Revolution - C M Raymond & L E Barbant Read online

  “I’d like you to tell us all about the little incursion we experienced at the hands of a few weak men.”

  “Of course. Dickerson hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “We did have a small group of rebels breach the wall two nights ago. Apparently they were looking for weapons.”

  Adrien sat in silence, staring at Dickerson. Finally he said, “Looking?”

  The Captain cleared his throat. “They made off with some magitech rifles. A few bags of them. Not much, really, considering the size of our force.”

  Alexandra laughed. “Tell the truth, Dickerson. A couple of punks made it into the city on your watch. They broke into your armory. Next to your barracks. And they kicked your ass in the process.”

  He looked at Alexandra and narrowed his eyes. He hated her, not because of the disfigurement of her body but because of her lack of control. She was the opposite of the Capitol Guard. They prided themselves on order and discipline, and she lacked both.

  “Sure, they got the drop on me. Nothing you all didn’t experience before I was called to return to the city though, was it?”

  Adrien slammed his open palm on the conference room table. All heads swiveled to face him. “That’s enough. No more excuses, not from any of you. Dickerson and I have already addressed his mishap, and it won’t happen again, will it?” He looked at his captain.

  “No, sir. It certainly won’t.” His voice was filled with contempt.

  “Good. Because if it does, it will be the last thing you do this side of the other world.” His eyes cut to Doyle, his assistant. “Do you have anything?”

  Doyle flipped over a piece of parchment that had sat on the table in front of him during the entire meeting. He ran down the list with his index finger, passing on nearly every item. Finally, he said, “Sir, I’ve gone over the names from the last census and cross-checked them with the bodies we pulled out of the rubble in the Boulevard. It seems as though they have plenty of people, wherever they have gone. Probably between two hundred and two-fifty.”

  Adrien scoffed. “A good number? Is that what you call it?”

  “We need to take Ezekiel and his followers seriously. I recommend that we strike. Now and hard. Obliterate them while they’re still limping along.”

  Adrien stared at Doyle, stroking his temple with the tip of his index finger. “Congratulations.”

  Doyle’s brow furrowed. “On what?”

  “Your promotion, apparently,” Adrien spat.

  Doyle stammered. “What promotion?”

  Adrien’s mouth spread into an evil smile. “Your promotion to Chief Combat Strategist, of course.”

  “Sir?”

  “He’s screwing with you, shit-for-brains.” Alexandra gave a gravelly laugh.

  “Doyle, your job around here is to do all the little mundane simple shit that doesn’t deserve my time. It is not to suggest military maneuvers. You understand?”

  Doyle’s face turned bright red. “Of course, sir.”

  “Good. We have plenty of time to build an army and refine the technology on the airship. Let those bastards hunker down in the woods for a bit longer. It’s freezing out there, and before you know it, they’ll be hungry enough to crawl back to Arcadia and beg for mercy. Which we will give them—the mercy of a quick death. But we will not attack until we’re good and ready. We will reduce them to ash, and show Irth who is the true Patriarch.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It had been a week since Ezekiel and Gregory returned from their trip to the Dark Forest, but for Hannah, it felt like an eternity.

  They knew Adrien could strike at any moment, and every day that went by without a peep from Arcadia heightened the tension even more. Some days Hannah just wished he’d just get it over with. The waiting was more likely to kill them than the cold.

  She watched as Parker and Marcus worked with their crew of women from the Boulevard. Not only had their marksmanship improved but they were learning how to move as a unit, take commands and execute them quickly.

  Blast after blast connected with old pots and pieces of concrete, shattering them to bits while the women pulling the trigger kept moving, making it hard for them to be targeted in return. Hannah was impressed by just how far they had come in such a short amount of time.

  They weren’t the only ones.

  The magic users she had entrusted to Amelia were also developing in leaps and bounds. Granted, likely none of them would be able to take on Academy-trained Hunters in one-on-one magical combat save maybe Roland or Eponine, but together they would be enough to keep Adrien’s forces on their toes.

  Their decision to start with foundational physical magic was paying off. They could create fireballs of moderate power, and most of the understudies could also put up shields that would at least thwart the attack of arrows and weaker magic.

  Karl’s fighting men were also gaining ground, but not so quickly.

  The men from the factory were filled with passion, and they were certainly strong. Their strength was not only in their arms and legs, but also in their stubborn nature. She smiled as she thought of Karl working with these hard-headed soldiers. It was a match made in heaven.

  To win a war required more than just the ability to fight. Soldiers needed to know when to fight and who to fight, when to retreat and when to go on offense. They needed to be able to follow orders.

  She could picture the rearick shouting at them with a face as red as Ezekiel’s eyes while he tried to get them to practice the simplest military tactics. If they survived the training with their commander-in-arms, they might just be able to dish out some casualties on the open battlefield. It also didn’t help that they were still working with logs and branches.

  We’re going to have to do something about that, she thought.

  Her eyes cut from Marcus and Parker to the edge of the woods, where Gregory sat in the grass with Laurel. She watched as he talked quickly, his hands dashing about as his lips moved. The girl looked at him without blinking, a steady smile on her face, which often broke into sincere laughter. It seemed like Gregory was also gaining ground, though maybe not in the art of war.

  Hannah crossed the open field and stood over the two of them. Gregory didn’t even notice her presence.

  “You two playing house?” Hannah asked with a smirk.

  Gregory and Laurel looked up at her. His face turned red, but the girl only cocked her head to the side. “What’s a house? We don’t have those in the Forest.”

  Hannah was taken aback. “Uh…”

  Laurel’s deadpan face broke. “I’m just kidding. We’re still human, after all. In fact, our homes are awesome, shaped and molded out of living trees. They put your crumbly old tower to shame.”

  She was going to refute the girl, say the tower wasn’t their home, but then Hannah looked at their tower, a remnant from the old world. She realized it was the closest thing to a real home she had ever had, and Laurel could clearly see that.

  “We…we were just hatching a plan,” Gregory said with a cough.

  “Uh huh, that’s exactly what it looked like.” Hannah grinned at Laurel.

  “Well, we were,” the girl confirmed, shifting her weight, “until Gregory here decided to tell me about the Winter Ball he took you to.”

  Hannah couldn’t help but laugh. “More like the Ball I took him to, but that’s not really a memory I care to relive. Tell me about this plan.”

  “Show her,” Gregory directed excitedly.

  Laurel stood, and Gregory followed her lead. She turned toward the trees and held a single, steady finger up toward them. It floated around in simple patterns, unlike the complex movements of the physical magic users, as if painting a picture in the air.

  Her eyes flashed green, and Hannah smiled widely as the trees closest to them started to move. The lowest boughs on the trunk reached toward the ground, and when she swiped her finger back and forth, they followed her commands.

  “Neat trick,” Hannah said casually, though she was actually impre
ssed. She had spent some time working on the natural arts, but clearly not enough. “It took me a damned day to make a tiny flower blossom, and I was exhausted afterward. I once got a single tree to move, but it was pretty stubborn about it.”

  Laurel flicked her finger as if tapping an invisible wall, and the branches fell back into place. “That?” she asked. “It’s child’s play. Most druids could make a flower bloom before they learned to walk. And it’s not a trick.”

  “Now you sound like Zeke.”

  The girl grinned. “Is that so bad?”

  “Yes.” Hannah nodded “Very, very bad.”

  Gregory explained some of their ideas. He had been inspired by the entrance to the Dark Forest and figured they could do something similar with the woods around the tower. Although they wouldn’t stop the forces completely, given enough time they would be able to at least slow enemy advances. Laurel had been working on it a little each day. She said that herding trees was not something you could rush.

  Gregory then started to tell Hannah about an idea that involved the River Wren, but was cut short as they heard someone approach.

  They turned to see Parker coming down the hill. “How’s it coming?” he asked Gregory and Laurel, though his eyes were only on Hannah.

  She could feel his gaze deep inside her. Ever since Maddie gave her the grand inquisition about him, she couldn’t help considering what it would be like to truly be with him one day. Pushing it out of her mind, as she had formed the habit of doing, she cleared her throat. “This could be really interesting.”

  Nodding, he said, “Yeah, that druid is pretty badass.” He still hadn’t looked at the other two. “I just came to discuss some plans with Gregory.”

  “That druid is right over here.” Laurel snapped her fingers. “Maybe we aren’t the ones playing house!”

  Parker looked confused and Hannah almost responded, but before she could, her words were interrupted by Ezekiel’s voice in her head.

  Come quickly to the tower. We need you.

  She tried to ask what was wrong, but got no response. She turned toward the tower and saw people running in through the great front door.

  “I have to go,” she mumbled as she turned and ran as fast as she could for the tower.

  ****

  Hannah was nearly out of breath by the time she made it back to the tower. A woman was leaving as she approached.

  Grabbing her arm, Hannah asked, “What is it?”

  The woman spun to face Hannah, a look of confusion washing over her face.

  “Are we being attacked?” she pressed, when the woman was silent.

  Her eyes darted about. “Why, I don’t think so, dear. What would make you—”

  Realizing that the woman was clueless, Hannah muttered some words of thanks and pushed past her and through the doors. She turned to the right, taking a short corridor which spilled into the great room.

  Sal slumbered by the fire, oblivious to the excitement all around him. Four others, not originals to the rebellion, stood with Ezekiel and Karl. The rearick beamed as she walked into the room. “Lassie, glad yer finally here!”

  Turning, Ezekiel gave her a nod.

  Hannah ignored the newcomers. “No attack?” she shouted at Ezekiel, her heart still racing.

  The old man laughed. “Of course not.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “The message you sent was laced with urgency.”

  The wizard leaned on his staff. “Ah! When one’s party grows, it is indeed an urgent occasion. But not all urgent things are dangerous.”

  Hannah thought about smacking him but exhaled instead, trying to quell the adrenalin. As her heart rate slowed, she looked at their guests. Two of them, though unfamiliar to her, were clearly mystics, with their tall, slender builds, pristine robes, and the calm repose in their faces.

  Ezekiel waved to the mystics. “These are Ida and Markell. They’ve come down from the Temple to join us.”

  They nodded to her, and she returned the gesture.

  “And they’ve brought friends,” Ezekiel said pointing behind Hannah. She turned and nearly shouted when she saw the old rearick.

  “Mortimer?” she asked.

  An old man standing nearly a foot shorter than her leaned on a cane made of twisted wood. She sometimes had trouble telling rearick apart since they were all beards and attitude in her mind, but she knew Mortimer immediately. The two shared a special bond.

  Months earlier when Hadley introduced her to the mystical arts, Mortimer had been the first target of her practice. She had taken a stroll through his mind only minutes before the accident that would have likely killed the stout man if it weren’t for her daring rescue.

  “Aye. It’s good to see ya, Hannah.” His smile was broad and, though no rearick would ever admit to such a thing, his eyes were glassy. “Don’t think I ever got a chance to thank ya properly fer saving me life.”

  Karl put his hand on her shoulder and pointed her toward a younger rearick.

  “Let me interrupt yer sentimental bullshit before that old assbag starts weeping like an Arcadia.” Karl growled. “This is Garrett. He’s just old enough to fight and too stupid to know how to stay out of trouble.”

  Hannah’s eyes narrowed, but then she recognized him as well. They had fought side by side once against the remnant. “We’ve met too.”

  “It’s a pleasure. Again,” Garrett confirmed, a cocky smile on his face. “And what this old man calls foolishness, I call bravery.”

  The rearick broke out again in laughter. Hannah smiled. “We’re going to need a measure of both to face Adrien and his forces. Is that why you’re here? Have you come to fight?”

  Mortimer cleared his throat. “Sure have. But it shames me to say,” Mortimer’s face flushed pink, “that we’ve come too late. When we heard ‘bout yer fight in the city, Garrett here and me realized we should have come sooner. Forgive us.”

  Ezekiel interjected. “You are here now, which is more than we can say of many in Irth who know that times are desperate. Let us look to the future rather than wasting time on the past.”

  Mortimer kicked a wooden crate at his feet with his good leg. His eyes danced as he looked up at Hannah. “I brought ya a little gift, lass. Something to say thanks fer savin’ me arse back in the Heights, and as an apology fer being late to the party.”

  He leaned over and removed the top, pulling out its contents and spreading them on the floor with care. It was clothing of a sort, but metallic and made of numerous smaller plates.

  “Is that armor?” Hannah asked.

  “Aye. From the best materials we could dig out of the Heights. Made it meself.” He beamed with pride. “If what I hear about the way ya fight is true, ya might just need it,” he declared with a wink.

  She knelt and ran a hand over the surface of the metal, and her throat got tight. She couldn’t remember the last time she had received a true gift from someone. “It is amazing, Mortimer. I’ll wear it with pride.”

  “Just don’t get yer blood and guts all over it,” Karl added. “Now, I figure with more than one rearick on the ground, we might just be able to whip that crew of lowlander shits into a true fighting force.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.” Her eyes cut to the mystics. “All of you.”

  The mystics remained silent, but nodded in response. Their quiet presence brought her the sense of peace she remembered from her days in the Temple.

  “Yer welcome, of course, but I’m not sure what we need more mindjackers for,” Karl said with a scowl. “I’m sure Adrien is teaching his men not to fall for yer tricks of make-believe monsters. Unless all that brainpower tells ya how to use a weapon?”

  Ezekiel raised his hand, quieting the rearick. “Enough, Karl. Julianne is already developing a plan for the mystics’ role in all of this. Believe me, their ability to communicate seamlessly over distance will make them invaluable in the heat of battle.”

  Karl nodded and snorted. “Not bad. But what we really need is hard ste
el in the hands of me men in place of the sticks they been training with.”

  Hannah listened to the rearick’s complaint, pausing for just a moment, before she said, “Let me talk to Amelia, Karl. I might have an idea for how to power those sticks of yours.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The wrench spun off the rounded nut, causing Gregory to scrape his knuckles on the hard iron of his current project. He hated working with these scavenged tools, and missed the extensive set of tools he had used at home. “Son of a bitch!” he yelled into his basement workroom.

  “Does cursing at it help? Must be some sort of Arcadian magic I don’t know,” Laurel asked, watching him trying to shake the pain out of his hand. She reached over to him when it was clear that his magic wasn’t working. “Here, let me see.”

  Gregory stopped the shaking and gave his hand to her. She took it in her own and scrunched her face, inspecting the gashes on his knuckles, blood seeping to the surface. She pulled a handkerchief from her hip and applied pressure. Then her eyes flashed green, and Gregory felt warmth spread from her hand to his.

  “Thanks.” He was grateful for the healing. And for the way her touch felt somehow more intimate than others.

  “No prob. To be honest, I’m not that great a healer. I was always better at hurting things than healing them, so be careful. The knuckles will be fine, but those dark circles under your eyes make you look like you haven’t slept in days, or you’ve been hitting the seiderdrek a little too hard.”

  “I have no idea what that means. Another druid thing?”

  Laurel giggled. “You’ve never heard of sleep? You Arcadians are some kind of badass.”

  Gregory glared at her playfully.

  “Seiderdrek is something a group from the north—the far north—drink. It makes them mad, like the remnant, I guess. Don’t know if it is real, but the storytellers have a few tales about the violent people up there. They say it makes them crazy and nearly indestructible.”

  “Are they in the Frozen North?” Gregory asked.