by Jeff Kish
Confidently, Era feels the dry earth below and shapes it up and around himself. Though the dirt barely covers him, Era hardens it into impregnable protection as the officer’s sword strikes down on his neck.
The earth armor holds, its integrity maintained by the force of Era’s shaping, and the air maker’s sword goes flying as he lands hard. Though he hurriedly retrieves it, Jem is already on top of him, and she easily slices through his blade with her nearly-invisible weapon. He stumbles backward only to be met with an earth club cracked over his crown.
As their opponent falls, Era releases his hold on his weapon and breathes a sigh of relief. “Great work as always, Jem.”
“You were pretty impressive, yourself!” she exclaims cheerfully, though her thoughts quickly become muddled. The adrenaline of battle made her temporarily forget their situation. For a moment, they were partners-in-crime once again, overcoming whatever forces stood before them. She glances at Era’s solitary arm, recognizing how quickly his radically developing runic abilities have compensated for his loss. It makes it difficult to deny his claims that he was built for fighting.
“That blade makes you scary,” Era comments as he brushes the dust off his clothes. He gives a glance to Garn and says, “Seems our friend is finishing off the last bad guy.”
Jem looks over to the captured Krypta members, each bound by ropes and cheering on their ally. “We should get out of here. I don’t want to be around when those bullies get untied.”
“Agreed,” he says while leading the way to the fire shaper.
As the final soldier drops, Garn releases his hold on the flames, and he wipes his brow with a cooled hand. “A fire shaper doesn’t feel the heat,” he comments as his new allies approach, “but a warrior can still work up a sweat!” Beaming, he boasts, “Count ‘em! I just beat down six Allerian soldiers. Six!”
“Not bad,” Era commends. “I lost count on my end… maybe four? Five?”
“You lost count? Geez, Era, I thought you were a warrior.”
“I’m not a warrior, just a thie-” Pausing, he says, “Well, that isn’t true these days. Just remember to get me that information.”
“Done and done!” he assures him, though he seems to question himself as his allies shout at him to release their bindings. “Actually, that might take some time. Tonight’s events probably make it clear why Corpit’s location is a tightly-guarded secret.” He extends his hand to Era and says, “Still, a deal’s a deal! I swear on my grandmother’s grave that I’ll get it to you by tomorrow morning.”
Era meets his gesture and shakes. “I’m trusting you, Garn. I’m desperate to speak with him.”
“You’re a one-armed monstrosity, Era! I wouldn’t dare cross you after seeing you in action tonight.”
Jem taps her foot. “Meet us with the information tomorrow on the north side of town. There’s a patch of woods we’ll use for cover. Come alone or we’ll bail, and that’ll be it for your grandmother’s grave.”
Garn offers a salute. “Understood.”
“And bring me a key for these shackles or I’ll club you with them,” she threatens as they disappear into a dark alleyway.
Chapter 13
Deep within the military barracks, Di aggressively sinks her air-covered fists into the practice dummy. Over and over again, she pounds the innocent sack of straw, rending its leather casing with each blow. Her breath is heavy as hay floats to the floor, and she unleashes a brutal kick to the groin to finish off her imaginary opponent.
“He wants to surrender,” a soft voice speaks from behind, “but he has no means to do so.”
Alarmed, Di spins to find her female commander in the entryway. The sole representative of her gender among the brass, the confident yet soft-spoken strategist wraps her hands behind her back, her dark red locks shimmering in the light of the chamber. The furtive private scrambles to reposition the dummy and clean the loose hay, as if caught committing a crime. “C-Commander Marmela! When did you…?”
The officer closes the door behind herself and strolls to Di. “Is your hair longer?” she observes.
Di’s hand moves to her hair, now extending past her shoulders. “It grows quickly. I haven’t cut it in a couple days.”
“Most curious,” she remarks as her eyes fall to the dummy. “I thought you held disdain for training activities.”
“I do! I was just…” Di trails off, unable to fabricate an excuse for walloping on a training dummy.
“Is there a reason for a runic to train?” she asks. “Forgive me for the question, but you seem to have an innate battle sense that bests even the most experienced of soldiers.”
Di’s eyes lower, her guard dismantled by her mild-mannered superior. “I’m not invincible. I could be killed by anyone on the battlefield. Especially other runics.”
“Ah, so you are scared.”
“I am not scared,” she argues, puffing her cheeks. “Why would I be scared? Do I… Do I look scared to you?”
“That depends. Is there a reason for you to be?”
Di can tell there is little point in trying to dodge the question. “It’s just that, well, it seems like my power is limited if I’m not in full compliance with the general’s orders.”
Marmela raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware that defiance was possible.”
Di shakes her head. “It’s not a question of obedience after the order, but before. If I resist the general’s will, it’s reflected in my abilities. Or so he claims, but… it seems to hold true.”
Her hand to her chin, Marmela asks, “And why do you resist the general’s will?”
“Because he’s evil!” Di exclaims. “He kidnapped me, forced me to fight with my friends, and shoved me into the role of this,” she shouts as she spreads her arms to showcase her military uniform. “I can’t stand the sight of him.”
Marmela ponders the extent of her rant. “Do you disagree with his intentions, then?”
Di frowns. “His intentions?”
“To protect the nation from the Allerian threat. To protect the king and queen. To bring an end to this era of war.”
“He wants a war,” she insists.
“But to what end?”
Di’s brow furrows. “I mean… I guess to protect Valvoren, but a mass extermination of a people is inhuman!”
“So you would do it differently?”
“S-Sure I would. I would uphold the treaty that the king signed.”
“For how long? Seven years? A hundred?”
Di wonders if the commander is referencing the century armistice, supposedly the longest period of peace the two nations have ever maintained. “Peace can… it’s something that we just have to work harder to achieve.”
Marmela’s demeanor shifts to a heavy sadness. “Our land has been plagued by war for centuries upon centuries. Two nations with nothing but hatred for one another can never know peace.” After a pause, she says, “These are merely my convictions; I do not intend to sway yours. I believe in my king and in his treaty, yet I do not wane in my training. I will be ready for the next conflict, just as the general intends to be.”
Di awkwardly kicks at the floor, wishing the commander would leave her alone, and Marmela politely coughs to regain her attention. “I apologize. I did not come to debate with you. I have a question and a request, if you’ll hear me out.”
“What kind of request?” Di asks with interest.
“First, the question. Are you certain there are but four runics?”
“There could be twenty of us for all I know,” she responds. “I already told this to the general. Whoever created me ensured I would have zero memories of my past.”
Marmela seems to accept her answer. “As for the request, I believe Commander Talkem is staging a coup. I would like your help to stop him.”
Di is stunned that Marmela would so casually deliver such an accusation. “What? Why are you… That has nothing to do with me.”
“You are a private in the military, are you n
ot?” she asserts. “This involves you directly, as it involves every soldier.”
“But why me? Why not go to the general with this?”
“Because an accusation without evidence would stir chaos among our ranks,” she says, “but, also, I believe he is trying to secure your earth shaping comrade.”
Her eyes widen at the mention of her former guardian. “He’s chasing Era?”
“You desire his well-being, do you not? If the commander finds your friend before we do, you may find yourself facing him on the battlefield. You would serve him well by aiding my cause.”
Di finds herself dizzied by the notion. “Just what is the commander after?”
“Allow me to start from the beginning,” she offers as she grabs a nearby chair. “Twenty years ago, the mercenary known as Thayo Talkem was the only assassin worth mentioning within the fledgling Black Market, the predecessor to our Merc Market. He is a talented air maker, and his skillset makes him a subtle and efficient killer. When the war started, the late king sent him a personal request to join the ranks. By the end of the war, Thayo was a lieutenant commander.”
Di sits on the cold stone floor, her attention locked on the commander. There is still so little she knows of the decade-long war, and her inner-student screams with delight at the chance for a history lesson.
“As you know, General Graff values power. When he evaluated Thayo following the war, he immediately promoted him to the rank of commander. Meanwhile, Thayo had maintained his market connections, and it is by his relationships that the military began to enlist market aid when military resources were lacking.”
“I witnessed that first-hand,” Di groans. “Stupid Fire.”
“Thayo’s methods may often be unscrupulous, but he has maintained every appearance of loyalty to the crown,” Marmela explains. “Still, he has exhibited a noticeable shift in behavior since the general first introduced you. From day one, I suspect he has intended to secure a runic for himself.”
“To do what?” Di asks indignantly. “Does he really think one runic will make him all-powerful?”
Marmela brings her hand to her chin. “This I cannot answer, though I have my suspicions. The commander relishes his role in market affairs, and he pursues relationships that enhance his sphere of influence. He is using his rank to cement himself as a lord of market operations long past his retirement from the military. My most optimistic hunch is that he will establish an alliance with the general while using the runic to further enforce his market control. However, he may intend to ally with Angal Rohe and form a new political entity which battles for the hearts of the nation’s subjects. The Smith’s Hammer guild has been vying for civilian clout since it was formed, after all. The commander likely fed Angal information on the runics from the start.”
“But why would he give the first runic to Rohe?” Di asks. “Something still isn’t adding up.”
“Our information is unfortunately spotty,” Marmela admits with a grimace. “Regardless, there is yet another fearful scenario, hence my original question. The commander has made moves beyond the border, which leads me to suspect the presence of Allerian runics. If he and Angal secure three or four runics, they could incite a civil war for the purposes of displacing the monarchy.”
Di stands aghast. “Allerian runics? I mean… I guess there’s no reason it couldn’t happen, but-”
“There is much at stake here, Diamond,” Marmela interjects with utmost sincerity. “If we fail to apprehend Thayo, we may find ourselves on the other end of his sword.”
“Well, I’ll probably be the one holding the sword. Right?” Di awkwardly jokes.
“What makes you assume the commander would bother to take you alive to bind you?” she pointedly asks. “Still, let us say that he does. You despise the general for his command over you and the acts he has made you do. If the commander takes control, you may find Worren Graff a humanitarian by comparison.”
The thought is entirely unsettling for Di. “What can I do to help?”
Marmela offers a warm smile. “I’m glad you asked. As you might expect, you will be our muscle. The commander himself is talented, but the greatest threat to our plan is his endless network of loyalists, which assuredly extends well into our own ranks. We likely only have one chance at this. We will lure him into a trap, contain him, and allow the evidence to speak for itself.”
“You make it sound easy,” Di skeptically notes. “How do we trap him?”
“Leave that to me,” she says as she moves toward the door. “I will keep you informed of my progress. Once I have set the bait, I will communicate your role.”
“O-Okay.”
Marmela opens the door and steps into the hallway. “Thank you, Diamond. Your assistance may well spare significant bloodshed.”
As the commander disappears, Di finds her thoughts conflicted. She wants to protect Saleen, so helping Marmela seems like the right move. However, she finds herself focused on the commander’s comment about whether Talkem would bother to take her alive. Her long-standing assumption has always been that she would be pursued by others for her power, but the image of being slaughtered by an army of opposing runics sends a shiver down her spine. If Allerian runics exist, her safety is no longer as assured as she once believed.
Noticing the time, Di departs from the training room and travels upstairs. The lighted atmosphere and royal décor of the barracks’ upper floors are a stark contrast to the dank dungeon in which she spends most of her time. She locates the briefing room and discovers Opal lounging at the strategy table, munching on a loaf of bread with one arm behind his head, as if soaking in the bliss of a luxurious vacation. The sight disgusts her.
Her expression fails to go unnoticed. “Hey, Diamond!” her partner sneers, basking in her disdainful glare.
“Leave me alone, Alam.”
“Why do you keep calling me Alam?”
“Because it’s your name.”
“No, my name is Opal,” he argues.
Di plants herself at the table. “I’ll never understand you. How can you just accept your servitude?”
A grin spreads across his face. “Didn’t we already discuss this? I’m finally respected! Soldiers, commanders… even the king himself all show me respect.”
“They watch you in fear. They don’t know what you are.”
“Fear and respect are pretty much the same thing, aren’t they?”
“They’re not.”
“Either way, it feels good.”
“You’re not human, Alam!” she shouts. “Has that even sunk in a little yet?”
“Of course it has. I’m a not-human yet superhuman super-soldier!”
“…who’s being controlled,” she reminds him, yanking back her sleeve to reveal the bronze armlet.
Opal glances at his own armlets with a frown. “What are these, anyway?”
“I don’t know, but they come with the bondage.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says with a wave of his hand. “The general seems like a good guy. I’d follow him even without his commands.”
“Even if it’s to war?”
“A war could be exciting,” he says.
“The prospect of killing people doesn’t bother you?”
“Not if it’s on the battlefield!” he exclaims. “I’ll be a hero to the entire kingdom. Maybe they’ll even make a statue of me!” Giddy, he softly asks, “Do you think they’ll make a statue of me?”
Di’s mind wanders to her conversation with Marmela. “We’re not going to dominate a battlefield if other runics are present. We… We need to find the other one soon.”
“Don’t you mean the other two?”
The effect of the general’s stern voice is immediate as every muscle tenses within the miniature soldier.
“Wow, you’re sneaky!” Opal exclaims. “Did you give us a command that makes us not see you until you speak? And then another command to forget that command?” He pauses as he processes this idea. “But wouldn’t I remember that
last command? Maybe you ordered us to forget that one too!”
Graff ignores Opal, instead focusing on Di. “We must find both the remaining runics, Diamond. Your one-armed friend is just as critical as the runic Rohe stole.”
Di instinctively wants to argue, yet she cannot deny that there are times when she wishes Era were by her side. While she could never wish her enslavement onto anyone, let alone Era, she knows a selfish corner of her heart would celebrate being with him again.
The general next turns his attention to the lightning elementalist, disgusted to find the runic’s feet propped on the table. “Opal, your lackadaisical attitude is an affront to this well-oiled military establishment. I expect to see an improvement in short order.”
Alarmed, Opal stuffs the rest of the bread in his mouth and shoots upright. “I-I’m sowwy, suh!”
Graff places his hands behind his back. “We’re starting to get leads on Rohe’s location. That traitor won’t be able to hide forever. Once we find him, you two will double-team the runic while our men cut him down.”
“And that will give you control of the new guy?” Opal asks.
“Or new girl,” Di points out.
“New weapon, though we don’t yet know how to initiate a runic transfer,” Graff answers. “We’ll start by executing Rohe for his treachery and go from there.”
“Aw, right! That battle will be epic!” Opal exclaims.
The general hesitates before ultimately closing the door for privacy. “You will tell no one of this next conversation,” he orders, their hands glowing in response. “We’ve received unsettling reports from our spies that the Allerians are making aggressive moves along the border.”
Di’s brow furrows. “What kind of moves? What’s their intent?”
Graff rubs the bridge of his nose. “Spying is no mystical art, Diamond. The Allerians know they’re being watched, yet they’re amassing forces and bolstering their encampments. Further, we’ve made no secret of you and Opal, so the Allerians certainly know something of you.”