by Trish Mercer
Chapter 2 ~ "I'm not about to argue who has the prettier hog."
The village school teacher sighed in contentment at how perfect her life was. She enjoyed her students, loved her village, and adored her home.
For a woman as smart as she thought she was, that utter sense of satisfaction should have been a clear signal that things were about to change.
But people usually aren't as clever as they hope they are.
It was Planting Season, 319, nearly two years after the loss of the king when a small woman left her tiny house on the perimeter of the inconsequential village of Edge. She rarely thought about the twenty-three Administrators who now ruled, and likewise those Administrators thought nothing of her at the northern edge of the world.
Well, except on days like this when they sent an unexpected message to her schoolhouse. All the teachers received it, and she was glad it came too late to read to her morning students. Six to ten-year-olds weren't old enough to hear about the killing squads during the era of the kings, but her teenage girls in the afternoon were supposed to be reminded that since the Administrators had come to power, the Army of Idumea had not convened one killing squad nor even carried out one execution.
It was a disconcerting announcement to make on such a lovely afternoon, but it did have the effect of immediately quieting her ten gossiping students, so Mahrree Peto felt obligated to send a thought of thanks all the way down to Idumea, eighty long miles away. Those stuffy old men liked to remind the furthermost borders of the world that they were in charge and "here for the people."
Mahrree didn't really care. They were too far away to influence-
Wait.
That wasn't entirely true anymore. As Mahrree wove through the maze of shops and stands at the market, now emptying for the evening, she remembered another announcement that came in the middle of Raining Season. The village of Edge of the World was receiving a fort. In fact, it was being constructed at the northern border of the forests, less than a quarter mile away from her home. She hadn't bothered to head over to watch its progress, like many of her neighbors had, but when the rector told the audience at the amphitheater two weeks ago that the commander of the fort would be arriving shortly, Mahrree heard the villagers around her grumble the same things she did in her mind: why did the Army of Idumea need a presence in Edge anyway?
"Remember, my beloved daughter-sometimes the world really is out to get you."
It was at the oddest times that the last words of Mahrree's father blew into her mind. They scattered her thoughts as if the cold winds that came down from the mountains behind Edge rushed into one ear and out her other.
Mahrree paused to consider the words as was headed to the village green and the outdoor amphitheater for the night's debate. She smiled sadly at the memory of her last conversation with him.
She was fifteen, thirteen years ago. He was thirty-seven. He had started coughing near the end of Weeding Season, and three moons later it was clear he was dying. His slender, small body was wracked with pain and chesty convulsions.
Mahrree's mother Hycymum could do nothing more but wring her hands and make yet another creative dish of something that he couldn't eat. Their rector came over every day to sit with his younger friend, and the village doctors tried every concoction they knew.
Someone even made the long journey to Pools, nearly seventy miles away, to bring the good teacher "healing waters" to cleanse him. Cephas Peto told his daughter he didn't know how water that smelled like rotten eggs could be healing, and that he was sure people in Pools and Idumea got sick just as often as people in Edge.
The healing waters, the prayers of their congregation, and the dishes of min-a-stroh-nee and fall-ah-fal his wife created didn't work, so on the 89th Day of Harvest Cephas beckoned to his daughter.
"Remember," he whispered to avoid another coughing fit, "my beloved daughter-sometimes, the world really is out to get you!"
Mahrree had laughed in spite of her sorrow. She expected something more sentimental or even profound. Her mother just shook her head and dabbed her eyes. She never understood the cutting sense of humor her husband and daughter shared.
Mahrree had gripped her father's hand and whispered, "So you're going to let it get you?" That's when her tears started.
"And remember, every story has a happy ending, if you just wait long enough." Then he told Mahrree his extensive collection of books was hers.
Half an hour later he was gone.
Thirteen years later Mahrree's sorrow was tempered because she still heard him. Not just words he said before he passed, but words he said after.
She never told anyone, but Cephas Peto still spoke to her and gave her advice. And as she strolled toward the village green she felt he was walking nearby, still watching out for her.
"The world is out to get me, Father? Doesn't sound like a happy ending just yet. But send on the world! After such a dreary Raining Season, I'm ready for some excitement."
She sucked in the surprisingly warm air and thought she could smell the deep brown dirt of the farms that ringed their village, just two roads of houses away from her home. White clouds streaked across the blue sky, and Mahrree predicted they would turn orange-pink with the sunset. The two moons, the Greater as well as the Little Sister which trailed the brighter moon, showed only half of themselves evening.
She was glad she had changed into her lighter tan cotton skirt instead of wearing the heavier woolen black one. She tucked her light brown shoulder-length hair behind her ears. Unlike most of the women in the village, she didn't wear her hair long only to tie it all up into a bun. Shorter hair was much more practical. And her father had said it looked better that way. But otherwise her features were nothing extraordinary, she thought. Symmetrical, feminine-she never was very good at judging beauty, nor did she see the purpose of it. Her grayish-green eyes were like her mother's, which her father loved, and her build and frame were as slight as her father's, which Mahrree loved.
In the common greens before her, where roaming sheep trimmed the new grasses, several groups of children were already playing Get Him!, Smash the Wicket, and Tie Up Your Uncle, which wasn't as violent as it sounded unless someone's real uncle participated. Their parents were filing into the amphitheater to listen to a chorus of broad-chested women from the south of the village, but first there would be a debate, and Mahrree was there to support one of her students.
"Miss Peto!" cried a 15-year-old girl who rushed up to her. "I thought you'd never get here!"
Mahrree smiled and calmly patted the girl's arm. "Sareen, you're ready for this, remember? You wrote out your argument-"
"But is it good enough?" she giggled nervously. Unfortunately for the girl, everything that came out of her dissolved into a giggle. "I mean, will they agree with me?"
Mahrree shrugged. "I don't know. Considering that your opponents are your own parents, and Rector Densal has agreed to let the audience decide the outcome . . ." She raised her eyebrows in a manner she hoped would convey that Sareen really didn't stand a chance at winning tonight's debate.
Every village in the world held debates before the evening's performances where people argued, sniped, and shouted, and occasionally reached a consensus. In Edge, one of the three rectors always moderated the discussion, since men who knew the Creator could better quell anger than the local magistrate who instead inflamed it.
While in the bigger, more sophisticated villages surrounding Idumea debates followed a more formal structure as was taught in the universities scattered around the world, Edge's debates were little more than a sharing-arguing-complaining of ideas, disagreements, and occasionally utter nonsense, as would be the case tonight.
Because tonight Sareen was going to tell the village she wanted to line her eyes with dark charcoal to make them "prettier."
Her parents thought that was silly.
But somehow Sareen managed to convince Rector Densal to let her debate that in front of everyone.
&nb
sp; Then again, Rector Densal was rather mischievous for a teacher of The Writings and a leader of a congregation.
Sareen nodded confidently to Mahrree, let escape the longest, most tense giggle Mahrree had yet to hear erupt from her student, and she trotted into the amphitheater ahead of her teacher.
"I'm quite eager to hear how this will play out," said a voice behind Mahrree.
She turned around and smiled at the old man who stood there, rubbing his hands together. His white eyebrows bounced happily. "What do you think? Is she ready for her turn on the platform?"
Mahrree chuckled. "I think this will be one of the shortest debates we've had in a while. Her main argument is, 'My eyes look too small.' What's with girls these days, eh Rector?"
Densal chuckled back. "I don't know, Miss Mahrree-but we're about to find out!"
Mahrree turned to go into the amphitheater, but the small man gently caught her arm with his wrinkled hand. "If you have a moment, Miss Mahrree-I have an idea for another debate later this week, and I think you are precisely the person to handle this. But, on second thought, maybe it'd be too much for you . . ."
Not one to ever turn down a challenge like that, she turned back to him. "Oh, really?"
Mahrree prided herself, although she modestly knew she shouldn't, on her debating skills. She read everything she could find, listened to each idea, and wrote down any novel concept and the arguments for it and against it, laying out her father's collection of writings across her eating table in preparation for the debates. And her students, of course. She even ran them through the paces, turning the entire front wall of smoothed stone in the schoolhouse into a mass of words written in white chalk and black charcoal to represent the two sides and found it all great fun.
What students thought of it, that didn't matter as long as they learned to think. Although what Sareen was thinking when she decided to debate about charcoal and eyes, Mahrree wasn't too sure. After trying to help the poor girl created a rationed argument about enhancing beauty, Mahrree was ready for something a bit more demanding. "What's the topic?"
Rector Densal's eyes twinkled at Mahrree with just a bit too much liveliness, and she knew the old man was plotting something. "Well, if you don't mind, I thought I'd let the opponent surprise you with that," he smiled. "You see, there's a newcomer to the village who needs the opportunity to, shall we say, prove himself?"
Mahrree frowned but with a matching twinkle in her eyes. "And you think I should take him on in a debate? You must not like this person very much, then. You usually take in the lost and lonely, not hold them up for ridicule."
Rector Densal grinned. "Well, this is a special case. He's moving in just north of you-"
"Rector, there's only one ring of houses above mine before the barren lands, and no one's moved in . . ." Her voice trailed off as a horrible thought struck her. "The only thing moving in the north is the new fort," she said drearily.
Rector Densal nodded thoughtfully, as if that was the first he'd heard of it. "Why, that's right!"
"So you're proposing I debate . . . the officer?"
Densal began to smile as if Mahrree had just come up with a most brilliant idea all on her own, but before he could say anything she paled.
And Densal noticed. "Miss Mahrree," he said hurriedly, "remember-the army isn't what it once was. Many improvements have happened over the years, you know."
Reluctantly, she nodded. "I know, I know. I teach history, remember?"
Densal squeezed her arm kindly. "He just needs a way to introduce himself to the village, so I got to thinking . . ." and he winced at her in pleading.
"I suppose it was only a matter of time before the officer came down among us and did something official," she grumbled. "And you want me to help with that?"
Densal tilted his head. "Well, I know what Cephas Peto would do."
Mahrree groaned, but was intrigued that the rector would resort to using guilt as a tactic. Either he was truly devious or really that desperate. "I suppose my father would invite him over for dinner, share a few books with him, then go easy on him in front of the village," she murmured. "But Rector, that's not exactly my style, nor would it be appropriate for a strange man to be seen at my house!"
Oddly, Rector Densal chuckled at that. "No, I agree. I just want you to help him find his place here."
Mahrree smiled slyly. "You mean, help put him in his place at a debate? Ah, well why didn't you say so? I can do that quite well."
The rector waggled his eyebrows cheerfully at her and headed into the amphitheater.
Only once was he out of sight did Mahrree sighed loudly. "Debate the officer. From Idumea."
Her hands began to tremble.
---
It was warm in the afternoon of the next day when Captain Shin stared deep into the forest above Edge. The trees spewed out hot water and stank of sulfur and hid the Guarders. The enemy secreted themselves among the vents of noxious gases where the remains of deer decayed. The dense woods extended from the marshy eastern shore all the way to the western deserts, one hundred miles wide and at least one mile deep, rising up to the base of the jagged mountains.
That's where the Guarders lived, somehow, in that inhospitable forest. Or maybe they were somehow beyond it in the massive boulder field before the mountains, with rocks as large as feed barns.
Or if they weren't in the boulder field, they somehow managed an existence in the hostile terrain of the mountains that rose up as a menacing mistake of Nature. Land should be flat, not misshapen into peaks. Everyone knew that.
And at any time, according to the captured spy the High General interrogated, the Guarders would again begin their raids.
Instinctively the captain rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Shin glanced behind him to see where the new fort was from his current vantage point. It was across the barren swath of land that was a few hundred paces wide. The natural border lay before the farms and canals that ringed Edge, and on the other side was the forest that served as nature's end to civilization.
Decades ago the villagers had been wise enough to not build anything right up against the territory of their enemy. Their foresight left plenty of room now for the fort, perimeter walls, stables, and feed barns the Army of Idumea would need to defend the northernmost border of the world.
The tall command tower, about four hundred paces away from the captain's position, was built higher than the trees with walls that were more glass than wood. The window panes were blow thin and clear by the glass makers in Sands just for the army. The command tower afforded a perfect view of the area-forest and village-precisely as Captain Shin had planned.
He turned to peer into the trees again, making notes with a sharpened piece of charcoal on a stack of thin papers. So far he had charted nearly two miles of the forest's border, beginning at the far eastern edge where the impenetrable marshes led to the seas. At times he could see almost one hundred paces into the forest, but other sections were so dense with pines that he couldn't see anything beyond what his arm could reach.
Today he was surprised to find a seemingly fresh water spring bubbling up from just inside the forest and trickling out to the barren fields in which he stood, the runoff disappearing into a narrow crevice in the ground. The spring's location would be suitable for watering the horses of the soldiers that soon would be arriving to patrol the forest's edge. But first he'd watch the deer he observed drinking from it, just to make sure he didn't find its corpse later.
Captain Shin jotted down another note about a high spray of hot water he saw about thirty paces into the trees. He paused when he heard shuffling footsteps in the grasses behind him.
"So, Captain Shin! Discover anything of interest today?"
"Always," he said distractedly, continuing to record his findings as the shuffling came to a stop. He glanced over to see a small old man craning to see what the captain was writing. He nodded in approval and looked into the forest himself.
; "Can I help you with something, Rector Densal?"
The old man untied his thin leather jacket. His short cropped white beard and mustache framed his ready grin. For a rector, he had an alarming air about him, as if he was about to provide some help.
And help, from such an elderly man, always strained the definition of the word.
"Warming up nicely today, isn't it Captain? I love Planting Season! It always seems to promise a hot Weeding Season."
"Rector?" the officer said pointedly, but hoped it sounded patient.
The old man waggled his eyebrows. "I've come to help you, Captain." He crouched, faced the forest, and started to whistle. "Here Guarders, Guarders! Nice Guarders. Come out, and old Hogal will give you something sweet for your surrender."
The captain raised one eyebrow. "That's not helping."
Rector Densal stood back up. "Ah, well. Worth a try, my boy."
"That's debatable." Captain Shin rubbed his forehead. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I am rather busy. Was there anything else-"
"Yes, yes! I told you, I've come to help. You see, dear Captain, you've been here for about a week and a half now, right?"
"True," he said slowly, suspecting this line of questioning was to get him into a habit of agreeing before the real issue surfaced.
"And you've spent all that time either supervising fort construction, or making notes about the forest, right?"
The captain folded his arms.
"Well, the villagers are beginning to talk," the rector said more soberly, but still with a spark of plotting in his eyes. "And, my boy, they're a little worried. The army hasn't stretched this far north since the Great War. Sure, there was always a contingency in Mountseen, but we've never had more than a handful sergeants who sauntered through the markets during the day and drank in the tavern at night. But now we're getting an entire fort?"
"As directed by the Administrators," the captain reminded. "Never before has the Guarder threat been so clear."
The rector waved that away. "It's been over thirty years since there was even a sighting of Guarders here. Before you were even born, I imagine."
Captain Shin squinted at the old man. "I told you last week what the High General learned, Densal. You doubt the judgment of the High General?"
Hogal Densal waved that off with his other hand. "Of course not, but what I'm suggesting is, I doubt anything is going to come through those trees in the next few days. Have you seen anything yet?"
"No," the captain admitted, "but the Guarders are extraordinarily skilled at concealing themselves. The High General wants me to get to know this forest as well as I can."
Rector Densal smiled in a manner that immediately put the captain on guard. "Now, not having served in the army, I wouldn't know, but I suspect the High General also wants you to get to know the village. Maybe sent you off with an admonition to win the hearts and minds of the people, become part of the community so they'll more easily embrace the idea of a fort?" He waggled his eyebrows again.
Captain Shin sighed. "He did."
"Then that's how I'm going to help you, my boy!" He patted the captain's back in a fatherly manner. "I have a proposal: in three days' time you will come to the amphitheater at the village green after dinner and be the night's guest debater."
Captain Shin groaned. "Ah, no, no, no. I'm not going to-"
"Are you scared, Captain?"
"Of course not. It's just, what kind of debates would a place like Edge have? I'm not about to argue who has the prettier hog."
Rector Densal glared at him good-naturedly. "We do have other issues, you know. We may not be as sophisticated as Idumea, but we have a few thinkers among us. A few that might even make you think! I can assure you a most interesting time. Tell you what: you can even choose the topic."
The captain put a large hand on the small rector's shoulder. "I appreciate the offer, but it just wouldn't be fair to humiliate the revered rector in front of the entire village."
Densal shook a wrinkled finger at him. "First of all, it won't be the entire village. Maybe just five hundred. Everyone else is helping with the planting. Second, I don't take to the platform anymore. And third, what makes you think you'd win?"
The captain leaned closer. "I always win."
"Ha! Not in three days' time you won't. That is, unless you choose not to come because you're not up to the challenge .. ." He shrugged in what he likely thought was a casual oh well manner, but the stiffness of his shoulders suggested he hadn't practiced it enough.
Captain Shin glared, but he wasn't entirely annoyed. "That's the oldest trick there is, Densal. Daring me into accepting."
"Is it working?"
"Maybe."
Rector Densal grinned again. "I have just the opponent: the old school teacher. She delights in showing up overly-confident young men. She'll jump at the chance of humiliating an officer of the Army of Idumea. And when you graciously concede-" he ignored the captain's scoff, "-that she's the more skilled debater, I promise that Edgers will have a new respect for you. Acknowledge that they're still superior. They like those kind of reminders, you know."
The captain raised his menacing eyebrow again. "Concede?"
"After a good show, mind you," the rector assured him enthusiastically. "Let the villagers see you, hear you, know you, and then pity you. You'll be one of them by the end of Planting Season."
The captain took in a deep breath, accentuating his broad chest.
The rector smiled and pointed at the large officer. "Good, good. Try to look handsome. That will help impress them."
The captain reluctantly smiled back. "Easily done."
Rector Densal rubbed his bearded chin. "Clean uniform," he gestured to the captain's pristine, tightly woven dark blue woolen jacket and trousers. "But maybe not the dress uniform-too intimidating. Clean shaven," he pointed to the captain's exceptionally smooth chin and upper lip, as all members of the army were to have, "and . . . don't wear the cap. Let the many unmarried women we have in Edge see that perfectly trimmed black hair of yours."
The captain groaned. It must have been a common trait in rectors-a result of the calling-to try to change the condition of every single person they encounter. "I'm not here to find any unmarried women, Rector."
"Even if they get lost? I think finding them would be your responsibility." Densal chuckled and rubbed his hands together. "Just let them admire such a cut of a man-that's a good way to win hearts, Captain Shin! The minds-they might follow later."
Captain Shin couldn't help but chuckle. "All right, Hogal. Three days. The old school teacher. Impress the village, and then let the naive woman think she's won."
"Wonderful, my boy! I look forward to it!" Hogal Densal slapped him on the back again and started to shuffle away.
Captain Shin turned again to study the forest. He didn't need to prepare for a debate. He never did, anyway. He'd just stand up there like he always did, his presence and size easily intimidating every opponent. Just a few well-stated comments and he'd have the debate all wrapped up. Right now he had far more pressing matters on his mind-a forest to know, a village to protect, and a High General to impress.
---
It was an intense staring match, but only one side knew it.
The two brown-skinned men wearing green mottled tunics and trousers stood motionless in a thick stand of pines. They were surprised-not that someone was at the edge of the forest, but that someone was actually peering in. No one had done that in nearly 120 years. They didn't expect the officer to see them, but it was the first time anyone had ever tried.
They didn't move or make a sound, but watched as the captain slowly continued his way down the tree line.
---
Eighty miles to the south stood the massive city of Idumea with its population of two hundred thousand. The seat of government resided near the center of it, with the headquarters of the Army of Idumea located a couple miles away at the new garrison.
From that garrison left the
High General of Idumea, an appropriately imposing figure with a chest full of medals that glinted in the sun as he rode his horse to the Administrator's Headquarters. He traveled with only two lieutenants as guards, demonstrating to the people that scurried out of his way on the cobblestone roads that Idumea was so safe even the highest ranking officer in the world needed only minimal accompaniment.
The Administrative Headquarters had been finished the year before. It was a massive three-level edifice supported at the front by twenty-two white stone columns. For years King Oren tried to motivate his workers to complete the red and orange stone structure, but they failed to construct the pattern he had so carefully designed: burgundy stone winding through the orange rock background, as if an enormous pumpkin had sprouted red curling tendrils. When Mal took over he hired artisans to finish the project. Eight moons later the interior was finished with highly polished stone floors and exquisitely appointed offices for each Administrator and his aides.
But the High General felt that a large barn would have been more practical, and could have housed all the workers' horses as well.
Up the wide white stone steps he strode, nodding once in warning to the young pages dressed in short red coats who hurriedly opened the heavy doors for him. Once one of them was a bit too slow, but now that his arm was finally healed he wasn't ever going to make that mistake again.
Without breaking his pace the High General marched through the broad and crowded hallway, dispersing citizens and a couple of red-jacketed Administrators. He walked directly to the largest oak doors which again were promptly opened for him. His lieutenants struggled to keep up as the general plowed through the waiting room where he never waited. With another nod to the records-keeping men sitting at the large desk, the High General headed straight for the open doors of the grandest office in the building where he finally stopped at the broad and highly polished desk.
The occupant was waiting, and had counted down in his head the moment the highest ranked soldier, acting as the aggressive wolf he was, would stand in front of him.
Still, he said casually, "High General, I believe you're early."
"Is that a problem, Mal?" the officer said, clearly not caring if it were. He pulled several folded parchments from his jacket pocket and handed them across the desk.
Chairman Mal, dressed in his bright red jacket with tails, and a white ruffled shirt that matched his ruffled white hair, took the documents and opened them. "So the last fort will be ready on time?"
"I have assurances from the captain in Edge it will be ready ahead of schedule, Chairman."
"Good. Excellent," Mal nodded, but the High General didn't move to leave. Something else was on his mind, and Mal knew what it was.
The High General turned partway to his two assistants, made a slight motion with his hand, and the lieutenants left the grand office, shutting the door behind them.
Typical of the alpha wolf, Mal thought, sending away his pack so he could deal with the threat alone.
The general's tolerant pretense vanished as he leaned on the desk. "Now, as for those unexpected 'visitors' to my office this morning-"
"It's only three Administrators, High General," Chairman Mal said in a calming manner. "You know as well as I that the world still fears the army. But this is a way to demonstrate that the army is working hand-in-hand with the Administrators. Three of them on the Command Board of the Army? Why, it's a perfect balance!" Perhaps calming wasn't the correct term; maybe goading.
"Balance?!" the general growled. "It used to be just General Cush and I, and with the inclusion of three Administrators, I assure you there is NO balance! Get them OFF!"
Mal stretched his lips into a smile. "You and Cush are such large men, the two of you easily outweigh three slight Administrators."
The High General was not amused.
Mal nodded once. "You may add a colonel or a major, if you wish, to the Command Board."
"Oh, how generous," he sneered. "You've said the people still feared the power of the army, but maybe they should start fearing you. They may not see what you're doing, but I do."
"There was reason to fear the army in the past," Mal intoned. "People have very long memories, General. You know that."
"Especially when you send notices to the schools about killing squads, which we haven't seen since my father's time!"
Mal held open his hands. "Mere reminders of how much better their lives are now that the Administrators are in charge."
"I see," the High General's low voice rumbled like thunder. "Taint the image of the army to make the Administrators appear more competent. Can't be competent on your own, huh? The army's not to be feared, Nicko."
Mal's pacifying demeanor fell away. "Tell me, General-what's not to fear about ten thousand men armed with swords and long knives, and the knowledge of how to use them?"
"Use them to protect the world, not destroy it! My soldiers are disciplined and controlled. There's great comfort in that, not fear, especially now."
Mal squinted. "You sound worried, High General."
"Not worried," he said solidly, "just ready. As should be everyone in the world. Tell them, Nicko, what I learned from that spy. They're coming in numbers and with plans we've never before encountered. The people have to know they can trust the army to protect them."
"We don't know that, General. All we have to go on is what your captured spy alleges. How can we be sure he's telling the truth?"
The High General folded his arms. "I spent four days on him, Nicko. This was one determined, impressively well-trained Guarder. And when he finally broke, he confessed all he knew. Fortunately for him, they didn't tell him that much. They've been quiet for years, and now it's obvious why: they've changed their tactics, their training . . . maybe everything they do. We must have the citizens trusting the army, or we may have a disaster coming."
"Impressively trained, you say?" Mal said, his eyes twinkling slightly.
The High General missed it. "My men must win over the hearts and minds of the people before the Guarders strike. If we don't work together, you might see your world crumble. And then those that remain will be as eager to depose you as they were Oren."
"You best hope the Guarders are as fearsome as you believe they are," Mal said with quiet ferocity. "Otherwise I would never tolerate this kind of disrespect from you."
"Disrespect?!" The large man laughed, but without any joy. "Telling you the truth is disrespectful? Should I start calling you Querul the Third now?"
Mal clenched his fist, but knew his use of it would only amuse the condescending officer. Mal hadn't been able to make a move without the nosing about of the High General, his snide remarks and his pointing out the flaws and drawbacks to Mal's plans. While he wasn't always right, he was frequently enough to annoy.
Mal answered with chilling calm. "High General, three Administrators will stay on the Command Board to ensure balance in decision-making, and to prove to the world that the army and the government are completely united in all efforts."
The High General studied him in silent coolness before he said, "One thing I've learned about educated men like you is that they assume everyone else is gullible enough to believe them."
"It's not as if I control the reactions of the citizenry," Mal countered. "If they still perceive the army as a threat, that's up to you to resolve, not me. It's the history of your army that still fills their grandparents with terror. You can't deny history, Relf."
The High General's stony face hardened even more. "It's all in how you present that story, Nicko. You can't stay focused on what used to be, but see what it is now. Look at the color of the sky. People won't care what the weather was last week, or decades ago. They need to prepare to deal with what's coming now. Then what will you do? Convince them the sky is blue, no matter what they see?"
Mal leaned back in his chair. "Now why would a man like you be interested in what the children of Idumea are learning in school?"
"Why the change?
" the general snarled.
Mal chuckled in a manner he'd practiced to be just to the side of oily. "Oh, my dear general-you've been at this for far too long. I promise you, six-year-olds being told that the sky is blue isn't some kind of tactic. You need to take a few days off, Relf," he said with a warm, sticky smile. "Take your wife and go to Coast or somewhere. Enjoy the salty air-"
The High General never shifted his cold glare. "I don't need to take a few days off, Chairman."
Mal's gaze chilled as well. "But you do need to leave my office. In two minutes I have a meeting with the Administrator of Loyalty that I want to get through as quickly as possible. Unless there's anything else?"
The High General straightened his jacket. "Nothing else, Chairman." He spun on his heel and headed out of the office.
Barely a moment later a tall sneering man forced his way through the doors, and Mal could only sigh.
"Of course he's expecting me! Now get out!" Administrator Gadiman shouted at an unseen page, who was likely cowering. Gadiman smoothed his red jacket and stretched out his neck while the Chairmen continued his long sigh. If Gadiman were an animal, his appearance would cause people to instinctively yelp, then proceed to stomp on him with their boots.
But for Mal, he was the perfect weasel.
"What have you for me today, Administrator?" Mal nodded to the stack of thick parchment files that held numerous thinner pieces of paper, tucked under Gadiman's arm.
"All kinds of potential!" Gadiman sniggered with his version of a smile that consisted of bared teeth and thinned lips. "Over in Marsh there's this group of cobblers-"
"I really don't have a lot of time for this today, Gadiman," Mal stopped him before he got too far.
"But they're organizing! So that they can share ideas and-"
"Gadiman," Mal said patiently, "I really don't think shoe makers will overthrow the government."
Gadiman leaned closer and whispered, "But what if they're not making shoes?"
"What would they be making?" Mal whispered indulgently back.
"They have leather," the pinched face said in a whisper. "Laces, rivet holes-armor!"
"We don't use armor, Gadiman," Mal said, feeling a stomping urge. "Not since the Great War. There's no need."
"There's a need," Gadiman pointed out, "if they plan to attack!"
"Shoe makers attacking the Army of Idumea?"
"Along with the tanners, who are supplying the leather, and the cattle ranchers who supply the cows for the leather," Gadiman said excitedly. "It's a conspiracy!"
Mal took a deep breath but regretted it, as the scent of the Administrator of Loyalty filled his nostrils and reminded him of rotting mulch piles. "That stack of files-," he pointed to Gadiman's arm, "cobblers, tanners, ranchers, and farmers? All organizing?"
"Farmers?!" Gadiman sat back up abruptly.
"Who supplies the feed to the cattle and the ranchers?"
Gadiman's mouth dropped open. "I didn't consider the farmers!"
Mal nodded. "I have a feeling there are a great many things you haven't considered. You have some more research to do, Administrator. Come back in say . . . a season?"
Gadiman nodded vigorously. "Of course! Of course, I will." He stood up and looked shifty-eyed around the large office. "About your other project, Chairman," he whispered, yet blew out such a great amount of breath that Mal could identify his dinner the night before, and it must have been most unappetizing, "have you given any thought to my participation?"
"I have," Mal tried not to inhale. "In the future I have no doubt I will be able to use you and your . . . talents."
Gadiman's face fell. "But I thought-"
"In time, Gadiman. We have all the time in the world."
---
The High General strode out of the Administrative Headquarters, his lieutenants on his heels. He headed to his horse, tethered and watched over by two young pages grateful they weren't in charge of holding open doors. Without a word he opened a pack secured to the side of the saddle wherein he kept thin papers, finer parchments, and even small vials of ink and quills. The High General believed in recording every bit of information that came his way, to be catalogued in his extensive filing system.
In the afternoon sunshine he wrote out a message on a small piece of paper, signed it, then blew on it until it dried. His lieutenants stood nearby, waiting patiently. He folded the message and sealed it in a thicker parchment envelope.
"Get this to the messaging office immediately," he said to one of the officers. "There's a rider heading out in less than half an hour. I want this delivered to the fort at Edge."
The lieutenant nodded, mounted immediately, and rode away as the High General watched.
"Weather's shifting again," he muttered under his breath, without looking up at the sky.
Chapter 3 ~ "The sky really is blue, and they can count upon that fact."