The War Priest Page 18

  That would be dangerous as hell and Callum wouldn’t like her taking the risk, but if she could get some intel that would help the bears, she’d push past both fear and safety. In the wind, she only smelled normal nocturnal prowlers, animals out for their own interests, but no other Animari. Such isolation didn’t come naturally to Joss, and even when she had gone on recon training missions, she had always been assigned a partner. Tonight that lack made her nervous.

  For hours, she ran, occasionally checking the route, but the Gols weren’t expecting pursuit and they weren’t careful. In the last hours of the night, she emerged from the forest to the scrublands, where the terrain was unnervingly open, devoid of features that she could use as concealment. Here, her nerve faltered, because she could hear noises in the distance that suggested they might be resting.

  Joss breathed and waited until the tremors subsided, and then she set off again, knowing that the greatest danger lay ahead. Soon, the amorphous sounds clarified into voices. Two big Gols stood watch at the edge of the makeshift camp, just some vehicles parked with the soldiers who had been able to keep up spread out between them. The rest of the force must be taking a slightly different route, or had they split off? Possibly she’d lost them while tracking the vanguard, these troops who looked alert despite their extended bivouac.

  She edged closer, not enough for them to detect her, but so she could catch what they were saying. “Three hours isn’t long enough, and in our squad, only that asshole Wendac gets to sleep. Why are the rest of us on duty?”

  “You pissed off the boss with your constant complaining,” came the angry-sounding reply. “And look, you learned nothing, because you’re still doing it.”

  “That doesn’t explain anything about Wendac,” the other one said sulkily.

  “He apologized on your behalf and let the old man win at cards. You may think he’s a suck-up but he’s the one sleeping right now, huh?”

  “Dammit.”

  It was odd hearing the enemy grumble like this. After the bombs went off, Joss had forgotten how it felt not to hate the Golgoth, as if peacetime had become a distant dream, and there would only be blood and fear forever. But these soldiers seemed…normal. Likely, they feared what would happen if they crossed Tycho Vega. It didn’t sound like they were thirsting for bear resources or gleefully savoring the chance to destroy the Animari.

  “Have you thought about what I said?” the second asked.

  “About what?”

  “Deserting. I heard five people slipped off two days ago, and they’re trying to rendezvous with Prince Alastor’s forces in Hallowell. Word is, if you can get there, he’ll take you in, no questions asked, and you get put to work rebuilding. No fighting, no threats, none of the old ways.”

  “Shit. Really? What about caste penalties?”

  “Are you even listening? None of that. The old days are done if Alastor wins.”

  “But I heard he’s sickly. If it comes to a personal challenge for him to take the throne, there’s no way he beats Tycho. And if we end up on his bad side…” Though the guard trailed off, Joss could fill in the blanks.

  “There’s an ancient custom that could allow him to choose a champion,” the second sentry said, but he didn’t sound confident that tradition would be honored.

  It seemed like morale wasn’t great, and fear kept these men fighting, fear that they’d be executed for picking the wrong side. There must be some way for Callum to use this. But before she could slip away, the first spoke again.

  “We should stop talking about this. If anyone took it seriously and repeated it to the old man—”

  “Point taken.”

  The first guard went back to his natural inclination, which was apparently to whine. “What do you think about our new orders?”

  An audible sigh. “Doesn’t matter what I think. I just have to do what I’m told.”

  “That doesn’t bother you? I thought I was supposed to be the asshole in our squad.” A pause, then the guard added, quietly, “I don’t want to kill civilians.”

  The response came so low that Joss almost didn’t catch it. “Me either.”

  “It’s different, you know? The bears at Burnt Amber are sending troops to meet us on the field. But marching on an unprotected town to draw them out? I don’t like it.”

  Holy shit.

  A chill crawled over her, and all the fur stood up on her spine. With effort, she restrained an instinctive snarl. They’re going after one of the settlements to provoke Callum. It will be an abattoir. It might even be worse than what Joss privately called Demolition Day, when Talfayen betrayed the Pax Protocols and murdered so many people she loved. There would be soldiers in the streets, cutting down innocent citizens, children crying—

  No, I can’t let that happen. But…what can I do? I’m a singer, not a soldier. Not even a proper scout, really.

  Despair flickered through her, as she considered her options. No way to contact Burnt Amber and running back to convey the news in person wouldn’t serve as a warning. It would only alert them to a recent tragedy by the time she arrived. But she didn’t know what town they were attacking either, so she couldn’t deliver a warning before the enemy arrived.

  Think, there has to be a solution.

  With muted terror coursing through her, Joss wracked her brain harder than she ever had before, and in a moment of epiphany, she realized what she must do.

  According to any reasonable estimates, Joss should have been back by now.

  In hindsight, Callum should have prevented her from going by any means necessary, but at the time, she’d seemed so confident, boldly declaring her superior skills. Though he had objected, he hadn’t forbidden, or ordered the guards to keep her from accessing the tunnel. Now she was overdue, and Nayan would soon ask why their songbird wasn’t present for her nightly performance.

  Callum slammed his open palm onto the desk with his full strength, jarring the equipment. Every fiber of his being shouted at him to get out there and search—to empty the hold if necessary. But Joss wouldn’t want that. The whole reason she had gone was to seize an advantage via stealth, and if a search party put the exhausted soldiers at risk, he knew damn well what she’d say. Could even hear her whispering in his ear: You can’t do that. One person isn’t worth hundreds.

  To him, though, she was fucking priceless. On his own, he’d let the world burn, as long as it meant that Joss came back safely. The hell of it was, as chief of Burnt Amber, he shouldn’t make that decision, and it was killing him by degrees, a pain that chewed to the center of him like the endless movement of a dull blade.

  “Are you even listening?” Andar asked.

  “What? No.” In all honesty, he’d forgotten that the other man was even in the room. Someone like him shouldn’t be in charge of so many lives. Though he couldn’t adequately explain, Joss tethered him to other people, made him feel less like an iceberg floating silently on a dark and dreadful sea.

  “That much is obvious. Come on, tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Jere might return at any moment, and Callum couldn’t stand to pore over the screens any longer. He’d been searching the footage brought by returning drones, hoping for a glimmer of what might have happened to her, but she had stayed off their radar, as quick and stealthy as she’d claimed. While that surety did give him some hope that she might simply be delayed by unforeseen events, it couldn’t quell the dread bubbling inside him.

  “Let’s go,” he said abruptly.

  If Andar wanted an answer, he’d follow. If not, Callum would drink alone.

  Unsurprisingly, the smaller man hurried after him but he didn’t speak until they reached his private quarters. This room had never felt like home, less so now that he’d found solace with Joss. With all his heart, he wished he could stumble down those steps and that she would open the door with a quizzical look, ask him what took him so long. But he’d already done that. Opened the door and walked through her traces, breathed in her fading scent, and tha
t was too much like mourning. Too much what happened before, the loss that drove him to the order.

  With angry hands, he raked his hands through his hair until he probably looked like he’d fought a cyclone and lost. He didn’t give a damn. Andar shut the door quietly behind him as Callum poured two shots. This was pointless, as he’d need to drink ten bottles even to feel it, but Beren had enjoyed the burn, so there was plenty of good liquor in Burnt Amber, batches tailored to the old bear’s tastes. In fact, as he stared at the color of the liquid in the tumbler, it occurred to him that his ancestors might have named the hold after their favorite drink.

  “Here.” He didn’t offer a toast, just knocked the alcohol back and savored the burn. Then he sank into a chair and tried to decide what to say.

  As if Andar was reading his mind, he said, “The beginning is generally the best place to start.”

  Since his friend was nearly up to date on current developments, he just summarized how he’d allowed Joss to go on a scouting mission. Alone. The words stuck in his throat, but he got them out somehow. He finished with, “She should be back by now.”

  “That’s a coil. If word gets out, the rest of the clan will question your fitness to lead. They’ll say you trusted a random outsider more than—”

  “I know,” he roared. “But do you think I give a good damn about that? The only thing stopping me from ordering every damn warrior in the hold out to search for her is that I know she wouldn’t want to endanger anyone else.”

  Andar seemed shocked into silence. After a moment, he rallied enough to ask, “It’s like that?”

  That had to be a rhetorical question. Ignoring it, Callum stared into his empty glass, feeling like it was a metaphor. Everything on the other side of the glass was distorted and out of shape, just a swirl of monstrous shadows. That was how life would be forever if he didn’t find Joss.

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “As clan chief, you must consider the good of the hold. What action serves the most interests?”

  Callum already knew without being told. It was better to keep their soldiers safe in case this was a feint and the Gols doubled back. Hell, they might even have taken Joss hostage, hoping to elicit a response. They couldn’t know she had been staying at Burnt Amber, but they’d recognize her as Animari.

  “Fuck you,” he muttered.

  “What a cruel thing to say to a monk.” Andar grinned, and that easy humor was exactly why they were friends.

  But he couldn’t bring himself to smile. Not now. Maybe not ever again. Even if Joss made it back on her own, she might well hate him for his inaction.

  “I don’t know what to say when Nayan comes looking for her.” The old woman might not start her inquiry with Callum but she’d arrive eventually because she had a verbal contract with Joss, and Nayan hated losing money, maybe more than she loathed the Gols.

  Sometimes exhaustion nearly overwhelmed him when he tried to imagine what peace would look like. The older generation still hated the Golgoth and called them “demon-kin” and the war was reinforcing hatred that a hundred years of the Pax Protocols hadn’t been able to eradicate. People artlessly said that such intolerance would die when those elders did, but they also left a legacy with their words and they were teaching younger generations to carry on the same prejudices. That was why the Animari were still considered “beast-kin” by the Eldritch, and Callum was damned if he knew how to handle any of it.

  I’m criminally unsuited to this role.

  “That’s a good question. Could we stall for time? Claim she’s ill and hope that she comes back soon?”

  It was obvious that Andar’s skills didn’t lie in scheming. Callum sighed and closed his eyes. I can’t just sit here. I can’t. That might be the prudent thing, best for the hold, and all that bullshit, but no. To his bones, complete inertia felt like abandonment, and while he was a lot of things, he wasn’t a coward and he wouldn’t leave her alone out there.

  He stood. “I’m going after her.”

  “Callum. You can’t. What will happen if—”

  “I don’t care,” he cut in.

  Andar stood and moved in front of the door, blocking it with his body. “I can’t let you do this, brother.” In his agitation, he used the old manner of address, the one they’d agreed didn’t apply anymore. “Let me fetch the abbot. He’s better at strategizing, and we can discuss the best resolution.”

  “Ambari won’t give a damn about Joss. He might even be glad if she vanishes because then he doesn’t have to address my petition to leave the order. Get out of my way. Now. I don’t want to go through you, but…I will.”

  20.

  Joss followed the Golgoth vanguard all the way to Bright’s Landing.

  It was a pretty, defenseless town, nestled in a picturesque valley. At night, the lights glimmered like fireflies. Windows glowing in wooden houses. As she drew closer, she could see that the houses were tall and narrow, painted in bright colors like yellow and blue, with streetlamps brightening the avenues as if it was daytime. Flower baskets hung from the posts and trees were planted throughout, so the place smelled fresh and clean.

  This is where Callum lived. It’s beautiful.

  The Gols had to wait for the rest of the troops to catch up and that left her a narrow window to dodge toward the town. Some citizens might choose to stay and fight, but they should make an informed decision, knowing what was coming, not be ambushed in their beds.

  How am I supposed to do this?

  She had no plan, but instinct had gotten her this far. Losing precious time, she cut a wide circle around the enemy and then once she reckoned herself clear, she abandoned stealth and went for speed, racing toward town. They had security patrolling the streets, thankfully, or Joss didn’t know what she’d have done. But they were sleepy and confused over finding a bobcat suddenly in front of them.

  Still panting, she shifted out of cat form because she couldn’t communicate and one of the guards peeled off his jacket. Shrugging into it, she said, “Wake everyone. The Gols will be here soon. They moved on from Burnt Amber, seeking an easier target.”

  The guards exchanged a look, then one said, “Is this meant to be a joke? It’s not funny at all.”

  “Do I look like I’m laughing?”

  “But why would the clan chief send a cat to warn us? That makes no sense.”

  Joss restrained an impatient snarl. Every moment they wasted was one they couldn’t get back. “So help me, if you don’t listen, I’ll start screaming and I won’t stop until the entire town is awake.”

  “Seems like she means it, Kenta. Maybe we should—”

  Just then, the detonation of a firebomb signaled the start of the attack. Flames licked up in the distance and bewildered cries echoed in the night. Dammit. I lost too much time going around the army.

  “Start the evacuation. I don’t know who’s in charge, but move,” Joss ordered.

  To her astonishment, the one called Kenta raced off in response to her command while the other ran into the building behind them. Soon, a booming voice filled the night. “We are under attack. All defenders assemble at your assigned muster points. Those unable or unwilling to fight, meet on the east side of the square. Further information will be made available as—”

  Another firebomb, this one so close that Joss could feel the heat. I can’t stay here. She didn’t know exactly where the square was, but she could find it by following the panicked bears, most of whom were cradling children too young to shift. When Joss arrived, there were about forty people milling around looking for leadership. They didn’t seem to be finding any, and the noise increased with every tick of time, the roar of embattled bears and the snarl of assaulting Gols creating a cacophony she could never forget. I can’t stay, but I can’t abandon them either.

  “Listen!” Joss shouted, using all the volume at her command from long years of vocal training. To her astonishment, people quieted and heads swiveled in her direction. A naked singer in someone else’
s coat will lead you, she thought with a touch of hysteria. “We must evacuate. Now. Your best hope is to get out before the Gols encircle the town. If they take you hostage, they will use you to compel Callum’s surrender. If you follow me, I’ll guide you to Burnt Amber or die trying.”

  “Can we wait ten minutes?” a woman asked, the catch of tears in her voice. “My mate isn’t here yet.”

  “She may have gone to fight,” someone else said, and there was a general rumble of agreement.

  Joss hesitated. While she understood not wanting to leave loved ones, they should go right this moment. “Five,” she answered finally.

  “Understood.”

  Waiting delivered ten more refugees, bringing the group size to around fifty. How the hell can I get everyone to safety? There’s no food, no water. No supplies whatsoever. And they couldn’t move as fast as a bobcat. Since some were holding babies—an idea struck her.

  “Those who can, shift. We’ll be moving fast. If you’re carrying an infant, see if you can rig a sling out of your clothing. We move in two minutes.”

  With that, she dropped the coat and slid into cat form. It wasn’t ideal since she couldn’t communicate, but hopefully, they knew to stay close, run at their top speed, and not fall behind. Their lives depended on it.

  They did manage to get the babies tied to each other’s backs and soon she had a small bear army behind her. Joss set the pace so the bears could keep up, but they lost more time moving in the opposite direction to make sure they didn’t cross paths with the main Gol force. When she couldn’t even smell the fires from Bright’s Landing anymore, Joss angled back toward Burnt Amber.

  The entire time, she wrestled terror, trying not to show how scared and uncertain she was. This sort of thing should be reserved for heroes, not for singers who begged off patrol every chance they got. So many lives should never have fallen into her hands yet here she was. Every step across the scrublands she feared discovery, and the sun was rising now.