by A J Witt
“Good move,” muttered the admiral, stroking his beard.
After a pause, he slid a black piece to the edge of the crimson board, trapping one of the commandant’s. The admiral was aiming to kill the piece by herding it into the corner square. He succeeded, and Rex Ruga snatched the intricate statuette from the board, throwing it to the ground.
“I hope you didn’t scratch it,” the admiral commented.
“And if I did?”
“You’ll pay to fix it.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Well, not you personally. The Temple will when I submit the expense report.”
“I don’t care.” Rex Ruga looked back at the board and at her hopeless predicament.
“Shall we discuss my winnings from this series?” asked the admiral.
“It’s not over yet.”
She moved in between two of the admiral’s pieces, knowing a capture could only occur during his turn, and positioned herself for another strike. He had a two-piece advantage now and seemed ready to immobilize her pilgrim.
The ship slowed down. “Looks like we’ve arrived in Fermantis, Commandant.”
Rex Ruga slid another piece forward. “Do you forfeit, then?”
“Don’t be silly.” The admiral responded by exchanging kills.
The commandant counted what was left. Six to four. If she lost another piece, winning the game would be impossible. A draw was equally unlikely, so Rex Ruga jumped up, scooped the pieces into the palms of her hands, and threw them across the admiral’s large and luxurious cabin. “Write your requests,” she spat out.
The admiral kept a straight face. “I won the series by a score of eight to seven. I believe we made a wager?”
Rex Ruga clenched her teeth. “I’ll arrange for it.” She slammed the door and navigated her way through a series of opulent passageways. The Temple’s flagship was so large that by the time the commandant reached the deck, it had already docked. A small contingent of Overseers was waiting for her on land, and when Rex Ruga walked down to meet them, one called out.
“My Commandant, troubling news.”
She hurried over.
“Erol, First Lieutenant in Fermantis.” He held out a hand. “It is a great honor to finally—”
Rex Ruga yanked the Overseer toward her. “What is the troubling news?”
“It seems there was a bit of a mis—uh … misunderstanding in the main square.”
“Misunderstanding?”
“Between Gorgios and some locals.”
“And?”
“Umm, well …” said Erol, “the locals lost the argument.”
The commandant exhaled. “Obviously. I’m asking how many he killed.”
“At least a dozen, if not more.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “What about the two Adepts?”
Erol started to fidget. “Umm, no ma’am. They escaped, as did the defector girl.”
Rex Ruga almost smiled but caught herself, adopting the angry expression expected of her. “Fools. Bring me there!”
They picked up the pace to get to the main square. By Gods, that’s a lot more than a dozen. The scene was gruesome, the stench of death stifling. Blood filled the cracks between cobblestones, whilst bodies lay strewn about, most split open and missing limbs. Counting a handful of Overseers among the dead, Rex Ruga noticed Gorgios near Hermits Fountain, speaking to his thinned out squadron. She walked up to him. “Let’s talk.”
With a slight trace of surprise, Gorgios turned to face her. “Why are you here?”
“You know exactly why,” Rex Ruga shot back. “Now, tell me what happened.”
“An armed mob attacked us.”
The commandant raised an eyebrow.
“It was only in self-defense,” added Gorgios.
“Just like that? Out of nowhere?”
Her master of arms nodded. “Pretty much.”
“You’re a moron. Why are there still bodies here?”
Erol ventured a reply. “Th—that was … I … uh—”
“Clean this up! Before more people see it. And have the admiral shut down the port.” The Fermantese Overseer sprinted away to get help. Turning back to Gorgios and his unit, Rex Ruga felt a surge of excitement. Diplomatic games bore those who relish being out in the action. She had trouble seeing herself living like Najara for the next fifty years. For now, the commandant only cared about locating and executing the Adepts. Even the serial killer Gorgios had stumbled upon would have to wait. But he’ll certainly be joining the others on that pyre. “We need to find them today,” Rex Ruga announced to the Overseers crowded around Hermits Fountain. “Understood?”
Gorgios huffed. “We?”
“You seem to forget what made me who I am.”
“Right now, you’re a commandant, whose role is to be back at the Temple.”
“The Temple is in fine hands, rest assured.” It was then that Rex Ruga saw two strange men standing among them. Much shorter than everyone else, at least two heads below the thugs in Gorgios’s squad, one had a captivating mustache, unlike anything she had ever seen. His facial hair was perfectly groomed and twirled symmetrically on both ends. The second man was lanky. He was smiling at her, hair cut down to the scalp and eyes of an undefined color. Are they gray? Black? Strangely, the man gave Rex Ruga a slight tilt of the head, as if he knew her. “Who are these two?”
“They’re friendlies. They spoke up for us, then laid the first defensive strike, neutralizing a belligerent villager.”
“Spoke up?” inquired Rex Ruga. “Why was there a need for that?”
Gorgios absorbed a lethal glance from the commandant. “Because we were interrogating the traitor.”
“Traitor? What are you talking about? I thought you didn’t catch them?”
Pluto laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?” asked Rex Ruga.
“Oh, sorry … nothing.”
The commandant stroked her hair, the frustration increasing. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s starting to anger me!” The Overseers remained quiet, sulking school children scolded by their teacher. “Did you actually locate any of them?”
“Only the girl,” answered Gorgios.
“Do we have any idea where they’re heading?”
She was answered with silence.
“Commandant?” The Fermantese Overseer by the name of Erol had picked a poor time to reinsert himself into the picture.
“What?” snapped Rex Ruga.
“We rounded up many survivors, and—”
“Just make sure they never speak of this.” She made brief eye contact with Gorgios. “And there’s only one way to make sure of that.”
Erol hesitated.
“Take these two as well,” Rex Ruga ordered, gesturing toward Pluto and Joss.
“No,” said Gorgios.
“Pardon me?”
“They stay here.”
“These men are witnesses to your savagery, Gorgios. We can’t have word of this incident spreading around the Dominion.”
“They’re not witnesses, they’re my men.”
“Your men?” repeated Rex Ruga and Pluto simultaneously.
“They fought alongside us and are therefore under my protection as Master of Arms.”
The commandant threw her hands up in the air. “Fine.” She eyed the two performers. “What are you, anyway?”
“We, umm …” started Pluto, “we do different jobs.”
“Explain yourself.”
“Well, the job we’re doing now, it’s … uh … to track something down.”
“You’re trackers?”
“Yes.”
“Ah.” The commandant grinned. “That’s a good job you have.”
Pluto played along. “Thank you.”
“Men in your profession depend on secrecy, do they not?”
“That’s exactly right.”
“We may be in need of some trackers ourselves,” continued Rex Ruga. “If it’s
not too much, may I inquire as to your clientele?”
“Our clientele?”
“Who do you cater your professional expertise to? Average Phaidrosians? Nobles?”
“Commandant,” interjected Gorgios, but she waved him off.
“Only the highest ranked,” Pluto replied, sensing a golden opportunity. “We’re not cheap, you know.”
“Excellent,” said Rex Ruga. She was about to make a proposal when she noticed Erol out of the corner of her eye. He was still standing there, all smiles and listening to the exchange. “What in the Dread Days are you still doing here?”
“I … well, there was … umm—”
“Go!” shouted the commandant, and Erol ran off once more. She turned back to Pluto and Joss. “What are you being paid right now?”
“I couldn’t possibly—”
“Double it.”
Everyone remained silent, save Gorgios. “You realize the Temple has the very best trackers. Like myself.”
Rex Ruga was undeterred. “I stand by my offer. Whatever you’re making right now, I’ll double it.”
“We’re being paid fourteen hundred gold coins,” said Pluto in one breath. Joss made a hasty hand motion. “Each.”
“I’ll round up my offer. Six thousand gold coins, then,” declared Rex Ruga. “To be paid when you bring us to the renegade Adepts we’re searching for.”
“Agreed.” Neither of the performers had any tracking experience, a lie that became irrelevant when a panting Overseer came running down the street.
“Commandant, they’re on the boat to Portown.”
“How do you know?” Rex Ruga shot back.
“People on the docks saw two Battalion agents ushering an Adept onboard Ocean Star.”
“Battalion? Ocean Star?” She turned to Gorgios. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
He shook his head.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The pieces of metal twirled around to form a handle, leaving several gaps that made the utensil awkward to hold. Its pointed gold tines gleamed in the candlelight, exhibiting a curious contrast with the fork’s otherwise dull copper hue. On the unpolished wood table rested the remaining cutlery with a similar dichotomy. A scrawny galley boy delivered yet another dish. Surely the last one. Sabine watched him struggle as he situated the latest addition to the spread. Breathing nervously, he slid the tray of clams to the left, placed the pickled vegetable bowl near the baked geega, and cleared away the empty dish of assorted nuts the captain had devoured long ago.
“Try some,” the old man said when the boy left, snagging a juicy balbak rib with his fingers.
Sabine used her fork. Auralus save me. She ate the fresh greens and cooked legumes, and sampled the less-intimidating crustaceans. The main dishes looked overwhelming, as did the fat ridden chunk of meat before her.
“Come on,” the captain urged. “Take a bite.”
First the mushroom, and now, this. Sabine closed her eyes and brought the rib piece up to her lips. Why me? As her teeth dug into the flesh, the young woman gagged, and she dropped her fork onto the wood with a clang. “I can’t.”
“Good,” the seaman replied, leaning back in his chair. “Far too long, I’ve been with women who’d tear that meat right off its bone.” He sighed and made a not-so-startling statement. “Village port whores, really.” Another groan as he rubbed his stomach. “I’ve missed the company of girls like you, who are more,” he grinned, “… sensitive.”
In a cabin several decks lower, Neeta and Edvon were having a heated exchange.
“You can’t just hold me prisoner like this!”
“I’m delivering you to the Academy whether you like it or not,” said Neeta. “Get comfortable.”
“What about eating? Sleeping?”
“I’ll get us some food, and we’ll figure out the rest.”
Edvon clenched his jaw. “Isn’t this ship sailing to Portown?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t the Academy back in Phaidros?”
“Yes.”
“So why are we here?” Edvon pressed on. “The best thing would be to—”
“Look, I don’t care what you think,” Neeta interjected. “All that matters is that you’re both on this ship, and it’s going to Phaidros.”
“Both?”
Neeta bit her lip.
“What are you talking about?” asked Edvon. “Who else is on board?”
The officer ignored him.
“Tell me!”
What difference does it make if he knows? “Kyran’s on board.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I said I’m positive,” Neeta fired back. “He’s in Battalion custody.”
Edvon’s face regained color. “You need to let me out, so I can find him.”
“I can’t.”
“Let me out!” He viciously shook the handle of the cabin door, trying to break the lock. “I said let me—”
A Source blast came flying at Edvon’s head, and he ducked just enough to avert contact. Shocked, the Adept turned to confront the bright-eyed Neeta. “Did you just—” He blocked the next blast with a defensive one of his own.
The officer, resorting to something she was taught to eschew, realized she had blown her chance to win. The element of surprise was gone, and before Neeta could engage anew, Edvon’s Source strike clobbered her. She gasped for air, clutching her abdomen and slumping onto the bed, unconscious.
Edvon rushed over to retrieve the cabin’s key. It was absent from the small desk, and nowhere to be found on the bed. Which leaves only one place. Carefully, he slipped his hand into Neeta’s front pocket, his fingers wriggling under the tight fabric and down her thigh. Nothing. He inspected the other pocket. Still nothing. Exhaling, Edvon reached underneath Neeta and felt the key in her back pocket. The Adept left the cabin to search for his brother.
One deck above, Criss relieved Aiden of his shift. Pacing around the cabin, she took note that their prisoner had yet to move. Slouched in the corner, Kyran’s long hair concealed his face.
“Are you sleeping?” asked the agent.
No response.
“I can see you moving.”
Still, the Adept ignored her.
Unlike most, Criss had witnessed first-hand the power of Source energy. And I don’t have any platinum to protect myself. The Battalion had searched high and wide for the rare material, to no avail. The Temple found it all. And apparently only enough to mold a dozen or so neck collars. Luckily, this Adept appears pretty harmless. “I don’t expect you to speak.” The ship heeled as it followed the Wimau south. “But you will listen to me. There might be a way out of this for you.”
Kyran lifted his chin.
“All I need is a little information. You live at the Academy, right? Has there been anything strange go—”
The Source blast knocked Criss off her chair. She slammed her head on the ground and went limp.
Twice! That’s twice he’s looked at my breasts. When the captain came back to tell Sabine the ship was making an emergency departure, she worried. After he gave her clean clothes and spoke of dinner, the young woman wondered if it had been an overreaction. She took another glimpse at the bed behind the table, though this time, her feeble attempt at subtlety did not go undetected. The captain pushed his chair and walked toward her. For a moment, Sabine believed she would have been better off with whatever fate awaited her at the Temple.
“Don’t worry,” the old sailor said, glancing at the bed himself. “I’m not forcing you onto it.”
Sabine clasped her armrest. I’m on a ship, alone. Her heart sank, and she considered rushing toward the door. Then what? There’s nowhere to go.
“We don’t need a bed. We can start right here.”
The captain pulled her up by one wrist. Yanking the back of Sabine’s neck with his other hand,
he shoved the young woman toward the corner of the table. In one swift motion, the seaman swiped the dinner service onto the floor. Plates and trays clattered, sauces spilled, and food tumbled around the cabin. By Lutigas! The captain pressed his guest onto the table, holding her face down. He clawed at the hem of the dress.
Just as Sabine let out a scream, a gust of wind rushed overtop of her head. The captain staggered back, releasing his victim and struggling to catch his breath. Sabine looked up. Kyran’s arms were extended, and his eyes shone brightly. “Looks like I made it just in time.”
The seaman recovered fast and swung forcefully at the Adept. They partook in a violent and hateful dance. The captain was gaining the upper hand when Kyran lost his footing on a broken plate. Despite being forced to a knee, the Adept not only blocked a kick to his face, he also held on to the captain’s leg. Pulling it as hard as possible, Kyran lunged forward. The maneuver succeeded, and he smashed shoulders first into the captain who let out a groan. Snatching a porcelain tray, the sailor hurled it at Kyran’s face. The young man used a defensive Source blast, stopping the object mid-flight and shattering it into a myriad of tiny fragments. Using the temporary distraction, the captain struck his opponent across the face, sending the Adept sprawling. Kyran hit his head and lay still.
“No!” Sabine looked around for an object to defend herself. The captain was quicker. In one swoop, he lifted Sabine off the ground and tossed her onto the bed. Pinning her arms with one hand, he pulled up her dress with the other. Sabine attempted to kick, but the captain used his own weight to immobilize her legs.
“You ain’t an Overseer, are you?” He grinned. “Too bad, I always wanted to fu—”
A spurt of blood shot out the captain’s mouth and landed near Sabine’s head. The man seemed confused, his eyes darting back and forth. He tried to speak but could not utter a word. “Fu … Fu … Fu …” His gaze came into contact with Sabine’s and for the slimmest instant, she felt pity.
The captain fell over, leaving Kyran standing there, shaking with an expression of disbelief. He contemplated the body at his feet, as if to verify what had just occurred. Sabine peeked over the side of the bed. Protruding from the base of the captain’s skull was the copper hilt of a dinner knife.
