by Jeff Kish
The moment before impact, Pearl unleashes a hurricane’s force from her hand, flinging her relatively small frame away from harm, and the side-currents spin her opponent at a dizzying speed. He frantically regains his footing and finds Pearl when she uses a blast of air to launch herself at him. He brings his sword up to defend, but Pearl fires another gust into the ground that vaults her over her target. He turns to face her, only to meet an attack that flings him into the far wall, ending the fight.
“OH HO HO!” Rohe again guffaws uncontrollably while slapping his knee. “Such maneuverability, such control! Can anyone even track her?”
“My eyes barely followed her movement from this distance,” his lackey adds. “Brilliant analysis, sir!”
“Malof needs his eyes checked. I could follow her,” his third lieutenant gruffly claims. Bald and muscular, albeit rather husky, the veteran warrior chugs from his mug and chides, “And that’s after three ales!”
“Oh, ho! Well said, Nolen,” Rohe commends. “I’ll bet you boys are disappointed I entrusted Sreya with this mission instead of either of you, eh?”
Malof eyes Sreya in disgust, but she is well-practiced at ignoring him. Her demeanor remains quiet as she relishes the lavish banquet.
Pearl watches as her third victim is dragged off the floor. Though little these past few days has made sense to her, she is continually learning what this new bondage means. The strength she now enjoys is akin to the strength shown by Di the night of the barracks raid, but, as she absent-mindedly runs her hands along the bronze armlets that appeared in the underground caverns, she recognizes that the power comes at a price.
Rohe leans back and strokes his chin. “Such a lovely prize, this girl. To think that you can make her do anything?”
“Seems that way,” Sreya apathetically replies.
Pearl can feel the eyes of her captor in the flickering light of the flames. It’s a look she has seen before, in her days working for a traveling circus act, back when she was surrounded by a family of cohorts who protected her from such predators. Now, however, Pearl has no one to stand in the way of these guild moguls. Their power over her will is absolute, and she shudders to think of what they may command next.
A helper enters the hall and speaks in a low voice to Rohe, whose ears perk up. “Well, then, send him in!” As the servant obeys, Rohe delightedly claps his hands. “Anyone want to bet on who it is?” Pearl watches in confusion as a military soldier is led into the banquet room. Highly decorated, the officer is a strange addition to the gang who just assaulted and killed dozens of soldiers.
“Commander Talkem!” Rohe booms as he rises and spreads his arms. “What an honor to have you in our presence.”
Talkem warmly extends a hand to greet his friend. “Angal, it is good to see you once again.”
“Everyone, everyone,” Rohe announces, “this is my good friend, Thayo Talkem.” Pointing to an empty chair, he says, “Please, please! Enjoy all we have to offer.”
The commander obliges, eyeing Pearl with bright blue eyes from over the scarf pulled tightly across his mouth and nose. A maidservant approaches to pour him a drink from a wineskin, but Rohe waves her off. “No, no, let the new slave do it. Show her off, Sreya!”
The conductor enjoys the attention of her boss as she extends her palm for Talkem to see. “Pearl, pour the commander a drink.” The symbol illuminates, and Pearl hurries to take the wineskin from the servant. She trots to Talkem and enthusiastically performs the task.
The commander watches the runic’s actions with contained interest. “So it is true. You attacked the outpost at Grasis to secure this runic?”
“Already down to business, Thayo?” Rohe asks, perturbed. “We were about to see what this fair maiden is capable of doing. You know, besides defeating my best warriors and serving drinks.”
“I can assure you these things are capable of any command you give them,” Talkem says. “Even the impossible becomes possible with a runic.”
“Then perhaps I should ask her to breathe underwater! Oh ho-” he starts, though he pauses mid-laugh and quietly realizes aloud, “though she can make air, so I suppose she could?” He snaps his fingers and leans toward the nearest servant. “Fetch me our largest basin and fill it to the brim with water.”
As the servant complies, Talkem unwraps his scarf to reveal a disfiguring scar that runs from the corner of his lip to the back of his left cheek. Sreya runs a finger along her own scar, mild by comparison, realizing this is the first time she has seen their military ally unmasked. He rests his cup on the table and says, “Your move was a risky one, Angal. It seems to have paid off, but I’m surprised you so willingly declared war on the military.”
“I did what, now?”
“Your fingerprints are all over the raid at Grasis, and Lieutenant Commander Bowen survived your barrage of advanced weaponry,” he says, to which Sreya expresses disbelief. “The crown is now aware of both your weapons research and your long-term vision for the guild.”
“It was supposed to be a stealth operation,” Rohe complains, “but things rarely go as planned. Your fire-maker officer was apparently talented. Sreya here was the only survivor, so there was little she could do to cover our tracks after she secured the asset, to use military jargon.”
“We cannot have stayed hidden forever,” Sreya adds. “The runics have the potential to destroy everything we have been building toward. The risk of acting outweighed the risk of inaction. Does this not also explain your own activities?”
Still holding the wineskin, Pearl shrinks away from the table, hoping they will forget about her as they converse. Despite Rohe’s friendly introduction, the tension has sharply escalated since his purported ally entered the room. There is more to this relationship than meets the eye.
“We are in agreement that Graff cannot collect too many runics,” Talkem says. “The crown’s power cannot be absolute; there must be forces to balance him, which is why we are having this very conversation.”
“We desire to return power to the people,” Sreya asserts, growing testy. “What of your intentions? Are they nobler than ours? Perhaps the guild should lay claim to the next runic and-”
“Sreya, dear, that is enough,” Rohe interrupts, easing her back. “We willingly entered into this alliance with the commander, and we will honor our commitment to securing him a runic.” To Talkem, he says, “You are correct in your assessment that we are not in the position we wanted. What is your point?”
“I saw the body count from your losses at Grasis. You have sacrificed much to secure your runic,” Talkem replies. “I am concerned that, even with a second runic, we will not be able to stand against the might of the military.”
“What choice do we have?” Rohe counters. “Succeed or fail, that’s the path we’ve taken.” Beckoning to Pearl, he says, “C’mere and fill me up, sweetie!” Pearl hurriedly obeys, preferring to voluntarily submit than to have her will stolen from her by another command. “My concern,” Rohe continues, “is whether we have a trust issue.”
Talkem’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”
“You and I are good friends, as far back as the war. Our agreement to split the runics between us is as good and true an alliance as I’ve ever built. And yet…” he teases while tapping his lips with his finger, “you were secretly pursuing this runic by yourself.”
Talkem remains stone-faced. “That is an audacious claim. You know my field resources are limited, so making my own pursuit would risk allowing the asset to fall into military hands.”
“That’s what I thought as well,” Rohe agrees, “but we met a certain acquaintance of yours. What was his name…? Goolak? Gyulin…?”
“Gular,” Sreya swiftly answers.
Talkem’s brow furrows, and Rohe snaps his fingers. “You’re always so good with names, Sreya.” Turning his attention back to the commander, he asks, “So why was your friend chasing after my new servant, here?”
The shock on Talkem’s face cannot be di
sguised. “This is the sky boat pilot?”
Rohe frowns. “Yes, Commander. This is the runic you were pursuing.” Tilting his head, he adds, “Come to think of it, you were the one who approached me. You provide the intelligence, I provide the manpower… Was that not it? Why would you ask me for help and then go behind my back?”
“Your confusion is warranted,” Talkem replies with disbelief. “I was simply in pursuit of this girl for information. I had no idea she was one of the runics.”
“Lies!” Rohe shouts, flooding the room with an uncomfortable silence. After a long pause, he cracks a grin and says, “I jest, my good friend. I’m certain your words are sincere, but… well, you can understand why I might have a hard time believing you.”
“I can understand. The coincidence is almost too hard to believe, myself.”
Rohe studies his face. “Thank you for your honesty, Commander.” Smiling ear to ear, he exclaims, “Regardless of your intentions, we have much to celebrate! Tomorrow we start the search for the remaining runic. Which, naturally, will be yours to command, Thayo.”
“Naturally,” Talkem repeats. “I’m just grateful we have secured the first.”
“Oh, ho!” Rohe bellows as his servant returns with the metal basin filled with water. “Now then, let us continue with the entertainment!”
“One question,” Talkem interjects. “When do you intend to transfer ownership of the weapon to yourself?”
Sreya appears unbothered by the comment, and Rohe again slides his arm around her. “All in good time, my dear friend. Sreya has earned the right to play with her new toy a bit longer.”
“Then Sreya is aware of the transfer requirements?”
“Transfer requirements?” Rohe frowns and looks at his second-in-command. “Sreya, dear, are you aware of how that works?”
“I planned to command Pearl to make Angal her new master,” she replies.
“Ah, but that will not transfer the key,” Talkem explains, pointing at his own hand. “As this runic’s conductor, you will always be able to usurp Angal’s command. You will still retain ownership.”
The amusement is gone from Rohe’s expression as tensions again mount. “Speak your piece, Commander. I’m growing tired of your games.”
Talkem folds his hands and leans forward. “As best we can tell, the ownership is permanent. At least as long as the conductor is alive.”
All eyes fall to Sreya, and, though she attempts to remain expressionless, the revelation has clearly alarmed her. “Commander,” Rohe sighs, “I’m afraid you’ve killed the revelry. That makes me cross.”
“That was never my intention,” Talkem apologizes with a polite bow. “I merely wanted to share this information with my allies.”
“We will naturally explore all other alternatives first,” Rohe says. “The key is in her hand, right? Perhaps we could cut it off.” Realizing his words are failing to improve the situation, he quickly adds, “I mean, surely we should try the hand thing before killing you, yes?”
Slowly, Sreya stands and leaves the room without making an utterance.
“Commander,” Rohe growls, “that was far from friendly.”
Talkem stands and adjusts his cap. “My apologies, Angal.”
“You’ve made my lieutenant into a sacrifice!” he bellows. “Had you informed me of this sooner, I’d have given the key to some other lackey!”
“Was there any choice, seeing as she was the only one to survive at Grasis?” he asks. Sternly, and with a hint of ire, he advises, “The military is strong, Rohe. You’d do well to remember that, lest it cost each of us our heads.”
The officer takes his leave, and Rohe’s two other lieutenants wait patiently for the leader to stew over the evening’s events. He leans on one hand and shoots Pearl an annoyed look. “Get out of here,” he orders, shooing her away. She eagerly complies, and he looks to his other two subordinates. “Gentlemen, let us discuss our options.”
* * *
Talkem marches from the small compound located deep within Maaman’s southern woods. The cold evening air is welcome after breaking a sweat from the heat of Rohe’s banquet hall. He briskly follows the path until the manor is out of view. “Did anyone follow me?” he asks aloud in the darkness.
His ally joins him from the shadows. “Surprisingly, no.”
“Then give me your report, Hyrel,” Talkem says. “I take it you have located the last runic?”
“Not yet,” he replies. “Eagle agents made it across the border and are currently en route to Rydret, but, more urgently, we received critical intelligence from Krypta that you must know.” The two stop walking and turn to face each other. “There are more than four runics.”
“More than four?” Talkem asks with surprise. “Are you certain of this?”
“Krypta confirms the Allerian monarch is currently in possession of multiple runics, though they didn’t offer the precise number,” he explains.
“The Allerians have runics,” the commander says in realization. “Graff is a fool for making such a baseless assumption. So there were four in each country from the beginning. Perhaps even more.”
“One other piece of information,” his informant adds. “Krypta is pursuing runics with the intention of selling to the highest bidder.”
“So they intend to profit off these weapons,” Talkem says, as if expecting the news.
“Isn’t it strange, though? That they don’t want them for their own use?” Hyrel asks.
“It is not strange,” the commander contends. “Collecting runics would make Krypta a target, as the guild has now done here. Furthermore, it does not suit Krypta to enter into conflict with the Allerian prince. Better to profit over a short-term power struggle. After all, the runics will not come cheap.”
“A shrewd tactical decision,” Hyrel agrees as they begin hiking once more. “And the guild… what of Rohe’s decision?”
“Angal has always been a gambler, as have I. His wager is that he can collect the last runic before Graff finds him. Time will tell if he succeeds.” Regrettably, he adds, “My own gamble to engage his resources has now cost me dearly. For him to discover the location of that runic before we were even aware of her… Our wily informant must have paid Angal a visit. That was unexpected.”
“Does he know of the earth shaper?”
“I suspect he does not,” Talkem says. “For Rohe and all three of his lieutenants to be engaging in revelry… They must not know of his whereabouts.”
“And if we secure the runic first? What of the alliance with Rohe?”
“The alliance will remain necessary, but we must secure the next runic at all costs. If the guild lands a second, I’m afraid they will take steps to end our engagement.”
“So this does not change Eagle’s current directive?”
“No, continue your pursuit of the earth shaper. Join your men in Alleria. There cannot be another failure.”
“As you command,” Hyrel acknowledges as he slips once more into the shadows.
As Talkem continues his slow walk in the darkness, he can’t help but allow a smile to form beneath his mask. “What will you do, now, Sreya?”
* * *
Pearl sneaks through the halls of the dark manor, quietly tiptoeing her way past a patrolling guard. The hardwood floors groan with her movements, but no one seems to give any mind to the errant resonances of such an old structure.
She ducks into the stairwell leading to the cellar, where the dank air reeks of mildew. The flickering wall lantern provides Pearl only with enough illumination to inch forward a step at a time. She eventually arrives at the far side of the decrepit basement, where she finds a makeshift dungeon hosting her adoptive father, chained to the wall and fast asleep.
“Father!” Pearl whispers as she kneels beside him. “Father, wake up!”
Poulton squints in the faint light. “Pearl, is that…?”
“I’m getting you out of here,” she says as she slides a key into his cuffs.
; “Wherever did you get that?” he asks with delight.
Pearl offers him a wink. “No time for explanations. There are two guards patrolling upstairs, but the creaking floorboards will tell us once they’ve passed. Come!”
She leads the weakened prisoner by the hand as they dash back to the stairs. Once their route is clear, they sneak onto the main floor, and Pearl leads Poulton into a vacant guest room. She softly shuts the door and moves to open the window.
“Pearl, what exactly has been going on?”
She unlatches the shutter and pushes it open. “I’m afraid I don’t understand it all, myself,” she sadly says, “but I’m now a slave of the guild. You must escape without me.”
“Without you?” he exclaims, a little too loudly. Pearl hushes him, and he quietly but sternly insists, “You’re coming as well.”
“I cannot! I’ve been forbidden from leaving the compound,” she tries to explain. “I’ve tried to leave several times already, but I cannot make my body move past the property’s threshold.”
Poulton meets her with confusion. “You aren’t making any sense.”
Pearl gives him a warm hug and says, “Thank you for everything, father. I’m so sorry you got wrapped up in all this.” With that, she pushes him to the window. “Now go. They have no reason to pursue you. You’ll be fine.”
“Pearl, I… How can I leave without you? Regardless of what our relationship has been, I cannot abandon you.”
Pearl bites her lip as she hears the guards making their rounds just outside the room. Reluctantly, she forces a mischievous grin and says, “I want to stay, okay? Rohe promised me riches you couldn’t possibly give me. I’m working for him now.”
Poulton is stunned. “Pearl, that doesn’t make-”
“Maybe I was wrong to save you. Shall I summon the guards?” she asks.
“Pearl! Stop this nonsense and-”
“Guards! Guards!” she cries out. Finally, Poulton sprints from the house, as confused as he is distraught over his adopted daughter’s change in spirit. Though her heart aches, Pearl is relieved to watch him disappear into the darkness of the night.