by Erik A Otto
The Third Internecion
Erik A. Otto
Contents
Map
The Third Internecion
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
Acknowledgements
Also by Erik A. Otto
About the Author
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Third Internecion
Book 3 - Tale of Infidels
Rev 1 - May 1st, 2019
© 2019 Sagis Press
Cover design by Karolis Zukas.
All Rights Reserved
Created with Vellum
Map
The Third Internecion
Tale of Infidels - Book 3
“Just as beards must be shorn and tunics must be washed, the impious must also be cleansed. The Internecions require Matteo’s servants to remove faithless weeds so that the flower of Matteo can blossom unencumbered.”
The Internecions. From The Shepherd’s Prophecies, Book of Canons, page 342.
Chapter 1
The General
Timothur decided to interrogate Nala first.
He knew Nala only from their expedition into Albondo. He’d regretted accepting the invitation shortly after setting out, and much more so after the ensuing debacle at the ruin. Not that he could have predicted the outcome, but he volunteered mostly out of boredom. Instead of focusing on something more productive, Timothur was cast into the controversy and shroud of secrecy around the gargoyle he wanted no part of.
He often reflected on what he’d seen at the ruin, but he tried not to dwell on it. It was best to stay away from the vague and capricious sphere of influence of the monks and Sandaliers—better to stay well planted in what he knew. And to him, this ruin and the gargoyle fell squarely in their realm. His realm was war, war and honor.
For today, though, this shared experience could be an advantage with Nala, making her more limber of tongue.
At the same time he knew to not trust Nala. Timothur suspected she shared a bond with the infidel Truthseeker, and she could be supporting this treasonous princess as well. He would have to tread carefully.
The guards brought Nala to his tent and sat her down. Her hair was lighter than most, almost blond and sticking out in spiky shoots everywhere. It would be out of place on anyone else, but it suited her.
Her expression was defiant.
Timothur opened with pragmatism. “Nala, I don’t know what you’re doing with this traitorous woman, but it doesn’t look good. Last I heard, you were cast out as a naustic and put in stocks. You’ve also been known to cavort with Sebastian—the Truthseeker. I’d like to treat you differently, but I’m sure you see that your résumé is…lacking.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Nala said.
“And why is that? Because I put you in bonds? It’s true that you’ve done nothing criminal. Or at least nothing I can be certain of. Perhaps this infidel princess was holding you against your will? But I simply can’t let you go unless you can convince me of your innocence. I hope you understand.”
He let his words sink in, then continued, “So why don’t you tell me what you’re doing with this woman? We’re going to meet up with the main army soon. We’ll find out more about what happened then, I’m sure. And yes, I can wait, but if you hide things from me now, how will it look?”
The answers could indeed wait until they rejoined the army, but he didn’t want to look like a fool in front of Vanaden.
She was mute.
When Timothur had traveled with Nala to the ruin, she’d seemed flighty, highly suggestive, and whimsical. Clearly she’d steeled herself against him since then. Had she been swayed by this evil woman? Timothur’s mind flashed back to first seeing the princess by the trail in the woods, her back erect and chin out. The princess did have a certain gravitas—an air of authority.
Timothur tried a different tack. “Look, Nala, I know you and Sebastian were friends. It’s terrible what happened to him. I’m sure there are many misconceptions about him—lies even. I can put in a good word for him with the monks, but I need to know more about the princess.”
He could tell she wrestled with his words. Nala wouldn’t do well as a merchant or magistrate, he decided. Her emotions were writ so plainly on her face for all to see. But this didn’t mean she would impart useful information. By the end of her internal struggle, she tensed up again. “No. Hella told me you would do this. She said you’d make promises you’d never keep. Besides, you had a hand in Sebastian being Marked from the beginning.”
She really had been poisoned against him, but it mattered little. He would find out the truth soon enough. “Fine, Nala, but remember, those who help the Marked can become Marked themselves.”
She looked thoughtful, then defiant again. It could be that she might reconsider, in time. Best to let her stew on it.
Timothur summoned the sentry standing in the doorway. “Guard, take her away, and bring in the princess, but keep this one well bound. I don’t know her allegiance, and I must say, it seems doubtful it’s with us.”
The guard took Nala by the arm and escorted her out.
Timothur stood up and paced. He hated sitting. He walked to the back of the tent and glanced in the eyeglass mirror. He always had to peer into it at a number of angles to find a good reflection. It was unlike the good-quality mirrors he had at home in Esienne. The ones at home had eyeglass layers that were hardly milky at all and with only a few discernible veins.
When he finally did position himself at the right angle to resolve a proper reflection, what he saw first were his azure eyes, followed by his disheveled hair. He poured some water from his canteen on his hand and ran it over his head, then righted any outliers he could find.
Then he paced again.
The princess was escorted in. She looked as he remembered her from when they’d captured her, except her face had been cleaned and her hair put into a bun. As she swept into the room a solitary curl fell out of the bun and dangled daintily off her high cheekbones.
“Your hair is wet, Colonel,” she said. “Have you been exercising?”
It annoyed him when people commented on his physical appearance. He wiped at his head, trying to remove any excess moisture. “I’m glad you’re in a mood to chat, Princess. There is much I need to learn if you want any lenience.”
“Do you have any children, Colonel?”
What was this? Was she trying to befriend him? “Enough. I will be asking the questions, infidel.”
She didn’t seem flummoxed by his tone, but it did silence her. He continued, “We will reach the main army in two days, so you might as well tell me what you know. If you’re forthcoming, I can put in a good word.”
“So you haven’t been in contact with them.” She said it with confidence, as if it were a foregone conclusion.
“Yes, I have, but only what
one can get from a scout’s letter,” Timothur lied, hoping it would lead her to reveal something.
She just smiled and said, “No, sir, I think not.”
He felt his frustration building. This woman was no naïve country girl, but at least her words gave him a clue. She was hiding something that Vanaden’s army must know. There was more to this than the princess escaping, perhaps.
The princess looked thoughtful. “Sir, if I’m to believe that you would give me leniency, I would need to know more about you. I know that you come from an honorable family who has served Belidor well for many generations, but that’s the extent of it.”
The question added to his agitation. Why was she asking these personal questions? She reminded him of the noble girls he’d been introduced to by his parents; well schooled and refined, but probably with similar pretentions. There were countless times he’d been driven to folly by the manipulations of these women. Vanaden would make fun of him ruinously for it.
And then, she also looked so much like…her. He couldn’t let that affect his judgement, though. He decided to take a hard stand—to arrest whatever serpentine ploy she had in mind. “I said I am asking the questions!” Timothur barked back at her.
She seemed unperturbed. “Well, then, go ahead,” she said.
“Tell me how you reached Thelonia, and how you escaped the army camp. And don’t leave out any important details. I’ve seen the monks be much less ruthless when their captives comply with their wishes, and they often take cues from military command.”
She stared at him, then smiled demurely. “I think not, sir.”
Timothur flung his hands up in frustration. “Out with her! If she chooses to suffer, so be it. I will have answers soon enough.”
He stood with his back to her as his guards escorted her out. The exchange had angered him, more so than an encounter with a base infidel should have. He made an effort to focus on other things. She was a traitor and would soon be dead, so what did he care?
But Timothur was impatient. His mind couldn’t be easily tamed. He found he strayed back to the conversation just as often as he succeeded in suppressing it.
“Why will no one tell me where Vanaden is?” Timothur fumed at the captain. “Your camp guards, they seem to be unable to answer simple questions. They’re a waste of skin, those ones. I shouldn’t have to come to you to get answers, Palantos, but they gave me no choice.”
Timothur had finally been able to confront the man everyone had been directing him to. Captain Palantos was a gaunt man with a sharply trimmed beard. He had the nerve to occupy Vanaden’s tent and sit in Vanaden’s seat, with two leftenants at his side. Timothur could even see some of Vanaden’s favorite clothing hanging out to dry on a faux wall behind Palantos.
The captain looked uneasy. “Colonel, please. The guards have been instructed to be discreet about the general. We prefer to control the spread of the news so as to not raise alarm, even though most know what happened.”
“What news? What happened?” Timothur didn’t hide his impatience.
Palantos’s face weakened into a discomforting look. “The terrible news that your brother, the honorable General Vanaden Granth, has passed, sir. My humblest condolences.”
“What?” Timothur’s chest tightened.
“It was a terrible tragedy, sir. What we know is that a Thelonian half-wit named Darian Bronté killed him without provocation, and then this murderer and his brothers helped orchestrate an escape of the prisoners, including the two Marked we had in custody.”
A landslide of emotion assailed him. Timothur could only hold his head with both hands as the others watched his face become possessed with incredulity.
Strangely, he didn’t feel much sorrow for his brother. He and Vanaden were always competing, but never close. In those competitions, Timothur always seemed to come in second place. But the fact that someone would slay Vanaden—would slay any Granth indiscriminately, and with such dishonor—made his blood boil. No, it wasn’t sadness that Timothur felt, but rage, uncontrollable rage.
Timothur yelled out at the ceiling and threw a nearby chair at the wall of the tent. A leftenant’s arms went up to protect himself in reflex. All eyes of the other occupants of the tent were on him, but he didn’t care. Timothur yelled and yelled until he felt like his voice box would explode, and then he hollered again until he lacked for breath.
Once his rage was tempered, he walked back and forth through the tent, the others giving him a wide berth. “Naustic nephews, this is a major screwup, Captain,” he said finally. “Who is responsible for this?”
“Sir, the jailor was killed in the escape, and we have reprimanded his superior officer. I’m not sure what else we can do.”
Timothur continued to stalk back and forth in the tent. The freshness of it made it hard to think. His anger was amplified by the fact that the princess and Nala had told him none of this, when they had clearly both known. He could understand why the princess would have done this, but why Nala?
He paced and he paced, oblivious to the men staring at him.
“Sir, I’m sure this news is shocking—and you no doubt want some time to yourself—but first, could I have a word with you, please? A word in private?” Palantos urged him out of the tent.
Timothur was so self-absorbed that he had to force himself to register Palantos’s words. Eventually he nodded and let Palantos escort him outside.
“Sir, may I again offer my condolences. Vanaden was a strong leader, one of the best. I want to assure you that we have everything in hand here. Vanaden’s legacy will live on, as well as his clear orders to defend the Thelonian border from the Sambayan savages. You can take as much time as you need for the funeral arrangements. We can afford a full squad to ensure you make it back safely.”
Timothur hadn’t thought for a moment about returning to Esienne. Was this the appropriate behavior? It seemed strange, but maybe the captain knew the right protocol. “Yes. Yes, Captain. Maybe that’s best,” Timothur said, still trying to process the news.
“Good, we should inform the men, and then I think we should formally announce the general’s death and relay of command to me. I’ve been waiting for you to arrive to make sure we announce it properly.”
“Yes. Yes, I see.” Timothur wasn’t really listening, though.
Palantos directed them back to the tent.
It was only then, in his hesitant march back to the tent, that his anger crystallized into action. It was only then that Timothur realized what he wanted, only then that he understood what would offer him any solace. The only thing that he wanted was to avenge Vanaden; to find this Thelonian Imbecile and kill him. This impulse rose above all else in the muddle of his brain.
They reentered the tent, and Palantos started to make the announcement. “The honorable Timothur will understandably be returning to Esienne to make arrangements for the general. He needs our support to shepherd the general into Matteo’s gentle embrace. We have agreed that I will be—”
“Excuse me, Captain. I wish to speak,” Timothur interrupted.
“By all means, Colonel,” Palantos opened his hand to Timothur in deference.
Timothur hesitated at first, trying to summon the right words. Then he said, “General Granth’s passing is a terrible tragedy for all of us. We must be steadfast in our mission, however, and in times of war, we cannot pause to mourn. In fact, we shouldn’t spend even a moment to do so if it should take us away from meeting our objective. Vanaden wouldn’t want that. Therefore, I will not be returning to Esienne. Also, as the highest ranking officer in northern Thelonia, I will be taking command of the army. Is that clear?”
Timothur scanned the eyes around him. He knew the power of the Granth stare. He could see the deference building as the leftenants were forced to look down, like scolded children, from his lancing eyes. As for Palantos, he looked surprised at the change but nodded carefully when Granth stared him down.
Timothur continued, “We will make an announcement
to the army this evening. I intend to take Vanaden’s tent in one hour, and then we should reconvene in two. Understood?”
When he was sure he saw all of them nod, Timothur turned about and left.
Chapter 2
The Purveyor
Once released by the colonel’s men, Paulo and the Jawhari man rode swiftly away from their captors. The Belidoran soldiers could change their mind at any time, particularly if they received word from the army camp about what had happened to the general.
At first they headed north, in the direction of the Fringe camp, only because it would be the direction the soldiers expected them to go. Then they veered east on a little used path in case they were being pursued. Paulo used the time to contemplate his next move.
Time was running out. What he’d learned from the group that escaped from the army camp led him to believe the Cenaran power base was more expansive than he originally thought. With the princess recaptured, and soon to be prosecuted by the monks, it was less likely that the Belidorans or Thelonians would be able to discover the conspiracy with enough time before the Internecion, which meant there was little hope that the Belidorans could check the Cenarans in any meaningful way.
It was time for a change of strategy. Rather than returning to Niknak, he must instead go to Spoons to plead with the council. They must mobilize, or the Fringe could perish.
