“If you hear me whistle—” Liam starts, worry lining his forehead.
“We’ll go out the window or something,” I assure him as Ridoc and Sawyer rush past. “Relax.” Leaving Liam to stand watch, I join the others in Mom’s office.
“Don’t touch the mage lights or she’ll know,” I warn them. “You have to make your own.” I flick my wrist, twisting my power into a bright blue flame and letting it drift over me. It’s one of the things I’m actually good at.
“How nice is this?” Ridoc flops down onto the red couch.
“We don’t have time for you to be…you,” Sawyer lectures, heading for the bookcase. “Help me search for something useful.”
“We’ll take the table.” Imogen and Nadine start sorting through papers on the six-seater conference table.
“Which leaves me and the desk,” I mutter, walking around the intimidating piece of furniture and praying I don’t trigger any wards she’s set. There are three folded missives in the middle, and I pick up the first, revealing a sharp dagger with an alloy-infused hilt and what looks to be a Tyrrish rune in the handle that she must be using as a letter opener or something. I unfold the letter with as much care as I can.
General Sorrengail,
The raids around Athebyne have spread the wing too thin. Being posted beyond the safety of the wards comes with considerable hazards, and though I am loath to request reinforcements, I must. If we do not reinforce the post, we may be forced to abandon it. We are protecting Navarrian citizens with life, limb, and wing, but I cannot adequately relay how dire the situation is here. I know you receive the dailies from our scribe attachment, but I would be remiss in my duties as executive officer of the Southern Wing if I did not write to you personally. Please find us reinforcements.
Sincerely,
Major Kallista Neema
I breathe past the ache that erupts in my chest at the plea in her letter. We’ve discussed nearly daily attacks in Battle Brief, but nothing on that scale.
Maybe they don’t want to scare us.
But if it’s that terrifying out there, we have every right to know—we’ll likely be called into service before we graduate. Maybe even this year.
“These are all…numbers,” Imogen says, rifling through the conference table papers.
“It’s April,” I say, reaching for the next missive. “She’s working on next year’s budget.”
Everyone stops and turns to look at me, all wearing expressions of varying degrees of disbelief.
“What?” I shrug. “Did you think this place ran itself?”
“Keep looking,” Imogen orders.
I unfold the next missive.
General Sorrengail,
Protests regarding conscription laws are growing within the province of Tyrrendor. Knowing that due to Tyrrendor’s size, it provides the majority of our conscripts to replenish our front lines, we cannot afford to lose the support of the people again. Perhaps an influx of defensive spending on outposts here would not only bolster the province’s economy and remind the Tyrrish how needed they are to the defense of our kingdom, but also ease the unrest. Please consider this solution as an alternative to suppressing the unrest with force.
Sincerely,
Lieutenant Colonel Alyssa Travonte
What the hell? I close the letter and put it back on Mom’s desk, then turn to the giant map hanging on the wall directly above me.
Unrest isn’t new to Tyrrendor, nor is the sentiment against conscription, but we certainly haven’t heard any political rumblings in Battle Brief. Other than to quell discontent, it would make no sense to increase defensive spending there, especially since it holds our fewest number of outposts due to the natural barrier provided by the Cliffs of Dralor, which are unscalable by gryphons. Tyrrendor should already be one of the safest provinces on the Continent. Well, except Aretia. Where that capital should be, there is only a scorch mark, as though the burning of the city has singed the map as well.
I study the map for precious seconds, noting the battlement markers dotted along the countryside. Logically, there are more outposts along our more active border zones and, according to this map, more troops in those locations.
It shows all of Navarre, Krovla to the south, Braevick and Cygnisen to the southeast, and even the barriers of the Barrens, the ruined deserted lands at the southern tip of the Continent. It also shows each of our outposts and supply routes within Navarre.
A slow grin spreads across my face.
“Hey, Second Squad. I know what we need to steal.”
It takes a matter of minutes for us to haul the map down and cut it away from its frame, then another to roll it, securing it with leather ties Imogen pulls out of her satchel.
Liam whistles, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.
“Shit!” Ridoc races to the door and cracks it open as we all prepare to flee. “What’s going on out there?”
“He’s pounding at the hall door! It’s going to give any second. We have to go now,” Liam whisper-shouts, holding the door open as we all race into the hallway. The map is too big for one person to carry, and Sawyer and Imogen struggle through the doorway as the guard kicks in the door farther down the hall.
My stomach hits the floor, and panic threatens to overwhelm logical thought.
“And we’re fucked,” Nadine announces.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the guard shouts, charging toward us.
“We’re dead if he catches us with the map.” Ridoc bounces on his toes like he’s preparing to fight. On any given day, I’d argue that riders are the superior fighters—we have to be—but that Basgiath guard might just give us a run for our money.
“We can’t hurt him,” I protest.
The guard barrels past the first stairwell and Rhiannon steps into the middle of the hallway, her arms outstretched.
