Skies by Kevin L. Nielsen

the sparks simply died away. Gavin looked down at his hands, feeling empty inside.
    What happened?
    Someone swore and the hand on Gavin’s shoulder fell away. Gavin only half heard the sound of men scrambling away from him, boots scraping against loose stone.
    “What are you about?” It was hard to tell through the voices and heavy accent, but the man sounded hesitant, almost afraid. Fear was recognizable in any language.
    Gavin blinked a few more times and raised a hand in front of his eyes. A few shadowy figures resolved out of the blinding light.
    “I’m just walking. Is there something wrong with that?” Gavin kept his voice neutral, but felt the hair on the back of his neck rise in frustrated annoyance. He wished he’d thought to bring his greatsword along with him.
    “You’re one of them Rahuli,” one of the shadowy figures said, voice a thin rasp. “Isn’t your lot housed back that way? Mayhap you should return there, I think.”
    The man may have made a gesture, but Gavin didn’t see it in the darkness.
    “I haven’t finished my walk just yet.”
    “Yes, you have.”
    Something moved in the shadows and Gavin took a quick step back, readying himself for a fight.
    “Let him go, Derric. He’s just walking. Brisson won’t want us stopping him.” This from a third voice.
    “You mind yourself now,” the first man, Derric, said.
    “Leave off it,” Rasping Voice said. “Let him go. He’s not doing anything but walking.”
    Derric grumbled something unintelligible. “Fine then,” he said. “Be off with you. Just don’t do anything stupid.”
    Gavin waited for a long moment, watching the small group of men walk away until they became a small pool of light in the distance. After running a pensive hand through his hair, Gavin bent down to retrieve his lamp, gaze lingering on the diminishing pool of light in the distance. The encounter had ended without violence, but it grated at Gavin. It didn’t bode well for their future relations if random patrols felt it within their power to stop him at their leisure.
    After a few tries he managed to light the lamp, thoughts troubled. Along with the simple political implications, Gavin’s worry danced back over what had happened when he’d attempted to use his powers. The energy that had flowed so easily in the Sharani Desert was now as elusive as a mote of dust on a breeze. Admittedly, the powers were still new to him, but it had become something he could access with barely a thought before. What leverage did he have here if the mystic abilities were no longer a factor in the coming maneuvers?
    Troubled, Gavin resumed his slow, meandering walk.
    He eventually found himself standing in front of the medical building. He didn’t remember the journey to get there, but by the position of the stars in the sky and the distance he knew he’d travelled he realized he must have been walking for well over two hours. His arm ached from holding the lantern and the lingering pain from where the arrow had taken him in the shoulder when the “honor squad” of archers had attacked them before the volcano had erupted. Healing moved slowly while in sorrow’s icy grip.
    A light flickering in the distance caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Curiosity tugged at him and he turned in that direction. Samsin’s prison. At least that’s what Brisson’s people called it. Half a dozen armed guards stood in front of the squat, square building. Light glinted off metal shields and other bits of metal armor, which was what had drawn Gavin’s eye.
    “Hey you,” one of the guards called to him as Gavin approached. “What are you doing out and about at this thrice-cursed time of night?”
    Gavin rolled his eyes internally. He’d already had his fill of being questioned. He started to turn away, an excuse on his lips, but then found himself turning back instead.
    “I’d like to speak to the prisoner,” Gavin said.
    “And I’d like a nice haunch of roast venison