Emblems of Power

by C L Patterson

  “So far,” Kosai whispered, “I have heard a rumor about me destroying this school. That rumor, I also heard, came from you.” The Seer changed instantly. His smile changed to a frown and he leaned forward in his chair.

  “I assure you that I know of no such thing or spoke of such thing. Where did you hear this rumor?”

  “From a group of boys that just tried to kill me in the library,” Kosai said fiercely, though quietly. He took a deep breath and calmed himself.

  “That is disconcerting but explains the smell. Are you unharmed?” the Seer asked as he leaned forward in his chair.

  “A little sore, but ok for the most part,” Kosai replied.

  “Whoever sent those boys to kill you understands your true purpose for being here. How they could have discovered it, I am not sure.” The Seer paused, rose from his chair and placed an arm on Kosai’s shoulder. “Trust me. I would never insist upon your death. I am the one who saw you defeating the Dark One and also requested that you discover the traitor within this school. Only you can defeat the Dark One. In you, I place my trust not only to the future of this school, but the future of the people as well.” The Seer removed his hand from Kosai’s shoulder and was about to walk away, then turned and looked thoughtfully at him. “Who knew you were in the Library?”

  “Mearto,” Kosai said.

  “And did this group of boys seem to wander until they found you, or did they come straight for you?” Kosai looked back at the staircase and was silent. “Now, Kosai, we cannot assume too much yet. You need to look into this further.”

  “Isn’t obvious she set me up?”

  “It is obvious, but it may not be the truth. Just a little while ago, I was visiting with her about you. She is quite flustered that she must teach one who is so old and so untalented, as she put it. I asked where you were, and she told me where you were in the library. Perhaps it is likely that she has told others. I warned her that it is not wise to leave a student, undisciplined as you are, with so much information. Perhaps Kosai, I should give you the same warning. There are things that you will learn here, that if done without proper preparation, will kill you. Be cautious. It would be a great tragedy to our cause if you were to die.”

  “Thank you sir for your advice and concern, I will be cautious.”

  As Kosai left the Oasis and traveled down the stairs, he met Mearto at the main level. She pointed at Kosai.

  “You,” she said bitterly. “Follow me, we need to talk.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Kosai responded militaristically. He followed Mearto into her office.

  The back wall was covered in books. A cot was built into the left wall, its supports made from thick wooden dowels. A canvass was sown tightly across the wooden supports with a pillow at one end and thin, folded blankets at the other. A desk made from a dark red wood was placed towards the back of the room and it was covered with more books and papers. The chair behind the desk was similar to those in the arena and there was a smaller, less ornate wooden chair across from the desk. She slammed the door, pointed at one of the chairs and ordedred Kosai to sit as she rounded the desk and sat in her chair. Kosai did so. As Mearto sat, she ran her hands through her hair and across her face and said nothing.

  “What’s wrong?” Kosai asked.

  “Quiet. I need to think for a moment.” Mearto barked. She stood up from her chair and paced around the room twice, and then sat back down again. “I sent you down into the library to get you away from me so that I could figure out what to do with you. I can’t leave you alone for an hour and trouble has already found you.”

  “In my defense ma’am--”

  “Quiet,” Mearto interrupted. “I am to teach you how to defeat the Dark One. Now, you must answer me honestly. Exactly what happened while you were in the library?”

  Kosai explained how he was reading a book and was learning about patience when the group attacked him. He did not mention anything about the book that wrote itself, or about the rumor that led him to the Seer.

  “Take off your armor and your shirt. I want to see your injuries.”

  Kosai blushed.

  “Don’t be so immature about it, you have second degree burns most likely under that armor, and they need to be healed.”

  “The pain is good for me, it makes me stronger.”

  “Unless it gets infected and is beyond healing. Then you’re dead. Stand up if you can and take off your armor and shirt.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Kosai replied. He first removed his cloak, folded it, and placed it on the chair. As he removed his chainmail, he pulled the book from his side and wrapped it in the chain links, concealing it from Mearto and placed it on the cloak. He did the same with his shirt but kept the amulet on.

  “Kosai, I was not informed of your promotion. Congratulations,” she said dryly, eyeing the three pronged amulet as she looked over Kosai’s body. The cotton shirt was singed through in places, and burned in others. Where the shirt burned through, his skin was a pasty-pink color and dark red tendrils of cooked blood weaved away from the injuries. “You have multiple second degree burns. The caster was of some skill, but it would have taken more than this to kill you. He was over-confident in his ability, or was counting on landing a killing stroke.” She still spoke in a matter-of-fact tone as she looked over the wounds. She removed the amulet from Kosai’s neck and smiled slightly. “Your amulet must have conducted some of the heat. There is an exact imprint of your talisman on your chest.”

  Kosai looked down and smiled at the burnt imprint of his lieutenant’s talisman. The same dark, bloody tendrils curved away from the injury. Mearto gestured for him to turn around. There were a few bruises and more burns. She clapped her hands together and a soft green glow emitted from them. She placed her hands over the wounds, and the green light percolated into Kosai’s skin. The dark blood trails vanished, the pink blotchy skin returned to its normal hue, and the pain that Kosai was pushing against lifted.

  “Get dressed,” she said, her tone still flat. She turned, walked behind her desk, and leaned against the book case while Kosai put on his uniform. After Kosai was dressed, she turned and glared at him. “Why, after you incapacitated one of the boys that attacked you, did you go up to the Seer?”

  “It seemed logical. There was an attempt on my life. I thought he should know about it.” Mearto tapped her fingers on the desk.

  “While I was running towards the place where I dropped you off, I caught a glimpse of someone but couldn’t see him clearly. I called out to them, but they ran. Whoever it was must have known the library very well to make it out of there without a lamp. Do you remember what your attacker looked like?”

  “I could point him out of a crowd. He should also have a bruise on his left cheek. ”

  “Not unless he healed it. When you get the chance, point him out to me. When I am not instructing you, be with others. This attempt on your life makes me uneasy.”

  “Who do you think is behind it?”

  “Everyone knows you are here to learn to kill the Dark One. The only reason I can see anyone wanting to kill you is to stop you from destroying our enemy. This attempt on your life deeply troubles me. For now, I will bring you books to read and you will study in my office with me.” She leaned back in her chair, rubbed her forehead with the tipes of her fingers, stared at the door and sighed. “Meet me here after breakfast tomorrow. I will show you to your room.”

  The bunks were similar to the ones at the Barracks. Each student had a single bed, with a chest at the foot of the bed. But unlike the bunks at the Barracks, each student was allowed one nightstand and a candle. Kosai guessed that there were thirty bunks to a room. Some of the bunks were empty. Some boys were already asleep, while others took to reading, or writing.

  “Usually the boys light their own lamps by snapping their fingers.” Mearto demonstrated by snapping her fingers close to the wick of a candle. It lit quickly. “Teachers are allowed in the quarters of the students, thoug
h I do not like to be here. This is your bed. If you wish to read or write, or do anything by candlelight, it would be advantageous to either acquire some matches or learn to light without as I have shown you. Sleep well.” Mearto excused herself and Kosai looked at his bunk.

  On top of the chest at the foot of the bed was a crate holding his new uniform for the School of the Faye. He removed it from crate and placed it in the chest. Underneath the uniform were his mask and a note.

  “Always be on your guard, trust no one.” The note was signed by the Captain and Kosai nodded at the advice.

  Especially when you are sleeping in the same room as your killer, Kosai thought. He looked out across the dormitory, but the boy’s faces were hidden in books or just outside the reach of light. He took the book out of his shirt, placed the note in it and set it on the bed. He took off his Guard uniform, placed it in the chest, and put on the white shirt and pants with the blue stripe down the side. After the sleeves were tied, he lay on the bed and picked up the curious book, the book that he somehow managed to hold during the fight for his life in the library, and the one he’d kept hidden from Mearto during his healing.

  He opened it to the first page and stared at its emptiness.

  CHAPTER 8

  The Captain rode through Market Street on his white horse. He sat tall in the saddle and overlooked the sea of commoners. His amulet reflected the hot midday sun. Vendors sold bolts of cloth, lamps, eating utensils, and tattered clothes. Those that sold food only had shriveled up pieces of meat and fruit that looked more rotted than dried.

  “You need this prime cut of lamb here! Nowhere else will you find a better slice of meat, try a piece!” one vendor called. The vendor took a curved blade from his belt and sliced a small strip from one of the hanging pieces in his booth and offered it to the Captain. The Captain turned his vigilant gaze for a moment. The meat was anything but lamb. Lamb had a distinct, pungent, almost nauseating smell to it, and this meat smelled more like dog.

  The man that stood behind the booth had a knife that was jeweled at the hilt with two rubies. The handle was wrapped in a fine silver thread. On the man’s left hand was a gold ring. The signet had two long tailed serpents spiraling around each other and facing one another with jaws open and their fangs showing.

  The Captain held up a hand in refusal and looked back down the road. The people parted to either side of the street leaving an open road for the Captain and his steed.

  As he exited Market Street and entered the pavilion, he looked over to the School of the Faye. The two guards still chanted softly with their hands extended and their metal pans in front of them. He passed by the fountain and continued down Capital road.

  The road to the Capital building was next to the school. The red and white banners ruffled as a slight gust of wind slid by. As he approached the building, a representative approached him and bowed slightly. He was from Noiknaer, wearing a red robe with gold colored lapels and cuffs.

  “Captain, what brings you here?” the diplomat asked.

  “I’m making a request for a warrant. Are you to tend to my horse?” The Captain locked eyes with the man. The man swallowed, looked at the horse and grabbed the reigns.

  “Yes Captain,” the diplomat whispered with his head bowed.

  The Captain stepped down from the horse and flipped his cape behind him as he marched past the wolf statues towards the guards. The guards stopped him and asked to see his papers. The Captain smiled and showed the request he received from the Seer. He smiled at the guards as they let him pass. Diplomats, dressed in the colorful robes of their respective city, whispered to each other and stilled their voices as the Captain walked by. The Captain kept his eyes forward.

  As he approached the door to the Council’s room, the two guards that stood on either end of the door stopped him. The one on the right asked for his summons. The Captain again unfolded the paper and showed it to his former students. The guards opened the door and the Captain walked into the Council room.

  “Well done,” he whispered to the guards as he walked past. Each of the guards nodded slightly. Before he reached the center of the room, Councilor Steran stood and was about to speak. Rodrick held a hand and motioned for her to sit.

  “Our good Captain, what brings you to our court this morning?” Rodrick asked, a feather quill twitching in his hand.

  “I request a warrant to investigate the syndicate,” the Captain said. “I believe they were behind the attack on my prized pupil and were privy to that route.”

  “By chance Captain, what reason do you believe the syndicate has to attack the caravans?” Councilman Simmons said slowly and smoothly, his words falling on the Captain like a cold mist. Simmons turned his attention to his nails, then the sleeves of his robe, adjusting each, then his lapels, and then folded his hands and leaned forward towards the Captain. The Captain stood still, his hands clenched into tight fists.

  “I believe that the Syndicate is buying off nomadic tribes as mercenaries to attack the government caravans,” the Captain said.

  “That is quite the claim Captain,” Simmons said. “I think that you are being overzealous. Perhaps you are still traumatized by the events yourself and need time to think this over.”

  “I am a seasoned veteran,” the Captain said, cracking each knuckle in his hands with his thumbs. “I know pain. I have seen members of the Guard die from worse injuries.”

  “Be that as it may,” Simmon’s continued, adjusting his purple and green cuffs. “But there is one thing that you still lack. What evidence do you have of the Three Brother’s involvement? None. You have a gut assumption.”

  “I have more than enough. One of the nomads that attacked a caravan I was escorting had the mark of the syndicate tattooed on his neck and told me to look within the walls of the city to find whoever is betraying the routes.”

  “But the Three Brothers have done nothing but benefit this city,” Simmons said. “They have doubled the amount of schools, both in business and craft. The youth, I shall add, with the Three Brothers’ wisdom, are growing to be profitable members of society. Truly, such noble and wise citizens would not hide behind such barbaric behavior.” Simmons smiled tightly, leaned forward, and stared down at the Captain from his second level seat with unblinking serpant-like eyes.

  “Explain then, why our caravans struggle against nomadic attacks while the Three Brothers’ caravans go without injury,” said the Captain. “Could it be that the syndicate’s caravan drivers know the routes better than the nomads do? No one can traverse the desert sands and live unless he has been trained, guided, and shown the turns by the nomads themselves. The fact that untrained, incompetent, and unqualified drivers and a poor substitute for an escort detail are able to traverse the desert without attack leads me to believe that the syndicate is committing the barbarism that you, Simmons, claim they are innocent of.

  “The loss of goods the Tessír has suffered from nomadic tribes and storms has caused our city to continue its plunge into poverty. The people, our people, have enough only for bread, and must sell all they have to the syndicate in order to purchase other necessities. And what have you done? Nothing! You sit in your seat, pondering over regulation and ensuring your own protection while those you have vowed to protect perish in their own homes. You will give me that right for investigation, if you wish to have enough wine to drink for banquets. If you do nothing, soon perhaps we all shall be begging the syndicate for our bread.”

  As the Captain spoke, his stared at Simmons with wide eyes. The veins in his neck bulged and pulsed with every word. When he finished, his voice echoed on the walls, and then there was silence. Simmons leaned back in his chair and stared down at the Captain. Rodrick smiled and stood up, leaning over the banister slightly.

  “Captain,” Rodrick spoke almost in a whisper, “what would you like to secure from the syndicate to further your investigation?”

  “Records, transaction history, route history, anything
, everything! I want to know everything that the syndicate has done or is doing. Who are they paying, how much, for what?”

  “Captain,” Councilman Kevyn spoke, which caught the Captain off guard, considering that Kevyn hardly ever spoke in Council meetings. He used his power outside of the Council room, and mainly in the brothel or on Market Street. More than once the Guard was called to remove him from both locations because of his hot-headed behavior. He stood and straightened his robe. The blue and white trim showed that he was from Port Rasmú. “That is quite the request. I am not sure if it is within our power to--” Kevyn was cut off as councilor Steran began to speak.

  “If you would be so kind to give us a moment to deliberate upon the manner,” she said. The council stood and disappeared into the room behind their chairs. After a few minutes, they returned. As the Council sat in their seats, Steran, Kevyn, Simmons, and Aleal smiled. Rodrick, Evaan, and Nicóla kept a straight face.

  “Your request to investigate the syndicate and possible relation to the attacks on the caravans is granted,” Rodrick said. “Your paperwork and rights will be processed this morning and will be delivered to your quarters soon. You are dismissed.”

  A shadow seemed to grow over the council. Whether it was the way the light hung in the room, or if a tangible shadow loomed over the group, the Captain couldn’t tell. As he exited, he shook his head and turned to the guards.

  “You shall speak to no one what you have heard, if you have heard anything at all. I believe that rumors shall lead to an undoing and destruction of this people if we let them. Keep your ears open, listen to every word that comes in these doors. You shall report of your findings to me every evening at sundown.” The Captain stood at the door between the guards for a while, humming and staring at the floor.

  One of the guards spoke.

  “Captain, what bothers you?” His name was Terynn and he was another recent graduate from the Barracks. He had a scraggly mustache and straight, oily black hair. Sweat constantly rolled down his forehead and into his eyes.