by Rob Bayliss
Braebec dismounted his steed and tied its reins to the halter post by the entrance to the commander’s quarters. He noticed that a silent guard at the door, wielding a halberd, was watching him closely. Braebec patted Flare and pretended to inspect him all over. He worked his way around his horse until it was between him and the watchful guard. His hand slipped into a saddlebag. He found the smooth pommel of the handle he was looking for. In an instant the wheel-lock handgun was in its holster by his side and concealed by his cloak. He reached into a different saddlebag and got out an apple, which he gave to Flare. The gelding eagerly took it out of his hands, crunching it loudly in his enjoyment. Braebec turned and approached the waiting guardsman.
Braebec opened his palm in expression of greeting. “May the blessings of the flames warm your heart. I am Braebec Conziva, from the alchemist seminary, seeking Commander Velzo of the 14th Foot.”
The guard bowed his head in appreciation of the blessing. He was an aged veteran, quite probably counting the years now until retirement. Strange that he was not in a position of authority with his obvious experience; a sergeant or captain perhaps? Such men were the valuable backbone of the Imperial army of Taleel.
“These are his quarters, my Lord Conziva. He is currently inside with his …” The guard seemed to hesitate, as if something was caught in his throat. “… officers. I will alert them to your presence.”
The guard disappeared inside the building, leaving the door ajar. Braebec heard laughter from within, and listened intently. The revelry went on for some time until the guard was permitted to report to his commander. He heard the guard announce his presence, and then he heard more laughter. Inwardly Braebec scowled, but outwardly he wore a passive mask of understanding until the time was right. The door opened and the guardsman emerged, exasperation written all over his aged features.
“The commander of the Fighting 14th will see you now, Lord,” the guard said, sighing and shaking his head sadly.
He held the door open for Braebec, standing to attention while Braebec walked from the light of a winter’s noon into the darkness of the commander’s quarters.
Inside, the room was warm; a brazier burned brightly, throwing its heat about. Tall candles cast their flickering light about the walls, which were festooned in tapestries. The quarters were ornately furnished with all the comforts of home. Gold ornaments shone in their lustre. Braebec looked over to the desk, piled high with disorganised paperwork. Behind the desk was an empty chair , and in the corner stood a suit of highly polished, ornate armour.
“We’re over here … Mage. How can I help you?” a soft voice enquired.
In the background Braebec heard grunts of stifled laughter. His eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he looked about at the gathering around the table: the incumbent commander of the 14th and his captains. Braebec was distinctly unimpressed; Commander Velzo looked every bit the pampered aristocrat. Dressed in fine silks, he looked to be in his late twenties, and his captains seemed a similar age. They were grouped about the table. The officers had obviously been enjoying a game of cards and drinking firewine; gold ducats were stacked next to each individual, with a growing pile in the centre.
“Greetings, Commander Velzo. I have come from the alchemist’s seminary. You have recently returned from the Northern Holdings, I hear?” Braebec wore his mask well as he gently enquired.
“The bulk of the unit returned to Cyria before the onset of winter, Mage,” Velzo said. His eyes focused on the cards in his hand, before casting five ducats into the pile. “They were missing their commander and one of their captains. I was appointed in his stead.”
“It is news of Commander Kaziviere that I seek. Perhaps your captains here can answer my questions?” Braebec said, his face impassive. There is no way that these are veteran captains. These are your fawning sycophants, Braebec thought to himself.
“Kaziviere is commander no longer, Mage,” Velzo answered in irritation. He put his cards face down and grabbed his drink, angrily downing the fiery contents in one gulp. “He is history. I will not hear his name mentioned in my presence; the 14th is mine!”
Velzo stood up quickly, swaying slightly. “I found the 14th leaderless, abandoned by their commander. They were a mess. I … installed a new ….” Velzo trailed off, seeking his words. “… A new command structure. What do you want to know for, anyway, Mage? You wish to talk your mumbo jumbo at him? He’s not here. Go back to your seminary and make us black powder. Do something useful for the coming war!”
The young captains laughed, eager to please their commander. Under his passive mask Braebec saw the situation here. Velzo had got this position through a political appointment, and quickly put his friends and hangers-on in in place of experienced officers. He understood the attitude of the guard outside now. Braebec’s hand slipped, unnoticed, into his pocket.
“Tell this fool to be gone, Brenseek,” one of the captains slurred. “We have a game to play here. While we’ll be winning victories overseas his order will be safe in Taleel, pretending to be all wise and all knowing, the parasites.”
The captains and Velzo laughed. Braebec’s mask remained calm, yet a fire raged inside.
“Do you think victory will offer itself to you? Not all battles are fought openly. Some are contested in the dark. You think we just make powder for your guns? I am not the fool in this room.” Braebec spoke calmly. “I see no captains here; I see court jesters, eager for further patronage.”
“Throw this silver-streaked bastard out before I stick him, Brenseek!” the young captain screeched, his hand straying to his dagger at his side. Velzo rolled up his silk sleeves and advanced on Braebec, to the sound of laughter from the other officers, who were eager to see the alchemist put in his place.
Braebec suddenly jumped forward. His fist caught Velzo in the windpipe with a sharp punch, instantly incapacitating the commander. With his foot Braebec tripped up the commander, so that the drunken officer keeled over and fell on the floor. Braebec threw a strange purple powder from his hand and into the blazing brazier. It hissed violently, releasing clouds of purple smoke. Braebec swept his cloak over his head, and jumped to the ground on top of the confused commander, keeping the cloak over both their heads. Winded, the commander fought for breath, unable to throw Braebec off. Beyond the cloak the officers coughed and spluttered, as the purple smoke wreathed about them. Braebec counted to thirty, threw off the cloak and stood back up. The air had cleared.
The commander, still winded, crawled back to the table and hauled himself upright. “You … will … pay. Kill … him … that’s … an order!” he said to his captains as he rose. “Why don’t you …?” Velzo stopped when he saw his officers.
They sat. Their eyes and mouths were wide open, but no pupils or whites could be seen; only bright purple filled their eye sockets. There was purple around their nostrils, on their tongues, and around their mouths. Their chests heaved and their heads shook from side to side. They moaned as if afflicted by unseen terrors.
“What have you done to them?” Velzo said, snatching his dagger from its scabbard and turning to face Braebec. “I will kill y ….” He froze.
Braebec had his wheelock drawn, his finger playing on the trigger. It had a sound-muffling device attached to its muzzle. Velzo felt the cold steel of the weapon on his forehead. The dagger slipped from his grasp to clatter on the floor.
“Pray, sit down, Commander,” Braebec said menacingly. He wore no mask now, his features stern and unyielding, and his rage apparent. Velzo did as instructed. Braebec turned to the quivering officers, their mouths agape.
“You worms! I am the crow; I want your eyes, sweeter than grapes! Hide in the mud, worms, or I will leave you forever in the dark. Crawk! Crawk! Hide in the mud!” Braebec said, sounding like a carrion crow, squawking at the officers. He put his wheelock handgun back in its holster and drew his cloak back around him.
The captains fled the room, blundering into each other in their haste to escape the terror the Ma
ge had inflicted upon them. The door was smashed open as they tumbled outside. The shocked guard peered inside.
“Lord Mage? Commander?” he asked, unsure as to what to do, and fearful to intervene.
“All is well, Trooper. I merely needed to speak to your commander alone, without the interruptions of those fools,” Braebec said smiling at the trooper, his face exuding thoughtful calm. The trooper left the room, closing the door behind him.
Braebec turned back to Velzo, his mask dropping once more. “Listen, you turd. I cannot undo your commission. Alas, for good or ill, you are now the commander of the Fighting 14th. They are brave troops; some of them served at Tahlinjin, and they deserve a commander they can respect. You have no idea of the terrors that you and your men will face in the coming campaign. Your sycophants are lost to you. You will reinstate their true captains and sergeants, and you will realise that you serve them as much as they do you. Kaziviere earned their respect and so shall you, by being a true commander. These are men with lives, not mere pawns for you to sacrifice in your journey to the Senate. Do I make myself clear?”
Velzo nodded enthusiastically, fearful now of this alchemist. “Yes, my Lord Mage!” Say what he wants to hear and then he’ll go! Velzo thought.
“I do not think you really do,” Braebec said, reading the commander‘s thoughts. “You are a marked man, Velzo; all my order will recognise you.” Braebec snapped his fingers. The brazier burned bright, the flames reflected brightly in the alchemist’s eyes.
Velzo felt an intense burning on his chest. He bit his lip, striving not to cry out in pain as the tears ran from his eyes. He pulled open his silks and looked down at his chest. There, over where his heart beat rapidly was burned a mark, in the shape of the Eternal Flame.
“Lest you should forget yourself,” Braebec said.
Braebec spun on his heels and marched out of the room. The brazier suddenly went black, containing nothing but hot ash, its fuel exhausted in an instant. Velzo stared at the table, which was lit by the dim glow of candlelight, with its goblets of firewine, cards and stacks of ducats. Roaring in his frustration, he upset the table, sending everything flying.
Braebec closed the door behind him as he left. The guard was roaring with laughter. Barely able to stand upright, he was leaning on his halberd to stop him falling to the floor in fits of mirth. The drilling musketeers had stopped their training, too, and were also in fits of hysterics. There in the mud, before the officers’ quarters, were the silk-clad captains. They writhed around on the floor like worms, their arms held tightly at their sides, their expensive clothes dirtied and ruined.
One of the sergeants was trying to reason with them, but the crazed creature he spoke to on the floor merely shut his eyes tight, screaming in fear. “The crow! The crow! The crow wants my eyes!”
The sergeant lost his patience, signalling to some of the laughing troopers. “You men grab these mad fools and take them to the medical hut.” He smelt the fumes of firewine on their breath. “No, on second thoughts throw these disgraceful bastards out of the fort. They dishonour the 14th."
“But, sergeant, they are captains!” one of the troopers said, unsure about manhandling an officer.
“Are they indeed? I see no uniform, Trooper,” the sergeant said. “Neither do I recognise their faces under all that mud. They look like drunken civilians to me. You know me however; so do as I order.”
The veteran troopers of the 14th did not need any further encouragement. They hauled the witless ones roughly out of the mud, and made to drag them through the encampment to the gate.
“Not that way! You want those other bastards in this camp to see our shame? They are the 14th’s problem and the 14th will deal with them, quickly. Take them down to the shooting range and throw them over the wall. It is not overly high; they won’t be killed by the fall, more’s the pity,” the sergeant growled.
Braebec and the guard stood over by the steps to the commander’s office, watching the scene. The guard wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes and turned to the Mage. He bowed his head. “Thank you, my Lord Mage, perhaps honour can return to the 14th now those feckless fools are no longer ours. They were never proper soldiers. They would be hopeless in battle and commanded no respect with the lads.”
Braebec smiled. “Alas, your commander is officially commissioned, but I feel things will be different. Any Mage will recognise and question him now. He must tread his path carefully.”
“If only we still had Kaziviere as our commander,” the guard said. “He was a firm but fair leader, and dependable in battle. However, he had his moments ….” The guard’s speech trailed off, as if he thought he had said too much.
“It is seeking news of Commander Kaziviere that brought me here. What can you tell me about him, Trooper? You may be candid; anything you say will be between the two of us only. You have the word of a Mage.”
“Commander Kaziviere had a fearsome temper when crossed. Discipline was never an issue in the 14th with him, and he could be cruel at times. But he knew the Fire Rites and always strived to see the hearts of the fallen returned to the flames safely. There are not many commanders who take the time to do that. They usually defer that to symbolic offerings by alchemists in the seminary,” the guard added. Braebec grunted in agreement.
“So why it is that he is not here in Cyria with his unit? Why did he stay in the Northern Holdings?” Braebec’s face was full of sympathy and understanding.
“We were due to sail south with most of the year’s northern muster and taxes. General Broud had gathered a fleet of troop and treasure ships from Taleel. Their captains were eager to sail back south to the Midsea, before the autumn storms hit the Cheama. It was two weeks before we were due to sail when the dominar summoned the commander. He was ordered to take a patrol, in strength, back into the lands beyond the Great Marsh. He asked for volunteers. He took twenty, including Captain Tollend and Sergeant Treal and made up the numbers with northern auxiliaries and dragoons, I think. Kaziviere was none too pleased; he disliked the north and was eager to come home. Anyway he never made it back to Northport before we were ordered to sail.” The trooper shook his head.
“Why did the dominar send Kaziviere into the wild?” Braebec asked.
“Something about some spying savage, I think. A thick-browed bush priest possibly spreading sedition against the Fire God, I heard said … not that the folk up there are followers of the true path anyway - begging your pardon, my Lord Mage - but they are just not,” the guard said, looking at Braebec to gauge his reaction.
Braebec spread his palms and waved away the apology. “You didn’t volunteer to accompany him then, Trooper?”
The trooper chuckled. “I did, as it happened, for the sharpshooter slot. But a half-blind whoreson called Curnen got chosen in my stead. I wasn’t too upset, really. We had already been trudging in the summer heat around what passes for towns and villages up there, with the muster and tax collectors. I can’t say I relished the thought of doing it again in the autumn mud.”
The trooper’s face showed his concern. “My Lord Mage, what is this about? The lads in the other units here in the camp take the piss. They say Kaziviere didn’t come back on purpose, that he found an excuse to stay away from the upcoming campaign. But it’s not true; the commander wanted to come south and was eager for revenge for Tahlinjin. He never lacked for courage. He was ordered to go into the wild by the dominar. You can have my word on that, if questions of a similar nature are being asked in Taleel.”
Braebec smiled. “Have no fear of that. Word will not have reached your ears here in Fort Anvil yet, but all speak in Taleel of the brave Kaziviere and General Broud saving the Northern Holdings from the treason of the dominar and an invasion from Acaross.”
The guard looked amazed. “What? You mean the enemy was up there all along? Treason of the dominar you say? That is ill news, but at least the commander is returning to us.”
Braebec did not feign a visage; his concern was clear to the
guard. “Yes, my friend, it was treason. Your former commander fought enemies of Taleel within and without the walls of Northport. In the process, he discovered something of great import to my order that needs further investigation; something dark and terrible. Alas, his whereabouts remain unknown. I myself sail for Northport tonight to find out more.”
“You mages shine light on the dark paths, it is said. I do not wish to know more,” the trooper murmured, shivering despite the sun. His eyes had a faraway look. “I remember ten years ago, the screams of the tortured by a fell enemy at Tahlinjin. I was there, manning the defences at night. I thought I’d never see Cyria again … their ways are terrible ….” He broke off. The trooper offered his forearm to Braebec. The mage clasped it. “Good speed on your journey north, Lord Mage. I pray you find news of Commander Kaziviere, and thank you once again.”
“Thank you, Trooper, you have told me much,” Braebec said in appreciation. “Good luck to you and the Fighting 14th. May our paths cross again, Trooper…?”
“Tarwen Klenish. May our paths cross again,” Tarwen repeated.
Braebec untied the reins of his horse and climbed back into the saddle. It had been rather a more eventful visit to the 14th than he’d expected. He would have to tell the Grand Mage his motives; some grand families would be baying for his blood, no doubt! Still, his path now led north from Taleel, and it would be good to see the world outside Cyria again. He hoped Tavili would be ready for the journey when he got back to the seminary, but first, a good afternoon’s gallop was ahead of him. He clicked his heels and urged Flare into a canter, and as he left the camp, smiling, he wore no mask.
Chapter 3
