Knight's Justice_Age Of Magic_A Kurtherian Gambit Series

by P. J. Cherubino

  “Hello, Protector Astrid,” Brol said, bowing slightly. He didn’t offer his hand, but his greeting showed genuine respect.

  “Treasurer Brol,” Astrid replied in equally formal tones. She turned to Benny. “Please lock the door and wait around the corner. I will call you when I’m finished.”

  Brol cocked his head at the move, but restrained himself from asking her why she wanted them locked in.

  “I can’t say this is a pleasant surprise given the circumstances, but at least I can offer you a seat.” He gestured to the chair he had just vacated and sat on his cot.

  She took a moment to study him. His apprehension was obvious, but he held himself firmly and put on a calm face. She waited for him to break the silence.

  He began with a sigh. “Thank you for treating Lungu’s body with respect. I was told you buried him in his family’s graveyard in the fortress’s gardens.”

  “It was the right thing to do,” Astrid replied.

  Brol looked at the ceiling of his cell as if he were staring at the clouds. “He had his son thrown into the lake after you defeated him in battle.” Astrid was surprised at the information. “That was when I knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “That he wouldn’t make it; his rule was doomed. The last scrap of the person I knew as a boy was gone. That was the beginning of the end.” Brol met her eyes. “He was my friend, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “More like a brother. We grew up together.” Brol paused. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I guess I just wanted to share a bit of my heart with someone before I die.”

  “Ah,” Astrid said. “You’re not going to die any time soon. Not by my hand, at least.”

  Brol looked surprised. “That’s…odd. Were I in your position…

  “Why?” Astrid demanded. “You’re no threat to me, physically or otherwise. I’ve checked the records and asked many people about you. Your crimes don’t rise to the level of Lungu’s. You were a high-level administrator, so you fit into a sort of a gray area.”

  “I committed no crimes. I did my duty.”

  “Debatable. You knew things were wrong and didn’t do much if anything, but I’m not here to debate morality with you.”

  “Well,” Brol said, leaning back against the wall, “now you have me curious. If you’re not here to give me an execution notice, then why?”

  It was Astrid’s turn to pause. She had two choices: she could continue to play head games, or she could put all her cards on the table. In the end, she decided to be direct, honest, and forthcoming. She hated head games.

  “I want to put the Protectorate back on its feet. I don’t have much time before things get out of control and more people get hurt, or worse. I want you to come back to work as treasurer and help us form a working government again.”

  Brol just blinked rapidly and shook his head as if trying to wake. “Who the hell are you?” he asked. His tone wasn’t angry, more confused. “I mean, I don’t understand at all. You have power. Use it. You’re the Protector. Tell people what to do and make them do it.”

  Astrid leaned back and gave him a smile. “First of all, I am a Knight of the Well. I swore an oath to live by principles. Those principles do not include forcing my will on people to make them serve my whims. If I command, I do so to serve justice. That’s it. Now, I’m calling on you to serve those principles.”

  “I never got with that high-minded horseshit.”

  “Sure you did. I read your notes. Thanks for that, by the way. Your journals were very instructive.” Brol leaned forward. That was when she knew she had a chance of winning him over. She had called out to his higher ideals and he was answering, whether he knew it or not. “You wanted Lungu to stick to the original Charter. You accepted the authority of the commissioners, who also wanted to stick to the principles that had made the Protectorates work in the first place.”

  “That was more to save my own ass and keep things from blowing up like they did—but I failed.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Your actions tell me you do know how to do the right thing. I’m offering you an opportunity to be a better person. Take it or leave it.”

  “Am I to understand that you want me to—”

  “We need a treasurer, so if you pledge to serve under my command with honesty and integrity I’ll let you out of here. Like you said, I am the Protector. For now, at least.”

  “Let’s see,” Brol replied. He pretended to consider the offer. “I can rot here in this cell or get my old job back. Hmm…”

  “But be warned…I’ll hold you to much higher standards than when you last served. If you don’t meet those standards, you’ll either end up back here or face permanent exile. And if you really hump the sow—”

  “Nothing like dire consequences to motivate a man,” Brol quipped.

  “Give me your answer. I’m very busy.”

  “Yes, of course,” Brol answered. He stood and stuck out his hand. “I’ll take the job.”

  “Excellent. You’ll be working under a man named Pleth—”

  She was cut off by Brol’s explosive laughter, but he stopped when she stared him down. “Wait, you’re serious… Julius Pleth? Is it too late to say no?”

  “Much too late. You’ve given your word. My second order is that you keep an open mind. Remember, I’m giving you a second chance. Pay attention to what Pleth did with his second chance.”

  “I ask again, who the hell are you?” Brol smiled despite himself. She could tell he wasn’t used to smiling like that.

  Benny came and unlocked the cell the instant he was called. Brol followed her back up the stairs to what he once knew as Lungu’s business chambers. Merg and George walked behind and looked intimidating.

  She put Brol and Pleth together and told them, “I need results, so you have a job to do. Straighten all this shit out.”

  Gormer had been talking with Pleth when she arrived. She called him over with a glance.

  As he walked toward her, his eyes glowed bright white. He paused with his back to Pleth and Brol, who shook hands with great hesitation. They faced each other with tense expressions. To Astrid it did not look good.

  “It’s OK,” Gormer finally declared. “You don’t have to worry.” Astrid was shocked. “Sorry, I read you a little bit, too,” he confessed. “Brol is a bit resentful, but he wants what’s best for the Protectorate. He’s what the New Ancients used to call a ‘company man.’ Also, he’s thrilled he’s not dead.”

  “So he won’t be a problem?” Astrid asked.

  “I can’t see the future,” Gormer replied, “only thoughts. He doesn't want to harm us—of that I’m certain.”

  “Come upstairs with me,” Astrid ordered. They headed back out into the hall where they ran the gauntlet again. “They don’t seem quite as desperate as they did a while ago,” Astrid observed as they reached the stairwell. Merg only had to body-check a couple of administrators who got too close.

  “Pleth put out a lot of fires in a short time,” Gormer told her.

  Outside the residential suite, George and Merg stopped short.

  “Why don’t you come in?” Astrid offered. “There should be food inside. You never know when you’ll get the chance to eat around here.”

  They gave each other strange looks until George replied, “We’ll stay out here. The hallway is…bigger.”

  “But it’s still indoors,” Merg added with a shudder.

  That was when it dawned on Astrid. Here were two people who had spent most of their days living under the vast forest canopy, but now they were asked to walk around in closed spaces made of cut stone.

  “You miss the woods, don’t you?” Astrid asked.

  They let out a simultaneous breath and nodded vigorously.

  “We might have the opportunity to go back there very soon,” Astrid replied. “I’m sorry that I’ve kept you away from home for so long.”

  “Doesn’t sound like we’ll be going back for good reasons, though,”
George said.

  “Maybe not,” Astrid replied. “Be ready.”

  “Always,” Merg answered. She squared her shoulders and pushed out her ample breasts as she rested her hand on her sword. Astrid thought George would swoon as he looked at her.

  She closed the door before Merg could make a smart-ass remark.

  “Those two.” Gormer shook his head. “Who’d of thought the biggest, meanest woods person would fall so hard? I can practically feel George’s emotion from across the fortress, he’s got it so bad.”

  “I got news for you,” Astrid said. “It’s precisely the big mean types who fall the hardest. Why do you think they’re so big and mean?”

  Gormer shrugged.

  “It’s to protect all those soft bits they carry around.” Astrid finished.

  “Not so with us, right?” Gormer stated more than asked.

  “I’ll never tell,” Astrid replied, “but you’re the worst.”

  “Hey, I’m not big and mean and tough.”

  “No, you’re skinny and nasty and tough.”

  “Damn right,” Gormer said with a smirk.

  “As much as I love the banter, we have work to do,” Astrid said, plopping down on an overstuffed couch. “Sit down. Take advantage of this cushy furniture while you can. Tell me what happened with the lieutenants.”

  Gormer fell onto the soft couch opposite Astrid.

  “They’re on board,” Gormer said. “They’re pissed off for sure, but they all mean what they say. They think they’re better off under you than the… What should we call them?”

  “Assholes?” Astrid suggested.

  “Overused. How about ‘horse cocks?’”

  “Doesn’t quite capture the—“

  The door burst open and Astrid and Gormer were on their feet in an instant.

  “There was an attack on the caves,” a messenger said. George and Merg stood beside her.

  Astrid recognized the messenger as one of their best scouts. Astrid rolled her hand for more information and the messenger took a breath, then gave a frantic report of the fight.

  “Who gave you this information?” Astrid asked.

  “One of the woods people. She got the information directly from Vinnie. The attackers are gone. They forced everyone to retreat into the caves, took a bunch of minerals, and disappeared.”

  “Minerals?” Gormer asked. “What the fuck?”

  “Vinnie said the caves’ rocks have some kind of magic properties or something.” The messenger shrugged. “I don’t know. That was why the attackers wanted them. He said he’s staying at the caves to figure it out.”

  “Oh, no,” Gormer said. “No, no!”

  “What?” Astrid demanded. “What’s wrong.”

  “Amphoralds. They’re after amphoralds.”

  “What the fuck is an amphorald?” Astrid demanded.

  “It depends on who you ask,” Gormer answered. He rubbed his cheeks with both hands, then ran his fingers through his hair as he began to pace.

  “Lucky for me that I’m asking you,” Astrid lobbed back. “Tell me what you know.”

  Gormer continued to pace the room, then stopped suddenly and stared at Astrid, shaking his head.

  “Gormer, you’re making me very uncomfortable right now,” Astrid said.

  “Back in Arcadia, they used amphoralds to power machines and weapons.” Gormer walked over to the window and placed his hands on the cold panes of glass. As he looked down into the city below, he spoke in ominous tones. “Powerful weapons. Only the Arcadians know about amphoralds and how to use them. If that’s what the attackers were after, some or all of them must be from Arcadia. If they’re willing to kill for amphoralds, it’s a safe bet they’re not looking to make motor carts with them.”

  Astrid paused. What the hell is a motor cart, she wondered. She shook her head rapidly as if to sort out all the new information that now rattled around in there. “I want to hear all about these rocks later,” she declared. “What about Tarkon and Moxy?”

  “Tarkon is staying with Vinnie. Moxy’s heading to Keep 52.”

  “Well,” Astrid said. “I guess the caves are still with us. Second time they’ve been attacked, though.”

  “Gerty says she supports the new Protectorate,” the messenger replied. “Told me that herself. Says her people feel included for the first time.”

  “Let’s head to Keep 52 and meet up with Moxy, then find these assholes,” Astrid said.

  “Overused,” Gormer interjected. “Call them goat-fuckers.”

  “Doesn’t matter what we call them,” Merg said, cracking her knuckles. “We need to take them out.”

  “OK,” Astrid said. “You two are off guard duty. You’re coming with me. Gormer, I want you to work with the Civil Guard and the woods people who are here at the fortress. Make sure folks don’t take off from the Wards and go look for revenge. I need them here. I promise you we’ll take care of these assholes—”

  “Goat-fuckers,” Gormer exclaimed, finger raised to correct her.

  “You…” Astrid said to the scout. “Get this message to the relays and report back here when you’re done.”

  Astrid hurried to a small desk where she quickly wrote a message to Woody at Keep 52:

  There was an attack on the caves. Increase patrols around the keep. Send extra troops to caves. Assess security around Argan. Be wary.

  -Astrid-

  “How are the toll roads?” Astrid asked as she handed off the message.

  “They’re clear from here to Argan. Now that we can use the toll road, we can get letters handed off almost as fast in winter as we can in spring and summer.”

  “Good,” Astrid replied. “We need to control the roads if we want to win this thing.”

  “What thing?” Gormer asked.

  “This thing that’s about to blow up. I have a feeling this attack has everything to do with the lieutenants who aren’t on our side.” Astrid looked down at the plush furniture. “Gormer, find someone who can get rid of all this soft, worthless shit and have them bring at least two long tables and a dozen chairs in here. We need more room to work.”

  “More work tables for papers,” Gormer said. “Great. Got it. Just what we need, apparently.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Second Battle of the Caves

  Free of the restrictive clothing that let her operate in the world of the strange folk her kind called “box-dwellers,” Moxy took to the trees. She scrambled up the nearest pine, her claws extended from her fingertips just enough to give her purchase.

  She was careful not to dig too deep and wound the tree. It was her friend, after all. When she got moving fast enough she practically sailed upward by momentum alone.

  About sixty feet up, she scurried out on all fours and perched at the end of a heavy bough. She smelled them—box-dwellers. They reeked of spoiled meat and that hatred some of them had. They smelled of sickness.

  She jumped and flew thirty feet, where she missed the first branch but caught the second. She had to sink her claws in deep to keep from falling, but the springy branch carried her up and out to another trunk where she paused again. Now she saw them. They were marching down a snowy side-trail.

  Moxy also saw the snares set by the clever cave dwellers she had come to admire. Strange as she felt they were to live underground away from the forest, they were tough, smart, and kind. At least, they were kind to those who bore them no ill will. To those who would harm them they showed no mercy. They were survivors.

  Still invisible, Moxy carefully climbed down the tree to bury herself in the snow. The cold was delightful on her bare skin, bringing her senses to sharp, undeniable life.

  Her heart nearly beat out of her chest as she salivated, waiting to pounce on her prey. It took everything in her not to growl.

  The first man was near. He pressed forward, head down, sweating under the burden of his heavy load of arms and furs and his own body weight, which obviously didn’t serve him. He passed a strange mound in t
he snow.

  That was when Moxy gasped. The mound was a man. She didn’t hear or smell him. How was that possible?

  The cave dwellers had ways she didn’t know about. Craftier than I thought. Moxy smiled to herself.

  She didn’t hear the person until he exploded from his snow-covered crouch and bellowed like a bear. The lead man squeaked in fright and everyone for thirty feet around froze.

  That was all it took for the large man to cut the attacker in half at the waist and drive his sword up under another man’s chin.

  Moxy was stunned by the sheer violence of it. She peeked out of her own little snow mound and admired the animal efficiency of the creature who fought for his home. The man began to slow, and then Moxy did smell him. He was old. He had used most of his energy in that single attack.

  No, Moxy thought as the attackers recovered and closed in on him. No, no, NO.

  Her legs uncoiled and she flew again. Her heels propelled her off someone’s shoulders and she blinded him with her claws even as she used him as a vaulting horse, spinning high in the air. On the way down she drew her hand across one throat, then another.

  She gutted another man from groin to sternum. Only when she slowed did she hear them scream.

  “What is that thing?”

  She had been lost in the fight, conscious only of killing, but now she had their blood on her and was easier to see.

  She dove into a snowbank as three gave chase. She burrowed like a mole, only to pop up clean near a pine where she scrambled to the heights again to look for targets.

  “No!” she screamed. The big old man was on the ground and two attackers were trying to chop him like a log with their swords. He blocked them with blade and shield, but it was clear that he was nearly worn out.

  Several crossbow bolts thocked into the trunk where Moxy had been as she launched herself downward to help the old man.

  Which proved unnecessary. The attackers fell dead, riddled with arrows as the reinforcements arrived.

  “The Pixie,” the old man wheezed. “She’s here. I saw her.” They dragged him away as the archers formed lines that fired in turn to drive the attackers back.