by Jeff Kish
“The knife in my back was proper motivation,” Ospif retorts. He barely drops his heavy package before Fire shoves him aside and kneels beside it. “Hey!” he cries. “How rude.”
“Shut up,” she growls as she counts her treasure.
“I’ve never seen a musven before, and now we have five hundred of them!” Era gloats. “Are they made from real gold?”
“Partially,” Fire replies as she closes the bag and studies the surrounding forest. “Where is the ice queen? We need to keep moving.”
Ospif brushes himself off and announces, “If you villains have had your fill, I’ll be returning to the Academy now. And I’d request you deliver that rune back to me.”
Era fumbles in his pocket for the rune blade. “You want it back? I’m not sure. It’s a pretty great find on my part.”
“A find!? That rune is the product of years of research and dedication! You’ll give it back or… or…”
“…or what?” Era asks, genuinely curious.
“It’s irrelevant,” Fire states matter-of-factly, “because his journey with us is far from over. He’s still our hostage moving forward.”
“B-Beg your pardon?” Ospif stutters. “I have served my purpose in assisting your escape. What else do you have in mind?”
“First, you’re going to show me your seal,” Fire states. “Prove you’re royalty like that fat oaf claimed.”
“How insolent! The seal is a sacred image of-”
Fire cuts him off by grabbing his collar. “Show it to me or I’ll find it myself.”
Ospif grunts his disapproval as he lifts his pant leg. On his calf is a faded, stretched tattoo of the royal family’s crest.
“I assume that makes him a Haran?” Era asks.
“That or a counterfeiter,” Fire replies. “Either way, he should be worth good coin.”
“Good coin!?” he exclaims. “You have good coin in that very satchel. Why do you need me in addition?”
“You’re our insurance policy,” she answers. “In case this isn’t enough.”
“Enough for what, pray tell?” he demands. “You have five hundred thousand venni in your possession!”
“We have how much!?” Jem exclaims as she emerges from the brush.
“An Allerian!?” Ospif shrieks, stumbling backward and tripping over a log. He points at Fire with a shaking finger and exclaims, “You’re conspiring with the Allerians!? I should have known!”
Era snickers and turns to his friend. “Hi, Jem! That went well-ish.”
“I witnessed your grand escape from afar,” she chides. “I take it the billowing smoke pouring from the Academy was your doing?”
Era throws his hand in the air. “I was innocent! Fire here is the one who went crazy. She demanded half a million venni for your rune!”
Jem can hardly believe her ears. “They actually paid us a half million venni for that thing?”
Fire chucks the bag at her feet. “See for yourself.”
Jem yanks it open and is instantly paralyzed by the sight of so many sparkling gold coins. “F-Five hundred?”
Era grimaces. “Fire is leaving out some details. The Academy wasn’t about to part with that much money, so we had to take it. And also fight our way out.”
“And incinerate our library,” Ospif reminds him.
“This is…” Her brown eyes sparkling, Jem exclaims, “Fire, you’re amazing! We won’t have to worry about money for… ever!”
“Don’t get excited,” Era warns. “She has her reasons for the asking price. Reasons she hasn’t yet shared.”
“How long until it sinks into your thick skull?” Fire asks. “We’re on the run from the Valvoren military, so it makes sense that we should flee.”
“Flee?” Jem asks, confused. “Flee where?”
“To Alleria!” Era announces. “She wants us to cross the border.”
Jem’s entire body tenses. “Go to Alleria?”
Fire crosses her arms. “What’s the matter, not in the mood for a family reunion?”
She doesn’t offer a response. Era sympathetically places his hand on his partner’s shoulder and says to Fire, “I mean, even if we have the money, how would we go about doing it?”
“I have connections,” Fire says. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. And if the money isn’t enough, we have the whelp as a backup plan.”
“I’m nigh certain I’m older and taller than all of you,” Ospif needlessly rebukes.
Jem snaps from her trance and closes the bag of money. “No, we’re not going to Alleria. We’ve had a plan to hide out, and now we have the money to make it happen.”
“That plan is flawed,” Fire argues. “We can survive off this money for a time, but we can’t dodge the military forever. The Academy has no doubt reported us already. Confrontation with soldiers, commanders, or worse… it’s inevitable.”
Jem isn’t shaken. “I won’t go back, Fire. That’s the end of it.”
“Look, I don’t know what sordid history you have with your former home, but it can’t possibly compare to the trouble you’re in now,” she says. “Why are you always so stubborn? Wake up! You’re worth more to the military than eight of these bags right now.”
Ospif’s eyes bulge. “Just what did you lot do to bring that on your heads?”
Fire’s eyes stay locked on Jem. “If you and the idiot want to stay here, then do so at your own risk. I’m going to Alleria.” She looks to Ospif and says, “You’re carrying the bank.”
Her captive reluctantly grabs the heavy bag of gold coins and straps it to his back. Longingly, he asks Era, “Won’t you consider returning that rune to the Academy? I’ll be in all sorts of trouble if you disappear with it.”
Era can’t hide a goofy grin as he studies it. “Something like this might come in handy! So I guess I’m keeping it.”
“Get moving,” Fire interjects before Ospif can further complain. “We’re heading west.” As he obeys, Fire turns back to Jem and Era. “Meet me outside Canterin in three days if you want to come along for the ride.” Without another word, she disappears into the thickness of the woods.
Jem sinks to the ground. “Alleria…”
Era grimaces. “You may not like it, but Fire makes a good argument.” Suddenly aggravated, he declares, “But, man, you should have seen her in there! I’ve never seen Fire act so reckless. She’s definitely hiding-”
“Era, I can’t,” Jem interrupts. “Even if the military can’t follow us to Alleria…” She stares deep into his eyes and asks, “You’re not thinking of going, are you?”
Her partner carefully says, “Jem, the Academy knew nothing of runics. The headmaster knew, I think the king told him or something, but it sounded like recent knowledge. The best the dean could come up with was something called a runoid. Turns out that’s what we fought at Ugorzi, but that’s still several tiers below… me.” Quietly, he adds, “I need to know what I am. I need answers.”
“And what makes you think there are answers in Alleria?” she asks with an edge in her voice.
Era shrugs. “There’s an Academy over there, as well as the leading expert in runoids.”
Jem hesitates before asking, “If I don’t go, what will you do?”
He instantly knows his response, yet he has to force the words to his tongue. “Jem, I… I have to save Di. Whatever it takes.” He grabs his left shoulder and says, “I can’t do anything like this. I have to follow this lead. I have no choice.”
“But… it’s too daunting, Era. It’s Alleria, for crying out loud!”
“Hey, it’ll all work out,” he offers. “We can handle it, I promise.”
She buries her face into her hands, and Era grants her the silence she needs. Though she once relegated many details of her journey to him, he has long suspected she withheld the most painful parts of the story.
“I need some time,” she finally says, and she heads into the woods.
Though tempted to follow, Era opts to leave her be. He knows Fire is right about their
predicament, and the informational dead-end at the Academy has only increased his desire to understand his origins. He intends to go across the border, and he hopes Jem reaches the same conclusion.
* * *
“This is entirely unacceptable!” Marris cries, waving his arms as he hurries down the hallway. He marches around the corner to find a platoon of soldiers in the tower’s foyer. Spotting the officer in charge, he barks, “Just what am I to make of you bringing the entire Valvoren military into these hallowed halls? Just who do you think you are?”
The tall soldier’s navy blue uniform is well-decorated, and a dark scarf is pulled tightly across his nose and mouth. With hardened, blue eyes that shimmer with golden flecks, he quietly but firmly replies, “We came as quickly as we could. My name is Commander Talkem. And this,” he motions to his gray-haired subordinate, “is Lieutenant Commander Rex.”
“You’re one of the four commanders?” he repeats suspiciously, suddenly eyeing the ribbon indicating his rank. “We were attacked by a pair of young ruffians, not a band of rogue Allerians. This number seems excessive.”
“We responded with the force we felt was necessary,” Talkem responds as the headmaster arrives. The officer bows his respect and offers, “Good day, Counselor Laffel.”
“In these halls I am Headmaster,” he says with a touch of prestige. “You took your time responding, Commander. They raided our vaults and set fire to our library! I’ve not witnessed such a desecration in all my years.”
“Can either of you describe those who attacked you?”
Marris plants his hands on his hips. “Most certainly I can! I interacted with them the most, after all. The male was about your height, but his demeaning female companion was the leader. She was about… this tall,” he says, placing his hand at his chest. “She had short, dark hair and a handkerchief over her head. Eyes were as blue as yours, maybe even deeper.”
“And was the male missing an arm?” he asks.
“Heavens, no. I would have remembered that,” the dean replies at first, but he places his hand to his chin. “Although, now that I think of it, he was dressed in such a way that he could have been hiding an injury. He had a sideways cloak over the left side of his body.”
Talkem gives a glance to his lieutenant commander. “It seems we’ve found them.”
Laffel raises an eyebrow. “You know something of these hooligans?”
Rex nods an affirmative and asks in a gruff voice, “Was an Allerian with them?”
“Heavens no,” he says once more. “I would have mentioned a detail like that by now.”
“And what were they here to do?”
“Plunder, pillage, and destroy,” he stresses, pointing at the stairwell leading to the library. “They claimed to be here about a former student named Di Venelli. They asked questions about runoids and then stole a half-million venni from us. They even had the gall to make off with Crystalblade! That rune took us thousands of man-hours to develop!”
Laffel’s eye twitches as he glares at Marris. “You hadn’t mentioned that particular fact.” Suddenly stoic, he leans toward Talkem and says quietly, “Commander, they mentioned something of runics.”
Talkem ponders his words carefully. “Yes, they seek the power of the runics.”
“What is all this talk of runics?” the dean asks, flustered.
His query is ignored. “Is there anything else?” Rex asks, his impatience growing.
Laffel hesitates before sternly admitting, “I must also report that they kidnapped Ospif Haran.”
“Haran?” the commander asks with interest.
“Yes, the youngest son of the king’s late brother is a student here,” Marris explains. “They took him as a hostage, and he has yet to return to us.”
“That is most inconvenient,” says the officer, who prepares to leave. “Thank you for your time. Alert us immediately if Master Haran appears.” With that, he leads the troops from the tower, leaving the dissatisfied dean to badger the headmaster for his secrets. As they march along the main path to Hensi, Commander Talkem asks, “So what do you think, Rex?”
“In hindsight, the Academy was perhaps the most logical destination for them to go,” he replies. “They likely came looking for information and made the most of their trip. Half a million venni will enable them to disappear for a long time.”
Talkem ponders this. “With that much money, they could even…” His voice trails off, and he eventually adds, “Let us hasten back to report what we know. They could still be in this region.”
Rex nods his acknowledgement, knowing well that his superior’s words rarely betray his true intentions. After all, he could have used the Academy’s beacon tower if he wanted to report this immediately. “Aye, sir.”
* * *
The sky has long been dark when the weary platoon returns to Hensi, and the soldiers retire to the local barracks after a day of hiking. Lieutenant Commander Rex gives a final salute to his superior and says, “I’ll send a report to the general.”
“Thank you, Rex,” Talkem says. “I have business in town. I will retire shortly.” With that, he heads in the direction of the village pubs, leaving his subordinate to wonder what evening plans the commander has in store.
Talkem strolls amidst the thin crowds until he arrives at a local pub whose clamor and glow spills into the alleyway, and he enters to find its small space packed with townsfolk both young and old. The atmosphere is jolly as bar wenches hurry about to deliver ale to their thirsty customers. The commander locates his target: a portly fellow with a retreating hairline who is enjoying a drink against the far wall.
“You’re late,” the associate gruffly says as Talkem sits at his table. “You owe me the next round.”
“My apologies, Gular. We received a report that required my attention,” he calmly explains. “Did you find her?”
Gular lifts his mug. “This was a burdensome request. Do you know how many sky boat operations are popping up these days?”
Talkem merely waits as his cohort takes another swig, knowing well he prefers to build to his good news. Sure enough, Gular slams his mug on the table and triumphantly declares, “Naturally, I found a lead. Turns out there was an operation to the west of Ugorzi run by a man named Poulton. Rumor has it that his teenaged daughter was his sky boat pilot.”
Talkem contains his enthusiasm. “Excellent news, but you’re speaking as if he is no longer there.”
“His operation vanished a few weeks ago,” he admits, “but a group like that will be hard to hide. We’ll find them as soon as they start operations again.”
“Very well. Report back once you find her.” Talkem flags one of the ale runners and tosses a coin her way.
“Just so you know,” Gular adds, “this job is taking longer than expected. May end up costing ten thousand.”
“So be it,” Talkem replies, relaxing in his chair as a new mug of ale is delivered to his associate. “We have the funds.”
Gular eyes his client with a glint in his eye. “You’ve sure done a number on the military. It wasn’t long ago they were finding soldiers in contempt for using our services, and now you’re practically throwing money at us.”
“The market is exactly what the military has needed,” Talkem says. “There was limited manpower after the treaty was signed, and the Merc Market filled the gap nicely. It just took the right visionary to make that marriage happen.”
“I’m sure your pocketbook ain’t complaining,” he slyly says, “but will it last? What with the Smith’s Hammer also gaining clout, the military won’t be the only one with the king’s ear before long. That Angal Rohe has designs.”
The commander remains stoic. “Angal is certainly a threat to the status quo; your perceptions exceed even those of our illustrious general. He is blinded by the threat of the Allerians and perceives nothing of the changing winds within his own nation.” After a pause, he adds, “However…”
Gular leans forward. “However…?”
Talkem places his hand to his masked chin. “The general found an artifact most intriguing. An ancient relic of such significance that it could disrupt everything we have been building toward. It could even shake the foundations of the monarchy itself.”
“Hah!” Gular laughs as he takes a swig. “You’ve always had a flair for the overdramatic. Still, none of this will matter once another war starts. Between the hot-blooded Allerian prince and the warmongering old codger, someone is bound to fire a shot.” He raises his glass and says, “You’ll be leading men out to battle soon enough.”
The commander folds his hands, and his eyes narrow. “At my age, I think it would be best for everyone if I have retired by then.”
“Best for you, too, eh?” he asks with a wink.
Talkem quietly stands and tosses another coin on the table. “Two rounds on me for making you wait. I look forward to your next report.”
“You’ll hear from me soon,” he comments with a wave.
The commander leaves the coziness of the pub and enters into the crisp night air. Within a few steps, a darkly dressed operative joins him from the shadows. “Eagle awaits your command,” he says, his voice young and confident. “Shall we assist Gular?”
“The situation has changed, such that Gular’s efforts are now likely unneeded,” Talkem says. “The pilot was our link to the targets, but they revealed themselves today at the Academy and stole half a million venni. If you were on the run from the military, Hyrel, what would you do with such a sum?”
He ponders before replying, “With that much money, I would venture to make it all the way to Alleria.”
“Precisely my thinking,” Talkem says. “Eagle should split up and head to the major smuggling ports. Don’t limit yourselves to the towns in this region; they left the Academy twelve hours ago and could be headed anywhere. That is all.”
“Aye, sir.” With that, the cloaked figure returns to the darkness, leaving Talkem to head to his post. He smiles underneath his mask, pleased to leave the legwork to his private troop of Merc Market agents.
* * *
Era wakes and stretches in the late-morning sun, wondering what became of his traditional wake-up call. It doesn’t take him long to find out, as he spots Jem sitting nearby with her back to him, her knees curled up as she hums a tune familiar to Era, one that tips him off to her mood.