by A J Burns
“Are you sure of this?” Enk asked.
Enos nodded.
“A braver man than me.” Kraos tipped his mug toward Enos.
“A braver man than most.” Enk smiled. “Come to my tent first thing in the morning, and I’ll hand you the magistrate-slayer, and we’ll journey there together.”
“Has anybody heard the news of Ritek—that his family disowned him?” Selath asked.
“His younger sister sits upon the Elynaurian throne,” Enk said.
“I have to be honest,” Antin said; “I expected more of his forces to join him in the betrayal. He did his part in Grofven—and I’ll give him that—but he’s nearly useless to us now.”
“Not entirely,” Enk said. “He still has some loyalists on the other side.”
Vessi responded with: “And what—you don’t think their marshal knows that?”
“What are we to do with him?” Antin asked.
“He brought his nectors with ‘im.” Theos raised his palms toward the ceiling as if to signal his words were an afterthought. “May as well keep ‘im around.”
Antin nodded. “They’re a little too close for my comfort.”
“He’s hired knives to take out the Tekotaurian chief,” said Enk. “Hired the other Slochan brother, I believe.”
“Good luck with that.” Selath flashed a smile, revealing perfectly white teeth. He was a young man, probably twenty-five years of age. “I’ve a better idea. It might sound silly, but hear me out. My idea … is that we send Evoru’s wife back to them.”
“What’ll that do?” Len removed his cap and dropped it onto the table. “How’ll that help us?”
Selath turned his head to Enk. “Tekotaur has an obsession with her, right?”
“Yeah.” Enk didn’t understand where Selath was leading them.
“She has a heart for Evoru, not Tekotaur, and it’ll near tip a hole through his heart when she runs into another man’s arms. If we can find a way to expose the infidelity, that camp might just divide in two.”
“I don’t feel safe with our chips bet on emotion,” Kraos said, and Enk doubted that Kraos even felt comfortable saying “emotion”; the reputation that preceded him was one of complete stoicism.
“Listen,” Selath said, waving his arms. “Listen—we can time this perfectly. Do we still have access to compromised couriers? Yes—we do. Plan a perfectly-timed message to be delivered to Fryne written by Tekotaur. Expose their infidelity. It’ll create a schism among their alliances.”
“Interesting,” said Kraos.
“I like it,” Enk said. “We’ll need to put a lot of thought into it, but it might just work.”
“And if it fails, Ritek’s men can take care of him as planned.” Antin made a clicking sound with his teeth. “And if that fails, no harm done.”
“With that concluded,” Enk said, “has anyone heard from the efforts in the east?”
“The Hytaurs have given up on Kynen and have moved to reinforce the congregation.” Len leaned his head into the palm of his hand and massaged his scalp. “Voru Kynaur is one stubborn son-of-a-bitch.”
“Reinforce the congregation?” Devos scoffed. “With all the intermarriage, they practically are the congregation.”
“Can’t blame the congregation on that one.” Vessi smirked. “The meat from one of their women could feed an entire regiment for a year.”
After the meeting, Enk returned to Selath’s pavilion, where they kept Fryne for her own safety; as the others were concerned, especially those remnants of the Nisola family, Selath kept her as a spoil of war. She had been living with him for two months, since he first discovered her.
Her auburn hair was grimy and knotted, her skin pale from a lack of sunlight, and blood had a habit of leaking from her wounds. The other Panther General thought her beautiful, circumstances aside, but Enk thought of her as being no prettier than any other woman walking down the street.
Enk crouched beside her on the floor. For some reason, foreign to him, she seemed to adore the hardness of the ground. “We plan to let you go. Selath will lead you away in a few hours.”
She perked up and tilted her head, not that much differently from a dog. “Are you really letting me go? Why now?”
He felt pleasure in her excitement. “On one condition—you inform your husband of your infidelity.”
She blushed. “I never—”
“With all due respect, Fryne, I don’t need your life story.” Enk removed the cuffs that bound her, by leash, to the metal framing of the bed. “Tell Evoru what you did, and that will be the end of it.”
“It’ll destroy us.” Her tone was pleading. “I just want to live my life in peace…. No.” She shook her head. “Even that is too much to ask at this point of time. But don’t take my constant away from me.”
“We’ve men close to your husband,” Enk bluffed. “All it’ll take is one word. I try to handle this peacefully as possible.”
“No,” said Fryne. “You don’t.”
Sometimes people get convinced of their own ideas and overlook the plot-holes that are so glaringly obvious in retrospect. Enk was having one of those moments; even if Fryne were to have agreed, nothing was there to hold her liable for her actions. “You know what,” he said, “do as you please.”
When Selath had escorted her away, Enk returned to his own pavilion and said his evening prayers: to Matheral, for her sense of righteousness; to Nerrigal, for his protection; to Tuwen, for his valor; and finally, to Maruul, to guarantee his favor at the high-table of the gods should the others fail to protect him.
Enk lay in his bed, hesitant to fall asleep, his thoughts drifting from one memory to the next. Although his thoughts shifted quickly, he was constantly reminded of Gevon and of the brother who had asked to speak with Enk. More than a month ago, Enk had received a letter from Kron Vyktaur, and together they strode beneath the shade of the timberland.
“I came to thank you,” Kron had said. “Without you, I doubt I ever would’ve seen my brother again.”
“The boy?” Enk asked.
Kron nodded. “I should’ve been more defiant when he had mentioned joining the imperialists, but … I don’t know.”
“I’ve a brother of my own. I know what it’s like.”
“What happened to the rapists?”
“They’re not with us anymore, if that’s what you ask.” Enk had ordered Gevon’s rapists to be imprisoned until the war’s end. “We’ve had many Raurs join our ranks—voyids and parmos mainly, and they’re treated as we are. Some of us, well, they’re not accepting as I’d hope.”
Kron scratched the back of his shoulder. “You’ve exceeded my expectations.”
“I’ve learned not to judge a man until I’ve gotten to know him.” Enk bit into a lemon and squirted the sour juice into his mouth. “Both for their sake and mine.”
“Some of our soldiers had discovered him outside of Parven. That idiot—love him as I do—forgot to remove his regimentals.” Kron coughed into his hand. “They blooded him for being a traitor…. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you. I….”
“He’s a kind soul,” Enk said. “I wish him the best of luck in life. I hope you didn’t think you owe me anything.”
“It was easier when you weren’t human.”
“What do you mean?”
“My sister was murdered.” Kron lowered his head. “Rumors have started to spread about who orchestrated it—but one thing is certain: It wasn’t you—any of you.” He swallowed, raising his head. “You rescued my brother. I am leaving the north. I expect to never see you again. Like I said: I just wanted to thank you. I wanted you to know it was appreciated.”
As Enk reflected on the memory, his senses dulled, and he lulled himself to sleep, nested in the comfort of his blanket. Tonight, he dreamed: not of fire and brimstone, nor of blood and flesh, nor of any of the things he had become familiar with. He saw himself floating in the primum mobile, which, according to ancient theists, was the swiftest, outermost
sphere of the universe, and he watched in amazement the fiery rings as they whirled around the center in all its wonder, an empyrean voice calling out to him; but he awoke to the relative purgatory that was earth.
Selath stopped by in the morning. “Fryne’s safely behind Parven walls.”
“Great,” said Enk. “We’ll need to get together and plan out the letter.”
“Aye. Some people collect coins and others like fine art—others, vintage wine. Please tell me how it is that you managed to become a hoarder of useful hostages.”
“Everybody’s useful in their own right.” Enk smirked. “As to how I’ve managed it—that’s blind luck.”
“That I can make peace with,” said Selath, “but what is the joy of releasing them? First Mauro, then the wife—and please tell me Mauro wasn’t about rescuing that prick Desoru.”
“Hospitality goes a long way, and we may need to call upon our enemies if we wish to free ourselves from the congregation.”
Enos slid into the tent. He nodded to Selath and then looked at Enk. “Ready?”
“Follow me. Selath, we can talk more later.”
Auron had been imprisoned with a group of other Raurs, and the Panther Generals had been careful to not alert the congregation of his presence.
Enk lead Enos to the ruins of an old jail, summoning a latchkey at the entrance and sending him away after the door had been unlocked.
“How are you holding up?” Enk asked.
“Is it that time already?” Auron rested his head against the stone wall.
“We’re here to escort you to the chancellor.”
Auron bit at the thumbnail of his left hand. “Have you heard news of my daughter?”
“I have not.” Enk sighed. “I’ve already told you…. Auron, you know what they do to their captives.”
“No, you don’t know that.” He shook his head, his hair scratching against the stone. “I live to be reunited with her, to tell her that I love her, even if it’s one last time.”
“You can’t back down on me now.” Enk massaged Auron’s shoulder. “The reason why they enforce heresy—it’s an excuse to abduct, kill, and gain from the deaths of heretics.” Enk sat beside him. “The chances aren’t good.”
“I have to see it with my own eyes.”
Enk was cognizant of his tone, careful not to sound harsh. “What do you hope to see with your own eyes? They’ll not erect a mausoleum with your daughter’s name on it. They’ll not leave her body for all to see.”
“I have to see it with my own eyes to accept it. That’s what I meant. Otherwise, I shall live the rest of my life with the hope that she’s alive.”
“The man I prompt you to kill is the one that ordered the execution of your daughter. Have you changed your mind?”
“Don’t worry yourself,” said Auron. “I’m not backing down now.”
“Alright.” Enk nodded. To Enos, he said, “Ready?”
“Yes.”
Enk shut the cell door behind them and solemnly instructed the other men to follow him down the corridor and to the outside path. Rain was starting to fall on the already muddy earth.
“I’ve thought about it,” said Enk. “I don’t want you to go alone.”
Enos glanced at him and shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ll join you. Escort you to the pavilion. As your commanding officer, it would make sense that you notified me of our captive and I had you bring him to the chancellor.”
Enos nodded.
“Auron, how do you feel?”
“I haven’t felt well in months,” Auron said. “And it’s all my fault.”
“What do you mean?”
Auron tugged at his collar. “I knew. A part of me knew. Heresy, it’s all bullshit. I headed straight into their plans and handed them Susyn on an iron platter.”
“I would not blame yourself too much,” Enk said. “An entire nation has been deceived. Are you ready? Are you having any second thoughts?”
“Ready for what?”
“This.”
“Oh.” Auron bobbed his head. “As ready as I’ve ever been.”
“You can do this. Just like we talked about. This is your chance. We can end this all here, once and for all.”
“I know.” Auron half-smiled. “I know.”
Enk lead them beneath the shade of a peach tree. “Here. Give me your arms.” Tying rope around Auron’s wrists, he said, “Pull down with the left arm, and it’ll come unknotted. Try it.”
As Auron moved his left arm downward, the rope loosened and fell to the ground.
“Good.” Enk retied the rope and slid a knife up Auron’s right sleeve. “Pull your left arm down and strike with your right.”
“Got it.”
Enk felt queasy; he didn’t trust Auron’s ability to follow a plan. “Let’s get back on our way,” Enk said.
The chancellor’s pavilion was centered in the Noconyx encampment. Six guardsmen waited outside its entrance, muskets in their hands.
“We wish to speak with the chancellor,” Enk said.
“Why?” asked a guardsman whose breath stunk of garlic.
“We have a captive. Trust me—he’d like to speak with him.”
“Who?”
“The magistrate-slayer.”
The guardsman hummed. “Wait.” He disappeared into the pavilion and returned five minutes later. “Come in.”
Enk entered into the pavilion, Auron directly behind him and Enos trailing both.
The chancellor was tall, just short of seven feet, with a muscular build and long, skinny fingers. Enk thought he resembled the ghouls of folklore. Surkin sat, perfectly straight, at the other end of the pavilion. The Flayed Prophet stood beside him, and they watched the trio as they entered and bowed.
“Show me what you’ve brought,” Surkin said. “Hurry up with it.”
“We found Magistrate Alena’s assassin,” said Enos. “Auron Helore of Grofven.”
“From where was he captured?”
“Rebel army.”
“When?”
“Month ago. Maybe.”
Sensing that Enos lacked a certain charisma, Enk interjected. “We’ve had him for a couple months, but we just discovered his identity recent, Your Holiness.”
“How can you prove his identity?”
“From a Mesal who used to work at the courthouse, Your Holiness.”
“What is their credibility worth?”
“Your Holiness, I have every reason—”
“I’m him,” Auron said. “My name is Auron Helore, son of Nestyvon, born and raised in Grofven, and I killed Magistrate Alena to save my daughter, Susyn.”
Surkin sat in silence. “Though you did not save her, did you?”
“I was … unable to rescue her.”
“Yes, you were.” Surkin snapped his fingers. “General, why have you brought this vermin to me?”
“Servitude,” Enk said, bowing his head.
“Do not insult me.”
Enk cleared his throat. “His friends sent my brothers and sisters into exile when they took hold of Grofven. I wish to see him punished.”
“That is more of an answer.” To Auron, he said, “You will rue the day that your mother pushed you out her cunt.”
“Yes, Your Holiness,” Auron mumbled.
“Bow before me!” The chancellor shouted, moving away from his throne. “Bow before me! You are a heretic! A murderer! You shall be flayed alive for your sins against the congregation!”
Auron shrank down. “Protect me,” he mumbled to himself. “Protect me gods, please, as I kneel here today.”
“You dare speak?” Again, the chancellor was shouting. “You sin before me here—at this very moment!”
Lowering his head even farther, Auron said, “Forgive me, Your Holiness.”
“You ask for forgiveness? I will watch as every piece of skin is torn from your bloody, shivering body.” He swaggered towards Auron.
“I was only trying to protect my daughter
, Your Holiness.”
“Your daughter?” Surkin smacked Auron. “We killed her.”
Auron’s right arm twitched. “You killed her?”
“I killed her with my own hands. I drowned her and felt the pulse leave her little body.”
“Why?”
“I need no reason,” Surkin said, offended. “Servants, make an example of this filth. Erect a platform for him in the middle of the camp.”
“Yes, Your Holiness,” said a Noconyx servant.
Enk tensed up, exhaling and inhaling more quickly with every second, anticipating the attack from Auron. This is it. He fixated on the exchange between Auron and the servant.
Auton looked up and stared into the chancellor’s eyes, betraying hatred hidden deep within. After a moment, he tilted his head downwards and rested his right arm against his side.
“Come with me,” the servant said, seizing Auron by left arm.
“We will need to tenderize the skin,” said the Flayed Prophet. “Boil a vat of water, and I will be out momentarily.”
“Yes, of course, Prophet.”
Auron gazed into Enk’s eyes as he was escorted out the pavilion by the servant, a pitiful expression upon his face.
This was our chance.
“Servants, escort out the other … Mesal,” Surkin said, pointing at Enos. “Leave Enk.”
“Bye,” Enos said as he was being pushed towards the entrance.
“You wished to speak with me, Your Holiness?” Enk asked. The words felt awkward on his tongue.
“I do not wish for things, general.” The chancellor readjusted the latches of his cope. “Your hand seems to be healing rapidly. Consider it a gift from the goddesses.”
Enk looked at the stumps where his fingers had been. He thought of how easy it would be to end Surkin’s life, but he wasn’t yet willing to give his own in exchange. “The gods are just, Your Holiness.”
“Did you think you could hide the Elynaur from me?”
These words instilled a fear far greater than the threat of death.
“By no means, Your Holiness. The Ritek boy is dead—killed in the raid on Grofven. His nectors fight in his stead.”
The Panther Generals had kept Ritek a secret from the congregation, to shield him from the Noconyx in exchange for his forces.
