Chapter Three

Previously: Maxwell, Ivan and Lieutenant Westbrooke made it back to the Third Company garrison as hyssil swarmed the pass. The garrison wards are already starting to fail...

Chapter 3 - The Wards Will Fall

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THE GATE WARDS crackled with incredible power. Maxwell set his teeth against the heavy press of magic and shielded his eyes against the golden glare. He slipped through the thick metal doors behind Ivan, wincing at the line of pain that needled down his neck. A sharp coppery taste flooded his mouth like someone had crammed it full of bankrounds.

Somewhere nearby a theurgical team had to be hard at work, feeding excess energy into the defenses in preparation for a harrowing night. Every garrison seer would be uncomfortably aware of the repellent magic like some sort of spiritual splinter. This close it was positively intolerable.

Even with the Sight sigil still active, Ivan didn’t so much as twitch when he passed through the doors. The lucky bastard.

The courtyard was packed with theurgists and seers like it was the biannual turnout, but the relaxed atmosphere of routine ward renewal was nonexistent. Theurgists worked on staking paper wards into the hard packed ground in concentric circles while seers assembled the flare-ward mortars. Two medics pushed past Maxwell, heading for the injured back on the truck.

Maxwell had blood on his hands and his shirt, and it wasn’t his. It was already crusting and cracking away from his skin in jagged dark patches. He rubbed his hands together and grimaced as the dried blood crumbled to the ground. The adrenaline from scrambling back to the garrison was already wearing off too, leaving numb exhaustion in its wake. A shower followed by a cup of shitty garrison coffee would be fantastic, but that wasn’t likely to happen any time soon. If at all. The amount of hyssil on the road was unprecedented. This was an all hands situation.

Theurgical Officer Davis bent over a folding table covered in reports, illuminated by the glare of the standing light behind him. A generator hummed nearby.

He straightened when Maxwell and Ivan approached, favoring Ivan with a thin smile. He didn’t so much as look at Maxwell, not that Maxwell expected any differently. Theurgical Officer Davis had always been a dismissive asshole. He only had time for the theurgists he cultivated at the garrison.

“I was sure you’d make it back,” Davis said with an air of confidence. He snapped a leather-bound notebook closed. “Couldn’t leave you to be swept away by flood waters. Glad the lieutenant was able to find you in time.”

“The mountain is crawling,” Westbrooke interrupted, pushing past Maxwell to slam her hands down on the table. Papers ruffled at the fury of her motion. “You’re lucky I managed to get there and back. Didn’t think to notify me the mountains were positively crawling with spirits, did you? What are you playing at, Davis?”

Davis’s smile curled into something more unpleasant. “It all turned out fine didn’t it, Helene? It was important Theurgist Halli return. I have a plan for tonight.”

“Don’t say my name like we’re friends,” Westbrooke snapped. “I’ll be filing a complaint with Commander Brewer for your obvious negligence.”

“Do whatever you want tomorrow, but I doubt the commander is going to look at your complaint favorably after we fix the hyssil situation.” Davis waved his hand dismissively in Westbrooke’s direction. He turned to Ivan. “I want the device activated. Tonight. Have your seer do it.”

Maxwell’s lips twitched in irritation. Davis didn’t even have the decency to address Maxwell by name. The device could only be the secret RITD project Ivan had been working on with Davis. From the sounds of it Davis expected something miraculous from it, but what could Maxwell possibly contribute except his Sight?

Ivan tensed. His tongue darted between his lips. “Are you sure, sir?”

Davis nodded. “I have confidence that you will be able to see this through. That’s why I recommended you to the RITD.”

Ivan didn’t reply. A thin sheen of sweat popped against his forehead and for the first time that night he looked unsure of himself.

Ivan never hesitated. Maxwell found his hands worrying at one of his own shirt buttons. He forced himself to still his hands. There was something about the RITD’s secret device that Ivan didn’t want Maxwell involved in.

Maxwell studied Davis. The theurgical officer didn’t look scared. If anything he looked excited, full of anticipation for whatever the device within the garrison’s research division was supposed to do. That was hardly encouraging. Davis excited could only mean something unpleasant.

“What device is this?” Westbrooke asked.

“RITD business,” Davis said shortly. “Don’t you have some people to organize somewhere else? Ivan—get it going as soon as you can. Our defenses are unlikely to last the night given the numbers coming up the pass.”

“An unapproved RITD experiment has no business in tonight’s emergency disaster plans,” Westbrooke said. “I’m going to the commander.”

The shirt button was cold and smooth between Maxwell’s fingers when Davis’s reasoning clicked into place. Ivan was leaving the garrison within the week.

Whatever the consequence was of using the device tonight would fall squarely on Maxwell’s shoulders as the remaining member of their pairing. Which was something Davis was more than aware of. Better to have the seer take responsibility. If they managed to survive the night that was.

Maxwell clenched his teeth tightly. No way would he be stuck holding the shadow-cursed responsibility for whatever Davis had planned. “I don’t know what this is about,” he said. “But I’m not risking my job for this.”

Davis scowled. He stared at Maxwell as if noticing him for the first time. Which he probably was, not that Ivan would ever notice. “You won’t lose your job. Look—you want everyone to make it through this night? How about the RITD’s favor? Do as I say and I’ll make sure you get a staff position at the RITD. How does that sound? Help me out and I’ll help you out. We need a seer to make this all work.”

It sounded like everything he wanted, tumbling directly into his lap. Maybe some good would come out of this night after all. Or maybe it was a trick.

“I—That sounds—” Maxwell glanced at Ivan, but his theurgist was studying Davis’s makeshift desk like he was trying to burn a hole through it. If they had more time he’d ask Ivan in private what he’d been up to exactly with Davis, but he’d just have to settle with trying to get answers on the way.

“No.” Ivan shook his head. “Sir, I don’t think—Please. There has to be a different way. What about Susiere and her seer?”

“This isn’t your call to make, Halli.” Davis’s tone turned icy. “This is the sort of thing we’ve been preparing for. You knew this could be a possibility.”

Ivan didn’t want Maxwell involved. Maxwell tried to catch his eye, but Ivan’s attention remained focused on Davis.

This was his chance to follow Ivan to the RITD, to finally get out of the garrison too. This was a chance for Maxwell to prove himself. Ivan was trying to block that for some reason. Hurt hardened his resolve.

“I’ll do it.”

Davis offered Maxwell a rare smile. He held out his hand. Maxwell took it.

Westbrooke hissed out a breath and stormed away, no doubt off to find Commander Brewer to inform her the RITD was deviating from protocol.

“Great,” Davis said. “I’ll write up the paperwork tomorrow.”

Ivan looked up then, and the two theurgists stared at each other for a long moment.

“Wards, water and walls,” Davis said by way of dismissal.

“May the morning preserve us,” Ivan and Maxwell replied in unison.

Ivan touched Maxwell’s shoulder with a light hand and guided him towards the RITD’s research workshop towering above the rest of the garrison. Its smooth concrete construction was part of the old garrison, the remnants of the Balebian building that squatted above the magically chiseled out mountain pass.

Maxwell waited to ask his question until they’d moved from the courtyard and some of the tension had drained from Ivan’s shoulders. “Why does Davis want me to use this?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ivan said. He blinked, seeming to notice the blood staining Maxwell’s shirt for the first time. “Get yourself cleaned up and meet me at the workshop in—” He rolled up his sleeve and squinted down at his watch. “Ten ticks. I need—I need to check some things first.”

Before Maxwell had a chance to respond Ivan dashed in the opposite direction, towards the old garrison that bridged over the pass.

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