Hierarchy (Book Four of the Torrent Skies Saga)

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Odd One Out

After their return from the Bristlecomb and a hearty breakfast, Fykes and Katerin walked arm in arm towards Sahn-Raidar's keep. The morning in Rastridge was bright but freezing, and both of them had bundled up, their hands cold and noses red.

Katerin, in her haze of being not quite awake, was daydreaming. She imagined that she and Fykes were simply here to enjoy the city. That they were walking along intending to see the sights, chat with vendors, maybe find a cozy bench upon which to sip a hot beverage and smile at the simple beauty of the day. Lodyne reminded her of the ludicrous nature of that idea, but she ignored the goddess, and instead thought of walking by the river and being ignorant of the world's problems, for a moment. It was easier to ignore the goddess, this early in the morning, when her mind was not yet as sharp as she usually demanded it be.

Then the thought of the river led to thoughts of the gnomes, and the persistent worry that the gnomes would imprison her shattered her fantasy of a normal day with a handsome companion. They could indeed imprison her, and if they wanted to, she supposed there was little that would stop them. She had heard nothing that would point to such an action, but she did not trust them. From the looks in their eyes when she and Graiden had left their council hall, she expected something nasty to have followed her out. She only hoped they would wait until after the war. If... there would even be an after.

She sighed, gripping Fykes' hand a little tighter. So much for a normal day, she thought.

The guards ushered them through the keeps gates, and before she could return to her idea of a peaceful morning, they stood in Mikhale's office. Lugaria and Agrata stood near the desk. Mikhale was pouring tea from a kettle, and Graiden was reading something off a long piece of parchment. Katerin wondered momentarily why they always met here... did Graiden no longer have a room for himself, here? She knew he much preferred Itrea.

Their arrival allowed them quiet greetings, but those had done nothing to ease the tension that filled the room. It felt to Katerin as if she was walking into a sticky net, the way everyone's shoulders were tense and heavy.

"We have to man and defend three quarters of the city," Graiden said, his tone grave, barely looking up from the parchment he held. He had a shadow of stubble across his chin, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened each time Katerin saw him, as if there was no limit to how deep they could go.

"Well, we have enough men to cover half." Mikhale quipped, his back turned towards the small stone bar, where the clinking of a spoon could be heard. His hair was combed back, the short pony tail tied with a yellow bow of silk. Katerin could swear she saw a single strand of gray within it.

"But not enough to defend against the full brunt of the army in any one place, if we're spread out that way," Lugaria said. He stood straight as a board, hands clasped behind his back. He still looked just a terrifying as he had when Katerin met him, maybe more so now, with the way his lips were set in a hard line.

"If we stop the archways, we can limit their forces available to them." Graiden put his piece of parchment down and looked to Katerin. "We have a good number of men, and Kryrial's are dwindling quicker than I thought. If he plans to assault us here, he will likely bring reinforcements from Hearth-Home. If we can stop those..." He trailed off, looking to Katerin with a question in his sharp eyes.

Katerin winced. She had been thinking about such issues, and now was the time to voice them, even if she did not think they would be well received. "I don't think we should go after the archways, yet," she said.

Every pair of eyes turned to her, almost like knives.

"You said it could be done," Graiden began.