A cadet, who looked ready to soil herself, called out their names one by one. When each magin approached, she flinched a little. The cadet beside her handed the magin a pile of black fabric, a name written on paper and pinned to the top.
"Honsan, Travin."
He stepped forward and offered her a smile, but all he got in return was a wary look. His pleasant facade remained until he'd turned away from her. Then it dissolved into a grimace. His attempt at conciliation might not help to ease her mind when it came to magin, but it might stem some antagonism. If all he got back was suspicion, he wondered why he bothered. If the general were to be believed, they were all on the same side. As far as Travin was concerned, he was on no side which included that man. If that made the cadet an enemy then so be it. However, in the interest of peace, and continuing to live, he'd play along.
It got harder every day.
Some day he would—
"You should try yours on," Dareg said, breaking through his dark thoughts.
Travin blinked at him, taking in the stark black of his reasoner uniform.
"Right." He slipped into the changing area and flopped down onto the bench. After several tries, he managed to untie the knots in his shoes. Apparently they were as reluctant as he was. He set them aside and changed into the stiff trousers and only slightly less stiff shirt.
The boots he pushed his feet into would take time to soften, but he couldn't deny the workmanship. They fit to perfection. Everything did. They'd all been measured for these uniforms some time ago. So long, Travin had all but forgotten about it until they were called in to receive them. He supposed those proficient with weapons other than magic were a higher priority than the magin. But now, he thought with a twist of his mouth, they would all look like reasoners.
He tied his laces and stood to look at himself in the mirror. His dark hair was a little shaggy and needed a trim, but the rest of him looked slick and neat. Nothing at all like himself. He shrugged his shoulders and tried to loosen his posture, but the fabric held him erect.
He made a face at his reflection and smiled, but it looked forced.
"I look like a reasoner," he told himself. He ignored the glances from the men around him. Perhaps because they all wore the same attire, and perhaps in spite of it, he wanted to tear it all off and leave it in a pile on the floor. He wanted to wear his own clothes. They were second hand and ill-fitting, but they were his. Bards were supposed to be quirky. Now he looked like a chess piece, ready to be moved around the board in a whim.
A pawn, he concluded. The analogy fit, even if there were no kings or queens now. Or priests.
Soldiers and pawns, was all that was left in Dargyn?
Shaking off the thought, he stepped out of the changing area as the last of the uniforms were handed out. Women and men stood all around him, each as uncomfortable as the others, for the most part. Some strutted about, looking like they thought the clothes suddenly made them more important.
Travin resisted the urge to roll his eyes and looked around for Dareg and Sidia instead.
He found them sitting near the door, backs against the wall. He slid down beside them and offered them a smile.
"Am I the only one who feels like an imposter in this?" he asked.
Dareg grimaced. "Black isn't my colour."
"It's mine." Sidia was almost purring, a sound in such contrast with her usual tone that Travin stared at her for several moments.
She returned his gaze with nonchalance. "Don't you see? We're a part of them now. They've decided they can trust us. If they keep doing that, maybe some day I can go home."
"You'd keep working for them?" Dareg asked, curious rather than accusing.
"What choice do we have?" She shrugged. "It's better to accept the inevitable rather than fighting it. This might be what Dargyn needs—unity and leadership."
"It had leadership before," Travin pointed out.
"Yes, but the kingdom which was thriving was led by Tarlu Rosharias."
"Who united his people."
"Against the rest of us."
She looked away. "Stop fighting this, you cannot win. We are as free as we might dare to be and we're alive. That should give us hope, not bickering amongst ourselves."
Travin leaned his head back against the cold of the wall. "I suppose you're right."
"At least we all look like the general's pet now," Dareg remarked.
He'd just finished speaking when another magin—one not attired in the new uniform, threw himself at them. He flew past Travin and grabbed hold of Dareg's arm. Dareg's face turned white, then slowly blue.
"I will be no one's pet," his attacker growled.
His words jolted Travin out of his paralysis. "Let him go." He raised a hand, but Sidia hissed.
"If you use magic on him, you'll be dead."
"I can't let him kill Dareg," Travin argued. His teammate's face turned darker and his eyes started to bulge. They looked pleadingly at him, begging him to intervene.
"To haze with it." Travin reached out, but before he could touch the attacker, a sword sliced between them, severing the attacker's arm from his body.
The man let out a scream and fumbled for his stump as blood squirted from it. It showered Travin and Dareg, further darkening their already black uniforms. Dareg slumped, gagging and wheezing, but alive.
Before Travin could think, two armed reasoners grabbed the attacker and hauled him upright. The man struggled, but blood and tears pumped from him. Somehow his cheek wore a streak of pink. He gave Dareg and Travin a filthy look before he was pulled away.
"Haze," Travin whispered harshly. "I assume he didn't feel as united as Sidia." He took in her pale face and softened his next words. "Lucky they were there."
"You would have stopped him." Dareg coughed and slumped back against the wall. "Who was that anyway?"
"Stefan," Sidia spat. "From one of the other teams. He's always been aggressive and unpleasant."
"That's putting it mildly." Dareg sounded more himself now. "I assume they're going to hang him."
Travin swallowed. "I suppose so. With so many witnesses—"
"I didn't see anything," a man called out from a few metres away.
"What are you talking about?" It took Travin a few moments to remember the taller, slender man's name. "Varut." Judging by the man's lightly brown skin, he was a native of Eritsa, maybe even Paryos itself. "You were right there."
"I still didn't see anything. And no one else did either, did you?" Varut looked around the room. Everyone averted their eyes, looking toward the walls, the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but at each other. "See?"
"I see people who want to pretend they didn't just see a man trying to kill another." Travin paused at the sound of shouting from out on the street. Just one or two voices at first, it quickly became a roar.
"Oh they wouldn't…" He didn't stop to argue with Varut, or anyone else, he followed the trail of blood out the door toward the front entrance to the headquarters.
".…was hiding right under our noses." Just outside the open gates, a captain stood, holding Stefan by his remaining arm. How Stefan was still on his feet was anyone's guess.
"He tried to kill a defenceless man with his magic!" the captain declared.
The crowd jeered and shouted obscenities.
"If they're willing to attack us in our own headquarters, then how can be sure you're safe in your own homes?" The captain must have watched Sandvaal. He knew just how to stir up a crowd.
"We can't!" A woman called back, sounding on the verge of hysteria. "This needs to stop. To keep the children safe!"
The people around her nodded and mumbled their agreement. It passed through the throng like a dark cloud.
Without warning, they rushed forward, taking the captain by surprise. Eyes wide, he released Stefan and stepped back. Before anyone could say another word, Stefan was dragged into the crowd and Travin lost sight of him.
"They can't just let them…" Travin's stomach turned.
"Too late," a male voice beside him said.
The grunts and cries went on for one minute, two, three… then fell silent. A few members of the crowd cheered, but those on the perimeter were more half-hearted. More than one child was picked up and carried away with hasty steps.
That was wise, an angry mob could turn on anyone.
Travin turned to see Varut, his eyes half lidded, expression grim. "Are you content now?" the tall man asked.
"Of course not," Travin replied. "But they—" His gaze flicked toward the captain, "knew the crowd would do this, no matter what we said. They didn't even try to stop it. They—"
The gates were open. They had all but fed Stefan to the fury of a scared group of people and let them take out their fear on him. The reasoners gave them that power, to feed their own. Of Sandvaal, Travin saw no sign, but no doubt he was aware of these events. He'd orchestrated this, or at least condoned it.
Varut made a quick gesture with his hand. "I would ask Euru to give Stefan's soul rebirth, but I fear our god has turned weary eyes away from us."
"You shouldn't mention Euru," Travin told him from the side of his mouth.
"Or what? The crowd will tear me apart too?"
As he spoke, the people parted, moving slowly away from a battered form lying on the street. Some looked ashamed, others horrified, but many appeared unperturbed by what had just taken place.
Travin saw masks of pride on more than one face. The war had taken their people and this was their way of delivering justice for it. No trial, no chance to explain or make amends for the attack on Dareg. Nothing. And if not for Sidia holding him back, he might have served the same sentence alongside him.
"They're no better than Rosharias," Travin whispered. Was he? He might have killed to save a man he considered a friend. How was he any better?
"Now who is speaking treason?" Varut put a finger to his lips. "Don't be concerned, I will tell no one. Secrets and lies. This is our lot now. Secrets and lies."
"That's true," Travin said ironically. He moved a few steps to see over the shoulders of the reasoners who leaned over to picked up the battered body. It barely looked like a person anymore. Travin couldn't imagine anyone would choose to die this way, but Stefan had wanted his life to end, one way or another. Had he believed Euru would take care of him?
As the men passed by, dragging Stefan's bloodied remains, Travin gritted his teeth and swallowed down the contents of his stomach. Was this the price of peace, or was this just some different kind of war?
He tugged down the hem of his new shirt and his hands came away wet. It wasn't the most auspicious beginning to wearing the uniform. He peered closely, squinting but he couldn't even see the blood on the black fabric.
As he walked toward the door and headed back inside, he wondered if that was the point.