by Samuel Fort
Chapter 85: Peth Gruber
The Peth named Gruber stood on the top platform of the old fire lookout tower that now served as Steepleguard’s westernmost observation post. It was generally accepted to be the worst duty assignment in the Fifth Kingdom, not because it was dangerous, but because it was exceedingly boring. Nothing ever approached from the west. Not humans, not bashmu, not anything.
It was also an open air post, with only plywood boards and a rusty tin roof to protect Gruber from the arctic winds and snow. He spent a good portion of his day shoveling snow, throwing it over the side of the tower to the earth a hundred and thirty feet below. He frequently woke up in the morning to find himself and his sleeping bag encased in snow. There was no possibility of starting a fire on the flimsy platform, which meant that he was constantly cold, as was his food. The latter consisted of nothing but excise military rations, such as crackers, with one portion of meat for each week he spent in the tower.
Gruber didn’t even have a radio. The threat from the west was considered too negligible. Radios and precious batteries were deployed to other outposts. Outposts where things were happening. Outposts that mattered. Gruber had a flare gun and three flares. If something went down at his location, he’d pop a flare and then wait – an hour, at least – for reinforcements to arrive from the east.
No one had actually told him that he was being punished for his disrespect of Lilian during Porazo’s failed power grab. After all, he’d done the right thing, technically. The council was about to pronounce the king dead and Archduke Porazo (where was that son of a bitch?) had specifically ordered him not to allow Lilian into the communications room. Technically, she was not then the queen.
Still, his exile to the distant tower was clearly intended to send him, and all Peth, a message. Don’t cross Annasa Lilitu.
Ever.
The outpost had a single redeeming quality: the sky. On a clear night, the sky here was nothing but stars. There were so many that there seemed to be more light than darkness in the universe. It was a stunning display that Gruber never tired of. He took particular delight in the shooting stars, which were plentiful.
But the magical panorama was a poor substitute for warmth, good food, and prestige. He knew that his career was over. He wondered what might have happened if not for his Peth brain’s poor decision to acknowledge Porazo as his authority figure.
Would he be vying for one of the coveted spots aboard the Anzu? Gods, what a miracle that would be! He’d watched the craft from his outpost on two occasions as it circled Steepleguard’s perimeter. Its immenseness made it an exciting spectacle, especially in this new age in which it shared the sky only with birds. It looked unreal. It would have even in the age before. It floated silently, its triangular black body slowly rotating, its cannons shifting left and right as the lucky gunners aboard it sought out threats that weren’t there. Not in the west, anyway.
His heart sank as he dwelled on how feeble his little outpost must seem to the lucky crews flying above him; how inconsequential.
He was brooding on the unfairness of his fate when he felt the platform on which he stood shudder, ever so slightly. Less than a second later he found himself hurtling head-first toward the ground. He felt almost nothing when he hit the ground and his neck snapped. He remained conscious for another minute.
Lying on the ground and knowing that he was dying, Gruber gazed at the beautiful star-filled heavens above him, and then at the blackness that descended from the tower above. A blackness populated by just two purple stars.
