The Cadet of Tildor

CHAPTER 42





“Fire!”

The scream tore Renee’s attention from the ring.

Fire.

A rain of blazing, oil-filled jars fell over the arena. A new shot of flames burst everywhere the jars shattered. Spilling oil fed the blaze. The fire lapped up the liquid fuel, then jumped to the wooden benches. The scent of tar and burning wood filled Renee’s nostrils. More screams. And then another odor; the sickening smell of charcoaled meat. Panicked voices rose around her. Bodies stampeded up toward the exit, pressing, crushing, shoving.

Jasper shot from his seat to the side door exit. A fireball landed at his feet and he shied back to Renee’s side.

“Commander!” Renee called.

Savoy turned. Sweat ran from his shoulders. He stood two spans away from her, no distance at all except for the bars. The large man he’d been fighting stirred awake but stayed huddled on the ground, huge hands clamped over his ears. Savoy’s chest heaved but his voice was steady. “Your work?”

She smiled. “Not quite.” Renee turned to point out the Seventh’s men and her smile melted. They were cut off by burning columns that split the chamber in two. Until the fire was tamed, the Seventh could do nothing for either Savoy or the spectators. People darted like panicked rabbits around her. She had made a vow to King Lysian when she agreed to return to the Academy. These people were her responsibility. Turning back she met Savoy’s eyes. If he could care for himself a while longer, he’d have to.

He nodded. “I’m all right. Go.” He started to turn away when his eyes narrowed. His hand shot out between the bars to grab the front of Jasper’s tunic. A jerk of the wrist and the boy’s face slammed against the metal. “Keep away from her, mage,” said Savoy. “Understand me?”

The rage in Savoy’s eyes told Renee the extent of Jasper’s deeds. Nausea climbed her throat.

Blood ran from the boy’s nose down to his shirt. He extended a glowing hand toward his captor but the pitiful wisps of blue flame died. “I understand,” he whispered. His pleading gaze sought Renee.

She grasped Jasper’s shirt and yanked him away from the bars. He fell to the floor and stayed there, sniveling. There was no time to address him now. Hundreds of terrified spectators darted in all directions. Fire jumped between wooden benches, ceiling beams, columns. People cursed, shoved, and struck each other. They tripped over their victims as often as they gained headway. One man’s shirt caught flame and he flailed his arms, screaming at the gods until someone found the sense to throw a jacket over him. Traffic and debris plugged both exits.

Renee filled her lungs and climbed onto a bench. “Freeze where you are!” she shouted, pitching her voice over the crowd and the crackle of rising flames.

Heads turned. The momentary attention of the mob rested on her. It was drunk on fear. Crazed with it. Above all, Renee tasted the people’s indecision; should they pummel her to the ground or tear off her limbs? A burning splinter fell on the bench next to her. “I will cut the throat of the next man who runs.” Renee stomped the flame out with her boot. “The doors are still blocked. We need to clear the area of wood and other fuel or the fire will consume us all. The rows below us are empty. You”—she pointed to a large man with a scar in place of one eye—“pick up that bench and—”

“I ain’t no lumberjack!” He pushed forward. A vein pulsed in his bald temple, his skin flushed from the heat. “Who are you to cry decrees, wench?”

Shouts chorused agreement.

The advancing man raised his fist.

Renee struggled to keep her shoulders relaxed despite her racing heart. Smoke was filling her lungs. She knew this would happen. She expected it. She knew what to do. Didn’t she? Her hand dropped down. The small blade in her sleeve slid discreetly into her palm. The hair on her arms shriveled, singed away by the increasing heat. Renee made herself breathe.

The man lurched into arm’s reach. Seen up close, his scar was jagged and messy.

Now! Before the man could strike, Renee spun him around and pressed her knife to his neck. The metal blade flickered, reflecting the growing flames. The crowd fell silent. Her hand tightened on the knife’s hilt. What next? The mob had to respect her over the fire. They had to. And she had to make them.

The man choked out a laugh. “You bluff, chit.”

Renee’s jaw tightened.

“She ain’t bluffin’, Gus,” said Nino, emerging from the crowd. “M’lady, she don’t bluff.”

Beneath her knife, the man, Gus, stopped laughing. Seizing the moment, Renee snugged her hold. Gus’s voice changed to a high-pitched whimper. Renee pinned Nino with her eyes. “Will your friend here do as he’s told?”

Nino and Gus nodded together, the latter nipping himself on the blade and gasping. Renee withdrew the knife and shoved the man to the ground. “Let us get these benches moved, then. You four,” she yelled, pointing to men and tasks.

While Nino enforced her orders, Renee folded her arms across her chest, wondering how anyone in the room could miss the deafening pounding of her heart.

* * *

Shouts rose around Savoy and spread like the flames themselves. Jars of burning oil continued to fly. Flames burst wherever jars shattered. The fight’s spectators were now the fire’s prey; some frightened, some injured, some dead. The cage exits blazed hot, forcing the fighters to the center.

Stepping away from the bars, Savoy unwrapped the bundled gift from his mysterious benefactor. It was wet—a soggy face mask coiled around a knife and a clipper tool sturdy enough to cut the crown of barbed wire. The man who delivered the present was long gone. Savoy tied the mask around his face and showed the tools to Den. “From an uncle,” Savoy said wryly.

Den’s brows rose. “It seems the day favors you.”

“Hm.” Savoy focused beyond the bars. Renee herded a frightened mob toward the Seventh, who were there despite his own and Verin’s orders. Bloody impressive. And suicidal.

He shook himself and touched the bars. Hot but not scalding. Not yet anyway. “Rip your pants for face masks and wet them in the drinking pail.” His voice soared above the chaos, but would take time to penetrate everyone’s confusion. Savoy pointed to Den and the referee. “You two, make it happen.”

Before either could move, Boulder shoved passed them and leaped onto the cage wall. A burn on his shoulder blistered where a hot ember had landed.

“Boulder, stop!” Savoy shouted, but the man’s own screaming drowned out the words. Hand over hand, Boulder hauled his bulk up toward the barbed wire. Savoy wondered whether he even saw the razor barbs before he crashed into them.

Boulder floundered like a fish on dry ground. His screams changed from fear to agony to a fit of choking. Smoke gathered thick by the top of the cage. He twisted again and blood poured from his wounds, slicking the metal bars. When he fell, his body sent a cloud of sand into the air. Savoy saw that the barbs had claimed Boulder’s eye. Gravity had claimed his neck, and he moved no more.

Savoy swallowed. “Rip your pants for face masks and wet them in the drinking pail,” he repeated, this time to a silent audience. “You will climb out after I remove the barbed wire.” Taking the referee’s rope to attach to the top of the cage, Savoy began to climb.

* * *

Renee’s troops made headway against the flames. A wide, wood-free wedge of cleared floor reached halfway toward the exit. Cory and his bucket brigade reached them from the other side. Faces she recognized from Atham’s guard had joined the cause, dispatching the remaining flames and directing the surviving spectators toward the narrow exits. News of the fire had spread faster than she’d expected. Renee blinked. How much time had passed? She didn’t know. Bodies lay sprawled, some charred beyond recognition, others crushed by the crowds or collapsed ceiling beams.

“Who started the bloody fire?” said a familiar voice.

She turned, regarded Savoy for a breath, and threw her arms around him. “Your uncle,” she said into his shoulder.

“I don’t hug,” said Savoy.

“Idiot.”

He chuckled and pushed her away. “What uncle?”

Cory cleared his throat. “If you permit a wee interruption, rumor seems to have assigned us a bit of a rescue mission. An irrelevant matter of child hostages.”

Savoy squeezed Renee’s shoulder and moved away, his back relaxing into a commanding presence no less steady for lack of uniform or lost weight. He accepted a flask of water from the sergeant and drained it.

Renee’s fingers brushed her sword hilt. The coming hostage rescue rested on the quality of her information, the accuracy of her maps. “I can guide us through the tunnels, sir.”

Savoy’s jaw tensed and he looked from her to his sergeant.

Cory shot Renee an apologetic glance but spoke to Savoy. “I have Renee’s maps memorized, sir. The Crown’s forces are already securing the perimeter and the arena.”

“Very good.” Savoy spared Renee a glance. “Continue clearing everyone out until relief arrives.” Without waiting for her reply, he called out something about an amulet to Den, and the three jogged up the smoldering rows, leaving her behind.

Renee stared after them, then kicked a charcoaled bit of wood against the remains of the column.

“You’re just as useless as I am.” Jasper laughed bitterly.

She turned to the corner where the boy mage still huddled, although not so cowed as before. His color returned as Savoy’s receding back disappeared from view.

She stilled her face. Jasper did not realize how wrong he was. He was the son of the Vipers’ Madam herself, a boy with insight into vital operations of a major crime group. His usefulness was beyond measure. To the Crown.

Renee tasted blood and realized she had bitten the inside of her cheek. She befriended Jasper to rescue a soldier the world had abandoned, not to turn Jasper prisoner for giving her his trust. Savoy was free. Mission accomplished. Yet her renewed pledge to King Lysian now made the boy her enemy.

Jasper rose to his feet, a sneer spreading over his sweaty, soot-covered face. He turned around to survey the arena. The side door through which he had entered once more had a clear path.

Renee blocked his way.

Cocking his hand, Jasper threw a palm full of ash into Renee’s eyes and dashed past her. Bastard. She cleared her face in time to see him disappear through the side door. Renee ran after him, following his receding footfalls into the blue-tinged darkness of the tunnel. The abrupt chill of the underground felt strange after the furnace of the arena.

Jasper headed north, where Renee had never been. She sprinted behind him, catching glimpses of his leg or arm turning one corner or another. Twice, only the sound of his feet pounding against the stone helped her keep the path. Her lungs stung.

Jasper’s tunic disappeared behind another turn. Renee ran to the corner and stopped. Her target was trapped between her and a locked door. She sent a prayer of thanks to the gods.

Drawing her sword, Renee stepped toward him. The charade of the last few weeks had come to a close. She served law and the Crown. He served a crime group that threatened Tildor’s rule. There was no compromise. Jasper was too valuable a hostage. “Commander Savoy and his team are storming these passages as we speak. They will free the weeds and all the other slaves you hold.”

The boy chuckled and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “The weeds will die like chickens freed from a henhouse. The slaves too. You’ll see.” Bits of blue flame crackled between his fingers. “If you touch me, I’ll make you scream just like that idiot Cat did.”

She halted her advance. “ ‘Cat’ is Commander Korish Savoy. You don’t wish to toy with him.”

“He’s a craven loon.”

“Your words or your mother’s?”

Jasper flinched. The blue fire around his hand flared in wild gasps. “You forget what a mage is, blinder. I can melt your eyes and watch them drip down your face.”

Renee tightened the grip on her sword. The sweet, smiling Jasper, who had offered friendship in exchange for words of kindness, was gone. A monster stood before her. Footsteps echoed in the tunnels behind them. She licked her lips. “Join me, Jasper. Come to Atham. I will speak on your behalf.”

He sneered. “Why would I trust you?”

The footsteps grew closer. “Have I not stood up for you? King Lysian’s little cousin cowers in these tunnels. Her name is Claire. Let us use her to guarantee your safety. Let us use her to stop the coming war.”

He hesitated, the flame calming to a simmer. “Stop a war?” He spoke the words as if trying them on for size.

“The Crown brings soldiers to wipe out this Viper nest. We can stop the fighting before it starts.”

He tilted his head.

Renee held her breath.

“Of all the brainless vermin lurking in the dark, why does your useless presence not surprise me?” A cool female voice spoke behind her. The Madam, now wearing a sword across her back, ignored Renee, directing her words at Jasper. The weapon’s hilt reflected bits of blue light that matched tiny glowing studs in her ears. “Bloody gods, boy, stop staring as if the door was a novelty and open the lock.”

Twisting to place the wall at her back, Renee moved her blade between the two adversaries now before her. The sent of tobacco drifting from the Madam filled Renee’s nose. Jasper shied toward the door and extended his hand. The pitiful mage flame flickered and died.

“Impotent idiot.” The Madam pulled an amulet from her pocket and strode forward.

Renee raised her blade, blocking the woman’s way. The world shrank to a hum. The Vipers’ Madam—the woman running a criminal enterprise so powerful, it threatened to throw Tildor into civil war—now stood within reach of Renee’s sword. “If you please, Madam.”

The woman turned to her with an expression one gave to a pigeon flapping its wings.

With speed that rivaled Savoy’s, the Madam drew her sword. Renee did not register the movement until the blade’s hilt whistled by her head. A dull pain exploded in her temple and the world turned dark.