Wolf's Pawn (Sajani Tails Book 1)

by Chaaya Chandra

  Ginger was silent for a moment.

  “Where are we in all of this?” she snapped.

  “Oh that,” the spark said cheerfully. “I thought you were wanting the coordinates and I haven’t worked those out yet.”

  “So where?”

  “We’re more than 1000 kilometers roughly south of that point. They’ll pass less than 100 kilometers from us if they continue their course, which is mostly along the roads. But they won’t be anywhere near us. It’s pretty much in the middle of Zenache.”

  So what were they up to and did it have anything to do with the pirates’ recent victory?

  The chaplain looked very uncomfortable. Gena LeBene knew that it was part of the lady’s job to deliver news like this, but apparently it wasn’t a part that she got much practice with. “I’m sorry, major,” she said for the third time.

  It was her brother’s daughter. She hadn’t seen her sibling in years when they’d been forced to evacuate the other world. She’d been busy with so many other things and hadn’t been able to make the time to see him. Her work on project cricket was too urgent and Tesser relied too much on her. When she’d passed the portal, she assumed that he, along with his wife and daughter were left behind. She knew he had been. The argument with Tesser had been short, but very heated. In the end, Tesser refused to use his influence to get the roster changed—he hadn’t for anyone else, not even his own family. Having lost that argument, it hardly seemed worth it to check if the wife and daughter were being brought over.

  And little Anace had apparently come over, only to die at the hands of a pirate band in a war that LeBene wasn’t even sure was necessary. Their real enemy wasn’t here to worry about and the natives seemed too steeped in their own problems when the elves had first arrived to cause any trouble.

  Pre-emptive.

  Make sure they aren’t a threat.

  Too many have been lost to the last war. There was no room to allow more to be lost in a future one.

  Strike while the iron is hot.

  Don’t allow them to ally with each other.

  “You are her only living relative?” the chaplain was asking her.

  “Yes,” the major replied. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure of that, but it was close enough for this purpose.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” the chaplain said.

  And that’s four, LeBene thought wryly.

  Sestus gripped the letter tightly in his fist. The senate had no right to tell him how to do his job! True, the basic idea was sound and he’d been about to order it be done before the letter had arrived, but the method was horrible. It was tactically inefficient. It left his front lines horribly undefended. The chance of the enemy being capable enough to take advantage of that was slim, but after what had just happened to everyone’s pay, slim wasn’t slim enough for him.

  “I suppose, sir, you could declare martial law in Therfass and do it your own way.” The legal officer who had delivered the letter said by way of being helpful.

  “It’s preposterous!” Sestus shouted.

  “I understand, sir,” the other officer said, “and I agree with you.”

  That stopped Sestus a little short. If even a soldier lawyer could see how crazy the plan was—or perhaps the officer just wanted to defuse a hot situation.

  “My apologies, captain,” Sestus said with a measure of forced calm. “You are only the messenger. And no, martial law is not the answer. Although with how bone-headedly stupid this mission assignment is, I have no doubt the military would be better off for it, even having to send back a bunch of our forces to maintain order. No, this is not what our civilians deserve. They’ve been through enough. Return to your duties captain.”

  The officer left with a little more haste than normal. Sestus decided that it was time to talk to his new supply officer, Colonel Frack. It didn’t take that much of his armor and artillery to set up a major supply depot in enemy territory, but he’d at least make sure it was done as much to his advantage as possible.

  Chapter Ten:

  Spies Among Us

  The Emperor’s Grande Docking Station of Kranestalan was made of polished red sandstone and copious amounts of brass. The high domed ceiling was an intricate latticework of iron and glass that suspended chandeliers made of the finest quartz, enchanted to give off light at all hours. The huge central area that connected the ten spacious airship docks had been cleared of people and the ships that were supposed to have docked there today had been rerouted to the smaller docking station on the other side of the city—much to the annoyance of the thousand or so that were supposed to be there today.

  The central dock was now flanked on each side by three rows of dwarven soldiers, each in highly polished brass armor and holding a double-bladed steel war ax that rested, blades down, at their feet. Eduardo knew that there was just over 500 soldiers present. As the current emperor of the dwarven kingdoms, it was his privilege to be present at this most momentous occasion. Never before had a vykati leader come personally to visit the Western Continent. While the dwarves had been aware of the wolf presence since close to the time when they first emerged and had harbored less superstition and hostility towards them than the humans, the vykati had never seen fit to send their leaders across the ocean. They did politely and cordially greet any ambassadors and functionaries from the dwarven kingdoms, but had always been hesitant to announce any kind of formal alliance.

  War can make for strange bedfellows, Eduardo thought. Himself, his wife, and a handful of dignitaries from around the empire stood with him at the base of the steps, including Prince Rameum, who had specifically requested to be present. Also standing with him was the official representative of Vharkylia, a very thin human by the name of Simon. The emperor had no idea why Mr. Benayle had chosen to be represented by a non-wolf, especially one who had previous minor altercations with dwarven officials. It seemed rather irregular, but then again, just about everything about this visit was well outside the norm for visiting dignitaries.

  Eduardo had tried to set up a formal dinner for his guest, but Simon had asked about cake options and after trying some from the imperial bakery, said that a regal dinner would be too awkward for their esteemed guest. Did there happen to be any rugby matches that night? That would probably be more appreciated. No? Well, then, it might be better if Mr. Benayle had time, after his long journey, to rest and recuperate before any strenuous negotiations could take place. The dwarf still didn’t know what was to be negotiated. Simon would only say that it was better if such matters were left to the vykati leader directly and not to someone like himself.

  A fanfare played as the much-anticipated guest crested the guardrail of the vykati airship. The dwarven soldiers lifted their axes off the ground and flipped them so that the head was now up and then moved the ax out to arm’s length in an impressive salute.

  Eduardo had no idea how to tell the age of a wolf. He’d heard that Benayle was just under middle-aged for his kind, but there was no gray on his brown fur—the emperor could tell, since the vykati leader wasn’t wearing a shirt. Instead of any sort of formal attire, like the dwarf leader had been expecting, the vykati was wearing gym shorts. A leather harness with the logo of the Drtithen Cagers, the wolf basketball team based in the capital of Vharkylia, replaced a shirt. Instead of shoes, some vykati wore spats, but there wasn’t even as much as an ankle bracelet on this wolf’s feet. And as if the whole ensemble wasn’t inappropriate enough, the erstwhile leader of the wolf nation was holding a rugby ball under one arm.

  Despite the air of casual light-heartedness that the clothing seemed to display, the vykati leader did manage to walk with dignity and aplomb not too fast and not too slow, down the steps toward the waiting dwarves. He stood nearly two feet above the tallest dwarf, and when within three steps of the emperor, he bowed in a very courtly fashion and then apologized to all present.

  “Please excuse my attire,” he said in perfect dwarven. “I was the victim of a horrible tailoring uprising
, and my formal clothing seems to have decided, completely on its own, to vacate us mid-flight…” The wolf looked up and then seemed to notice something that made him smile. The graceful demeanor vanished and a surprised expression crossed his face. The rugby ball came into his right hand and he made a motion as though he was about to throw it. “Rameum,” the vykati leader exclaimed, “go long!”

  Eduardo followed the wolf’s gaze and saw Prince Rameum, a very shocked look on his face, try to step back, but there were other people behind him and he stumbled slightly. That was probably why the incoming ball managed to hit directly in the center of his face. The dwarf prince’s nose began bleeding, but he reached down to gather the ball that had landed in front of him. Holding his nose, he said in a rather pleased, but somewhat nasal voice, “You got it signed!”

  The wolf ran over and began apologizing sincerely. “I’m sorry. I should have just told you to catch it. Stepping back wasn’t an option, was it?” Simon had apparently come near to them both at some point and was holding out a handkerchief. Benayle took it without meeting his representative’s gaze and began dabbing it on the prince’s face. About this time, Eduardo could hear someone trying in vain to keep from laughing. He turned in time to see his wife, Rosa, hiding her face behind the hand fan she was carrying. She seemed to almost be under control when she let out a rather loud and embarrassing snort. Her face turned bright red, but the rest of the delegation had the presence of mind to keep quiet.

  This, at least in Eduardo’s mind, explained why the vykati leaders hadn’t made any formal visits to Kranestalan.

  “It can’t possibly be that bad.” Benayle was saying. Eduardo had graciously given him space in the imperial palace and the vykati leader hated it very much. Worse than having to stay in a place that was covered with delicate gold and silver mosaics and lofty ceilings (why did the dwarves insist on everything being so high up? They were short enough.) Simon had just informed him that the cake here was completely unpalatable.

  Simon laughed. “I think they have yet to discover sugar, although they do have cocoa.” The conman handed him a sheet of paper, “take a look at the list yourself. I tried every single one of those awful things.”

  Benayle handed it back. “I’ll take your word for it. It’s not like I can’t live without it, but I was looking forward to sampling at least that aspect of dwarven cuisine.”

  “They make it with corn flour.”

  “And cocoa?”

  “A few had it, but they don’t soak the beans first like they do in Zenache, so it’s bitter and then, like I said, if they are using sugar, it’s not much.”

  “Maybe I can get them to serve it with some honey.”

  Simon laughed. “I suggested that to the chef and he got very stern with me.”

  Benayle smiled. “I think I already committed enough social faux paus for the day.”

  “Rameum was a good sport about it at least.”

  The vykati decided to let Simon in on the joke. “He asked for the ball.”

  “To his face, with a side of bleeding nose?” Simon said with a chuckle.

  Benayle tried to put on his best hurt look. “Of course not that. But he’s a really big fan of the Riteyai Privateers and he asked me if I could get him a ball autographed by one of the players, Fita Howl.”

  “I realize that I’m not at all interested in the sports world, and so it should come as little surprise, but I’ve never heard of a team from Riteyai called the Privateers. I thought they were the Tigers. And Fita Howl can’t possibly be a real name.”

  Benayle ignored the last part. There were a few odd surnames for vykati, and he knew that Simon knew it as well. “New change. They renamed their team the Privateers and made their mascot a Copper Wolf. They were in a hurry to do it too, because three other teams were interested in similar themes.”

  “How flattering. Does Sajani know?”

  “Haven’t been able to get word to her yet. She has to move around a lot, but there’s a Zenache native traveling with them now who is supposedly able to get word to her if needed. She sent word to me through him anyway. Haven’t been able to send word back. Not sure it warrants her attention.”

  “Well, if it was me, I’d certainly want to know.” Simon said.

  Benayle laughed. Simon’s vanity was predictable. “But back to the original topic, the Privateers were in Drtithen for a match with the Alphas, so I stopped by and got a ball signed by the whole team.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t already have one. Being a prince seems to pay well.”

  “Phht!” Benayle let out an exclamation. “Being the owner of the largest chain of hotels on the Western Continent pays well. Not sure how much a prince makes. Can’t be much more than I do.”

  Simon perked up. “And how much would that be?”

  The vykati leader silently chided himself for exposing such information to a conman. Not that it mattered. Supposedly, his income was a matter of public record.

  “How much do they pay me, or how much I use?”

  “Pay,” the trickster answered, “and then, I have to admit, I’m curious about the rest as well.”

  “Five thousand gold a month, plus one hundred to cover traveling expenses. The king and queen make much more than I do.”

  “And how much do you use?”

  “Almost all of the traveling expenses, because they let me use it for basketball and rugby games, to go see plays, and the occasional concert. They don’t ask for specifics.”

  “And how much of the rest?”

  Benayle could tell Simon was taking careful mental notes. Benayle chuckled. “None of it.”

  The conman looked doubtful.

  “Well, about fifty gold of it goes to Malita’s husband,” he added quickly, “and I put aside about one hundred for good causes as I come across them, but I really have no need for the rest. I live in that awful palace and have most of my meals served there. The military insists on providing my transportation.”

  “So you put it in the bank?”

  Again Benayle laughed. He’d never thought about how foreign his thinking would be to someone like Simon. “No, I just don’t use it.”

  “That must make it really hard to climb onto your mattress at night.”

  The comment went right through Benayle’s ears. “Beg your pardon?”

  “You just pile it under your bed?”

  The old wolf laughed at the mental image that provided. “No. I don’t withdraw it from the treasury, so the money just stays there.”

  That seemed to render Simon speechless.

  Benayle pulled again at his collar. The shirt was stifling enough, but the collar and coat were too much. Such things were all well and good for creatures that weren’t covered in fur. Simon had been very insistent, however, that they make a good impression on these new possible allies. He lectured the vykati leader on how formal they had always been and how even the way they dressed themselves seemed to invoke an image of careful refinement. It entailed a trip to a dwarven tailor who apparently wasn’t too experienced with vykati measurements.

  The dark elf ambassador to Vharkylia hadn’t been any of those things, although he suspected she was just as much spy as ambassador. The Lady Valanna, however, was even more regal than Simon had described her to be, and considering that it seemed like the conman was just a little smitten with the noble, that was saying a lot. It might not have been nearly so bad if he hadn’t had to wear the whole humiliating outfit through half the city. Simon had snuck them out of the palace and guided him through the streets as nonchalantly as a human leading a vykati in a dwarven citadel could, before using a “slightly modified” punch card to get them in.

  Surely she’d understand if he just removed his coat?

  And if the outfit wasn’t enough, each gate had to greet him by saying things like: “We’re honored you have come to visit, Mr. Benayle” and “The royal family welcomes you, Mr. Benayle.” He’d rather have heard, “Today’s match is financed by the ‘so
ciety for the preservation of your sanity,’ Mr. Benayle.”

  The lady’s personal attaché, a Lord Zerant, had just begun reading through the provisions of the treaty the vykati leader had brought with him. Apparently such a task was well beneath the refinement of the dark elf leader—and she wasn’t even the queen. There was at least one level of hierarchy above her.

  He was trying very hard to be still in the silence. It’d been less than a minute.

  The sound of light laughter danced to an unheard melody in the silence around them. It took a moment for Benayle to realize that it was Lady Valanna. “I’m impressed that you view this meeting as being important enough to have dressed so formally, Mr. Benayle, but from everything my friend, Taleetha has told me, I assume that you’d be more comfortable not only dressed differently, but somewhere else entirely.”

  He stopped his hand midair. He’d been about to pull on the collar yet again, but thought better of it. A single nod was his only response.

  “Well the tie, collar, and coat can be left with a servant and if you’d like we can retire to a dining room for some refreshment.”

  He wasted no time in removing the tie. The collar and coat quickly followed. He didn’t bother to even look at the dark elf servant that took them from him, instead he kept his eyes focused on Lady Valanna. “I’d rather we worked through the first part of this, if you please, my lady. My personal comfort and needs are secondary to the safety of my people.”

  “Admirable,” she said succinctly.

  Benayle only returned a quick nod.

  “But hardly necessary,” she added. “Lord Zerant is just going over the papers to make sure we’re able to send as much back with you as possible.”

  “I’d feel more comfortable knowing that you, yourself, are aware of what I’m requesting. I’ve traveled all this way…”

  Lady Valanna politely quieted him with a motion of her hand. “I’ve already read it, Mr. Benayle. We agree to your terms. They are fair—requiring a little less than we expected and giving more than due compensation. And as for you traveling here, Taleetha told you multiple times, that the trip was hardly necessary.”