The Trophy Chase Saga

by George Bryan Polivka

  Packer stared at her a long while, trying to piece it all together. And then the full weight of Talon’s involvement, all this time, behind the war with the Drammune hit home. One more reality. “You knew I would come. You brought me here.”

  “Yes,” she said simply. “Packer Throme has been summoned to Drammun to teach Talon the ways of the Firefish.”

  Packer closed his eyes and shook his head. All those miracles. The wind with the Achawuk. The battle with the Firefish. The victory on the Green. The ascension to the throne. The prayer at Varlotsville. All of those led, somehow, back to Talon. All the good he’d seen, all that God had done…all the while, Talon had stood across the sea, scheming, reeling him back toward her. Twisting everything to her own ends. It was as though every miracle he’d seen was also part of her dark magic, as though the flip side of every gleaming act of God was the shadowy will of evil. It was almost enough to make him doubt the goodness of God. It was certainly enough to deflate him, and to make him feel smaller and more helpless than he had felt in a long, long while. And the last time he had felt this helpless? The last time he had stood before Talon. And yet, when he was helpless, that was when God seemed to work most powerfully.

  He handed the sword back to Delaney.

  She saw the act, and did not miss its meaning.

  Packer looked at her again. His voice when he spoke was quieter, rasping a bit with the emotion he felt, but more serene. “How did you survive? You fell through the ship’s floor and into the fire.”

  She shrugged. “The cabin into which I fell was not aflame. But I perceive the question in your heart is not how, but why. Why did I live?”

  Packer said nothing.

  “Perhaps it is because your God had other plans for me. And for you. Perhaps, this moment is a part of those plans.”

  Her voice was almost gentle. Her eyes sincere. But Packer had no trust in her. “Don’t talk to me of God,” Packer said ominously, remembering all her mocking words, all her contempt for the weakness of the Son of God, the weakness of His followers. “Don’t speak of Him unless you can do it with respect.”

  Talon looked him in the eye. “But I have learned a great deal about your God since last we met.”

  The silence grew thick as the two stared at one another, Packer trying to see into her motives without being deceived, Talon wanting to convince him she was in earnest, and to hide away anything that would cause him to doubt.

  Finally, Talon looked away, studied Bran Mooring for a moment, and then Delaney, whose dark look still spoke of death. She walked past them both and descended the stair to the lower level. The three men looked at one another, unable to find words.

  “I must speak to her,” Packer said at last. “It’s why I came.” He held out some hope that one of them would try to talk him out of it.

  Neither did. “I’ll go with ye,” Delaney offered.

  “No. Thanks, but this is my task.”

  “Watch her,” Delaney warned. “I’ll wager she didn’t get to be Hezzan by askin’ real nice.”

  “I know what she is,” Packer said. But he didn’t feel certain. He hoped she had in fact been transformed somehow. But he dreaded hearing her claim to have found truth, to be a changed woman. How could he ever believe her? “This isn’t about swordplay anymore,” he told Delaney, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  Packer looked at the priest, then looked to where Talon had disappeared down the stair. “I don’t think you can help much either, Father.”

  “I can watch and pray,” Bran said, understanding Packer’s thoughts.

  “Thank you.” But Packer recognized the reference, and it was not comforting. It was what Jesus asked the disciples to do, just before He was crucified.

  CHAPTER 14

  The Queen

  Like Packer, Panna could not abide the idea of summoning anyone to see her while she sat elevated in regal splendor on King Reynard’s elaborate, and far too large, throne. Crowns and scepters seemed to her an absurdly ostentatious show, a flaunting of power that couldn’t possibly help her accomplish any good end. But she was sorely tempted now. Harlowen “Hap” Stanson had asked to see her. She wanted to speak to him, but she wanted that conversation to happen in some context other than a charitable visit to a wounded man’s bedside. She needed him to understand that she was not playacting. He must be made to understand that Queen’s Day had come to stay.

  She decided on a State dinner. She realized, as she worked through the details of the invitations and the seating arrangements, that she was beginning to think like a politician. She didn’t like the feeling. She would rather talk to people casually, make them comfortable over coffee or a simple lunch. But Hap was a powerful and dangerous man, and he was far too slippery. She needed to speak to him where the lights were bright and there were no dark corners into which he could retreat, where his every statement would be known to all.

  The topic of the dinner would be this: the deployment of the Fleet. He had sent her a strongly worded message, and she had read it several times over the course of several days. She could not tell if he really believed it, or if it was another ruse of some sort. But the subject was certainly worthy of discussion, and worthy of advice from all her counselors. The message read:

  The kingdom is in grave danger. Bravely or foolishly, your husband has sailed away into the heart of Drammun. While we may hope and pray otherwise, we must assume that once the Hezzan knows all we know of Firefish he will return to our shores in force. We have a limited army, a joke for a navy, and we have sold all our impenetrable armor to the Drammune. But what we do have, Panna Throme, are Firefish. Not live ones to sic on our enemies, perhaps, but dead ones to use for armor. We have the ships to hunt them. We have the lures to kill them. We have the knowledge and the ability to process the beasts after we kill them. And while we may have no Navy, we do have a Fleet, one like none other on earth. Perhaps our sailors cannot shoot cannon, but they can certainly kill Firefish. You must refit our ships, and send them. Our Fleet must bring home Firefish flesh, skin, and scales if we are to have any hope of survival. We must use the time we’ve been given, time granted to us by God, through the wisdom and sacrifice of your husband. I pray you will take this advice to heart. I request an audience to discuss it in detail.

  Yours Most Sincerely,

  Hap

  Hap would sit at her right hand, in the place of honor. Ward Sennett would be seated to her left. He had been acting erratic lately, as though burdened with some secret he couldn’t, or more likely wouldn’t, tell. She assumed it was that he was drinking again, though frankly it wasn’t much of a secret. General Mack Millian would sit opposite her, at the foot of the table, with Zander Jameson to his left. Her nation’s oldest and youngest generals, both of whom had been unfailingly upright, honest, supportive, and wise, would be a tremendous help. To Millian’s right would sit the new Admiral of the Fleet, Moore Davies. It would be his first foray into diplomacy. Rounding out the guest list would be Dog Blestoe. A representative of the people would always have a place at her table.

  Panna planned everything carefully, from the initial soup course to the walnuts that would accompany the port and cheese after dessert. When the night came, she was ready. The dining room was prepared. It was all white linen and crystal. It was a State dinner; it was what royals do.

  But, as it turned out, it wasn’t quite the success Queen Panna had hoped for.

  Talon stood at the rail, looking out over the city, out onto the docks. “My reign is at an end,” she said.

  Packer looked at her with a furrowed brow, but she did not turn to look at him.

  “You see those soldiers in the streets, coming toward us?”

  Packer looked, saw darkness filling the streets far away. If he squinted, he could imagine they were Drammune soldiers marching in columns. “Yes.”

  “They come from the docks. From the Armada. I ordered them to stay. But my enemies have turned them against me. They are coming for me.”

&nb
sp; He looked at her again. She seemed saddened, but not surprised. Nor was she angry, nor impassioned. “What happened?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I am a woman, and I took the crown my husband left behind when he died.”

  Packer hesitated. He couldn’t help thinking of Panna, left behind now as well.

  “I have made many enemies.” Now she looked at Packer. “I suppose you are beloved by your people.”

  “Well. Not all of them.”

  She knew she was right. “I have killed my enemies, and now they will kill me. If they can.” She watched his eyes, saw the brief flash of emotion. He was transparent as glass. “Your God demands sacrifice.” She looked out over the streets again. “But not like the pagan gods of old. Those gods wanted goats or lambs or chickens, or the occasional virgin. Your God is greedier by far. He wants to swallow His followers whole. He wants their children, their titles, their lands. Their entire dominion.”

  Packer watched as the legions slowly approached the palace. He could tell now that these were indeed troops. “Yes,” he had to agree. “But it’s all His in the end, anyway. And He doesn’t demand it for His own gain, but for ours.”

  She shook her head. That made no sense. But she was not here to argue with him. “And you have offered Him such sacrifices.”

  “I have tried.”

  “No, you have done it. You have given yourself up to Him, without reservation. This is the source of your strength.”

  Packer was uncomfortable leaving it there. “I have done that,” he admitted, “but as for strength…I don’t feel much of it very often.”

  “No, but your strength comes in the offering.”

  She did not look at him, but he searched her eyes, her face. Somehow he saw no coldness there now. She didn’t have it right, but she was so close. “Talon.”

  Now she looked at him.

  He searched her. “Do you believe? Do you believe in God?”

  She searched him. “Do you command the Firefish?”

  Packer’s heart sank. He dropped his eyes. He had already thought through all the possible results an honest answer to that question might bring him once he faced the Hezzan. None of those imagined results were good. But he had come all this way, through all these trials, and God had put him here to bring the truth to the Drammune. And now here he was, speaking to the Hezzan. It wasn’t how he’d imagined it, but here was his answer to prayer. He had no choice but to keep speaking the truth.

  “Only God can command the Firefish.”

  She thought a long while, then she asked, “And did your God command the Firefish…to obey you?”

  There was only one truthful answer. So he said it. “Yes. I believe He did.”

  “And you sent it to destroy the Nochto Vare.”

  “I gestured. And it went.”

  She was silent, remembering the beast’s yellow eyes. The one she had killed was certainly intelligent enough to understand a command. But that one was a killer. What had Packer Throme done to align such a thing with his own will? The idea that such a thing could be tamed now seemed stunning. If a beast like that could change its nature…

  “Talon, if you were to make that offering—”

  She turned on him. “Your God cannot be trusted! He killed His only child. Why should He not torture and kill my child, when He will gladly do so with His own?”

  Packer didn’t know what had just happened. But behind Talon’s anger he now saw pain. It was the same look of desperation he had seen on the Camadan as she fell through the flames. She wanted to reach out, but instead backed away. “Talon, His nature is always to…” Then he stopped. “Wait, did you say your child?”

  She put a hand to her belly. Then she turned again to look out over her city, at the soldiers, still approaching, coming closer and closer. Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. “I carry the child of the Hezzan.”

  “Oh, Lord.” He felt his head buzz. He realized now that he had assumed she had killed her way to the top. He had just assumed she had married for power, and…well, people near to Talon had a way of dying. But her position had come to her much like Panna’s would if something happened to him. He looked down to the streets again, at the troops approaching, and suddenly he felt a need to protect Talon. Which he recognized to be quite absurd, but there it was. “What…what are you going to do?”

  “I should ask you the same, King Packer of Nearing Vast, since those troops also come for you.”

  “For me?” Packer asked, newly alarmed.

  “But of course. The men who seek my life are mad for war with your nation. When they succeed in taking my throne, they will undo our alliance without a thought. And they will have the King of the Vast as their captive.”

  Packer took a deep breath. He could hear the troops in the streets now, their hobnail sandals striking the stones in unison, like a distant snare drum. “So…what now?” He couldn’t believe she was just going to let this happen.

  “Come with me,” she said, and turned away from the porch railing.

  “You have a plan?”

  She laughed once. “Of course I have a plan.”

  For the first time since he’d heard her name spoken in a hoarse whisper over a mug of ale in a pub in Mann…what seemed like eons ago…and in spite of all the events in which she had played a role since, all of which argued fiercely to the contrary, Packer Throme found himself relieved to know that Talon was plotting something, and that he was a part of it.

  “The Fleet is a key part of the military apparatus of the Kingdom of Nearing Vast,” General Millian pointed out. “It must be drilled, schooled, and focused on warfare if it is to become a fighting force. Returning those ships to their merchant past, sending them to hunt Firefish, would mean we once again have no Fleet at all.”

  “We have no Fleet now,” Moore Davies conceded, settling his spoon into his soup. “They certainly can’t fight. I’m not sure they can hunt, either, but I can promise you they will hunt better than they fight.”

  “And so you suggest taking a Fleet that can’t fight into Achawuk waters?”

  “And you suggest taking a Fleet that can’t fight to war. We know how to prepare for the Achawuk. They have primitive weapons, and are unaccustomed to dealing with large numbers of ships. We just need numbers. And we do know how to take a Firefish.”

  “Then how do we shore up our defenses?” returned Millian. “We are vulnerable here in Mann.”

  “What’s the point of shoring up defenses that won’t hold regardless?” Jameson interjected. “I say send the Fleet to Drammun.”

  All eyes turned to him, all spoons stopped moving. “To Hezarow Kyne?” Millian asked. “Why on earth would we want to tempt those fates again?”

  Jameson shrugged. “Because the Drammune don’t expect it. And if things go poorly for our king, we’ll have help at the ready. If things go well, it won’t matter where the Fleet is sent. But at least there, we’ll be able to learn the outcome of the king’s efforts and take some reasonable action.”

  “Reasonable action?” Davies asked glumly. “You don’t know our Fleet.”

  “Well, it’s the first thing I’ve heard that makes any sense,” Dog offered, holding his soup spoon upright in his big fist. He stared at the tablecloth, a scowl on his face. He had been listening, unwilling to interject an opinion among such an august group. But finally he couldn’t help himself. He caught Panna’s eye, and she nodded, just the trace of permission he needed. He sniffed. “I say take the cork to where the bottle is.” Cream chowder dripped from his spoon onto his fist, and he licked it off. As he did, more dripped onto his shirt front.

  There was a pause, as all considered the man and his words. And his manners.

  “Father Stanson, you haven’t said anything yet,” Panna interjected, drawing eyes to the sunny visage of the high holy one seated to her right. “I know you have an opinion in this matter.”

  “I do,” he said. “And I am grateful to be asked to this table that I might share it.�
�

  Panna managed not to roll her eyes. “Please do.”

  At that moment the wine steward leaned in at the Supreme Elder’s right hand, and he nodded appreciatively. The red liquid pinged perfectly as it poured into the pure crystal of the glass. Stanson swirled the wine, admiring it. But he didn’t drink. He held it before him, resting it near his chest as he spoke. His left arm was in a sling, but his head was no longer bandaged, though a yellow-and-purple bruise was visible around his temple. However, his wavy locks covered the scab nicely. “I am a peaceful man, schooled in peacemaking and not in war. War is about dominance, and dominance is about power. The Church operates, as you know, on a very different set of principles in that regard.”

  Panna glanced around the table, but got the distinct impression that all these men believed him. All but perhaps Ward, who watched through narrowed and distant eyes. He had a look about him that seemed almost cunning. Satisfied, in some dark way. It was not a look she was accustomed to seeing him wear, and it was not one she liked.

  “First,” Hap continued, “from a spiritual perspective, I must observe that this war was never about which nation is stronger, but which is more Worthy. The Drammune lay claim to that title, of course, and have their own godless definition of it. But in the eyes of the Lord, worthiness is found in righteousness, which we may define as fearlessness, faith, and forgiveness. I would like to suggest that all three of those qualities may be proven by sending the Fleet to the Achawuk territory. Let’s look at them one at a time.” He touched his right forefinger with his thumb. “Fearlessness…I don’t believe I need comment on that. It will take brave souls to sail into Achawuk territory, where the only knowns are also deadly perils.”