by Dan Decker
There are some benefits.
The three men had all sat in silence after they’d been summoned, with the last having taken his spot only moments before.
“Let’s begin with your names,” Jorad said, putting down the quill and folding his hands in front of him. “Also, tell me your time in service and whether you ever served in any other armies.” He nodded his head towards the one on his left. “You go first.”
“Barlon Freager,” the large dark-haired man said, the scars on his severely marred face twisting and turning white as he scowled. He towered over everybody at the table, even while sitting. “Fifteen years. Never been anywhere else.”
His uniform was the most unkempt of any of them, with stains from previous meals. While he had muscled arms that threatened to tear his shirt, it was equally as stretched by his big belly. He’d already lost the lowest button, and the next several up looked to be on their way as well.
Barlon glanced at Jorad but returned to staring at a spot only he could see on the wall across from him. He’d been the last to arrive and was the sullenest of the group.
“I’m Pakel Passery,” said the man beside Barlon. Pakel looked small beside Barlon but was about the same size as Jorad. His hair was cropped close to the side of his head, and his uniform was the best kept of any of them, but that wasn’t saying much. His jacket was missing buttons and threadbare in several places. A musky stench had entered the room with him.
This critique coming from a man who spent the night in the dungeon and probably smells of blood as well as raw sewage.
A little smell would have been tolerable, but it was the man’s eyes that bothered Jorad, making him wonder if Pakel was a drunk. They were red and glassy, and Jorad would have bet money the man had been found in a bar or saloon. He didn’t dare smell the man’s breath.
Jorad looked at Pakel expectantly. “Oh, I’ve been here nine years. Never been anywhere else.”
All eyes turned to the last man. “My mom calls me Vaar, but most call me Jemmer. Jem is my last name. I spent some time in Draer army, but that was years ago. Been here eleven but served a total of fourteen.” Vaar smiled, it looked natural on his gaunt face, even with the missing teeth. In another place, this man would have been a merchant or a thief. Here in Rarbon, because every man was obligated to serve, he’d become a leader in Jorad’s army instead.
Jorad kept his chagrin from showing on his face. No wonder this place is doing so poorly. An oaf, a drunk, and a thief.
Of the three, Barlon looked the most resentful of Jorad. Perhaps he had thought he’d be the one to replace the deceased general. Jorad would have to watch himself around the man.
“I suppose an introduction from me is also warranted. I have spent my whole life training with my father, Adar Rahid—”
Barlon spat out the side of his mouth and pounded the table with a fist. “The traitor Adar Rahid, you mean.” For the first time since entering the room, he maintained eye contact with Jorad.
“A matter of perspective,” Jorad said, trying to keep the anger from rising in his voice. He was glad he had his hands clasped in front of him. Otherwise, he might have balled them to fists on instinct. His eyes narrowed as the color drained from Barlon’s face.
“No,” Barlon said harshly. “A matter of law. He was tried and found guilty. Banished from Rarbon. If you’re going to be our general—nine burning fires! If you’re going to survive the week, you must accept Rarbon’s perspective on what happened.” He spat again. “If you think you can repair Adar’s image, you’re a bigger fool than him. But if you came to fight the Hunwei as you claimed, then that must be your focus.”
Jorad held the man’s stare as he fought down his own anger. As much as he hated to admit it, the man was correct.
It’s bad I already received a lashing, I shouldn’t have needed this oaf to tell me these things.
Jorad could see the tinge of fear in Barlon’s eyes, but it disappeared. He was digging in, even though he expected to be called out for the way he had addressed his superior officer.
Vaar watched Barlon with a trace of amusement etched into his smirk, and Pakel looked like he wanted a drink.
“You forgot to address me appropriately, Barlon.” Jorad had to be careful if he didn’t start things off on the right foot, this was going to get bad very fast. “That being said, I appreciate your candor. I’ve heard your advice and will take it under consideration. But it’s also important you know that I know what I’m about in most things. I won’t pretend to know everything. Regardless of what you think of Adar, his talents and abilities are as much a matter of fact as the murder of my mother.”
Barlon spoke through clenched teeth. “I forgot myself. Sir. Please excuse the oversight. Sir.”
Was it Jorad’s imagination or had there been a note of sarcasm? He decided to ignore it. While Vaar was amused by the situation, it was obvious Pakel and Vaar respected Barlon more than him. Perhaps they too had thought Barlon would receive the promotion Jorad had taken.
He didn’t want to have to earn the respect of these men, but he knew he’d pay for it if he didn’t. Adar wouldn’t have put up with that type of abuse, but I have no other option.
“Let us forget it,” Jorad said with more heat than he preferred but he needed to get on with things. “Now that we have introductions out of the way, it’s time to get down to the matters at hand. Our focus is preparing to fight the Hunwei.”
Barlon shifted at this, earning a glare from Jorad, he wanted it to communicate that he’d given the man as much latitude as he was going to get. Barlon apparently picked up on the message because he said nothing.
“Our number one priority is to prepare this city for their return. It could be tomorrow, it could be a month from now. I have no way of knowing. They’re in Neber, but I don’t know how far they’ve spread beyond that.
“We will meet here again tomorrow morning at eight, sharp. Be prepared to discuss the shortcomings of our army and what preparations need to be made.”
Barlon moved to stand, earning a cold stare from Jorad until he’d settled back into his chair.
“Also, unless we are on patrol, and there is a compelling need to not wear proper uniforms, we will all be dressed in full uniform whenever on duty. Am I understood?” Barlon looked at Jorad’s non-Radim issued shirt but didn’t say a word. “I will follow suit once my uniform is available.”
After making eye contact with them each in turn, he looked at Pakel. “Dismissed. Pakel, stay a moment.”
Vaar and Barlon left quickly, the large man almost slamming the door on the way out. Jorad kept the irritation from his face and acted as if nothing had happened. Pakel looked afraid that he was about to take the brunt of Jorad’s wrath.
“You’re done drinking for good,” Jorad said without preamble. “I so much as smell it on your breath again and you’ll be court-martialed so quickly you won’t know what happened. Understood?” Jorad stood too quickly, pain ripping into his back.
Pakel stared numbly up at Jorad who left without waiting for a response.
Chapter 18
After Jorad shut the door to his quarters and turned the latch, he let out a sigh and slumped over in pain. After several deep breaths, he moved to a chair and sat on the edge while removing his coat and shirt.
It was a mercy the room didn’t have a mirror, or he wouldn’t have been able to keep from looking at his back. It was better he couldn’t see it, not until it was healed. After he had unbuttoned the shirt, he held it up and wasn’t surprised to see it was encrusted with blood, but not as much as he’d supposed. He placed it carefully on the table to keep the wet spots from touching the wood so it wouldn’t become stained.
He’d been wondering all morning why he hadn’t passed out and now he saw what had seeped onto his shirt, he better understood why.
Where he’d expected it to be blood-soaked all the way through to his coat, there was a slash here and there that had rubbed onto the shirt.
He ex
amined his coat next and was happy to see the amount of blood was far less. He might have been happier about it if he hadn’t been about to keel over from pain and exhaustion.
After his meeting with the lieutenant generals, he’d found one of the army’s kitchens and had ordered a cook to make him some food.
The man had looked at Jorad with a skeptical eye until another of the cooks had hurried up and had a whispered conversation with the man. After that, the man had moved quickly, and before long had placed a steaming piece of beef, vegetables, and fried potatoes in front of where he’d sat on a bench. There was a table with chairs that he assumed was for the leadership, but he had wanted to keep the pressure off his back.
He tried to feel his back as best he could, and from what he could tell a few of the lashes had broken the skin but for the most part, it felt like a mass of bruises. It also appeared that most were on his upper back. One or two had made it onto his lower. That was a mercy. A small one, but one for which he was grateful nonetheless.
A slight, painful chuckle escaped his lips. When Barlon, Vaar, and Pakel had noticed Jorad sitting straight up without letting his back touch the chair, they’d all mimicked his behavior, in what he supposed was an effort to not be outdone by a commanding officer they resented.
Perhaps I should see it as the first act of respect on their part.
Barlon. That man was going to be trouble. It would be most beneficial if Jorad could figure out a way to turn the man to his cause. His observation about Adar, while abrupt and rude, had been correct. It was something Jorad had even thought about on his way to Rarbon, but all the pain had driven it from his mind.
He would need to be more careful, weighing every word. But how in the nine burning fires am I going to do that when I have a back that feels as though it was beaten by the legions of the damned?
After hanging his jacket on the back of the chair, he moved over to his pack and rummaged around until he pulled out the jar of salve he’d procured in Zecarani. Although it was just a few days ago, it seemed as distant as the miles he’d traveled in the interim.
Using two fingers, he scooped the sides to get all he could out of the almost empty bottle, and rubbed it into his lower back. There was still a little left, and he was tempted to reach in again for another, but it would have been a waste if he did, as the worst points of pain were out of his reach. It was better to save it so he could have a little more relief one last time.
As the salve began to tingle, he let out a quiet sigh and sat back down in his chair, keeping his back straight. His thoughts were a jumble and try as he might he could not make cohesive sense of any of them.
He was in a more difficult spot than he could have imagined. He’d known it would be hard. Adar had done his best to prepare Jorad for the reception he’d receive from Abel, but there was still a part of him who’d believed that perhaps Abel might be different than Adar thought. The man had kept Tere looking for Jorad for over fifteen years.
And why do that if he didn’t at least have a few good intentions? Why go to the effort of speaking for me?
Jorad couldn’t see Abel’s reasoning, but he was sure that whatever Abel’s intentions, it was doubtful they would be helpful to Jorad along his path.
Pushing all the questions away as he yawned, he slipped into bed with his pants still on and laid on his side. While traveling, he’d been in the habit of sleeping in his clothes, it was nice to at least remove his shirt.
The bed was more comfortable than the ground but not by much. Jorad supposed he should be grateful as everybody other than him and the lieutenant generals had bunks instead of proper beds. He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
His dreams were violent and full of pain, yet he did not wake until he dreamed of a man using a knife to cut a rock, his actions making a small chinking sound.
When he opened his eyes, the room was almost dark. The candle he’d left lit had gone out on its own, halfway down. His back screamed in pain as he sat up in bed, afraid somebody else was in the room with him.
A small amount of moonlight came through the arrow slits, allowing him to see his quarters was empty of anybody but him. He was about to lay back in bed when he heard a clicking at the door, chasing away the fatigue from his eyes in an instant.
If he’d have been in the palace, he might have thought it was a servant, coming to bring him the uniform he’d requested earlier, but there weren’t any servants on the army base.
He slid out of bed, his feet cold on the stone floor as he padded over to where he’d left his sword leaning up against the table. For a moment, his hand hovered over his blaster, but he discarded the thought, thinking if it were an assassin from Abel, he wanted to stop the man using conventional methods.
Melyah, my reputation is already off to a poor enough start as it is without making it worse by using Hunwei weapons against human enemies. Even if he should afterward prove himself with the blade, that would be of little use if word had already gone around.
He grabbed the hilt of his sword and silently withdrew it as the lock clicked and the door was pushed open. The key he’s used to lock it was still in place on the table next to his bloody shirt. He wasn’t surprised there was another or that somebody was entering during the dead of night. He just wished he hadn’t been too tired to think of it before falling asleep.
Jorad moved to the side of the room, expecting the attacker would move from the door. Once he’d disarmed the man, he would keep him alive. It was unlikely Jorad could prove the assassin was connected to Abel, but if the man were dead, it would be impossible.
When he heard the rattle of a chain, Jorad’s ears pricked up, but he didn’t have long to wonder as three creatures came at him, the silence broken by snarling and barking.
Wild dogs? He lunged with a sweeping motion to maximize his chances of harming as many as he could, wishing he’d opted for the blaster instead. His blade went cleanly through the neck of the first and into the shoulder of the second which he kicked and sent flying onto his bed, while the third latched onto his leg.
It was a good thing Jorad was already in pain because even though there was an instant flash of new pain, he refrained from screaming, channeling his rage into a growl of his own as he stabbed the creature in the back, releasing its jaws from his legs.
By that time the other was already coming, bounding off the bed and forcing Jorad back into the wall as he swung, missing the animal. The hair on the back of his neck stood up when his sword hit the stone floor. Cursing, he lashed out with a foot, but the animal ducked and clamped down on his leg. It only got a mouthful of cloth.
Jorad rammed his sword into dog’s neck and yanked, partially severing the animal’s head. As he pushed it out of the way, the third came at him again, but more slowly. Its back leg didn’t appear to work properly and rather than jump, it came direct, snarling as it did.
He stabbed the animal in the chest and ran for the door, letting his sword be pulled from the body of the animal by his forward movement.
As he stepped through the doorway, he heard the clink of chains hitting against the wall to his right and saw movement that he decided was a disappearing man. The lit lantern that had been hung right outside Jorad’s door was out. If it hadn’t been for the clicking of the lock, the assassin could have opened the door with impunity, because the hallway was as dark as his room.
Wishing he’d slept in his boots, Jorad gave chase, refraining from yelling at the man to stop.
As his feet slapped against the stone floor and the blood rushed through his body, he was almost able to ignore the searing pain in his back and the bite on his leg. It seemed he had been quick enough to keep the dog from tearing out a large chunk.
When he came around the corner where the man had disappeared, he could hear footsteps going down the stairs. The fool would have been better served by going up quietly, leaving Jorad to guess which way he’d gone. Without any other indication, Jorad would have guessed down.
Jorad had no doubt that even barefooted and wounded he would catch the man as he plunged down the stairs after him. When he came to the next landing, Jorad snagged hold of a hook that held a burning lantern, using it to keep his momentum while he took the corner.
Too late he realized the hook had been heated by the lantern. He’d let go of it before he’d finished his maneuver and was barely able to stay on his feet as he slammed into the stairwell.
He caught a glimpse of the man on the flight below as he regained his balance and went down the stairs two at a time, using his burned hand to steady himself as he did. If he caught the assassin, even if the man couldn’t be tied to Abel, it would at least make Abel think twice before sending another man after him.
When he got to the next set of stairs, he had managed to gain some ground and could see the man wore a weather stained coat and had hair longer than was usually allowed in the Radim armies. His belly was pudgy, and he wasn’t moving as fast as Jorad.
How had such a man been able to make it all the way to the fifth floor of the Inner Wall without being stopped by somebody?
He must be more competent than he looks, Jorad thought, something I need to remember when I catch him.
The next flight passed while Jorad closed the gap. The man looked over his shoulder, his face red and covered with sweat. His eyes widened when he saw Jorad, and he began jumping down three stairs at a time.
When they came to the final landing, the man ran right past a couple of guards who stood chatting in the hallway. They looked up as he passed.
You incompetent fools! Jorad thought, he’d ream them later.
The man dashed towards the gateway which led to the city as Jorad came down the stairs and sprinted after him. The guards yelled something, but Jorad couldn’t make out what, as he closed in on the man and stabbed him in the thigh, sending him to a stop just before getting to the gate. The guards noticed the commotion and approached with their spears still up.