My eyes are slow to adjust to the bright light, but it looks like we’re in some sort of forest.
“The course humans wouldn’t have to take if they would simply stay seated, known as RSC,” he growls with surprising frustration, like he’s the one whose just been drugged and dragged out of the quadrant.
Rhiannon, Sawyer, and Ridoc are on my right, all looking as confused as I feel. To my left are four second-year riders with Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing designations, looking around the forest in bewilderment. Nice to see we aren’t the only ones befuddled.
“At least it’s not an assassination attempt.” If it was, we’d be dead, especially as fuzzy as I feel.
“It will be if we aren’t back at Basgiath when Sgaeyl arrives tomorrow.”
Oh. Shit. “This can’t last longer than a day.” Can it? “If it does, you should fly back alone.”
Across from us sit two groups of eight infantry cadets—if their blue uniforms are any indication—in hushed conversation. They’re all…homogenous. The four men all have the same military-short haircut, cropped close to their skulls in a fade, and the women wear their hair slicked back in tight buns. Same dark-blue uniforms, same boots, same…everything. Only the name tags above their hearts are different, except for the one with a squad leader designation on their shoulder in each group.
The four of us are all dressed in our summer uniforms, but we’ve each made our own modifications. My lightweight black top has slits down the front that give me direct access to the daggers sheathed in my armor at my ribs. Rhiannon prefers a tunic with sheaths directly sewn in. Sawyer likes his sleeves short, weapons strapped to his upper arms, and Ridoc never took the time to see the uniform tailor—he just ripped his sleeves off. We aren’t even wearing name tags, and the same goes for the squad from Second Wing.
“And leave you to fend for yourself?”
The forest floor is soft and muddy in patches, and the afternoon sun streams in between the branches at an angle, which means we’ve only been unconscious an hour, maybe two at most. It’s nothing but trees as far as I can see.
“I think that’s the point.” I blink, fighting to bring my brain into sharper focus. “Promise me, if I’m stuck out here on land nav, that you’ll see her if you can. We can’t be that far from Basgiath.”
Professor Grady hands each rider a waterskin. “Sorry for the abrupt change of scenery. Hydrate.”
We all uncork our skins and drink. The water is crisp and cold…but there’s something else there, too. Pungent. Earthy. And something bitterly floral that I can’t quite place. I close the skin, cringing at the aftertaste. Professor Grady really needs to take better care of his skins.
“You all right?” I ask Rhi, who is checking her sheaths for weapons.
“A little dazed, but yeah. You?”
I nod, running my hands down my sides to make sure my daggers are exactly where I left them. They are. My bag is still strapped to my back, too.
“They took us in the stairwell?” I look over to see Sawyer rubbing his temples and Ridoc scratching the tattoo on his neck.
“That’s my last memory.” She nods in agreement, studying the squads next to and across from us.
“Anyone know where we are?” Sawyer asks the obviously more alert infantry squads.
The cadets look over at us, but no one answers. Or speaks at all.
“I’m going to take that as a no,” Ridoc drawls.
“It’s a no from us.” The rider from Second Wing with a squad leader designation lifts his hand in greeting.
“Do you know where—” I start to say toward Tairn, but the usually crystal-clear connection is muffled, like someone has thrown a blanket over it. Panic clenches my heart as I realize the same is true for Andarna, though I don’t risk waking her with questions. “I can’t reach Tairn.”
Rhi’s gaze snaps to mine, and she cocks her head to the side. “Shit. Feirge, either. It feels like something is…”
“Smothering the connection,” Sawyer finishes.
I set the waterskin down next to me, and the others catch on, doing the same. What in Dunne’s name did we just drink?
“We’re blocked out,” a rider with a shoulder-length dark-blond braid whispers.
“Breathe, Maribel,” the squad leader orders, shoving his tan hand into his dark curls, like he might actually benefit from that suggestion a little more. “It can’t be for long.”
Ridoc’s hands fist. “This isn’t right. I don’t give a shit if it’s for the course— we’re not supposed to be cut off from them.”
“Tomas?” Rhiannon asks, leaning forward to look past me.
“Hey, Rhi.” The squad leader waves. “This is Brisa.” He points to a woman with a shaved head, rich brown skin, and an observant, quick-moving gaze, and she gives us a curt nod. “Mirabel.” He swings his finger to the blonde with pronounced flight goggle lines in her pale cheeks and a fire-wielder patch on her shoulder, and she waves. “And Cohen,” he finishes. The rider closest to me, with a fast smile, short black hair, and warm russet-brown skin, lifts his hand in greeting.
“Hi.” Rhiannon nods. “This is Sawyer, Ridoc, and Violet.”
The pleasantries are cut short as Professor Grady marks something in a folder and clears his throat. “Now that you’re all awake, welcome to the first joint land navigation exercise.” He pulls two closed maps from the folder. “In the last two weeks, you’ve been taught how to read a map, and today you’ll put those skills to use in a practical setting. Were this an actual operation with the makeup of an outpost, this unit would consist of the composition you see here.”
He steps away from a woman who must be the infantry professor, revealing two cadets in pale blue sitting beside a scribe. Their hood is down, and they’re wearing cream pants with a cream hooded tunic—not robes—but that’s definitely a scribe.
“Riders and infantry for fighting, a scribe to record the event, and healers for the obvious reasons.” He motions them forward, and all three move to stand at the end of the infantry lineup.
The infantry professor wearing captain rank walks up and stops beside Professor Grady with impeccable posture. “Cadets, rise,” she says.
The infantry squads practically jump to their feet, immediately standing at attention.
I draw back slightly, surprised at my first instinct, which is to tell the infantry captain to fuck off because I don’t answer to her. No rider does.
Professor Grady glances our way and nods.
The eight of us stand, but we’re not even at ease. We just are.
