To Catch A Sorcerer

There was a clap like thunder.

Gray flinched awake so suddenly that he jolted his bad ankle. He aborted a cry of pain.

It took a fraction of a second to orient himself inside the dark prison cell - the stone walls, the mossy pipe dripping slime, the slit window with a flickering street lamp outside.

He glimpsed Sorena standing in the centre of the cell with two other women - one wearing the Auguste soldier's uniform and with her hand possessively on Sorena’s shoulder, one woman in layered mage robes, muttering an incantation. And then - with another deafening clap, and a huge rush of static - they were gone.

They’d be taking her back to the mage guild, or perhaps back to the palace. Or, maybe, she was being taken to marry her Othoan betrothed.

Someone in the shadows tutted their tongue. ‘Did I give you permission to move from the pallet to that corner?’

The Major loomed by the door, his fur collar shifting in a slithering breeze. His dark gaze was focused on the chalk circle in the centre of the cell - part of the process, Gray knew, of how mages fahrened.

The Major started scuffing the chalk circle out with his toe. ‘You don’t move unless I say. You do nothing unless I say. You hear me?’

Gray locked his gaze onto him. He was still groggy from the tonic. He was taking too long to process the Major’s Lismerian.

He struggled to keep his fear in check. Struggled to push down the pain in his ankle and head.

‘Didn’t know I needed your permission,’ said Gray.

‘Well, now you do,’ said the Major. Chalk circle gone, he jerked his thumb at the pallet. ‘Get back over there. Now.’

There was no way Gray had the strength to stand and walk back over to the pallet. He’d be damned if he crawled in front of the Major. Not for some stupid power move - because that’s what the Major was doing. They learnt this tactic in their weapons and defence classes in school.

‘Pallet,’ said the Major. ‘Now.’

Gray darted a glance at the distance to the pallet, and then back up to the Major’s scarred face. He set his jaw.

‘We really going to do this again?’ The Major’s lips twitched like he was holding back a laugh. ‘You remember how it went for you earlier? Or do I need to jog your memory?’

Gray let out a shaky breath and pressed his forehead against the damp wall, closing his eyes. His ankle throbbed, sending a jolt of pain up his leg. He winced. ‘No,’ he muttered, his eyes squeezed shut. ‘I remember.’

‘So, do as I tell you. I don’t want to interrogate you crouching in that dark, piss-soaked corner, kid.’

Gray couldn’t - think.

‘What,’ Gray said, ‘what happened to the Haxleys?’

The Major frowned. ‘What do you think?’

Horror lanced through Gray. ‘You - you didn’t …’ he faded out. He couldn’t say it, he couldn't think it.

‘Execute them?’ The Major tilted his head. ‘No. I told you I wouldn't. They’re gone, kid. They fled.’

‘Gone?’

Numbness crept through Gray. He should be happy that Barin and Harriette were safely away from the Auguste soldiers. They’d risked enough for him.

Gray’s chest was painfully tight. He curled his frozen fingers, staring at them blindly.

‘Hm.’ The Major dropped down onto his heels in front of Gray.

Gray wished he’d look away. He swallowed over the lump in his throat.

‘You,’ said the Major, softly, ‘didn’t officially tell me what they call you here?’

‘You didn’t ask,’ said Gray, shifting his stare to the wall. His voice was hoarse.

‘Well?’

‘It’s Gray.’

‘Not Conor?’

‘No, sir.’

‘I’m Major Killian Slate, Gray.’

Some dank strands of Gray's dark hair fell over his face, but he didn’t dare move to brush it back.

‘I can see you’re scared,’ said Killian. Gray could hear the smile in Killian’s voice. His teeth would be bared. ‘So, I’ll let you off not saying ‘nice to meet you’ just this once.’

Gray shut his eyes.

‘I want to lay some things out for you. You, my young friend, were in the company of Branbright. To anyone looking in from the outside, it seems Branbright was trying to collect the son of D’Oncray.’

’Not,’ said Gray, ‘the son-’

Killian’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Not the son of D’Oncray? True, you seem to have forgotten how to perform wandless magic, judging by your clumsy attempt earlier.’ Killian clicked his tongue. ’That attempt was so embarrassing for such a famous magical prodigy, Gray. But, it was a little too good to be anything other than a giant red flag.’

Gray drew in a ribboned breath, his body unbearably tense.

‘Oh, and you were right at the centre of two horrible murders.’ Killian paused. ’The red flags are piling up, kid.’

Something spiked inside Gray. He glared at the wall, shivering, listening hard.

Killian rocked back, huffing warm breath onto his fingers. ‘Your name has never come up before in Dierne. It’s obvious to me you’ve enjoyed this town’s protection, due to some lingering affection for your father’s family.’

Shit.

Gray pressed his lips together. ‘No.’

‘No?’

‘You don’t bring them into this,’ said Gray. 'You leave these people alone.'

‘You’re real fucking cute, kid.’ Killian gave a dark smile. ‘I’ll bring whoever I want into this.’

‘The northerners don’t - know about the kingdom’s convoluted laws, OK? They’ve done nothing wrong.’

Killian’s dark gaze narrowed, just for a moment.

‘That’s not for you to decide, is it, Gray?’ said Killian.

Gray swallowed. Words died inside him. The hard stone floor and walls were freezing, the cold seeping through his thin clothes.

‘Normally,’ said Killian, ‘it’s execution on the spot. For being from a sorcerer’s line. But you - you’re going to Dierne. The king will decide your fate there.’

Honestly, this was more than Gray had expected. A tiny flame of hope flickered to life inside his chest.

‘Why?’ he said.

‘That’s the king’s business,’ said Killian. ‘And mine.’

Gray dared a glance at Killian. Just for the tiniest second.

Killian’s face, his body language - it betrayed nothing. He was like an immobile predator, waiting for his prey in the long grass.

‘Make no mistake, kid, the king wanting to see you, doesn’t mean you’ll keep your head, and it makes everything a lot more complicated for me.’

The tiny flame in Gray’s chest snuffed out.

‘People are still talking about Conor Griffin like he’s the answer to all their problems,’ said Killian. ‘The only contender for Wilde. And Krupin. They’re idiots, of course. But, they’re not the only ones who’d like a piece of D’Oncray’s son. If word gets out that I have Conor Griffin in my custody, things could get ugly, very fast.’

Gray bowed his head.

‘Your best shot at not being torn apart in here,’ said Killian, speaking carefully, ‘and once we reach Dierne, is pleasing me. Answer my questions. Don’t throw your magic around. Let me dangle you in front of Longwark, to help me draw him out. Do that, and I’ll tell the king what a good boy you are, and maybe he’ll look favourably on you.’

It was Killian’s use of the word favourably that steeled Gray’s resolve.

The king’s favour was messed up. It meant nothing. Nothing real. Gray had heard Elona’s stories, when she and Barin had thought they were all in bed, from when she was a king’s consort, about the Augustes and their brutal coldness.

The king’s favouritism hadn’t helped the Griffins when the time came. Wilde had still obliterated them.

‘Now,’ said the Major, straightening up to his full height. ‘Get over to the pallet. Tell me what you know about Longwark’s patterns.’

Gray locked his gaze onto Killian’s dark stare for a brief second, before blinking away. He stayed resolutely still.

Something flashed through Killian, so fast, Gray barely felt it.

It was a ripple, a chafe, in Killian's air.

There, and then buried.

‘Not a smart move, Gray,’ said Killian.

Killian reached down and grabbed Gray’s collar.

He tugged hard. Gray bit down a cry as his ankle bent. He suppressed a gasp, and he went limp, determined not to give Killian any satisfaction.

Killian dragged him to the pallet and into the light. With some effort, he forced Gray onto the pallet. Gray turned away the moment he let go, trying to hide his trembling. He curled into himself, favouring his ruined ankle.

Killian leant over him. ‘Was that worth it?’

Gray ignored him.

‘Well?’

Gray took a shuddering breath. ‘I’m deciding.’

Killian huffed an amused breath. There was a rustle, and then he tossed something onto Gray. Gray spared it a half glance.

It was an ankle compression bandage.

Gray brushed it off him.

Killian nailed it back. ‘Put it on, Gray, or I'll put it on for you.’

Gray stayed rigid.

Killian’s fingers were already working on Gray’s bootlaces, pulling them apart like he owned the damn boots.

Gray sat bolt upright, spine pinned hard against the stone wall.

‘Don’t touch me.’ The words were forced steady.

Killian paused, his scarred fingers hovering over Gray’s scruffy laces. ‘You need the bandage so it won’t hurt as much when I make you stand and then kneel in front of the court in Dierne. They’re going to have a big stage in the grand stadium, waiting for you.’

‘Get away from me,’ said Gray firmly. His heart hammered.

‘Kid, put on the bandage.’

Gray refused to look away.

Killian pressed his lips together in a hard line. ‘Here’s the deal. You put on that bandage and I’ll back off til morning. Give you time to chew on everything I said. But, if it slipped your notice, kid, I’m the one holding all the cards. Don’t push your luck.’