Vincent

Rock and dust melted beneath the fury of his will, as a pool of molten stone was born in his hand.

A cabal of school-aged children gawked and gasped in awe as the pebbles in a young man's grasp glowed, and squished like balls of lint between his fingers. They gasped in surprise as he poured the luminous liquid from his hand and into one of the cracks in the sidewalk. They flinched and bit their lips as he ran the flat of his hand over the blazing pool, small flames appearing between his fingers as he smoothed the edges of the cobblestones.

"Wow!" One of the kids gasped, a little girl with a rat's nest of dirty hair and a threadbare shirt. She crouched down, and pointed her finger at the young man's work. "That is amazing!"

"And quite hot," the young man replied, as he used his hand to keep the little girl's fingers away from work. The girl frowned and took a small step back, at which point the man smiled. "It might be hard to hold a pen or play a piano if you lose a finger."

"Silly Vincent," the little girl said, with a haughty laugh. "We don't have a piano."

Vincent grinned, trying to be as mischievous as possible. "Are you sure about that?"

"Really?" the little girl exclaimed, gasping and theatrically cupping her mouth with her hands. "A piano? Is that why Crafter Polden is here? Is that why you're here with her? The lady got us a piano?"

Vincent laughed, and brushed the cobblestone with his hand. "It's on its way, even as we speak. It's why I'm fixing the walkway. We don't want the wheels to catch on the cracks. Speaking of which, it's cool now, if you'd like to touch it."

But the little girl didn't hear him. She had already turned away to yell and jump excitedly with her friends, and they jumped and screamed in a delight so profound Vincent found himself envying it.

Vincent scooped up another handful of gravel from a small pile nearby, and scanned the cobblestone path that wound its way to the gate. Nearly every stone was broken, missing pieces, and weeds had pushed some of the stones out. From the dilapidated door of the building behind him, to the gate half-minute walk away, the place showed its age.

And the neglect of the City.

Vincent turned his will upon the dust and pebbles in his hand. His power, the Craft, ravaged the granules of rock, rending the firmness of the stone into a putty of blazing heat. Fire blazed between the fingers of his closed hand, as putty turned to liquid and pooled in his hand. Vincent the. poured the small handful of molten rock into another broken piece of stone, and gently nudged the rest of the loose rock back into place.

"Vincent," the same little girl said. Vincent hesitated, despite having been introduced to the child three times already, her name still escaped him.

"Yes?" Vincent asked in response. He was confident her name began with an 's'. Sunny, or Shirley, or something.

"Sun'il. Sun'il Tavore. I can't believe you forgot again!" Sun'il said, putting her hands on her hips and fixing him with an astonishingly theatrical pout. Her bottom lip was curled down, her wide eyes pretended a lifetime of hurt, and she even sniffled once.

Vincent laughed, and pointed to the gravel. "Well sunny, tell you what."

"Hey!" Sun'il exclaimed. "It's Sun'il!"

"How about you and the other kids take that pile of gravel behind me," Vincent said, and he gestured towards it with his thumb. "And go fill in all the cracks with it. That way, I can just focus on melting it into the cracks. If we finish early, I'm willing to spend a lottery token or two on some pastries. There's a baker just across the channel, over in Ashwood, who makes tarts with strawberries in them."

"Ooh, can we go with you to get them?" Sun'il asked. She clapped her hands and hopped in place.

"We'll ask your caretakers," Vincent promised, and he held out his hand. "I can promise that much."

The child's excitement dimmed noticeably, but she still smiled and shook his hand. "Deal," Sun'il said, before she ran off and lead the others to the pile of gravel, scooping up handfuls with zest and running to nearby cracks. Their little hands spilt half of it by the time they reached their destination, but keeping their hands away as he willed the flame was worth the added difficulty.

These children had already lost too much.

Vincent turned his will on the next crack in the walkway when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone jog through the gate.

The woman who passed beneath the low arch wore a military uniform, though she was missing the padded coat. She was clearly struggling to catch her breath, her shirt was soaked in sweat, and her cheeks were bright pink.

But it was the armband tied to her right bicep that made Vincent's heart sink. Military couriers identified themselves by tying a coloured band to their arm. The band identified their status as a courier, and the colour denoted the urgency of the message. The darker the colour, the more urgent the message.

This messenger's armband was black.

Trepidation washed over Vincent like cold water, leaving him awake, alert, and afraid. He stood up and strode forward, passing by the children and marching towards the messenger.

"Who are you looking for?" Vincent asked as he approached.

The messenger frowned at him, looked him up and down once, and then pointed towards the building. "I have orders for Crafter Olivia Polden, direct from Lord Captain Gregor Edmoral. If you know where she is, I will need you to take me to her. In all haste."

Vincent nodded, and looked to the doorway, where one of the caretakers had just stepped through, gardening equipment in hand. "Miss," Vincent called out. "Watch the kids."

Vincent lead the messenger inside at a quick march, speeding up to allow the soldier to dictate the pace. He passed through the doorway, careful to not jerk the door too quickly, and spare the rusted hinges.

"This place ought to be condemned," the soldier said. Vincent turned around to see her frowning in obvious distaste at the the state of the building. The walls had deep fissures running through and between the stones, the ceiling had a distinct bow shape, and the concrete floor had worn down so deeply the rocks could almost be pried loose. "I can't believe children are allowed to live here."

"The City has its priorities. Orphans are not high among them," Vincent replied, as he turned and started up a stairwell.

"It's disgusting you're willing to allow this," the soldier said. "Those kids deserve better."

Vincent scowled, but didn't stop as he reached the third floor. He only opened the door, and lead her down the hall.

"How do you live with yourself?" the messenger asked.

"It has running water and heat. Which is a lot more than I can say for the streets these kids used to live on," Vincent replied. He stopped at one of the doors, and pushed it open.

Inside, two dozen children sat in a circle, their sight and attention so fixed on the woman sitting in the room's only chair that none of them turned at the sound of the opening door. Only the woman in the book looked up, a small shift of her spectacled eyes, as Vincent stepped inside.

His master frowned slightly, a small and subtle look that spoke volumes. Most of it threats.

"Master," Vincent said. "There's a military courier here with a message for you."

It was interesting to watch the expression on his master's face shift as she realized what this messenger's presence meant. First came the scowl, for the interruption. But the anger was washed away like a tendril of smoke in a gust of wind, as her eyes fell on the armband, and she realized the implications of its colour.

"Oh spit and burning ash," Crafter Olivia Polden said, as she set her book on her lap and rubbed her nose, pushing her glasses up.

The children around her giggled, pointed and laughed at his master's curse. "Language," Vincent said.

Olivia covered her mouth with one hand, not at all disguising the sly smile on her mouth as she looked around the room. "Oh dear, the things I'm teaching you all. I'll bet none of you have ever heard that expression before."

"Caretaker Chesterman said that when she dropped a bag of flour on the floor last week," one of the children said. "She also said-"

"Nothing that needs to be repeated, and I'm sorry I swore," Olivia said, as she pushed up her glasses and set the book down on the floor. "Now, I need to step outside and speak to the military courier, because she has something important to tell me. So wait here, patiently, and talk among yourselves. And I don't want any of you to listen at the door."

Olivia stood up and stepped around the circle. She gestured to the door, and stepped through it. Vincent followed, as did the messenger, who shut the door behind her.

"Madam Crafter," the messenger said, as the doorknob clicked into place. The soldier glanced meaningfully towards Vincent, and frowned again. "Could we have some privacy?"

Olivia raise an eyebrow, and frowned. "No," she said.

The messenger scowled, sneered at Vincent, and took a deep breath. "Madam Crafter, this is not public information. The civilian should not be present."

"My apprentice will remain."

"Your-" the messenger glanced at Vincent again, swallowed, and smothered her shock. "Apologies. Madam Crafter, Lord Captain Gregor Edmoral requires your presence. You are to report to the Agora in all haste. Golems have been sighted at the last wall."

Vincent nodded to himself, his suspicions confirmed. "We are being invaded."

"Indeed. Madam Crafter, I have orders to escort you to Parliament Station in High Central. A train has been cleared and is ready to take you now, and will take you directly to your destination."

"Understood. Vincent, do you have everything you need?"

"I, uh," Vincent stammered. "Master, I don't believe that summons includes me."

"It doesn't," the messenger agreed.

"I'm still waiting on an answer to my question," Olivia said.

"I have everything I need, master," Vincent admitted.

"Good," Olivia said. She turned back to the messenger, and asked, "the train is waiting for us?"

"It is."

"Then it can wait a minute," Olivia said as she stepped past the door and back into the small room she had been reading in. As she pulled the door open, a dozen children fell forward and collapsed at her feet.

"Listening at the door?" Olivia asked. She smiled, and knelt down in front of them. "Then you must have heard that the Fifth Invasion has begun."

"That information is to be kept quiet! We don't want to start a panic!" The messnger exclaimed.

"Better we start a panic now and get it out of our system," Olivia said, and she turned to the messenger and jabbed her in the chest with her finger. "They might be children, but they've already faced an adult's trials. I'm not about to let you hurt them any more just because you're too cowardly to tell them the truth. Now stand in the hall until I'm finished talking."

Cowed, the messenger stepped out of the room. Olivia crouched down again, and cupped her hands together until a little ball of fire appeared in them. "So, this messenger has summoned Vincent and I to go out and fight the invaders. Until I return, I need you all to be good, listen to your caretakers, and try to study whenever you can."

Olivia opened her hands, and the little ball of fire congealed in on itself, twisting into the shape of a small tree. Even Vincent, used to seeing his master's skill in the Craft at work, was surprised to see the supple detail in her luminous sapling.

"We'll leave this on a shelf. It's a Craft, a creation of my will. Through it, I can feel, hear and see just as if I were standing in this room. If you need to speak to me, to tell me you're scared, or ask me how my day is, just come in here," Olivia explained, and she took the Craft in her hands and pushed it up on a nearby shelf. "I can respond, but I'll have to write. So you'll need a caretaker or one of the older kids to read what I wrote."

At this, Olivia was swarmed by the mob of small children, and she knelt down again to embrace each of them in turn. They cried and promised to be brave, she teared up a little and had to hold her glasses in her hand until she could return to her feet.

Vincent eventually managed to help detangle his master from the children, and one of the caretakers arrived to help keep the children in the room as Olivia and Vincent stepped out into the hall, ready to leave.

The messenger huffed indignantly. "Are we about done here?" she asked.

Olivia turned to her, and gave the messenger a long, hard look. "Perhaps you should stop talking."