The Watcher's Disciple Read online

  The Watcher’s Disciple

  Book Two of the Sacrosanct Records

  M N Jolley

  “To everyone who’s helped me to tell this story.”

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Do the Watchers bless the kind and good?

  Do the Watchers bless the faithful?

  Do the Watchers bless the wise?

  No.

  The Watchers bless only those who will make the difference.

  Speaker unknown

  The caboose was on fire.

  This, by itself, did not leave David overly concerned. From the sound of things, it wasn’t a particularly big fire. The train’s crew was of course equipped to handle these sorts of emergencies. Not to mention, there were thirty two cars on the train, which meant barely three percent of the train as a whole was on fire—nothing to worry about.

  Still, David was worried, because there were people riding horseback outside the train, and they were the ones who had set the fire.

  “Should we do something about that?” Adelyn asked, pulling her head back inside, her hair a stir from the wind as she shut the window up. “Looks like a lot of them, and the fire’s not getting any smaller.”

  David pondered her question. It still baffled him a bit that she would defer to his decisions. The girl was his apprentice, at least until she found someone more capable to teach her magic, but that tentative authority only extended as far as her training. She didn’t need his consent to fight bandits.

  If he had to give her an answer, though, he was leaning towards ‘No’. Normally he would throw himself into the fray without a second thought, but he had lost his voice, and with it his magic. Besides which, he had to think of Adelyn’s wellbeing.

  The guard in their car had promised that the riders were in no danger, and David believed him for as long as things didn’t get too far out of hand.

  Peeking out the window, he watched as one of the riders raised a glass bottle with a flaming wick hanging from one end, chucking the whole cocktail at the train. It hit a cargo car, viscous liquid splashing across the side of the compartment and catching ablaze.

  Maybe the train’s guards would be able to stop them, but it wasn’t going to be fast enough. Pushing aside his misgivings, David nodded at Adelyn, got to his feet, and gestured towards the back of the train.

  Adelyn stood after him and followed behind. Her cavalry saber—a good blade, made of royal steel—hung in a sheath on her waist. To the casual onlooker, that’d be the most worrisome thing about her besides her height and her strong, work-hardened body. David knew the truth.

  A train employee wearing a flat cap and a blue jacket raised a hand as they approached. “No passengers back this way. Your luggage is safe, don’t you worry. Besides—”

  He continued talking, but David paid the words no mind, digging in a pouch on his belt to fish out his badge. Holding out the silver, he waited for the guard to read and let them through.

  “You’re David?” the guard asked, squinting at the inscribed words.

  David nodded, counting off seconds in his head. This was taking longer than he wanted—those riders weren’t going to sit idly by and wait for him to show up.

  The guard paused, glancing up from beneath the brim of his hat. “And why do you feel the pressing urge to go check on your cargo just now?”

  David wanted to scream. Does he not see the riders? The fire? It was obvious, he only had to glance out the window. Staring at the ceiling in frustration, David turned to Adelyn, so she would explain.

  “We’re going to help with the bandits,” Adelyn said. “What’s the problem?”

  “And why couldn’t he say so himself?” the guard asked, still holding the badge.

  Gritting his teeth, David began drumming his fingers in a rhythm, a release for all the nervous energy building inside him. He’d made up his mind to get into the action, and now this guard seemed determined to keep them on standby until the whole train had been torched.

  Adelyn bit her lip and looked at David. “He can’t speak.”

  “Yeah?” the guard asked, sizing David up with a glance. “Is he simple?”

  David’s face burned at the question. The loss of his voice had been his own fault, the result of his own incompetence, and he hated the reminder of his failure almost as much as the way it left him impotent.

  “No,” Adelyn said. “He—”

  The train shook. David leaned to the side, looming over a few travellers so he could open the window beside them and take stock of the riders. Peering out, he saw a rider-less horse galloping adjacent to the locomotive. Quickly making a sign to Adelyn, David explained what he’d seen, and she in turn translated to the guard.

  “Someone’s gotten onto the engine!” Adelyn exclaimed.

  The guard looked past David nervously, peeking out the window, and finally stepped aside.

  Adelyn started to run forward, but David caught her shoulder, flashing his hands in a quick sign. ‘Someone needs to protect the engine.’ The bandits couldn’t be allowed to stop the train.

  Bobbing her head in agreement, Adelyn said, “I’ll go. Do you need a weapon?”

  David shook his head, putting a hand to his hook for emphasis. The blade was not ideal in all situations, but as the name suggested, the crook at the end of its length made it ideal for disarming opponents. It wouldn’t be worth a pin if it came to protection against gunfire, but that’s what magic was for.

  Except, he remembered, he couldn’t use magic. Without his voice, he could do no more to cast spells than any other man. If Adelyn made him a shield he could fuel it with spirit, keep it alive, which would serve, but...

  He turned, to see Adelyn had already begun her flight towards the front of the train. She had to travel up through more than twenty cars, and had no time to waste.

  Without a voice, he couldn’t call out to stop her. He could yell and make noise, but not articulate, and he had no desire to shout out a voiceless cry for help.

  “Are you just gonna stand there?” the train guard asked.

  David shook himself out of his self-pitying stupor. He’d have to go without a shield.

  Pushing past the guard, he stepped outside, moving carefully between train cars. They were moving straight, but wind and force whipped at him. If he made a misstep, he’d be crushed under the train’s wheels in a heartbeat. Magic wouldn’t protect him there, even if he could cast spells.

  He ran through a stock car first, passing his own horse in a blur as he ran to the far door, unbuckling the strap that kept his hook in place. Gripping the hilt, he took comfort in its familiar weight as he slammed into the far door and heaved at its handle. As he passed to the next car, he looked to the side and saw another rider-less horse keeping pace. At least one more bandit had made it onto the tra
in. Taking a breath, David jumped the gap to the next cargo car, not wanting to lose any precious seconds.

  One man and one woman, both in matching blue flatcaps were in that car, holding rifles and crouched behind boxes. They heard him and turned, raising their rifles, taking him for a bandit.

  David shook his head and lowered his hook. It was obvious he wasn’t attacking them—he’d come from the wrong direction—but they probably wouldn’t realize it. He needed to show them…

  My badge.

  Feeling a fool, David looked back over his shoulder, realizing he’d left the silver badge in the hands of the guard.

  “Drop the sword!” one of the flatcaps yelled, and David turned back to them. He dropped his hook.

  The next cargo car was burning. David couldn’t hear the fire crackling over the roar of the train, but he could see the flickering red light coming in through gaps in the far door.

  “Who’re you?” the other flatcap asked. “What are you after?”

  He signed with his hands, hoping one of the flatcaps would understand. ‘I am a friend. I am here to help.’

  They shared a look, and David groaned quietly in frustration. He pointed emphatically, trying to make them understand.

  Another of the fiery cocktails crashed through a window, glass exploding inward both from the pane and the bottle itself. Clear fluid sprayed out and burst into a ball of fire behind the two guards.

  The flatcaps dove to the ground, covering their heads, and David didn’t bother waiting to see what else they would do. It was only a small fire and their clothes hadn’t caught, they could evacuate. He scooped up his hook from the ground, charging over and past them. It took a second to scramble over a pair of heavy boxes to avoid the fire, but he encountered no other obstacles as he got outside and hopped from car to car.

  The door to enter was locked, handle catching as he tried to slip into the next car. He peered in through a slit window and saw a trio of people, searching through the boxes. The fire was raging on the windows and roof, but it hadn’t yet made it inside, giving them time to find what they were looking for.

  Stepping back as much as he could, David looked at the door. Heavy steel. Breaking it down would be the next best thing to impossible, and he didn’t have time for all that brute force.

  He examined his options. The train wasn’t going all too fast—falling off it would be no worse than falling off a galloping horse, if the horse was ten feet tall and riding over rocky terrain. The windows on the side were too small for a man to fit through, but there were plenty of metal bars and pieces jutting out from the side of the otherwise wooden car. He had on black gloves that would keep his hands from being cut up, so he could climb without risk of self-harm.

  Assuming he could make it safely to the other end of the cargo compartment, the door would surely have to be unbarred. It would be his way in.

  He holstered his hook and reached up, standing on his toes to grab the lip of the car. One hand closed easily, grabbing on tight, but his left hand had difficulty finding purchase. His thumb was the source of the issue—having lost the original, he’d replaced the digit with a brass prosthetic. It could lock closed or stay open, adequate when holding a sword or a hook, but it only got him so far when climbing.

  One good hand would have to do. He heaved himself up, feet pushing off of the handlebars meant to help travellers move safely from car to car. Shimmying sideways, he used his mental awareness to guide his feet.

  He knew where the metal was without seeing or feeling it. He had no voice, but he was still a sorcerer. His spirit sense—his ability to feel the magic in the air—was as strong as ever. By releasing a bit of power into the air, he could sense how the world around him reacted to that energy. Air was too faint and weak, but metals all reacted strongly to the power, and the steel bars which jutted from the side of the train shone like a torchlight to his awareness.

  Coming around the corner, a buffet of wind nearly threw him off the car. He clung tight, gripping the side of the train for all he was worth as the wind tried to rip him free and send him tumbling to the ground. The sound of the wind was deafening, and he could smell smoke wafting from the other side of the car.

  There was another flaw in his plan which he had overlooked. Wood splintered and flew from an inch to his side as a bullet smashed into the wood. One of the riders whooped and hollered, voice barely audible over the wind, and another bullet ricocheted off of the metal ridge David was standing on, making his footing vibrate.

  Mentally swearing, David abandoned his thoughts of climbing across the train. Heaving, he raised himself up, flailing his legs to try and push off anything they could find purchase on. Another bullet managed to graze his leg, but the wound was barely a scratch and he ignored it, heaving one more time and rolling to the top of the cargo car.

  Lying on his back, he panted and caught his breath for a moment. He could feel spirit, stored in the necklace around his neck, and realized he’d filled it out of reflex when he heard the gunfire. Wasted energy. Now that it was spirit, he couldn’t convert it back to physical strength.

  He couldn’t stay where he was. Though his profile was low and shielded from gunfire, the fire had spread to the roof of the car, flickering low and hot, only kept from roaring by the wind. Besides which, he had a job to do.

  Rolling onto all fours and coming up in a crouch, David looked at the fire. It had spread across the roof, a five-foot wall of burning wood that was still slowly growing. These sorts of flames had once been his plaything, a toy for him to manipulate, but now he’d have to navigate it like any other man.

  The only other obstacles on the roof were two low steel bars, one on each side of the train, raised a foot off the ground. The intent was to provide a point to hook onto, so that cranes could load these cars onto ships. For David, they created small hurdles he’d have to jump.

  David rushed forward, keeping his head low to provide a smaller target to the gunners on horseback, praying to the Watchers that he’d make it through this.

  It was necessary to build up speed to leap over the fire, but that could kill him if he made the jump and couldn’t stop. Too little momentum, he’d burn. Too much, he’d fall. Trying to gauge the speed perfectly, David made it to the edge of the blaze, kicked off, and leapt.

  He fell. One of his feet caught the iron bar, and he landed flat on his face, tumbling towards the end of the car without any grip or handhold to slow himself. This was never something he’d practiced for, and so he had to improvise, making a plan in the half second before he slid off the edge.

  In the time it took his heart to beat twice, David spun himself around, ripped his hook free from where it was clipped to his belt, lashing it out and timing the motion. Both hands holding tightly to the grip, he waited, feeling out the world around him, closing his eyes to shut out distractions. Time was moving slowly, but he only had one shot and it had to be perfect or he’d fall headfirst into the gap between train cars.

  His hook caught on a metal outcropping at the end of the car. The jolt was jarring, and he nearly lost his grip. Gritting his teeth, David hung on as the steel weapon swung, taking him in an arc that turned him around and sent him flying feet first into the car’s unlatched door. It kicked inward violently as he finally lost his handhold on the sword, falling into the car and landing on his back. It was the second violent tumble he’d had in ten seconds, and his bones ached and head rang as he stood to look around.

  The three bandits were staring at him. All wore vibrant green wraps over their faces and heads, leaving only eyes to look out a tiny slit, and their heavy riding leathers and clothes made age and gender ambiguous. David took stock of their weapons immediately, readying himself for the fight—two had revolvers in holsters and crowbars in hand, which they were using to search through boxes. The third only held a huge staff.

  No. No, no, no—

  The third bandit raised their staff, and David charged in before they could shout. The tingle of spirit in the air
was apparent as they filled the staff with energy, preparing to cast a spell. They let David grab the staff, not thinking it would matter, but as he sucked the spirit out of the weapon they swore in surprise, shouting, “Wizard!”

  The other two bandits had been content to let their magic user handle the intruder, but now that it seemed the fight might be on equal ground they pitched in. One raised a revolver, which David kicked away, and the other swung their crowbar, an attack that missed narrowly. If it had been just the two of them, David would have been fine, but he had to keep the bandit wizard occupied or else they’d take him with a spell and that would be the end of David Undertow.

  The bandit tried charging their staff again, but David had a hand on it now, and every ounce of spirit that flowed in was promptly sucked out before magic could be unleashed. They let go of their staff, letting David take it and stepping back so they could cast a different spell unimpeded.

  There was only one hope David could see. They were a magic user, which meant they could feel the spirit David used, same as he did theirs. Raising a glove, he poured spirit into it, silk thread stitched into runes that he’d added years before. He put out his hands in a gesture of attack, going for intimidation, hoping to get a reaction—

  “Stop!” the bandit wizard called, raising his hands—the voice seemed male—in a pacifying gesture. “We don’t want to fight you!”

  Keep him talking. Don’t let him realize you’re impotent.

  David raised an eyebrow and looked between the three bandits, their disguises making them interchangeable in his eyes. He was not an expert at conveying meaning with body language, but that was a simple enough gesture.