A boy, one of the child-messengers Jackal employed, entered and bowed. “Master Jackal, I bring news from Imuny. It seems that—umm.”
“Don’t waste my time, or yours, with indecisive speech. Speak, child.” Jackal tried to restrain the impatience and frustration he felt, but it dripped plainly from his words.
“A small fleet of ships is sailing south, just ahead of the tundra’s expansion. It’s led by a ship bearing Gideon’s colors. He is heading our way.”
Jackal’s eyes widened, the silver sheen of his irises reflecting the office’s dim light. He watched the boy shiver as his stare lingered. Looking down, he saw his fingers drumming to their own beat, of their own accord. A clenched fist stilled their revelry. His gaze shifted to the stack of papers piled precisely on the corner of the desk’s lacquered surface. What use was supply acquisition when a pike would pierce his head in a manner of weeks? The boy’s nervous squirming brought Jackal back to the present moment.
“Retrieve Sereb from his cell and escort him here. That will be all.”
The messenger bowed again, then ducked out of the office.
In his heart, Jackal knew there to be but one reason for Gideon to move his army to Lyrinth’s doorstep. Somehow, word of the dissension he and Ren spread must have made its way east. The worst move he had ever made was involving the oafish pirate in on his plans.
The Silentorian leader pulled a map from a drawer and spread it across the unoccupied surface of his desk. He placed an inkwell along one side to suppress its urge to curl in, while a rusted letter opener flattened the opposite side.
A light series of taps sounded on the study’s door.
“Come in, Sereb.” As the gaunt man entered, Jackal saw him eye the map atop the desk, then lay into the door as it came to a quiet close.
Sereb always appeared starved, though it was more a symptom of his echo than him choosing not to eat. He shuffled over to a chair and sunk into it as though the effort of moving exhausted him.
“Gideon is off the Lyrinthian coast,” Jackal said. “It’s safe to assume that my plan has been founded.”
Fingers, decorated by pale hair, massaged at his temples, pressing deep rhythmic circles into wrinkled skin. He looked up to Jackal and asked, “Because of Ren?” Sereb’s voice never rose above a whisper when he spoke. Even the pronunciation of Ren’s name sounded rounded, sanded, and dull coming from his weathered lips.
“It seems that way. I don’t have time to assume total control of Lyrinth, so we’re going to have to convince Dorothea that our fight is his fight. Seeing how frivolous he is with his power, it shouldn’t be too hard to convince him. I just wish I had the echoer girl who tagged herself with the bard.”
“Where is she?”
“Holding up in some hovel in the woods no doubt. Nimbus sent her off with one of their ilk the night Gleeman was to complete our contract. We simply don’t have the time or resources to waste conscripting and converting her to our side.”
Sereb seemed to inspect Jackal’s words, dissecting them before uttering his tactically chosen response. “Why not use the bard again? His mind is still under your command. No doubt he’ll come for Zelda and Pippa.” Sereb’s eyes gleaned like they had beheld some valuable secret, but he said nothing more on the matter. “Or another of your agents, if you’re unwilling to use Gleeman again.”
“I can’t use the bard because he’s rotting in a Blue Haven dungeon right now. And we can’t simply kill Dorothea as we killed Providence. We have to bring him to our side.”
“Which means more work for me?”
There was a new edge to the memory-altering echoer’s voice Jackal had never heard before. The man had tried to veil his frustration with the usual softness of his voice, but he felt it as plainly as he would a knife poking at his ribs.
“We both know our deal, Sereb.”
“My work on Gnochi put me on death’s edge. I couldn’t think straight for a week.”
“Then you’d best work on fixing your mind,” Jackal said, hoping that the softness of his voice would convey the threat. “If you cannot continue to do your job, I’ll have to dispose of you.”
Sereb’s expression dulled, his forehead softening and his lips returning to a neutral line.
“I’ll work on a plan to get Gnochi back, but you have to be prepared,” Jackal said. “You are dismissed.”
The echoer nodded, as if the negotiations had gone as he expected. He stood and left the room without another word.
After a minute of muted thought, Jackal rose from behind his desk and closed the door. A shoulder-high switch on the wall flicked on, bathing the room in electric light. He pushed the chair where Sereb had been sitting. Its feet squealed in agony, scraping on the wooden floors.
Jackal pried up a series of false boards, revealing a recessed alcove and a long container, its features plain, save the brass keyhole dividing its face. He fished a quaint keyring from the bottom of his boot and poked one of the keys into the container, turning it counterclockwise until the false lock clicked. Pulling up on the lid revealed a bundle of long objects wrapped in leather. Jackal swept the map and papers off the desk his desk and gently laid the bundle atop its now empty surface. The inkwell had shattered from the fall and its black blood pooled out on the floor, soaking into some of the papers that had required his attention and approval. More would come. More always came. Jackal hoped that this bundle would ensure that the papers continued to pile up. With nimble fingers, he undid hemp ties on either end, revealing a cluster of first age rifles.
◆◆◆
Dorothea groaned, thinking about how much time he had spent in council deliberations over the past few weeks. He used to bemoan his late brother for never including him in the council prior to his assassination, though he realized now that Providence had been performing a great mercy in keeping him from politicking.
Two of the councilors before him had risen from their seats and commenced yelling at each other.
Dorothea cleared his throat, silencing the man and woman. “I used to think,” he said, “that my brother never invited me to these meetings out of spite. Now I know. They’re simply boring as all everything.” None of the councilors reacted, though Dorothea caught Skuddy, the new entertainer-turned councilor, smirking. “Look at you, sitting here arguing tooth in mouth to have a man executed. He didn’t kill any of your brothers. He killed mine. It should be my decision.”
“With all due respect,” one councilor said, “you know the assassin on a personal level. Some may even say that you owe the man for helping alleviate tension in your army.”
“Are you trying to say that I cannot be impartial for matters of state?” Dorothea asked. “That’s very close to treason, I’ll have you know.” The councilor who had suggested it retreated to his seat, squirming into as small a space as possible. “Only one of you should be getting emotional over this man’s punishment, and that person is Skuddy.” At the mention, the old entertainer frowned. “Skuddy, you have yet to advise me on this matter. What say you?”
“Frankly sir, I’d advise staying any executions, regardless of the man,” Skuddy said to the obvious discontent of many on the council.
“Go on,” Dorothea said, ignoring the council’s objections.
“What I instead advise, for you to—”
“No pardons for regicide!”
“That’s not what I was going to say,” Skuddy said, his sharp response silencing the heckling councilor.
Dorothea smiled at the entertainer’s obvious frustration at the pace of politics.
“Transfer him and the other criminals to another prison. Let them wait out the winteryear in another place far from here, where they will not burden our local resources. This will allow your highness to properly finish mourning his brother’s death before deciding the fate of his killer.”
Dorothea mused over the ruling, the council sitting in silence as they waited for his decision.
“I like it,” he said, then smiled a
t the uproar his words had on many in the council. “Of course, Skuddy, you must realize that an assassination of this magnitude will not remain unpunished. Gnochi forfeited his life when he plunged his blade into my brother’s heart.” Discussion broke apart as Dorothea’s page received a message, which he whispered into the king’s ear.
“It appears,” Dorothea said, silencing the chamber, “that there is a vassal here from Jackal’s rogue group, Silentore. He wishes to have a meeting with me.” Hushed whispers raked through the room. “He no doubt wants to speak about this situation with Gideon. Frankly, I’d rather the lot of them keep their noses in their own land. But alas, I’ll hear this message. All of you are excused except Skuddy.”
Skuddy nodded, ignoring the sneers from the other members of the council.
After a minute, the aging entertainer found himself alone with the king, his page, and two dozen guards scattered around the chamber. Dorothea caught Skuddy eying the guards. He laughed, then said, “Not quite the same odds as Gnochi, eh?”
“No, Dorothea,” he said in a plain voice. “Thank you sire, though, for postponing his execution.” The man offered a curt bow.
“It’s not a favor to you. I enjoyed the man’s company, even if all that came from his mouth was poisonous vitriol. No, it’s a—”
The door opened, allowing a girl to enter. She stood barefoot on the cold ground, shivering. She wore nondescript clothing that could have been stitched by any of Blue Haven’s tanners. In her small hands, the girl bore a letter of unadorned paper.
Dorothea felt cold just looking at her small frame.
She cleared her throat, though the room was already silent, then broke the wax seal binding the parchment. “Esteemed Dorothea, brother of late Providence, and King of Lyrinth. Greetings from Jackal, leader of Silentore. No doubt, you hold some anger toward me for my ordering your brother killed. That’s understandable. But right now, we have to set aside our differences and focus on the issue at hand.
“By now, you have heard of the fleet amassing off your shores. These are ships of my former employer, Gideon.” The girl paused for emphasis. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him. He rules the eastern continents. All of them. Fierce opponent to technological progression and friend to the devil-spawn, echoers. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he isn’t bringing gifts in those ships.
“I’ve come offering my alliance. Help us turn Gideon’s force away and I will personally ensure that Lyrinth shares in the spoils of my power once I can fully harness the first age technology that is promised to these lands.
“As a show of good faith,” she continued, “I’ll share with you exactly where he will make landfall. You can redirect your armies now, saving weeks of travel time. I’ll also show you where my own installations are located, so you won’t doubt my honesty. Regards, Jackal.” The girl curtsied, having finished reading the letter. She flipped the parchment over, gesturing to the king.
Dorothea approached the girl and examined the underside of the letter. “There’s a map of Lyrinth on here,” he said. “He has Gideon pegged to land just off the south Lyrinthian desert. Which happens to be adjacent to where Jackal has marked his own base of operations. Is this true?”
She shrugged, then said, “I don’t know. Someone in town paid me to come here and read this to you.”
“Smart,” Dorothea said. “If you were a Silentorian agent, we’d have to kill you.” He broke out laughing as the girl’s face whitened in fear.
“What is this?” Skuddy said, pointing on the map. “This mark in the swamp.”
“A prison Jackal set up for his political dissidents and nuisances.” The girl spoke, though her voice seemed to be fading.
Dorothea scratched at his smooth chin. “A prison? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked Skuddy.
“Probably not, Dorothea.”
“Good, that’s what I like about you. Not one to kiss my ass. I have a request for you to take back to Jackal; however you get it to him, that’s on you. Allow us to move some of our prisoners to the jail in the swamp.”
“Yes,” the child answered.
“Excuse me?”
“Jackal agrees to the terms.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“He will have a boat sent up to Blue Haven. How many prisoners do you expect to send?”
Dorothea looked down at his hands and counted on his fingers. “Uh, maybe five?”
“Expect the boat within the month. Do you have any other requests?”
“I’m not dedicating my forces to your cause yet. I want to give Gideon a chance to win me over before I decide whose side I join.”
“Hmmp. Typical.” the girl spoke with a voice that seemed entirely foreign to that which she had used prior. “If you need to speak with Jackal, have a messenger sent to the fortress in the desert.” Having uttered those words, the girl casually exited the chamber, walking at a slow pace.
“No one walks out on me. Bring that bastard back in here,” Dorothea yelled. Two of the nearest guards rushed out the door in the messenger’s wake. They were not gone a minute before they returned, dragging the child’s limp form along the floor by her arms.
“She’s dead. Looks like she swallowed a poison capsule, my king,” one of the guards reported.
“So much for not killing the messenger,” Dorothea said, sinking into his throne in mock defeat.
Chapter 13
Sitting before the fire, Cleo’s eye dove through the journal perched on her lap. She had stopped on a page where she had penned a first age lesson. A smile touched her lips as she remembered Gnochi explaining this concept to the menagerie.
◆◆◆
“You really don’t believe that in the first age, we had the smarts and technological potential to domesticate the sky?” He sat back and laughed.
Cleo watched him pick at a cobb of corn, though his attack was half-hearted. He seemed more bored than hungry. Sitting beside him, journal open on a small table, she penned notes in her delicate script.
“I know it’s hard to believe, but not everyone takes the words from your mouth to mean the Providence-given truth,” Dorothea said.
“Come on, Dorry.” Roy said. “What’s not to get? They had bombs that turned regular people into—well, you know. And weapons that caused the winteryears. Is it so much of a stretch to believe that people could fly in large vehicles?”
Dorothea sent a cold sneer at the teen for his comments. “It just doesn’t make sense. You’re telling me that vehicles heavier than our wagons were able to fly at fast speeds across the globe. Across open ocean? How does that make sense?”
“Because they had engines on board that allowed the planes to reach fast enough speeds. It’s simple physics, Dorothea,” Gnochi said.
The ringleader sat still for a moment, then said, “Nope, still doesn’t make sense. Come back and talk to me when that mare of yours starts flying.”
“I think you mean when pigs fly,” Gnochi said, chuckling. “This is ironic, though. I know a number of stories about famous flying horses.”
Dorothea boiled over at Gnochi’s comments, grumbling as he stepped away to take his meal in his wagon.
Gnochi turned to Cleo, surveying her notes thus far. He smiled, then said, “Now, let me tell you about one of the most legendary flying stallions in history.”
◆◆◆
“What is that?” Kiren’s voice roused Cleo from her reading.
Suppressing her distaste at being interrupted, Cleo said, “It’s Gnochi’s journal. I was recording his tales and histories in here.” She clicked her teeth together to stop herself from admitting more about their predicament.
After a minute, Kiren asked, “What happened to him?”
“He assassinated Providence,” Cleo explained. “I’m never going to fill this journal with his stories. He’s likely to be executed soon, if not already.”
“Why don’t you put your own stories in it?”
“I haven’t exa
ctly lived an adventurous life,” Cleo admitted.
“Trust me, I haven’t either, but I bet if you really think about it, you’ll come up with material to fill that book.”
“I don’t think—”
“How about this,” Kiren said, sitting across from Cleo. “I’ll tell you a story of my life and then you tell me one of your creation.”
Cleo considered Kiren’s words. “Okay,” she said. “I haven’t written anything serious in a while, anyway. I’ll need time to get prepared. I think my ink has all but dried.”
Cleo scrounged through one of her spare packs, finding a new carton of powdered ink. A few pinches trickled to the bottom of her inkwell. She mixed the powder with water, pumped from the kitchen sink, until she was content with the ink’s consistency. Returning to the great hall, she saw that Kiren had disappeared, though the creaking of light feet on the floor upstairs betrayed her movement. Cleo took the opportunity to set up her supplies and ensure that her pen was clean. After smoothing out the journal’s page for the tenth time, she had resolved to call upstairs when she heard a rush of heavy footsteps followed by a high-pitched scream.
Cleo was at the top of the stairs before she realized that she should’ve grabbed her staff, though the commotion sounding from behind a closed door was too pressing to risk going back down. She shoved into the door, forcing it open.
Inside, she found Aarez lurking over the cowering shape of Kiren’s body. “Aarez, what are you doing?” Cleo yelled, though he paid her no heed, for in his arms, coddled like an infant, sat the doll. “Lucas?”
“Turn me Pidgeon!”
Cleo winced at the high-pitched squeal that tore out of the doll’s mouth.
Aarez’s alter ego, Pidgeon, with his characteristically sluggish movements, turned and raised his arm so the puppet floated eye level with Cleo. “Minx! You’re looking as spry as I remember. I don’t suppose you’ve come to join in my fantasy?”
“You have some nerve,” Cleo said, staring daggers at the doll. “And you!” She pointed at Pidgeon. “I thought you were weaning yourself off the doll.”
The Harbinger of Change Page 8