Memoirs of a Fallen God

Chapter 24

The fort came into view at dusk, but the smoke had been blotting out most of the sky for a long while before we finally drew near to it. Too much smoke. Far too much smoke. Smoke that surely should not have been there

Ever the cautious leader, Jeer had us approach in a silent, staggered line, weapons drawn and at the ready. Didn’t prove to be much point, as it happened. The fort was nearly gone, burnt almost down to the ground. The once proud watchtower crowning the north wall was a smoking heap of charred wood. Not exactly what we’d expected to find when we came round the final bend toward home.

No sign of any enemies, though. Shouts and cries aplenty rang through the air, but it was men hard at work, rebuilding. Hammers on nails, saws on wood.

To my vast relief, the clash of blades was nowhere to be heard. When we’d spotted the smoke on the horizon, the squad hadn’t said a word about it, but I’d half feared we’d come into the place in the midst of a battle—and one not going well for our side. But if there’d been a battle here, it was well and done with.

A pair of regulars sat on overturned barrels near the ruin of the gate. They perked up when we came into sight. The one on the right turned and leaned through the half burned wall. “Squad returning!”

Jeer stepped up to the man who had spoken. “What the shit happened here?”

“Fire,” the man responded, as though that weren’t immediately obvious to anyone with eyes, ears, or a nose.

“Reckon I could have guessed that,” Jeer muttered, just low enough to go unheard.

An officer I did not recognize a captain--his ash-stained uniform declared him a captain--stepped through the gate, and, catching sight of Jeer, broke into a grim smile. A tightening of the lips, really. There was no good humor in it.

“Sergeant Jeer, I presume. Patrol, was it? Confess, we’d more or less forgotten about you.” He scratched at his scalp, which was red and angry where some falling embers must have caught him. “Counted you and yours among the dead, I think. Duty logs got burned up in the first wave of fire, along with near everything else worth a damn—started in the quartermaster’s wing, right beneath the tower, near as we can tell.”

“So this was an accident, then?”

The man glanced to his right, where the pair of regulars still sat, looking bored but clearly listening, then stepped toward Jeer and slapped an arm around his back. He pulled him off a few steps and lowered his voice; they were out of earshot of the guards, but we in the squad could still hear well enough. Except Tore, of course, but that was nothing new.

“So far as all the regulars and officers have been able to surmise, yes, this was an accident. A simple, terrible mishap, though we’ve yet to find any clue to what might have started it. There are no obvious signs of foul play; no evidence of a break in, no murders not attributed to smoke or fire.”

“Then why’d you feel the need to pull me to the side and whisper in my ear?”

“Well. No sense causing panic among the conscripts. See, we had us a wizardborn drop by yesterday—Fortmaster put in a request when the fire wouldn’t die down proper—and he says there was magicking involved. The bloody kind. Shaman stuff.”

If my ears had been capable of the movement, they’d have perked straight up like a dog’s--not at the mention of enemy magic, but of our own. A wizardborn, here? I licked my lips. Would they be able to tell I was different? Would they know? Could they tell at a glance? Galore thought it possible, but he had made it clearly he didn’t really know. Who could say, but one of them?

I swallowed the panic and tried to even out my breathing. Pointless panic would only single me out all the sooner. Firmly, once I’d managed to slow my speeding heart, I resolved to act as normally as I could, with a singular caveat: stay the hell away from this wizardborn, whoever he was, whatever he was capable of. No chances. No chains, whatever the cost. Never again.