Page 1 of The Scouts

PROLOGUE

Spring, Morrhwÿn.

ERVYN

The ruin that had been a high-rise building mere moments before belched out masses of grey smoke. A thick layer of debris littered the cobbled passageway running around it. The tangy smell of magic lingered in the air.

A fellow archer, Kudiyés, and I escaped by descending whatever remained of the staircase, narrowly avoiding breaking our necks.

Squinting against the sun, I observed Lochan get out through a miraculously intact window, utilising a wall-mounted sign pole above it to make his acrobatic exit. Having swung on it a couple of times, he let go, bounced off the side of the opposite property in a way that should’ve been physically impossible, and dropped more than a storey down.

Dust rose around him as he landed with animal-like agility in a low crouch, one leg extended. He signed to me, “Giving chase. Cover me,” and took off at a sprint.

I followed his black-clad figure with my eyes.

He vaulted over a vegetable-loaded cart and a couple of crockery stalls that cluttered the street, moving with the same swift ease he would deploy while conquering a well-known training obstacle course. Then—to gain height on his target—he ran towards the next townhouse, jumped up and pushed himself off its wall with a foot. Like a flash, he climbed over the cornice and darted across the slated housetop.

I stood back-to-back with Kudiyés so that we could cover enough of the shooting angle between us, our bows raised and ready. We kept surveying the vicinity, even though it seemed unlikely more assailants lurked about. Nonetheless, the welter of relatively low, flat roofs surrounding us in every direction made me feel nervous. Thank fuck the civilians had enough sense to dash indoors and stay hidden.

After a prolonged period of inactivity, I assumed the immediate threat had passed.

“Clear,” I reported to Kudiyés behind me.

“Clear. And to think we’d stumbled upon this mess minding our own fucking business.” Kudiyés sounded miffed.

No wonder, too.

It was sheer coincidence that Magic Supremacists had chosen this inconspicuous location in the heart of the merchant quarters as their hideout. While going about procuring food for the unit and horses at the recommended military supplier, we’d ended up dealing with this random ambush. And that on an empty stomach first thing in the morning made a Scout very cranky.

“The idiots must’ve panicked when they spotted us about,” I said, “tricking themselves into believing their cover has been blown and we were after them.”

Their first error was mistaking our prosaic shopping trip for an operation to take them out. The second—presuming they could make light work of us.

As a result, instead of entering trade discussions about the price of grain and dry meat with a friendly merchant next door, we stood knees-deep among the wreckage.

“I guess we can forget about being offered complimentary refreshments now,” Kudiyés said.

Lieutenant Javyés and a lad known as Marbles—short of a few but an excellent spy otherwise—finally joined us in the street, coughing their guts up.

“Bloody hell.” Marbles wiped his face with his sleeve, managing to smudge the dirt stain farther across his cheek. It lent him an even wilder appearance. “What fuckery is this? Can’t say I recommend shopping in this place. The bodies up there are lardons. Charred and crispy.”

I cringed at the imagery. “Any civilian casualties?”

“Three in the wine shop downstairs, as far as we could tell,” Marbles said. “Crushed by a wall.”

The lieutenant dusted off his jerkin. “All sorts of contraband lies scattered about the place. Pamphlets on Magic Supremacy. Illegal charms by the bucket. I can’t make out their application exactly, but there’s enough dark potency about them to give me a migraine. Bad shite all around.”

“Aye. Fucking Magic Supremacists,” Kudiyés murmured. “Pain in the bollocks.”

They had been that and more of late. Not a month had gone without an act of terror attributed to the movement. Ironic that during the recent peacetime—so rare in Elven history—the threat to our law and order came from a bunch of homegrown radicals.

“Good job, Lieutenant Javyés.” I grinned. “If not for you, there wouldn’t have been many pieces of us left to collect.”

“We were damn fortunate to encounter rogue Sparks, not Mages,” the lieutenant said, his tone grave. His brow furrowed when he touched the verdite necklace that held his source stone. “That’s for starters. And secondly, from what I gathered, they must’ve already run low on Magic, having juiced up all those charms. I don’t even want to wonder what would’ve happened if they had hit us with full-on power.”

Luckily for us, they hadn’t. And indeed—we were only alive and kicking because Lieutenant Javyés was a low-grade Spark himself. His limited Magic abilities didn’t allow for more than executing simple protective spells, but he also had quick reflexes. He’d shielded us from the blast and reversed it at the unsuspecting casters.

The two subversives who fronted the attack had expired in the explosion. The third—obviously drained of Magic—had stayed back and legged it when part of the premises crumbled like a poorly baked cake.