A hot flash consumed Theron for a moment. He choked back his words as began to speak. He tried again. “Yes, sire, Foster’s men possess superior skills. They are setting their best men upon our conscripted ...”
“Superior skills, general?” asked the King. Gastious seemed amused by the question, and Argus shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Who was responsible for the training of our conscripts, general?”
“I, sire, ... I was ... in charge of their overall training, sire.”
Theron tried to control his breathing. He saw Tiffany peeking into the doorway. He hoped she would go away. He did not want her putting Arconus in a worse mood. She disappeared again.
“We outnumber them six to one, yet they out kill us seven to one. You have failed us dismally, general.”
“Yes, sire,” he answered meekly.
“But you cannot, I suppose, be held responsible for the unfortunate events of today,” sighed the King. “And Argus and his friends tell me that you are not entirely to blame for the performance of your troops. Argus, can you explain what they have told you?”
“Of course, Your Highness,” said Argus. “It is a simple technique. I have seen it before. The Æhlman Sisterhood uses it, and now it seems the Mikraino have learned it as well. It is, unfortunately, outside the scope of my abilities, but Dantun and his people should be able to defend against it.”
“Witchcraft! I thought as much.” Theron felt emboldened by this news of magic interfering with his efforts, and he felt it unlikely that they would bother to explain this to him if they were planning to execute him.
“Can you tell me more?” he asked.
Argus answered, “It is a kind of reflection technique. We observed it today. We have countermeasures ready for tomorrow, but those obviously remain untested. The witch and the others focused their energy on the King’s army. It has the effect of confusing our soldiers. If you can imagine fighting on the battlefield ...”
Argus was interrupted by a disapproving grunt from Gastious, mocking the idea that Theron would ever be fighting. Antok chortled in response. Theron’s hatred for the wretched beasts staunched his fear for the moment.
Argus continued, obviously annoyed at the interruption. “As I was saying, if you can imagine engaging one soldier, and then his image suddenly appears beside you, or over your shoulder. It’s the kind of distraction that can cost a soldier his life.”
“That would explain the men’s poor performance,” said Theron thoughtfully, his nerve returning.
“Yes, general, but it does not explain why you failed to recognise that a battle technique was being used against you that you were unfamiliar with. You wasted many of my men in your ignorance.”
“Yes, sire,” Theron said, his fear returning.
“I asked both Gastious and Argus what they thought I should do with you. Gastious, what was your answer?”
Gastious looked into Theron’s eyes. “The general is fond of crucifixions, as I recall. I think his body on a cross would send a strong message to the troops as to how we accept failure.”
Arconus sat quietly for some time, pondering the prospect. Theron was beginning to panic again. He was indeed a student of the art of crucifixion, and he realised that the morning sun may find him on a cross. He had often contemplated the delicate balance that the crucified must face. How much pain would one subject himself to in order to avoid death? In order to avoid suffocation under his own body weight, the condemned must push against the nails that have been driven through his ankles, and pull against the ones in his wrists, lifting himself up just enough to enable him to fill his lungs. Theron suddenly found his legs warm and wet. He had just urinated in his pants. His panic was near total now, and he bit back the urge to cry.
“Argus, what was your idea?” Arconus asked.
“I thought a demotion might be in order, Your Highness,” he answered. “It will send the same message without costing us a valued military man.”
Arconus paused a moment more, then addressed Theron, “Yes, I suppose you are right, Argus. Theron, you will be demoted to the rank of captain. Tomorrow we are going to see what these Mikraino are capable of, and you will fight alongside your men. I’m putting Gastious in charge from now on. You may go.”
It was a moment before Theron felt confident enough to speak, then he rose quickly, hoping to leave before anyone could realise what had happened.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” he said with a bow, and then turned to leave.
“Look at that. He pissed his pants,” observed Tiffany from behind the doorway, sounding quite fascinated.
Theron froze. Gastious and Antok started chuckling, then laughing outright. Tiffany started laughing dazedly with them.
“Shut up, you stupid little whore!” snapped Theron.
The silence in the room seemed to compress around him, and the stink of his own urine threatened to suffocate him.
“Your Highness, I ...” he stammered.
The King raised his hand to halt him. “Gastious, have it your way.”
~Æ~
Travis and Maclamar walked through the halls of the palace.
“Funny,” said Travis. “We are likely to die in the next few days in a failed rebellion.”
“That’s funny?” Maclamar asked.
“No, dummy, I wasn’t finished,” he said, pushing his friend on the shoulder. “In spite of our chances, I feel so much better to be here with Liam, and away from that wretched Arconus.”
“The man pollutes the æther,” said Maclamar. “Everything around him turns grim and cold.”
“That’s philosophical of you, Mac,” Travis teased. “You know, you’re right, and Liam seems to strengthen those around him.”
“He feeds the æther,” said Maclamar.
Travis looked askance at his friend, surprised at the comfort with which he spoke of such things, but he did not mention it.
They stepped over an aqueduct that ran across the floor.
“These things are incredible, aren’t they?” remarked Travis. Then they saw a bottle with a piece of paper in it floating along the current.
“What do you make of that?” Travis asked.
“It’s a message. You can use these channels to communicate to different parts of the castle. Pretty ingenious,” answered Maclamar.
“Amazing,” Travis agreed, and then he saw something even more amazing walking towards them from the other end of the hall.
“Aunty Jules?” asked Maclamar.
“Roll me in the mud and steal my shoes!” Travis improvised. “What are you doing here?”
Aunty Jules smiled brilliantly at her two former charges. “You know you ain’t makin no sense, Master Travis!”
Travis and Maclamar each took turns embracing the stout little woman.
“How did you get here?” Travis asked, and then realisation washed over him. “Of course. I can’t believe I never realised it before.”
“What?” asked Maclamar.
“Wondered how long it would take for that torch to catch fire,” said Aunty Jules.
“Mac, haven’t you ever wondered how Aunty Jules always seemed to be in the right place at the right time?”
“Not really, no,” answered Maclamar, “but it is strange of me not to, and you would sometimes open the door before we would even knock. I did sometimes wonder about that, but every time I did ...”
“It just slipped your mind, right?” asked Travis.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“That’s one of the little tricks they teach us in school,” Aunty Jules offered.
“You’re a witch,” said Maclamar.
“Sister, honey. I’m an Æhlman sister. I’ll let it slip this time, but if it happens again I get the whoopin’ stick, you hear me, Biffy Squeeze?”
“Yes, Aunty Jules, I hear you,” Maclamar said, hands raised in surrender.
“I wonder what your poker buddies would think of the name Biffy Squeeze,” Travis thought aloud
.
“Only one person in the world is allowed to call me that,” answered Maclamar, and put an arm around Aunty Jules.
Travis shook his head, and said, “This world has become a lot more complicated over the last couple of months.”
“It ain’t no more than it ever was, but that’s why you got Aunty Jules lookin’ out for ya,” she said. She reached into a satchel that she wore around her waist, pulled out a package and handed it to Travis.
“That can’t be what I think it is,” said Maclamar.
Travis unwrapped the package to confirm that she had indeed recovered the Æhlman Message Box. “You saved my life again, Aunty Jules,” he said, and kissed her tenderly on the forehead.
“Oh, I’m just a whippy bird comin’ up from the water, just caught a fish,” she said and squeezed them both at the same time. “I got’s to tell ya, though. I ain’t got much to do with that there. Maurious gave it to me. Great man, that. You got him to thank,” she explained, and then the smile faded from her face. “And Verkleet.”
“Verkleet?” Maclamar asked.
“Yup, been here near from the beginnin’. So’s this,” she said, indicating the box.
“So he could have taken it any time?” Travis asked.
“I believe so,” Aunty Jules answered. Then she took an arm in each of hers. “I b’lieve the wash’n can wait a bit. Aunty Jules gots to fix her boys some supper!”
~Æ~
Rhoie, Liam and Brandi sat in Liam’s spacious but sparsely furnished room, sharing a meal. Rhoie and Brandi were openly affectionate, far more so than they had ever been in Snake’s Mouth, and Liam was glad. Where he once tried to keep a respectable distance between them; in this new world they were living in, he wished them all the joy and love they could squeeze into whatever time they had left.
“Oh, Rhoie, it’s good to see you,” Liam said across the small table. He reached across to put a hand on Rhoie’s shoulder. He was so glad to be able to touch him, to be sure he was real and alive. The very sight of Rhoie and Brandi together gave him such pure happiness. He understood fully now why Lyra and the Sisterhood had kept Brandi’s survival a secret. If he’d had a choice, he would have taken Brandi and Rhoie away to a safe place and avoided this conflict.
Liam felt a certain uneasiness about this, but now was not a time for doubt. They were far from that choice, and Liam knew he was indeed fulfilling his pledge to Brandi. He was doing the right thing for his country.
“It’s good to see you too, Liam,” Rhoie answered. “A bit late though.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, taking a sip of his tea, derived from a herb Maurious had found on the mountainside. He found it had a soothing effect on his muscles and his mind.
Rhoie answered, “I was supposed to be there in Kraal before your trial. I was supposed to help you, but I got there too late. I failed.”
“I see,” Liam nodded.
“That was how it was supposed to be,” Brandi said. “It was written in the fates. You played your role with bravery and loyalty.”
“And it was my role to fail?” Rhoie asked, scowling.
“I don’t know how much I believe in that sort of thing, Rhoie,” said Liam. “But let me ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“If you had made it to the trial, what would you have done?”
“I don’t know. I might have screwed that up, too.”
“Maybe,” Liam laughed. “But the point is, we made it out of there all right. And when it was over, we sent Travis to find you.”
“How did you know I was there?”
“The Mikraino,” Liam answered. “They could sense you. Travis found you. We were forced to leave without him. Then Maclamar found you both.”
“And Maclamar managed to bring his men from Arconus’s side to yours,” Rhoie finished.
“So you did play a very important role in all of this.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“But without you, there would have been no Maclamar and his men,” said Brandi.
“I suppose you’re right. It’s a little undignified, but I guess I was able to help in my own helpless way,” Rhoie observed. “I just hope I did the right thing in bringing Maclamar to you.”
“You don’t trust him?”
“I don’t know. He is the World’s Greatest Living Smuggler after all. I question his motives.”
“In matters of war, motives don’t always matter. So long as he remains on our side, I’ll accept his help.”
“He took a great risk in what he did. I suppose it’s silly to doubt his allegiance at this point. I just don’t understand him.”
“Perhaps the Lord of the Underworld has a conscience?” Liam offered.
“Now who’s the idealist?” Rhoie answered.
~Æ~
He sat in the corner of his room for several minutes, admiring the box one last time. He wondered at its path over the past weeks, and how it had found its way back to him, or he to it.
It was quite a remarkable thing, he thought, and finally, when he had mustered the courage to stand up and go off to find Verkleet, he noticed a figure standing in his doorway.
“She is a beauty, isn’t she?” asked Verkleet.
Travis laughed. “Yes, she certainly is.”
Verkleet looked back at Travis, and down at the box. “Interesting that you were chosen to be its carrier. I hope you will be well rewarded.”
“I’ve been promised ample reward, but I’ve a suspicion that the ones who chose me for this task assumed I’d never be around to collect.”
Verkleet smiled. “Don’t be so sure. This vessel does not choose its carriers lightly.”
“You’re saying the box chose me?”
“Yes, in a sense,” Verkleet answered. “But I don’t really know how the damn things work, to be honest.”
Travis shook his head lightly. “Well, if it chose me,” he said, “it didn’t choose well. I managed to lose it after about two weeks.”
“But you found it again,” Verkleet offered.
“Well, not really. I wanted to ask you about that,” Travis said.
“Anything, son,” Verkleet encouraged. “You can ask me anything you like.”
“Thank you,” stammered Travis. “You have been sitting here in the palace for some time with the box very near to you. Why didn’t you just take it?”
“It wouldn’t have been very polite. You’d have been killed if I took it too soon,” Verkleet answered.
“Thanks, that was thoughtful of you,” replied Travis.
Verkleet howled in laughter. It startled Travis at first, but his laugh was infectious, and he soon found himself joining in.
After a moment the laughter stopped, Verkleet’s smile drained, and his expression became serious. “There was another reason, Travis Milarae,” Verkleet explained. “The box seems to have a mind of its own, but it doesn’t really. It was designed to be a vessel of the fates. Those who believe in its powers simply believe that it was designed to do exactly what it needs to do. You were meant to give it to me. If I had taken the box before you got here, the message wouldn’t be complete, and you may not have brought with you your friend and his people. We won the day because of you and Maclamar. It could make the difference in this war.”
“What?” Travis said, shaking his head. “Wait. No need to explain. I’m just glad the thing needs to be with you right now.” Travis handed the box to Verkleet. “Mission accomplished.”
“Thank you, my friend,” he said, putting a hand on Travis’s shoulder. He turned to leave and then turned back. “Oh, wait a minute. I have a favour to ask of you.”
Travis thought about the debt he owed this old man, and tried to think of something to say. He finally decided on, “Sure thing.”
“I understand you have a unique talent.”
“I do?”
“Yes, with the papers?”
“Oh, yes, well, talent might be too strong a word ...”
�
�Please, Travis. You must teach me a bit of your craft.”
“Why not?” he answered. “Would you like an ale?”
“By Roknuss’s sweaty balls,” he said with an air of agitation. “I thought you’d never ask.”
~Æ~
Liam had resumed his normal routine that evening, pacing in front of the conference table, arms behind his back, head down in thought. He paused and found that he had unconsciously placed his hand on Rhoie’s shoulder. He took it away gently, and walked around to stand behind the chair at the head of the table. “Mr Maclamar?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Maclamar answered.
“The men who defected to us, I understand most of them work for you.”
“Yes, sir,”
“And what is it you do, exactly?”
Maclamar squirmed in his seat a little. “I operate a variety of businesses, sir,” was his answer.
“And your men know how to fight?”
“Yes sir, many of them have had previous employment in the King’s army.”
“This will not cause any conflict?”
“No, sir. My men are loyal to me.”
“But are they loyal to me?” Liam asked.
“I am loyal to you, sir, and that means they are loyal to you,” replied Maclamar.
“Of course, Mr Maclamar, of course,” Liam said. “We are extremely grateful to have you and your men. You have given a great deal to our cause. You have brought Rhoie back to me, and Travis, and you have won the day’s battle for us. I thank you.”
Maclamar nodded in acknowledgment. He considered his situation a moment longer, and seemed to decide that Liam deserved a fuller story. “I understand in matters of war and kingdoms that loyalty is of the utmost importance,” he explained. “Perhaps you are familiar with a publication I produce as a kind of altruistic hobby. Have you ever come across an issue of Lazaro’s Flame?”
“You’re the publisher of Lazaro’s Flame?” asked General Riley.
Maclamar nodded.
“I don’t believe it,” said Travis. “You do have a conscience.”
“Are you really that surprised?” Maclamar asked.
With Footfalls of Shadow Page 42