by Jacinta Jade
Subtle, Siraay thought to herself, but effective. She filed away this piece of information about the importance of selecting one’s place within a space and focused on the faces of the captains and archons as they filed into the room, studying them carefully while appearing to take in the room, her posture upright and her shoulders back.
Her observations of them over the course of dinner, and now as they made their way through the counsel room to choose their seats, were already revealing interesting insights. Although the captains technically had more authority as leaders of the various divisions of Chezran’s army, Siraay had noticed that it was the reaction of the archons, especially Pyron, that Chezran paid attention to, and so she, in turn, watched them more closely than the others.
Archon Renhed, the female spymaster, was especially captivating. Posture relaxed, seemingly easy-going, but interested in everything happening around her, the spymaster was someone you would categorise as bright.
Siraay might not have thought much more on it if it hadn’t been for the glance the spymaster had levelled her way as she’d entered the room, for just the briefest moment.
Dark eyes met her own, and Siraay felt those eyes scanning everything about her in an instant. Just as if she had been laid bare in that unguarded moment that their eyes connected, a mind as sharp as the edge of a blade assessing her.
Then, a breath later, the spymaster had turned to respond to a question from one of the captains, back to her former bright and intelligent self, the ruthlessness and deeper awareness hidden once more beneath that slightly dimmer outer shell.
Mindful of not appearing too intrigued by any one individual, Siraay let her gaze continue to drift on in a continued sweep. But in her mind, she had elevated the spymaster to take second position behind Pyron, in the race for most influential ally—or the biggest threat.
The captains and archons all moved around the end of the low couch and took their positions in no apparent order, except for Pyron, who, once again, took the seat on Chezran’s other side, and the head tactician, Archon Atalia, who moved to stand before the raised section of wall.
While waiting for the archons and captains to select their seats, Siraay noted how the divan was comfortable enough for her to concentrate on the impending discussion but not so comfortable that she would be happy to be perched there for spans while a debate raged on.
A purposeful design aspect, no doubt.
As everyone settled in, their expressions became more focused, the languor of dinner left behind.
Siraay realised that this was what she had been waiting for—an insight into Chezran’s strategy, to know what it was they were after. Eager for the meeting to get underway, she caught herself biting the inside of her lip but then, quickly remembering the spymaster’s keen dark eyes, stopped herself.
Beside her, Chezran gave Atalia a nod.
The female turned and waved her hand over part of the wall, and silently, the angle of its surface began to increase until it was leaning on a seventy-degree angle. The archon waved her hand again, and a three-dimensional image appeared over the previously blank surface.
For Siraay, it took a conscious control of her body, and a stern reminder to herself of the eyes present in the room, to stop herself from leaning forwards to more closely examine what she was seeing.
It was Kaslon. Or, at least, the vast majority of its surface. While Kaslon was mostly a water planet, with one large, spreading continent, it did have islands sprinkled throughout its seas, some very far away, others close, their size ranging from quite large to no bigger than an atoll. Yet the people of Kaslon had never populated these, preferring those islands to remain untouched bastions of paradise for the other species that shared their world. These islands were not included on this map, with the focus on the inhabited land mass only.
The scale of the surface area shown was large enough to display the three—no, four, Siraay corrected herself—cities on the map. The seaside capital, Tunet, the mountain city, Opanau, and the lake city that was her former self’s home, Lalinta. And, far away from the other three, was the fourth—Xarcon.
She studied the map intently, calculating distances as Atalia addressed Chezran.
‘We have two divisions stationed here and here,’ she said, turning to the map and pointing at the projection, pegs of red light springing up from the board as she indicated the various locations.
One was situated close to Opanau while the other was nearer to the capital, Tunet.
‘Each division is larger and more powerful than anything the Resistance can throw at us. Both are prepared to move on your command, but they are obeying your standing orders to only gather intelligence and’—the female archon’s eyes flicked to Siraay briefly before looking back at Chezran—‘more resources, if the opportunity arises.’
So it was true. Chezran’s army actively worked to capture and turn citizens—youths close to adulthood, in particular—and members of the Resistance into a fighting resource of their own.
Atalia continued her briefing. ‘As you also ordered, any persons showing particular talent has been transported as quickly as possible to the city for inclusion in the program.’
Chezran nodded an acknowledgment of the tactician’s words, his gaze still fixed on the map before him.
Siraay, meanwhile, was beginning to understand more and more why she had been singled out so long ago.
‘And how is the third division shaping up?’ Chezran’s question was asked almost casually, but in the slim time she had been observing him over dinner, Siraay had already learned that, even if his face betrayed little interest, his mind was cataloguing everything.
This time, it was Pyron who answered the lord’s question, and at hearing his voice, Siraay felt like invisible heckles were rising along her spine.
‘Well. Not as experienced as the other two in combat but still a skilled group.’ A pause. ‘Once the final group of new trainees joins the division, it will be ready to move out to take up its position.’
Trainees. It was almost amusing how the two sides used such similar terminology. And when Pyron said ‘new trainees’, he was, of course, talking about Siraay’s former friends and the other Resistance captives who had survived until now.
She also hadn’t missed the fact that his slight pause had been an intentional jibe at her. He obviously had reservations about her loyalty or value and wanted them all to know.
Chezran nodded at Pyron and then glanced back to the map, waving one hand lazily towards the red mark that symbolised the city of Lalinta. ‘Are you still recommending their deployment towards the third city?’
Atalia responded swiftly. ‘Yes, my lord. All three cities will be attacked at once, in order to gain the biggest element of surprise. That way, they will not be able to come to each other’s aid.’
Siraay looked with interest at the map, then let her voice break through the murmurs that had sprung up following Atalia’s confirmation. Softly, but clearly, she stated, ‘You won’t win this way, even with the numbers you have.’
The silence that followed was brief but electric.
The first stage of the silence appeared to be one of shock. This silence belonged to those whose voices had been robbed from them by Siraay’s words. They had not expected her to speak up and were obviously not used to someone uninitiated offering an opinion, even if that person had been welcomed—warmly—by their lord. Two of the captains, and Atalia, were clearly experiencing this, their thinning lips also showing the quick transition of shock to disapproval.
Then the silence held an amused and watchful air, with small signs evident in the slightest of creases at the corners of some mouths, including Captain Raque’s and Chief Archon Pyron’s.
Yet the third stage of the silence was a deep thoughtfulness that could have meant anything. It conquered the first and second hush, laying over everyone like a heavy blanket. There were no outward signs of it, bar the considering eyes of Lord Chezran and the spymaster, Archon Renhed.
His face betraying nothing, Chezran turned to her and, with a sweep of his hand, bade her to take the floor beside Atalia.
Siraay forced herself to relax her shoulders, as if this command to present her theory had been anticipated. Her own face devoid of any expression, she rose silently, smoothing tiny wrinkles from her dress with her hands as she walked slowly up to the projected map, the slight rustle of her dress against her legs loud in the silent room.
Standing to one side of the projection, Atalia regarding her stonily from the other side, while Siraay took another look at the map. Despite what she had expected, the map actually seemed to grow in detail as she drew closer, almost like an auto-focusing lens. This allowed Siraay to see more of the rises and falls in the miniature terrain and cities, one of whose details were infinitely more familiar to her than the others.
She pivoted to scan her waiting audience, some obviously intent to hear what she had to say, others ready to scoff. Well, she wasn’t here to win their approval. And she most certainly was not here for their amusement. She had to show them that she was not a passing fancy that their lord had picked up.
She was here to win a war.
‘The main council’s peace-keeping defences are located in the capital, while the Resistance forces are scattered throughout the wilderness. While your divisions cannot be beaten by the divisions of the Resistance forces alone, they may be overwhelmed by the combined might of the three cities’ citizens, peace-keepers, and the Resistance, if they were all to join against you.’
She paused, meaning to turn back to point something out on the map, but Atalia interjected impatiently.
‘We know this—it is why we are bringing the fight to each city at the same time, so they cannot join forces.’
Siraay didn’t even bother acknowledging the female archon, instead only pausing a moment before continuing to speak.
‘The Ruling Council’s main peace-keeping forces are located in the capital, and only smaller sections of the council’s protective divisions are in the other two cities. True, one of your divisions could match the entire might of the Resistance, but if you split your divisions, it is likely that the Resistance will direct all their resources to support that of the Ruling Council’s at the capital. Thus, the division that takes on the capital will be overwhelmed and wiped out in short order by the larger force, leaving your other two divisions separated geographically. And then the capital’s forces will join with one of the other cities to take down the next division. And so on.’ She rolled her over hand in a downwards gesture, indicating the swift fall of Chezran’s army that would follow.
‘How could you possibly know where the Ruling Council has placed its main strength?’ Atalia crossed her arms, her long black dress shifting as the female’s body became lined with doubt and disapproval of Siraay’s analysis.
Keeping her back straight and chin level, Siraay looked calmly at the archon.
‘It was detailed on a paper on the Resistance commander’s desk when I met with her, many turns ago, early on in the golden time.’
‘Many turns ago,’ repeated Atalia slowly, employing a tone that hinted at just how many reasons there were to doubt this information.
‘What do you suggest?’ Chezran asked Siraay.
The shock evident in Atalia’s rigid posture at the lord’s question amused Siraay, but she kept her expression blank as she turned back to look at Chezran holding his eyes for a moment before she responded. ‘Attack the capital in force with the full complement of your army.’
Atalia’s arms dropped free from their folded position as her spine stiffened further. ‘We already considered this strategy, and it was deemed that the best attack was a divided one.’
Chezran’s eyes snapped to his spymaster’s. ‘What was the most recent intelligence we had on the council’s deployment of the peace-keeping troops?’
Renhed’s eyes locked with her lord’s. ‘We haven’t really had any further intelligence on this matter, since our source went quiet back in—’
Chezran waved Renhed to silence and, rising from his seat, approached the map. ‘They tried the same approach in the last war,’ he said quietly, ‘and they lost.’ He spun to face Siraay, close enough that the edges of his cape brushed her dress as he wheeled. ‘The three cities converged their troops upon the Xarcon army back then. Why would this time be any different?’
Siraay made herself returned his penetrating look calmly. It was amazing how clearly she could recall in-depth detail from her former self’s memories. But there it was, the memory laid out like a picture book that she could examine at her leisure—the pages that had been spread across the Resistance commander’s desk when the old Siray had taken a seat before her, her eyes wandering uninterested over the documents that had meant nothing to her at the time. Yet even upside down, even green as she had been, the words had jumped out at her: reallocated … troops … new defence strategy … concentration … capital …
She could also recall other pages, but none of them were directly relevant to this conversation.
‘If you have learned from your past failures, then don’t believe for an instant that the Ruling Council has not.’ Siraay flicked her fingers towards the map and where she knew the capital to be marked on it. ‘If I were them, I would do exactly the same. Who would ever expect you to try the same tactic a second time after it failed in the first instance?’ She shook her head. ‘The intelligence is good—they expect you to try to divide and conquer by attacking them on multiple fronts.’
After she finished speaking, there was an intense quiet, until it was broken by the drawling tones of the spymaster.
‘Our agents haven’t made any progress in this area, my lord—it seems that only one or two of the council members know of the defence strategy … and are unlikely to share.’
Siraay’s toes curled slightly in her boots, the only way she could privately express the tension she was feeling. She knew this was a key moment. Either Chezran would accept her advice, and demonstrate to the others that he valued and trusted her opinion, or else he would demonstrate his lack of trust in her and irreparably damage her standing with them. And himself.
But Renhed wasn’t finished with her update.
‘Yet, our agents have reported increased supplies heading to the capital, which might indicate an increased defensive presence there.’
Chezran twisted away from Siraay to glance at Archon Renhed. ‘But you don’t have a count of any actual numbers?’
The spymaster’s dark eyes didn’t flinch from the gaze of her lord. ‘No,’ she said, and Siraay could feel the weight of regret and annoyance that the archon felt over her lack of information in that area. ‘But I think, in this case, small indications are the best we have to deal with, if the council is indeed gearing up their defences.’
Chezran nodded once, then turned and took his seat again at the divan’s apex. He scanned the faces of everyone in the room, including Siraay’s and Atalia’s.
The tense silence hung for a moment more.
‘Tell the second division to relocate, discreetly, to a position closer to the capital. We’ll hit them with everything we have.’
Siraay’s toes uncurled and her lips parted just slightly in relief, even as she heard the head tactician expel a breath in frustration.
But neither of them showed their feelings above those minor gestures, unless you counted the look of dislike the female archon shot towards Siraay.
For her part, Siraay merely looked back at Atalia as she resumed her seat by Chezran’s side, the gesture reminding the tactician just where her own seat was—farther away from that apex. Siraay felt the corners of her lips and eyes turn up minutely, twitching the scarred tissue around her left eye, as she controlled her amusement at the almost childlike pose Atalia had assumed.
Next, there were updates from three of Chezran’s other archons—words of warning from the spymaster about intelligence her spies had uncovered about a new Resistance camp; new
protocols being enforced by Archon Onan to increase security for the city; and updates from Nisos, the head technologist, on the production of some metal linked to the bands the army wore.
Siraay paid particular attention as Nisos continued his update.
‘I’m having my technologists turn out a new batch as quickly as possible so we can fit them to the new additions as soon as their training is completed.’
Chezran nodded and glanced at Raque. ‘Where are they up to in the program?’
Raque’s smile was satisfied. ‘Further ahead than we were anticipating. It seems the departure of one of their own’—and here he nodded at Siraay—‘has broken some of them faster than then even our best methods could.’
Siraay found that piece of information interesting, and, apparently, so did Chezran.
The lord’s head angled in her direction. ‘Seems like you were more valuable to your group than you knew, my lady.’
Siraay nodded slowly. ‘Maybe that is something that can be used to our advantage.’
Chezran raised one eyebrow slightly. ‘Explain.’
She gestured to Raque. ‘If, as the captain says, there has been a quickening in those who are breaking since my departure, then perhaps a showing of my return, as one loyal to Xarcon, would help break more of them. Show them the futility of any opposition to their new role.’
Chezran looked at her steadily. ‘You mean, show them the stronger, more confident and capable you, the one who has no doubts about our cause and is willing to follow us and do what must be done?’
The others must have heard the same notes of warning in Chezran’s voice as she did, given that she could feel all of them go still, breath baited.
Atalia, especially, seemed a little excited at the challenge that her lord had thrown out.
But despite his words, Siraay thought she could detect another question in Chezran’s eyes. So she decided to play his dangerous game.
‘No,’ she said firmly, her voice leaving no shred of doubt. She felt the collective breath of the group seize even further, even though not one face moved.