An Ember in the Ashes

“No, that’s the Second Trial, Elias, them actively trying to assassinate us. Cain told me after he healed me. The Trial will last until dawn. We have to be clever enough to avoid our murderers—whoever or whatever they might be.”
“Then we need a base,” I say. “Out here, anyone can pick us off with an arrow. There’s no visibility in the catacombs, and the barracks are too cramped.”
“There.” Hel points to the eastern watchtower, which overlooks the dunes.

“The legionnaires manning it can set a guard at the entrance, and it’s a good fighting space.”
We make for the tower, sticking close to the walls and the shadows. At this hour, there isn’t a single student or Centurion out. Silence hangs over Blackcliff, and my voice seems inordinately loud. I lower it to a whisper. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“Worried, were you?”
“Of course I was worried. I thought you were dead. If something had happened to you...” It doesn’t bear thinking about. I look Helene square in the face, but she only meets my gaze for a second before flicking her eyes away.
“Yes, well, you should have been worried. I heard you dragged me to the belltower covered in blood.”
“I did. Wasn’t pleasant. You stank, for one.”
“I owe you, Veturius.” Her eyes soften, and the steely, Blackcliff-trained part of me shakes its head. She can’t turn into a girl on me now. “Cain told me everything you did for me, from the second Marcus attacked. And I want you to know—”
“You’d have done the same.” I cut her off gruffly, satisfied by the stiffening of her body, the ice in her eyes. Better ice than warmth. Better strength than weakness.
Unspoken things have arisen between Helene and me, things that have to do with how I feel when I see her bare skin and her awkwardness when I tell her I worry for her. After so many years of straightforward friendship, I don’t know what these things mean. But I do know that now’s not the time to think about them. Not if we want to survive the Second Trial.
She must get it; she gestures for me to take point, and we don’t speak as we head to the watchtower. When we reach its base, I allow myself to relax for a second. The tower sits at the edge of the cliffs and overlooks the dunes to the east and the school to the west. Blackcliff’s watch wall extends north and south. Once we’re at the top, we’ll see any threat long before it reaches us.
But when we’re halfway up the tower’s inner stairs, Helene slows behind me.
“Elias.” The warning in her voice has me drawing both of my scims—the only thing that saves me. A shout sounds from below us, another from above, and suddenly the stairwell echoes with the ping of arrows and the shuffle of boots. A squad of legionnaires pours down the stairs, and for a second, I’m confused. Then they’re on me.
“Legionnaires,” Helene shouts. “Stand down—stand—”
I want to tell her to save her breath. No doubt the Augurs told the legionnaires that for this night, we are enemies and they are to kill us on sight.
Damn it. Cunning to outwit their foes. We should have realized that anyone—everyone—could be an enemy.
“Back-to-back, Hel!”
Her back is to mine in an instant. I cross scims with the soldiers coming down from the top of the tower while she battles those heading up from the base. My battle rage surges, but I rein it in, fighting to wound, not kill. I know some of these men. I can’t just butcher them.
“Damn it, Elias!” Hel screams. One of the legionnaires I’ve slashed pushes down past me and marks Hel’s sword arm. “Fight! They’re Martials, not turntail Barbarian rabble!”
Hel’s fighting off three soldiers below her and two above, with more coming. I have to clear the stairs so we can make it to the top of the tower. It’s the only way we’ll avoid death-by-skewering.
I let the battle rage take me and surge up the stairs, scims flying. One cuts into the gut of a legionnaire, the other slides across a throat. The stairwell isn’t wide enough for two scims, so I sheath one and pull out my dagger, driving it into the kidney of a third soldier and the heart of a fourth. In seconds, the way above is clear, and Helene and I race up the stairs. We get to the top of the watchtower only to find more soldiers waiting.
Are you going to kill them all, Elias? How many added to your tally? Four already—ten more? Fifteen? Just like your mother. Fast as her. Ruthless as her.
My body freezes as it never has in battle, my foolish heart taking control.
Helene shouts, spins, kills, defends, while I stand there. Then it’s too late to fight, because a jut-jawed brute with arms like tree trunks tackles me.
“Veturius!” Helene says. “More soldiers coming from the north!”
“Mrffggg.” The big aux has my face smashed against the side of the watchtower, his hand so tight around my skull that I’m sure he means to crush it.
He uses his knee to pin me, and I can’t budge an inch.
For a moment, I admire his technique. He recognizes that he can’t counter my fighting skills and has instead used surprise and his colossal bulk to best me.
My admiration fizzles as stars burst before my eyes. Cunning! You have to use cunning! But the time for cunning is past. I shouldn’t have gotten distracted. I should have run a scim through the aux’s chest before he ever got to me.
Helene darts away from her attackers to help me, pulling on my belt as if to yank me away from the giant soldier, but he pushes her away.
The legionnaire slides me along the wall to a niche in the battlements and shoves me through, holding me by my neck above the dunes like a child with a rag doll. Six hundred feet of hungry air grasps at my legs. Behind the aux, a sea of legionnaires tries to pull Helene down, barely keeping a hold on her as she twists and spits, a cat in a net.
Always victorious. Grandfather’s voice echoes in my head. Always victorious.
I dig my fingers into the tendons of the brute’s arms, trying to work myself free.
“I bet ten marks on you.” The aux appears genuinely pained. “But orders are orders.”
Then he opens his hand and lets me fall.
The fall lasts an eternity and no time at all. My heart shoots into my throat, my stomach plunges, and then, with a jerk that rattles my skull, I’m not falling anymore. But I’m not dead, either. My body dangles, tethered by a rope hooked to my belt.