by Arnot, C. S.
It was a rectangular building, probably a seat of local government for some time even before the war. The stonework looked very old in places, however, and Elias rather suspected that it had been at one time long ago a church, though its roof and upper story had been renovated in a different, rougher style since their evident wartime obliteration.
Inside the main hall was a circle of carved wooden chairs on the tiled floor. On the opposite side of this circle sat a hunched crow of a man, wearing grey wolf skins around his shoulders and a look of smouldering hatred on his face. The man had a henchman of his own, unarmed however, and standing by his side like a faithful dog.
Elias flicked his hand at Maddox, who pitched his gagged prisoner forwards into the middle of the circle. The tubby man whimpered slightly as he fell to his knees, his disgusting vest soaked with sweat and spotted with blood. He leaned forward, head bowed, his back heaving as he panted. His bound hands were clenched into fists. Defiance, wondered Elias idly, or simply pain?
“Say what you have come to say, westerner,” spoke the fur-clad man, “for if you intended to murder us, I think you would have done so.”
Elias adjusted his jacket cuffs, taking his time. “I heard your man’s speech,” he said, in Armenian. “It moved me. In fact, I believe it moved just about everyone listening. This is a bad thing.”
The councillor shifted in his seat, his eyes fixed on Elias. “How so?” he said.
“Oh, but you must see it yourself. You are not a foolish man, Azarian. This Tovmas character seeks to overthrow you.” Elias waited patiently for a reply. There was none. “Is it not obvious?”
The man waved dismissively. “You are mistaken,” he said. “Tovmas merely wished to rescue his daughter. He stole the fuel for it, yes, but why would he want to overthrow us?”
“Why indeed?” Elias looked meaningfully at the kneeling quartermaster.
The councillor leaned forward, speaking in hissed Armenian to the man, “What ideas does your foolish brother have, Bedros?”
Maddox came forward and cut the gag loose.
“Nothing, councillor Azarian! I swear it!”
“Now, that is not what he’s been telling us,” said Elias, motioning to Maddox once more. The big marine went forward, drawing a knife as he did. Bedros sensed what was coming.
“No! I will tell! Please!” he cried, twisting around to try and face the on comer. Elias halted Maddox.
“We’re listening,” he said.
“M-my brother. He says he wants Ashtarak to be strong. He says the other towns should follow us. He wants to reunite Armenia, but under Ashtarak’s rule.” The cowering quartermaster hung his head low.
“He means to bring war to our town,” said Azarian, leaning back in his chair, realisation on his face. “Why?”
“He thinks we seem weak to the other towns,” said Bedros. “He wants us to become a faction, to conquer the others and bring glory to Ashtarak. He does not think the council acts in Ashtarak’s best interests.”
“Tovmas is a fool!” shouted the councillor suddenly, spitting with rage. “We must keep war away from our people, not thrust them into it at a whim! He of all people should know that war is a terrible thing!”
Elias was trying not to smile. This was going to be easy. He just had to time his offer correctly.
“My brother does not see it that way. As a soldier for the Union, maybe he did. But now he can see that there is glory to be had. Glory he can only find as a leader. He wants it badly.”
“And you, Bedros, you agree with him?” demanded Azarian.
“No, councillor!” he cried, his eyes flickering. “I have tried talking sense into him. Tovmas, I said, this is madness. The people do not want war! But he said, Bedros, the people do want it. They only need to be shown.”
“The fool!” shouted Azarian. “And was this after his daughter was abducted?”
“No, sir, it was before. He has had these ideas for a long time. I did not think they would come to anything, but when Vika was taken... I think he saw opportunity. When he went to rescue those girls, he knew it would unite the town behind him.”
“Who else knows about this?”
“I think he told only Magar and myself.”
“Magar was killed in Baku. And the militiamen he had with him? What about them?” asked Azarian.
“I don’t think he will have told them. They will be loyal to him now, though, because he has given them glory. When he needs men, they will follow him, I’m sure.”
“Only half of them returned. That is not enough to topple the Council. We have a hundred more at our command.” He spoke strongly, but his eyes betrayed his fear.
“I don’t know, councillor,” said Bedros. “They may follow him because he appears strong.”
The room was silent for a time. Elias walked over to the ring of chairs, his footsteps echoing in the hall, and sat down. He chose his moment carefully.
“You know, I could help you with this problem, if you’d let me,” he said.
“How so?” asked the old councillor.
“I am here in the employ of the Gilgamesh,” said Elias, pausing to let it sink in. No doubt these people would have heard of it: everybody had, whether they’d actually seen it or not. “I have come to arrest the two western fugitives who appear to have made themselves at home in your town.”
“Why?”
“They murdered two marines in cold blood and shot down an aircraft, killing the pilot, a few days ago in Sevastopol.”
“I see.”
“These are dangerous men, councillor. I doubt you would want them to bring trouble to your town,” said Elias.
“Why should I hand them over?” asked the councillor.
“They are wanted for murder, councillor. It is not wise to stand in the way of the Gilgamesh’s wishes. I have a detachment of marines waiting just outside your town, ready to take the men by force if necessary. Whichever way you want to play, councillor, I will take those fugitives.”
The man said nothing, but glared at Elias. He did not like to be threatened.
“So,” continued Elias, “you can either help me, and the Gilgamesh will reward you for your service, or you can be uncooperative, in which case you and your town will suffer. I sincerely hope it does not come to that.”
Still Azarian was quiet, brooding on his chair.
“Councillor, this upstart, Tovmas, holds a tremendously valuable asset in the form of those westerners and their aircraft. With them at his command, he could project power across Armenia. You must know he will not hesitate to use it against you when the time comes.” Elias paused once more. “However, if you allow me to take the two pilots and their aircraft, Tovmas will have lost his most powerful weapon. He will not be able to stage his little coup.”
Elias could tell that Azarian had seen sense, however a little lubrication of the agreement couldn’t hurt.
“The Gilgamesh will grant your council indefinite trade rights. Your town, councillor, could benefit greatly from such a gift. But only if you help me.”
The old man’s glare had gone. Elias knew he had won.
“Very well,” said Azarian, slowly. “We have an accord.”
Elias smiled then, genuinely. It was a small victory, not exactly hard-fought, but it was satisfying nonetheless. Bending people to his will was so easy.
The old councillor turned to his henchman, murmuring an order. The henchman left the hall by a back door.
“He will gather the militia. We will begin a search for your fugitives.” The councillor stood up and proceeded towards the back door. “And keep your prisoner bound for now. We can’t have him warning his brother.”
Elias grinned, nodding to Maddox. The big marine went forward and heaved the quartermaster onto a chair, wrapping a new cord around his waist to hold him there.
It was all beautifully Shakespearean. The council conspired against its own hero just as the Senate had plotted against Caesar. Elias stood up from his chair and walked
over to the bound quartermaster. The man was sobbing silently.
“Et tu, Bedros?” he said in the man’s ear, and laughed as he strode out of the hall.
17.
Run
Aiden awoke to a knock at the door. He rubbed his eyes with his palms, remembering no dreams from the night. He had slept well; he could feel it. Sona was still fast asleep next to him, her lithe, bronze form naked under the sheet. The room was cool, but Aiden could see the first rays of sun piercing the gaps in the curtains. It would be hot soon.
The door knocked again. Aiden got out of bed and pulled on his underwear, before walking across the room to the front door. He unbolted it and opened it to the dawn light.
Squinting, he recognised Nardos standing before him, his foot on the front step.
“Morning,” croaked Aiden.
“Good morning,” said Nardos. Something was wrong. “Can I come in?”
Aiden looked back over towards the bed. Sona was awake, standing with the bed sheet wrapped around her. Her inky hair was a little wild, and her dark eyes glinted in the dim room. “Yeah, I suppose.”
Nardos climbed into the house and Aiden closed the door behind him. He stood in the tiny entrance hall as Aiden went to gather his scattered clothes from the floor. “You have a problem,” said Nardos.
“How’s that?” asked Aiden, pulling his trousers on. Sona stood watching. She said something in Armenian to Nardos. Nardos replied, and she shot him a glare.
“There are men looking for you.”
Aiden paused, one arm in his now sleeveless t-shirt. “What kind of men?”
“Militia and westerners. Soldiers, they looked like. I saw them in the square, while a man was giving orders. They were going to start a search at dawn.”
Aiden froze as he understood. Marines.
“No, no, no,” he mumbled, going to the window and peering around the curtain. The dusty street was empty. He went to the bedside and picked up his pistol, tucking it behind his belt. Then he pulled his boots on, lacing them up as fast as he could manage. Sona looked on fearfully. She asked Nardos something. Nardos simply nodded. Sona covered her mouth with her hand.
“Ay-dan,” she almost whispered, reaching for him. He grasped her hand in both of his, lifted it to his lips and kissed it.
“I’m sorry, Sona,” he said. “I have to go.”
Nardos translated for him. Sona asked Nardos something.
“She asks if you will come back to her.”
Aiden frowned. “I hope so,” he said, squeezing her hand one last time before he let it go. He turned to Nardos. “Let’s go.”
Nardos led Aiden back out onto the street, checking it was clear before they moved off. They headed away from the centre, following the road as it wound up the hill and the houses became sparser.
“So who are they?” asked Nardos eventually.
“Marines,” said Aiden. “Marines from the Gilgamesh. They’re after me and Fredrick for…getting into a fight with a couple of them in Sevastopol.”
“They came all the way from Sevastopol just for that?”
“Well, we had to shoot down one of their aircraft to escape, so I’m guessing they’re pretty pissed.”
“So that’s why you came all the way out to Armenia,” Nardos realised. “You’re fugitives.”
“If being wanted for killing pirates makes us fugitives, then yes we are.” Aiden stopped in the road. “So what, are you going to turn me in?” he demanded.
“My friend, if I wanted to turn you in I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you. You would already be in their custody.”
Aiden took this in, and then started walking up the hill once more.
“How did you know where I was?” he asked.
“I saw you leave with Sona,” Nardos looked at Aiden, eyebrows raised. “Everybody knows Sona.”
Aiden bristled at the implication. “What do you mean?”
“Besides the fact that this is a small town, where everybody knows everybody? And that I grew up with her?” asked Nardos, innocently. “I mean she is a beautiful girl. She gets a lot of attention.”
Aiden decided to let it lie. He still felt too good from the previous night to let himself get annoyed. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“To find your friend. He was with Vika, when I last saw him.”
Vika. Some of the sting had been taken from that name. He could only thank Sona for that. “Where does she live?” Aiden asked.
“Up north of town, in a little place called Ushi,” said Nardos. “That’s where the slavers landed, very close to her house.”
Aiden didn’t say anything. He rested his hand on the butt of the pistol, just to reassure himself that it was there. It was looking as if it might get some more use that day.
It was getting warm. Aiden knew he probably didn’t smell too great: his clothes had been through a lot over the last couple of days. The slope was starting to make him sweat. There were trees surrounding the houses, but the sun was too low for them to lend any shade.
“Not far now,” said Nardos, as if reading Aiden’s mind.
“Where did you learn English, by the way?”
Nardos was quiet for a moment. “Magar taught me,” he said.
“Magar?” asked Aiden.
“Yes. Magar more or less raised me. I never knew my father. He was killed in the war. My mother never really recovered. She died when I was ten. Magar took my sister and I in.” Nardos’ face was set; he looked angrily ahead.
“I’m sorry,” said Aiden. He knew too well that there were no words to be offered. None that meant much, anyway.
The pair’s pace quickened. Nardos pointed to a huddle of small cabins not far up the road. Aiden glanced over his shoulder. Nobody was following; the road was empty.
The sun had climbed clear above the distant mountains to Aiden’s right. He could see its light spilling across the eastern plains, casting long shadows from everything it touched. Even though they were only a little up the slope of the mountain, the view was beautiful. It would have been an idyllic place to have a home, if it wasn’t for the threat of raids. It was at least four kilometres from the centre of town, by Aiden’s reckoning. Just too far for the militia to protect it properly.
Nardos froze suddenly. Aiden stopped too, listening. Up ahead, he could hear the growl of a vehicle approaching. Nardos ran for the side of the road and Aiden followed, throwing himself into the deep ditch. The two men pressed themselves flat against the side of it. The engine was coming closer, quickly.
The crunch of fat tyres on the dusty road rolled past Aiden, and he risked a glance over the lip of the ditch. It was just a battered flatbed truck, loaded with crates and boxes, bouncing and squeaking its way down the road towards the town. “It’s just a lorry,” said Aiden, ducking back into the ditch. He still couldn’t afford to be seen by the driver.
The pair waited for a few moments, until the sound of the truck had almost faded entirely, before they clambered out of their hiding place and continued up the hill.
They reached the cabins in Ushi shortly afterwards. Parked by them was an open-topped, four-seat vehicle, with big off-road tyres and an exposed chassis. Aside from the lorry and the fuel tanker, it was one of the few vehicles Aiden had seen around the town. Nardos went straight up to the front door of the first cabin and knocked firmly. Aiden noticed its hinges were mismatched: one was shiny, the other old and rusted.
There was no sound inside the house, and the curtains were drawn. “I don’t think she’s in,” said Nardos. “Vika!” he shouted, knocking again. Aiden rubbed his wounded arm. It was beginning to ache.
Though the door of Vika’s cabin didn’t open, the door of the cabin opposite did. It was a tall, lanky man wearing an oil-stained overall. He said something to Nardos.
Nardos replied, pointing at Vika’s cabin door. The lanky man shook his head, saying something and nodding off down the hill, towards the town.
“What does he say?” asked Aiden.
“He says he was in town until late, at the celebrations. He came back, but Vika’s house was still empty. He doesn’t think she came back here at all.”
Aiden swore. He’d climbed that hill for nothing. “If she was with Fredrick...they might have gone back to the Iolaire.”
“Shit,” said Nardos. The pair looked south, squinting at the small grey shape amongst the fields in the distance. On the other side of town.
The lanky man spoke to Nardos, coming out of his doorway a little. Nardos grinned suddenly, and said something back. Both men looked at the battered four-by-four. Aiden was fairly sure he’d understood.
The exposed engine spluttered for a second, and then roared into life, bouncing and jumping on its mounts. Aiden looked around himself for a seatbelt, in vain. He was sitting in the back, praying that the car was sturdier than it looked, dreading the moment it started to move. Their driver passed the pair rags to tie over their faces, to cover their mouths and noses from grit.
The lanky Armenian pulled on some oil-smeared goggles. He grinned widely at his passengers, exposing a horrendous assortment of teeth, before crunching the car into gear and stamping on the accelerator. They were thrown back into their seats as the vehicle hurtled forwards, its wide tyres spraying grit and dust and pebbles out behind it. Instead of heading down the hill, however, it took a left turn and headed east along the road that cut across the side of the slope. A great gorge opened up before the car, and they crossed it by a narrow concrete bridge that was still more or less intact. Ahead in the distant east, Aiden could see the snowy, truncated volcanic peaks of the Geghama Mountains. Wherever the car was heading, it certainly wasn’t back into town.
“Where’s he taking us?” yelled Aiden.
“We can’t go through the town! He’s taking us around the long way!” replied Nardos over his shoulder.
Though this should have comforted Aiden, he found it didn’t. He’d be in that rusty death-trap for longer. He clung tightly to the metal rim of the car seat as they jolted and bounced along the uneven road, at what Aiden was sure was more than a hundred kilometres per hour. The wind howling past him smelled strongly of alcohol. He hoped it was an indicator of the engine’s fuel, and not the state of the driver.