Copyright © 2013 Patricia Strebel Mercer
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN-13:978-1490487014
ISBN-10:1490487018
Contact author via website: forestedgebooks.com
Because if the world approves of all that you do,
you’re likely doing something wrong.
MAPS
A pronunciation guide to some of the more
unusual names . . .
Nicko Mal
NEE-koh MAL
Querul
KWER-el
Idumea
i-doo-ME-uh
Hogal Densal
HOE-gal DENS-al
Mahrree Peto
MARR-ee PAY-toh
Cephas Peto
SEE-fus PAY-toh
Hycymum Peto
HIE-si-mum PAY-toh
Jaytsy
JAYT-see
Hierum
HIE-rum
Tuma Hifadhi
TOO-muh hi-FOD-hee
Sonoforen
sun-uv-OR-en
Terryp
TARE-up
Brisack
BRIZ-ak
Gizzada
gi-ZAH-duh
Shem Zenos
Shem ZEE-noss
Qualipoe Hili
KWAL-ee-poe HEE-lee
Hegek
HEG-ik
For background information on all character names and derivations, visit forestedgebooks.com/characters
A brief recap of Book One:
The Forest at the Edge of the World
Captain Shin found much more than he expected at his first command in the small northern village of Edge of the World. Not only did he find Guarders—the mysterious enemy of the world—plotting in the treacherous forests above Edge, but he also found a school teacher plotting so ruthlessly to distract him from his duty that all he could do about it was to marry her.
But Mahrree Peto Shin would tell that story differently.
What she wouldn’t argue with her husband is that Chairman Nicko Mal and the twenty-two Administrators ruling the world from Idumea weren’t as altruistic as they seemed, tightening their hold on the world that was so eager to see the reign of stupid kings come to an end that the citizens eagerly embraced the edicts of their new rulers, when they should have been questioning them instead.
But the Shins have worries closer to home. Soon after their marriage, Captain Perrin Shin faced his first Guarder attack. Breaking the first rule in the High General’s book, he barged into the forbidden forest to find answers about this strange group of people who dress in black, steal their goods, and kill their citizens with no reason or explanation. Perrin didn’t find answers, but more aggravation.
He also unwittingly aggravated Chairman Mal who secretly controls the Guarders to research the animalistic behavior of humans, but more to punish those who speak out against his government. That this arrangement also allows Mal to torment a former arrogant student turned captain in Edge isn’t entirely coincidental.
A warning sent anonymously by Dr. Brisack, Mal’s research partner, told Perrin of a second Guarder raid intended to kill Perrin’s expecting wife Mahrree and their nine-moons-old daughter. To keep that a secret from his wife, Perrin again flouted the laws of the Army of Idumea and spent several cold nights in the snowy forest to wipe out the dozen Guarders sent to destroy his happiness.
But he didn’t know that there were actually fourteen Guarders sent, the last two also failing to take him out, but leaving him with a scarred back and an excuse to fabricate for his wife and his father.
And Perrin also doesn’t know that there were even more men in the forest, and that they also have their eye on the Shin family . . .
Chapter 1 ~ “Deceit, my dear young men, is indeed an art.”
Early in the morning of the 64th Day of Raining Season, 320, Tuma Hifadhi leaned on his cane to watch the young men as they filed before him. Behind the elderly man stood several middle-aged men, their arms folded, watching critically. Last week’s failed raid in the forests above Edge brought everyone out in the snow sooner than they expected.
Things were different now, and the time had come.
Hifadhi evaluated the young men as they lined up in the field covered with new snow, the light of dawn just reaching them. Some of them were as large and strong as draft horses. Others were as quick and sneaky as coyotes. Still others were as quiet and subtle as deer. And each one of them was sharp, clever, and focused.
These ten had been selected out of several dozen, and now each waited patiently for the next stage. The weeding process had been most thorough. Even one of Hifadhi’s grandsons had been rejected, but it wasn’t because of his size or ability; it was because he was married and a father. Whomever Tuma chose would lead a life very different than he had known, and he couldn’t have any ties that might influence him to neglect his duty.
Hifadhi smiled at the confident faces that tried to conceal their apprehension. Some were more successful than others. He looked up and down the line, his gaze pausing for a moment on one young man a little taller and a little broader than the others.
Draft horse.
Hifadhi tried not to say anything with his eyes, but he suspected the young man could read them anyway.
He would be the one.
In some ways it was obvious why. There was no one with a more innocent face than his. His clear sky-blue eyes, smooth chin that would likely never grow a beard, and soft light brown hair created almost a baby-like quality to his face.
But his quick grin and quicker mind were what would secure him the position. His father, Tuma smiled to himself, would forgive him eventually.
Hifadhi cleared his throat to get their attention, but it wasn’t necessary. Each young man was already focused on him.
“Congratulations on making it to this point, men. You are indeed some of the greatest we’ve ever trained. And because of that I promise each of you will have a place to serve.”
The young men smiled and glanced at each other in relief.
“However,” Hifadhi continued, “while we usually assign pairs, considering the nature of the upcoming assignment, it seems most prudent to send in only one man.”
A few of them raised their eyebrows at the unexpected change.
The draft horse with blue eyes, however, didn’t. He already understood.
“Two men going in together may draw too much attention,” Hifadhi explained. “And after what happened—well, things are going to have to be very different. Last week’s incident with the captain and his fourteen attackers was far too deadly. It’s obvious we need eyes on the inside of the fort. Therefore whomever we send needs to be the most capable. He will be responsible for getting as close to Captain Shin as possible. We need to know everything—his strengths, his weaknesses, his goals, his fears, what he loves, and what he hates. Knowing him intimately will allow us to accomplish great things.”
The elderly man slowly paced in front of the ten hopefuls, his shuffling pace causing only a slight build-up of snow in front of his boots. He recalled being one of them, so many decades ago. A part of him wished he were younger so that he could choose himself. Not because he didn’t trust the young men,
but because he hadn’t been on an adventure for so long.
Still . . .
“We can’t risk being exposed,” he reminded them—but mostly himself—unnecessarily. “To do so would destroy everything. It’s a delicate balance we need to establish, and the opportunity of a lifetime. We’ve recently learned that Captain Shin will be undergoing more changes in his personal life, suggesting that he is, indeed, the one we’ve been watching for. We hope to have someone in place when that change occurs, we guess near the end of Planting Season. How you perform in this next round of training will decide who is chosen. Is this understood?” He stopped his shuffling and looked sternly at the young men.
They nodded.
Hifadhi broke into an easy grin. “Good! Now, Hew Gleace will begin with you today in your first lesson which you may find a little unusual, but very necessary. Hew?” He turned to the men behind him.
Gleace, a pale middle-aged man of muscular build, nodded to Hifadhi and approached the line.
“There are many ways a man gives himself away. Today we’re going to begin training you to do just that: deliberately give yourself away in such a manner that those who work with you believe they’ve actually discovered your true identity. However, you will still be concealing it. It’s not easy. You have to maintain complete control over your true self in order to appropriately let slip your feigned ‘true self.’”
Several of the young men blinked in confusion.
But the draft horse grinned in anticipation.
Gleace glanced at Hifadhi to see if he noticed.
He did.
Gleace smiled at the line. “Deceit, my dear young men, is indeed an art. Good thing we have about twelve weeks’ time . . .”
---
Chairman Nicko Mal stood in the hallway of Command School, his hands clasped behind his back, and a small, somewhat unnatural, smile on his face.
As the young men marched orderly out of their classrooms and towards the mess hall for their midday meal, they each paused in their stride, stunned to see the man with white hair, long red coat, and black trousers.
“Hello, men!” he said with unusual cheeriness. “Fine group of officers we’re teaching here, I see. Don’t mind me, go get to your meal. Can’t have our future leaders weakening now, can we?”
A few purposely caught his eye, but he didn’t focus any additional attention on them, so they continued on. But one lieutenant did receive a prolonged gaze from the Chairman, and it caused him to drop his books.
“Oh, let me help you with those, son,” Mal said brightly as he squatted to help him gather his scattered notes.
The rest of the soldiers picked up their step, eager to get past the hapless soldier who garnered the attention of Nicko Mal.
“Thank you, sir,” the young man said, fumbling to stack his books again, “but I’m sure I can handle it.”
“Now, now, Lieutenant Heth, what kind of leader would I be if I didn’t take care of those who serve me?”
Heth risked a timid smile as the last of the soldiers entered the mess hall. He and Mal stood up in the corridor, and Mal placed the stack of pages on Heth’s pile of books.
“Still haven’t heard from your younger brother?” Mal whispered. “Been over a year since his late night visit to you, isn’t it?”
Mal had asked him—no, shouted—that same question in a raging fit just a couple of nights ago in Lieutenant Heth’s dormitory room. Perhaps the leader of the world thought the answer would change if he asked it again in a different time and place.
Heth shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “Since he left I haven’t heard anything from him.”
“Neither have I,” Mal grumbled. “Not sure what to make of it. It’s almost as if he’s vanished. Keeping very low and quiet.”
“Maybe he changed his name,” the former Sonoforen suggested. “Would be wisest.”
“I considered that as well,” Mal nodded once. “Which would make him as difficult to locate as the other missing son of the last king,” he said with a deliberate squint.
The young man who should have been king after his father’s execution—had he not been illegitimate and in hiding—only nodded at the current leader of the world.
“Should you hear anything, you’ll be sure to notify me immediately,” Mal told him.
Heth nodded again. “Absolutely, sir. In the meantime, is there anything else—”
“No,” Mal cut him off. “Not yet.”
“I could leave school early, and—”
“Oh no, Lieutenant,” Mal said firmly. “You of all people definitely need to finish Command School.”
Heth’s expression fell.
Mal smirked. Every future officer thought he was something special; otherwise, he wouldn’t be in Command School.
“But eventually the time will be right, Heth. Currently we’re priming the pump, shall we say. Discovering how to create the ideal set-up.”
“And I’ll be your first choice when your research is done?”
Mal smiled thinly at the eager mutt. “Men who have personal motivation are far more effective than those who are merely curious or simply following orders. I have shelves of studies to prove it. And anyone with a personal vendetta against the officer who had his father killed will likely be far more driven than just a regular soldier. You will be the first choice.”
---
“So . . . anything?” Perrin asked many weeks later as he watched his wife closely. Their now one-year-old daughter Jaytsy was asleep in bed, and her parents finally had a moment to themselves.
Perrin put a hand on Mahrree’s enormous belly and waited.
Mahrree just stared at him, her mouth hanging open and her eyes unblinking.
Perrin tried to jiggle her immovable belly. “It’s been thirteen weeks since the forest incident, little kicker. It’s safe to come out now!” He looked up into his wife’s face again.
She still hadn’t budged, simply too shocked.
“Hmm,” Perrin frowned. “I thought for sure that—”
“THEY WERE AFTER ME?!” Mahrree suddenly bellowed.
“And now it’s sunk in,” Perrin smiled. He put his other hand on her belly. “So at any moment . . . any moment . . . remarkable. Nothing. I thought for sure the truth would start birthing pains, but no tightening, no—”
“THE FOURTEEN GUARDERS WERE AFTER ME?!”
“Uh, yes. I think I just told you that. Mahrree, please blink. Your eyes will dry out—”
“PERRIN! THEY WERE AFTER—”
He put a finger on her lips. “You, yes. And Jaytsy, but don’t wake her up,” he added quietly. “The fourteen Guarders were actually after my family, not me. Hogal still has the message if you want to see it. I decided it was best left in his hands until now. Ah, well at least you blinked. Now let’s see if we can’t get the stubborn little kicker here to—”
“Oh, Perrin!” Mahrree exclaimed, and started to weep. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He sighed. “I thought it was obvious—to keep you from birthing too early. But now that you’re ready it doesn’t seem to have any effect. Why are you crying?”
“You’ve had three moons to get over this, but I’m barely learning about it now!” she wailed.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Well, as close as her bulging middle would allow.
“You’re right,” he sighed. “I didn’t think about it that way. My back’s been healed for several weeks now, so in my mind it’s all well in the past.”
At least his back felt fine. He was even able to finish the new baby’s addition on the house last week, and before that erected a fence around the front yard when Jaytsy discovered how to walk shortly after her first birthday.
But how his back looked was another matter. He saw the scar only a few times in the surgery, when the surgeon positioned mirrors for him to admire it. He thought the jagged raw line was an ideal badge of honor.
But it took Mahrree weeks to stop whimpering whenever he
undressed. Occasionally he noticed her biting her lip when she saw the thick white scar that would forever mark him.
“You did it all for me?” she asked quietly. “The long nights, the bow and arrows and long knives, your slashed back—my scarf!” she suddenly remembered.
“Of course,” he chuckled. “And your scarf is somewhere in the middle of the forest. I got too hot. Sorry. It was truly Guarder snatched.”
“What’s a silly old scarf, anyway!” she blubbered.
He put a hand back on her belly. “You’re really not feeling any pain at all?”
She sighed. “No, nothing, I’m afraid. In fact, maybe now you’ve scared the baby into wanting to stay inside permanently. Why come into a world that’s out to get him?”
“Because he has a father that can conquer the world!” Perrin declared. “With a little help, that is,” he admitted.
Mahrree finally smiled. “Yes, he does.” She kissed her husband. “So, have you told your father the truth?”
Perrin groaned. “Sent the confession this morning. Should reach him by tomorrow. And then . . . we’ll likely hear him bellowing all the way from Idumea.”
“If not him, then probably your mother.”
Perrin shut his eyes momentarily.
“My mother! Please, little one,” he said to his wife’s expecting bulge, “Come out now and be a distraction to your grandparents’ wrath.”
“Oh great,” Mahrree sighed. “Now it’ll never be born.”
---
It was near the end of Planting Season, in the new year of 321, when Relf Shin opened the envelope with the familiar writing on the outside.
“So am I a grandfather again, Perrin?” the High General smiled as he opened the message. He pushed aside the other messages on his desk to pay full attention to this one. His smile diminished as he read. His left hand clenched into a fist, he pressed his lips tightly together, and he closed his eyes to stop seeing the words.
Soldier at the Door (Forest at the Edge) Page 1
