He pressed his hand against a nearby print reader and the heavily armored door to his right slid open. I stepped through and paused. The room was a long oblong shape that had two levels and contained not only a full complement of communicators, but computers, scanners—which were full screens rather than the basic light units used in sprinters and haulers—as well as other military personnel doing who knows what.
My gaze was immediately drawn to the grated windows that ran the length of the room. Beyond the curtain wall below us, spotlighted not only by the powerful search beams that dotted the wall but also the bonfires they were using to ignite their projectiles, were the Adlin. There were at least five sleuths out there, and that was very unusual. Winterborne certainly hadn’t seen those sorts of numbers for years.
I tore my gaze away and looked around until I spotted Blacklake’s prime. He was standing behind a series of scanners on the top level and talking into an earwig. I walked over and waited.
He glanced at me, held up a finger, and continued issuing orders. I watched what was going on in the room, fascinated. It was a rare glimpse into the other side of a battle.
After several minutes, he hit the earwig to end communications then looked at me. “What the hell are you doing here, March?”
“I’m trained to fight, Commander. Put me to use.”
“We have this under control.” His gaze swept me briefly. “And Mace would have my nuts if I let you out on the wall without his clearance.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How do you know I haven’t got it?”
A smile tugged one corner of his lips but before he could reply, a communicator stationed at a bank of computers—which detailed the position of the six soldiers in her contact group—the next level down said, “Just got the go from station one, Commander.”
“Is two ready?”
Another communicator said, “Yes.”
“On my mark, then.” He paused and studied the row of sensor screens in front of him. Each one not only represented a different section of Blacklake, but also an overlaying chart of the earth’s crisscrossing energy lines. The Adlin were green blobs that moved from one intersection point to another, their numbers indicated by the size of those blobs. The commander waited until all the green blobs had drawn close to the wall and then said, “One and two, go.”
The order was swiftly repeated, and silence fell. The commander leaned forward, his expression intent as he stared out the windows. I stepped closer, wondering what was about to happen.
Most of the Adlin were clustered inside the dry moat bed that ringed the curtain wall; some of them flung crude projectiles at the walls to protect those who hauled long siege ladders into place. The Blacklake soldiers fired at those nearing the top of the ladders, but not, I thought with a frown, with any great zeal.
A soft rumbling invaded the silence and the heavy stones under my feet started to vibrate. The force of it sang through me, and though its voice was muted, I knew what it meant.
The earth had just been called into the fight.
The rumbling grew louder, stronger, and, out in the night, beyond the empty moat, the earth began to twist and shake and split. Fire spilled from its pits, only to be swallowed whole. The rudimentary trebuchets soon met the same fate.
The Adlin roared and threw themselves at the walls with greater intensity. The earth’s writhing eased, but a different kind of rumbling began to grow. In the stark brightness of the spotlight stationed on the far right edge of the curtain wall, I spotted a foaming, glittering rush of water that was at least two-meters high. The Adlin saw it at the same time and began to run, but the water was far faster. It hit them, swallowed them, and swept them away to freedom only knew where.
A fierce cheer went up from those stationed on the wall and inside the command center, and everyone began to talk and relax.
“That,” I said to the man standing beside me, “was a rather awesome display of power.”
He pushed away from the sensor screens and glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. “You’ve surely seen the earth respond in such a manner at Winterborne.”
“Yes, but not water.” I paused, glancing at the window again. The tide had once again become a trickle, but the few Adlin who were not caught by the first rush were on the run. “You have the Black River dammed?”
“It runs across our western flank, so it is easy enough to do. Ruma, you want to take over operations? Contact me if there’re any problems.”
A strong-looking black woman glanced up and said, “Will do, Commander.”
His gaze came back to mine and, in a clipped voice, he said, “Follow me.”
He brushed past me, and that troublesome, achy awareness stirred again. I frowned as I followed him down the metal stairs, our footsteps echoing in time through the shadows. I wished there was someone I could talk to, someone who might know what was going on, but I dared not ask. Dared not reveal the secret I’d been carrying since I’d come of age. To do that would be the end of my life as a Nightwatch officer—the end of everything I knew, and everything I held dear. If my ability to talk to the wind—however minor—was revealed, they’d either place me into one of the ruling houses, where I would serve as a “battery” to those of greater power, or I’d be taken as a mistress by one of the men in the hope that I would bear a child of greater ability. For someone stained as badly as me, there was little other option. Not unless I wanted to run and live life somewhere beyond the reach of the ruling Forum. And there weren’t many such places in Gallion or even Salysis these days.
The commander strode across the outer courtyard, briefly acknowledging those who were containing the fires still burning across the stones. The guards at the inner drawbridge nodded as he passed but there was no saluting or formal snap to attention. Unlike the primes at some of the other outposts, Trey Stone didn’t appear to stand on ceremony.
As we passed through the heavily fortified inner gatehouse, the raid alarm sounded again, this time in three short, sharp bursts.
“That’s the all clear,” the commander said over his shoulder. “It tells those in the shelters it’s safe to emerge.”
I caught up to him. “Do all the outposts have such shelters?”
“All those who have a civilian population, yes.” He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. “Why the surprise? You have them in the outer bailey at Winterborne, do you not?”
“Yes, but as far as I’m aware, we haven’t needed to use them since the war.” I paused, briefly taking in the surrounding buildings and wondering where we were headed. “Was tonight’s attack usual for this area?”
“No, it was not.”
There was something in his voice that had my gaze snapping back to him. “In what way was it different?”
“They’ve never attacked in such numbers before, nor have they ever used assault weapons, however rudimentary they might have been.” He paused and nodded at the soldier who opened the door to a long, three-story stone and metal-clad building. “They were after something. Or someone.”
“Saska.” I blew out a breath. “But why?”
“I have no idea.”
The room we entered was a vast space filled with tables, chairs, and cushioned areas for lounging. Bright tapestries lined the walls and a huge fire dominated the far end of the long room. It seemed nothing more than an old-fashioned great hall built along the lines of castles of old, but a closer look revealed the presence of light switches and power connections. It might have been an outpost, but those living and working here were not expected to go without their creature comforts.
We didn’t stop in the hall, however, but continued past the great fire to a staircase all but hidden behind it. Two flights up we reached the antechamber for what I presumed was his private suite. And the fact we’d come here sent all sorts of alarms through me—but not because I thought he intended, in any way, to make a sexual overture.
Two comfortable-looking chairs sat in front of a smaller, but no less warm, open fire. He sat down and motioned me toward the other.
I hesitated. “I’d rather stand, Commander.”