Ch 15

Out of Hiding (Part 1)

MICA EARTHBORN

"Mica looks ridiculous," I grumped, gazing into the mirror as I twisted and turned to see myself from multiple angles.

We had flown from the Beast Glades to Greengate under the cover of night, sneaking into the town in the early hours of morning. There was no sign of the Alacryans, so we stole into an abandoned house to wait.

At least, we'd thought it was abandoned until we found a young woman's corpse hanging from an exposed beam in the kitchen. Varay had cut her down, and we'd put her in the home's single bed and covered her with a blanket. After I sang a dwarven death song, we left her to rest.

It was a gloomy start to our mission.

We hid within the dead woman's house for two days before the Alacryans arrived. It was a quiet, reflective two days. Varay had paced endless, restless circles around the house while Aya sat and watched through a crack in the shuttered window. I told her this was unnecessary, as we would feel it the moment a retainer appeared in town, but surprisingly she didn't listen to me.

I spent the time in thought. It was a shame to waste quality time I could have spent tormenting the other Lances, but the discovery of the woman's body had been a slap-in-the-face kind of reminder of the cost of this war. As a general, I'd become used to the sight of soldiers' bodies littering the battlefield, but those were never the only casualties.

Who did she lose in the war? I wondered. Who did she lose that she couldn't live without?

The names of the dead thrummed in my head like barrel drums. Olfred. Dawsid Greysunders. Glaundera Greysunders. Rahdeas. Alea Triscan. Bairon Wykes. Virion Eralith. Arthur Leywin. My charges, my companions…and how many others from Darv by now? Dwarves I'd known from Vildorial or the Earthborn Institute? My family? There were so many faces I would never see again, voices I would never hear.

I had been in danger of becoming rather depressed when we finally felt the telltale surge of mana announcing the arrival of the retainer.

"Why does Mica have to wear this dead woman's clothes, again?" I asked, still examining myself in the mirror.

"I want to see what we're up against before we risk attacking," Varay answered. "If we march out there dressed like Lances, they'll either attack immediately or flee, and we don't want either of those things to happen."

Varay and Aya had also exchanged their armor for simple clothes and hooded cloaks. They were both closer to the size of the previous owner, and managed to avoid looking completely stupid. Aya's tunic was perhaps a little strained, and Varay's pants ended above her ankle, but the only thing in the house that fit me was a man's tunic that we'd found crumpled up at the back of the wardrobe.

"It looks like a potato sack," I said, keeping up my steady stream of complaints. "Mica is supposed to be the cute one, not the frumpy, dumpy one."

Aya scoffed. "No one is going to remember what we're wearing. Now let's—"

She went silent as something set the mana particles all around us to vibrating subtly. A honeyed voice oozed out of the air. "People of Greengate. Your attendance is required at the village square. You have ten minutes."

The three of us shared a look, everything forgotten except for the mission.

"Suppress your mana signatures. Let's go."

Aya and I followed Varay outside and down the street. The dead woman's house was near the west edge of the village, so it was easy to blend into the crowd of confused townsfolk making their slow way toward the square.

Their fear was obvious, but I didn't blame them for it. They'd have been stupid not to be afraid, considering what was waiting for them. Still, I knew they were going to be really surprised when the Lances suddenly appeared!

With our faces hidden under our hoods—I had to hold onto the hem of my borrowed cloak to keep it from dragging on the ground—we streamed along with the pale-faced, silent farmers until we found ourselves standing in a wide plaza.

The crowd was pressed in close around a column of stone that rose ten feet above the cobbles. A ring of Alacryan mages guarded the column, but everyone's eyes were on the woman standing on top of it.

She was wearing the gray and red uniform of Alacrya. Her hair was the color of fire, and it seemed to move with a life of its own, like a flickering candle flame. She gazed down at the crowd with a subtle smile, her hands clasped in front of her.

The retainer was letting her intent press down on the people below her. Not murderous and crushing, but insurmountable. To these humble farmers, if must have felt like she was a deity.

I've seen better.

She was pretty, sure, and she was powerful enough, and whatever sound deviant spell she used to project her voice the way she did was neat, but she wasn't scary.

While the silence lingered, I examined the mages with her, but they were nothing special. Despite being high-ranking soldiers with multiple runes displayed along their backs, they were there more for show than safety. It's not like villagers with pitchforks were a threat to the retainer.

It feels too easy, I thought, Aya's words about it being a trap coming back to me.

Closing my eyes, I felt around the town for any other mana signatures, but the only mage I could sense was an old man in the crowd, who looked like a strong gust of wind might blow him all the way to the Wall.

A sufficiently powerful mage, like another retainer, could hide their mana signature, however, so I didn't entirely reject the possibility of some kind of trap.

It wouldn't be too bad, I thought idly. Like a two-for-one sale on Alacryan retainers. Two flies, one slap.