The Falcon in the Barn (Book 4 Forest at the Edge series)

by Trish Mercer

  Brillen caught her eye. She shook her head briefly at him and shrugged.

  The crowd was relentless, growing louder every moment, wanting to be acknowledged by Colonel Shin.

  Brillen walked over to Perrin, put a hand on his shoulder and said something in his ear. Perrin shook his head, flashed his friend a brief smile, then finally looked out to the crowd.

  Mahrree didn’t think they could get any louder, but they did, to deafening levels.

  Perrin stared straight out, slowly scanning the people now chanting “General Shin! General Shin!” in unison. He pivoted gradually, his eyes traveling around the entire enclosure, until he returned to his original position.

  Mahrree’s worried gaze darted between Brillen and her husband.

  Brillen remained by Perrin’s side, gently taking him by his sword arm as if worried he might draw the blade.

  But Perrin glanced at him again, nodded in assurance, and took several steps to the front of the platform.

  Karna remained behind him, his arms folded, his eyebrows furrowed, his stance ready.

  The chant of “General Shin” continued, now accompanied by foot-stomping which trembled the ground.

  Perrin looked down at his wife . . .

  . . . and winked.

  She blinked back, stunned. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” she mouthed at him.

  He could read her lips, she was sure. One of his eyebrows went up subtly and looked out again at the crowd, which, surprisingly, was even louder.

  Mahrree shook her head. He always had a natural flair for the dramatic, and now he was working the crowd.

  “Oh, that man!” she exclaimed, but no one could hear her chuckling.

  Eventually Perrin held up a hand and the chanting crowd fell silent. He turned slowly, pushing his hand forward as he faced each section of the amphitheater, and everyone obediently sat down.

  Mahrree suppressed a giggle and took her seat between her children. If the Administrators could see what power he had over the citizenry they would’ve suspected an overthrow was in the works.

  The crowd watched Colonel Shin expectantly.

  He waited until there was no sound, then waited three seconds more to make sure the thousands surrounding him were breathless with anticipation before he finally held up the parchment.

  “We are here to remember,” he emphasized, his deep voice booming out beyond the amphitheater.“To remember the events that happened one year ago today. I’m here to read the names of those who perished in the land tremor here in Edge, and those whose relatives lived in Moorland. Remembering the ones we lost is the greatest honor we can give them.”

  The raucous energy of the crowd was replaced by hushed reverence as Perrin’s voice rang out loud and clear.

  “Salita Avety. Wills Avety. Yenali Briter.” He slowly recited each name with great solemnity, accompanied by sniffs and sobs scattered throughout the audience.

  By the time he read the 204th and last name, people were openly weeping and the heavy mood was tangible. Noiselessly, Perrin began to roll up the parchment.

  Until someone near the back shouted, “General Relf and Mrs. Joriana Shin!”

  The audience gasped as the words shattered the silence.

  Perrin stopped in mid-roll and looked up. His jaw shifted and the crowd collectively held their breath. After a frozen moment just long enough to become uncomfortable, he nodded once and announced, “We thank you for sacrificing your morning to be with us. You have all given up so much over the past year, and we are stronger together because of it. May the Creator remember all of you, as you remember Him. Thank you.”

  He pivoted and headed to the back stairs of the platform. The audience rose to their feet again, cheering and applauding and calling, but the colonel, as if not hearing any of it, trotted down the stairs and out of sight.

  The magistrate, however, took to the middle of the platform as if the applause were for him, while Karna and Rector Yung waved and followed after Perrin. All alone, Wibble beamed and headed down the front stairs looking for hands to shake while the crowd began to file out.

  But as soon as Perrin had turned to exit the platform, Mahrree had set off in a quick jog to find him. He reached their oak at the same time she did. The sound of the audience followed him, and he sat on the bench by the spring staring at the parchment in his hands.

  Worried, Mahrree sat next to him.

  Karna and Rector Yung paused at the bottom of the stairs and anxiously watched Mahrree.

  She gave them a hopeful smile and nodded that they could go. But the two men looked at each other and only stepped to the side to wait.

  “You did a wonderful job,” Mahrree whispered in Perrin’s ear. “They love you. Can you hear it?”

  He scoffed. “They love the idea of me, but they don’t really love me. But that’s all right. I can live with it.”

  “So what’s wrong? Your eyes are darkening again.”

  “My eyes are always dark.”

  “You know what I mean, Perrin.”

  After a quiet moment he said, “Ah, Mahrree, I never realized how much power there was in those words: General Shin.” He reached over and put his hand on her knee. “If ever it happens . . .” He paused and shook his head.

  Mahrree waited, trying to read his enigmatic expression. He never wanted the title of general, but he must have entertained the thought while thousands of citizens practiced it on him.

  “Perhaps,” he finally whispered, “we best pray that day never comes.”

  ---

  Zenos sat on one side of the large desk in the command tower drafting a new training schedule. His way, not the captain’s, and based on information Karna told him about Guarders in Moorland.

  It was also a good way to keep an eye on Thorne, who sat across from him reviewing personnel files.

  Thick tension hovered between them like an angry vulture daring either of the men to actually look up and acknowledge its presence. For the past week Shem had remained annoyingly close to Thorne. They took their meals at the same time, were scheduled in the office at the same hours, and whenever Thorne spied him on the compound, Shem made it a point to sharpen his new long knife. He realized it was best to carry a couple of them at all times.

  That morning of the Remembrance Ceremony a strange sound carried up to the tower. Shem paused in his writing and listened. He looked over at Thorne’s hand and saw that he, too, had stopped writing to pay attention to the quiet roar coming from the village.

  Then the noise developed a rhythm.

  Shem didn’t mean to, but he found himself watching Thorne.

  Thorne looked up at him at the same time, and the tension froze into an icy chill.

  But the sound that was growing in volume demanded that the two men continue their indignant staring contest another time.

  Thorne stood abruptly and made his way to the large window which sat on metal pins, allowing it to swing open. Zenos leaped to reach the other side to open it first, but not quickly enough.

  Thorne unlatched the frame and swung it open with a small triumphant smile. The echoing noise was now distinct and carried all the way to the command tower. Thorne’s smile faded as the cold morning air hit his face along with the sound.

  The corner of Shem’s mouth tugged upward slightly as he glared back at Thorne.

  In the air floated the chant, “General Shin! General Shin!”

  ---

  When Peto got home, after the soldiers escorted their family to keep his father from being mobbed by admirers, he ran to his room to take off the confining black suit which his grandmother had bought him last year. He was pleased to see when he put it on that morning that it was getting tight and short. Not only would he never have to wear it again, but he was finally growing. He threw it on the floor, put on his regular shirt and trousers, then, feeling a touch of guilt, gathered up his grandmother’s suit and respectfully folded it. He opened the wardrobe doors and placed the suit carefully on the shelf where it
had sat the past year.

  Then he slid out the envelope that lay hidden under it and pressed it to his chest. He checked to make sure his bedroom door was still closed before he whispered to the air.

  “Grandfather, you should have seen them! You should have heard them! If someone had a crown, they would have made him king this morning. They were already chanting General Shin!”

  It was all coming together, in some sort of way, and Peto was seeing the signs. As they had passed the abandoned peach orchard he and Yung had worked last year, Peto was stunned to see that the trees were so heavy with blossoms that the air fairly stank of them. There’s was some kind of meaning there—Yung would likely quiz him later—about nourishing the trees, and his father grinning again, and the northern half of the world chanting “General” at him.

  Peto gave the envelope a quick kiss, then slid it back under the suit and shut the wardrobe doors.

  ---

  When Colonel Shin reached the fort after the ceremony—after changing out of his metal-heavy dress uniform—he marched through the compound and straight up to the command tower. The door to his office was slightly open, and the only person at the large desk in the forward office was Zenos.

  Perrin raised one questioning eyebrow at Shem.

  Shem gave his commander a slight wince, raised both eyebrows briefly, then nodded once to the window.

  Perrin narrowed his eyes at the master sergeant and tilted his head slightly to the side, twitching his left eye.

  Shem tipped his head to the office door and curled his upper lip.

  The colonel winked.

  The longest conversation they’d ever had without speaking a word was over three minutes. But the silent communication they had a week ago far surpassed that. All kinds of new expressions had to be wordlessly created and deciphered, and Shem’s message had left Perrin completely speechless.

  And then completely enraged.

  In fact, he had leaped over his desk, his long knife in hand, and lunged for his office door, which Shem barred.

  “You can’t!” Shem had shouted. “You know you can’t! I vowed I wouldn’t say a word—”

  “And you didn’t,” Perrin had seethed. “Very disturbing actions, however. Now move, Zenos, or you’re going to regret it—”

  “No, you’ll regret it if I do. You can’t kill the captain.”

  “I’m just going to give him something to remember me by,” Perrin growled. “Every time he looks in the mirror. Or relieves himself—”

  “You can’t do any permanent damage that his parents and grandparents might notice when he goes to The Dinner in a few weeks,” Shem reminded him, wrenching the long knife out of his grip.

  Perrin squinted. “That bruised jaw he got last night—not kicked by an errant horse, right?”

  Shem smiled and held up his fist. “Feisty little steed, isn’t it? And he was walking stiffly this morning because of your daughter’s kicking ability.” As Perrin smiled acerbically in approval, Shem suggested, “Confront Thorne only once you’ve calmed down a bit. Besides, Jaytsy didn’t want you to know, remember?”

  “And why is that?” he snapped.

  Shem only had to give him a long, studied look.

  And Perrin’s shoulders had sagged. She had plenty of reasons to not trust her father.

  “But I trust you,” Shem said, reading his thoughts. “Just . . . not at this moment.” He slipped Perrin’s long knife into his own waistband. “I’ll give it back to you tomorrow. And hand me Relf’s sword for the day, while we’re at it.”

  It had taken Perrin a few days to feel in control enough to address the putrid, out-of-control mushroom that had been threatening to overtake his fort for the past year. Today, he knew what to do.

  Still, as he took a quiet step toward his office, he paused and retrieved his long knife from his hip. He set it down noiselessly in front of Shem who snorted into his jacket sleeve.

  Perrin pointed a finger of warning at his friend, and Shem nodded, sliding the knife into his boot.

  Colonel Shin took a quick breath, sent one last look to his master sergeant that said, Enjoy the show, and pushed his office door open with a loud bang.

  Captain Thorne jumped in the chair he was sitting in and dropped a quill. He looked up, startled, as Colonel Shin walked into his office and slammed the door behind him. He placed his hands on his desk and leaned ominously toward Captain Thorne.

  Lemuel gulped.

  “I know what you’ve been up to, Captain,” Perrin snarled.

  The captain turned white.

  “And despite what you may have heard this morning, you don’t need to draft your little message. I don’t want their jobs or to even be a general. Tell them that when you go back to the mansion tomorrow!”

  Captain Thorne relaxed a little, but his eyes hardened. “Why, Colonel,” he simpered. “Whatever makes you think I’m writing something about this morning’s—”

  “Because I know you,” he sneered. “I know why you’re in my fort, and what you’ve been doing. So I’m telling you, Captain—I’m not standing for it anymore. Things are going to be different, starting now. This is MY fort. MY men. MY procedures. And if you want to change something, you will present it to me for MY approval. Second in command means you see to it that MY orders are fulfilled. You do NOT make your own. Is that clear?!”

  Captain Thorne’s jaw dropped ludicrously.

  Perrin leaned even closer. “And if I ever find out that you’ve been touching something that belongs to me again,” the colonel eyed his chair that Captain Thorne was warming without permission, “I’ll begin to show my displeasure by breaking both your arms, then I move downward. Is that understood, Thorne?”

  Captain Thorne quickly got up from the colonel’s chair and turned a nauseating shade of gray. He snatched up his papers, mumbling a, “Sorry, sir,” somewhere in there, and started for the door, trying to find a way around the colonel as he blocked the exit.

  “Thorne!” Perrin bellowed in his ear.

  The captain froze in his tracks, gripping the door handle.

  Perrin stepped up to him, his face just inches from Thorne’s. “That includes MY daughter!” he roared.

  Then he did what some poor girl’s father should have done to him when he was seventeen. Perrin slugged Thorne square on the jaw, right on top of Shem’s week-old bruise which was just starting to fade.

  Thorne dropped like a log, his pages and folders sprawling across the floor, along with his body.

  Vicious delight filled Perrin as he hovered over the prone form fading out of consciousness, and he massaged his fist which was eager to punch him a dozen times more. Several targets on the captain’s body presented themselves, and just as Perrin raised his arm to let it connect with another, the office door opened.

  Shem stood there, his hands on his hips, his expression that of perfect innocence. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Colonel, what happened here? Did our captain slip?” he said loudly for the benefit of the sergeant and corporal who had come up the stairs.

  Perrin dropped his arm and shook his head sadly. “He did. Stumbled right against that . . . cabinet.” He showed Shem his happy fist before unclenching it.

  The sergeant and corporal leaned around Shem to see Thorne.

  “He tripped and caught the corner on his jaw, just where that steed kicked him the other night, and bam! Down he went.” Perrin ignored the snickering of the enlisted men.

  Thorne was coming to, groaning as he held his face. “Muoof!”

  Perrin blinked in almost believable concern. “What was that, Captain? Ready to sit up? Careful, now. You’re a bit clumsy—”

  “My toof!” he exclaimed as he struggled to sit up. With fury in his eyes, he glared at Perrin. “Yoo knockuf my toof!”

  The sergeant behind Shem said, “Spit out that blood, Thorne, before you speak again. Almost sounded as if you were accusing our colonel of causing your little accident, sir.”

  Thorne looked up into the four
unsympathetic faces. When his eyes met Perrin’s rock-hard glare, something of the captain’s brittle demeanor cracked.

  Yes, things were going to be different now. Both men knew it.

  Thorne coughed into a handkerchief the corporal handed him, filling it with a mouthful of blood and a broken molar. Even though each of the four men reluctantly offered him a hand, he ignored them all and unsteadily got up on his own.

  “Sergeant,” Perrin said, “would you help Thorne down to the surgeon’s? Nothing they can do about that tooth until he gets to Idumea later this week. Maybe one of those new dentists can figure out something for him.” Feeling some guilt about that, Perrin shoved his proud and throbbing fist in his pocket. “Until then, the hospital can stop the bleeding and check him for any other injuries.”

  The sergeant winked slyly at his colonel before he led a wobbly Thorne down the stairs. Perrin also noticed the corporal grinning broadly before Shem subtly shook his head at him. But then Shem followed it up by returning a quick grin.

  Perrin kicked Thorne’s papers—he’d have the corporal gather them later—and looked out of his south-facing windows.

  “Now, Idumea,” he whispered, “because more and more I suspect that’s where all of you are really from: send me what you’re planning. I’m back in command.”

  ---

  Lieutenant Offra was brushing down his horse—his daily reprieve from the hovering of the captain who kept his horse Streak in its own private stable—when he felt the presence behind him. He turned slowly to face it, then immediately stood at attention.

  “At ease, Offra, please. I was just passing,” Colonel Shin said as he ran a hand down the haunches of Offra’s horse. “Lovely mare, isn’t she? Always been one of my favorites. I’m glad to see you’re giving her so much attention. She deserves it.”