The Healing Wars: Book II: Blue Fire (16 page)

“I was out of range.”

“Uh-huh.” He pursed his lips and nodded slowly, as if he knew I was lying.

“Let’s get the others free.”

We grabbed tongs and headed into the forge area. Some of the metalsmiths wanted to run as soon as we freed them, but Sorg calmed them down. They gathered around him as we headed to the smelting room.

“Now,” I said, opening my backpack, “we need to take these boxes and throw one into each forge.” I didn’t have enough for the furnaces, but we’d have to improvise.

“You got it.” Sorg took two and handed one to an apprentice. Danello took the third.

“Just toss it in?” he asked.

“Aim for the back corner where they won’t see it as easily.”

Sorg chuckled. “When they see us gone, they won’t be worrying about the pits.” He tossed the box into the flames.

“What about the smelters?” Danello asked after throwing his. “And the pynvium?”

So many people needed it, but we couldn’t possibly take it all. And we couldn’t leave it for the Duke either. “We’ll take the raw pynvium and leave the rest. Sorg, what would happen if we pulled those cauldrons”—I pointed to the channels running down to the forge—“and dumped it all down there?”

“You’ll make a mess that’ll take months to cool and a mining crew to break up again.”

“Let’s do it.”

Apprentices grabbed the thick chains that hooked the smelting cauldrons to the cranes and positioned them over the channels.

“Pull!”

The cauldrons tipped, pouring the blue-hot liquid pynvium. The troughs below started to fill up, then overflowed, the molten metal spilling onto the brick floor. It pooled around the forges and tables and racks.

“Pour the other half in the other channel.”

They moved the cauldron over and dumped the raw, unrefined pynvium into the melted pain-filled channel. They mixed, overflowing the trough and spilling out on the other side of the forge.

“Get the next one!”

We had to be running out of time. The patrol was bound to come around and see the pynvium flowing
toward the yard. I caught Sorg by the arm.

“Collect the pynvium rods off those other soldiers and any gate seals you can find.”

He nodded.

“Switch channels!”

The pynvium coated the forge floor now. The wooden weapons racks burst into flame, and swords and rods fell into the glowing pynvium. A column of liquid metal exploded into the air, slamming against the roof and showering the room with blue-hot drops.

“Saints have mercy,” Sorg cried, backing away.

More columns of searing metal burst upward, the molten pynvium bubbling like boiling sauce, spraying higher and higher. The roof beams and door caught fire, as did the bellows and any leftover smocks and gloves.

“We’d better get out of here,” Sorg said, waving his apprentices toward the pynvium ore. “Everybody grab a cart.”

“Wait, the soldiers,” I said. “Grab them, too.”

“Leave ’em,” someone called.

“No.”

Sorg snorted, then looked a bit ashamed and ordered the other enchanters to help us. We carried the soldiers out into the yard and dumped them by
the wall, far enough away from the foundry.

“You’re too soft-hearted,” he told me.

“I’ve had enough killing.”

He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. Then his gaze moved over my shoulder. “Patrol just spotted us.”

“Hurry, this way.” I headed around the burning foundry toward the front gate. With luck, the patrol would alert the other soldiers and we’d get most of them after us. Would be a whole lot easier to flash them as a group than in ones and twos. Even with the pynvium rods, I wasn’t sure how many flashes we had left.

More bells clanged and shouts echoed all over. The smell of smoke filled the air. The patrol was still behind us, three more soldiers ahead of us.

“Fire!” someone screamed just as the sheet rope flew out the window. Ceun crawled out first and slid down like the rope was greased.

“Halt!” yelled one of the soldiers. So far none had seen the rope.

I turned, pulling the pynvium bracer out. Five soldiers raced toward us, swords and pynvium rods in their hands. I started to picture dandelions and—

Whoomp!

—came from beside me. The soldiers went down, plowing into the grass. Sorg waved the pynvium rod and laughed.

“Justice, that’s what it is. Felled by the very weapons you forced us to make.”

The front gate started to open. We readied ourselves for more soldiers. Quenji appeared, Zee right behind him. I spotted booted feet lying on the street just outside the gate.

“Need some help?” he said.

“I thought you’d left!”

“And leave Ceun behind?” His mouth dropped opened as we started shoving pynvium carts through the gate. “Is that—?”

“Yes, and we need to get it out of here fast.” I slipped out the last piece of pynvium armor we’d filled earlier with Enzie’s and the twins’ pain, then saw Aylin and the others running toward us, five more soldiers right behind them. Closing way too fast.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry!” she called, herding the Takers in front of her. They ran toward us, scared as rabbits. Ceun was in the lead, but they weren’t going to outrun the soldiers chasing them.

I ran forward, between them, getting closer.

Whoomp!

I’d miscalculated a bit and hit only the three soldiers in the front. They screamed and dropped, clutching their stomachs, their heads, their legs. Quenji dived past me and jumped one of the remaining soldiers, hitting him in the head with a rock. Danello appeared and went for the other, parrying a blow with his sword.

Quenji yelped and staggered, blood on his leg. I darted forward and grabbed the soldier’s arm as he pulled back for another swing. He jerked and the sword swung wide, missing Quenji. I spun, ducking under the soldier’s arm and grabbing Quenji’s hand. Spun again, coming up under the soldier and getting a grip on his wrist. I
drew
Quenji’s wound away, shifting it into the soldier. He staggered. Quenji kicked him in the chest and he fell over.

“Thanks,” Quenji said, a look of wonder on his face.

I realized my mistake too late. I’d
shifted.
The Duke would know I was here, that I’d done this to him. What if he took it out on Tali?

Danello had his man down. We turned and ran toward the others.

“Follow Ceun,” Quenji said as we reached them. “Stay with him.”

A heavy bang shook the ground and blue fire
spilled into the night. It licked out of the foundry doors, slithering up the roof, and black smoke curled into the sky. The ground shimmered as pynvium continued to pour down the hill, lighting the base of the foundry in a pale glow. Another bang, then another, bright drops of brick and metal spraying.

What about the thing on the second floor? Was that burning, too, or did the soldiers posted there get it out?

Please, Saint Saea, let it burn.

“Nya, come on!”

I ran into the dark as the last box exploded.

M
ore bells broke the quiet as we raced for the inner wall gates, pushing our ore carts ahead of us. Fire bells, alarm bells, I had no idea which. Almost hidden in the noise was the toll of the clock tower striking four.

The lamps beside the gate glowed ahead, plus bobbing torches. The alarm must have alerted the gate guards and made them call for reinforcements.

I was out of pain-filled armor. “Who has a pynvium rod left?”

Two enchanters pulled them out.

“Give me one.”

They hesitated.

Sorg smacked the closest one in the head. “Give it to her.”

He did.

“Hang back some.” I ran ahead, the rod ready to flash as soon as I felt pain. Or until I saw them, whichever came first. I assumed they had rods of their own, but maybe not.

I felt it first, the sting of blown sand. Four soldiers stood in a line, swords drawn. A fifth held the rod.

I flicked my wrist and the rod triggered, sending pain flashing over the soldiers. Four dropped; the last staggered but didn’t go down. He charged. I dived sideways and the blade grazed my shoulder. I gritted my teeth as I hit the street.

Danello lunged for the soldier, his sword swinging. The soldier parried it, but it knocked him off balance. Danello pressed the advantage. He swung again and the sword went flying.

An apprentice shoved past and slammed his ore cart into the soldier, knocking him against the gate.

“Get the keys!”

Zee grabbed them and the gate flew open. We raced down the dark street, turning often to throw off any pursuit. When we were sure no one was following us, we paused in an alcove and caught our breaths.

“Look at all this pynvium,” Quenji said, voice filled with awe. “I can’t believe you really did it.”

“Didn’t go exactly as planned, but it turned out okay. Grab a bag, start filling it. We can’t exactly roll these carts along the street. It won’t be long before there are soldiers everywhere.”

We handed out the sacks and backpacks and filled them with as much ore as they could carry, but there were still three carts left.

“We can hide the rest,” Quenji said.

The enchanters shook their heads. “That belongs to us just as much as anyone.”

“I don’t care who takes it as long as the Duke doesn’t get it,” I said.

Zee got behind one of the carts. “We’ll take this one then.”

“We’ll take this.” The forge enchanters and weaponsmiths got behind another.

Sorg patted the third. “I think I can manage this one.”

Quenji checked the street and waved at Zee to move. “Shifter, you need our help again, you know where to find us.”

“I do. And thank you.”

He hefted the bags of pynvium. “It was worth it. Don’t get caught.”

“Stay free.”

Ceun blew me a kiss and ran off with the rest of his pack. I turned to my own pack. Aylin, Danello, Enzie, Winvik, Jovan, Bahari, the two Takers, and ten enchanters and apprentices.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” Aylin asked them.

“I can take care of myself just fine,” said the enchanter who had grabbed the second ore cart. “We’ll be on our way—thanks for the rescue.” He shoved the cart into the street and headed in the opposite direction from Quenji. The weaponsmiths followed.

Sorg tsked and turned to me. “They’ll be caught within the day, mark my words. We’ll stay with you.”

Danello grinned. “I can’t wait to see the look on Siekte’s face when we get there.”

“You can’t just bring strangers here!” Siekte burst out as soon as we entered the main room. No one else looked happy to see us either. Enzie and the others took seats on chairs and plopped on the floor. We’d lost three more people along the way—the last enchanter decided to leave the city, one apprentice left when we got close to his family’s boardinghouse,
and another left when we reached the villa, scared of more aristocrats.

I emptied a sack of raw pynvium on the table. Danello set out six healing bricks. Aylin dumped the set of pynvium armor. The bag of metal sand I’d taken turned out to be finely ground pynvium.

Siekte stared at me, the pile, then the table. “How did you get so much?” She picked up an armor piece. “Is this?” She gaped at me. “Saints! Is that the Undying’s armor?”

“It was.”

People started talking behind her, and some didn’t look so disapproving anymore.

“Where did you get this?”

“The foundry.” I tried not to smile as I said it. “And there’s an ore cart full of raw pynvium in the kitchen you might want to have someone bring down,” I said.

All the color drained from her face. “What did you do?”

“The Duke won’t be making any more weapons for a while.”

“Oh no. Oh no, you didn’t. How could you
be
so stupid!”

I stepped back. Danello came forward. “She did what you said couldn’t be done.”

“It
shouldn’t
have been done, you idiot.” She turned to the others. “Send out an alert to the other houses. Make sure everyone is armed and ready.”

Several nodded and headed upstairs. The bookcase slammed and footsteps thumped down. Onderaan came into the room, his face a mix of anger and fear.

“You weren’t supposed to do anything until Jeatar returned,” he told me.

“Wait,” Siekte said. “You knew about this? You held
me
back but you let
her
attack the foundry?”

Onderaan ignored her. “Half the garrison is out right now hunting for you. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“She saved us,” Sorg said. “Crippled the Duke. Poked him right in the eye.”

Onderaan looked at them like he’d just noticed they were there. “Who are all these people?”

“The Takers and the enchanters the Duke was holding prisoner at the foundry. He was forcing them to work for him.”

Onderaan sighed. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

No, but obviously destroying the foundry wasn’t the victory I thought it was. “I thought the plan was to stop the Duke?”

Siekte snorted. “And you just gave him every reason to hunt us down. Onderaan, what’s going on out there?”

“The foundry is in flames. There are reports of molten pynvium all over the ground. The garrison has been called out and they’re locking down the gates now, all of them. No one gets in or out of the city.”

“Then isn’t this the perfect time to attack the Duke?” Danello said. “His men are spread out and he’s distracted by the foundry.”

“If we were
ready
for it,” Siekte said. “But we’re not, and no one is in place.”

“I thought you had people in place. You were bragging about it the other day.”

She stiffened and shot a glance at Onderaan, who seemed less happy about that than he was about me.

“What’s he talking about?”

“He’s confused.”

Danello frowned. “Hardly. She said she had people in place to assassinate the Duke.”

Siekte looked ready to explode. Onderaan beat her to it.

“Assassination?” he shouted. “How many times have I told you, no. Kill the Duke and Baseer crumbles under civil war. Exposing him, discrediting
him, that’s how we’ll get rid of him.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed, with a look at Danello. “Do you really think anyone cares what he’s doing? They
know
and they do nothing.”

“The people don’t know,” Onderaan said. “And not all the aristocrats and prominent families know the truth.”

“They will when he’d dead.”

“Which will spark riots. You’ll create a hole every power-hungry aristocrat in Baseer is going to try to fill. There
will
be war and the people
will
suffer. That’s not the way to win. The Duke stole the throne, so we have to get the High Court to convict him for treason—”

“The Duke owns the High Court—”

“—and the legitimate heir will—”

“Oh, this again? Who cares about legitimate heirs? Have they done anything to help us? You’re just trying to prove your family was right, that they supported the true Duke and those who ignored their counsel were wrong.”

“They
were
wrong!”

“So what? There’s no one from that side of the family left.”

“Yes, there is!”

“Rumors, nothing more. Myths told to bolster
spirits. You’ve never been able to produce them or any proof they exist, so why should we believe you?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

“If you need proof of what the Duke is doing,” I said in the angry lull, “we have proof right here.”

They stared at me.

“This is how I proved the Luminary was stealing Geveg’s pynvium, that the Duke was doing experiments on Takers. I rescued them and let them tell their stories. These enchanters and Takers can tell you more about what he’s done than anyone else. They’re your proof. Let them speak to the High Court.”

Siekte folded her arms. “They’d never make it there alive, and even if they did, no one would believe them.”

“Why not?”

“No one trusts Takers or enchanters anymore, not after what the Duke has done with them.”

Onderaan didn’t contradict her. Neither did anyone else, not even the enchanters we’d rescued.

“You’re fools,” I said. “Throwing back the fish ’cause you’re hungry for fowl. Who cares if they trust them or not! They can hear the stories, hear what’s going on, and maybe then some will start to listen. You can’t convince anyone if they don’t know
what’s really going on.”

“Exactly what
is
going on?” said Jeatar from the base of the stairs. He looked tired, worn, filthy.

“You’re back!” I said, relieved. He’d seen how it had worked in Geveg. He could convince these fools that I was right.

“Nya destroyed the foundry,” Siekte said. “And by dawn the entire Baseeri army will be after us, if they aren’t already.”

“They’re out there now. I barely got inside the gates before they were sealed. You can see the smoke and flames from the wharf.” He walked over to me, glancing at the worried enchanters and Takers huddled in one corner of the room.

“He’ll hunt us down,” Siekte said. “The entire resistance. No one will be safe.”

“We weren’t safe before.”

“So we fight,” I said.

“Fight?” Siekte said. “He’s not going to send regular soldiers after us. He’ll send the Undying. You plan on fighting them?”

I smiled. “I’d actually prefer to fight them. A
lot
easier to defeat.”

Everyone stared at me like I’d gone mad, except those who knew me. They just grinned.

“You’re insane.”

Jeatar sighed. “No, Siekte, she’s just a lot smarter, tougher, and harder to kill than you are.”

But Tali wasn’t so hard to kill. The Duke might have his whole garrison out looking for me, but she was a lot easier to find. “Jeatar, if the Undying are being sent after us, does that mean the Taker camps are undefended? Or loosely guarded?”

He raised his eyebrows and I’d swear he was trying hard not to laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have family to get out of there.”

He chuckled dryly. “No, you can’t get in. The camps are outside the walls, and no one is getting past the gates right now.” He waved a hand at the uniforms we still wore. “They’ve seen the uniforms now, so they won’t be fooled again and they’ll be double-checking every soldier to ensure they really are soldiers.”

“She’s even ruined
that
for us,” Siekte added.

“Let’s try to salvage this,” Onderaan said. “We can create opportunities to gain support for our side. People are already angry, and when the Duke starts breaking down doors and hauling innocent families away for questioning, those who weren’t sure will be convinced and join us.”

Siekte shook her head. “Those methods aren’t working. The boy was right about attacking. We
need to use this mess and kill the Duke while we can.”

“It’ll cause a war.”

“And what she did won’t?”

“If there’s war,” I said, “then I need to get Tali. She’ll be in more danger than us.”

Onderaan snapped around to look at me. “Your sister’s name is Tali?”

There was recognition in his eyes, as if he’d finally figured out what I’d been denying for weeks. My hands and fingers went cold. I really didn’t want to answer that question. Not to him, not to myself. I didn’t want to face the truth. “Yes,” I whispered.

“Saints, you’re
Peleven’s
daughters?”

I nodded.

Onderaan sucked in a breath, then held his hands out to me. “He was my brother,” he said softly. “I’m your uncle.”