Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(30)

A tic jumped in the captain’s jaw. “No, sir. But reports said they had attacked some civilians.”

“Under the rules of engagement, under what conditions is it permissible to fire upon residents of your own country when you are not under immediate threat of harm?”

Pillos blinked rapidly as if trying to recall.

Jack exhaled in exasperation. “Has martial law been declared, Captain?”

“No, sir.”

“Then am I correct in stating there are no conditions under which it is permissible to fire upon residents of your own country when you are not under immediate threat of harm?”

“Y-yes, sir. But, sir . . . they are settlers.”

Jack took a step back and raised his voice so that all present could hear. “Yes, Captain. These are settlers. And as of the Treaty of the Seventh Breach, they have non-enemy status in Elsira. Unless they directly provoke you and are not, as in this case, merely defending themselves against attack, it is our sworn duty as defenders of Elsira to protect them, as well. Is it not?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack took a deep breath, exhausted from the display of leadership. Pillos was doubtless no different than most of his men, than most of Elsira if he could stand to believe such a thing.

“See if anyone needs medical attention and gather their weapons. But for Sovereign’s sake, don’t shoot anyone. And I need your radio, Captain. It’s urgent.”

“Yes, sir. This way.” He gave the order then led Jack to the four-wheeler. He hopped into the driver’s seat and picked up the earpiece and transmitter, speaking his identification code into the microphone.

“Connect me to the palace immediately.” The line was staticky while the call was patched through.

“Jack?” a voice warbled down the line.

“Usher? Is that you?”

“Oh, Jack,” the man exhaled in obvious relief. “Thank the Queen you’re alive!”

“Usher, I’m not sure how you got on this line, but I have urgent business. I need to speak to—”

"Jack." The old man's voice cracked, weighed down with misery. “It's Alariq. Your brother is dead."





CHAPTER FOUR


Jasminda’s gaze tracked Jack as he dealt with the soldiers. After the initial incident, the men’s sudden change in attitude and obvious deference toward him piqued her curiosity. He only had to say a few words and they would hop into action.

He directed several soldiers over to ask, somewhat hesitantly, for the weapons of the Lagrimari. The settlers understood the commands and translated for the others. Rozyl had scowled but added her rifle to the pile.

Once the guns had all been put away, the other refugees were brought out from their hiding places, including nearly a dozen people she hadn’t seen before who’d hidden in the trees just beyond the settlement. They all gathered, seated behind the remains of the makeshift barrier, still wanting some distance between themselves and the Elsirans.

Gerda sat next to Jasminda as she followed Jack giving commands and instructing his men.

“You watch him very closely,” Gerda said. “Do you think he will disappear?”

Jasminda pulled her gaze away. “I’d almost forgotten he was one of them.” Her heart tied itself in a knot. He’d been so different, so kind, but now, standing in a huddle of other Elsirans, it was difficult to pick him out from the group. The idea of finding warmth and comfort from his presence seemed foreign.

What had she expected? She knew that he was on a mission. He’d risked his life to gain information, and now he had to put it to use. Just because she’d grown to think of him as a possibility, perhaps even as a friend, did not mean he felt the same. She was an ally; they had united against a common foe, and now that he was back on home territory, she was on her own again.

One of the settlers, a grizzled barrel of a man, stood and began inspecting the damage to the nearby shacks.

“What are you doing there?” Lyngar asked. He sat a metre away, snacking on the strange jerky the Lagrimari had brought with them.

“There are sound boards here. Much can be salvaged.”

“You’re going to rebuild?” The old man’s voice dripped with condescension.

“Aye,” said the settler.

Rozyl approached from her position nearest the barrier. “Have you any family back home?”

The settler pulled free an unburned length of tin and started a pile at the edge of the road. “I was born in the harems and grew up in the army. No family. This has been home these twenty years. Besides, with so many of you lot coming here, we’ll need to rebuild.”

The man’s tone was matter-of-fact and his logic sound. Where would the refugees live? Jasminda was certain the dilapidated settlements were not the salvation they had in mind when they’d started the journey. She certainly could not see herself living here. She wanted nothing more than to go back to her quiet life, her garden, and her goats and to put this whole desperate experience behind her. But the cabin was nothing but cinders now.

Sitting up straighter, she looked with new eyes at the destruction around her. The first settler had been joined by several others, all picking through the smoking remains to find bits that could be reused. If they could rebuild this place, could she not rebuild her cabin? Papa had built the whole thing by himself. It would take her far longer—she was not as strong physically or with Earthsong—but if she took regular breaks, she could sing the heavier logs into place. It would not be the same, but it would be hers.