by Jenny McKane
Did he dare light a small fire?
He glanced around. He was a long way from the castle now, and if he were careful, he could light it somewhere that wouldn’t draw too much attention. He didn’t think that they would be pursuing yet. The rebels had just scored a major triumph and would be consolidating within the castle walls – or what was left to them. They might send patrols out to pick up stragglers in the morning, but it should be safe enough for now.
And besides, he wouldn’t last through the few hours until dawn unless he got warm.
He lit a small fire, gaining comfort from its flames. His mind was awhirl. He was so tired, but sleep refused to come and grant him even a small measure of respite.
He simply couldn’t believe that it had happened, and yet he had seen it with his own eyes. He had been talking with Anders about what nonsense it all was earlier in the evening at the beginning of his watch. He had told Anders to stop talking, and he refused to listen anymore.
He wished with all his heart that he had have listened more now.
Anders had told him of what was really happening in the Outlying Zone. Of how it had been breached and was in chaos. He had told him about the animals and how they were allies of the rebels now, and he had refused to believe, saying that it was all Stromel folktales.
He shuddered, clutching his cloak tighter, as he remembered the woman riding on the back of the winged creature, her sword aloft and the strange patterns on her face. Who was she? She had descended on the castle like she had an innate right to it.
As if she were the true ruler, coming to take what rightfully belonged to her— almost like a queen.
His eyelids started to droop, but still his mind refused to let him rest. The man that he had fought against. The man with the vivid blue eyes, who had tattoos on his neck. He had heard descriptions of the rebel leader, Gwalen, many times. Could it have been him?
If it was, then the woman who rode the winged creature might have been the guardian who had switched sides for him. Avalon Lund. The daughter of the Minister of the Military, who had fallen in love and given up her whole life for him. At least, that was what one rumor claimed. Another said it was her fellow guardian, Everard Varr, who she was in love with. And then another said that both men were in love with her, but she couldn’t decide between them.
Rumors. Gossip. He had tried to close his mind to it all, but bits and pieces had filtered through. What was the truth?
He closed his eyes. Sleep was just about to pull him under when he heard a noise. He opened them quickly.
A man was stumbling through the snow. Homme jumped to his feet, his heart pounding. He grabbed his sword. Was it a fellow guardian, or was it one of the rebels?
The man was tall and well built. He had long, dark hair that was tied back. He wasn’t wearing the black uniform of the Grey Guards. He was dressed in a simple tunic and cloak, in the Stromel fashion. He seemed disoriented. Was he friend or foe?
The man lurched closer but didn’t seem to notice him. Homme approached him cautiously, sword raised.
“Identify yourself,” he called.
The man gazed around in a dazed way. Then, his dark eyes fell on Homme. He fell to his knees.
“Please,” the man whispered. “I don’t know where I am.”
Homme raised an eyebrow. “Where are you from?”
The man shook his head, sighing. “I don’t know how I got here.”
Homme considered. The man was dressed like a Stromel, but he spoke with a Jarle accent. He stepped closer, resting his sword against the man’s chest.
“You expect me to believe that you don’t know where you are, or how you got here?” he scoffed. “What side are you on? Vyheim Castle has just been destroyed. Were you a part of the rebellion that did it?”
The man shook his head helplessly. “I saw the flames. I got panicked. I started running, trying to get as far away from it as I could.” He sighed, staring up at Homme. “Did you say Vyheim Castle? I know that name. I have been there before.”
Homme pressed the tip of the sword harder into his chest. “So have a lot of people,” he said slowly. “I am losing patience with you. I have fought for my life tonight, and I am not in the mood for game playing.”
The man stared at him, his eyes wide. “You are a Grey Guard,” he said. “I recognize the uniform. I am a Grey Guard, too.”
Homme assessed him. “I am telling you to identify yourself,” he said slowly. “Last chance. If you don’t tell me your name, I am going to run my sword through you.”
The man sighed. “My name is Everard Varr.”
Homme gasped. “Everard Varr? Who is wanted for treason?”
The man frowned. “I don’t know anything about that,” he said. “Why would I be wanted for treason? I am a Grey Guard, loyal to Agnor and the Jarle, just like you.”
A slow smile spread over Homme’s face. Either the man was completely insane, or he had lost his memory somehow. But the fact remained, he was claiming to be Everard Varr, who was one of the most wanted men in the realm of Agnoria, and he was giving himself up! To him! This might be the chance of a lifetime.
Homme laughed. “Stand up, Varr,” he said. “You and I are going to become better acquainted. I think that my superiors will be very interested to speak to you when this mess dies down.”
Chapter Two
Two years later
Everard walked down the silent corridors of Central Headquarters. It was the start of the day, and few people were at work yet. The vast space was practically deserted.
It was just as well, thought Everard, walking briskly. His office was in the main section of the building, and people couldn’t seem to resist popping their heads in to say hello and then talk some more. Some days, he didn’t seem to get much work done at all. He knew that it was part and parcel of his position, but still…it could become frustrating, especially at a time like this when he was so busy.
Almost there. He unlocked the door to his office, swinging it open. The room was exactly as he had left it the day before. The vast desk in the center of the room was fairly tidy. A few folders had been placed in his document tray, awaiting his attention. They hadn’t been there the night before; they must have arrived by courier the previous night—after he had left for the evening.
He took off his cloak and his hat, placing them on the coat stand in the corner.
Then he set to work. He would only have an hour at most to peruse these folders before Headquarters started teeming with people, all wanting his attention.
With a sigh, he picked up the first folder and opened it. It was yet another briefing on the situation in the Far North. He skimmed over it, taking in the main details. As far as he could tell, nothing much had changed since he had last been briefed. The rebels had strengthened their territories; yet another remote outpost had been taken.
He closed the folder, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, sighing. The Far North. It was the most volatile region in the whole of Agnoria, and it was getting worse. He had only been Commander at Headquarters for six months, and in that time, he had seen various villages and outposts fall like dominos. It didn’t seem to matter how many men he sent there, trying to stem the tide. They were all defeated eventually.
He stood up, walking out of the room. He would need coffee, and a lot of it. He had two important meetings today. One of them was at the Palace, with Agnor himself in attendance. The great ruler would want to know why Everard’s tactics weren’t working. It made him sweat, even just thinking about it.
He poured himself a coffee and sat back down at his desk, staring at the folder. What was the answer? Sometimes, he felt that if he just stared at the figures and the facts long enough, it would be revealed to him.
He had to prove himself in his new position, and he knew that he didn’t have much time to do it. Agnor wanted blood. His previous commander, who had trained him, had finally fallen on his own sword with the pressure. Vasslo had been an efficient and ruthless co
mmander, and still it had not been enough. The rumors had started to swirl around Headquarters a year previously, that he was about to go. Vasslo simply couldn’t contain the rebels in the Far North.
Everard stared hard at the information on the page, but it started to swim before his eyes. He was remembering the awful scene at Vyheim Castle, when it had been overthrown, two years ago. In his memory, the flames were still lurching into the night sky, as the castle burnt to the ground. Vyheim had been the major center of Jarle power in the North, and when it had been taken, it all started to unravel.
Of course, that had been the beginning of his rise. So, he had mixed feelings about the incident at Vyheim. It had been a major coup for the rebels, but it had also kickstarted his career.
He sighed, seeing the snow and ice of the Far North before him, as if it were yesterday. He had been wandering the landscape, with no memory of how he had gotten there. He had stumbled upon a guardian, who had fled the situation at Vyheim. It had taken them two days to get to another Jarle outpost, where they could tell them the awful news, and to his surprise, he had been taken to a camp for questioning.
For some reason, they had thought him a traitor. They told him that he was one of the most wanted people in Agnoria; that he had betrayed the realm. That he was on the run. He couldn’t remember a thing of what they told him. He had sworn his loyalty to the realm, over and over. For a while, his execution had been imminent. He had accepted that his life was about to be given to the realm, and he had tried to prepare himself for it.
Then, one day, he had been taken to the small interrogation cell. To his surprise, the door had opened, and Commander Vasslo had walked in. The Commander had stared at Everard, shaking his head.
“I still can’t believe it,” he said. “One of my star recruits, betraying the realm.”
Everard had pleaded with him. “Commander Vasslo, I accept that what everyone says is true,” he said, slowly. “But I have no memory of any of it! I don’t even remember the woman that everyone speaks of, who they say was the reason that I switched loyalties. It is like a complete blank in my head.” He sighed deeply, running his fingers through his hair. “I know that I must accept my punishment, and if Agnor has decided that I need to die, then so be it—but I am loyal. I am as passionate as I have ever been about serving the realm. Please, give me a chance to prove that to you.”
Commander Vasslo had stared at him. “You want to be given a second chance?”
“Yes!” Everard had tears in his eyes. “I want to show you all that I am truly loyal to Agnoria. I want to crush the rebels. I saw with my own eyes what they did to Vyheim Castle.”
Commander Vasslo had tapped his fingers on the desk in front of him, thinking deeply.
“I am going to recommend re-education,” he said slowly. “There are others, higher than me, that don’t agree. They say that you should be put to death, and I hardly blame them. But I see something in you, Varr. You were simply one of the best guardians I have ever trained, and I sense that passion is still there.”
Everard’s eyes were shining. “You won’t regret this, Commander! I will prove to you all that my heart and soul is pledged to the realm. I will make up for the atrocious things that I have done, even if I have no memory of doing them.”
“You were led astray,” said the commander, staring at him. “Avalon Lund.”
Everard’s face looked blank. “Yes, so I am told, but I can’t remember her.”
“Really?” said the commander. “You can’t even recall her face?”
Everard shook his head slowly. “I know that it seems impossible. Everyone has told me so. We were close apparently.”
The commander nodded. “Not to start with. When you were both at the Academy, you didn’t like each other at all, but you were partners on your first mission together in the Far North and became close then.”
Everard nodded. “I have been told all about it. About how she was taken by the rebels and was corrupted by them.”
“The mighty Gwalen,” said the commander bitterly. “Skyresh Sakr. She was the one who led him to capture, but then she changed sides. You are aware that you both broke her out of the Re-Education Center?”
Everard flushed in embarrassment. How could it be possible? He had apparently worked alongside the rebel leader to break out this Avalon Lund. It was all so out of character for him.
“Yes,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I have been told, many times. And that we were all on the run together.”
The commander nodded. “Indeed. You were all the most wanted outlaws in Agnoria. Your faces were plastered over every village square, but you didn’t stay in Agnoria. You all went into the Outlying Zone, and we know the mess that has been created there.”
Everard sighed. “The central power source was breached by them…us?”
The commander nodded again. “In the Interior of the Zone,” he said. “A woman of very high rank was killed. And the rebels – you amongst them – unleashed the animals that were imprisoned there. They rebels are using them against us.”
Everard frowned. This was the only part of the story that he didn’t understand. For starters, he had always been told that “the animals” were fictitious—invented creatures of Stromel folktales—that any self-respecting Jarle mustn’t listen to, and now he was being told that not only were they real, but that this Avalon Lund and Gwalen had somehow liberated them. The animals now served the rebels in the fight against the realm. It hardly seemed possible, and yet it was supposedly true.
“I’m not going to promise anything,” said the commander, interrupting his reverie. “I will put my recommendation to the board, that you be assigned for re-education. That is all that I can do for you, Varr.”
Everard had held out his hand to the commander. “Thank you so much,” he said, his eyes shining. “You have no idea how much this means to me, Commander.”
That had been two years ago.
The commander had been as good as his word. It had been a close decision, but they had recommended that he be taken to the Re-Education Center and not be executed.
He had put his head down and studied hard. They had released him in half the normal time. And then, he had been sent to work at Headquarters. It hadn’t been a good position to start with. In fact, it had been the lowliest position in the whole organization.
But it had been a start. His fresh start. He had worked himself to the bone, day and night, barely giving himself any time off. What did he need it for anyway? He had no family. People spurned him; they knew his history, of course, but that had just made him work all the harder.
He had quickly risen through the ranks under Commander Vasslo’s approving eye. And he would never forget that night, six months ago, when the commander had knocked on his office door, telling him that he was retiring.
“All nonsense, of course,” the commander had said, his eyes glittering with tears. “I was told that I had to, or else they would fire me. Agnor needs a scapegoat for what is happening in the Far North, and I am the easiest one on hand.”
Everard had swallowed, hard. “I am going to miss you, Commander,” he had said. “I will never forget what you have done for me.”
The commander had nodded. “You are like a son to me, Varr,” he said. “Like the son that I never had.” He had taken a deep breath, staring at him. “I believe that everyone deserves a second chance, and that is why I am going to recommend that you be given my position when I go.”
Everard’s heart had started to beat faster. Had he misheard? It was unheard of. He had been redeeming himself slowly, but to become commander? There was simply no way!
“You deserve it,” said the commander roughly. “You are the hardest worker that I have ever seen, and the most passionate. Your loyalty is beyond question, in my opinion. If others can let your indiscretions stay in the past, then I believe that you have a very high chance.”
By some miracle, they had accepted Vasslo’s recommendation, and it had been t
he proudest moment of his life when he had walked up to the podium in Grey Square and accepted the post of City Commander. Agnor himself had shaken his hand and wished him well in his new position.
Everard sighed. He forced his mind back onto the report. There was no use reliving the glory days of when he had first become Commander. The situation in the Far North had gotten severely worse since he had taken over, and he was no longer Agnor’s golden-haired boy. In fact, he knew that if something didn’t happen soon to stem the tide of the destruction there, that he would have to fall on his own sword, just like Vasslo.
He drained the last of his coffee, standing up. He had to get to the Palace. His meeting with Agnor and the Ministers was due to start in half an hour.
He tried to ignore the misgiving that were sitting in the base of his stomach, waiting to spring to life.
***
Everard let himself into the cold, dark house. He cursed as he fell over a pair of shoes that he had left in the entrance foyer.
It had been a long, hard day, but then that was usual. He was starving, and he needed a drink. Only then, would he force himself to think about the radical proposal that had been put on the table at the meeting.
He walked into the kitchen, lighting a torch. He had a cleaner and a cook, two middle-aged Stromel women, who kept to themselves mostly. Sera, the cook, had left him dinner in a pot on the wood-burning stove in the corner. He stoked the fire beneath it to reheat it, and then he poured himself a glass of wine.
After he had eaten his fill and drained his glass, he walked out onto the balcony of the house. It was one of his favorite spots when he was at home. It had a view over the whole of the city. The house had been a part of the package when he had taken the position of Commander, and he rarely had cause for complaint.
Leaning against the balcony rail, he stared out over the city, watching torches flickering like stars in the distance. He loved the city. He felt at home here, in a way that he never did in the country. The country always filled him with uneasiness for some reason.
