The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,31

his knees. He tried not to show the strain that merely holding the crate put on him, but it was clear he wasn’t fooling Costa.

The old sergeant gave a short laugh. “How far you going with that?”

“To… the… riverbank,” puffed Sebastian.

“Maybe you’d like some help, then.” He turned and called into the armory. “Rykov! Put that damn thing down and come out here.”

A loud clank came from within the armory, then after a few moments, a tall, hugely muscled Izmorozian man in his early twenties with incurious eyes, bright red hair, and an almost square face emerged. He wore his blue uniform jacket unbuttoned, possibly because his chest was too broad for it to easily close.

“Sir?” he asked Costa.

“Carry this crate down to the river for Lieutenant Portinari here, then stay on to assist him in whatever he’s doing until he dismisses you.”

Rykov showed neither interest in nor irritation about this order, but only nodded, his square face impassive. “Yes, sir.”

Then the large redheaded man reached out and easily plucked the crate from Sebastian’s shaking arms. Sebastian strove not to show his relief, but feared that he again failed to maintain any semblance of stoicism.

“Lieutenant, this is Private Sasha Rykov,” Costa told Sebastian. “You can borrow him for the day to do… whatever it is you’re doing.”

Sebastian saluted again. “Thank you, sir.” Then he turned to Rykov. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Private Rykov.”

Rykov merely nodded.

“He’s not much for talking,” said Costa, “but as you can see, he’s got other qualities that recommend him.”

Sebastian led the way across the yard and down to the banks of the Sestra River, with Rykov plodding slowly behind him. He was relieved to note that the other soldiers and officers in the yard were all preoccupied with their own tasks and took no notice of him or his lumbering assistant. As excited as Sebastian was to practice magic out in the open, he didn’t exactly want an audience just yet.

Once they reached the edge of the river, Sebastian asked Rykov to put the crate down next to him, and Rykov wordlessly complied. Sebastian was fairly certain that Rykov was supposed to respond verbally, using a proper title, each time Sebastian ordered him to do something, but he suspected that Rykov was not a typical soldier. Perhaps like Sebastian was not a typical officer.

Sebastian leaned over and picked up a small piece of metal from the crate. “I suppose you’re wondering what I intend to do with this.”

Rykov merely looked at him, his face expressionless.

“I may not be as… robust as you, or as commanding as the other officers,” said Sebastian. “But I, too, have other qualities that recommend me.”

He gripped the metal tightly in his hand and looked down at the rushing water before him. The Sestra was the largest river in Izmoroz, stretching more than two thousand miles, all the way down into Aureum. At the point where Sebastian and Rykov stood, it was just over a mile wide, and since it flowed down from the Cherny Mountains directly north of Gogoleth, the current so was swift that even in winter, it never froze.

Not until today, Sebastian thought to himself.

He held out the piece of metal, and focused his intention on it as he visualized the river slowing down and hardening into ice. After a short buildup of concentrated energy, the metal flared with a bright light, then crumbled to a small pile of rusty flecks. Sebastian shook the dust from his hand, then looked down at the river.

The section directly in front of him was now a solid block of ice that reached all the way down to the riverbed.

Unfortunately, now that the way was completely blocked, the current from upriver began to flood the banks. In moments, Sebastian’s shiny black boots were submerged in ice-cold mud.

He stumbled back, then realized he’d need another piece of metal to reverse the change. He splashed forward, accidentally drenching not just his boots, but his trousers as well. He shoved his hand into the crate, cursing as he nicked his palm on a jagged edge, then pulled out another piece of metal.

It was more difficult to concentrate this time, partly because of the brutally cold water that was already numbing his toes, and partly because of the knowledge that if he did not fix this quickly, the Sestra River would flood the garrison.

The water was well above his ankles by the time he found the focus, and the new piece of metal flashed and