by Ari Marmell
“Not yet.”
“You should know, before you do… He won’t recognize you. He’s not really there. He hears us, lets us feed him, but that seems to be it. We still hope he’ll recover, but… Well, I thought you should be prepared.”
“Thank you,” Nycos told her sincerely. “I’ll go see him as soon as I’ve spoken to his Majesty.”
“His Majesty won’t be joining you this afternoon. He… spends a lot of time alone, these days. Mourning.”
“I understand. I’m sorry.”
“We all are,” she said brusquely. “I’ve been instructed to speak to you on his behalf.”
A faint suspicion flared in Nycos’s mind. “Please, go ahead.”
“First off, we’re all going to assume that you left with Marshal Laszlan’s permission, on a secret mission he chose to conceal.”
“Um…”
Zirresca leaned over the table, her expression, her entire posture intent. “If we believed otherwise, Sir Nycolos, we would have to take punitive steps. And we can’t afford that right now. We need you. You understand?”
“I do. That said, if Quindacra’s not abandoning our pact after all, there should be no invasion. Why—?”
“Ktho Delios may not be put off so easily. Their scheme may have disintegrated, but we have to consider the possibility that they’ve merely been delayed, not thwarted.”
“Come on, Zirresca.” Again she looked as though she wanted to interrupt, to say something, but as she chose against it, he continued, “You and I both know that the military build-up and preparation happening around here is more than a precaution.”
“His Majesty,” she confessed, “is all but convinced the attack on Laszlan was orchestrated by Ktho Delios.”
“Surely he wouldn’t go to war with them over a suspicion! He—”
“No. He’s grieving, not insane. Of course we’re investigating, trying to determine for certain what happened, who was responsible. But make no mistake, Nycolos. Whether it was Ktho Delios, one of the other nations, or even some noble or organization within Kirresc itself? As soon as we know for certain, we are going to war.”
Nycos desperately wished that he were within reach of one of the chamber’s chairs.
“What I need to know, Sir Nycolos, is that I can count on you. That you won’t be caught up in past grudges.”
“I’m a loyal knight of Kirresc! Of course you…” He stopped, Zirresca’s precise words catching up with him. His earlier suspicion crystallized into absolute certainty, and he knew what she’d already almost told him twice over.
Well, he could hardly pretend to be surprised, could he? Orban was dead, Kortlaus not far behind. He himself had been away. And she’d been the frontrunner anyway, hadn’t she?
He’d nowhere else to go, no easy way to start yet another new life, and those people he truly cared for—however few in number—were all here.
So, no matter that everything he’d strived for over the past year and more was beyond his reach, that the only path he knew to a higher position and a better life was now closed to him, that his pride rankled and churned at the very notion, he gave the only answer he could.
“Of course you can count on me, Crown Marshal Zirresca. It’s my honor to serve.”
___
“It’s all coming apart.”
Vesmine Droste, officer of the Deliant, leaned her head up against the cool stone wall. “I put this all into motion. It was my plan. Quindacra, the ogres, all of it.”
“Was it?” Behind her, an adolescent boy in a ragged cloak placed a wooden mug on the table and leaned back in his chair. “I seem to recall having a bit of a hand in it.”
“You know what I mean. As far as Governor-General Achlaine and the rest of the Deliant are concerned, it’s all me. The operation was supposed to leave our neighbors open and isolated, ripe for the taking. And now it’s failed, utterly, after we’ve devoted a lot of resources. I’ll consider myself fortunate if they just take my rank!”
“Calm down, Colonel.”
“Calm…!” She spun from the wall, stormed over to slam her fists on the table. “How dare you—?”
“Yes, calm. We’ve suffered a setback—but it is a setback, nothing more. We’ll have to take some new steps, rely on some of my failsafes. Your conquest will have to wait another year or three.”
“Oh, is that all? And I suppose you expect me to convince the rest of the Deliant to be all right with that?”
“Dealing with them is a large part of your purpose in this little cabal of ours, Colonel.”
“Don’t overstep yourself, wizard!” she hissed. “You need me more than I need you! If necessary, I’m sure I could find some Inquisitors who could do the same—”
The table reared like a furious stallion, slamming Droste across the chamber with two legs. It charged after her, those same limbs colliding with the stone to either side of her, pinning her to the wall.
“There are no Inquisitors,” he snarled, “no sorcerers for you to call on, who can do what I can!”
Her gaze flickered from him to the table legs, which had struck the stone hard enough to leave scratches. “They’ll hear you!”
“Oh, relax, Colonel. Nobody can hear a thing that occurs within this room unless I wish them to. You might want to consider the various repercussions of that before you think to threaten or insult me again.”
Vesmine nodded stiffly, and the table dropped away, returning to its spot in the center of the chamber.
“Anyway, none of this effort has been wasted,” he explained. “We’ve identified an enemy, one I thought I’d dealt with when I arranged for the Kirrescis to locate Wyrmtaker. Trust me when I tell you it’s better that we learned of him now than when our plans were further along. I’ll figure out how best to deal with him, and you will yet have your war. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Hmph. As you say, Ondoniram.”
“Yes.” The ancient sorcerer smiled broadly with the stolen face of a child. “As I say, indeed.”
About the Author
When Ari Marmell has free time left over between feeding cats and posting on social media, he writes a little bit. His work includes novels, short stories, role-playing games, and video games, all of which he enjoyed in lieu of school work when growing up. He’s the author of the Mick Oberon gangland/urban fantasy series, the Widdershins YA fantasy series, and many others, with publishers such as Del Rey, Titan Books, Wizards of the Coast, Omnium Gatherum, and Dragon Moon Press.
Ari currently resides in Austin, Texas. He lives in a clutter that has a moderate amount of apartment in it, along with George—his wife—and the aforementioned cats, who probably want something.
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