Andalon Awakens

by T B Phillips

  She started to protest, intending to remove him from the hall. Fires of Cinder! Is he just going to lie there, crying like a baby? She motioned for Brohn to restore the old man to his chair.

  Shol quickly added, “We know where your son is, your majesty. We received a ransom demand for his release. Our sources tell us he was kidnapped by a known outlaw to the empire, one Braen Braston, the oldest son of the late Lord Krist Braston of Fjorik.”

  The queen met his eyes as she absorbed his words. She could feel herself calming down, yet the anger was still seething beneath the surface. “Didn’t he flee to exile a year ago?” She looked at the old man, now seated. Blast it but he’s still crying. I didn’t hit him that hard.

  “Two years, My Lady Regent. His brother revealed his murder and attempted usurpation of Lord Krist after he had fled on his father’s flagship. I believe it was called Ice Prince, My Lady.”

  “I don’t give a demon’s ass what the name of the ship was!” This man could be useful. He may be the only man besides Matteas worth his salt in this palace.

  Campton Shol continued, “My apologies, My Lady. The ransom demand marked Estowen’s landing, a week’s sail up the coast to the northeast, for the exchange.” He rose from kneeling on the floor as he spoke and drew a folded parchment from his coat. “The details of the exchange are included.” Shol said, as he held the document out to Matteas. The large man said nothing and turned to study it against the maps on the chart table near the windows.

  Crestal assumed Shol had reached the end of his information and turned to deal with the imbeciles seated at the table. “Does anyone else have anything to add?” She emphasized her words as if she dared them to volunteer for the gallows.

  “My Lady Regent,” the minister pressed, “there is one more issue.” She turned back to meet his eyes. They were narrowed, and his face bore an intelligent and perhaps ambitious expression. “Our sources suggest that Braston was the same pirate who plundered our winter stores on the week before last.”

  She met his intent look with one of her own. “Is that the same raid that resulted in the loss of six of my war galleons?” She felt the room spin slightly as she remembered the details of how they had been lost.

  “Yes, Lady Esterling. He led the vessel that escaped upon the arrival of the…the beasts.”

  “So that happened as it was reported.” she whispered. She chuckled slightly despite herself. “Braston really escaped while our fleet was attacked by the mythological kraken of the deep?”

  “Yes, my liege. Several of them actually.”

  “Out!” She commanded. “All but the captain general.” As the men scrambled to leave the room, she briefly glanced at the chancellor. He was still crying and held his hands to his face. “Lord Campton Shol?”

  “Yes, My Lady?” He bowed deeply again, this time with his eyes to the floor.

  “You are to report directly to me and General Brohn.” She gestured at the Lord Chancellor Gedon as she spoke.” Show us your reports before you show them to this sniveling bag of bones.” Picking up a glass of wine from the table, she took a drink to calm her frazzled nerves. She immediately turned her head and spat the entire mouthful on the chancellor. “This wine tastes like piss.”

  Matteas Brohn took the glass, sniffed it and made a disgusted face. Shrugging, he downed the remains. Shol helped up and half carried the old man out of the room, the heavy door slamming behind him as he did.

  After everyone had departed, a door on the opposite wall slowly opened. A tall man with foreign features entered the room wearing a simple robe and a feathered stole around his shoulders. His head was completely bald, and a large hooded hawk perched on his arm.

  Looking up at his yellowish face and slanted almond shaped eyes, Lady Esterling softened her tone. “Weren’t the other Falconers with the fleet?”

  “Yes, Madam. We lost a total of four.”

  “But you had the wind. You had used your magic and stolen his wind, right?”

  “Yes. We had the wind and had stolen his. There is no way he should have survived our arrival.”

  “Then how? I thought only Falconers had the power?”

  “The other powers have been latent for eight hundred years, My Lady. Despite our efforts, they may be finally awakening. We have already culled fifteen gifted infants this year.”

  “Then we need to destroy them. Crush them.”

  “We are working on that, My Lady.”

  “Giant squid? Really? Of all latents to awaken, it had to be water?”

  Matteas Brohn spoke up and answered for the Falconer. “We will make a plan to capture and kill him, Your Highness. It’ll be during the exchange for your son, if you allow us to proceed with it.”

  “He really took him. That abomination has my son?”

  The Falconer nodded, “That is confirmed. We received a ransom request for one hundred thousand gold tenets. He wishes to trade at Estowen’s landing in a week’s time.”

  “Braston wants gold. Why does an exiled prince want gold?”

  “We think he is building an army to challenge his brother.”

  Brohn interjected, “This act should revoke his letter of marque. Unless of course that sleazy Artema Horn sanctioned this kidnapping.”

  “No. Horn isn’t stupid.” Crestal walked to the window and looked out at the city, deep in thought. “No, Matteas. Horn wouldn’t stand for this. I placed him in charge of Pirate’s Cove, and he pays his taxes on time, every time. No. Braen Braston is rogue, most likely hell bent on retaking his kingdom from his brother.”

  “Why not just ask us to back him instead?”

  The Falconer broke his silence. “If he has awakened, then he likely sees himself as a god. If he is making a move to avenge his brother, then he will also raise an army against you.”

  “He will be powerless on land, will he not?”

  The eerie man nodded, “That is our understanding of the winter art. He needs access to water in order to work his power. There are no forecasted rainstorms for that night, and the trade will be made far enough from the pier that a tidal wave will not be too damaging.”

  “Then, I will be with you when the exchange is made. Gather the gold. I will take the most elite of my guard, Matteas. We need to restore order to the Empire.” Both Brohn and the Falconer nodded, then the tall, robed specter turned and glided toward the door from which he entered. After it had shut behind him, Crestal turned to Brohn, “They creep me out, Matteas. I’ll never grow accustomed to them. Make the arrangements and let’s go get my shit pot for a son.”

  “Aren’t they both shit pots, Your Majesty?”

  “They take after their father.” Crestal spun on her heel and made her way to the main door. “I’m retiring to my chambers.” As she opened the door, she spoke without turning to look at her captain general. “I’m done dealing with this day. Have someone send up a decent bottle of wine.”

  “All that we have left is the piss, My Lady.” This stopped the Queen Regent in her tracks.

  “Then I really am going to kill that abomination. I’m going to kill him and pour a bottle of 781 down his throat.” The door slammed shut behind her.

  Matteas picked up a glass of wine from the table, sipped it, and muttered, “At least the bastard left the 772.”

  Chapter Nine

  Amash laid three cards face up on the table. “Three fools and a knight. Read ‘em and weep.” He started to reach out for the pile of coins in the middle, until Braen raised one hand to stop him.

  The big northerner took his time, then said, “Three queens and a fool are a better hand. I win this one, Amash.”

  “Ahem…” Sippen cleared his throat then spread out three kings and a queen. Without saying another word, he used his hands to pull all of the coins to his side of the table.

  “Gods be damned, Sippen! Were you dealt those kings?” B
raen picked up the discards and began searching the deck for another king. He could have sworn there had already been two turned over.

  “Yuh… yes. Puh… pay better attention.” Smiling, the engineer began stacking his new coins in orderly rows next to his towers of gold and silver.

  Turat rose from his seat in a huff. Most of the coins lost that night were his. “I’m out. Besides, Lord Nevra asked me to do some extra work tonight.”

  “You’re working for Nevra?” Braen shot a confused glance at Amash.

  “You think that guarding Artema brings in enough coin for cards? Nevra always has extra work to do around town.” He grabbed his coat and downed his mug. “See you tomorrow, Amash.”

  “He’s right, Braen. We don’t get paid very well for guard duty. All of us take other jobs around town from time to time.” Amash took another sip from his glass and Braen topped it off from the bottle.

  Sippen waited for the door to shut behind Turat. “I don’t trust him.”

  “Turat? He’s not a bad guy. We stand a lot of shifts together and I trust him to have my back. Also, he’s decent with a blade.” Changing the subject, he pointed at his glass. “Well, at least this wine is as good as its price tag.”

  “Better, it would seem, except for the fact that there will only be nine cases left in existence after we are finished with this one.” Looking at the bottle, the big man contemplated, “I could literally sell a single bottle and retire to a nice chateau. I could sell an entire case and buy back my kingdom from my brother. Sippen, the other cases are safely snug on Ice Prince right?

  “Yuh… yes. In the suh… secret hold.”

  “Good man.” He took a sip from his own glass and smiled. “Damn if this isn’t perfectly aged! Such aroma! Such bouquet!”

  “Such a waste of the rest of the collection!” The three men laughed until Amash cleared his throat and asked the question that Braen had hoped to avoid. “Is it true, Braen? Did Krakens really come and attack the ships?”

  “Yes.”

  “Demon’s Ass! What did they look like?”

  “Just like the storybooks. Giant squids with tentacles and suction cups. Huge eyes the size of the amidships.” Braen tried to pour wine from an empty bottle, looked down its neck at the dry bottom, then set it down. Reaching for another, he added, “And before you ask, no. I didn’t call them.”

  “Have you been able to do other things? Like stir tea without a spoon?” Amash was not poking fun. He was a true friend and seemed honestly interested and eager for fables to be true.

  “No. Well, I’ve never tried.” He poured his wine and then stared at it, squinting his eyes and scrunching his face. “Nope.” He drank a swig from the glass. “I’m as normal as you, Amash.”

  “Wuh… well. The air has been getting ruh… real cold around him when he is scared or excited.” Sippen was looking at Braen when he answered Amash.

  “Gods damn it, Sippen!” Braen drank another long draw from his glass. “You too?”

  “I… It’s true, Braen. Weird things have buh… been happening, uh… a lot.” Sippen looked toward Amash. “Eh… especially when he’s sleeping. He starts dreaming and the ship is fruh… freezing cold beneath decks!”

  “Braen, that’s how the legends work.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you heard about latency?”

  “I’m not superstitious nor religious.” Braen set down his glass and looked at Amash with a serious expression. “But tell me about it. I know that you read books. Get it off your chest so that we can get back to cards.”

  Amash cleared his throat and began as if he were a professor teaching a class. “Legend has it that before the Esterling Empire was formed eight hundred years ago, mankind was engineered by a master race of beings.”

  “Engineered? What is that load of nonsense? Made, like constructed by gods?” Braen chuckled and shook his head with doubt.

  “Sort of, I’m afraid. They bred us like cattle, according to the legend.”

  “What were these people called?”

  “No one knows their real names. The legends call them overseers.”

  Braen shook his head again. “If a master race of people bred us like one of Sippen’s science experiments a mere eight hundred years ago, then why isn’t there a record of it in historical accounts? I mean, seriously, I’ve read historic records dating back eight hundred years regarding crops and weather, and something this extreme would have been mentioned.”

  Amash continued. “The legends. Some believe that they are more of an oral history than a fable. After we were scattered, stories were handed down and still remain.”

  “Scattered?” Braen realized he had not had a sip from his cup in a long while and forced himself to take a drink.

  “Scattered. They culled out anybody who showed signs of the power, and then divided up the people based on whatever latent power they possess. Earth in Loganshire, Fire in the Steppes of Cinder, Air in the East…”

  “And Water in the North,” Braen whispered.

  “Yes, Braen, Water in the North.”

  Sippen, who had been listening intently, asked the scientific question, “Huh… how does it wuh… work?”

  Amash shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea.” He stood up and walked to the fireplace, picking up a poker as he did. Stoking the wood, he watched as sparks rose into the air, disappearing into ashes. The fire strengthened when he leaned the poker against the wall and blew at the base of the logs. “But I think it works like this.” He pointed at the flame. “When the fire grows, the heat is dissipated throughout the room. Someone with latent powers can take the heat from the air and store it in their body like a waterskin.”

  “Now you lost me.” Braen laughed at the thought of storing fire in a waterskin.

  Sippen nodded. “Nuh… not a waterskin. Like uh… a rock.”

  Braen looked at Sippen. “Rocks don’t burn.”

  Amash nodded and smiled his agreement. “No, but they hold heat! A person with a fire latency can absorb heat in their bodies and seemingly be unaffected. Then, they can disperse it at will.”

  “That actually sounds dangerous. Why in heavens would someone breed that ability into mankind?”

  “Exactly. That’s why they dispersed us. Gave us rules and religion and set up the Esterling dynasty to rule over us.”

  “Why them?” Braen was growing interested in the logic.

  Sippen answered before Amash could open his mouth. “Buh… balance. If they ruh… rule the air, then thuh… they can maintain buh… balance by keeping us suh… separated.”

  “Yes. Except for the fact that we’re not as separated as we once were. The Cove is an example of a heterogenous society.”

  Braen choked on his wine. “A what? Really, Amash, where did you learn to speak with such an advanced vocabulary. And, why aren’t you a scholar?”

  Amash looked down at the ground. “I was. I was training to be a scholar in the University of Eston, but I wanted adventure. Also, I couldn’t stand those damned Falconers walking around everywhere.” He shuddered at some distant memory. “So, I left. I came to The Cove because I couldn’t return home.”

  “Yeah, those bastards creep me out.” Braen refilled the glass in front of Amash. “How do they fit into your legend?”

  “They’re what’s left of the overseers. Everyone knows they’re the special police of the empire, but they also control the air.” Amash paused to take a sip, and then sat back down at the table. “Did you notice any weird weather phenomena when the fleet caught up with you?”

  Sippen answered before Braen could open his mouth. “Yes! The wuh… winds were still for a duh… day and a half. Also, they cuh… caught up to us with two suh… separate fleets sailing from two suh… separate directions.”

  Braen nodded his agreement. “That’s right. They met up on
the same morning and seemed to have five times the wind than should be had for the season. That was the creepiest part of the entire day. Well, except for the Kraken showing up at just the right time.”

  Amash stared at Braen with a most serious expression. “My friend, if you, or someone on your ship has a latency for water, then you or they can also control creatures of the sea.”

  Braen drank straight from the bottle.

  Lord Campton Shol sat at a writing desk in his office. Since Chancellor Gedon had lost his wits, the council had maneuvered to place him as his assistant and as Deputy of Information. As such, he enjoyed certain luxuries and wielded authority beyond that of the Queen Regent. Although, that authority was kept secret even from her. A knock at the door signaled that his visitor had arrived, and he rose to open the latched door. A robed Falconer with a feathered stole and a bald head followed him into the office.

  “Greetings Kestrel. I assume that you reinforced my information to Lady Esterling?”

  The Falconer nodded, “I did. She is convinced that the Braston pirate is the kidnapper and intends on paying the ransom herself.”

  “She’s an idiot. She’s so damned emotional and has no concept about the truth.” Shol picked up a communique from the Oracle of Astia. “There have been another six martyred Dreamers in the past week, each having entered the Ka’ash’mael and failed to return. The entire Astian council is concerned that we’re losing control in Andalon.”

  Kestrel snarled at the implication that his Falconers had been failing the council. “My men work daily to suppress the abominations as we find them. Too many have been born and many have slipped past our identification. After six months we cannot detect latency, and more and more families have been hiding away their infants.”

  Campton nodded. “I empathize, my friend, but the council has demanded our discretion.”

  “That discretion has allowed many to slip past.”

  “Times are changing in Astia and the council is filled with a new kind of politician. Too many progressives have risen to power and they fail to see the situation is dire. Especially now that the caldera is erupting. As it ionizes the atmosphere, more and more latent abilities will awaken.”