Mal took a step closer to the man who stood over a head taller than him, and was close to twice his size in bulk. But Mal had more power.
“High General, Captain Shin showed extremely poor judgment by entering that forest and staying there,” he seethed. “He was lucky he left that forest alive. It wasn’t skill, it wasn’t intelligence—it was merely chance. We cannot have commanders of forts setting such dangerous examples for their soldiers or the citizenry they’re to protect.”
But Mal knew he couldn’t end it already. There was still so much to prove. So many years had gone into setting up this experiment, and then to eliminate the primary test subject so soon?
No.
No, revenge was far more satisfying than removal. Indeed, this just may have opened up all kinds of options—
“Still, I realize that Captain Shin is young and new in his position,” Mal continued, trying not to sound too conciliatory, “and therefore likely to make mistakes. But—” he held up a finger shaking with fury because, after all, Perrin had caused the destruction of nine very capable, very extensively trained men, “—this will be his first and only mistake I will tolerate. You will hereby place Captain Perrin Shin on notice that if he cannot live by every rule established by the Army of Idumea—”
There were rules. Regulations. Expectations to how the game was played. Nicko followed the rules, but Perrin had ignored them all and came off looking like the hero.
Mal kept a score sheet in his head. Now as he glared at Relf Shin, and although he didn’t want it to, the sheet showed up to mock him.
Perrin—nine; Nicko—zero.
Perrin had cheated.
“—if he can’t follow the rules, he WILL be relieved of duty and returned to Idumea!”
The High General didn’t even seem to breathe.
Mal was nearly screaming now. “And you will also make it clear to the captain that no one—no matter how obedient or willing the stupid soldier is that chooses to follow him—should enter into the forests above Edge or anywhere else in the world! Should anyone else take one step into that forest, he too will be brought immediately to Idumea. Is that understood?!”
It was an impressively long spell that the High General stood there, unresponsive. The tempo of Mal’s breathing changed at least three times waiting for Shin to even blink. The top wolf did enjoy his stare downs, especially since there was nothing else he could do. His son broke the rules. Even though Mal knew the general’s stalling was to somehow prove he had the upper hand, he obviously didn’t. Mal gloated about that victory later, but for now he stared back, feeling his heart pounding in erratic rage.
It was advising General Cush who could no longer stand the tension. The portly man with the thin black beard and moustache—allowed only because he had very little hair on top, and was never going to be anywhere near hand-to-hand combat—finally stepped forward. With his ever-ready smile he put one friendly hand on Shin’s shoulder while his other patted Mal’s shoulder.
Mal, not one for mollifying gestures, glowered.
Cush pulled his Chairman hand back to safety, but kept the other on the High General. Likely to help hold him back, Nicko decided.
“Already taking care of it, Chairman!” Cush said cheerfully. “In the middle of writing to Captain Shin right now. You see, he’s actually under my jurisdiction, as all new commanders are, and as such I’m crafting the response to his proposals—”
“Aldwyn!” Shin whispered in warning.
“Proposals?” Mal hissed. “What proposals?!”
“Suggestions, really!” Cush chuckled in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. “Perrin had a few suggestions, the Command Board denied them, naturally, but it’s nice to see our young officers trying to be progressive, isn’t it, Chairman?”
Cush released his grip on Shin’s shoulder and daringly put a reassuring arm around Mal. “I’ve got things under control, and I’ll be sure to tell Perrin exactly how you feel about everything. You know you can trust me, right Chairman?”
Mal could, he was fairly certain. Some time ago he had his own private talk with the second in command of the army, the subordinate wolf just biding his time to take over the pack. Their discussion was vague enough that Aldwyn Cush never completely understood just what it was all about. But Mal had decided Cush wasn’t the man he wanted. While he was experienced and useful, he was simply too social, always trying to bridge the gaps between everyone else.
Mal needed a fellow strategist, not a cloying politician, so he chose another research companion. It was fortunate for the High General that his long-time friend was, while opportunistic, also rather lazy. He’d jump at a bone only if it was laid on his nose.
“I want to see that response before you send it, Cush. In my office.”
“Of course, Chairman! I’ll bring it by myself.”
---
As Chairman Mal stomped his way out to his carriage, High General Shin growled under his breath, staring at the now vacant reception area. The rest of the soldiers quickly dispersed, trying to steal subtle glances at the High General as they fled to offices and exits, but not subtly enough.
“He’s right, Relf, I’m sorry to say,” Cush said quietly, trying to pull Shin out of his brooding. “Perrin was remarkably bold and completely non-compliant.”
“But he succeeded, Aldwyn,” Shin groused as he turned to go into his office, Cush following him. “Doesn’t it make sense to let officers do what works?”
“Relf, your father was the one who wrote the laws of the army, and you pledged to uphold them,” Cush reminded as he closed the door behind them. “We can’t go turning our backs now on the traditions that have preserved our army for so many years.”
Shin sat down at his desk. “Why not? Why don’t we be progressive and take a risk?”
Cush wagged a thick finger at him. “I love it how you use Mal’s ‘progressive’ speech every time you want to do something against the law. But it won’t work, my friend. There are times to be progressive—as you love to misuse that term—and times to cling to the traditions that keep our civilization stable. The key is knowing which to change, and which to cling to.”
Relf sighed again as he picked up his son’s detailed proposal. “All of those stuffed red coats are a waste of cloth,” he murmured. “Come in here yelling at me about how to do my job . . . Hard to think of a decent one in the lot—”
“Oh, there are a few good ones,” Cush said amiably. “There’s that Dr. Brisack, for one.”
The High General shrugged at that. “Someone in charge of Family Life better appear genial. But the others—I swear they sprung out of the same cesspool that spawned Gadiman.”
Cush chuckled nervously. “Careful, Relf. Don’t want the wrong ears hearing you.”
Shin scoffed at that as he perused his son’s writing. “Interesting idea with changing uniforms to blend into the surroundings—”
Cush sat down in a chair opposite him. “No, Relf. Not in the least bit! The Command Board already discussed that—”
“They wouldn’t kill each other by accident!” Shin burst out. “How absurd.”
Cush leaned across the desk, grunting as he did so, and pulled Captain Shin’s proposals out of the High General’s hands. “I’ll let you read the response before I go to Mal. Seeing as how Perrin’s your only son, Relf, I’m rather surprised you’re not more upset at his willful disregard for his own life.”
“Oh, I was!” Relf exclaimed. “Initially. Then I started thinking about what he did and, well . . . fatherly pride replaced my concern.”
“Will you still feel that fatherly pride when your daughter-in-law sends you a tear-stained message that her husband has vanished in the forest and no one can find his corpse? After six years of hearing about our grandson Lemuel, Joriana’s been telling my wife how excited she is about the prospects of becoming a grandmother,” Cush hinted.
High General Shin rubbed his forehead. “Yes, yes, I know. Joriana’s already bought a baby bla
nket. Point made, Aldwyn. Say what you need to, but let me send the response.”
---
Tuma Hifadhi heard the knocking on his office door. He looked up from his desk and called, “Come in.”
A lean, middle-aged man opened the door.
“Hew Gleace! How wonderful to see you. Come in, come in.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything—” Gleace said as he came into the room.
“Of course not!” The elderly man gestured to a chair next to his desk. “I always have time! You seem to be bursting with something, Hew.”
Gleace smiled readily as he sat down. “I am, Tuma. We just received word back from the scouts in the forest.”
“The raid is over,” the old man began to smile. “So . . .”
“He walked right in, chasing the attackers! And this time, he stayed. For three full days and four nights he chased them up and down as if he had been born and raised in the trees. Never once showed fear.” Gleace began to chuckle. “His lieutenant, on the other hand . . .”
But Hifadhi ignored that as he sat back and sighed. “Pere Shin’s grandson.”
“Pere Shin’s grandson, yes.”
Hifadhi slowly shook his head. “That I lived to see this day . . . His grandson, going over the wall . . .” And he closed his eyes.
Gleace waited patiently, having seen him do this before.
Hifadhi’s eyes opened a few moments later. “Keep up the surveillance patrols for now. We don’t need anyone closer until it’s revealed that an intimate presence is required. I’m still not entirely sure about this one, but time will tell.” He smiled in amazement. “Walked into the forest . . . and stayed there!”
---
Two men sat in the dark office of an unlit building.
Nicko Mal stared at his companion, daring him to speak.
The second man looked back with a slightly amused expression.
Mal drummed his fingers on the armrest.
The second man took a risk. “It’s only because you said he always surprises you that I felt safe in speculating that Shin would succeed.”
“They didn’t even make it into the village because of him!” Mal fumed. That had been the true splinter in his foot that sent him into the tirade at the garrison. That, and the fact that Perrin wasn’t even injured in the forest beyond a few scratches. He took a deep breath to compose himself. “Shin was, however, a bit slow to respond initially. You must admit that.”
“Conceded.” His partner smiled.
“Perhaps it had something to do with him being a newlywed and living away from the fort. Unfortunate timing, I suppose,” Mal sniggered. “Perhaps this will remind him that duty comes before the wife! But there was that ten minutes. Ten minutes. Why didn’t they get into the village during that time?!”
“A new tactic,” the second man explained. “Eliminate the patrolling soldiers first. In Grasses there were several on patrol that nearly captured some of our men. We didn’t want that to happen again.”
Mal grunted. “But only two soldiers were injured in Edge. What about the rest?”
The middle-aged man fidgeted. “The patrols weren’t on a regular rotation. Up until last week, they were. It seems that only recently Shin varied the rotation times so that the patrols were unpredictable.”
Mal formed a fist. “Wiles was in charge of the patrols, was he not?”
“Apparently not even he was aware of the captain’s changes. The night of the attack, Shin himself briefed the sergeant on duty as how to stagger the patrols. As if he was concerned something like this could happen.”
“Did he somehow know we were coming?” Mal squinted.
The second man shrugged. “I think he was just being a thoughtful commander, anticipating the need. Perhaps he can think like a Guarder. No one knows whose ancestors were among the Guarders, after all. He seems to be one of those you predicted at the beginning would attempt to fight this on his own.”
Mal grumbled to himself.
“What I find intriguing,” his partner continued, “was his deliberate disobedience to the rules of engagement. Preliminary conclusion to our question: He wasn’t too comfortable, and marriage has made him an aggressive wolf to protect his mate.”
That brought Mal out of his sullenness. “Oh indeed,” he bristled. “Absolute disregard for anything he’d been trained to do! Pursuing into the woods like that—very brash! Very reckless! We must not lose containment!”
The second man suppressed a smile at Mal’s agitation. “I wished I could have seen Relf’s reaction to his son’s report. I’m assuming General Cush included the admonition that no officers or soldiers return to the forest?”
“He did! Read the response myself. I’m sure the captain will receive the message and he best heed it. We can’t have him changing the conventions of warfare and unraveling our work just because he has an impulse!”
Mal sighed, took another deep breath, then said steadily, “The fort in Trades is completed, and just in time to put extra soldiers around that gold mine. No one in the far south has had any encounters with Guarders, and the letter skimmers are spending too much time reading complaints from Trades, so we need to lighten their load and alleviate the pain of the complainers. The commander in Trades is a single man with no long-term interests in women. We’ll question his readiness for a time.”
The second man smirked at Mal’s shift in focus. But he had several strategies to turn it back again. First, bring up Perrin Shin.
Privately, the second man was conducting his own study: How quickly can one unhinge Nicko Mal?
“Perhaps if there had been some soldier deaths in Edge, or if the action was closer to Perrin’s home—”
“Next time it better be!” Mal snapped.
It is really just that easy—the second man made a mental note—to drive Mal to distraction.
Mal drummed his fingers on the armrest again, the raid on Trades already forgotten.
The second man smiled triumphantly to himself. It was fascinating to observe a man that could control the world, yet not himself. Maybe, maybe, he didn’t control the world as well as he thought either.
“So when activity returns to Edge, you want to create a situation that allows for a variety of observable responses?”
“Yes!” Mal exclaimed as if that was obvious. “You have ideas?”
“A few that I’m working on,” the second man assured. “I still have that map, you know. I have to confess,” he said thoughtfully, unable to resist pushing Mal just a bit further—for research, after all—“I find myself quite fascinated by the captain. I wonder how long he planned on entering the forest. He deserves a great deal of attention. Perhaps we should consider a closer presence for a time. Someone that can get—”
“I want Wiles OUT OF THERE!” Mal bellowed so loudly that his companion blinked in surprise. “I knew he wouldn’t be up to this assignment!”
The second man squinted. “Weren’t you the one who said he was ‘most fit’ for the assignment? Excellent work with the map and all?”
“He’s failed the oaths! Failed his duty! Just GET HIM OUT!”
---
Coaches travelling from Edge to Idumea pass many villages along the way, the wide cobblestone road lined with plenty of inns and taverns willing to take in weary travelers. In a hurry, the trip can be done in two straight days and a night, but rarely do people travel in such a grueling manner. One might die of the excessive distance.
Or of boredom.
Everyone knew that.
So the rest stations were established at intervals along the main road to provide comfort at an elevated price, with lumpy mattresses that felt like goose down after the jostling of the carriage, and gristly food that slid down mucus-lined throats where it met already nauseated bellies whose owners would attribute their increased illness to the torturous ride rather than the “comfort” they paused for. In such a manner, the journey—for those brave enough or desperate enough to take it—could be exten
ded for weeks, ensuring no one chanced death along the journey. Unless they stopped at a particularly scruffy place outside of Rivers.
But army coaches were different. No one was sure exactly how, but they never stopped. Rumor was that they had some kind of privy fashioned into the large black enclosures. But the owners of the comfort stops and taverns grumbled that wasn’t true. The soldiers that rode in the coaches simply had stronger willpower than the rest of the world, or did unmentionable things out the window when they passed the less populated areas. To see a dark army coach whisk by, being pulled by four horses which were changed exclusively at the forts or the Administrators’ larger messaging stations, was to know whatever men it was carrying were in a hurry.
But Sergeant Major Wiles wasn’t aware of any of this as he lay on the coach bench, unsure of his surroundings. Everything had happened so quickly, then slowly, then quickly again as if his mind couldn’t regulate the passage of time.
He was ill—that much he knew—then it was light and dark again, then he was put into the coach, then it rumbled for hours and minutes and days and seconds. All was dark inside the coach and out, and for a lucid moment he began to understand what was happening. He hated that moment, because up until then his mind had allowed him to entertain all kinds of possibilities.
But then the coach door swung open while it still continued at a fast pace along the cobblestones, and when Wiles saw the gloved hand reach in towards him, he knew what was coming.
He didn’t even have a chance to plead for his life. The oaths wouldn’t have allowed it, anyway. The oaths had demanded he do something else days ago, but he hadn’t. That’s why the massive man dressed in black was there—to fulfill the oaths.
He snatched Wiles easily out of the hurrying coach. The old sergeant major didn’t make any sound at all.
The coach continued on, the horses once again speeding up, perhaps sensing their load was now slightly lighter, and galloped their way in the dark towards Idumea.
The Forest at the Edge of the World Page 33