Page 27 of Cage of Starlight
The look Vantaras gives him—silent and impossibly still—sends a shudder through Tory.
He strides away without another word.
*
When Vantaras returns after lunch, something’s wrong. That oddness—and Tory’s inability to make sense of it—raises the hair on the back of his neck.
“The colonel apologizes,” Vantaras bites out, leading Tory down the hall. His usually blistering-fast pace is slower, smooth strides truncated. “He would have liked to accompany you to type-training but was called away by other duties. He sent me in his stead.”
“In his stead,” Tory echoes.
Vantaras slows, turns, blinks. He’s sweaty under the savage light, and Tory can’t tell whether he’s glaring or squinting. “He asked me to send his regrets.”
“Come on, where’d you learn to talk like this? In hisstead. Where’s the dial that turns you off?”
Vantaras’ lips twist in a mockery of amusement. “Ask the colonel.”
He stalks forward without explanation.
“What?” Tory scrambles after him. “You regret dragging me here yet,Sena?”
“Lieutenant Vantaras.”
“Lieu-what?”
“The way you will address me.”
“WillI?” Tory picks up his pace, racing until he’s side by side with Vantaras then alternating fast walking and almost jogging to stay there. “Where are we going, anyway?”
“The yard.” Lips quirking up, Vantaras adds, “Don’t fall behind.”
They step out of a set of double doors to a wide stretch of yellowed, pitted grass and a collection of people in clothes like Tory’s. The cannons mounted on the walls around the Compound spit black spheres at them. Some stop midair and drop before reaching their targets. Others drive into the yard and kick up mud. A man with a shock of white hair stands in the midst of the chaos, waving his hands like a conductor.
Before they get close, he grins, scurrying over to meet them. “Isn’t it positivelysymphonic?”
Vantaras stands straighter. “Lieutenant-Colonel Menden.”
Menden—precisely as decrepit as Gavin said he was—waves both hands. “Retired, I’m retired! It’s just Menden. Andyoumust be our Channeler.”
Menden must’ve left octogenarianism behind decades ago, his pale skin thin and liver-spotted but his eyes bright and aware. The trousers he wears look to be military issue, but his long-sleeved shirt is wide open at the neck and dyed every color Tory has ever seen and then some. He encompasses the training field with a sweeping gesture and arches bushy eyebrows. “So, what do you think of Concussive Force Redirection, Tory?”
A black sphere slams into the earth and explodes in a splash of cold water all over Tory’s pant leg. He jerks away. “Water balloons?”
Menden laughs like this is the best joke he’s heard all week. “What did you expect, explosive rounds? No use killing all our CFRsbeforethey’re deployed! But don’t look down on them. We have to match the velocity of the projectiles our unit might face in a real-life situation, which necessitates a more durable casing for the balloons. Packs a bone-breaking punch.” His eyes light up. “Jeffra told me her infirmary would be all but empty if it weren’t for my people! Keepsher and the rest of the support corps on their toes: Healers need training, too!” Menden dodges another projectile, gently pushing Tory out of the way as two more crash into the ground, kicking up mud and bits of grass.
Menden spins to the small group trying to stop the projectiles. “Step itup,” he yells, voice high and rattling. “You’re theshieldcorps, damn it! Act like it! The sword and support corps will rely onyoufor protection on the battlefield. Next time I see one of these hit the ground without being redirected, I move you ten yards closer and put you at the front of the pack for maneuvers!”
Tory shivers. “And everyone in this unit ends up on the front lines?”
Menden has scurried away to yell at the trainees, so it’s Vantaras who responds. “Without exception. The first through sixth STAR Compounds train Seeds to serve in Maran and other major cities, but STAR-7 was built here specifically to train battle-capable Seed types to hold back Arlunian incursions. Every Seed here is a type useful in war.”
Menden paces back and waves a hand at them. “Vantaras, my boy, over here. Can’t have you getting in the way.”
Vantaras is well apart from any of the Seeds in the yard, but he sidesteps until he’s shaded in the sparse grove of trees from which Menden supervises training.
“You know I don’t mean anything by it, but there are always more injuries when you’re here.”
“I understand.”
