Melwa & Mellon

A two-note crackle of rifle fire echoed past his ears, and Enver tried not to flinch, gripping his own weapon tighter. Instinctively, he looked back to make sure none of his squad members had fallen, and met only with unfamiliar faces.

He’d been the self appointed guardian of his squad. The one counting heads and lifting spirits.

But that was before the skirmish on the banks of the Aniva River. And now he didn’t know how he fit into this new squad. A mismatched note in an otherwise unhesitating song.

“Eyes up, boys.” Sergeant Kazinsky’s voice was a smooth baritone, like polished river stones pulling them away from fear, weighing them back into reality. “And Rita.” Rita Tanner gave a two fingered salute, the smirk that Enver rarely saw her face without pulling at the scars along her cheeks.

“We’ve got about two miles of ordnance to make our way through,” Kazinsky continued. “If the other team does their job, we’ll have the opposition trapped, and might get out of here before dinner.”

“All we gotta do is not get blown up. Piece of cake.” The quip came from Clifton Ives, as it always did, and Kazinsky shot him a glance that had him straightening, just a little. At his side, Nikan Galanetz was clutching his own rifle, looking like he might be sick. He was the other new member of the squad—just as out of place as Enver felt, but with only six months of experience.

Enver had been there, though it felt like a million years ago. A twinge of sympathy went through him, and he caught the kid’s eye, giving him a little nod. The barest smile crossed Nikan’s face in response. Better than nothing.

“Be ready,” Kazinsky told them. “When our scouts get back—”

There was a rattle of stones and earth, and two more soldiers slid down into the ditch where they were sheltering. Giving a quick salute, the woman in the lead, with wildly curly hair bundled back from her face, said, “Back, Sarge.”

Kazinsky nodded. “Report.”

“We’ve got the numbers,” the woman—Annaleis Esparza. Enver had worked with her as a scout in his old unit, too. She was one of the best—told him, settling into a crouch. Her hand rested on the blade at her side, and Enver tensed. There’s more.

“But,” her companion added. Sean Monahan was an exact contrast to his fellow scout—pale where she was dark, short where she was tall, and twice as superstitious. To say nothing of his pessimism. “They’ve got some top notch casters. There’s a shield up—” Rita cursed, receiving a warning glance from Kazinsky— “and there’s more magic users to spare.”

Great. One of the many downsides about being at war with a counter whose population were 85 percent magic users was, well, everything. Where Harrowdale’s strength was innovation and industry, Alcea’s magic users could match them. Especially with the latest spell, which tore their rifles to bits with ease.

Enver could see Kazinsky realizing the same thing. “Rifles away,” he ordered. “Swords at the ready. Rita, crossbow. Esparza, you’re still a good archer?”

“Better than Sean is,” Annaleis confirmed.

“Time to prove it. Find a vantage point, get some magecopper, and try to pierce that shield.”

“On it, boss.” Annaleis disappeared up the rise, and Kazinsky turned to face the rest of them.

Face grim, he said, “On me.”

“We’re still going in?” Nikan’s voice cracked halfway through his protest, and Clifton laughed, slapping him on the shoulder.

“No choice, brother. Keep moving or start dying.”

Swords slid from sheaths, shields were pulled from backs, and the squad started moving. Kazinsky took the lead, and Enver brought up the rear, one eye on his surroundings and the other on the rookie. Nikan was clutching his sword with a trembling hand, but he didn’t stop. He’s not freezing. And sun knows I froze my first time out. He’d been younger, though. Hopefully.

For a while, the only sound was pebbly dirt crunching underfoot, and the squad’s steady breathing. They were crossing what had been open farmland, before the Alceans had pushed across the border again, trying to claim it as their own. Enver hoped the inhabitants of the burned out farmhouse he saw had been evacuated.

A few more steps. And then he saw it.

Curls of magenta light, swirling up from the grove of willows shrouding the nearby pond. Spell caster.

He didn’t have enough time to recognize the shape it was taking before Clifton shouted, “DOWN!”

This time, Nikan froze, and Enver dove toward him, dropping his sword as a transparent spear of magenta flew through the air, skewering the ground around them. Enver smacked into Nikan, both of them crashing to the ground as it exploded. He felt the impact of shrapnel against his armor, but it didn’t break through, and he rolled to his feet.

And now the Alcean soldiers were appearing, swinging swords illuminated in different colors of light. Spells, imbuing their weapons with powers that Enver never wanted to discover. He found his sword and took a stance, hand tight around the stiff leather grip.

The area around him exploded into combat. Rita was taking shot after shot, crossbow bolts skating across the field. Kazinsky was at her back, fending off an approaching duo. Enver saw an arrow plunge down into the willows, and one of the clouds of light disappeared. One of their best casters down. Thank you, Annaleis.

Steel grated against steel in a discordant high note, and Enver raced to help Clifton, who was staggering back away from a massive Alcean soldier, who was bracketed in mustard yellow light. He swung his blade, and Enver saw a blast of familiar, jagged shapes flying toward him. Fire spell.

He dove under them, tucking into a somersault and leaping out of it, slashing his sword across the man’s arm. Heat flared behind him, but Enver didn’t look back, not even when the Alcean fell and Clifton gasped a quick thank you.

That was war. You kept moving.

The other team had arrived, and were in the thick of combat. Enver caught a triumphant grin from Rita, heard Clifton start to whistle as he drew a knife. This was just another day’s work, now.

And then. He saw one of the spellcasters step out of the willows, lifting a hand. Magenta light poured forth, striking the ground around them, and Enver saw half a dozen spots light up.

Oh, no. He knew this spell. They all did.

It was a simple one—a massive explosion, meant not to kill, just to disorient. And then came the second hit. Not meant to send you flying, one that would suck you in like a whirlpool. And then it would drop you out, halfway across the country, above a cliff or a jagged outcropping of rocks, or just from somewhere very, very high.

And that would kill you. Or at least take you out of the game so efficiently your team would have no chance of getting you back anytime soon.

I hate this spell.

“MOVE!” Kazinsky’s shout pushed them into action, and they did, sprinting forward at the same time as the Alceans around them. Enver saw Nikan stumble, and he lengthened his stride, just in time to push him forward. Just as the explosion hit.

The trick was to roll, to get as far out of range as possible. Then, you might have a chance.

But Enver had spent his last stride trying to get Nikan clear. So when he went flying, his head cracked against something hard, and his vision went up and down, jagged lines flaring through it. The air went out of him with a whoosh.

Dragging in a painful breath, he pushed himself upward, scanning the surrounding area. A massive circle, about three yards wide, was still glowing violent magenta. The blast radius. And he was still in it.

“Enver! Move!”

Clifton’s shout was just cutting through the air when another blast erupted. Enver barely had time to pull the knife from his belt and slam it into the ground before a whirlwind came to life around him with a roar. Even with the anchor, he felt himself slipping backward. Rita was being held back by Kazinsky, and Nikan was staring wide eyed at—

Oh. I’m not alone.

There was someone else in the blast radius.

And she was Alcean.

Enver caught the barest glimpse of her as she clung to the grass around her desperately. Dark red-brown hair braided and pinned back, her skin a warm shade of brown. Dual swords were strapped to her back, and she wore traditional Alcean armor. But none of that was what struck Enver.

She didn’t look surprised. Not scared, or shocked, or even really upset. She just looked…resigned. Like she’d known this would happen.

Over the roar of wind, he heard the grass tear, and the Alcean warrior went flying backward. She smacked directly into him, and his knife slipped. Together, they were swept up and swallowed by a whirlwind in the ground.

For a moment, everything was silent. Enver couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. Couldn’t breathe, and for a heartbeat he thought the earth would keep them prisoner forever.

And then the world came exploding back to life, and he was falling out of the sky.

A brief glance took in their surroundings. They were on the coast—miles from where they’d been fighting, depending on which coast it was. Cliffs jutted beneath them, with jagged rocks slicing the savage waves into pieces.

And they were plummeting straight toward it.

A scream caught his ear, cut off halfway. To his left, the Alcean moved, teal light coalescing around her hands. As they dropped, straight toward the rocks, she cast a hand out, and a cord made of light moved with it. Coiling like a whip, it snagged at the cliff face, burying itself in the rock.

Enver was going to have to try something a little more simple. Gripping his knife tightly, he let gravity take him down, listening to the harmony of wind and waves below. And as he drew closer, he twisted, spinning toward the cliff.

The blade slammed against the stone, letting out an earsplitting screech—and then he jerked, suddenly, to a stop that reverberated through his bones.

It had caught on a crack.

Enver barely had time to marvel at the miracle that had been dropped into his lap—again—before he heard a scream, a full one this time. A little ways above and to his left, the Alcean soldier had caught herself, but the sickening pop that rang out told a far more ominous story than his own. One of her arms fell free, and she clung to her magic desperately, eyes wide.

She won’t last. With a dislocated shoulder, she had one less hand, and the pain would break her concentration. Enver had seen it before.

In a few minutes, she’d fall.

One less Alcean. One less enemy.

That’s what Noran would have said, from his old unit. His friend had lost family to the Alceans, and had never quite gotten over it. He was still spitting curses the day they killed him on the banks of the Aniva.

Enver had loved his friend. But he wasn’t him.

The Alcean’s face flashed to the front of his vision—not even afraid. Just resigned. Not expecting to be saved.

She’s alone, too. Especially now.

Rock cracked, and he heard her cry out again, voice tight with frustration. Not for the first time, Enver wished for his sword.

Although…

With some difficulty, he slipped a hand under his jacket. Strapped to his back, he kept a few precious, personal items. Not his, but his old squad’s. Things they hadn’t been able to send to anyone else.

His hand closed around a hilt—Penny’s sword. Yanking it free, he hit the switch on the side of the hilt, and flicked his wrist. The blade burst to life, locking into place seconds later. Thank you, Maguire. The smith who’d made it was the best in the business.

Hauling back, he slammed the blade into the crack where his knife was, wedging it in place. Gripping tight, he slowly shifted the knife out and back to his belt—just in time. The teal light above him vanished, and the soldier dropped.

No, you don’t. Bracing a boot against the stone, Enver lunged, and managed to grab her arm. She let out a cry as he hauled her up. Gritting teeth as she tried to pull away, Enver managed to gasp, “Hold on!”

She went still. So still he wasn’t sure if she’d listened, or just passed out from pain. Glancing down, he caught a glimpse of brown eyes boring into his. “We need a way up,” he told her, looking back up. Ten feet up, maybe? That’ll be a nightmare to climb—

He heard the magic before he saw it. A gentle hum, like the strings of a violin, and suddenly pale teal light was surrounding them. As Enver watched, fear drumming the same beat as his heart, it built under them, growing stronger and stronger. And then it burst up, sending them flying up toward the cliff’s edge. Enver’s sword tore free from the crack with another screech, and he lashed out desperately as they shot up.

It sank into the dirt at the top, and they jerked to a stop before they could plummet again. The teal light flickered, and Enver realized it was holding them up. Just barely, securing them from another fall.

But it’s good enough. Straining every muscle in his body, he hauled himself up, getting a boot steady against the cliff and pushing. Inch by inch, second by second, he got himself up and over the edge, one hand still locked around the Alcean’s arm.

The minute he rolled over onto solid land, he turned, sprawled on his stomach, and grabbed her other arm. She let out a hiss of pain, but awkwardly caught hold of his arm. The teal light around her was fading by the second, and he could see fear in her eyes now.

“Sorry,” he told her, and pulled.

Her scream echoed off the cliffs, scaring several nearby birds, but she scrambled up and over. The magic around her disappeared just as she hit the dirt, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Just gasped for breath, clinging to the ground. And each other.

She was the first to move, hands pulling away from his, and Enver reluctantly hauled himself to his feet. Only when they were both standing did he realize he was several inches taller than her. And he was holding a sword.

As one, they stepped back, and took in their enemy. The enemy who’d just saved each other’s lives.

~~~

All good Alcean soldiers hated Harrowdale. At least, that was what the drill sergeants would have you think. The hatred would fuel you and your magic, get them one step closer to winning the war.

Inessa would have hated Harrowdale more if an Alcean hadn’t been the one who betrayed her first.

And he had been. Alvin Melith had been her wingman, her partner on the battlefield and—she thought—her friend off of it. Which was why it had come as a surprise when he handed her over to Harrowdalean renegades to be tortured for information.

(as if being the daughter of a general meant she had special information. All she’d ever gotten from General Lang was disappointed looks, brown eyes, and apparently, her stubbornness.)

But now, she’d been expecting it. Discrediting a good soldier with five years of service to her two, a soldier who’d been a top tier caster and the son of a high ranking lord to boot, had crushed her career like a grape tossed onto a floor of dancers. So when Avery Bedlam had cast the hither-bomb spell, he hadn’t cared if she was in the middle.

And Inessa couldn’t pretend to be surprised.

She’d been done trusting even her own people for a long time now.

But she’d also expected to die when the bomb pulled her in. And yet, judging by the screaming agony from her arm, she was alive.

Thanks to the Harrowdalean soldier facing her right now.

That might be about to end, though, Inessa thought. The odds were simple. He had a sword—and so did she. Two, in fact. But she only had one arm, and with the pain etching itself through her body, casting was going to be nearly impossible. It had taken all her reserves just to help get them up the cliff.

Them. Why did I help him?

Because he was holding you up, idiot. The sarcastic voice in her head sounded remarkably like Anya, her younger sister. Inessa bit her lip hard, trying not to miss her. Trying not to think about how she would never see her again.

Don’t flinch, she told herself, despite the fear already thundering to life. Knowing you would die was one thing. Knowing pain would accompany it was entirely another. She clenched a fist, trying to summon some magic, anything to prevent—

“Truce?”

Her concentration slipped, teal sparks sputtering away from her fingers as she stared at the man facing her. “What?”

“Truce,” he repeated, pressing a switch on the side of his sword. The blade retracted with a click, and he dropped the hilt to the ground deliberately. Lifting his hands in the air, he said, “We’re miles away from the border. You’re hurt, and I’m exhausted. And I don’t want to kill you.”

The words he was speaking were so foreign, so unexpected, all Inessa could do was stare. “What?”

“Did…you actually not hear me, or—”

Inessa almost snorted at his slightly nervous tone. “I heard you. But…” she paused, studying him for a minute. Dark hair cut shorter than the fashion in Alcea, but not buzzed short. Blue eyes darker than any she’d seen before, a striking contrast to the burgundy of his uniform. Harrowdale colors. Not your friend. Dark memories flickered through her mind, and the scars on her back seemed to burn.

But. She was injured and in no position to cast. And her enemy just saved her, and was currently looking at her with the most earnest, open gaze she’d ever seen in her life. Like he’d spill a vein if she asked for it.

It was disconcerting. But it would keep her alive.

“Truce,” she agreed, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased.

“Good.” Glancing around, he asked, “So…any idea where we are?”

For the first time, Inessa actually looked at their surroundings. Rich blue-green water a few shades lighter than her magic, cliffs soaring above the waves. It looked like another world, compared to the blood soaked fields and pond they’d left behind.

But it wasn’t. In fact, she was pretty sure she recognized it. “I think…we’re in Alcea,” she said slowly. “Up north, near the Venlann border.”

Her family had gone here on vacation, once. When her father wasn’t busy with the war and before her mother had retreated into her rooms and never left home again. Before they’d lost Cassio to the war.

“So we’re in your territory,” the Harrowdalean said, jolting her out of her memories. She looked back at him, and saw him watching her. “Can you lead us back to the border?”

The border. Where their people were trying to kill each other over a war older than time. Inessa swallowed, suddenly aware of the weight of the swords on her back.

She should kill this man.

It was her duty, what she’d signed up for when she joined the army. It was what tradition and honor and her king demanded of her.

And all those things demanded it of him, too.

But instead, he’d saved her life. And offered a truce, even before he knew where they were.

They were without food, water, or any real equipment. They had no allies, she was injured, and he was in a foreign country.

They needed each other.

The last person you needed, who you relied on, handed you over to be tortured, her mind whispered. If anything, you can expect that even more here.

Then at least I’m prepared.

“I can,” she told him. “But I’ll need my arm fixed first.”

He nodded. “I figured. I’m Enver, by the way. Enver Connally.”

And here it was. The part where she reciprocated and turned herself from an ally, however strange, to a piece on a chess board. But Inessa didn’t have the energy for subtlety right now. And truthfully, the less she had to wait for things to go wrong, the better.

“Inessa Lang,” she told him, searching his gaze for surprise, for the moment when he remembered there was a General Lang in the Alcea army.

There was nothing. Instead, he smiled, just enough to warm his features. “Nice to meet you, Inessa. All things considered.”

To her utter shock, a laugh bubbled up in her chest as she took the hand he offered and shook. “All things considered,” she agreed.