by Erik A Otto
One puzzle piece that was hard to find a place for was this man Zahir. Paulo knew by his accent that he was Jawhari, and clearly he’d helped the princess escape Jawhar. But what faction did he represent? Paulo would need to find out more about him. Zahir could be an important man to influence the outcome in both Jawhar and Spoons.
Paulo looked behind him and Zahir sneered again. It didn’t give Paulo any comfort, however, that Zahir’s countenance toward him consisted mainly of sinister looks.
“Stop. We should talk, Fringe man,” Zahir called out.
Paulo pulled up the reins of his horse and turned around. Zahir ushered him off to the side of the path so they were out of sight of any through traffic. Paulo kept a horse length’s distance from the Jawhari man, edging away as they clustered together to talk. Zahir was built like a soldier, and Paulo suspected he knew how to use his sword. Coupled with the sinister looks, it meant caution was warranted.
“We should go south. We will help the princess escape,” Zahir said. Zahir clenched his teeth and held onto his leg wound as he spoke. It could be worse that he was letting on, but there was nothing Paulo could do to help him.
“I don’t think that’s wise, Zahir. We were doubly lucky to escape from the army camp and then be mistakenly let go by the other soldiers. Let’s not tempt fate by taking on a well-organized military force again.”
“Then we must find the Thelonian brothers again—to help us free the princess.”
Paulo shook his head. “No, they are long gone to the south, and we know there’s a search party after them. That search party most certainly has our description as well. Besides, it might take us weeks to find them. In that time we could easily be caught or killed.”
The Jawhari spat on the ground in disgust. “Then what would you have us do? Run away like cowards and let the Cenarans ravage us? The princess is the key to building any defense.”
The man was coarse but concise. Paulo weighed his words carefully. “You’re your own man, Zahir. I can’t stop you from taking a different path, but I must take mine. I intend to go to Spoons to speak with the Fringe council.”
“Maybe I will leave, then,” Zahir said.
Paulo only shrugged.
Zahir didn’t immediately put his words into action. If this Jawhari man was at all intelligent, he must know that his cause was hopeless on his own. With a distinct Jawhari accent and without the proper crest, he could only get by impersonating a Fringe for so long. And he would be alone, a thousand miles from his homeland, with a wounded leg. He would be captured in no time.
Zahir seemed to be making some internal calculation, perhaps the same one that Paulo had just made. He tilted his head in contemplation. “You Fringe have councils? What do you speak to the council about? And where is this Spoons place?”
The man was grasping for a better alternative. Paulo ignored his questions and cut to the root of his inquiry. “There are some among us Fringe that believe that the Cenarans will leave the Fringe alone. I’m not one of those. I will speak to the council about the Cenaran threat and what we can do to stem the tide.”
Zahir contemplated his words with an air of skepticism.
Paulo continued, “I would be glad if you could join me. You could help convince the council of the threat in Jawhar. In turn, I would seek out assistance from the Fringe. We Fringe would never offer explicit military support, but I would advocate for some form of clandestine assistance so that we can attempt to even the playing field against the Cenarans.”
“I see.” Zahir nodded in disgust. “And if we fight against the Cenarans, you will make more money from silverstone.”
Paulo shrugged. It might be true, but he was being sincere that the Cenaran threat was his chief concern. There wasn’t much he could say to convince Zahir otherwise. “I’m sure you see the logic in this for us. If the Cenarans aren’t checked, it’s more likely their war efforts will be all-encompassing, including the Fringe. Whereas if there is a defense mounted by the Belidorans and Jawhari, there will be more balance and less likelihood of a totalitarian rule.”
Zahir frowned in contemplation. Paulo continued, “I’m not necessarily of like mind with the other council members, however. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to obtain this support, especially because it could be considered a breach of our doctrine.”
“Will you try to get the princess released?” Zahir asked, clearly warming to the idea.
“I’m not sure if it will be possible, but it would be a desirable outcome, as part of a larger plan.”
Zahir squinted his eyes at Paulo. “How do I know that I can trust you, Fringe?”
Paulo said, “You don’t.” Paulo knew he had him, and now that he did, he let Zahir in on the bad news. “Spoons is a special place for us Fringe. Unfortunately the only way I can convince them to allow entrance to a Jawhari representative is under certain conditions.”
Zahir’s sneer returned. “What conditions?”
“You must be indentured to me for three months, by contract.”
“Ha!” Zahir spat on the ground. Apparently this Jawhari man loved to water the ground whenever he could.
Paulo waited patiently. Despite the show of defiance, he could tell Zahir was still thinking.
In the end, Zahir finally capitulated. “I will sign your indenture, Fringe, but if I find out you’ve lied, it’s void.”
Paulo wasn’t naïve. He knew the document was essentially void anyway. Zahir was too cynical to be bound by any signature on a piece of paper. The indenture would allow them flexibility of movement within Spoons, and it could be a mechanism for leveraging more information from Zahir, but he wouldn’t count on him living up to the terms.
There on the side of the path, Zahir signed the contract Paulo produced. He always had one with him, ready to take on a useful asset whenever the opportunity arose. The signature read, “Zahir Mohammed of Managash.” Paulo didn’t know if that was his real name, but it was a start to finding out more about him.
They took a right at the next split and turned onto a little-used path, heading due east. Paulo noticed the faint forked flag stenciled above some of the branches that lined the path. He knew he was on the right track.
The stencil furnished a spark of excitement in Paulo. Spoons was only a few days’ ride. He would finally be able to see the plans he’d labored over for so many years coming to life.
Chapter 3
The Commander
“Madam treasurer, the queen has requested your presence in her chamber.”
Aisha looked up from her equations and charts. It was Susannah, one of the housemaids. She had peered into the open door of the study to summon her. Mother had been using Susannah for errands more than her trained scribes recently. It was another of mother’s flights of fancy to go against tradition simply because she liked dealing with one person over another.
“Thank you, Susannah. I’ll be there as fast as my leg can carry me.”
Aisha waited until Susannah left to fasten her wooden leg.
The stump was more tender and painful than usual. When she touched the tip, shooting pains would channel up her torso. The royal physician assured her that it was in good health and that the pain was just the nerve ending that wasn’t retreating from the tip. The stump sometimes seemed brownish and smelled foul, but some fungus and bruising was normal, the physician said.
The harness that was attached to the wooden leg often lessened her discomfort, but sometimes getting it attached was its own ordeal. She bared her teeth and pulled the upper leg on, attaching the four separate straps to keep it in place around her leg, groin, and waist. It was rare that she didn’t feel at least one lightning bolt of pain when she fastened it. The first strap was the worst. Then the other straps would gradually divert more weight away from the tip, keeping the end of her stump out of contact with the wood.
She hobbled off her chair and along the corridor, deciding to not use the crutch this time. She carried the ledger book under one arm, just i
n case mother had accounting questions, even though she never did. Wyg lamps flickered along the hallway. The palace was quiet except for the offbeat metronome of her walking down the corridor.
She navigated the stairs with care then hung a right toward the Royal Suite. Tandem and Crayden were there, dutifully watching the double doors. That was unusual. They moved aside and opened the doors for her, bisecting the massive Pomerian crest emblazoned between them.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Aisha offered flatly.
The queen was twisting the braids of her fake hair in the ornate silverstone mirror that dominated the corner of the bedchamber. The room was unusually messy, with the bed in disarray and books lying open on the table. The queen seemed thoughtful and distant, but present enough to holler into the mirror, “Tandem, Crayden, please relieve yourselves for an hour, but don’t go too far away.”
“Yes, your eminence,” Tandem replied for them both as he shut the doors behind Aisha.
Aisha made her way to the table, pushed away some of the open books, and sat on the top with her wooden leg extending outward so it could rest on a chair. “Any word from Landon and Petra?” she asked.
Landon and Petra had been on a diplomatic mission to Esienne for nearly a month. Not that it mattered because they didn’t do any real work for the kingdom. As for Hella’s whereabouts, Aisha had long since given up asking.
The queen looked back at Aisha and said, “I really wish you wouldn’t sit like that.” The queen’s reprimand lacked the usual bitterness. She looked self-absorbed, even more so than usual. Aisha had no intention of leaving her most comfortable sitting position, especially because the only opportunity she had to take advantage of it was behind closed doors, either in her room or in her mother’s. It wasn’t stately enough to do so elsewhere—according to her parents.
Aisha waited for her mother to reveal the purpose of the summons. Eventually the queen peeled herself away from the mirror and scanned the environs of her room unhappily. “Do you know that many see a monarchy as a weak form of government? They say that, because it’s ruled by one family, it’s more susceptible to corruption and tyranny.”
Aisha had no idea where this was going but went along with her mother’s tangent as she always did. “I can see that.”
“Many believe that the Belidoran triumvirate is the right way to go. Defense, faith, and commerce, all equally represented, with two to check the tyranny of the third. They even believe the Jawhari government to be more ideal than a monarchy. Although the Herald has ultimate authority, he risks revolution if he doesn’t appease his councilors. To my shock, one of the scholars believes that the lowly Cenarans may in fact be the best, with four regional leaders and one centralized spiritual leader. Do you think this might be true?”
Aisha shrugged. “It might be true in theory, but that doesn’t always translate into practice.”
“Yes, Aisha, yes,” Mother responded, as if Aisha had spoken a great truth.
Aisha was getting impatient. Whenever she was summoned it was because they needed complex financing or nasty tax work to be done. She wanted to get it over with. “Mother, what would you have me do?”
The queen smiled at Aisha. “You know, you aren’t a daughter I would have imagined for myself.”
Aisha knew this well, but the queen had never said it before. It was Hella who’d always taken after Mother. She was much more refined, articulate, and able to influence people—the perfect queen’s daughter—whereas Aisha was too pragmatic and blunt for Mother’s liking. Of course, Hella thought the likeness to be insulting because of her many disagreements with Mother.
Mother continued, “You were always so diligent, so hardworking, but…different. I don’t say this often, but you are my daughter, even though I sometimes forget to mention it.” Her mother’s smile was sad, almost pleading. “With Hella I never had a chance to explain. She was always so headstrong. She refused to talk after the Announcement, but I could have forced her to listen. I wish I had told her we had no choice. The Jawhari wanted royalty, and I thought Hella would be best for the job. I didn’t want to put her in such a position…she must know that.”
The queen’s melancholy look faded. She stopped glancing about the room, and her chin went out. She had returned to regal form, all ice and glare.
“Landon and Petra have been taken hostage,” the queen said.
“What?”
“While in Esienne they were taken hostage and put aboard a ship to Cenara. Their retinue has confirmed that they were lost in the market, and a trader has come to us with terms, which we do not intend to comply with.”
“Wait, Mother, what terms? Are we going to consult with the nobles? Who is behind this?”
“The terms are quite simple. If we tell anyone of their abduction, including our own kin, they will be tortured for months until death. Their terms are to not support the Belidorans or Jawhari in any attack against them by the Cenarans.”
“I’m sorry. Did you say any attack by the Cenarans?”
“Yes, Aisha.”
Aisha was confused. The Cenarans were savages who mostly pandered to the greater nations through indentures and lopsided trade deals. What attacks could they possibly be referring to? “I don’t understand. If there are some rogue Cenarans who’ve taken Landon and Petra, why can’t we just force the Cenaran authorities to apprehend the criminals?”
“Aisha, please understand that your father and I have had many discussions about this. You have been taking care of our finances and managing so many other important parts of the kingdom, but what your father and I do is important as well. When we go abroad, it’s not just to drink and socialize and promote the kingdom. We do so to make alliances, to seed trade, and to learn about threats and opportunities.
“I can tell you that in the last year, events have transpired that lead us to believe that something strange is amiss. All across Belidor, people are being removed from power for capricious reasons. Authorities are changing their policies without cause. Mostly we have noticed that many people have gone missing—dignitaries, diplomats, and military men—and no alarms have been sounded. We keep track of these people, and no one will explain these gaps.
“And now, in hindsight, after Landon and Petra’s abduction, there has been one topic of conversation, in particular, that has been strained. Or…maybe it was more a skirting of the issue than a strain. These are subtleties of discussion that, as diplomats, we see, and someday maybe you will see. Many of these nobles, these high-powered people, don’t talk about their children anymore. They say all is well but offer no details when it was all they wanted to talk about before. It’s like their children are no more, or they are statues in their attic somewhere. It’s not like this with everyone, but it’s true of many. Too many for it to be coincidence, I think.
“And then there is the situation with Hella. Hella does have her way of making a scene, but we all know she’s no traitor. We originally suspected the accusations against her to be the result of a Jawhari powerplay, yet the way it unfolded was peculiar. If it was a Jawhari move, the military action would have followed swiftly after the assassination attempt because the pretext for war would have been set. But then, nothing happened. That makes me think she could be entwined in something else.
“This is what you might call a hunch, Aisha. It’s only a hunch, and yet hunches can be important, and this is a big one. There’s something going on here, something much bigger than Landon and Petra, something much bigger than Pomeria, and potentially bigger than Belidor. We need to tread very, very carefully. Do you understand?”
Aisha was shocked by the amount of information her mother was imparting to her. She was usually told little, left alone to parse what was going on from simple commands and public decisions. Not only was mother making an effort to help her understand, but the explanation also exposed the world in which her parents operated; a world that was more layered and nuanced than Aisha had ever imagined.
At the same time, what mother
was suggesting was such an upheaval that it was difficult to grasp. She clearly thought a major war was brewing, with the Cenarans as a key agent. Why was this happening? But most importantly, how could they get Landon and Petra back and bring those who took them to justice?
“Yes, mother, I understand. So what will we do?” Aisha asked.
The queen looked away from Aisha, toward the mirror. “First, we must accept that Landon and Petra will die, or we will forever be influenced by their capture, even subconsciously. This may seem callous, Aisha, but if I’m right, we are facing much more than their death. We must put the kingdom first, and we must prove our scholars wrong about forms of government. If we don’t, it may seem counterintuitive, but I think it more likely that we will lose them, along with the whole kingdom, simply because we will make the wrong moves.”
It was a shocking statement. How could she so easily leave them for dead? Aisha had her doubts about her mother’s position, but this wasn’t the time to articulate them.
“Second, we must empower you as a chief and singular operative to act on behalf of the king and queen because, other than us, you’re the only one who’s aware of Landon and Petra’s abduction. We will be making you High Commander of the Royal Guard and Vice Chairman of the Noble’s Council. In addition, we will be announcing you as first in the line of succession.”
Aisha felt light-headed. Suddenly she felt silly sitting with her leg extended awkwardly. She stood up, keeping her back straight like they’d been taught. “Yes, Mother. Yes, my queen.”
“Third, we must move quickly to gather intelligence and act on it. Don’t trust anyone, and use whatever means necessary. As far as I’m concerned, this is wartime. If someone needs to die, kill them. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, my queen.”
“Fourth, I have your first assignment as High Commander. We have received word that Hella has made it out of Jawhar. A Belidoran army stationed in Thelonia has taken her. Take not a retinue or a squad, but a full regiment to the northeast toward Marsaya and up into Thelonia to intersect this army. Do whatever you can to gain passage and meet with its officers, and insist that you speak to Hella. You must find out what you can from her about what really transpired in Jawhar. Gather whatever intelligence you can. The Belidoran military is an area your father and I have little purview over, so there may be important information to glean from the officers there. Again, don’t trust anyone, especially in Belidor, but also in Pomeria. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are traitors in our midst, even in the Royal Guard.”