Ironshield

by Edward Nile

  "Nonsense. We haven't grown so aloof we can't clean up after ourselves." She picked up the waste bin and selected a clean-looking corner of the reeking envelope to pinch between thumb and forefinger. The thing made a wet plop as she dropped it in the bin.

  "I'll get rid of this for you. Just focus on your work." Leanne hurried off. "And drink that tea!" she commanded from the other room.

  The smell lingered, so Samuel stood and stretched, feeling his joints pop in a satisfying way. Crossing the office, he opened his window a crack, allowing a cool breeze to blow through and make the corners of scattered papers flutter on his desk.

  He looked out over Edinville, the town dark but for a few streetlamps and lit windows, a blanket of stars twinkling like crystals in the inky sky above it all.

  Calm, peaceful. It was a deceptive scene, one that masked the turmoil threatening to boil over in every corner of Arkenia. But, just as he had with his wife, Samuel decided, just for now, to pretend all was right in the nation.

  He found he couldn't paint a proper picture of that in his mind, not one that felt authentic. When had Arkenia truly known peace? This last year felt less than real. A brief, shaky dream of tranquility always slipping toward the edge of chaos.

  Outside his office, the sitting room door creaked open.

  "Hope you threw the bin away, too," Samuel sighed, turning. But instead of his wife, one of the Senate House guards stood at salute.

  "Did knocking go out of fashion?" Samuel snapped, half in annoyance and half to cover his embarrassment.

  "My apologies, Senator, but I knocked three times."

  Slipping up, Sam. He must have been too lost in his thoughts to notice. Assassins coming out of the woodwork, and here you are zoning out. Or was he? Samuel scrutinized the guard, who stayed rigid, looking uncomfortable under his gaze.

  Samuel realized then that he was unarmed, his saber hanging on the wall next to the glass case where he kept his Striker Crimson uniform. His pistol was in his desk. It wouldn't be the first time enemies had wormed their way into his home. "Well?" he said as he tried to formulate a plan in case the man made a move. "What do you want?"

  "There's a lieutenant here to see you, Sir. He's waiting downstairs."

  "Tell him I'm busy. He can make an appointment like everyone else. Better yet," Samuel turned to the piled mail waiting to be read. "He can write a letter."

  "That's what we told him, Senator, but he won't leave. Says it's urgent. Something about rebel activity."

  Samuel had begun to move back to his office and stopped, his interest piqued. "What did the lieutenant say his name was?"

  "Prentiss, Sir," the guard replied. "Ian Prentiss."

  Leanne waited outside the meeting room wrapped in a shawl.

  Samuel raised an eyebrow at his wife.

  She shrugged further into her shawl. "Can't a woman be curious about a visitor calling at odd hours?" Her eyes darted to the door in a nervous flicker, despite her flippant tone. She must have heard something of what Prentiss was here for. In which case, she could know more than Samuel did.

  "Senator Mutton!" Ian Prentiss stood and delivered a left-handed salute the moment Samuel walked in. His right arm hung in a sling. "I'm sorry for showing up so late unannounced, Sir, but I just arrived by train, and what I have to tell you can't wait.”

  Prentiss, Prentiss. Samuel searched his memory, trying to place where he recognized the name from. Aha! "You've been on assignment, looking for rebel fugitives in the far north, am I correct?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "At ease." Samuel took a seat

  Prentiss lowered himself into the chair across the table.

  Samuel had overseen the crew under Aldren Mal, who'd been employed to hunt active rebel cells. But other soldiers were constantly on assignment as well, on important but less urgent business. Namely, the apprehension of former Industrialists who'd simply slipped the proverbial noose to live their lives in hiding. Prentiss was a Talenport officer under General Renalds, who'd returned to a modest command after being released by the surrendering Industrialist army at Gorrad when the war was declared officially over.

  Hunting fugitives was about all General Renalds was trusted to take command of after his decidedly avoidable blunder at Flemmingwood, where the general had insisted on delaying the charge to carry out a personal duel against Theodore Kolms. That delayed charge might have saved more Southern lives than it lost, all told, but still the man's disregard for his army in balance with his personal ambition had tarnished his military reputation beyond repair.

  Samuel determined to do his best not to judge one of the general's underlings by the man who commanded him. "Tell me, Lieutenant, why are you reporting to me, instead of going straight to your commanding officer in Talenport?"

  "It was too far to the city, Sir, and I didn't want to waste any time. If he's to be caught, the hunt has to start immediately."

  "If who is to be caught?" Samuel pressed. "Explain."

  Prentiss leaned forward, an eager gleam in his eyes. "Why, the Ironshield, Sir. I've seen James Edstein in the flesh!"

  Chapter 24

  Bleating goats hopped around Aldren's knees, looking up beseechingly at the handful of green hay he held.

  "Easy now," he laughed when one of them tugged on his pant leg with its teeth. "Here you go, greedy buggers!" Aldren threw the hay around and watched them go for it. Soon enough all six goats were chewing contentedly.

  "Oh, ignore me now you've got what you wanted, I see how it is. And I thought we were friends, Tuft." He rubbed the head of his favorite among the lot, a black goat with a frond of white hair sticking from between its ears. With his other hand, Aldren opened the camera case hanging from his shoulder.

  "Gotta get a few of these for my ma's farm," Aldren called out to Mayla as he prepared to take pictures.

  She leaned against a wooden fence, talking to the farmer and his wife while their young children brought tea to Genlu, who lay across the two front seats of the motorcar, shading his eyes from the sun with his arm.

  Mayla had told the man something in Xangese earlier. Aldren had no idea what it was - the words had been too fast to follow, and he doubted they were in his phrase book anyway- but whatever it was had convinced their escort to stop hovering around as they conducted the audit. Genlu kept his distance, albeit not without casting sullen, suspicious looks in her direction.

  Maybe that's just the way folk are around here, he thought. How was he to tell?

  Not even the simple act of leaving Feng Dao had gone as smooth as planned. When they came within sight of the open countryside, they were blocked off by a pair of military trucks, from which spilled angry soldiers waving rifles.

  Genlu looked worried, then, which made Aldren terrified.

  "The Dao has ordered no outsiders beyond the city," Mayla translated as they listened to the heated exchange between the soldiers and their guide.

  "But we're here on government orders," Aldren protested. "We have permission, don't we?"

  "That's what Genlu seems to be explaining."

  As she spoke, Genlu reached into his jacket pocket. The soldiers facing him barked something and pointed their rifles at him.

  It took several tense moments of negotiation before Genlu could convince one of them to reach into his pocket for the Dao's letter of permission.

  One of the farmer's children, a girl of around six, ran up to Aldren. She had fat cheeks, and her dark brown hair was tied into a pair of short pigtails. With a shy smile, she offered him a rice ball on a bamboo leaf.

  Aldren bent to accept it, smiling in way of thanks. As he stood, Tuft the goat popped up and grabbed the leaf, leaving Aldren to struggle with the fragile clump of rice.

  The girl ran off, laughing.

  Out here, it was easy to forget what he'd already seen. Aldren had to keep reminding himself of the people he'd watched get shot down, of the trucks and guns which had tried to keep Mayla and him fenced in. Just because Xang was no longer pursuing wa
r with Arkenia, did not mean all was right here.

  This place was dangerous.

  Thunder pealed from over the mountains to the northeast. Dark clouds rolling out to mask the blue sky. On this continent, weather had a habit of shifting at a moment's notice.

  Aldren was just getting his pictures -including a few shots of the stormy mountains he was sure would develop horribly- when the farmer called out to him.

  His sons, little older than the girl, began herding the goats toward the barn with sticks.

  "He's offering us a place to stay dry for the night," Mayla explained as Aldren joined them.

  Aldren looked to the blackening sky, shot with flashes of lightning that burned afterimages into his retinas. "Sounds like a good idea.”

  The farmer showed them to the living area of his simple, one-story house. As they sat on cushions on the bamboo floor, the farmer's wife brought them soup and tea. Genlu and Mayla made small talk with the family in their native language. Feeling out of place, Aldren jotted down details of the day's travels in the notepad Mutton had provided. He'd made mention already of the tumultuous climate the society here was gripped in. Today, Aldren could contrast that with a report of tranquil country life. He hoped the rest of the journey yielded the same.

  Smoke?"

  Aldren looked up from his map, on which he was in the process of marking their location with a red pencil.

  Genlu held a lit tobacco pipe to him.

  "Oh, thanks." Aldren took a draw and coughed. The stuff was strong and bitter in a way distinctly different from Arkenian leaf. His second pull tasted smoother, but only just.

  "Strong, yes." Genlu settled onto the mat beside Aldren. "People here, we enjoy different tastes, just as we enjoy different lifestyles."

  Mayla was gossiping with the farmer's wife across the room. Aldren caught her glancing their way out the corner of her eye.

  "And what about Quar?" Aldren ventured to ask. "What's wrong with their differences?"

  Genlu shrugged as he puffed on the pipe. "You're asking about history older than either of us, my western friend. Promises were made, and around here, we believe in holding to them."

  "Even when the people who made those promises are dead?"

  "Especially when they're dead." Genlu raised his eyebrows as if this were the most obvious of truths. "A living man may falter, he may change. But when he joins his ancestors in the afterlife, he leaves a ledger to be balanced. No longer can he simply be punished for failing to keep his word. So, if those he leaves behind do not see his promises kept, the imbalance remains. A world which lacks balance, Sargent Mal, lacks harmony. A world without harmony cannot know peace." He passed Aldren the pipe with a look that said he was waiting for a response.

  Aldren took his time, attempted to blow a smoke ring and failed. "Can't say I agree with that, Genny," he said at last. "Can't tell people they're accountable for something they had no part in. Harmony or no harmony, start doing that and freedom goes out the window. Everyone's got one life to live, and they should get to spend that life being who they want to be, no matter what deals or promises their parents made. You can't go living other people's lives for them."

  "You Arkenians, you have a strange attachment to these freedoms of yours," Genlu said with a tsk. "Here, we view ourselves as parts of a whole, one great network rather than millions of individuals clamoring toward their own ends."

  Yeah, real connected, Aldren thought of the protesters shot during the Dao's birthday festivities. Peace and harmony there. Out loud, he used a different tact. "Quar seems to share those ideas about freedom. Maybe it's not such a weird thing to want."

  Genlu grunted and rose to his feet, dusting himself off. "We can continue this conversation later. High time for sleep. Goodnight, Sargent."

  As Genlu retired to the guest room provided to him, Mayla slipped out into the pattering rain, saying something noncommittal about cooling off. The farmer and his wife went to their room soon after, saying something to Aldren in Xangese that he assumed was goodnight.

  With the rough stone fireplace glowing a dull red as the flames died, Aldren unrolled his blankets and lay down for sleep. With the last embers crackling and the first bit of rain drumming against the clay roof, he soon dozed off.

  His bladder woke him up in the near complete darkness. Only then, as he rolled over, did Aldren realize he'd never bothered to ask where the facilities were.

  Doesn't look like they have plumbing, he guessed. An outhouse, maybe?

  Lightning cracked, and the rain grew more intense, hammering like thousands upon thousands of falling pebbles.

  Aldren tried to ignore the insistent call of nature, but it was a losing battle.

  Screw it. Just a bit of water. He threw the blanket off and got up.

  'A bit of water' had him drenched within seconds of stumbling out into the thick downpour. Somehow, even with all this rain, he was still too warm, the moisture only adding to the tepid humidity in the air.

  Aldren waded through the mud, peering through squinted eyes in search of a dark silhouette that might denote a privy, He couldn't make out anything in this mess.

  Means they won't see me pissing on their field, Aldren figured as the undid his fly. The rain would wash it all away anyhow.

  He was mid-stream when Mayla appeared ahead, walking through the rain.

  "Shit!" Aldren rushed to fasten his pants. It was hard to tell, soaked as he was, but he was sure he felt hot piss run down his leg.

  Mayla looked down at his crotch and back up with an amused smirk. "Privy's in the house," she said, words muted in the drumming rain.

  "I-I knew that," Aldren spluttered. "Just didn't wanna wake anyone up."

  She smiled wide at that. A genuine smile, different from the guarded expressions she'd shown him so far. In the rain, with her hair plastered about her head, it was the prettiest sight Aldren had seen in a while.

  "What about you?" he asked. "What are you out here for?"

  Mayla looked around. "Making sure we're really alone out here."

  "Huh?"

  "Come on," she said, walking by. "I think I know somewhere we can talk."

  Aldren followed her through the blinding downpour until the hulking shadow of the barn came into view. Which meant Aldren had gotten himself completely turned around at some point, because the barn was on the opposite side of the house from where he'd exited.

  Chickens clucked in a coop at one end of the hay-strewn wooden structure, and sleepy goats bleated from their pen. Aldren saw Tuft laying on his side, legs kicking in air as he dreamed whatever goats dreamed.

  Mayla shut the door behind them and slammed the beam in place. Lighting a lantern -with Aldren's lighter, again!- she knelt by her pack, which was already sitting on the floor. Goats bleated, protesting at their rude awakening.

  "Here." She threw Aldren a blanket. "Might not feel cold, but don't let that fool you. It'll get downright freezing come dawn."

  Aldren wrapped it around himself, if for no other reason than to dry off.

  Mayla turned away from him and tugged her shirt over her head.

  "What are you doing?!" Aldren exclaimed.

  She looked over her shoulder at him as if that were the most idiotic question she'd ever heard, then pulled a knitted sweater out of her bag and yanked it on, but not fast enough to spare Aldren an eyeful. He swallowed. That smile earlier was bumped to the second-best thing he'd seen recently.

  "I'd take off your things, too. We're not going to have a lot of time to do laundry, on this little road trip. Got to dry things while we can, before the mildew sets in."

  Aldren stood, uncomfortable and confused. He was usually good with women, but this one had him feeling like a fumbling teenager, which probably had more than a little to do with her knife and pickpocket work.

  For a long while he watched her rummage in her sack. Finally, he cast off the blanket and peeled away his own sopping shirt. He was about to drape the blanket back over himself when his eye was i
rresistibly drawn to Mayla's backside, nothing hidden by the skin-tight layer of her wet pants. The sweater rode up along her hip, displaying a small glimpse of everything Aldren had just seen that was somehow even more arousing than the full picture.

  Shirtless, Aldren walked over to stand behind her. "You know," he said in his most well-practiced mischievous voice. "If you wanted to get me alone in a barn, you could have just asked."

  Mayla looked him up and down from where she knelt, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She stood slowly, displaying every curve at once in a way that had to be deliberate.

  Aldren stepped closer.

  She shoved something against his chest. "Try your luck with the goats. Right now I need you to take a look at something."