by Jeff Kish
Ospif glances to Era. “Yes, this one seems like a keeper.”
She steps in front of him and barks, “Okay, first order of business is to trim the fat off this operation. The royal pain can get lost.”
“I will gladly part ways with this sorry lot once you take me home.”
“And as for the old man,” she says, turning to him but losing her train of thought as she scans him over. “What’s your story, anyway?”
Having observed the show from his spot on the ground, Kama now stands and dusts himself off. He extends a hand and warmly says, “My name is Kama. What a privilege it is to make the acquaintance of such a strong-willed maiden.”
“Be careful, Kama. Fire bites,” Jem warns.
However, Fire simply studies Kama with a mix of curiosity and confusion. “Still waiting for your story,” she reminds him.
“Ah, yes. Your brave friends saved me from a bandit raid, and I have accepted their offer for mutual travel and protection,” he explains. “However, if my company in any way endangers you, then I shall make haste for another path. Jeopardizing my saviors is the least of my desires.”
Something about the stranger’s demeanor softens Fire’s cold exterior. She looks to Era and says, “He can stay.”
“Really?” Era replies, somewhat stunned. “What about Ospif?”
“If his presence irritates Fire, he’s most welcome to stick around,” Jem says.
“Such is my role in this group?” Ospif bemoans.
“No, he’s definitely out,” Fire maintains, her hand already moving to her dagger. “That’s one I’m willing to fight for.”
“Dear, no,” Kama interjects, “if anyone is to be abandoned, it must be me. Please don’t accept my presence while rejecting our young student, here.”
Fire’s eyes narrow to slits until, uncharacteristically, she backs down. “We need to stay off the roads,” she declares. Looking specifically at Jem, she asks, “Just how many times have I told you that, anyway? You have an inability to learn.”
Jem shrugs. “You’re the one who keeps expecting us to listen. I’d say that makes you the slow learner.” As she packs her things, she snidely says, “I’ll be sure to savor your pleasant company, however long it lasts until your agenda needs to come first again.”
Era offers Fire her bag and says, “I’ve been keeping this for you.”
She waves her hand and says, “Keep it, I’m traveling light. I take it the contents came in handy?”
“Sure,” Jem says before Era can answer. “If not for the betrayal and abandonment, I’d call it a generous gift.”
“Didn’t I say to get over that?” Fire retorts.
Era lifts the bag to his shoulder. “Pretty difficult to carry a satchel with one arm. Terrible parting gift, if you ask me.” His pitiful attempt at humor seems to trigger the group to travel in an extended silence, and he finds himself grateful for that. As Jem leads with a gait reflective of her livid emotional state, Era offers a subtle glance to Fire, walking briskly by his side, and he can’t help a smile. He really is relieved to have her back.
* * *
Commander Talkem cautiously approaches the designated rendezvous point, surveying his surroundings with each step. The morning air is crisp, and the branches are decorated with colorful birds calling to one another amidst the departing fog. His boots drenched with dew, Talkem pushes through the foliage and arrives at the edge of the hidden prairie he uses for meetings with his market allies.
The deserted clearing fills him with dread. Despite protocol dictating that all parties remain hidden, he had expected and even hoped to find his men openly celebrating their victory, but he is instead met with a cold stillness. He whistles twice, both to alert the other party to his presence as well as to send a signal to his accompanying backup forces who trail him. In response, a figure reveals herself from behind a far tree, but it is not one of his allies. Commander Marmela walks toward him, alone and expressionless.
Talkem’s eyes narrow to slits as a river of thoughts floods through his mind. Though he first assumes she must have followed him, he quickly comes to accept that this is her trap. He always knew the observant commander had her keen eye on his activities, and yet he evidently underestimated her.
Undaunted and unassuming, she stops short of her peer and plants her hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword. “Commander Talkem, you are under arrest for conspiring against the crown. You will be stripped of your rank, interrogated, and executed for your crimes. Disarm yourself.”
Talkem glances around the sizable clearing, waiting for her backup to reveal itself. He knows she cannot be alone, but he also cannot risk bringing his own backup forces into the fray too early. He places a hand in the air and says, “Commander Marmela, how good to see you here. What’s all this you say about a conspiracy? I surely have no idea what you could mean.”
Finally revealing some emotion, Marmela appears relieved. “I had wanted to doubt my own conclusions, but your presence here is proof of your willful effort to secure a runic for your own devices. Please do yourself the dignity of surrendering.”
Talkem raises an eyebrow. “My, Commander Marmela, you’re not messing around. I suppose I should not insult you with rehearsed denial.” Unsheathing his sword, he twists it such that the sunlight glistens off the surrounding foliage. “Tell me why I should surrender. How many soldiers did you bring to back yourself up?”
“One,” she answers.
“One soldier?” he scoffs. “You are perhaps the craftiest of the four commanders. Talented enough to decode my cipher, and shrewd enough to arrange for this little meeting. So, please, if I’m being so honest with you, you could at least do me the courtesy of reciprocating.”
“I only brought one,” she insists. “We are enough to defeat you and your hired help.”
He raises an eyebrow, knowing Marmela would not have underestimated his capabilities. Reasoning her backup is her own lieutenant commander, he prepares to initiate a skirmish he believes he will win. Planting his fingers in his mouth, he whistles three times loudly before aiming his palm at Marmela. “Commander, I have always considered you a thorn in my side, yet I assure you that I had hoped to avoid killing a fellow officer. My apologies.”
“None taken,” she quietly replies as she steps backward, increasing the space between them.
Puzzled, he studies her movements while waiting for his backup to emerge. However, several moments pass without so much as a rustle of leaves. He whistles loudly again before, in wonderment, he asks, “You’ve already dispatched my forces?” With sudden understanding, he swings around with his palm spread, but there is no one behind him. When he glances back to Marmela, she wryly points skyward, and his eyes locate the petite soldier planted on an invisible perch above him.
“Hi,” Di calls with a wave. “I already knocked out your five friends. Care to give up now?”
Talkem’s spirit sinks. He knows the runic trumps anything he could do, and he tosses his sword aside. “I surrender,” he says, and he holds his hands outward, his palms facing the ground.
Di lands next to the defeated conspirator and happily slaps a set of specialized cuffs over his hands. Made from obelite, the runes are etched with a myriad of markings, not the least of which are dozens of capacity symbols, and Talkem offers Marmela a wry smile. “You’ve certainly thought of everything, haven’t you, Commander?”
As Di prods him back into the woods, Marmela whispers to herself, “I certainly hope so.”
Chapter 16
Graff barges into the strategy room where three of his commanders await him, no one daring to sit with the weight of the news. The general slams the door and points directly at Marmela. “You had better be right about this, Commander. Do you realize the chaos you’ve injected into our ranks? Treason from a commander does not fall solely on him, but on me as well. My standing will suffer greatly from this accusation.” He slams his fist on the table and bellows, “Galen, Fayna, did you know anything of this
?”
Fayna shakes his head vigorously, and Galen says, “I was not aware of this, sir.”
“I left them in the dark,” Marmela asserts as all eyes fall on her. “As you say, General, this has resulted in chaos that will temporarily weaken our command structure. I wanted to verify for myself that Commander Talkem was acting in a traitorous manner before bringing an accusation forward. I acted alone.”
Graff scowls. “You did not act alone, Commander. You stole royal property for this personal quest of yours by including Diamond without so much as a consultation from me. You also repeatedly filed a false record of your whereabouts while you brashly pursued this.”
She bows her head in submission. “I acted with full awareness of my violations. I accept full responsibility.”
“Are you aware of what that responsibility could entail?” Graff asks. “I could strip you of your rank for what you did.”
“I would gladly sacrifice my rank if it meant a more secure Valvoren,” she replies. “Thayo had designs on the earth-shaping runic, and his alliance with Angal Rohe could have plunged us into a civil war.”
“That’s speculation,” Graff barks. “We need proof.”
“I cannot prove the commander’s ultimate intentions,” she admits, “but I have provided the proof that he was acting to secure the runic for himself.”
The comment seems to placate the furious general. “So it seems. Our encryption analysts are applying your cipher to the record of all messages sent and received by the commander over the past month. We’ll know soon enough if your accusation holds any weight.”
“And sir, if I may suggest,” she adds, “we must keep a tight watch on the commander. We do not know the extent of his connections. He surely has allies among our own ranks.”
“Noted,” he says. “Now I must go answer to His Majesty as to how this happened under my watch. You three will stay in this room until I return.” With that, he slams the door behind himself.
The three commanders stand in awkward silence until Fayna lets out an exacerbated groan. “To think that, a month ago, the Allerians were our only concern.”
As the brash officer takes a seat, Galen looks to Marmela, a question burning in his mind. “Marmela, how did you know?”
She meets him with a hint of surprise. “Did you really not have your own suspicions, Nayl?”
“Talkem has dubious resources, but…” He slams the table in frustration. “He has always appeared loyal to the crown. I never saw any action to the contrary. He played me for a fool.”
“Until the runic was discovered, I don’t believe he committed a single treasonous act,” Marmela informs him. “I believe his original desire was to honorably retire from the military with strong connections on both sides of the fence.”
“So why now?” Galen asks. “Why ally with Rohe? Why risk everything he’s established just to have ownership of a single runic?”
“Firstly, we must not underestimate runic ownership,” Marmela warns. “The balance of power within this nation has shifted drastically with each runic discovery. Thayo’s old goals could not be achieved with the runics exclusively within the military’s control. Perhaps this is why he shared Angal’s response to their existence. Both sacrificed much to achieve the power.”
Fayna waves his hand in disagreement. “You’re giving him too much credit. Talkem values control above everything else, just like the old man values power. He wanted to experience the power Graff is hoarding just so he could stay relevant.”
“Commander Talkem seeks power, yes,” Marmela says, “but he is cunning, and he plans well into the future. When he and his allies were powerless to stand against the throne, he had no intention of making a major move. The runics changed the nature of that relationship. I fear he may have had revolution on his mind.”
Galen scowls, lamenting his ignorance to all this. “And what happens if the analysts proclaim his innocence?”
“That is not a concern,” she says, her voice growing quiet. “My fear is what Thayo and his allies will do when they proclaim him guilty.”
* * *
Graff stretches to his full height upon entering the outer chamber lodged between the throne and meeting rooms. He gives a salute to Captain Larimar before his eyes meet those of Meskel Reece, the king’s foreign minister, chatting nearby with his glasses-wearing deputy, Kress. Kress takes her leave, and Reece wanders toward Graff. “General,” he calls with false camaraderie, “so good to see you.”
“And you,” the general lies, unable to hide his ire at the very existence of such a position among the king’s advisors. Reece is the same age as Haran, having long been seen as a friend and confidant by the king. His short, dark hair have yet to show signs of graying, and he isn’t afraid to boast the formal attire of a minister. The navy blue, felt robe bears purple stripes and flows elegantly as he moves. Graff cannot remember the last time he himself donned the apparel, instead preferring his military uniform for matters of pageantry.
“Are you here to see His Majesty?” asks Reece before his lips crack in amusement. “Ah, yes, you must be here about your commander. Such an ugly situation for you to deal with, seeing as his actions reflect on the entire military.”
“His actions speak only on behalf of the guilty,” Graff contends. “Worry yourself not, Minister Reece. We have eradicated the treacherous from among our ranks in response to this insult.”
“Splendid. I hope His Majesty agrees,” he quips. “By the way, Her Majesty the Queen just entered the meeting hall not long ago. I do not know her business.”
“Thank you for making me aware,” Graff says.
With that, Reece departs, and the general can only be surprised that the disdainful comments were as brief as they were. Their relationship has never been one of respect, as Graff has long suspected that Reece is positioning himself as the next general of the military, a scenario which has become complicated by the discovery of the runics. Still, Reece is a minor inconvenience compared to the matter of Talkem’s betrayal.
The meeting room doors are opened. Graff steps reluctantly into the tapestry-adorned chamber, and he enters to an argument occurring at the other end of the hall. The king and queen are bickering with one another, and the general clears his throat to alert them to his presence. Startled, the queen shoots a nasty glare to her husband before hurrying past the general and withdrawing from the room.
The general pretends to ignore the spat and bows to one knee. “Your Majesty, I have come per your summons.”
King Haran leans back in his chair, rubbing his temple. “I am in love with my bride,” he says, “but she can be as stubborn as an ice mule. She needs to know that some matters simply do not involve her.”
“She loves the king just as he loves her. She means well.”
Haran gestures for him to rise. “You know as well as I that the distractions from this whole heir predicament are ill-timed. The stress of dealing with that on top of runics, the guild, Allerian border movements…” Stone-faced, he adds, “And now we must deal with the collapse of your ranks.”
“My ranks have not collapsed,” Graff asserts.
“The entire palace is abuzz about the fact that one of your four commanders is sitting in a prison cell,” he contends. “The whispers are that of treason! Why have I received no appraisal of the situation?”
Graff maintains a calm façade to cover his rage over Marmela’s independently-taken initiative. “Your Highness, Commander Talkem is imprisoned due to a pending investigation, and our analysts are tirelessly working to validate the evidence to the accusation,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “My desire is to discover the truth of the matter, at which point you’ll receive my full report.”
“What is the accusation?”
Though reluctant, Graff admits, “It is as you have heard, sire. The commander may have been leveraging Merc Market resources to secure the last runic for himself. It has also been alleged that he made an alliance with Angal Rohe.”<
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His emotions flaring, Haran stands and paces the chamber. “The runics are too great a temptation,” he declares, “even for you, holding two for yourself may prove to be too much.” He faces his advisor and states, “You know I trust you, General. I place my life in your hands on a daily basis. Yet, for the sake of the kingdom, I must ask you to turn one of your runics over to your most trusted officer. Today.”
Graff knew this order was coming eventually. “Sire, I’m afraid I have unfortunate news. Our informant has again deceived us.”
“How so?”
“I have already attempted to transfer the runics,” he lies. “Despite my best efforts, I’ve had no success. It seems they cannot be transferred as we had originally been told.”
The news rattles Haran. “General, why did you not report this sooner?”
“I apologize, Your Majesty. It’s something we’re continuing to explore, and I-”
“You’re hiding things from me,” the king asserts, “and I’m having a difficult time discerning the truthfulness behind the things you do tell me. This is not a trivial problem.”
The general grits his teeth. “Your Majesty, you need not doubt me. I am fiercely loyal to this great nation.”
“And to the crown?” Haran asks. “What about me, Worren?”
“You know I am loyal to you,” he answers.
“Prove it,” the king says as he leans on one of the meeting tables. “Find a way to transfer control of the runics. It is best for everyone, including yourself, to have them divided. Surely you can agree with that.”
“I do, Your Majesty. If there is a way, we will find it.”
Haran stands tall and says, “Returning to the original reason for this discussion, what of your treasonous commander? Has he intelligence he can provide us?”
“That remains to be seen,” Graff replies. “If he’s guilty, we will interrogate him for everything he knows prior to his execution.”
