"What would you have them do?" Cat asked.
Aquint glanced at the boy and saw that he wasn't being facetious now. He considered the lad's question.
He sighed, "I just wish they could find some way to resist the Felk that wouldn't... wouldn't..."
"Wouldn't cause any trouble," Cat supplied quietly.
It pointed out the ridiculousness of Aquint's argument. The Broken Circle was a rebel organization. You couldn't have rebellion without conflict, and conflict had inevitable repercussions.
They walked awhile in tense silence.
Finally Cat asked, "Where are we going?"
Aquint tasted something unpleasant in the back of his throat. From the moment Jesile had made his pronouncement about the public floggings, Aquint had known in his bones what he had to do. It was a ghastly thing. But it was also a lesser evil. He recalled his days of keeping the ledgers of the hauling company he had first gone to work for. He had juggled figures. He had made the numbers balance. It was a talent he had.
Now he was being indirectly saddled with this burden. He couldn't allow ten fellow Callahans to die... not when it was within his power to prevent those deaths.
"Where are we going?" Cat repeated.
They were some distance from the Registry by now. Aquint abruptly halted. He looked about, recognizing the street. There was a drug den of some sort hereabouts. Narcotics had never interested Aquint. Alcohol was so much simpler a recreational stimulant.
Drugs, he understood, were difficult to come by these days, what with the general suspension of trade and the closed roads between the cities. But Aquint wagered the den would still be operating in some shape or form.
He turned to Cat and laid a hand on the boy's bony shoulder.
"We're going to procure ourselves a rebel, Cat," he said solemnly.
* * *
Drug addicts could generally be relied on to abuse their habits, more so even than drunks with their liquor.
The place stank like a latrine. Aquint had gone in through the front door, flashing a fistful of scrip notes and purporting to be a buyer. He named the first narcotic he could think of, phato blossoms, and was told he could purchase some inside.
The den smelled of more than just human waste and neglectful hygiene, of course. It smelled of a trap. Aquint was unarmed. He had never been much for weapons, anyway. Even during his stint in the Felk infantry, when he had helped in the slaughter of U'delph, he had felt no ease with a sword. Such an awkward implement.
U'delph... he still hated thinking about it. It was a disgrace, and he was ashamed he'd had any part in it.
Then again, this was pretty shameful as well. But it was also necessary, in order to save those ten innocent lives.
The man who had admitted Aquint now led him into a dimly lit cavernous room, where there were quite a number of people lying about in various states of stupefaction on the floor. Aquint breathed through his mouth, but that only caused him to taste the foul human stench.
"We have blossoms of high quality, my friend." The man grinned, teeth appearing in the dimness. "The more you spend, the better they will be."
Aquint was looking around. The specimens on display here were quite poor. Many were huddling under blankets, presumably to block out any and all traces of light. Aquint studied the bodies. Some looked half-starved. When one was only interested in the procurement and ingestion of one's preferred narcotic, then luxuries like food probably became a low priority.
It was disgusting. But Aquint kept up his search, ignoring the man standing beside him. Finally he crossed toward a figure who was sitting cross-legged and bare-chested, head lolling.
"Where are you going?" the man said behind him, startled.
Aquint looked down on the sitting figure. It was a male, relatively young, though still too old to have been swept up by the Felk conscription. He had a reasonably healthy muscle tone, with enough flesh on his bones that he didn't appear too sickly.
Mostly though there was something about the planes and angles of his face. His cheekbones were sharp, and his bleary eyes had a vaguely sinister cast. He looked like he might be a rebel. He would fulfill the role nicely.
"I'll take him," Aquint said. "How much do you want?"
The man had caught up to him. "What...? But you wanted phato blossoms."
"I've changed my mind. I'll buy him instead. Here, take these. Is it enough?" Aquint stuffed notes into the man's hand.
"This isn't a brothel," the man said, summoning a faint righteous tone, even as he accepted Aquint's money. "But, perhaps two or three more bronze notes..."
Aquint handed them over. Then he reached down and hauled the sitting man up onto his feet. He moved bonelessly, head still lolling. Aquint started him back the way they had come, toward the front door.
"Just a moment," said the den's proprietor, hurrying after them. "I've changed my mind, too. He'll cost you an extra—yeeowchhh!"
Aquint had been expecting the shriek. Greed was a vile trait. Cat of course had crept in here ahead of Aquint, unseen in the dimness, and had watched out to make sure Aquint wasn't waylaid. If the proprietor had just let Aquint go without pressing him for more money, Cat wouldn't have had to jam that needle-shaped little knife he carried into the man's backside. The wound wouldn't be fatal, but it would allow Aquint to vacate the premises without any further bother.
Vacate he did, his arm around the addict's shoulders, propping him up and leading him onward on unsteady feet. Cat joined Aquint a moment later on the street, and they took the man back to their apartment.
The midday watch was approaching. He and Cat worked fast. They rustled up some decent clothing for the man. They groomed him until he looked relatively presentable. That was the easy part. All the while, the man remained only scarcely aware of his surroundings, eyes blinking in druggy stupor.
Aquint leaned close to him and said in a steady tranquil voice, "I am a member of the Broken Circle. I am a member of the Broken Circle. Say it. Say it back to me. I am a member of the Broken Circle. I am—"
Eventually, the man picked up the repetitious words and started to say them in a tiny mumble. Aquint persisted, saying the phrase clearly over and over again. The man followed suit, and the words became more distinct.
"I am a member of the Broken Circle," Aquint said. "I will say nothing else."
"I am a member of the Broken Circle. I will say nothing else." The man spoke it perfectly now, without a hint of slur.
They commandeered a wagon and horses and rode at a reckless speed toward the Registry. Their timing was close, very close. Jesile had already gathered his ten random victims.
Aquint led the man inside, Cat trailing. Aquint had bound the man's hands behind his back. When they reached Jesile, Aquint gave the man a hard shove, and he tumbled to the floor.
"Here," Aquint said. "Ask him who he is."
Colonel Jesile looked at Aquint, then at the man on the floor. "Who are you?" he finally asked.
"I am a member of the Broken Circle," the addict said. "I will say nothing else."
Jesile nodded. "That's good work, Aquint. I hope you'll believe me when I say I would much rather put this guilty man to death than harm any innocent citizen of this city."
Aquint made no reply. He turned and exited, Cat following, leaving behind the single innocent man who would unknowingly sacrifice himself for the sake of ten others.
DARDAS (3)
The fresh conscripts from Trael were being absorbed into the ranks. Soon, it would be time to get this army moving again. Two targets were within striking distance, the city-states of Grat and Ompellus Prime.
Weisel was standing over a table where a map was spread. He was gazing down intently, brow furrowed as he concentrated.
They are both good choices, he finally said. I'm having difficulty seeing how one might be better than the other to invade next.
Within the Felk nobleman's skull, Dardas stifled a mental sigh.
The capture of Trael was a decisive m
ove. It has, effectively, opened up the entire south portion of this Isthmus.
Weisel nodded. I can see that.
Dardas wondered if Weisel actually did. Then he continued, Grat and Ompellus Prime lie to our west and east, respectively. They are of comparable size and population and could both most likely mount similar resistance to this army.
So, there is no logical choice? Weisel asked.
The man expected war to be a thing of simple logic, Dardas thought darkly. As if it were a puzzle or a riddle that could be unraveled with the application of a formula.
If the choices are equal, Dardas said, then it is wise to consider where either choice will lead. What happens after the conquest of Grat or Ompellus Prime?
Weisel studied the map harder. There was no one else inside the pavilion, and Weisel had given orders not to be disturbed. He apparently wanted this time to absorb a lesson in warfare from Dardas. Dardas, for his part, was complying, though it was taxing his patience.
He could bear it, however. The day couldn't last forever, and when night came, things would be different. Weisel was still evidently blissfully unaware that Dardas was taking full control of this body while the Felk general's consciousness slept at night.
If we take Grat first...
Yes? Dardas prompted.
Then we will face the Rijji Hills to the southwest of the city, Weisel went on, excited now.
And what would that mean? Dardas coaxed him along.
It's dangerous terrain, as far as moving an army through it. There are gullies and rivers, and no easy roads through. Whatever military Grat has could retreat into those hills. It would take a lot of effort to dislodge them.
So...? Dardas said.
"So we take Ompellus Prime," Weisel said, aloud now, "then move south, make a lateral move west, and swing up at Grat so that they have nowhere to retreat to!"
Well done, General Weisel.
Weisel was as happy as a child, and that was fitting, Dardas thought. Even a child could have figured out which city was their next sensible target.
There was more to it than cold appraisal, however, and this was something that Dardas knew he could never teach the Felk noble, even if he had been inclined to try. Weisel had no war instincts. Armies and terrains and weather conditions were fluid things, and one often had to make adjustments in mid-stride, so to speak. There wasn't always time for cool, rational analysis. Sometimes one had to act from the gut, trusting oneself that a particular maneuver was the right one to make.
Two hundred and fifty years ago, Dardas had led his mighty army with instincts he had honed to gleaming sharpness all his life.
Your assistance has been valuable, Weisel now said.
Dardas replied, graciously, You solved the problem on your own, General. I merely helped you to see it.
With your aid, this war will be won.
Then what? But Dardas kept the thought to himself. Once more, Weisel had obviously not thought it through. Dardas knew that he himself would no longer be useful to Lord Matokin once this war was done. Apparently, Weisel was unaware that the same was true of him. Matokin would have no need of Weisel after the Isthmus was fully conquered.
Perhaps the Felk general planned to retire gracefully, ceding his position of power and importance, allowing the bureaucracies of the empire to replace the vigorous animation of the military. Perhaps Weisel was happily anticipating this. If so, he was an even greater fool than Dardas suspected.
A war commander was nothing without a war to sustain his existence.
Dardas had been giving a good deal of thought to his own peculiarly sustained existence. His resurrection was not entirely stable. It needed to be maintained through rejuvenation spells. He had already experienced one close call, when death had come to reclaim what had been taken from it. A mage had come from Felk, through the portals, and had brought Dardas back from the black brink.
But Matokin controlled that mage. Kumbat was his name, the same one who had evidently been responsible for resurrecting Raven inside the delectable body of Vadya.
How much better it would be for Dardas, how much more secure he would feel, if Mage Kumbat were under his control.
Weisel set his aide Fergon to summoning the senior staff, no doubt to unveil his grand plan for the conquest of Ompellus Prime. He would bask in his officers' accolades, feeling for that moment as if he truly was this army's legitimate leader.
Dardas wouldn't spoil his fun. It was best if Weisel was distracted by his "progress" in learning the craft of war. Meanwhile, Dardas had serious plans for tonight.
* * *
Raven was obviously expecting another session of torrid lovemaking. Dardas noted her flushed color, the quickness of her breath as her sublimely shaped breasts rose and fell. In her eyes was a lascivious glimmer that she didn't try to hide.
"Raven," Dardas said, "how good of you to join me."
"I serve at your pleasure, General," she said in that throaty purr as she sashayed across the length of the pavilion toward him.
It was very tempting to just seize her and toss her down onto the bed and mount her in that eager violent fashion she seemed to find so agreeable. But there were other matters of import to attend to tonight, and that night, like the day, wouldn't last forever.
When Weisel woke this would be his body again. Dardas didn't have the will or sway to successfully challenge his host full on. Not yet, anyway. Each night, however, Dardas tested his control to its limits. Maybe he could eventually unlock Weisel's command of this body.
Better still, of course, would be to eliminate the Felk nobleman's consciousness altogether. However, Dardas had no idea how or if that could be accomplished.
"We have work to do tonight," Dardas said to Raven.
She halted before him, angling her body just so, to give him a pleasing view of her outline. "What work would that be, General?" she asked in a mock-coy tone that was quite sensuous.
Dardas pushed aside his baser impulses and said, "Work for my chief of Military Security, Raven."
Raven straightened, the wanton light leaving her eyes. "Yes, General Weisel," she said, seriously now.
Dardas nodded. "You fully understand your authority as the head of Military Security, don't you?"
"I... believe so, General."
"You wield a great power, Raven. It supersedes even rank. You are this army's defense against treason."
Raven lifted her elegantly molded chin. "I shall do everything I can to live up to that."
"I know that." Dardas smiled. "But what if you were to receive information that a visiting dignitary, a high-ranking mage under Lord Matokin's command, was in fact a traitor to all of Felk?"
Raven blinked, but her expression didn't waver. "I would first want to know the source of this information," she said evenly.
Dardas nodded. It was a good answer.
He said, "I am the source, Raven."
"Then I would trust your word utterly, sir."
"Good." Dardas had been sitting. He rose now. "I have summoned this mage here. He will be arriving at any moment. He believes he is here on a... medical emergency."
Now a small frown pinched Raven's lips. "Medical?" she asked. "Is someone injured?"
"The mage in question," Dardas said, "is here to administer a rejuvenation spell."
Raven plainly recognized the term. But she looked confused.
"Administer it to whom?" she asked.
"Why"—Dardas blinked—"to you of course, my dear."
She digested that a brief moment, then nodded. "I am the bait then?"
"You are."
"And who is the quarry?"
"I think you may already know the answer to that," Dardas said, quietly and significantly.
Raven drew a long breath, then let it out. "Mage Kumbat..." she murmured.
"Correct."
"The wizard responsible for my resurrection," Raven said, stunned.
"Again, correct."
For a moment, she was lost in tho
ught. Then she gathered herself and looked Dardas steadily in the eye. "What do you wish me to do with him when he arrives, General?"
Dardas smiled appreciatively. This girl was indeed something special. He told her the plan. She nodded as she listened.
Raven saluted. "It will be done, sir."
He returned the salute. "I'm counting on you, Raven."
* * *
Kumbat arrived a short while later. He bustled into the tent after being passed through Weisel's personal guard. The wizard's black robe twirled as he looked all about, seeing only the general present. He frowned.
"General Weisel," Kumbat said, "I was told specifically to report to your tent. Where is Raven? The spell must be delivered as soon as possible."
Dardas stood casually, hands clasped easily behind him.
"Why the hurry, Mage Kumbat?" he asked.
Kumbat gaped. "By the sanity of the gods, General, you yourself know what she must be going through. It's a very traumatic experience. The rejuvenation spell will end her fear and discomfort. Now, please, where is she?"
He was a conscientious wizard at least, Dardas noted silently. Matokin himself had received the coded Far Speak communication in Felk and had ordered Kumbat hastily Far Moved here.
"Is it unusual that Raven should require the spell so soon after her resurrection?" Dardas asked, his manner still relaxed.
"Well, yes, I suppose, yes, but—" Kumbat fumbled. "The magic requires a great effort on my part, General. I must prepare and administer it."
"You see, that's interesting," Dardas said, ignoring the urgency of the situation. "I myself know so little about resurrection magic and rejuvenation spells that when you mention any minor aspect about them it's completely fresh news to me. It's very specialized magic, isn't it?"
Kumbat was blinking rapidly, totally off guard.
"It... it is," he said.
"There must be very few practitioners."
Kumbat swallowed, visibly. "There are only three in all the empire."
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