Chapter 5: Stone

The commander of the guards was a red they called Thorn. He had wiry black hair that stuck out at angles—a purported reason for the name—at least until they got to know his sunny disposition. Thorn was a puzzled man the next morning, an unusual state for him to be in, for he carried around certainty like he weighed his authority: both indisputable forces of nature, just like the prann or the Emperor’s word.

That morning, Thorn was just confused. Yesterday, in his haste and nearing despair to catch up to the first pincer, he had caught the edges of the windforce attack that had come from nowhere. Just the bare edges mind you, and that had been enough to knock him out of the prann, and on his ass for at least an hour or more. The bandit who had formed the pincer had not fared that well. One of the silvers was a minor healer himself, and had told Thorn that she didn’t think the bloke would touch the prann in a month or more, and even then only with whinging pain.

Then there was the story that Uncha had recited, in a bare monotone, as if disbeleiving it herself. It had to be a force run, but with such precision that it cut off (cauterized!) an arm of another bandit, and still left Uncha who was just a meter away with just mild dropout shock. If somebody had told Thorn the story over a drink, he would’ve scoffed, turned away, and then spat.

It would require an emperor’s control to do what a mild mannered blue messenger boy had done. Had he even graduated? Thorn thought of the report he would have to write, and despaired. How would he explain this?

Plus the boy. It was clear he had gone into prann shock through too much overuse. But how? What was astounding about the attack was how controlled it had been. Both Thorn and Uncha had no idea—absolutely no idea at all—that a major force attack was incoming until it hit. Astounding because of how little power was expended for these attacks, with so little waste, and so much impact.

It was pretty clear to the meagre healer they had that the boy would be dead soon from burnout. At least until Uncha did something that was another first for Thorn. She removed the blue winded necklace around her neck and then tied it quickly around the boy’s torso. The instant the necklace touched the boy’s skin, it reduced its ash grey pallor, and the boy’s breathing became easier.

All the silvers around him stood rooted in shock. The passing of a Blessed necklace, in unbroken chains from the Emperor himself, was an event of high ceremony. Usually conducted over a span of a five day event with great drama, prestige and high parties. Here, it was done in less than a minute. Quickly & efficiently, like everything Uncha did. Thorn’s head had reeled. It was definitely her right of course. But did she know what she had done?