The Complete Season 1

by Michael Underwood

  It was denial, but he had other things to worry about. The medication helped but left him in a fog, like he had to fight a battle of wills just to be able to read and write, to speak in complete sentences.

  “You heard the report I gave,” Adechike said. “He was attacked! It’s a miracle he’s alive.”

  “Hold steady,” Ojo whispered. “Let them be.”

  Sweat soaked his robes and the mass of bandages around his arm. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but he struggled through, over-enunciating.

  “I understand that Adechike has provided reports during my absence. What news from the front?”

  Guildmaster Nenge spoke through a scowl, her hair perfectly coiffed, her robes immaculate. “The Mertikan fleet has captured two supply ships and sent two cruisers limping home.” She glanced down at a report. “We’ve lost eighty marines, over two hundred sailors, and three bladecrafters in skirmishes so far. Without relief from the Vanians, our line would have collapsed a week ago. The dreadnought has been boxed in by a dozen ships. We’ve found no other gaps in their line, even with assistance from the Vanian fleet.”

  Guildmaster Edokwe’s nostrils flared. “Mertika was ready for this, and they’re making us pay for every league of space we take.”

  Izebry said, “But take it we will. We’ve already begun strip-mining the Rumikan island to forge the plates for a new wave of ships. The High Skies, a new battleship, will be ready to set sail in a week. Once it is complete, we will commit the reserves to back up the dreadnought. That fleet will break the Mertikan line and seize another island from Rumika, while ground troops search for the elusive scientists so that we may gain this Rumikan method.”

  Ojo gripped the chair tighter, holding back rage. “That aerstone must be used to shore up the island! We cannot hope to save our people if we use it for war.”

  “Quloo does not have time for half measures and stalling tactics. We use some aerstone now, and we will have the Rumikan method all the sooner. Then the rest of what we gain from Rumika’s outlying islands will let us stabilize Quloo and support our campaign against Mertika.”

  Ojo started to speak, but Izebry cut him off immediately.

  “That’s enough. We’ve been patient with you, Ojo.”

  They hadn’t.

  “We’ve tried to hold your hand and give respect to the work you’ve put in, misguided though it might be.”

  If what they’ve given is respect, I’d hate to see the alternative.

  “But we can no longer pretend that there isn’t a problem.”

  For a heartbeat, Ojo dreamed that this meant the High Skies faction was stepping back. But he knew it wasn’t. Dread filled his mind like a cruiser blocking out the sun during a bombing run.

  “Given your condition,” Nenge said, disgust smeared across her face, “it is clear that you are not able to serve. Quloo needs strong representation on Twaa-Fei, and more important, we cannot be yoked to the compromising, conciliatory traditions that for too long have guided our foreign policy. Your services are no longer needed, Warder Kante. Junior Warder Ekutu shall adopt your role, effective immediately. You are to return home on the next ship for reassignment.”

  He saw them coming as sure as the most telegraphed lunge, but he had no defenses, no contingency plan, no power. The light went out of the room and he fell into the chair in a heap, all sense of balance and direction lost.

  Adechike spoke, doubtless some words in his defense. But his voice was faraway, as if across a noisy battlefield instead of right beside him, still holding him with one strong arm.

  “I can’t do it,” Adechike said, his breath on Ojo’s ear.

  Ojo grabbed hold of the younger man like a lifeline. “You must. If you refuse, they’ll send a puppet. They may still.”

  Focusing, Ojo wiped the tears from his eyes. He concentrated on the pool, his vision resolving again to show the unwelcome quartet that had cut his world out from under him.

  “Thank you for the trust you’re placing in me, Guildmasters,” Adechike said, no trace of anger in his voice. Ojo thought himself flexible, savvy, but Adechike’s spirit was like the raging Ahra River: you could drop a boulder the size of a house in the middle, but the river would keep flowing.

  Guildmaster Amewezie said, “We will have more orders for you shortly, Warder Ekutu. The winds are shifting, and if you serve well, your fortunes, and those of your family, will soar high during Quloo’s ascendance.”

  “For Quloo,” Adechike said.

  “For Quloo,” the four answered.

  Adechike dropped the sigil, and the pool went still. The young man sighed, setting the blade down on the desk.

  Ojo let loose a bellow of pain and loss and rage.

  He did not care if the other warders heard him. He’d given his life to Quloo, turned every fiber of his being to the service of his people. He’d carved hope out of the hard rock of inevitability, and yet they tossed him away like the skin of an orange.

  Anger made his movements shaky, worse even than the clumsiness he felt due to the medications the doctors had given him to dull the pain.

  His arm would heal, or it would not. The High Skies had taken something more essential, more irreplaceable from him than his body.

  They had stolen his purpose. His guiding star. If he was not a warder, what was he? Penelope was gone, most of his friends back home hadn’t seen him in a decade. The embassy was his world.

  And now they wanted him to return to Quloo. And for what? To push papers in some back office, counting mail? Arbitrate arguments between farmers?

  Adechike knelt to face Ojo eye to eye, his hand on his mentor’s unwounded forearm. “Ojo, I didn’t know; I’ll fight this. Maybe if it’s just me, I can convince them to let you stay until you’ve healed, make this change temporary. . . .”

  Ojo squeezed the young man’s arm. “You are too kind, too joyful for the times we live in. You must guard that fire in your heart against the chill winds of war. They would turn you into a weapon against the others. You must remember what it means to be Quloi. What we stand for. If we lose our soul to save our people, do we deserve to survive?”

  “I will do my best,” Adechike said. His eyes were red with tears. He felt everything so deeply. Was I ever so young? Ojo wondered.

  “You will need to learn to hide your feelings better too.”

  “To the Mists with that,” he said. “What now?”

  “Now you tell Yochno what has happened. I am going to write some letters, and then I am going down-island to drink until I cannot think.”

  Chapter 5

  Kris

  With Xan safely squared away in the Rumikan embassy behind heavy doors and protected by a half dozen guards, Kris went on the offensive.

  Evidence in hand (backed up with a sigil of duplication), Kris marched across the ambassadorial grounds to the Quloi embassy. They followed the proper procedures, announcing themself and their official request from warder to warder, waiting when they should wait, and every other bit of propriety that could be used against them.

  And they waited. And waited. But only the page answered.

  “I’m sorry, Warder Denn, but the warder is not available.”

  “What about his junior, Adechike Ekutu?”

  “Again, I’m sorry. The warder is not available.”

  It had to start with Quloo. If Quloo agreed with the evidence, it could end the war. Everything else was just to gather more support.

  So they waited some more. In the council chambers they’d have Xan to give her testimony live, but even on paper, the picture was clear.

  They just needed to get the others to see it.

  •••

  An hour later the page returned and brought Kris into the receiving room, where Adechike stood over a desk filled with papers.

  Adechike grinned as Kris entered. “Good day.”

  “Good day. Is Warder Kante available, or is he recovering? I’d like to speak to both of you, if possible. It’s ver
y important.” Every inch of Kris wanted to just spill the bag out and start talking through the evidence, but that wouldn’t do. They would follow every Mists-damned protocol, leave no room for doubt or dismissal.

  A shadow passed over Adechike’s face. “I’m sorry, he’s not. I am serving in his stead.”

  “Of course. I hope he’s recovering well,” Kris said, sticking to the niceties as long as they could.

  Adechike nodded.

  “I’ve found it,” Kris blurted out. "The evidence that will end the war between our people. It was Mertika all along. I’m sorry I ever doubted you, doubted Ojo. But we will have justice.”

  Kris walked Adechike through the evidence, shared every piece, every account, every scrap from every ledger.

  And when it was done, they said:

  “What do you say, friend? Shall we go end a war?”

  Adechike looked to the papers, then looked to Kris. But his look was not one of hope, or relief. It was guilt.

  “And this sailor, she is safe? She will testify under a sigil of truth?”

  “Of course,” Kris said.

  Adechike paced around the desk, his breathing intentionally slow. From the time Kris had spent with Adechike, training, talking, and drinking, none of these were good signs. “I can’t act without Quloo’s approval. I can present this evidence, but the decision is not mine,” he said finally.

  “How can they do anything but end the war? We were deceived! We can claim reparations from Mertika and start over! I’ll make the Rumikan elders see reason. It will be like the war never happened.”

  “But it did. And it may keep happening. I’ll let you know as soon as I have a response.”

  The wind went out of Kris’s sails. It was supposed to be the three of them together, Kris, Ojo, and Adechike, the warders of Rumika and Quloo standing together once more to fix the terrible wrong that had pitted them against each other.

  But there were other warders. And the further Xan’s account spread, the harder it would be for Mertika to maintain their lie.

  “Of course. Just let me know.”

  “Thank you, Kris. I hope . . . I hope you’re right, that we’ll be able to stop the war. I would like nothing more in the world than to go back to the way things were.”

  •••

  Next they visited Takeshi, hoping to go from friend to friend, that Takeshi could convince Bellona to come to the table. Especially with Michiko gone and the Kakute seat empty.

  Takeshi met them immediately. His laboratory equipment was set off to one side, his desk half a mess of papers, half an immaculate and organized workstation. His chair was pulled to the clean side, but Takeshi was already standing when Kris entered.

  Kris launched right in. “Thank you for seeing me. I called a meeting today, but no one came.”

  “I’m very sorry I could not attend. Bellona has picked up where Lavinia left off in terms of dominating the agenda.”

  “What I have to say must be heard. By every warder still on Twaa-Fei. And witnesses. The sooner the better. I have evidence—”

  “I know,” Takeshi said. “Michiko confronted Bellona with what she’d found, but she could not make her see reason. Nor could I. Bellona will do what she can to prevent this from coming to light, and my hands are tied. The empire sidelined Kensuke for Michiko, and with her gone, if I’m removed, Bellona will soon have two good puppets and the lockstep unity the empress demands.”

  “So what does that mean in practice? With Taro gone, I need Quloo, Vania, and then at least one imperial warder to appear for the Circle to have a quorum.”

  Takeshi gave a mischievous grin, his face lively where so often it was reserved, watching the world, studying it, but not in it. “I am sparring with Bellona in the gardens this afternoon at three. It is, after all, not required that council meetings be conducted in only those two rooms.”

  “You’re brilliant.” Kris grabbed Takeshi in a joyful hug without thinking. But once they were there, they smelled the spiced soaps Takeshi used, the scent of sandalwood, and the warmth of his chest.

  Kris dropped the hug as quickly as they’d begun it. Now it was their turn to hold back. No time for that, not when things were so perilous.

  Takeshi’s cheeks flushed, probably as much from surprise as anything. But hopefully not only from surprise, Kris thought.

  Back home, those half glances and longing looks, those terrifying, delightful silences were fine. But the stakes were too high for such dangerous unknowns. Not yet, at least. Takeshi had opened the door for the meeting—that was enough. It’d have to be enough. They just had to convince Cassia.

  “Thank you. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  •••

  Kris left a note with Adechike detailing the special meeting location.

  Cassia accepted their invitation with a raised eyebrow, but stayed very formal throughout. Not surprising given Vania’s declaration for Quloo in the war. But she did seem curious to hear Xan’s account in person, which was promising.

  Out of formality, and to give Michiko as much cover as possible, they left a message with the Kakute embassy. Every hour of lead Michiko got on Mertika was another pace she could steal into their measure without response. Kris also left a letter for Warder Hii at the Tsukisen embassy. The letter argued that in a time of such crisis, Tsukisen could be a stabilizing influence.

  But Tsukisen had weathered greater political storms than this by withdrawing, their nation the farthest from Mertika and on the other side of the Maelstrom from Quloo.

  It’d be dangerous to forget them entirely, but for the moment, Kris had no illusions that Warder Hii would come sailing in at the fore of a fleet of peacemaker ships to push the Mertikans and Quloi apart.

  Even with reports to read and letters to write, they could not help but feel the minutes stretch on into eternity. They went to the chamber to think, then walked out with Yochno to the gardens that bordered the Mertikan grounds.

  Adechike arrived first, but without Ojo. Cassia came next. Takeshi walked in several minutes later, making a show of looking surprised by the meeting.

  Four was all they needed. They nodded to Yochno, who called the Circle into session. Yochno had not been pleased by Kris’s request, but as they argued, if the warders would not meet a summons to the Circle, then to preserve the sanctity of the Circle, they needed to adapt.

  “Greetings, Warders,” Yochno called in a loud voice, his words echoing. “Warder Denn has called a session, so they take the floor.”

  Kris stepped forward.

  “Thank you for joining me, Warders. I know it’s been a very hard few weeks and months for us, which is why it is even more important that the information—”

  A shout rang out the other side of a hedge. “Stop!”

  The light of a sigil flashed through the brush, then the shrub folded onto the ground, revealing a furious Bellona, sword in hand.

  “Greetings, Warder Avitus,” Kris said. “Thank you for joining us.”

  “Silence!” she called.

  “Warder Denn has the floor,” Yochno said, his face blank, in the same tone he used when Kris was trying to barrel through something, the guarded neutrality Kris had come to appreciate more every week as the intricacies of the Circle became clearer.

  “I know what they’re going to say, and it’s all nonsense. Give that trash to me so I can toss it into my fireplace, where it belongs.”

  “Is it trash or is it kindling, Warder Avitus?” Adechike asked.

  Cassia chuckled.

  “Warder Denn is speaking. Procedure declares we must hear them out,” Takeshi added.

  “Rumika calls upon the sailor Xan, the only known survivor of the lost trade fleet.”

  From around the corner, Nik and Kris escorted Xan into the group. Xan’s hands gripped each other, and she looked terrified. She walked up to Kris, who caught her gaze. “It’s okay. Just tell us who you are and what you saw. You’re safe here.”

  As if to specifically make Kri
s into a liar, Bellona stepped forward and raised her blade. “No! We do not know this Xan. Of course a Rumikan would say whatever Kris wants them to.”

  “Her,” Kris said. “Xan has agreed to speak within a Circle of Banished Lies. You can draw the sigil yourself if you want to.”

  That was risky. If Bellona were skilled enough, she could manipulate the sigil to make it provide a false positive. But there was no way she could do so without the others noticing.

  “Spare me your grandstanding. This libel must not be allowed to enter the record. Mertika has Rumika’s best interests in mind, even if they’re too stupid to be grateful.”

  Kris’s hand went to their blade. “Do you challenge her right to speak despite my invitation?”

  “I so challenge.”

  Good, Kris thought. They could use a fight to blow off some steam.

  •••

  Bellona all but slammed her ceremonial sword onto the altar of challenge. Kris answered as calmly as they could, though their ears were already growing hot with anticipation.

  The two made their preparations on the field. The crowd was small, but all that mattered was Yochno and the other warders.

  Kris stretched diligently, keeping the fire in their heart contained. In the Gauntlet, they’d gotten ahead of themself, played too loose.

  They could not afford to lose here. They might hope that others would stand up for them, like Ojo and Hii had done on their first day in Twaa-Fei, but they couldn’t count on anything other than this one chance. Without Xan’s testimony, all they had was circumstantial evidence and supposition.

  Bellona had trained with Lavinia for most of a year, but she lacked experience. Lavinia fought so many of Mertika’s duels that Kris had only seen Bellona duel for minor matters. Kris didn’t know her style, but they were well practiced and they had the right on their side.

  Kris knelt for a moment and prayed, casting their thoughts back to their homeland, to the mountains and lakes, to the bustling streets and the orderly laboratories. They thought of every single person they’d met in their training tour.