was the first thing he’d ever worn that was new, fitted for him. There was something comfortable about that. What he liked about his armor was what was emblazoned on the contour of his shoulder plates. There, on the left, the golden etched Cygnus, and on the right, the white curving horns of his rank. After a year’s training in Caspia, he had entered the final phase.
He was a journeyman warcaster.
“So where are they shipping you, anyway, lieutenant?” Caine leaned over casually, grasping the reigns. The fresh-faced junior officer brightened, slowing his horse as children ran ahead.
“Bound for the garrison at Northguard, sir.”
Caine winced at the formality. He had to admit he had come to enjoy the company of the young officer. His western accent sounded bland to Caine’s ear, slow and measured, but he spoke in earnest, an effect that Caine found at once disarming. Despite their technically equal rank, the lieutenant had deferred to the authority of Caine’s arcane rank thus far. Caine decided it was time to put a stop to it.
“Call me Allister. We’re both juniors, eh?”
The lieutenant’s young face cracked wide in a warm smile.
“All right … Allister. You can call me Gerard, although only my mother does. Back home, I’m just Gerdie.”
“So you’re done at the Academy and off to face Khadorans at Northguard?”
“Like my father before me, Morrow rest his soul. Nothing so exciting as your post though, I daresay.” Gerdie smiled, his eyes lit up.
“Ech, well …” Caine scoffed in false modesty.
“Posted to apprentice under Commander Magnus? Sir, I mean, Allister! Are you daft? He’s a living legend! Rumor has it he hand-picked you, no less! Any truth to that?”
“None whatsoever,” Caine replied with a grin.
Ahead, a steam-whistle blew and the mighty wheels of the train screeched along the rail, announcing its arrival at the crowded station. The long train was loaded with passengers, happy to disembark after their long journey abroad. Dismounting, Caine and Gerdie brought their horses to the servicemen stables adjoining the station. Caine gave his mare a pat along the snout as he handed the reigns to a ruddy stable boy. Turning, he looked upon the train that would take him north. The intervening crowd was daunting, but both he and Gerdie made their way. Ahead, a barker shouted news of unrest in Caspia, the way they’d just come. Caine frowned to hear the words “threat to Vinter” and “Leto challenges,” but pressed on, soon forgetting them. Then, a hand brushed into him from out of the crowd.
What was this?
The hand fluttered soft as a butterfly and twice as fast to his belt. Had he not the gift of magic and years as a pickpocket himself, he would have missed it.
Caine had a split second to react.
Shooting his own hand forward, he seized the wandering hand. The thief was good, all right. Bold or insane to try this stunt on an armored officer. His fatal mistake had been to miss the arcane rank on Caine’s shoulder.
“A pardon to you, sir! I didn’t …” a world-weary face said in alarm, then paused. There was confusion in his eyes. Caine looked back at the man, equally stunned. The face was scarred, prematurely worn, the hair ragged, but a familiar shade of red. The hand he now gripped was missing two fingers, but he realized who it belonged to just the same.
“Looks like you found your stones after all, eh Tylen?” he grinned.
His old partner smiled, eyes lighting up in relief and surprise.
“Allie? See true my eyes! Could it be? Alive and in person?”
Caine released his hand, and nodded.
“The same, chum.”
Tylen marveled over his transformation from thug into clean-cut serviceman.
“We thought -- feared -- Horace had made good on his word. Now that I see you, I’m not sure it isn’t actually a fate worse than that!”
Caine laughed, clapping him on the back. Wheeling to face Gerdie, introductions were made. Gerdie, obliged to secure their tickets from the kiosk inside, stepped off. As he went, Caine frowned.
“Tylen, what are you doing in Orven?”
His former accomplice’s face turned grave at the question, and he favored his mutilated hand. Caine looked at it, squinting.
“Did you get pinched, Ty?”
“You could say that,” Tylen admitted. “When Boss Dakin died last year, Horace took over. He felt it proper to make some examples.” Caine nodded, eyes narrowing at the name.
“First thing he did was run a few folk like me down. Made sure we understood we either worked for him, or we didn’t work.” Tylen displayed