The Third Internecion

by Erik A Otto

  Finally a shadow of worry descended over Collins’s face. “Listen, fine, I was a little too outspoken,” he said, seeming to ignore her dismissal. “We can do it your way, then.”

  Aisha said, “Tandem, remove Collins and give him an escort of two to ensure he makes it back to Pomer City. I want him gone from the camp within the hour.”

  Tandem moved without hesitation to stand next to Collins. Collins was flabbergasted. “This is preposterous! You can’t do this. You’re just a girl…” Despite his protestations, Collins stood up hesitantly. Tandem proceeded to take him forcefully by the arm.

  Once Collins was removed, Aisha scanned the eyes of the other people in the room. “Any other comments?”

  The tent was quiet.

  The meeting soon ended, and her subordinates left.

  Aisha felt drawn. She sat across her desk and held her head.

  Soon Tandem returned.

  “Is he on his way?”

  “Yes, High Commander.”

  “Good, and what about the scouts? Are they ready?”

  “Yes. I’ve picked Finn and three others who are the most dependable. They will set out first thing tomorrow to deliver the sealed letters to the individuals you identified.”

  This is what she liked to hear: a concise summary of her command told back to her. “Good, Tandem, and like I said, this is confidential. Not even the other officers are to know.”

  “Understood.”

  Aisha said, “Hella was lucky to have you in her retinue, Tandem.”

  “I’m thankful to her, Commander. I have two children. If she hadn’t allowed for my return…”

  Aisha smiled. She had no concern about Cenaran influence in Tandem, having seen his children at the palace only three days ago. “Let’s see what we can do to help her, then. Good night, Tandem.”

  And he left.

  The letters were her first real shot at diplomacy. It was a departure from what mother had asked but in line with her intent. Aisha managed to acquire the list of nobles, their positions, and their families from Plymouth without revealing too much about what she knew. If she could connect with some of the nobles without children and begin asking questions, it might get them somewhere. At least it would offer her some intelligence. Beyond that, it also offered the hope of something more. Perhaps she could sow the seeds of an organized counter to whatever conspiracy was in play.

  Despite her physical and emotional exhaustion, she didn’t sleep well that night. She revisited the confrontation with Collins over and over again in her mind. She had to relieve him, but ultimately he might have been right that meeting Timothur’s army was imprudent. How could she really know? With her new command she walked a fine line. If she was too soft, the entrenched officers would walk all over her. If she was too hard, she would risk alienating her subordinates.

  Only time would tell.

  An old mess tent was set up on the road between Esienne and Tardiff. It was typically used for the stopovers of military folk. The scouts had checked it out the prior day, and it had been unoccupied. This was where she would meet with the nobles she had reached out to, if they would come.

  Leaving the bulk of the regiment more than a mile behind her, she rode with a small group consisting of a number of lower officers, mainly for a show of strength, as well as Tandem and Plymouth. Of them all, Plymouth was the one she was most worried about. There were no signs that he might be a traitor, but he did cavort with the nobles in Esienne, Tardiff and Rio Castellan that mother suspected might be conspirators. At the same time, she needed his skills and knowledge. So she invited him along but told him little of their objective.

  As they approached the tent, they fanned out along the broad Belidoran plain. No one was visible, but several steeds were stationed outside in the open stable nearby. The horses were a good sign; her letters may have found their mark.

  They secured their own horses, and Aisha entered the tent…to find no one at all. There was a series of empty tables. Behind a broad curtain there was another area that looked like a place for people to sleep, but not a soul to be found.

  It was confusing. Who did these other horses belong to? There were no other places men could be in the immediate vicinity.

  “Tandem, go check the other horses. See if you can find out who they belong to.”

  “Yes, Commander.” And he left.

  He wasn’t gone long before he raced back in. “Commander, a large military host approaches.”

  “What?” Had the conspirators foiled them? Her mind raced trying to think of who had defied her.

  She hobbled quickly out of the tent to see a horde of horses coming at them from the north, and another sizeable group coming from the south. A detachment of fifty horses broke off from the southern group and raced ahead. The blue and gold Belidoran crest flapped on the standard-bearer’s pole.

  There was nothing she could do but wait for them. “If I give the word, we fight and break west back to the regiment,” she told her group.

  The Pomerian officers with her looked confused, searching one another’s expressions for clues. They had no idea that Belidorans could be untrustworthy—enemies even—until now.

  The front rider of the detachment became clear to her. He had finely adorned armor and the distinctive eyes she’d seen in his brother.

  Aisha kept her hand near her sword and called out to him as he closed the last span between them. “You must be General Granth. What brings you here, sir?”

  “Let’s not play coy, Princess. You know very well.”

  “Please address me as High Commander.”

  “High Commander? I suppose titles are fickle for all of us,” he said without subtlety. “Well, High Commander, I appreciate you making the arrangements for our little discussion. Why don’t we step inside?” He gestured with his open hand toward the tent.

  Aisha didn’t see any other choice. To be cautious, she brought her entire group with her. She whispered to them as they made their way inside, “Be ready.”

  Granth came in with twice her number, including an out-of-place plainclothed woman with erratic hair. Perhaps she was the general’s spiritual adviser, or his lover. Aisha couldn’t be sure.

  Granth stared at her with rude curiosity as she hobbled awkwardly to a chair. Whatever Granth’s motivations, he lacked grace.

  The general began, “I’m so sorry we had to tell your other guests that it would be a smaller get-together today. Why don’t you just tell me the good news instead?”

  The letters she’d sent out to the nobles hadn’t been revealing. They were simply a request to meet from the successor to the Pomerian throne. Timothur must have intercepted the letters, or been informed by the nobles she’d contacted. But how did he manage this? More importantly, was he a conspirator?

  Aisha’s mind raced as she tried to think of how to play this. Without any immediate ideas, she defaulted to her original objective. “General, on behalf of the kingdom of Pomeria, we ask for our rights to interrogation of the infidel known as the Traitor.” Aisha’s heart pounded in her chest, knowing that Hella could have already been taken by the monks. She may even already be dead.

  He looked quizzical. “Why would you need to interrogate her? She’s Marked, and you yourself call her a traitor. The case is closed.”

  She felt some relief. There still might be some hope of seeing Hella. “It is customary for us to interrogate criminals of the state, just as it would be for Belidoran criminals in Pomeria. Given Hella’s prior standing, I’m sure you can see the importance; we need to flush out any of the Traitor’s potential collaborators in Pomeria.”

  He stood up and started pacing behind the table. “Enough of this diversion. Why did you invite the nobles here?”

  Aisha considered the question. The general held the advantage here. If he was a conspirator and intended to create some pretext for war, he could do it. His only concern would be what consequences there would be if word got out. There were plenty of witnesses, and they coul
dn’t all be conspirators.

  She had done her research on Timothur Granth. According to Plymouth, he didn’t have children, which meant he might be clean. Still, one didn’t have to have children to be blackmailed. There were other ways.

  “Are you listening to me?” Granth asked impatiently.

  Aisha took a deep breath. This would up the stakes significantly, she knew. If this is not diplomatic enough, please forgive me, mother. “There’s a conspiracy in play by the Cenarans to undermine Belidor. They have taken the children of Belidoran nobles to blackmail them, and we believe they intend to launch an offensive with the aid of these blackmailed nobles.”

  There would surely be surprised looks from the two retinues at her words, especially from her own camp, but she wasn’t watching their reactions. Her eyes didn’t leave the general’s, because his reaction would be the most telling.

  He didn’t show surprise. What she saw looked like anger, seething anger. “Are all of you Pomerians inflicted with the same madness! Yes, your sister has told me of her make-believe plots and excuses. It is…interesting that you come to share this view.” He stared at the spiky-haired woman for a moment. “Was it the Fringe? Did they relay this buffoonery to Pomeria? Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so kind to our so-called neutral allies.”

  The general paced more vigorously. He said, “Out! Everyone except the High Commander.” And he walked to the other side of the tent while his order was executed.

  The two groups exited awkwardly, nearly bumping into each other on the way out. They were too on edge to actually collide, though. With their leaders bickering, looks of suspicion were cast between the parties.

  The spiky-haired one was at the end of the line. Before leaving, she walked up to Aisha. “Hella sends you her love, Aisha. Shall I impart any message to her?” The woman offered her hand so Aisha took it politely. Aisha felt something against the skin of the woman’s palm, so she seized it between her fingers nonchalantly.

  Granth called back after hearing the woman speak, “Out, Nala!”

  Aisha pulled her hands away and pocketed the message carefully. Nala performed a cursory bow and left.

  It was just Granth and Aisha. Whatever Aisha had said, it had flustered Granth considerably. Perhaps she actually did have some leverage here. “Why won’t you let me have a conversation with the Belidoran nobles?” she asked.

  “What you call a conversation I call stirring up a nest of bone chuckers. How do I know you aren’t a traitor as well, that you aren’t starting some conspiracy of your own? With a traitorous sister, a Pomerian conspiracy sounds far more plausible than a conspiracy by the Cenaran snails, of all people.”

  She had no evidence to retort his claim, so she just shrugged.

  Granth tilted his head to the side, his head mired in thought. Then he said, “What do you know of the Truthseeker? Do you think he is innocent?”

  It was a confusing question, and tangential to their discussion. She could only answer honestly. “I know nothing of him. I hear tales that he is a liar or a blasphemer or some kind of escape artist. It sounds like exaggerated traveler’s tales to me, but I have no perspective. What does this have to do with Hella, or the nobles for that matter?”

  Granth was clearly dissatisfied with her response. He ignored her question and moved on to his next one. “And the Old Keep? Is that where you take your regiment?”

  “N… no. Why would I be doing that?” Aisha asked in earnest.

  Granth leaned over the table, his azure eyes blazing. “And the Bronté brothers, are you in league with them as well?”

  Aisha was thoroughly confused. Had the general gone mad? “I’m sorry, General. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I know no Bronté brothers. Do you mean the brothers of the one they call the Imbecile?”

  Granth let out a growl of frustration and resumed his pacing. He walked back and forth this way for some time.

  Why these questions? He must have sent his men out of the tent for a reason. Perhaps he was concerned about Aisha’s influence. This could be a good time to ask for an audience with Hella again. “I want to see Hella. If you don’t grant me this you will risk an international incident, sir.”

  He stopped pacing. His look of anger morphed to one of amusement. “Oh no. Don’t try that, Commander. It’s you who are risking an international incident, with a rogue regiment parked barely a mile from here.”

  Granth leaned over the table again, his eyes locking Aisha’s. “No, after our meeting, you will scurry back home to Pomeria with your entire regiment, or we will engage you right here, right now. It’s you who will be blamed, and you know it.”

  Then again, maybe she didn’t have any leverage.

  Aisha considered her position. She had obtained this secret gift from the spiky-haired woman. It could be nothing, but it could a critical message, or some important intelligence. The alternative was…war, and he was right; the perception would be that Pomeria was the instigator. Her only choice was to comply with the general and to leave before things escalated between the two military forces.

  “Well then, I suppose we’re done here,” she said, hoping he would, in fact, let her go.

  “Begone,” he said, moving back to the far side of the tent and peering out a nearby flap in contemplation.

  Aisha felt like she had failed diplomatically, that the general had bested her with his words, but the stakes were too high to up the ante.

  It was silly, but before she left, Aisha paused, wondering how Hella would make an exit, or the queen even. She gave up trying to figure it out. Instead, she just stood up, steadied herself on the table, and hobbled awkwardly to the tent flap. “Goodbye, General. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

  He didn’t respond, and the tent flap shut behind her.

  Chapter 7

  The General

  Timothur’s time was monopolized by dealing with the frequent scouting reports. He looked forward to some, like hearing from the six squads he’d sent forth to ensnare the Bronté brothers. Other messages were less appealing, like those from the Matagon Monks and the Great Defender.

  The meeting with Hella’s sister, this supposed High Commander, had been frustrating. He had no regrets about confronting her, and felt confident he’d successfully routed some attempt to sow treasonous roots among the nobles. What concerned him was her reaction to his questions. This Aisha seemed unsure of herself—a novice—yet he couldn’t see any duplicity in her. She actually believed what she was saying. Perhaps the Imbecile had contacted her, or more likely the Fringe. But she seemed to have no knowledge of either. So how could she speak of this Cenaran fairy tale? Were there others that believed this farce besides this cadre of infidels and naustics?

  It was time to talk to Hella again.

  Since they were to be stationary for several days, they made camp next to a meandering stream for easy access to water. There was a footpath on the edge of it that had been worn into the plain by the local farmers. It was here that Timothur walked with Hella.

  “I have met with your sister, Hella.”

  “You have? Petra or Aisha?”

  “Aisha, of course.”

  “Why of course?”

  She didn’t know of Aisha’s appointment? No, Hella was too good at this. She could be feigning ignorance. And Aisha might have been able to get a message to Hella some other way. Timothur didn’t fully trust his own troops, especially after they’d let their highest ranking officer be slaughtered by a Thelonian half-wit.

  “Aisha has been appointed High Commander of Pomeria,” Timothur clarified for her.

  Hella snorted and didn’t seem to believe him. “Really? What role is Landon playing? I thought for sure he would have taken that role.”

  “Your brother Landon? I know nothing of him.”

  Hella’s brow furrowed in thought. After a moment, her complexion wavered.

  “You look ill,” Timothur said.

  “I’m fine.”

  Timothur knew she would test
his patience. Perhaps this was more trickery. “I have no more time for games, Hella. The monks can no longer be waylaid. Tell me how Aisha knows of this plot.”

  “She knows? How does she know?”

  He had to admit, Hella did look surprised. Was she being was sincere, though? Pomerians were renowned liars, skilled at diplomacy. “Yes, she knows. Tell me how. Is this some ploy by Pomeria to cause civil unrest? What do you stand to gain by spreading these rumors about the Cenarans?”

  Her jaw flexed. Then she flashed him a look of scorn. “General, it’s you who are playing games. Here you have another report of the menace we face, and yet you refuse to consider it. Did you send the scout to Ghopal?”

  “Of course not. I will not waste men on a fool’s errand.”

  “One man against the possibility of genocide?”

  Timothur began to feel hot. “It’s lunacy. I would be made a mockery for even suggesting it.”

  “Then don’t suggest it. You’re a general, so command it. Send the scout, someone you’re sure isn’t a traitor, without telling anyone. At least then you can comfort yourself that there’s nothing to this farce, as you call it. Prove to yourself, without a doubt, that I’m insane. You don’t even need to send him to Ghopal. The Bronté brothers told me of a Thelonian leftenant named Henly that will confirm that the scout saw the Cenaran destruction of Ghopal and maimed children. This scout even told this to Vanaden. Vanaden ignored what he said. He slew the scout and two children he’d brought with him as evidence, in front of Henly and the Bronté brothers.”

  Timothur focused on trying to stay calm and not letting her barbed words get to him. Her stories were getting more and more elaborate and more and more insulting of his brother. He made sure to remember the Thelonian’s name, though. This Leftenant Henly could be another madman wrapped up in this scheme. “You say this to gain time,” Timothur said, “in the hopes that I will not call the monks while I wait for the scout. Is there something that will happen soon? Is there someone coming to rescue you?”