by Jeff Kish
Era’s jaw drops. ‘An assassin!?’
“However, for you, I’m going to make an exception!” Jaras proclaims. “Tonight I play the role of assassin. You’re going to die for double-crossing me, Fire.”
“That’s not assassination. That’s murder,” she responds. “Your incompetence is breathtaking.”
Jaras unsheathes a dagger and presses it to Fire’s neck. “Let’s find out if the market agrees with you. I remember seeing a few digits on your head, and I don’t recall any mandate to bring you back alive.” Fire doesn’t blink, daring him on with her icy glare.
“Stop!” Era yells, dashing from the darkness of the woods.
Fire and Jaras spin to find the newcomer panting a short distance away, out of breath from running. “W-Wait a second, aren’t you the target?” Jaras exclaims before looking back at his captive. “What are you trying to pull, Fire? He’s an ally of yours?”
Fire finds herself at a loss. She watches the scene in silence, hoping it creates an opportunity to escape.
“I’m your target, but I couldn’t just stand by and let you get away with killing her,” Era declares. “Let her go!”
Jaras scoffs in disbelief. “Don’t give me that! There’s not a chance in the world a two million venni criminal would do something so idiotic!”
Era’s heart sinks into his stomach. “T-Two… million?” he stutters.
Maintaining his hold on the tree, Jaras sheathes the blade in his hand and reaches to his ankle, pulling a different, smaller dagger out. “If you’re a friend of Fire’s here, I’m going to give you the same treatment! I’m not as good a marksman as her, but I still consider myself pretty good!” he boasts while flinging it at Era.
The darkness makes it impossible to see the incoming projectile, so Era spins to the side in hopes of evading. The sound of a THUNK behind him allows Era to breathe a quick sigh of relief.
“You idiot! That’s-” Fire tries to yell as Jaras makes a tree branch smack her across the face to silence her.
Era looks to her in confusion just as a branch slams into his side. He hits the ground and glances up just in time to see another branch coming down on him. Era frantically uses his earth club to intercept the limb as pushes down on him. Stuck on his back, the earth shaper can do nothing but hold the branch at bay. “What the-?” he grunts. “How are you controlling a tree you aren’t touching!?”
“Your friend isn’t so smart, Fire!” Jaras gloats in triumph as he turns back to his original captive. “I’d have guessed he’d be better trained since he’s your pupil.”
Fire stares at Jaras, dumbfounded as to how he’s now managed to convince himself that Era is her student. Still, she notices his brow heavy with perspiration, no doubt from the exertion of holding two captives down with his elemental control. She pulls hard at the branches, finding their hold on her to be weakened.
“Oh, no you don’t, Fire!” Jaras growls, and he refocuses on keeping her held.
As he squirms, Era notices a rope extending from the tree back to the elementalist’s hand. ‘He’s controlling this tree with a rope? How is that possible!?’ He desperately presses one of his hands against the ground. Unlike his last conflict, he certainly doesn’t have three minutes to make something happen. Squeezing his eyes shut, he focuses on the earth below.
Sweat dripping from his chin, Jaras pushes his limits by moving a branch to Fire’s neck and squeezing. She chokes for air while tugging on her wooden shackles, but she can do nothing to escape.
“Farewell, Fire,” he sneers as he watches her consciousness slip. However, the ground at his feet abruptly shifts. With a yelp, he stumbles backward and drops his rope. Both trees spring back to their original shapes, which flings Fire to the ground with a thud.
Jaras scrambles to his feet just in time to find Era bearing down on him. He digs his fingers into the dirt, and the earth below Era tears open, releasing a network of roots that enwrap his legs and trip him. The elementalist grins with relief as his trap works its magic. Era fruitlessly hacks at the brush and roots as they overwhelm him, eventually locking down his arms and forcing him to drop his weapon, which crumbles immediately upon loss of contact.
Without moving from his crouched position, Jaras wills the mass of plants to stand Era upright. The roots work their way up to his victim’s shoulders, and they slowly wrap themselves around his neck.
Jaras glances over at Fire’s motionless body. “Seeing as your boss may already be dead, you’re going to tell me everything you know about the actual targets. If you do, I promise I’ll let you live.”
“Heartless monster,” Era grunts.
“You have five seconds!” he warns.
“She thought I was one of the targets and engaged me yesterday!” he cries, quickly fabricating a story. “We agreed to track the actual targets together and followed a lead to this town. That’s all I know!”
Jaras scowls. “That demon will betray you in a heartbeat when it comes to money. Not that it matters now, I suppose.” Pausing, he asks, “Has she really not told you about me?”
“Can’t say she mentioned anything about you,” he answers honestly.
The bounty hunter clenches his fists in anger. “That makes me hate her even more!” he cries while wrapping the roots tighter around Era’s neck. “Thanks for verifying you’re not the target. Killing Fire’s apprentice should be almost as fun as killing the demon herself.”
Era gasps for air as the roots tighten. He never expected Jaras to honor his agreement, but this came sooner than he’d wanted. He concentrates on the small amount of dirt around his hands, racing against time to free himself before losing consciousness, and the roots around his shoulders break with a SNAP. Before Jaras can realize what’s going on, Era grabs the roots around his neck and snaps them off with nothing more than a touch as well.
Jaras reacts as quickly as he can, pulling more roots from the ground to contain his victim. This time, instead of struggling, Era simply touches the plants, and they crumble to pieces. He finishes the job by freeing his legs, after which he scoops a fresh pile of earth and lunges at his adversary.
Jaras grabs his sword just in time to meet the dirt blade. Taken aback by his victim’s escape act, he barely keeps up with the aggressive assault. Era pushes into his foe’s sword and dispels his weapon, causing Jaras to lose his balance. The shaper then sweeps the vulnerable hunter’s feet out from under him while simultaneously scooping up more earth, and he cracks Jaras over the head with a newly-formed club.
The dazed bounty hunter tries to crawl away, but Era grabs him by the back of his clothes and yanks him onto his back. “Now, tell me what I want to know, and I might let you live!” Era shouts, shoving his club into his opponent’s face and forming it back into a sharp blade.
Jaras throws his hands up, his eyes wide. “H-How?”
Era cocks his head. “How what?”
“How did you escape my root trap!?”
“Oh, you couldn’t tell? I mean, your roots were covered in dirt.” When Jaras continues to offer a blank stare, Era adds, “So… I used the dirt to cut your roots to pieces.”
Jaras is in stunned shock at the realization of what Era had done. “You… You used the dirt around the roots?”
“Yeesh, and Jem thinks I’m slow,” Era mumbles to himself. “Now, tell me what you know about us. Are we really worth two million venni?”
“Wait, you are the target!?”
“Answer the question!” Era yells, aggressively poking the hunter’s forehead with the point of his sword.
“Okay, okay!” he yelps as he grabs his forehead. “Yeah, you got two others, right? You’re each worth two million!”
“E-Each?” Era repeats.
“Some commander guy really wants you, okay? Commander… Galen, I think that’s his name. It was a military posting!”
Era’s legs grow weak as the suspicion he had on that first night is confirmed. Jem was wrong; the military did kidnap Di.
Roots suddenly wrap around the distracted Era’s feet. He takes a swipe at Jaras, cutting into the elementalist’s shoulder as he stumbles backward and makes a tactical escape into a thick brush. Unable to risk plunging into a web of branches, Era takes the long way around just in time to watch his wounded opponent disappear into the darkness of the deep woods. Era kicks a rotting log in frustration, angry at himself for letting his captive go so easily.
Remembering Fire, Era finds his way back and kneels beside the mercenary to check for a pulse, and he’s relieved to find her still alive. Up close, he’s surprised how small and fragile her body feels, and he finds she’s not much older than he is. He scoops her up over his shoulder, wondering what her story is.
He strains his ears one last time to ensure Jaras isn’t returning. Satisfied the forest is quiet, he makes his way back toward Werran. The many weapons at Fire’s waist clink against one another, alerting Era to their presence. “Mind if I do something about all those?” he asks his unconscious companion. As he starts working at that, his thoughts turn to crafting an excuse to give Jem for all this.
Chapter 7
General Graff marches briskly down the hallway. Every soldier he passes stops and gives him a salute, and he returns a subtle nod to each. He prides himself on military protocol, remembering there was a time when he had superiors. Still, there’s someone who yet sits above him. Having been summoned by Valvoren’s young king to appear before him immediately, the veteran leader doesn’t dawdle in his response.
He turns the corner and finds another lengthy hallway. The barracks had once existed in the basement of the palace, but it was relocated during the war’s intense period of mobilization. Now attached to the palace’s west wall, the separate establishment provides more space for training exercises.
Graff remembers his own training in the catacombs of the palace. There was a time he was forced to endure menial exercises, and now he is responsible for all operations. The military is, in his opinion, running as efficiently as it has ever been run. It hadn’t been easy recovering from the war, but he feels his enemy couldn’t be in any better shape. After nearly a decade of build-up, he has confidence in his ability to mobilize and engage his forces in combat.
He finally finds himself in the receiving hall. On the right side tower the throne room doors, each stretching to the ceiling and inscribed in gold with five seals of the royal family, a reminder the Haran family has been in power five generations. On the left is a more humble wooden door, leading to the royal meeting room used for conducting business.
“Well, if it isn’t old man Graff,” the captain of the guard says with a salute.
The general can’t help but smile. “The oldest active officer is calling me old? I should go dig myself a grave.”
“I’ve never been a military officer,” he corrects, “which I suppose is fortunate. If I reported to you, the ‘old man Graff’ comment would have been insolence.”
“Ha, indeed.” Graff salutes and says, “Good to see you as always, Captain Larimar.”
“And you, my lad.” The experienced guard sports a deep green coat with the royal seal embroidered in a brilliant gold. What’s left of his silver hair is cut short, and his left arm twitches from an old injury. “His Majesty is ready for you.”
“Thank you, old friend.” As Larimar opens the meeting room door, Graff adds, “Your troop is vigilant as ever. My compliments.” With that, he boldly enters, and Larimar closes the door behind him.
A mix of candle wax and mildew permeates the windowless meeting hall, and the aura of departed monarchs and advisors effuses the stone-walled room. Timeworn tapestries line the walls, and an isolated oak table stands for each of the monarch’s four advisors. Even now, the king is finishing a meeting with the foreign minister at his respective location, his table sporting documents carefully sorted. A pair of Larimar’s royal guards stand at the ready, eyeing the general with less respect than the soldiers in the barracks.
Graff kneels and says, “Your Majesty, I have come per your request.”
The young monarch raises an eyebrow, a smile at his lips. “Formal as always, General.”
“It’s the way of the old guard,” the foreign minister says with a hint of disdain as he collects his meeting notes.
“Minister Reece, if respect is old-fashioned, then consider me happily obsolete,” Graff retorts as he stands.
“At ease, gentlemen,” says King Haran, his hand raised. “I’d appreciate a meeting without thinly-veiled barbs, for once.” He motions to Graff and says, “General, thank you for joining us. As you might suspect, Meskel and I would like an update regarding our special schoolgirl. You sent word she wasn’t at the Academy, but what does that mean for her retrieval?”
Graff chooses his words carefully. “The girl is from Canterin, and we have several platoons mobilizing there as we speak. We will retrieve her within the week.”
“I suppose it will have to do,” Haran replies as he anxiously adjusts his crown. Fashioned from gold and silver, the piece is molded with one large peak in front and four smaller ones around the base, each representing one of his ancestors. “Unfortunately, our informant has yet to show himself again.”
“Sire, we know nothing of this man or his motives,” Graff says. “He is presenting us with a carrot, and I don’t know where he intends to lead us with it. This has been a major distraction for my command staff.”
“And what choice do we have?” Reece asks. “If such a weapon exists, we must claim it.”
“I agree,” the king says. “We need it to enforce the peace we worked so hard to attain.”
Reece eyes the general. “Is that what you’d use it for, General? A weapon of the Third Kingdom… intended for peace?”
Graff cringes at the comment. “You know well my opinion, Meskel. Even now they muster their forces. It’s just a matter of time before they get the itch for Valvoran blood.”
Haran rubs his temple. “General, must we go through this again? Let a generation or two pass without another war.”
“We won’t have a choice when the mongrels attack us,” he counters. “If there is substance to this informant’s claim, we should preempt their strike. Slay the dogs before they can bite.”
“If we hold the largest stick, the dogs won’t try to bite us,” Haran counters. “A military can be used for more than just war, after all.”
“Which brings me back to my concern,” he says. “My men are distracted at a critical juncture. If the Allerians attack-”
“Do you not trust His Majesty’s treaty?” Reece asks. “Or do you also doubt my ability to maintain our relations?”
“It remains to be seen what will happen when King Trapak passes,” Graff states. “The Allerian prince is not like his father. He will not respect your treaty, Sire.”
“Which is why we haven’t demobilized, General,” Haran says. “We will continue to maintain our troops, and we will hunt this Third Kingdom relic. We are doing the right thing.”
Graff bows his head. “As you say, Your Majesty. I will alert you as soon as we have the girl.” Before he leaves, he inquires, “And how is Her Majesty, the queen?”
“I’m afraid she isn’t feeling well, again,” Haran answers with regret. “I’ll tell her you asked about her.”
“Please give her my warm regards,” the general says before taking his exit. After offering a wave to Larimar, Graff marches back to the barracks, deep in thought. Despite his aversion to this exercise, his greater concern lies in Haran’s attitude toward the Allerians. He’s far too trusting in the treaty he forged.
He turns a corner and enters the barracks portion of the palace. Graff opens the door to his office, and he scowls at an unexpected visitor sitting at his desk. The young man’s dark eyes sparkle as he offers a devilish grin. “Hi there, General!”
“Ares!?” Graff barks. “Where have you been, and why are you presenting yourself before me?”
He adjusts his mantle, clipped across the front
with a small silver chain. “I’ve grown tired of the other advisors. Not one of them is the least bit interesting.” Ares says, apparently not at all concerned with Graff’s hostile demeanor. “You, on the other hand, seem to grasp what my discovery means for our nation.”
Folding his arms, he replies, “You’re wrong. The only thing I grasp is how you’ve romanced His Majesty and the others into believing this Third Kingdom weapon nonsense.”
“You don’t believe it? Despite the evidence I found?”
“I don’t know what trickery is behind your discovery,” he admits, “but I do know that this is all a distraction to me and my men. So I’d advise you to take your information to someone who isn’t bothered by your mere presence.”
“Then allow me to try again,” Ares says with a smile. “I choose to present myself to you because you are the strength of this nation. You and your army brought the war to a conclusion that favored Valvoren in spite of a dead king, something no one would have guessed possible. So if I’ve offended you, then I apologize, because you are worthy of my respect.”
Graff fumes at the man’s attempt to stroke his ego. “His Majesty ended the war. He even forged the first treaty between our nations in recorded history.”
“Ah, yes, despite Valvoren’s military advantage,” Ares says. “A shame the king opted to lay down arms. Don’t you agree?”
Eyeing him carefully, Graff says, “For someone so critical of his king, you seem to have no qualms aiding him.”
“To aid the king is to aid my country,” Ares says while offering the same confident grin. “That is what I want, General, as a loyal Valvoran. But if I may ask, what is it you want?”
“What do I want?” he repeats. “I want to do what I’ve spent my life doing. I want to protect this great nation from its greatest threat. And I could accomplish that better without you sending my troops on wild chases.”
“Then I would advise you give this a chance, General,” he says. “Either way, how went the hunt? Did you find her?”