Simon stood and placed a hand sympathetically on the spell caster’s shoulder. “It won’t cost you a thing.” He said, taking a small pouch from his pocket and setting it on the table near them. “I kept this ready just for you.”
“Bah!” the dwarf said with derision. “You big phony. You had no idea I’d be here.”
“No, I didn’t,” the conman said truthfully. “But I planned on meeting up with you once my work here was done. And I know where your priorities are—sometimes better than you do.”
“I hate you.” Mauro responded, but he didn’t naysay the conman.
It’d been a hard day for Simon once he and Mauro had parted ways. There was no room for the dwarf to be bad at goodbyes the way Sajani was. Mauro just didn’t do them. Once the stocky little fellow felt like it was time to go, he just went. A wave would have been too much effort. And Simon was aware of that and let it be. He watched the dwarf leave for only a moment and then walked briskly to the gate he’d been wanting to pass. He ducked briefly into a small alcove to cast the spell to change his appearance. He still went with the Mauro’s brother look, as that would be the easiest to fake if someone decided to talk to him directly.
The gate was huge—not like the standard doors that dotted the stone walls throughout the city. Ten vykati could have walked through the gate shoulder to shoulder or twenty humans if they were as thin as Simon. It was also closed, but not guarded. Apparently, no one worried about someone trying to get past an Engine controlled gate that large. There didn’t need to be a guard. The doors were framed with highly polished brass that also crossed back through the center to form two giant “x’s”. Within all that framework, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of brass gears. Simon had no way of knowing their purpose—he was a con artist, not an engineer. At the intersection of the cross pieces there was a round steel plate with a symbol on it that Simon had seen before and had been told to look for, but which he had no idea as to its meaning.
The symbol, painted in a dark blue, was of an open book with a large five pointed star in the center. Benayle had been very clear about what he’d been supposed to look for, although, just like all the other times Simon had done work for the old wolf, the vykati leader was vague about how he knew it. Unlike other times, however, Benayle had also not told him much about the dwarf he was supposed to meet. All Simon was told was that once he got through the main door, he’d only have one direction to go and someone would meet him. At least what he was supposed to arrange was definite.
Simon walked over to the card box next to the gate, trying to look like he had eminent business there. He pulled his heavily modified punch card from his pocket and placed it confidently into the slot. There was a release of steam from the top and bottom of the gate as its many gears started turning. A very stilted voice came from the box. It was much louder than the conman wanted. “Simon Francis…identity verified… illusion unnecessary. You are late.”
“I say!” he said in honest surprise. “Late. Who are you to call me late?”
The voice didn’t answer, but the gears kept turning for a long time before the two huge doors started to move inward. As they did so, the man noticed that the gears apparently controlled a line of metal bars that came up from the floor and ceiling to lock the gate when closed. As the doors opened, he could see them now flat with the surface.
“Please drop the illusion before continuing,” the voice said. “The Lady will see you now.”
Despite his own personal misgivings, he did as the voice had requested. He then rubbed his elbow across the top of his top hat to remove some imaginary dust, placed the chapeau firmly on his head and walked through the gates. He’d no sooner cleared them when more steam was released and the huge doors began swinging shut and closed with a loud clang. He kept the appearance of calm very well and didn’t even flinch physically at the noise—mentally was another story, but that didn’t show.
The steam continued to hiss out as he heard the securing bars moving back up into place. They had him just were they wanted him. He readjusted his hat, flared out his cape slightly and walked forward with as much dignity as he could muster. He kept that appearance through the next four doors—all of which were normal sized, although just as heavily secured as the main gate had been.
The fifth door opened, it seemed a little more dramatically than the rest and he found himself face to face with a woman about his height. Her ears were pointed just like the ears of the elves who had attacked him and Sajani back in Rhidayar, but unlike those elves, her skin was a deep shade of black—not the brownish shade found on people of some countries—it was black as night and it made the whites of her eyes seem like small star bursts. It reminded Simon of the black star diopside that was the central piece of the vykati queen’s crown. The deep purple of the irises added to her other-worldly appearance. She wore a dark royal purple dress that had a v neck and was laced all over with small pearls. As Simon approached, she bowed deeply and addressed him with a familiarity that made the man uncomfortable.
“Mr. Simon Francis. I’m glad you were able to make it here. I’m sorry for whatever delayed you, but the dwarves are somewhat protective of us.”
Simon returned the bow gracefully and allowed the door to close behind him.
Chapter Eight:
Behemoths of Gold
Benayle listened to all that General Crore had to say to him. The Drtithen Council and Riteyai Lords were slow approving the general for his new position. One of Council, a young and vocal representative named, of all things, Malita Xhuvani, was trying to convince the body that Sajani had only resigned as a ploy to throw off her enemies and would be returning soon. She argued that by placing Crore into the position officially, it would bog down the process when it came time for Sajani to return. Benayle had very little direct authority in the councils. There were a good number of the Vharkylia population that didn’t even know the old wolf’s official title.
Political posturing aside, it was the duty of the Acting Minister of War to advise Benayle on matters of personal security and the general was doing just that with a long windedness that made the older wolf leader miss the true Adida heir. Some word had reached him of her arrival in Zenache, but it wasn’t much. She’d commandeered some elven equipment, which was hopeful.
“You can’t leave the capital right now,” General Crore told him for what Benayle was sure was the seventh time. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I appreciate your concern, General Crore,” Benayle said plainly. “But I have urgent business elsewhere. I’ll take two squads with me, but any more than that will draw too much attention.”
“Mr. Benayle,” the general began, “It’s not safe at all. The elven forces have taken Vidava and seem poised to press through the Vharkil range. I’ve fortified Drtithen and have sent as much as I dare to assist Xahusha.”
Sajani would have never called him mister. “Yes, yes,” Benayle said with a vague wave of his hand, “we’ve been through this a number of times already, general.”
“From what I’ve seen, the dwarves can’t possibly offer enough aid to justify the risk to you…”
The old wolf let out a long sigh and turned his gaze away from the general. The wolf pack leader meant well, but he just wasn’t getting the nonverbal clues the way the Lady General had. Although with how protective she was, it was likely she’d have missed them as well—concentrating too hard on what she needed to do to the exclusion of all else.
Benayle turned back to his desk and lifted a letter that was sitting on the blotter there. He pretended to be reading it as the general droned on. After a few moments, he realized that the hint wasn’t working, so he took a piece of paper from the top center drawer and began writing on it. Let’s see, he thought carefully to himself, what to write. He settled with a poem he’d learned in school. Now how did that tune go? Here runs the little wolf…
The poem came easily from there and he finished it all too quickly. General Crore was still going on. “Gen
eral,” Benayle interrupted, “how do you spell verbose?” That at least seemed to stop the monologue for a moment.
“V-E-R-B-O-S-E,” the general responded dutifully.
Benayle wrote the word down in large letters.
“Don’t think that went passed my ears,” Crore said curtly. “Ignore me all you want, but it’s my duty to see that you and this country are well protected. I’ll not hand it back to Sajani any worse than she left it to me…”
That caught Benayle’s attention. “Back?” The old wolf turned to face the general and raised an eyebrow. “You’re not talking about that dental chew toy that Representative Xhuvani is hoisting are you? You’ve both seen the reports. You know what she’s really doing.”
“It’s important to keep up appearances, or our enemies…” the general began.
“…are just as likely to have heard what the council and lords are talking so openly about,” Benayle concluded. “Really, General Crore, I thought better of you.”
“You mean she really is…”
“Really. Would you expect less from the daughter of Malita Adida?” The national hero reference wouldn’t be lost on him. “She is now a pirate and I’m quite proud of her.”
“It’s a hopeless cause…” the general looked a little crestfallen.
“So was the first day at Altaza, and the second.”
For the first time since Crore had entered Benayle’s office, there was complete silence. Benayle stood and moved his chair to offer it to the general, who sat down quickly on it. “You let her?” he said slowly.
“Of course,” the old wolf answered. “I couldn’t stop her.”
There was another long bout of silence and then the general asked carefully, “What can we do to help her?”
“Hope,” Benayle answered with conviction. “Pray.” He then paused for a just a moment and added, “And give me two squads as an escort so I can go and negotiate for what she needs.”
“Send someone else,” Crore almost pleaded.
“And if I’d said the same thing to her?” Benayle answered. “No, this is something I have to do.”
“If it stands to help her in any way,” he said with sincerity. “I’ll do it for Lady General Sajani.”
“And Vharkylia,” Benayle added. “Also, she goes by the Lady of Rust now, I believe.”
General Crore rose resolutely. “I’ll hand pick those squads for you then, Mr. Benayle. I won’t have your escort made of a bunch of worthless palace guards or some such.”
“Excellent, Acting Lord General,” Benayle said, placing one arm behind the military wolf, gently herding him towards the door.
The general (finally) took the hint and began walking out. He had stepped through the office door and Benayle was just about to close it behind him when he turned and added, “What will we do though, if something happens to you?”
“Continue onward,” Benayle said while still holding the door mostly closed. “Vharkylia is not Benayleland. It’s existed just fine for centuries without me.” He then closed the door and sighed deeply. “You heard all that, Ambassador? This trip isn’t going to be as easy as I thought.”
A dark elf woman dressed in leather armor stepped out of the shadows. “You hardly need to go yourself,” she said. “Your representative has made contact with Lady Valanna and seems perfectly capable of handling the negotiations.”
“I’m sorry Ambassador,” Benayle replied, “I understand every word you’ve said, but I can’t quite seem to grasp what you mean by them.”
“You know very well,” she began.
“No,” Benayle answered, “I don’t. I won’t trust the fate of Sajani, let alone Vharkylia, to anyone else. Not the king. Not the queen. And certainly not any of our current ambassadors.”
Colonel Barst was only slightly nervous about the report he’d had to give to General Sestus. Sure he knew the general would be upset, but there also was absolutely nothing that could be done about it. There just weren’t enough behemoths to spare—not while they were moving forward at any rate.
“Say that again, colonel,” Sestus was sitting in front of the communications console he’d been at when Barst had entered. His hands were before his mouth with his fingers steepled. “And think about where you want your career to go from here.”
Barst shrugged. At his rank, ending his career would mean going back to Therfass and retiring nicely. Too bad there was no way the general could make good on the threat. He’d have a hard time finding a replacement. “Five transports, one wrecker, two jets, 10,000 rounds of small arms ammunition, 250 pounds of explosives, 500 grenades, 10 AM grenades, that’s 20% of our stock by the way, 150 C-240 rifles, and about a ton of rations. Minimal personnel lost.”
“And where are the behemoth escorts these supply lines were supposed to have?”
Barst could hear the sharp intake of breath from more than one of the occupants of the communications tent when he answered. “I already told you, sir.”
“Humor me again, Colonel Barst.” Sestus said.
“We don’t have enough behemoths to cover all of them. Most are taken for forward movement. We’d have to pull back some…”
Sestus interrupted with a motion of his hand. “You would ‘have to pull some back?’ Colonel, you did not. You, Colonel Barst, are relieved of duty. Get out of my sight.”
It took a moment for that to register with the colonel. As it did, he felt a wave of relief pass over him. It had been fine working with the general for the first part of this action, but ever since the Copper Wolf had shown up, things had not been so easy. Up until that point, small normal errors could be overcome easily. Now, even if people didn’t make any mistakes, they could be at fault. “Thank you, sir,” he said with a bow and walked out.
Tess was waiting while Sajani read over the list that the former sergeant had prepared for her. In the meantime, the younger vykati was sitting high on a couple of crates full of explosives and weapons. Chass was next to her and still towering above. He and ‘fang had brought the crates from the transport and were waiting to find out if they were needed to move them yet again.
Sajani’s crew had set up a camp of sorts in the ruins of an old Zenache castle and had been running a few missions out of it for a few days now. The haul had been noticeably large—large enough that both Tess and Sajani were sure their actions were forcing the elves to spend considerable resources looking for them. They’d even risked using some of their flying machines, before Ginger took out two during a mission. Sajani was just glad that it happened away from the camp or they’d have had to move out very quickly.
“How much of this can fit on the transports we have?” Sajani asked.
“Depends on how many transports we’re keeping,” Tess answered. “We can’t keep all of them. We also need to decide what to do with that big…repair thing.”
“Ginger called it a wrecker,” Chass supplied helpfully.
“We only need six to move our troops and maybe a seventh one to store things in and give Ginger some spare parts if needed. You’ve marked a bunch of stuff on this list. What do the numbers mean?”
Tess replied, “I listed what can fit on each of the rest of the transports in order of priority. We obviously don’t need near as many of the rations as we’ve taken and we should try to take as much of the ammunition and explosives as we can. If we take everything, we can keep everything, but I don’t really see the point. I wish there was a way to get this back to Vharkylia or at least Rhidayar. It would help them a lot.”
Sajani had thought of that as well, but it would mean moving lots of stuff past enemy lines again and that wasn’t really feasible.
Tess continued, “Fenther’s offered to see if he can get some of the local resistance to pick up the extra. It might be possible to start arming more groups like our own. He’s also heard rumor that there’s at least one other group of vykati privateers out there, although he’s not sure if they survived their first real encounter with the elves.”
&nb
sp; “It wouldn’t hurt,” Sajani said thoughtfully, “to get with some other groups and coordinate, but it might be a little early to do that.”
Tess said, “It doesn’t sound like any of them are that organized or ever will be. You can probably get more information from Fenther. He was being a little vague.” She sounded a little concerned about that last part.
“Do you think he’s holding back on us?” Sajani asked.
“No,” Tess said firmly, “he’s not intentionally doing anything like that. He’s just hard for me to talk to.” There was no elaboration on what she said, but Sajani could take a guess.
“Have Chass talk to him.” Sajani nodded at the huge wolf, who gave an exaggerated salute in return. “He’s pretty good at getting information from people.”
Tess got down off the crate and was about to leave, but Sajani continued. “And speaking of formal, we’re overdue for formally organizing ourselves.”
“Huh?” Tess said. “Aren’t we basically pirates?”
“Privateers,” Sajani corrected.
Tess laughed and even ‘fang and Chass seemed close to laughing as well. “Pirates! We even have our pirate flag. We don’t do formal.” She held up one of the small banners they used on raids.
Sajani wondered if she was missing something, so decided to leave it be. “I was just thinking that maybe it was time we came up with our own ranks. It’s easier to keep order in a structured environment.”
“Why bother?” Tess said. “We pretty much follow what we did in the wolf pack.”
“Esprit de corps,” Sajani answered. “And some people, like Chass and ‘fang here, have shown a higher level of responsibility than just being a lowly private.”
“Oh, I get it,” Tess with mock astonishment. “It’s more scripted. So,” she said pointing to Chass, “Pirate number one says.”
Chass removed his glasses and cleared his throat dramatically. Then he said in plain monotone. “Ahem. Arg.”
Wolf's Pawn (Sajani Tails Book 1) Page 16