War of the Princes 02: Dragoon (13 page)

C
hapter 24: Nothing is Wasted

The children looked
close to death. Though their individual features were different, every one of them showed the bruised eyelids of exhaustion, with cheeks either too pale from fear or too pink from crying. Their little bodies were bowed in a way that confirmed their fatigue. None smiled or spoke, but I could hear the occasional whine and whimper. If my guesses were any good, these kids weren't older than nine. I recognized one of them from the Breakwater stable.

We looked in at the hexagonal training room from a hallway window. The weak children sat and lay in a circle on the floor, none too close to any other. In the center, on
a round wooden platform, was a dark skinned boy who sat on his legs, leaning like he was a tree about to fall. A ring of bronze spikes surrounded him, pointing outward.

This boy had the same Ability as Commander Stakes. I knew that he was an innocent and an entirely different person, but I recoiled all the same. My chest constricted with sympathy. The child had no choice in wh
at they would turn him into.

“
Testing them for Abilities takes some time. Those with strength are initiated, those without are consumed,” Margrave Hest said as casually as if she were talking about the weather or afternoon tea. She stood beside me like the sculpture of a predator, cruel and elegant. “These, of course, are some that showed skill. We separate them into different age groups for training.”

“
What about the babies?”

“
We're not here to play at surrogate mother. They might be years from using their Abilities, but they hold just as much energy as anyone else.”

“They’re drained?”

“Of course they are.”

I nearly gagged. A hot cold rush splashed up my skin and left me feeling feverish. I had to get out of here.

Easy, easy. She thinks we're friends... or kindred or something. It's better than being dead. Don't lose it, not yet.

I studied the boy on the platform to keep from imagining the horror she had described. A cloth bundle rested in his lap, and his arms crossed over it protectively. As his eyelids drooped, the metal spikes around him would shrink. Before they could disappear completely, he'd snap back into wakeful paranoia and the spikes would extend out to their full length.

“What's he doing?” I asked, wondering belatedly if I really wanted the answer.

“
It's a basic exercise. After a full day of training, the boy in the center is given extra food, water and a blanket. The bag he holds contains more than he can eat. If he rations it, he'll be given the same prize tomorrow. The other children are more than a little hungry,” she smiled as if it were a game. “If he takes pity on any of them, he'll be punished. The rule applies to other arenas of training. Help precludes advancement. They learn this way, that their only reward is resilience through solitude. Every tower is only as strong as its weakest brick.”

I got the feeling a punishment for sharing would be much worse than a slap on the wrist.

Hest's eyes drifted over the room. “Dragoons are allowed no friendships,” she said, echoing the words Rune had told me so long ago. “If the children below wish to save their stomachs from gnawing hunger, if they'd like to have extra nutrients for tomorrows training, they'll attempt to steal the rations, and hold the pedestal. They must first consider how they'll do this, and whether it’s worth risking their lives. It's a puzzle with a priceless reward. In seeing one another as competitors on a fundamental level, they will always strive harder to succeed. We include this concept in all training. Strength, endurance, pain tolerance. The strong become smarter, and the smart become stronger.”

“
What about the weak?” I asked, failing at differentiating the children. They were all suffering, all starving. The boy in the center had a different kind of pain behind his drooping lids. He was not enjoying keeping the food away from the others. Some of them may have been his friends once.

“
If they can no longer function, their strength feeds the war effort in the only way that it can. As I've told you, nothing is wasted,” she said with unabashed pride. “I remember my days beneath that dais. Hm. I'd never made it to the center. Nearly died over the first few nights. But I didn't, and here I am now, among the strongest, with all of the region as my pedestal.” She moved away from the window to settle her recessed eyes on me. “Once their instincts have long forgotten pity, compassion and friendship, we reintroduce cooperative drills. The main point is to disconnect them from one another.”

All I could do was nod. If my book had been a living thing, I would have squeezed it to death. My fingers were beginning to cramp.

Hest smiled as primly as a monster could. “Perhaps you'd like a demonstration?”

“
No,” I said too quickly.

Please, no.

“Why, Historian Kestrel, we do drills like this at any given time. It will be no trouble at all, I insist.”

I
nearly gave myself away. A tiny flicker of energy buzzed between the fingertips of my right hand. I couldn’t attack her. I’d never get out of the installment alive. Facing these poor kids, I almost didn’t care. If it weren’t for Haven, I probably would have attacked her that very second, screamed for the children to run, and died right there.

Margrave
Hest reached toward the window, pointing up and drawing three sets of rings in the air. At first, I didn't know who she was gesturing to. A pair of Dragoons peeled themselves away from the corners of the room. I hadn't even noticed them there until they moved. One of them began to speak, and the children stirred. Some began to cry, but most went into a feral state. The boy sitting atop the dais looked terrified.

“
They've announced that whoever claims the supply pack will receive a full day of food and rest,” the Margrave narrated.

The children scrambled to life, clawing, kicking and dragging over each other toward the center. The metal ring
protected the boy in the center until someone conjured a rock and threw it at his temple, knocking him down. The metal ring shrunk until it vanished, and the brawling mass of children swarmed the platform to descend upon him.

I may as well have been at the bottom of the pile. I flinched with every kick, punch,
and bite, with every rip of hair, or every face that collided with stone brick. This wasn't the scrappy tussle of rowdy kids, it was brutal. It was cruel. Some of them cried, even as they attacked one another. A lick of fire lashed up against one girl, and she tumbled to the ground, rolling to put it out. A narrow section of the flagstone floor boiled up like water and solidified to grip another boy's ankle. The displays of Abilities were small in scale, but no less devastating to their adversaries.

A red
-haired boy with an eye that was swollen shut burst from the gang, clutching the pack to his chest. He was victorious, but he didn't celebrate. He just breathed like he might fall over at any moment.

“
Ah! We have a winner,” the Margrave said cheerily. “Oh, but we have a loser as well.”

As the group broke apart, I saw a small,
blonde-haired girl sitting over the boy who'd originally defended the supplies. She was forcing the others away from him. She was defending him. One of the Dragoons walked through the crowd of children who swayed and stumbled with exhaustion, and gripped her tightly by the shoulder. He dragged her from the room.

I hated myself in that moment. My vision spun, and I put a hand against the wall for support. That morning, I'd left my friends behind, I'd trespassed through a battle zone, I'd been rescued by a man that died beside me, I'd seen a burst of blue fire that rekindled my hope, and I'd come here, to Cape Hill.

How could so many things happen in the span of one day? Now, I watched a little girl being dragged away from the scene of the worst tragedy yet, bound for the punishment of displaying her compassion, her humanity. I hated myself for watching it happen, and for not being able to do a single thing to help her.

Secretly, I imagined them all in Haven, smiling and playing along the Wendy River, the way I had when I was their age. Sunlight would pour down between the pine trees, the air would be crisp without being cold, and
the water would be refreshing. They'd be happy, free spirited, innocent. It was as if picturing them living in peace would protect them somehow. I knew that it was feeble, that it wouldn't accomplish anything, but it was all I could do. Maybe it was a farce, created to cushion my own fragile mind; maybe the guilt of my position would have destroyed me if not for my imaginings. Who was I really protecting?

“
Well, that was a pleasant diversion,” Hest said, driving me from my state of shock back into reality. The oppressive force of her presence was enough to sober me. Looking up at the metallic ruin of Margrave Hest made my skin crawl like I'd grabbed a handful of biting spiders. This was what these children had to look forward to, if they were to have any future.

Hest
settled a claw on one of my shoulders and turned me back the way we'd come. I walked back to the main set of stairs with her in a sort of haze. We passed a great many Dragoons, who each displayed their deference until we moved away. “What did you think of your visit?”

I considered my words carefully.
“It was incredible.”

Incredibly horrifying
.

Until I'd met Commander Stakes, I thought evil was a word reserved for
storybooks and legends. Now I saw it as a disease that had ravenously infected the Outside World.

“
And have I succeeded at enriching you?”

“
More than you know,” was my honest response. Her kindness toward me was baffling, but it was a flimsy disguise against her ruthless and inhuman nature. I was beyond disgusted, offended, angry, or afraid. What would you call such a state of being?

“
Good. Kestrel, Kestrel,” she said idly. “And what a strange bird you are. When your volume is complete, I simply must be the first to read it.”

“
Of course,” I said with growing discomfort. Why had her tone changed?

I was so close to the stairs that would carry me back to the Gold Palace, I could almost feel a tangible promise of safety, my mother's fate temporarily forgotten.
Hest blocked my path at the last moment. A short distance behind her, Commander Kestrel watched us, and slid a fearsome helmet over his head. It curved down to a point at the middle of his chest, like a bird with its beak to the ground.

“
A girl so much like myself. You know, I'd be quite upset if you lied to me, Historian.” She reached out to grasp my wrist with her one human hand. I nearly resisted, and thought better of it. She reached out with her warped metal talons, and used a single claw to tear a gash across the back of my hand. Blood swelled over the surface, running warm down my wrist.

I gasped, crying out at the sudden pain, and wrestled my hand away. A resounding boom, similar to one the cannons had made on the battlefield,
rattled the installment for an instant, but Hest was not distracted by it. The ground shook beneath my feet.

Letting my hand go, she smiled at me.
“I must be the first to read it,” she repeated. “And this way, you'll never forget.”

Chapter 25: Commander Kestrel

Moonlight flooded over me
, and the plush filigree rug at the foot of my window. Between the silvery glow of the moon and the yellow city lights, there wasn't a star in sight, at least not from where I was laying on the floor.

As soon as Margrave
Hest had left to investigate the strange sound we'd heard after she cut me, I raced back to the Gold Palace and my room. After five flights of stairs, I was sure my heart was going to rupture and leave a filthy corpse on the floor for the grounds keepers to clean up. As it turned out, I lived.

Following a bath, I may as well have been
a freshly scented corpse, complete with a luxurious resting place on the rug. I'd used strips of cloth from the washroom to bandage my left hand where the Margrave had cut it.

I'd returned to find Dylan in his bed, piled under a mountain of blankets, with his muddy comforter on the floor. A tray with food crumbs was at his bedside. There was nothing left for me. When I'd gone to my room, I found my bed stripped of all
its coverings. In addition to being ransacked, a bucket of water had been dumped on it. There was a note that read:

Dear Prankster,

Next time you go out, be kind and fetch me a bagel. Sleep well.

Yours,

~D

I’d found a single square throw-pillow and screamed into it until I
grew dizzy. I wasn’t angry about Dylan’s retaliation. It was seeing those children, thinking about Lina Thayer, and knowing I couldn’t do a thing to help them that drove me to new heights of anguish. I don’t know how long I paced the room, hot streams of tears rolling down the edges of my face, before I went numb and laid down.

I didn’t need a bed.
After everything I'd seen that night, there was no way I'd be able to fall asleep. Besides, the rug was surprisingly comfortable.

My wet hair was splayed out beside me and I lay in a puddle of the draping white nightgown I'd found in the washroom armoire.
My eyes fluttered shut. I was trying without much success to forget about the little blonde girl who’d been dragged from the training room, when a hand closed over my mouth.

I struggled frantically
but stopped when the blade of a knife pressed against my throat. Sucking in air through my nose like a rabbit with a dog on its heels, I grasped the gloved hand holding the weapon and looked up at my assailant.

It was Commander Kestrel.
His imposing figure hunched over me, his eyes shadowed from the moonlight by the round, hollowed sockets of his birdlike helm.

“
Don't scream,” he said, his voice muffled. Any more pressure, and that knife would slice into my skin.

“
I wonf if you wonf,” I said into his hand, and let a rope of electricity snake its way from my core, through my palm, and into Commander Kestrel's arm.

He grunted
as the jolt sent him stumbling backwards into my bed frame. The knife clattered to the floor. I scrambled away, dragging the long crimson curtain with me until my back hit the wall. The curtain, stretched and tangled beneath me, nearly broke from its fixture.

The
Commander groaned, his black and red leather armor dimly illuminated by the moonlight. I used my hands to help me get my footing, bare feet sliding on the curtain, and wrung my right hand until it was bright with slivers of electricity. The tendrils lapped up to my elbow, and I held my hand out defensively.

“
Don't move!” I hissed, pointing my palm at him.

Commander Kestrel rolled his head to one side and looked up at me from where he was slumped. Rising like a m
ountain cat, his shoulders taut, he looked down at me from his full height. “Who
are
you?”

“
You know who I am. Historian Kestrel. I'm from Mount Yumin. There's nothing more to know.” It was a feeble attempt to maintain my cover, now that he knew I had the Spark.

“
Yumin?” he echoed.

I nodded.

He made a thick sound. “You really had me fooled. And after thinking...”

“
I thought my family were the only Kestrels too,” I said.

Commander Kestrel cocked his head to the side.
“You thought what?”

“
I had no idea there were others,” I told him, wondering if he had come to talk. Maybe he'd be more civil now that the odds were evened out a bit. Then again, there was the Command.

If only I could reach my satchel with the flintlock pistol. I could shoot him and not have to worry. It was on the floor at the corner of my bed. I could reach it if he was distracted.

“I think we're doing this wrong,” I said, hoping I could convince him. “Let's just relax. Can you take your helm off so I don't feel like I'm talking to a statue?”

I shook my wrist and winked out the electricity as a show of good faith. He considered me for a moment. The instant he tilted his head down and reached to place his hand on the helm, I dove for the bag. My fingers closed around cool rosewood and brass. I ripped the gun from satchel, feeling far too slow. He'd dropped the helm on the floor, snatching up the discarded knife.

Clutching my weapon with two hands, I leveled it at him. My fingers went suddenly limp. Did the gun always feel so slippery? My pulse hammering in my ears, the world slid on its side the same way it had when I was in Rocktree Camp. The pistol, pulled by gravity, escaped my fingers with ease, and hit the ground with a heavy thump. I stumbled one step to the side, saving myself the indignation of falling flat on my face.

“
Rune.”