Tal nodded as Micah rumbled his agreement.

  “He shouldn’t have been able to walk away,” Tal added. “Not after a beating like that. He only managed because Salomen outfitted them in Fleet combat uniforms.”

  “Meaning?” Miltorin asked.

  “They’re flexible light armor. The Alseans involved in that riot should have nicely bruised toes and knuckles. Or broken ones.”

  Miltorin swung his gaze back to the coverage, which was still following the limping Voloth and the woman who had protected his head. “How did Bondlancer Opah manage that?”

  “I expect to get that same question from Captain Serrado.” Tal suspected the answer involved a tall Gaian who had vanished at the same time as Salomen.

  As if conjured by the thought, a call came in with Colonel Razine’s ID. Tal tapped her earcuff and said, “You found Lhyn Rivers.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Good guess,” Tal lied. “She came to pick up her transport?”

  AIF warriors had located Lhyn’s transport the day after she and Salomen had vanished, then followed their trail south. When a search of towns in that direction came up empty, Razine left a team in the hangar and expanded her net.

  “She’s there right now, being detained by my warriors.”

  “Put me through, please.”

  Tal waited, then heard a breathless voice in the slightly tinny register that meant Lhyn was speaking into a wristcom.

  “Andira! Fucking stars, will you tell them I didn’t kidnap Salomen?”

  “You did take her off her land and out of the protection of her Guards,” Tal pointed out.

  She was shocked to hear a shuddering breath. “It’s not funny, they’ve got my wrists tied, I don’t—please get me out of these!”

  “Who is the warrior in charge here? I want a word,” Tal snapped.

  Immediately she heard the clearer tones of someone using an earcuff. “Lancer Tal, this is Lead Guard—”

  “I don’t care who you are. Your orders were to detain, not restrain. Take off her wrist ties and give her your earcuff.”

  “Yes, Lancer.”

  After half a tick and the sound of an earcuff being transferred, Lhyn’s voice came back clearer and calmer, though still trembling.

  “Thank you. I was, um . . .”

  “About to have a panic attack,” Tal finished for her. “I know. I’m sorry, that wasn’t the intent. Emotions are a little high.”

  Lhyn laughed nervously. “Right. Including mine. Am I being taken to Blacksun Base?”

  “We only wanted you detained to learn where Salomen was. Since I’m watching her on a global broadcast, that’s no longer a concern. Come see me in my office; I have a few questions for you. Use the north side entrance. You’ll be escorted up.”

  “Right,” Lhyn said again. “Time to pay the bill, I guess.”

  Tal had a few short words with the Guard in charge, impressing upon him the importance of following orders, then ordered him to let Lhyn go and end the surveillance on the hangar. Her next call was to the Chief Guardian of the State House, alerting him to Lhyn’s impending arrival. When she closed that call, Micah was watching her with narrowed eyes.

  Fortunately, she was spared from whatever he was about to say by an exclamation from the announcers. The head of the march had just met Lanaril’s templars, and a sea of dark blue lined both sides of the street. The templars had moved aside to allow the musicians to pass.

  “What happened to the rest?” an announcer wondered. All of the marchers Lanaril had picked up along the way had vanished.

  A vidcam soon found them, being led by six templars through side streets. They were making their way around in order to join the march farther back, thus reducing any confusion at the front. Tal had a feeling she knew who Salomen had been talking to on her earcuff when she was nearly brained by a rock.

  When the last wind player marched by, Lanaril broke from the ranks and jogged to Salomen, who met her in a familial double palm touch that set the announcers buzzing. They nearly hyperventilated when Lanaril then ran up to Vellmar, pulled her into a warmron, and soundly kissed her.

  Ronlin gave a shout and laughed, clapping as if he were watching a theatrical production. Tal joined in, thoroughly enjoying the shocked look on Vellmar’s face. She laughed harder when Vellmar got over her shock and lifted Lanaril right off her feet, only to set her down and kiss her in a way that surely increased the ambient temperature on the street.

  The announcers were chuckling as well. “What were you saying about Satran making statements?” asked one.

  “That she’s not afraid to make them! Ah, look at that, she’s broken a million hearts.”

  “Which ones? The faithful worshipping her along with Fahla, or the fans who fell for Vellmar the Blade after her performance in the Global Games?”

  “Make that two million hearts,” was the answer, and they laughed again.

  Vellmar grabbed Lanaril’s hand and pulled her forward just in time to avoid becoming a traffic hazard, with a broadly smiling Salomen pushing her from behind.

  The marchers passed between the standing ranks of templars, who waited until the last of the Voloth had gone by. Then they began stepping in, forming a new line of defense.

  “Brilliant tactic,” Tal said admiringly. “I’ll bet Lanaril and Salomen cooked that up between themselves. No one is going to throw things at templars.”

  The announcers had drawn the same conclusion and began discussing the historical resonance of templars protecting Alseans from violent reprisals. Then someone bounced past in a vallcat costume, leading the announcers to highlight the most exotic, ingenious, or amusing costumes among the four marches. Tal thought the fairy fly in Whitemoon was particularly inspiring, with its constantly changing wing and body colors.

  “Notice the legs on that fairy fly?” one announcer pointed out. “Eight legs, four people, four caste colors.”

  “Four castes working together to create something beautiful,” the other agreed. “A perfect encapsulation of the day. Oh, what’s this? Back in Blacksun, Vellmar has pushed Satran back and is shouting at the Voloth. Bondlancer Opah also looks concerned. She’s pulling Satran in next to her and—oh no!”

  53

  Bricks and blades

  Salomen had kept her blocks down, stubbornly trying to crowdsense despite her lack of training and the way it drained her. The people throwing fruit and even rocks had not registered on her senses as being particularly violent, but rather angry and afraid.

  Now, however, she felt an unmistakable spike of violent intent just as Fianna turned and pushed Lanaril toward her.

  “Get your shields up!” Fianna shouted at the Voloth behind them. “Get closer!”

  Salomen caught Lanaril’s hand and pulled her in, bracketing her between Arabisar and herself.

  A hail of rocks flew toward them, too many for Rahel or Rax to defend against. Salomen instinctively turned and wrapped her arms around Lanaril’s shoulders, protecting her as much as she could while they moved in a side-stepping motion. One rock clattered to the street close by and came to a quick stop.

  It wasn’t a rock but a paving brick, square and sharp-edged and heavy. The people throwing these had prepared in advance. They hadn’t simply run to the riverbank to fill their pockets with rounded river rocks. They had gone to a construction site for something more dangerous.

  A brick whistled past her ear, and she let go of Lanaril to cover her head. Others hit the back of her cuirass with muffled clanks, the sound softened by her cape though their impact still jarred. Still more hit lower, but with room to shift and give, the thick fabric of her cape slowed them. By the time they struck her legs, their force was barely enough to bruise.

  In times past, Salomen had disliked the weight of this formal cape. It was much thicker and heavier than her normal one, and the luxurious material was made even more dense by the embroidery. Today, she blessed Fahla for it.

  Lanaril ducked down, making herself a smaller target. On her other side, Arabisar had also turned to shield her.

  Salomen’s fear gave way to anger. She didn’t care about the bricks hitting her; they wouldn’t even dent the cuirass. But Lanaril had no such protection. How dare these dokker’s backsides try to hurt someone who had never done anything but help others?

  With her head bent over Lanaril’s, she could not see what was happening. But she heard the screams of unfamiliar voices, calling out hateful names and urging attack. Rahel shouted in response, her words unintelligible though Salomen felt the fury behind them.

  Another brick slammed into her back. A second hit the street so close that she had to step over it.

  No more came.

  Cautiously, she lifted her head.

  Fianna and Rahel were fighting separate groups of attackers on opposite sides of the street. Two bodies were already laid out on the bricks behind them.

  Rahel jumped over the woman she had just put down and swung her stave in a quick left-right motion that struck a heavyset man first on one side of the head, then the other. He slumped to the ground like a sack of grain.

  Another man approached from behind, light flashing off metal as he raised a knife to strike at Rahel’s neck. Salomen had no time to shout a warning before Rahel dropped to a crouch and spun, her stave sweeping the startled man’s legs out from under him. She rose as he fell, then whipped her stave into a vertical position and smashed its end onto his sternum. He screamed and flung out his hands, as if trying to seize the oxygen that was suddenly too difficult to draw in.

  She left him gasping on the ground and whirled once more, her stave horizontal and tucked in tight against her torso. It almost took down a woman who jumped back in time.

  The woman hesitated, eyeing her opponent as if trying to figure out how to get past. Rahel gave her no time to consider the problem as she repositioned her stave and lunged to the left. The woman dodged right and probably never realized that the first thrust had been a feint. She jumped straight into a devastating blow to the side of her head and dropped, landing halfway across one of the other prone bodies.

  Across the street, Fianna was using her fists and feet against two remaining opponents with knives. A third was on his back near the other body, holding bloody hands to his face. One of the others soon joined him, knocked out by a high kick.

  The last opponent dropped his knife and backed away, but Fianna was too enraged to let him go and gave chase. He turned and barreled into a group of onlookers, who did not give way, instead shouting at him and shoving him back. Fianna grabbed his wrist and yanked him toward her as she ducked, slammed her shoulder into his lower body, and pushed up. He gave a startled shout as he flew through the air and landed painfully on the street behind her. Groaning, he tried to roll to the side, but she pounced and stilled his movements with a fist to the face.

  Rax was in a frightening fight with another knife-wielding attacker. The large woman stepped to one side and then the other, her hate-filled gaze focused on Arabisar and Salomen, but Rax doggedly got in her way, blocking strikes with his paddles. In an impatient fury, she stabbed at his face, only to find her knife embedded in wood. Before she could react, Rax chopped the side of the other paddle into the bottom of the knife handle, dislodging it and sending it flying. It clinked onto the street ahead of them, bouncing and sliding far out of reach.

  With a roar of rage, the woman slammed a fist into his side, then jumped back and shook out her hand. She had not counted on the protection of the combat uniform.

  Her distraction proved her undoing. She was rubbing her wrist when Fianna seized it from behind and whirled her around, straight into a palm strike that broke her nose. She staggered back, both hands to her face. Fianna followed with an upraised fist, ready to finish her off, then looked startled when the woman dropped to the street unconscious.

  Rahel set her stave upright. “I was out of opponents,” she said.

  “I think we both are.” Fianna gave her an approving nod.

  For Salomen, overwhelmed with the heightened emotions hammering at her senses, removing the worst was only a minor relief. She finally admitted that she didn’t have the strength for crowdsensing and brought up her blocks.

  It was akin to stepping straight from the roaring machinery of a crop distribution center to the most remote corner of Hol-Opah, where silence reigned and the only sound was that of a breeze sighing through herdgrass.

  She tilted her head back, reveling in the peace, then looked forward again and realized that unless she could stop the entire march—an impossibility with how closely they were packed and how many were behind her—the attackers in front of them were about to be trampled.

  “Lanaril,” she said urgently. “We need to move them.”

  Lanaril looked up, saw the situation at a glance, and nodded. They raced over to the nearest attacker, the gasping man with a broken sternum. Salomen spotted his knife lying in the street and picked it up. It was long and wicked looking, and she could not forget seeing him raise it over Rahel’s back. She caught his eye and said, “Nice. You deserve that.”

  “Salomen, hurry.” Lanaril had her hands wrapped around one of his wrists.

  She hesitated, at a loss as to what to do with the knife.

  “Give it to me.” Arabisar appeared beside her, already holding one knife.

  Salomen handed it over, then grabbed the man’s other wrist and ignored his agonized screams as they jerked him across the rough bricks and to the side of the road.

  Several bystanders had recovered from their shock and joined Salomen and Lanaril when they darted back. In pipticks, the remaining endangered attackers had been moved to the sides. Salomen called out a thank you and rejoined the march just as it crossed the point where the fight had taken place.

  Rahel jogged over. “Vellmar is trying to find a City Guard with some shekking honor to process those muscleheads,” she said. “She already knocked out one who should have been helping us fight. He’ll wake up missing two teeth.”

  Salomen looked her over for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

  “By them?” Rahel asked incredulously.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offer insult.” She smiled at her affront. “You aren’t even out of breath.”

  That inspired a sideways look and a disgruntled huff. “I’ve worked harder going through my forms. Are you all right?”

  She rapped her knuckles on her cuirass. “It’s not just ornamental. Lanaril?”

  “I’m fine,” Lanaril said. “Though I have to say, I never thought I’d break the warmron taboo with you. On a public street, no less.”

  “That doesn’t come close to counting as a warmron,” Rahel said. “If you ever want to break that taboo for real, call me. I’d love to give you one.” She twisted around to look behind them, then leaned nearer and added, “Though that fighting vallcat of yours might have something to say about it.”

  Lanaril chuckled. “Quite a lot, I’m sure. Prime Producer, thank you. How are you doing?”

  “As our Bondlancer said, they’re not just ornamental.” Arabisar rapped her own cuirass. “I’m newly fond of this chunk of metal.”

  Salomen looked past her to Rax. “And you?”

  He stared straight ahead and did not respond.

  “Rax. Are you all right?”

  The name caught his attention. “You’re asking me?”

  “That woman tried to stab you in the face. Of course I’m asking you.”

  He seemed shocked, as if he truly had not imagined any of them would care. “I’m, uh. I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

  “You took a good hit to the side,” Rahel observed. “That’ll bruise even through the uniform.”

  “I’ve had worse. It hardly registers.”

  “Thank you for your defense, Rax.” Arabisar held out the two knives. “First Guard, can you do something with these?”

  “Ah. I’m glad you picked those up.” Rahel took them from her hand and tucked them into her belt. “Those cuirasses might not be ornamental, but you’re missing a few useful accouterments.”

  “Never had a need for them before. Being a Prime is much more exciting since the Bondlancer came to the High Council.”

  It could have been sarcastic, but Arabisar was smiling. Salomen briefly dropped her blocks to check and found the Prime stressed but exhilarated.

  As their eyes met, her spirits rose. “Someone had to get in there and aerate the soil.”

  Arabisar’s smile turned to a full grin. “I thought for certain you were about to say ‘fertilize.’”

  “No, you’ve all been doing that quite well without me.”

  Arabisar laughed, an infectious sound that set Salomen off. When Fianna rejoined them a tick later—getting another kiss from Lanaril for her valor—it seemed as if that fight had never happened.

  Except, Salomen thought, they were more of a team now. They had a firmer hold on their purpose and less fear of the unknown.

  And next to Arabisar, Rax seemed a little taller.

  54

  Warrior

  Rax had never seen or imagined anything like this march. The idea of so many citizens protesting against a government decision was already unthinkable, but that the protest would be led by two of the highest figures of that government? Every time he tried to examine that, his mind skittered away from delving too deep. He simply had no frame of reference.

  It was easier to think about the anger he could see in some of the onlookers. Anger, he understood. Anger expressed in violence was almost comforting in its normalcy.

  He also understood that for most of the angry Alseans, directing that violence toward the settlers was easier than directing it toward their fellow Alseans. It was a familiar dynamic. After all, no hanger in the Voloth military could ever express their anger at unfair policies or unjust acts to any officer. But they could take it out on each other, and even more easily on slaves.

  He was therefore unsurprised that the Alseans throwing fruits and rocks in the first attack had focused on the settlers while mostly ignoring the far larger mass of marchers. Nor was he surprised to hear about the second attack taking place behind them. What did surprise him was when Bondlancer Opah, listening to a report on her earcuff, relayed the news that marchers had come to the rescue of the embattled settlers and sent the attackers running. No settler had been seriously injured.