— Try to remember.
The captain lowered his eyes. His hand had slipped from his shoulder to the crook of his elbow; blood seeped between his fingers and dripped onto his trousers. He raised it with difficulty. Nyros followed the movement, still crouched in front of him, close enough to hear the rasp of air in his throat.
At the end of the street, a door opened a crack. A woman stepped out with a bucket, saw the soldiers, and hurried back inside. The door remained ajar. Someone spoke in a low voice behind it. Farther away, wheels creaked over the cobblestones, then stopped; a carter had just spotted the knights blocking the road. He protested until a soldier signaled for him to turn back.
"I saw him come back," the captain murmured. "The second time. I was by the horses when he passed."
His throat moved twice.
"He sat down against the wheel. I went to get my pack, then the sergeant signaled to us. So I went back to get him."
On Tharion's shoulder, Thalen felt the fabric tighten beneath his talons. His companion was watching the captain's insignia. He had lifted his chin slightly, his lips parted, but seemed to be holding back whatever he was about to say.
"You had someone else."
The captain looked up.
"To lead the way," Tharion clarified. "You had men who could hold a weapon."
"The scouts had already left. We had to get the wagons through before—"
"And he'd just come back."
The words came out sharper than Tharion intended.
Near the building, a knight turned toward them. He had taken off his coat and was pressing it against the shoulder of the soldier Nyros had wounded. The fabric was already dark. Beside his knee, a metal buckle vibrated against the cobblestones.
Tharion knew these explanations. He had heard them while standing over tables covered in maps, his legs still heavy with fatigue. They would point out a village, a mountain pass, a road only he could reach in time. Eventually, he had started leaving before anyone even asked him to.
All the while, he had believed those who assured him his own people were safe.
"What did you promise him?"
The captain frowned.
"I didn't—"
"To make him keep getting back up. What did you tell him?"
"Tharion."
Thalen leaned toward his cheek. His heart was beating fast; the memory of the weight that had crushed him against the street was returning to his legs.
"You can ask him your questions later. We still don't know everything."
Tharion didn't look at him.
"I've heard enough to understand."
"Then help Nyros hear the rest."
Those words finally made him turn his head.
Thalen was very close to his face. He wanted to rest a hand on him, to gently make him look his way. All he could do was press his small body closer to his neck, taking care with his talons.
"I'm only asking you to wait," he added.
Tharion drew a breath. In the street, the buckle stopped trembling.
Nyros hadn't taken his eyes off the captain.
"How long?"
The man opened his mouth, then looked past him. His free hand searched for something to brace against on the cobblestones. It slipped.
"Wait… I can hear you…"
His head drooped.
Nyros caught him by the jacket before he could fall. The captain sagged against his arm, suddenly much heavier. Up close, his lips had lost their color.
"He's going to pass out," Thalen said.
"No."
Nyros shook the man once.
"You're going to wake up."
The shadow beneath the captain thickened, crept up his back, and supported his neck. Two black bands wrapped around his shoulder and thigh. As they tightened, blood welled through the fabric. The captain groaned without opening his eyes.
Nyros raised two fingers. A filament peeled away from the shadow and slipped beneath the man's collar.
His back arched.
Air rushed into his lungs. His heels scraped against the stones. He tried to reach for his neck, but Nyros seized his wrist.
"Stay with me."
"I… I'm here…"
"How long did my brother sleep?"
The captain was trembling so hard his teeth clattered.
"One minute."
Nyros kept hold of him.
"Maybe a minute," the man repeated. "I'd barely closed my pack."
Behind them, the carter was backing up his horse. The harness jingled; a wheel struck a bollard, and the man swore. Thalen heard those sounds clearly while Nyros remained still.
One minute.
The captain had just given a length of time to what Nyros was still trying to picture. His brother sitting against a wheel. His legs finally at rest. His eyelids closing. Then that hand on his shoulder, almost at once.
Nyros released his wrist.
"And you put him back at the front."
The man nodded.
"On the road to the bridge."
The camp was emptying behind them, leaving the smell of damp ashes and manure in the air. Men poured the dregs from their pots onto the fires; others pulled up stakes and rolled blankets still wet with dew. A mule refused to move. Its handler tugged at the reins while a wounded man in a wagon told him to stop shouting.
Arzyel walked between them without looking up.
He held his satchel against his hip. With every step, its edge bumped his thigh. Once, his shoe caught on a root and he had to throw out an arm to keep his balance. The sergeant waited a few yards ahead, then started walking again when Arzyel caught up.
Beyond the camp, the fields had been cut down to the ground. Furrows, blackened stalks, and, beside a roofless farmhouse, a pile of hay split open by the rain were all that remained. The road descended between an embankment and a ditch filled with gray scum. The wheels sank into the ruts with a sucking sound.
The captain was watching the trees at the top of the slope.
He never saw the shooter.
The driver of the first wagon suddenly clutched at his throat. The reins slipped from his hands. He slid sideways, hung for a moment over the edge of his seat, then fell between the wheels.
"Stop!"
The lead horse pulled forward again. The wagon struck a stone and swung across the road.
Men appeared above the embankment. One crossbow, then another; behind them, helmets and spear shafts poked out from the bushes. The captain raised an arm toward his archers, but the first attackers were already coming down the slope.
Arzyel turned around.
The earth gave way beneath their feet.
One man disappeared up to his waist. Another was thrown onto the road, his shield spinning away from him. The sergeant stumbled backward and struck the child's shoulder. Arzyel staggered, planted one foot ahead of the other, and raised his hand.
The captain felt the tremor climb through his boots.
The entire edge of the embankment collapsed. Roots pulled taut before snapping. A low tree began to fall, then crashed down the slope along with the men still clinging to it. Mud splattered across the wagon's canvas.
The soldiers in the column had stopped behind their shields.
Arzyel kept going.
Stone spikes thrust up through the churned earth. One man dropped his spear and grabbed at the one that had just pierced his shield. Farther up, two others tried to climb back using the roots. Another surge tore them from the slope.
"That's enough!" the sergeant shouted.
Arzyel didn't seem to hear him.
The captain stepped forward, then stopped when he saw blood running from the child's nose. His raised hand was shaking. He was still staring at the trees, where something was moving among the branches.
One last mass of earth shifted.
After that, the captain saw no one standing on the embankment.
Arzyel lowered his arm. Around him, the horses strained against their traces, and a wounded man called out from the rear of the column. The boy turned toward the voices, as if trying to figure out where they would send him next.
Then he slumped into the mud.
"He'd cleared the road for us," the captain said. "Again."
Night had fallen over the windows. In a nearby street, someone was calling for a child to come inside. The smell of hot grease drifted from a kitchen, mingling with the smell of blood whenever the wind changed.
Thalen looked at the soldier lying near the wall. His companion was speaking close to his ear. Thalen couldn't make out the words, but he recognized the tone: the one people used to keep someone from stopping their replies.
"Then a courier arrived," the captain continued. "While we were clearing the wheels."
Nyros straightened.
"With an order."
The man nodded, surprised.
"I was to place your brother under guard and hand him over to an escort. To stop him from using his magic."
Tharion took a step. Thalen spread a wing.
"Wait."
This time, his companion stopped without looking at him.
Nyros ran a hand over his mouth.
"You'd asked him to protect the column."
"Yes."
"And after that, you arrested him."
The captain looked at his men. One turned away; another was now staring at him openly, unable to hide his confusion.
"I was afraid of him," he said. "Ever since the wagon. I thought he might do it again if someone woke him, or touched him at the wrong moment…"
"He was asleep."
"I know, but I was the one he'd lifted. I couldn't get near him without…"
He fell silent. His breath whistled between his teeth.
Nyros waited.
"That order suited me," the captain finally admitted. "I wanted them to take him away."
Tharion lowered his head. Thalen felt his throat working just beside his feathers.
He understood now why his companion was so hard to hold back. Tharion was listening to this story and finding things in it that he already knew. Each new explanation left him with less room to believe that what had been done to him was an exception.
"How?" Nyros asked.
The captain blinked.
"How did you take him?"
Arzyel looked up when their boots stopped in front of him.
His satchel lay between his legs. Dried blood marked the skin above his lip; he had smeared it across his cheek when he wiped it away. Behind the captain, the men were pushing the wagon to clear the road. An axle creaked. Someone called for a rope.
"Are we leaving?"
The captain signaled for the two soldiers to go around the child.
Arzyel followed them with his eyes. He saw the restraints and drew his hands against his stomach.
"Why?"
"Hold out your arms."
"Did I do something?"
The captain remembered the question. He also remembered looking toward the embankment instead of answering.
Arzyel tried to stand.
His leg gave way beneath him. He put one hand in the mud, but the soldier on his left grabbed his other arm. The child immediately struggled. A small stone rolled near their boots.
The captain stepped back.
All three of them waited.
The stone lifted, fell, and came to rest in a water-filled footprint.
Arzyel stared at it. His fingers curled against the ground. He tried again; the captain saw it in the tension in his face, in the way he held his breath.
Nothing moved.
"Now."
The two soldiers seized him together.
The satchel tipped over. A spoon, a piece of bread wrapped in cloth, and a rolled-up sock fell into the mud. Arzyel tried to pull his things back toward him, but they dragged his arms behind his back.
He kicked the greave of one soldier.
"Stop! I can walk!"
The first cuff snapped shut.
The captain took his other wrist himself. He still expected to feel his throat tighten, the ground vanish beneath his feet.
All he felt was the child's fingers trying to clutch his sleeve.
He closed the second cuff.
Nyros was looking at the captain's hand.
"He couldn't use his magic anymore?"
"Not enough. He tried, but…"
"And you waited until you saw him try."
The captain lowered his head.
Nyros started toward him. Tharion placed a hand on his shoulder.
He didn't squeeze. He simply kept it there until Nyros turned his face slightly.
"The escort," Tharion said. "We need to find out where they took him."
Nyros looked at him for a moment. Then he pulled his shoulder from beneath Tharion's hand and turned back to the captain.
"Continue."
"They arrived before we'd finished clearing the road. Four men. A closed wagon. They already had…"
His voice faded.
Nyros leaned toward him.
"They already had what?"
"Restraints for his waist."
Thalen's feathers lifted.
The captain began speaking faster, as if the silence had become unbearable.
"My men's were too loose. One of the guards replaced them. He had cloth restraints for the wrists, and a short chain linking the two cuffs. They didn't ask his name or what had happened. They knew who they'd come for."
Tharion slowly removed his hand.
"The courier had just arrived," he said.
"Yes."
"But the wagon was already following you."
The captain didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Nyros stood up fully. For a moment, he looked past the man toward the street that sloped between the houses. Thalen saw his chest rise, then hold still before he let out a breath.
"Where?"
"I wasn't told where they were taking him."
"Then how do you know?"
The shadows stirred against the cobblestones.
"I wasn't told," the captain repeated. "But they left the column before the bridge. They took the road to the old customs house."
"You saw them turn?"
"Yes."
Tharion lifted his head.
"Was the customs house still in use during the war?"
"As a transfer post. Convoys changed escorts there."
For the first time since the interrogation began, Nyros looked at Tharion as something other than a man who might get in his way.
"Do you know the place?"
"The road. And the building."
A soldier approached a few steps. His hands were red up to the wrists.
"We need a healer."
Nyros looked at him. The knight stopped but didn't back away.
"For both of them," he added, pointing first to the captain, then to his comrade at the foot of the wall.
Thalen spoke before the silence could stretch any longer.
"Let him find one. We still need the captain."
Nyros looked at the stain beneath the wounded leg. The shadows were struggling to contain it; blood kept finding a way through.
He pointed to another knight.
"You. Go with him. Bring someone back here."
The two men set off at once. Thalen heard their footsteps quicken as soon as they passed the intersection.
Nyros crouched in front of the captain one last time.
"The courier. His order. What did you do with it?"
It took the man a moment to understand.
"The transfer papers… We kept them with the march register."
"Where is that register?"
"In the garrison archives, if it hasn't been destroyed."
Nyros turned to the nearest knight.
"You know where they are?"
"Yes."
"Then you're going to take us there."
Tharion looked at the captain, then toward the street leading to the garrison. His anger hadn't faded. At last, it had somewhere specific to go.
On his shoulder, Thalen loosened his grip a little.
Behind the half-open door, the woman with the bucket waited for Nyros to move aside before stepping out. She set the water down beside the wounded soldier without speaking to anyone, then hurried back inside.
The captain watched the bucket.
Nyros made him raise his head.
"You're coming too."