To Catch A Sorcerer

The untouched bowl of cold oats was a big deal.

It sat by Gray’s heel, as he leaned back against the damp prison wall, barely visible in the faint morning light. Four soldiers were discussing it in hot whispers outside his cell.

They were gesturing to the bowl of oats a lot.

Or maybe, thought Gray, closing his eyes and turning his face away, they were gesturing to him.

It was taking everything within Gray to battle the waves of grief that kept threatening to overcome him. He’d be OK - well not OK, but not mentally fighting back the urge to curl in on himself like his life depended on it - then, bam, it’d hit him.

He couldn’t afford to fall apart right now.

And he didn’t give a flying heck about eating.

He needed to plan. He needed to think.

There was a sharp scuffle by the door, and one of the whispering soldiers stumbled into his cell. Gray watched from his periphery.

It was the rookie. The others had shoved him in.

He hovered, just out of reach.

Gray waited, his muscles locked.

‘You have to eat, prisoner,’ said the rookie.

He spoke northern, and it surprised Gray enough that he faced him.

The rookie had mended the tear in the knee of his trousers. His cheeks were flushed with high colour, and his eyes were as alert and darting as a rabbit’s. He’d rolled the sleeves of his uniform up, revealing threatening skull and bones tattoos that contrasted with his cautious body language.

Earlier, the rookie had drawn the short straw, and had been shoved into Gray’s cell, to wake him from a nightmare. Gray’s magic had been coming to the surface. It had lit up the cell.

A powerful mage - let alone a sorcerer - in a nightmare was no joke. Broken windows, shattered ceiling, violent storms.

Earlier, the rookie had shaken Gray out of it, with a trembling hand on Gray’s shoulder.

‘You’re scaring the shit out of the men,’ the rookie had said with an anxious breath, ‘and your guards.’

And now, the rookie was here again, and he was speaking northern.

‘You have to eat, prisoner,’ the rookie repeated.

In northern.

He didn’t look northern, but then, neither did Gray.

‘I’m not hungry,’ replied Gray in northern, eyeing the tattoos and then the sword at the rookie’s hip warily.

The rookie hesitated.

‘That’s all I know how to say,’ said the rookie, switching back to Lismerian and stepping closer to Gray.

He hesitated again, casting a sweeping glance over Gray. ‘I bought a northern dictionary last night. And I could buy more books on northern if I wanted to. Do you know how much they pay us to be in the treasure league? I mean, besides the prize money, which is no small amount. It’s dangerous, of course, and the Major is a right icy prick …’ The rookie cleared his throat, the colour on his cheeks deepening. ’Stop my tongue.’

Gray watched him out of the corner of his eye, his heart thudding in his chest.

‘Quit yapping,’ snapped one of the soldiers from the doorway. ‘Make him eat, rookie.’

Another hissed something so fast, Gray didn’t catch it. The rookie nodded at the soldier, squaring his shoulders.

The rookie cleared his throat again. ‘You have to eat.’

Gray darted a glance at the soldiers in the doorway, before dropping his gaze onto the bowl of oats. Gray’s stomach flipped.

‘Why do you care?’ said Gray.

‘Major cares.’ The rookie stepped closer. ‘He says to make sure all the prisoners eat. And they all have. Except you.’

‘He won’t have his prisoners dying of starvation,’ called one of the soldiers. ‘Eat, sorcerer.’

The rookie must’ve caught something in Gray’s expression because he nudged the bowl towards Gray with his toe. ‘Eat. Or, Major will make you. And that’ll be bad for everyone.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘I’ve seen him do it. You don’t want him to feed you.’

’This ain’t a fucking date, rookie,’ called a soldier. ‘You’re not buying him the damn dinner. Make him eat, before Major gets down here.’

‘I’m doing it,’ said the rookie, his shoulders tight. ‘Give me a minute.’ With one swift movement, he crouched in front of Gray.

Gray flinched, and then felt his cheeks flush, hating himself.

‘Look,’ said the rookie, ‘please eat.’

‘Throw it away,’ whispered Gray. ‘Tell him I ate.’

‘Nah,’ said the rookie. ‘He’s got this uncanny way of knowing when you lie. He can hear it or smell it or something. I dunno.’ He felt around in his jacket pocket and then pulled out a beat-up deck of cards. Carefully, he pressed them into Gray’s freezing hands.

‘It’s,’ said the rookie, ‘missing an ace. But it’s yours. If you eat.’

His rabbit-fast eyes were clear green and completely guileless.

‘Take your cards back,’ said Gray. ‘I’ll eat.’

The rookie stood up and left, leaving the cards in Gray’s hands.

——

Eating the oats was stupid-hard work. Gray was damn well sweating.

He set aside the half-empty bowl by the deck of cards, bowing his head between his knees, his hands gripped in his hair.

The hair on the back of Gray’s neck rose. Something was in the cell with him.

Very carefully, he lifted his head.

He blinked rapidly, trying to get the face looming over him into focus.

Wolf fur trimmed his collar. Dark hair underneath a kingdom soldier’s cap. Cold-eyed and hard-mouthed.

Major Killian Slate.

He’d slipped inside the cell more silently than a ghost.

A wave of burning hot loathing and fear rose inside Gray.

‘What’s that?’ Killian's dark gaze was fixed on the bowl by Gray’s foot.

Gods.

Gray took up the bowl, and prepared himself to scrape the sides down.

But, before he could, Killian was on his haunches in front of him and shuffling the deck of cards with deft fingers. Killian pinned Gray with a dark look. ‘Rookie,’ Killian called. ‘Come here.’

There was a soft padding up the corridor, and then the rookie skidded to a stop outside Gray’s cell.

‘Major?’ the rookie said, his flushed face peering in at them.

‘Did I tell you to stay out of these cells, rookie?’ said Killian.

Gray shifted, his heart hammering. ‘He didn’t-‘

Killian stopped Gray with a sharp gesture. ‘You’re confused about your name, kid?’ he said to Gray.

’No,’ said Gray. ‘But he-’

‘Is your name rookie?’ said Killian.

Gray ignored the cold ripples echoing within him. He stayed calm and made himself meet the Major’s dark gaze.

‘Have you gone through three years of military training,’ said Killian, ‘and passed all the tests?’

Gray refused to drop his gaze.

‘Are your stat scores high enough to meet the standards of our world-class military, kid? Perhaps, that measly total of forty-one on your papers is false?’

Gray made himself stay still. No, he wanted to say.

But, he was angry enough for it to come out in his voice. His voice would break. It would be rough.

There was no way he’d let this man see him lose control again. Not like he’d done so stupidly in the Captain’s office.

‘You’re the freshest piece of meat here, Gray,’ said Killian darkly, ‘but you’re nowhere near the privilege of being called rookie. Don’t speak for him. Understood?’

Gray stayed stock still, his heart thudding.

‘You’re the shit underneath his shoe,’ said Killian. ‘You’re not his voice. Understood?’

When Gray didn’t speak, Killian leant so close Gray felt his sharp breath. ‘I asked you a question. Smart thing to do would be to answer.’

Gray shifted his glare to the wall, his jaw tight.

He’d been manipulated so easily before. He couldn’t let it happen again.

He wouldn’t.

He had to stay - mentally - one step out of reach. Everything that Killian said, Gray had to examine it before he let himself be turned into Killian’s puppet again. This man had just tugged once, twice, on Gray’s strings, and Gray’d spilled his magic out like a little bitch, like he’d never done before in his life, and now, Gray was completely screwed.

Barin was screwed.

Harriette.

If they were ever found, they’d be imprisoned, at the very least.

Killian’s hard hand gripped Gray’s chin, turning Gray’s head so he was forced to shift his glare onto the Major.

Killian squeezed Gray’s jaw. ‘Understood, Griffin?’

‘Yes,’ hissed Gray.

Killian leant back on his haunches with another sharp breath. ‘Rookie, did I tell you to stay out of these cells?’ said Killian.

‘Yes,’ said Rookie, his voice ringing across from the door, ‘Major.’

‘Go to the Mayor’s office here,’ said Killian softly. ’Tell her to take off any cleaning staff she has in this building, until further notice. You’ll be scrubbing the toilets from now on. Got it?’

The rookie was quiet for a beat. ‘Yes, Major.’

He slowly padded away.

Killian sat further back, pocketing the cards and giving Gray some space. ‘How’s the ankle?’

When Gray didn’t reply, Killian slowly leant forward. ‘You’re having trouble with the whole question-answer concept, kid?’

Gray had no interest in another smack over the head. The way the Major’s eyes narrowed, ever so slightly, was a warning.

‘It hurts,’ said Gray.

‘Ankle bandage helping?’

Gray gritted his teeth. ‘Yes.’

Killian waited, his eyebrows creeping up inch by inch. ‘And?’ he said. ‘In the south, this is when we say thank you.’

Gray was on the verge of hurling expletives at him. Perhaps Killian knew this because he smiled his gods-awful smile that was all teeth, and tapped Gray under the chin.

‘One battle at a time, hm?’ he said. ‘I’ll have you spouting good manners in no time.’ Killian shifted slightly, his polished boots grinding against the prison floor. ‘You going to behave yourself? You thought about what I told you last night?’

Gray hadn’t. He couldn’t think past the blind panic his mind was stuck in. He was exhausted, he was wired, he was furious, he couldn’t stop damn shaking -

‘Kid?’

‘I,’ said Gray, rubbing his jaw with a trembling hand, ‘I’ve thought about it.’

‘And?’

The words, and I think you can go screw yourself were on the tip of Gray’s tongue. ‘I haven’t decided.’

Killian stayed stock still, the smallest breath of disbelief leaving him.

‘From what I saw,’ said Killian, ‘if these people turn on you - let alone my men - you’re not going to be able to fight them off. The northerners didn’t train you very well, hm? They have no idea of what it takes to train a mage - excuse me, a sorcerer.’

Gray’s dark hair was a tangled mess. He made himself ignore it. He ignored the tightness clutching at his chest and ignored the words pushing themselves forward in his mind, to his tongue.

‘You want me on your side,’ said Killian.

With great difficulty, Gray suppressed the physical urge to throw up.

‘You want to be torn apart in here?’ said Killian. ‘Let alone Dierne?’

Gray couldn’t read Killian.

He didn’t know if Killian was full of bullshit.

But, Killian was waiting for an answer, his eyebrows lowered, his gaze cold, and his wrists balanced on his knees as he crouched in front of Gray.

Gray couldn’t afford to hurt more than he already did.

He knew what he had to say, even if he was still trying to figure out exactly how to read the stone-cold Major.

‘No,’ said Gray reluctantly. ‘I don’t want to be … torn apart.’

‘You have your answer, then.’ Killian’s expression was hard. He stood. ‘You’re working with me. My priority is Longwark. That bastard is skirting the edges of the town. He’s watching. Either he’s hidden the item in here somewhere, or he wants you. Come, up. You’re going to help me draw him out.’

‘Longwark won’t come out for me,’ said Gray. ‘He won’t give a f-’

There was a knock on the cell door and the hairy-fisted soldier from earlier peered in through the window. He gave Killian a stiff salute.

‘Yes, Brown?’

‘We’ve got a problem, Major.’