by T. C. Edge
“They don’t know what they’re looking for,” counters Zander. “They’re sheep, and they follow their shepherd. They just need a new one.”
“And that’s you, is it boy?”
Zander shakes his head.
“Not me, old man. I’m just a soldier.”
“And a good soldier you are. I can’t say I care much for your cause, but I understand. And I know, too, that the fate of the Fangs may rest with you. Come, I will escort you back to your northern stronghold. It looks like you have no time to waste.”
Rising to his full height, Rhoth reaches out his arm, and Zander takes it, their palms gripping each others’ forearms and shaking once.
“Thank you, Rhoth,” says my brother. “I won’t forget this.”
“Make sure you don’t, boy,” smiles the barbarian. “I like these lands as they are. Just make sure they stay that way. Too many changes already…” he adds, nodding towards the large facility, cut into the woods.
And it’s into the woods we go again. Down through the trees, working our way eastwards through the valley until we reach a part of the road where we can cross without being seen.
Reaching the other side, we journey on for another couple of hours, the going slow as we navigate the trails and hills that pepper the northern outerlands.
Here, the marshes no longer exist. Instead, the lands are sturdy and, while wooded in many places, also have various areas of open ground, hills, rocky outcrops, rivers and ancient towns.
It’s the latter that most interest me, the remnants of an older time. Some lie hidden in the forests, overgrown and retaken by nature. Others are merely bare bones, husks of a former beast, decaying in the dirt. Mostly, the old cities and towns were blown away by the winds of war, the tornado that swept across the globe altering its structure forever.
What remains are the skeletons of the places left behind, the sight of mostly intact buildings a rare sight to see.
Rhoth accompanies us as far as he’s willing to go. At this time of day, passing through the wilds isn’t quite so dangerous, and yet without weapons it would have been too risky for us to travel alone without our new escort.
Leaving us at the edge of his territory, in an area long disputed between the Fangs and the Nameless, Rhoth pulls out Zander’s pulse rifle, confiscated when we were taken.
Admiring the weapon, he asks: “You don’t mind if I hang on to this, do you?”
Zander, for the first time since our latest incarceration, smiles.
“Sure. Just be careful with the settings. It’s a powerful gun.”
Rhoth nods knowingly. Such weapons have probably been used on him and his people multiple times before.
Then, with a swish of his head, he looks to the distance.
“Good luck,” he grumbles. “And don’t let me see you hunting my grounds again. Do you hear me, boy?”
The smile doesn’t slip from Zander’s face. They shake hands as old enemies turned friends, and our two groups separate.
And less than an hour later, as the winds pick up, and the fog begins to weaken, I spy, though the mist, a rare intact building surrounded by broken down ruins and half-destroyed forms of others. A church that continues to stand, even after all these years, bolstered and fortified and called home to the Nameless.
The old street outside is empty, yet there’s a buzz coming from within. We rush towards it at some pace and Zander’s fist hits the wooden façade of the door.
The buzz within stop abruptly.
A hush fills the air, broken by a sudden wisp of wind fluttering through which blows my hair sideways towards the city, way off to the south and only visible as a haze of light through the fog.
Zander’s knock carries a distinctive pattern, and I’m reminded of the first time we came here. A secret knock to give entry, to show friend from foe. On the other end of the door, a scraping sounds as the door is unbolted.
And then, it opens up.
A soldier stands before us, a man of the Nameless. Behind, many others gather, all looking to the entrance, all dressed in their armour and armed with all manner of weaponry. Upon seeing Zander, they relax a little, and the dozens of raised weapons fall.
“Zander, you’re back,” says the guard who gives entry.
My brother steps right in. I follow beyond, with Adryan to my side. All interest passes from Zander to us, to the two who failed at their mission to end Cromwell’s reign, to put Burns into power.
Do they hate me for that? Are they angry about that?
I can’t tell. I might be able were I to look into their eyes and see their minds. But I don’t. I don’t want to lock eyes with anyone.
Zander looks around at the assembly. The gathering is far greater than what I saw when I first came here. Then, perhaps a dozen or so soldiers littered the main interior of the church. Now, there looks to be over a hundred of them, no space going to waste in the once holy space.
“Is she here?” asks Zander, looking to the guard.
He nods.
“She expected you back yesterday, plus one,” he says, looking at me. “We didn’t expect you to have two companions…”
The manner in which he looks at Adryan – that of suspicion and confusion – suggests he doesn’t know who he is. If he does, then it’s appalling to look upon my husband in such a way.
After all he’s done…
“Plans change,” says Zander. “We were delayed.”
“And the others?”
My brother shakes his head. The guard knows what it means. Dead.
He takes a breath and we begin moving down the centre of the church. Adryan looks about the place with a sprinkle of awe scattered over his eyes. He’ll never have seen a building like this, so old and beautifully built. It’s far from the uniform, grey streets of Inner Haven.
At the back of the church, beyond a stage, we reach a door that links to a short corridor. Beyond, and through another door a half dozen metres further back, Lady Orlando’s private quarters await.
My heart thuds a little harder. There’s a lot I’ve wanted to say to this woman for many, many weeks now. I set myself firm with the idea that I won’t be kept in the dark anymore.
Reaching the first door, the guard opens it up.
“She’s in a frosty mood,” he says. “You know how she gets when you’re out of contact.”
“Thanks, Burton,” says Zander. “Now back to your post.”
The man, much older than my brother, defers to his position. Despite his callow years, Zander’s unique gifts have given rise to a prominent position here among the Nameless. And while he can move at lightning speed, see vast distances, and control people with his mind, the art of leadership is something he’s developed himself.
We move through the door and shut it behind us. I find myself looking to Adryan and whispering: “Have you met her in person before?”
He shakes his head.
I wonder how he feels, after being abandoned by her. And I wonder, too, just where they’re keeping Agent Woolf, the woman who foiled all our plans.
In a tiny cell, locked in a stress position, starved and preferably beaten…
I dismiss the hateful woman from my mind, prone as she is to draw in hateful thoughts, and fill my lungs with a steadying breath as Zander knocks at the second door.
A croaky voice calls us in.
The door opens. Zander steps in first. Ahead of him, sitting by the fire in an old wooden chair, I see Lady Orlando. A woman I now know to be called Cornelia. A woman I know to be a Savant, a former member of the High Tower, known to Artemis Cromwell.
She sits, her back slightly bent, her frame even more withered than when I first saw her. She appears ancient, and yet her neck swivels at speed to guide her eyes to the door at our arrival. From narrow slits, those greying eyes look upon Zander first, then me, and finally Adryan.
She peruses us with the calm authority that all Savants possess. Yet there’s more to her, like there is with Adryan.
&
nbsp; More in her eyes.
More in her face.
More life to the lines that wrinkle her skin, that morph and move to display the relief upon seeing us.
“Zander…” she whispers.
He moves quickly towards her before she can get up. She does so anyway, and he quickly takes her hand and performs a little bow.
“I’m sorry for taking so long,” he says. “It wasn’t my intention.”
“It’s OK. I’m just happy you’re safe.”
Her eyes swerve past his shoulder to me. Her relief at seeing me seems to expand. Then, she looks upon Adryan once more. I turn to him and see him staring right at her. There’s no anger to his expression. I see only respect.
“Lady Orlando,” he says, stepping straight past me. He joins Zander in front of her, yet keeps a reverent pace back. His heads bows too. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”
She stretches out her hand and strokes his face, drawing him in.
“My dear boy, the pleasure is mine,” she croaks, delivering a smile. “I am so sorry for what happened.”
“No, my Lady,” says Adryan. “You did the right thing. I knew the risks. I was willing to die for this cause.”
I remain in the doorway, quite astonished by Adryan’s sense of duty. And, I can’t deny, disappointed to hear that he seems so happy to part this world. To leave us to fight.
To leave me.
“Brie…”
I lift my eyes. I didn’t even realise they’d dropped to the floor. Between the two young men, a gap opens up. Lady Orlando steps through it towards me.
“My dearest girl,” she continues. “I’m so happy to see you here, see you safe.”
She reaches me and draws me into a hug. It feels unnatural to me. Perhaps not on her part, but mine.
Is she happy to see me? Is she really? Does she truly understand what happiness is?
I stay silent.
Releasing me, she examines my face as if looking at an old friend. Then she swings her eyes back to Zander and Adryan.
“You’re all here,” she says. “It’s wonderful. Zander, pour some drinks.”
Her cranky mood appears to have abated. Yet I can’t get past the falseness of it. I can’t tell whether she really cares or not. Whether she really cares about any of us, even the boy she raised, now pouring four glasses of whiskey.
Still, in the back of my head, the word ‘Savant’ raises a flag. I can’t help it, even if Adryan is one himself. I consider him to be different, unique in his own way. Broken from the terrible spell that embraces all the rest of them.
Is she the same? Or is she just another of the many, putting on the right face, making all the right noises.
I guess I don’t know her well enough to answer that. All I know is what I’ve seen and heard. And I’m still yet to be convinced.
Zander passes out glasses of whiskey. My mind immediately turns to my guardian, to Mrs Carmichael, to Tess and the academy. I’ve had little time to consider them these last few days. But now, back here, with the tunnel back into the city so close, my mind brings them all to the fore once again.
And as we clink glasses, and Lady Orlando says a little toast to see us all safe, I know that I won’t be able to rest here. That, until all those I care about are safe, I’ll never find any sort of peace.
26
We sip the whiskey as one. That typical burning roasts my throat. Adryan coughs, not used to it. Wine, maybe, but not this stuff.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” says Lady Orlando. “Stocks are starting to run low right now.”
As far as I’m concerned, the whiskey running out is the least of our problems. Mrs Carmichael probably isn’t thinking the same way.
There’s a strange cocktail of emotions bubbling about. Zander’s relieved to be back. Adryan’s still bowed by reverence in the presence of Lady Orlando. The Lady herself continues to thaw, happy, as she says, to have us all here.
And me? Well, I still haven’t spoken since I entered the room, afraid that I might put a foot out of place. There’s a lot I want to say. I just can’t think of a way to say it.
Mercifully, the silence is ended by Zander’s explanation of what happened, including our very recent run-in with Rhoth. He isn’t afraid to point out that our fetching of Adryan was very much my idea.
“I don’t blame you,” says Lady Orlando to me. “I suppose I didn’t give you much choice.”
The elephant in the room is awoken. I speak for the first time.
“No…you didn’t.”
“I apologise for that, Brie. But, Adryan will have told you the arrangement. Your feelings, however strong for him, can’t get in the way.”
“She’s right, Brie,” says Adryan, backing her up. “I knew what might happen. I never expected to be freed.” He reaches across and takes my hand, gently grasping my fingers within his. “But…thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” I say with a small, abashed smile. “It’s Zander who got us out.”
All eyes turn to my brother, so often the saviour. It’s a part he plays with grace. He doesn’t bask in the admiration.
“You deserved it, Adryan,” he admits, despite not wishing to put us in such peril. “You’ve been important for us, and for my sister. Let’s put it all behind us and look forward.”
We all agree in silence. Our minds turn from the past and to the future, still so uncertain.
“You appear to be mobilising,” says Adryan nodding towards the door and the many soldiers beyond it. “Do you have some plan of attack?”
“Plans are still being formulated,” says Zander. “Brie’s assassination attempt was plan A. We have been working on plan B.”
“And I guess that doesn’t involve such subterfuge?” I question. “I mean, more of a straight out attack, right?”
“Correct,” says Zander. “Cromwell is now well aware of our designs for him, and we’ve lost the advantage of surprise. However, he doesn’t know about Commander Burns. At least, we hope he doesn’t.”
“Commander Burns?” questions Adryan.
Zander looks to me.
“He doesn’t know yet,” I say.
“Know…what?” asks Adryan. Then, his sharp mind kicks in, along with a frown. “Burns is your man on the inside?” he asks. “The man to supplant Director Cromwell?”
“Yes,” says Zander. “We didn’t tell you before in case you were taken and your mind examined. It turns out, that was the prudent move.”
Adryan nods his agreement.
“And, I assume that’s why Commander Fenby needed to be eliminated? To open up a slot in the Consortium for Burns to step into?”
Zander nods again.
“Smart,” says Adryan. “It’s common for the Commanders of the City Guard to assume the Director’s chair when it becomes available. But…why would you expect Burns to be promoted after such a short stint in the Consortium? Fenby had been there for years, and was clearly next in line. But Burns?”
It’s time for Lady Orlando to speak. We all drop our eyes to her wizened old face.
“Leyton Burns is a very gifted Mind-Manipulator, Adryan. His time as Deputy Commander afforded him a unique position where he could seed his control over the Consortium in a very subtle manner. He’s done so very slowly, over many years. Should Cromwell have been killed, he would have assumed the chair. All the pieces were in place.”
“So now what?” I ask, diverting attention from my failure. “Are you still trying to kill him?”
“Of course. As long as he’s alive, we’re not safe.”
“And this isn’t something that Commander Burns can do himself?” questions Adryan.
“It wouldn’t be prudent for the new Director to have seen to the death of his predecessor,” says Lady Orlando bluntly. “I know just what you’re thinking Adryan – that Leyton could utilise his position, and gifts, to see to Cromwell’s end. However, it’s not as simple as that.”
“He said that to me,” I
say. “He said that it would always come back to him.”
“And he’s right. It’s too much of a risk. We are considering all possible avenues, but unless Artemis puts himself into a position where we can get to him directly, I’m not sure that Leyton can help from where he is. Even his mental manipulations might be tracked should he mess with the wrong person.”
It’s not surprising. The opportunity I had to take him out was like a blue rose, never to be rediscovered. I had my chance and failed to take it. Now, his defences are up, and he’s become a far more potent adversary.
“You have to stop blaming yourself, sis.”
I turn to Zander. Even without looking into my eyes, he’s read me, knows just what I’m thinking.
“I’m not…”
“You can’t fool me,” smiles my brother. “You did everything you could. We’ll find another way, don’t worry.”
I get further words of support from Lady Orlando.
“Brie, my child,” she whispers. “You did wonderfully.”
“But it wasn’t enough,” I drone.
“No…and for that I blame myself. I set you this task, and I take the blame for its failure. I should have seen all ends. I should have seen Agent Woolf coming. I should have figured it out, but I didn’t. But we move on. Failure is nothing but a speed bump to success. We will be victorious, dearest Brie. We will, I assure you.”
Her words help to take some weight off me. I hoover a breath into my lungs and quickly blow it out, exorcising myself off the shame of my failure.
“Good,” says Lady Orlando, sliding her index finger down my chin. “Now keep that up, all the way up. Seeing you all here is a great victory. Artemis will not be happy about that. He’s lost you, Brie, his prize. And he’s been denied the chance of seeing Adryan punished. If he feels any emotion, and I know he does despite what he says, then it’s anger and disappointment. They will be strong in him right now.”
She smiles a natural smile, and the same is drawn up my face. The idea of Cromwell, stewing over our escape, is a rather appealing one for us both.
