they reached the top. Rolph folded his arms across his chest.

  “I’ve been observing your work in the Archers. You show talent and skill as a Guardian. Excellent run times. No disciplinary action. You’ve set yourself apart from the rest of your cohort with leadership skills.” His eyes narrowed. “Although I never see you with them in the pubs at Chatham City. Why is that?”

  Merrick rolled his lips. Ipsum didn’t exactly mix well with keeping secrets, although he couldn’t deny an occasional desire to lose himself in something that would take the edge off his memories.

  “No, sir. Losing control and inhibition doesn’t appeal to me.”

  Rolph’s upper lip wrinkled. He shrugged. “Me either. Never saw the appeal in pissing all over the place.” He reached into a leather vest and removed a scroll tied with twine. “I want to invite you to apply for a Captain’s slot.”

  Merrick stared at the scroll. Captain? Rolph managed the career progression of Guardians and Captains alike. But Merrick didn’t think he’d been in the Guardians long enough for something like this.

  “Sir?” he asked.

  “The minimum requirement of service is six months. You’ve served six as of yesterday. We need good Captains.” He frowned. “Trouble may be stirring in the Borderlands, and Tiberius wants to be prepared.”

  Merrick’s interest stirred.

  Advancing to Captain would be better than continuing association with Guardians that only wanted an easy guard duty job. It might open up new opportunities to garner pertinent information. But it would prolong his time in the Central Network, and he didn’t have permission to stay.

  Trouble may be stirring in the Borderlands, Rolph had just said. Merrick bit his bottom lip. Staying meant he’d walk a traitorous ledge; accepting further responsibility without permission could cement his exile. He thought of Jacqui and Mother again with a sharp pang.

  Having a leader invite a Guardian to advance was a high honor—rejecting it would give him a reputation as a low life weasel in the Ranks, effectively erasing the last nine months of careful work. Rolph’s intent gaze meant he wanted an answer now.

  Merrick’s silence continued.

  “Captain training is less about brawn and more about brain,” Rolph said. “In order to qualify for training, you’ll face mental tests more than physical challenges. If you accept my offer, you’ll be given a Qualification test. If you pass, you’re accepted into a six-month training phase.”

  Merrick clenched his jaw. The shimmering top of Letum Wood wavered in the distance. Rolph paused, his eyes glowing with a blunted reflection of the sunset. Wolfgang would agree to Merrick’s advancement. The Majesties might not. But he’d have to take that chance, even as a young Master with only two lines and certain dishonor.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said, sticking out his arm. “I accept.”

  Rolph grasped his proffered arm. “I’m happy to hear that. Tomorrow, be in the lower bailey at six in the morning for the Qualification.”

  Merrick’s forehead furrowed. “What does the Qualification entail, sir?”

  Rolph smiled and released Merrick’s arm.

  “You’ll find that out when you get there.”

  Merrick stepped into the lower bailey the next morning at sunrise. Light suffused the sky, illuminating the stones and chasing away the shadows. Birds twittered past; an earthy, sweet scent filled the air. The chatter of Guardians coursing into the castle for breakfast hummed in the background.

  Rolph waited in the middle of the lower bailey.

  “Welcome to your Qualification,” he said. “My Assistant will be here shortly with four Guardians. They will be your contingent for this exercise.”

  Merrick frowned. A five-witch contingent? Exercise? The hair stood up on the back of his neck. He shifted. An interesting morning, for sure.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rolph folded his hands in front of him. “Your task is to retrieve a token from a Guardian leader.”

  Merrick’s mind whirled back to the Guardian Qualification. Of course it’s the same, he thought with a little snort. Neither the North—nor the Central—Networks seemed inclined to change the predictability of tradition.

  “Is that all, sir?”

  Rolph smiled. “Tiberius has volunteered to harbor your token.”

  Merrick’s mouth slackened. He blinked. Obtain the token from Tiberius? A door leading into the lower bailey slammed open, and his thoughts froze.

  Four Guardians spilled out. Two of them shoved at each other with irreverent guffaws. Jack and Pete. A theatrical pair of twins from the Eastern Covens. A skinny witch with buck teeth and gangly arms followed behind them, his left wrist bound with a white cast. Neilsen. He’d broken his arm during a shield exercise, just weeks after slicing off a little toe during a sword fighting accident. A dark-skinned witch with only one eyebrow and a slash of healing pink skin over his left eye brought up the rear. Miller. A known fire lover.

  Four Guardians Merrick would never have chosen as a well-functioning team stood before him. The dismal outlook left Merrick momentarily stunned. They had physical strength—no one passed the Wringer without it. But their youthful antics had caused multiple lapses in judgment. With a couple of sturdy Guardians, he could likely pull a plan together to complete his task.

  But these?

  “Your goal is to use your team and retrieve the token. Simple as that. No magic once you enter the forest. No leaving Letum Wood. You have two hours to find and retrieve. You may use magic to prepare, but not once you advance. Your team has to work for you. If you win, they will receive a ten pentacle bonus.”

  Jack and Pete high-fived. At a quelling glare from Rolph, they ducked their heads.

  “You have one hour to prepare.” Rolph handed him a scroll tied with twine. “Here is your map to Tiberius. He’ll be mostly stationary. Best of luck.”

  Merrick ran a tongue over his front teeth. Having Tiberius stationary made it more difficult. They were testing Merrick’s ability to make decisions under pressure with a less-than-ideal team. He doubted the token mattered as much as the method. Rolph and his Assistant disappeared into the Ranks.

  “Oy, Merrick.” Jack stepped forward. Pete followed. Their jet-black eyebrows both lifted high into their foreheads. “Let’s win, yeah? We gotta bet we need to cover with a couple extra pentacles, if ya know what I mean.”

  “We need the element of surprise, yes?” Miller said, beating his thumb against his leg in a fast staccato. “Scare Tiberius out of his pants. I can do a massive fireball. Tons of concentrated ipsum. Boom. Huge.”

  “Let’s just get naked and run at him,” Jack said. “That’ll startle him.”

  The four of them cackled with laughter.

  “Needs to be something new,” Neilsen murmured, rubbing his injured arm. “Tiberius knows everything. We have to be really … unexpected.”

  Pete nodded. “Pentacles on the line.”

  Merrick’s mind spun with ideas as the Guardians asked Ne
ilsen to describe—in gruesome detail—the sound of his arm snapping. “Not so bad.” Neilsen shrugged. “I’ve broken lots of bones.”

  “Did you scream?”

  Neislen laughed. “Like a girl.”

  Merrick caught snippets of their conversation, clumping them into a train of thought, then an idea, and then a plan. Element of surprise. Unexpected. New. He yanked open the map, and his heart hiccupped. The spot marking Tiberius wasn’t far from a very familiar stream by a very crotchety old witch.

  A wild idea ripped through him, spreading heat into his very bones. Rolph hadn’t set a limit on what or who he could use once they entered the forest. His blossoming idea could work—likely wouldn’t. He’d need Sanna, perfect cooperation from four Guardians who didn’t focus for more than five seconds, and a whole load of luck.

  He straightened, clapping Pete on the shoulder and nearly knocking him down. “Lads,” he said with a broad smile. “I have a plan.”

  After gathering a few supplies, transporting once into Letum Wood and back, and reviewing the plan for the fifth time, Merrick and his contingent advanced into the forest. According to the map, Tiberius waited in a circular meadow amidst the thicker parts of the forest. The contingent agreed he’d probably wait in the middle of the open space. He wasn’t the sort to hide, and he’d make very sure no one could ambush him.

  They moved north of the meadow and then east, giving it a wide berth until they faced its northeast corner. The stream bubbled on their left. The Guardians had sobered, falling into unusual restraint.

  Merrick closed the distance to the stream and peeled off his shirt. He’d worn dark pants and his hair tied into a queue.

  Jack lifted one eyebrow in silent question.

  “So, we are getting naked and running at him after all?” Pete drawled. They dissolved into muffled chortles. Merrick glared them into silence.

  “Cover me with mud,” he said, lying on his back in the moist stream. They stared, wide-eyed, as he rolled around the slippery embankment. Once Merrick scooped up a handful and smeared it on his face, they fell into action, slinging handfuls onto his shoulders, neck, and pants. Once finished, Merrick stood up, covered any bare spots, and then rolled in the leaves coating the forest floor.