57

The wagon had a chest filled with neatly arranged gold, silver, and copper coins. It was counted thoroughly, and the gold and silver were divided into small bags that each of them carried, with the copper coins just being scattered onto the ground. The coin added around twenty pounds to each of their kits, and the scouts made it very clear that they would be counting the coin every night and any missing money would be paid for in flesh back at the fort. The trek back was harrowing with the added weight and prisoner making things much more difficult, but unlike the first time when they snuck from the fort onward, they only had to reach friendly territory, and then they could travel openly. Luckily, Michael and the other Takers were much less worried about watching their own backs now that there was only one of the other Penitents left.

In the late afternoon they came across a small, pitched battle. The scouts had everyone sneak up to observe what was happening from the woods.

Michael could see what looked like a half-dozen Stent knights supporting nearly twenty regular soldiers against around forty Tusynian troops. They were slightly behind the Tusynians from where they were looking.

Bran tied the Tusynian sergeant roughly to a tree, striking him when he tried to struggle, and fixing his gag, then he readied his bow. Thom did the same and looked at the others.

“Get ready to support them,” he said and turned to Ollie. “Looks like they don’t have any mages. Go wild.”

Ollie smiled, and everyone began to take their positions. Michael drew his sword and readied himself to run when he heard Ollie start to talk.

“I’m gonna burn these motherfucking cunts,” he said as heat began to build around him. He raised a hand and stepped out from behind the cover of the trees. An orb of fire roughly the size of a basketball shot from his hand and exploded just behind the enemy lines, covering a dozen of them in flames. They screamed as their flesh melted inside their armor.

Michael, Davi, and Pyotr charged out after the second the Fireball hit and crashed into the closest enemies. Michael reached them first and quickly cut down a man who, in spite of being on fire, had managed to turn and face them. He moved quickly toward another that was struggling with a Stent Soldier and stabbed through the gap between his pauldron and his chestplate.

He could see that a number of Stent soldiers were injured, and one of the knights was being pulled back as well. He took a breath and focused, his hand glowing even through his gloves. He started to heal the nearest soldier, mending his wounds as he blocked a spear tip and sent out a strike of his own. He saw Pyotr take a glancing blow and moved his healing to him. He hadn’t had a lot of time to test his range but managed to start healing him from more than a few yards away even as he bashed away another enemy with his shield.

A spear suddenly embedded itself in his calf, and when he tried to turn around to face who’d done it, a bolt of lightning struck his attacker, and their body was thrown backward. He looked to see Ollie sending bolt after bolt at the Tusynian troops.

One of the Stent knights began fighting forward, taking advantage of the distraction caused by Michael and the others to carve through the enemy soldiers. Michael thought he recognized the knight’s movements and noticed that the hilt of his sword looked to be made of silver as he used it to smash his way through everyone with tremendous force.

Without a mage or the advantage of numbers, the Tusynian soldiers broke and fled. Michael saw a number of them fall to arrows and well-placed bullets from the scouts and Marcus, who’d stayed hidden in the treeline.

Michael quickly began healing everyone. He started with Pyotr, who had a deep cut in his shoulder, then moved to Davi, who had a nasty slice above his right eye. After that, he started healing the rank-and-file troops.

Their commander, the one with the silver-hilted sword, approached him, removing his helmet. It took him a moment to recognize him, but he realized it was Lance. Though they’d only been separated for nearly a week, he seemed…older. There were dark circles under his eyes and some fresh cuts on his cheek.

“Michael, that’s you, isn’t it?”

Michael undid the strap on his helmet and removed it before hitting his chest with his fist in salute.

“Good to see you, Lance. It seemed like you needed some help.” There was a burst of pain in the back of his neck, and he stumbled a bit. Bran and Thom approached.

“Sorry for that, Knight-Lieutenant. The Penitent shouldn’t speak to you so freely,” said Thom.

Lance grabbed Thom and threw him onto the ground, hard.

“I know him. Don’t interrupt me. We’re speaking,” he said, his tone tinged with a kind of manic exhaustion.

Michael’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He appreciated the help, but it was a very different action than he would’ve expected Lance to take.

Bran helped Thom up. “Sorry, sir.” He leaned in to Thom and whispered, “Go retrieve the prisoner.”

Thom nodded.

Lance returned his attention to Michael. “So, what are you doing here?”

Michael was kneeling to heal another of Lance’s men, who pulled away from him with disgust, even as the spear wound on his leg started to seal.

“Stay still and let him heal you. I won’t let your pride get in the way of you staying effective,” said Lance.

The man settled, and Michael healed him. Opting to lay his hands on him to reduce how much it tired him to heal from a distance.

“We’re getting back from raiding a merchant payment the Tusynians were delivering. We took a sergeant hostage as well.”

“We could use an escort to the nearest camp, Knight-Lieutenant,” said Bran a bit hesitatingly. “We’re lucky to find you this far afield.”

Michael noticed Lance’s soldiers’ attention suddenly converged on them. They looked tired, like they’d been marching and fighting nonstop for some time.

“No. We have to keep pushing. I’ve been tasked with harrying the Tusynian lines. We can do more. We have enough supplies for at least a few more days if we ration,” the mania in his voice came out a bit more heavily. He was pushing himself—and his men—hard. Too hard.

Michael found himself putting his hand on Lance’s shoulder. He leaned in a little closer to him and asked softly, “You okay?”

The mania in Lance’s eyes broke for just a moment but returned quickly. He pushed Michael’s hand away.

“I’m fine.”

Michael nodded. “Listen, Bran and Thom think this sergeant has valuable information, but they can’t do anything about it until we get safely behind Stent lines. You could take us back and take some time to let your men rest. They’ll fight better if they’re fresher. We also have a lot of gold with us that belongs in Stent’s coffers, if we’re captured or killed, all that gets lost.” Michael had no idea if the Tusynian sergeant had any important knowledge, but Lance was clearly losing it a bit, and it seemed like a good white lie to help him and his men.

Lance nodded. “For Stent, we can change our plans.” He looked at his men. “We’re returning to camp, everyone. We’ll march hard to get these scouts and Penitents back with their gains.”

There was noticeable relief on everyone’s faces, and Bran gave Michael a nod as the rest of the Penitents came back. There was some brief looting of the corpses, and before they started moving again, Lance actually spat on one of them.

“Tusynian dog,” he muttered as they started moving. Most of the knights with him were faces Michael recognized from the academy, but two of them were older, appearing to be veterans. They looked much less tired than the rest, and their eyes were frequently darting to the trees and to Lance. Michael assumed they’d been assigned by General Kreg to watch him.

The Penitents were placed in the middle of the formation along with the prisoner and the scouts, and they marched along a main road wide enough that the group was able to walk in rows of seven or eight.

Michael saw the scouts talking to a few of the other regulars and shamelessly eavesdropped. There wasn’t much else to do while marching anyway.

“Lost only twenty men, thank the Divine.”

“Marching out this far? Why?”

The soldier leaned in toward Thom. “The Commander’s brother was taken captive. He’s been pushing us to the brink ever since.”

Thom nodded. “I’m guessing if it wasn’t for those two veterans with him, he might’ve had a bit of a fall by now?”

The soldier nodded conspiratorially. “Something like that.”

That explained the changes in Lance’s behavior. A captured brother, a dead one, and a father that pushed him constantly. It didn’t exactly take Freud to figure all that out. He wondered if there was some way to help, but he wasn’t sure if he’d even have another chance to talk to him, and he doubted a direct conversation about it was something he would respond well to.