The Silver Sheen Chronicle - Emblems of Power

by C.L. Patterson

  The Captain rode through Market Street on his white horse. He sat tall in the saddle and overlooked the sea of commoners. His amulet reflected the hot midday sun. Vendors sold bolts of cloth, lamps, eating utensils, and tattered clothes. Those that sold food only had shriveled up pieces of meat and fruit that looked more rotted than dried.

  “You need this prime cut of lamb here! Nowhere else will you find a better slice of meat, try a piece!” one vendor called. The vendor took a curved blade from his belt and sliced a small strip from one of the hanging pieces in his booth and offered it to the Captain. The Captain turned his vigilant gaze for a moment. The meat was anything but lamb. Lamb had a distinct, pungent, almost nauseating smell to it, and this meat smelled more like dog.

  The man that stood behind the booth had a knife that was jeweled at the hilt with two rubies. The handle was wrapped in a fine silver thread. On the man’s left hand was a gold ring. The signet had two long tailed serpents spiraling around each other and facing one another with jaws open and their fangs showing.

  The Captain held up a hand in refusal and looked back down the road. The people parted to either side of the street leaving an open road for the Captain and his steed.

  As he exited Market Street and entered the pavilion, he looked over to the School of the Faye. The two guards still chanted softly with their hands extended and their metal pans in front of them. He passed by the fountain and continued down Capital road.

  The road to the Capital building was next to the school. The red and white banners ruffled as a slight gust of wind slid by. As he approached the building, a representative approached him and bowed slightly. He was from Noiknaer, wearing a red robe with gold colored lapels and cuffs.

  “Captain, what brings you here?” the diplomat asked.

  “I’m making a request for a warrant. Are you to tend to my horse?” The Captain locked eyes with the man. The man swallowed, looked at the horse and grabbed the reigns.

  “Yes Captain,” the diplomat whispered with his head bowed.

  The Captain stepped down from the horse and flipped his cape behind him as he marched past the wolf statues towards the guards. The guards stopped him and asked to see his papers. The Captain smiled and showed the request he received from the Seer. He smiled at the guards as they let him pass. Diplomats, dressed in the colorful robes of their respective city, whispered to each other and stilled their voices as the Captain walked by. The Captain kept his eyes forward.

  As he approached the door to the Council’s room, the two guards that stood on either end of the door stopped him. The one on the right asked for his summons. The Captain again unfolded the paper and showed it to his former students. The guards opened the door and the Captain walked into the Council room.

  “Well done,” he whispered to the guards as he walked past. Each of the guards nodded slightly. Before he reached the center of the room, Councilor Steran stood and was about to speak. Rodrick held a hand and motioned for her to sit.

  “Our good Captain, what brings you to our court this morning?” Rodrick asked, a feather quill twitching in his hand.

  “I request a warrant to investigate the syndicate,” the Captain said. “I believe they were behind the attack on my prized pupil and were privy to that route.”

  “By chance Captain, what reason do you believe the syndicate has to attack the caravans?” Councilman Simmons said slowly and smoothly, his words falling on the Captain like a cold mist. Simmons turned his attention to his nails, then the sleeves of his robe, adjusting each, then his lapels, and then folded his hands and leaned forward towards the Captain. The Captain stood still, his hands clenched into tight fists.

  “I believe that the Syndicate is buying off nomadic tribes as mercenaries to attack the government caravans,” the Captain said.

  “That is quite the claim Captain,” Simmons said. “I think that you are being overzealous. Perhaps you are still traumatized by the events yourself and need time to think this over.”

  “I am a seasoned veteran,” the Captain said, cracking each knuckle in his hands with his thumbs. “I know pain. I have seen members of the Guard die from worse injuries.”

  “Be that as it may,” Simmon’s continued, adjusting his purple and green cuffs. “But there is one thing that you still lack. What evidence do you have of the Three Brother’s involvement? None. You have a gut assumption.”

  “I have more than enough. One of the nomads that attacked a caravan I was escorting had the mark of the syndicate tattooed on his neck and told me to look within the walls of the city to find whoever is betraying the routes.”

  “But the Three Brothers have done nothing but benefit this city,” Simmons said. “They have doubled the amount of schools, both in business and craft. The youth, I shall add, with the Three Brothers’ wisdom, are growing to be profitable members of society. Truly, such noble and wise citizens would not hide behind such barbaric behavior.” Simmons smiled tightly, leaned forward, and stared down at the Captain from his second level seat with unblinking serpent-like eyes.

  “Explain then, why our caravans struggle against nomadic attacks while the Three Brothers’ caravans go without injury,” said the Captain. “Could it be that the syndicate’s caravan drivers know the routes better than the nomads do? No one can traverse the desert sands and live unless he has been trained, guided, and shown the turns by the nomads themselves. The fact that untrained, incompetent, and unqualified drivers and a poor substitute for an escort detail can traverse the desert without attack leads me to believe that the syndicate is committing the barbarism that you, Simmons, claim they are innocent of.

  “The loss of goods the Tessír has suffered from nomadic tribes and storms has caused our city to continue its plunge into poverty. The people, our people, have enough only for bread, and must sell all they own to the syndicate to purchase other necessities. And what have you done? Nothing! You sit in your seat, pondering over regulation and ensuring your own protection while those you have vowed to protect perish in their own homes. You will give me that right for investigation, if you wish to have enough wine to drink for banquets. If you do nothing, soon perhaps we all shall be begging the syndicate for our bread.”

  As the Captain spoke, his stared at Simmons with wide eyes. The veins in his neck bulged and pulsed with every word. When he finished, his voice echoed on the walls, and then there was silence. Simmons leaned back in his chair and stared down at the Captain. Rodrick smiled and stood up, leaning over the banister slightly.

  “Captain,” Rodrick spoke almost in a whisper, “what would you like to secure from the syndicate to further your investigation?”

  “Records, transaction history, route history, anything, everything! I want to know everything that the syndicate has done or is doing. Who are they paying, how much, for what?”

  “Captain,” Councilman Kevyn spoke, which caught the Captain off guard, considering that Kevyn hardly ever spoke in Council meetings. He used his power outside of the Council room, and mainly in the brothel or on Market Street. More than once the Guard was called to remove him from both locations because of his hot-headed behavior. He stood and straightened his robe. The blue and white trim showed that he was from Port Rasmú. “That is quite the request. I am not sure if it is within our power to--” Kevyn was cut off as councilor Steran began to speak.

  “If you would be so kind to give us a moment to deliberate upon the manner,” she said. The council stood and disappeared into the room behind their chairs. After a few minutes, they returned. As the Council sat in their seats, Steran, Kevyn, Simmons, and Aleal smiled. Rodrick, Evaan, and Nicóla kept a straight face.

  “Your request to investigate the syndicate and possible relation to the attacks on the caravans is granted,” Rodrick said. “Your paperwork and rights will be processed this morning and will be delivered to your quarters soon. You are dismissed.”

  A shadow seemed to grow over the council. Whether it was the way the light hung
in the room, or if a tangible shadow loomed over the group, the Captain couldn’t tell. As he exited, he shook his head and turned to the guards.

  “You shall speak to no one what you have heard, if you have heard anything at all. I believe that rumors shall lead to an undoing and destruction of this people if we let them. Keep your ears open, listen to every word that comes in these doors. You shall report of your findings to me every evening at sundown.” The Captain stood at the door between the guards for a while, humming and staring at the floor.

  One of the guards spoke.

  “Captain, what bothers you?” His name was Terynn and he was another recent graduate from the Barracks. He had a scraggly mustache and straight, oily black hair. Sweat constantly rolled down his forehead and into his eyes.

  “Keep to your orders,” the Captain said shortly. “I shall see you this evening.” The guards saluted. The Captain returned the gesture and walked back through the corridor to where his horse was kept. He mounted his horse and started back to the Barracks.

  The horse’s hooves clicked down Market Street. The citizens again backed away from the Captain, refusing to make eye contact, showing a sign of respect, but the pocket of silence was disrupted when an older woman began shouting at the syndicate merchant with the ring.

  “You don’t understand,” the old woman cried. “I need this bread. My children cry every night for bread and you, in your pride, charge too much, but where else am I to go! You must take what I can give or my children will die!” She wiped tears from her eyes with one hand and pointed a frail, thin finger at the merchant with the other. The Captain rode up to the stand, his large stature blocking the sun so that the woman could look at him.

  “Woman,” the Captain said firmly. “Why do you accuse this man? Does he not provide you with bread enough, or meat enough?” The woman wiped her tears from her eyes before she spoke.

  “My money is gone, I have nothing and my children shall die of starvation. Begging does no good for the only people who have money to give is men like him, and the politicians, and yourself. You all sit in your government, feeding off-” The Captain held up a hand of silence. The old woman held her tongue.

  “You could be struck for your talk, but I will not return ill for ill.” He turned to the merchant. “How much is it for the loaf of bread?” The merchant stared at the Captain for only a moment and responded.

  “Fifteen pieces,” The Captain reached into his saddle bag and pulled out a small pouch. He reached inside and pulled out three coins. The coins were gold with the fist with wheat on one side, and a picture of a well on the other.

  “There you have it, fifteen pieces,” the Captain said, handing the true amount. A piece was a silver coin, and it took five pieces to make a gold coin. The bronze coins were called pennies, and it took ten pennies to make a piece. The merchant handed the bread over to the Captain, who gave it to the woman. Emotion robbed her of her voice. Tears dripped down her face and she could only mouth “Thank you” over and over. The Captain waved her along and turned back to the merchant. The normal noise and commotion of the market resumed.

  “Now, I have relieved you of any hindrance to further business, I would expect a repayment from you.” The Captain’s face darkened as he dismounted his horse and stood across from the merchant’s table. The merchant turned his head slightly and looked at the Captain from the side of his eyes as his hands fidgeted on the table, touching and slightly organizing the “dried” fruits.

  “What do you want for repayment? I cannot give you what I have. I still need to pay a percentage to my supplier, and after that, I am almost left with nothing as well. I must say that I too, like the woman, have nothing to give, and each night I go to sleep, listening to my children who are too young to apply for school, cry for want of food as well.” As the merchant spoke and organized some fruit, one of the baskets tipped over and spilled behind the table. The Captain walked behind to help him, and the merchant began to relax.

  “I have no need of money,” the Captain said, “but what I need you can certainly give. I need you to tell me about your supplier, and the ring you wear in your right hand. What does it stand for?” The man turned his attention to his ring and turned it on his finger. The Captain’s voice deepened. “You will tell me.” There was no rise at the end of his statement. The merchant attempted to look the Captain in the eye, but instead darted his attention to the floor, the walls, and the people walking by.

  “As a member of the Three Brothers, I get my supplies weekly from the distribution center on Interior road, not far from where the capital stores its wagons. The fellow who runs it picks up the supplies and goods from another city.”

  “Who runs the distribution center?” The Captain took a step forward. The merchant looked at his feet and twisted the ring.

  “A stout little man named Beoran. He provided me with a business license, a small handcart, the stand, everything that is here. Beoran only trades and talks with those who are members of the syndicate, and wear this type of ring or show this symbol. Please, don’t take it; it is all I have to support myself.” The Captain took another glance at the ring.

  “I could take my knife and cut your finger off if you wish. Or you could loan me the ring for the next two days. That is all I would need, and then I would be able to return it.” The Captain reached by his belt and pulled out a double-edged knife. The blade was thin and polished. He looked at it and bounced the sunlight off the knife and onto the ring.

  “I need to pick up another shipment tomorrow. Without this ring, I won’t be able to provide for my family. How am I supposed to feed them?” the merchant said as he slid the ring off his finger and placed it in the Captain’s hand.

  “The same way that everyone else does. Thank you for your business,” he said as sheathed his knife and put on the ring. “What is your name?”

  “Leudoy,” said the merchant. The Captain nodded, turned to his horse, mounted again, and started back to the Barracks. Heat radiated off the tan walls and trapped the stench of human waste. The acrid smell and seemed to follow the Captain as he exited the market.

  When the Captain arrived back at the Barracks, he handed his horse over to the stable boy and made his way to the training ground. A haze of dust hovered over the ground. Younger students sparred hand to hand, with practice weapons, or wrestled with the older students. When a successful blow was struck to either sparring partner, the older student would call for a short respite and instruct the younger on why the blow was successful. The Captain took off his cape and tunic, removed his boots, and walked barefoot into the arena. He tapped a few of the older students on the shoulder and reviewed the basics of hand-to-hand defense, grapples, and disabling strikes. He then cleared an area and asked Ulryck to come forward.

  He demonstrated a few standing submission techniques such as wrist locks, standing arm bars, and elbow locks.

  “Our duty is to protect this city. We are to hinder robbing and looting, both from within and without. Only in the rare situation are we to kill,” he said as demonstrated a choke hold on Ulryck. “All that I have to do from this point is lift and twist. Or if I hold long enough…” The older student’s face went red and he struggled in the Captain’s arms. “He will pass out.” Just before the student passed out, he released his grip and helped the student back on to his feet. “You must acquire a firm foundation in the basics. When given an open opportunity, a proper punch, kick, stab or slash will disable your opponent. Today, focus on finding and creating openings. Lead your opponent’s body to a point where you can land a powerful strike.” The Captain faced the student again with his arms down at his side and nodded. The student stepped forward and punched straight at the Captain’s face. The Captain shot his right arm straight up, intercepting the attack, made a large outward circle and brought his arm down back to his side. The momentum from the block flipped the student over and he landed on his back in the dirt. “That is an opening.” The Captain wiped the dust off his
arms and helped Ulryck up. The students saluted and continued their training.

  The Captain walked among the students, giving advice and correcting them in their attacks. As he was showing a younger student how to use a block to create an opening, one of the guards came onto the field and approached him.

  “Captain, documents from the Capitol have just arrived. I was told by the messenger to alert you immediately.”

  “Thank you, you are dismissed,” the Captain said. He walked to the front of the arena, took his clothes and walked back to his office. Two documents were next to his door on the floor. He picked up the documents and entered his office.

  Quickly, he looked over the warrant. It was a simple document, giving him the right to investigate past, current, and future sales as well as shipping agreements the Syndicate had. The residence of each leader of the syndicate was also listed. He then looked at the ring on his finger. There were two gold, long-tailed serpents on a red background. It was the symbol of the syndicate and it was well known. The Captain took off the ring and strung it on the necklace with his amulet. He put on his shirt, cape and boots and walked out of the Barracks.

  “Captain, would you request your horse again?” the stable boy asked.

  “Not this afternoon. I have no need of intimidation, at least not yet.”

  Even without his horse, the Captain’s straight posture, flowing white cape and grave look were enough to part crowds as he walked. He held the warrant in his hand and checked it twice to make sure he arrived at the proper building. The building was located on the north side of East Interior Road. The front looked like an old castle tower with double wooden doors and brass round knockers. Above the knockers was the mark of the Three Brothers, with one snake head on each door. The Captain pushed open the doors and entered.

  The room was filled with rows of desks. At the desks were young men and women writing copiously. The students’ backs were towards the entrance, and at the other end of the room was a large fireplace with a marble mantle. Above the mantle was a tall red candle stick. Around the candle stick were two golden serpents. To the left was a staircase that spiraled upward.

  A short obese man cautiously walked down the stairs. He wore a red vest over a simple brown shirt. He was clean shaven and looking over a piece of parchment. When he came into the classroom, the Captain cleared his throat loudly. The short man looked up and when he saw the Captain, quickly folded the paper, and placed it in his vest pocket.

  “And to what do I owe the pleasure, Captain?” he asked. The students continued to write and flip through the documents on their desks as if they hadn’t heard the visitor enter.

  “Beoran, I take it,” the Captain said.

  “That I am. What can I do for you?”

  “I am here to temporarily confiscate all documentation that pertains to any business that you have performed or plan to perform,” the Captain said, holding up the warrant. Beoran bit his lip and patted his vest pocket.

  “The council is going to hear of this. How dare they execute such an order! Kevyn was behind this, wasn’t he? Why not just order to nationalize the trade industry? At least that way we’d gain some compensation!”

  “I could take you to the holding cells of the Gate for impeding an investigation, and questioning if you prefer.” Through the raised voices, the students continued to copy and write on the papers.

  “Students, please, cease your work and organize your contracts so that the Captain may quickly take them.” The students, seemingly in unison, put down their quills and stacked the papers in the upper left corner of their desk. Each stack was a couple inches high. The captain quickly looked around and counted the desks.

  “Forty-eight students Captain,” Beoran said. “And each student has been working on five contracts this past week. That leaves you with two-hundred and forty contracts this week alone. Our archives are located in the upper tower. There are about five hundred outdated contracts there if you want them,” Beoran said as he smiled.

  “I will take the two-hundred and forty, plus the one in your pocket, for now,” the Captain said.

  “Oh this,” Beoran said has he took the folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “This is just a letter from an old friend. It isn’t anything pertinent to what you might be looking for. What are you looking for anyway Captain?” Beoran asked.

  “May I see your letter?” the Captain said, extending an open hand.

  “Do you have a warrant for it?” Beoran asked.

  “I will determine if your letter speaks of future business. My previous offer still stands if you refuse.”

  The Captain stood still and folded his arms across his chest. “I am sorry, but I cannot give you this letter if there is no warrant for personal affects. Rules must be obeyed. But you have failed to answer my question. What is it that you are looking for? I have that right.”

  “There is reason to believe that the syndicate, excuse me, the Three Brothers are behind the nomadic attacks on the government caravans,” the Captain said. Beoran laughed.

  “That is preposterous! Your caravan drivers are of the nomads. Yes, they have signed a pledge of peace, but they are known for their fierce loyalty to their family. My guess is that they are behind the attacks.”

  “Then explain to me why one of their leaders wears your mark?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Beoran said bitterly and quickly, shooting his gaze to the fireplace. “I will go the council tomorrow morning and request compensation.”

  “These will be returned to you soon enough. Besides, you look like you could do without for a while,” the Captain said as he patted his stomach twice. Beoran turned red and stomped up the stairs. The students handed their stacks of contracts to the Captain as he walked by.

  The Captain carried the stacks of contracts back to the Barracks easily enough and walked into the main hall. Ulryck walked by. He had a gash across his brow and a bruise on his left shoulder.

  “Looks like the training went well,” the Captain said.

  “Well enough. Deakon is a quick learner. What’s that stack of papers you have?” Ulryck asked.

  “This is going to be your next project. Gather the students.”

  “Yes sir,” he said. He ran towards the arena. The Captain chuckled. Within seconds, the students came running into the main hall. They stood in a grid pattern, with the youngest students in the front, and the older students in the back.

  “Students, I have a project that requires prompt completion and complete mental attention. I have two hundred and forty contracts. You are to take a few contracts at a time and search for any clause or paragraph that deals with non-monetary re-imbursement with parties outside of Noiknaer. If you find something, copy the contract number you are responsible for on a blank piece of paper, the statement and what line from the contract you found the statement. When you’re finished, return your contracts to my office.”

  “Yes sir!” the students responded in unison. Each student came up and grabbed a small stack contract and began to read as they headed to their quarters. The last student to grab a stack of contracts was Ulryck.

  “Captain, I have two questions,” he said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “What are you expecting to find, and how is Kosai doing? Have you heard anything today?”

  “That’s three questions,” the Captain smiled, “and Kosai’s assignment is not to be discussed openly. Knowledge of his dealings or describing the lack of knowledge of his dealings would be unwise at this time. Am I expecting to find anything? I’m not sure. Borean’s expression was enough to tell me that the information that I am searching for is off the record, but the students might find something. If anything, it is a good learning exercise for them.”

  “What are you going to do then?” he asked.

  “Dig a little deeper and closer to the mark. You have your assignment,” the Captain said. Ulryck saluted and walked back to his quarters. The Captain returned
to his office after the main hall was cleared and set his amulet on his desk.

  “What are you hiding?” the Captain asked as he looked at the ring. He took the ring off from the necklace and laid it next to his amulet. The ring rolled on his desk and hit the amulet. As it bounced off the amulet, the signet slid open, revealing a small sharp point. The Captain lifted the ring again and thumbed the point gently, but that was enough to draw blood. “No… why are you hiding?” he said, then licked his wound. He rolled the signet back into place and squeezed his thumb. The blood fell from his thumb and created a small circle on his desk. He placed the ring on his right index finger and pressed the signet into the blood. The signet left a perfect impression of the dueling snakes in the red, sticky liquid on his desk. “A pact sealed with blood. But what is the pact?” The Captain leaned back in his chair and rotated the ring on his finger. There was a knock at his door.

  “Enter,” the Captain said. Terynn, the guard from the capitol, came into his office and saluted. The Captain returned the gesture from his chair.

  “Sir, all other meetings that have included the council dealt with higher taxes from the syndicate for a charity program, as the Council called, to aid our citizens.”

  “Do you recall any of the specifics?” the Captain asked.

  “Just that the representatives from the syndicate were very displeased with the council and expressed their frustrations vehemently, but that was all that I could remember without looking suspicious. We are on orders to keep anything that is overheard to ourselves by the Council. By following your order, we break theirs.”

  “Thank you for your report. Continue to report to me every evening. You are dismissed.” The Captain nodded gestured with an open hand towards the door.

  “Sir, I don’t feel comfortable with this,” Terynn said, still standing at attention. The Captain stood up.

  “I need to you listen closely to what I tell you. Each time a government caravan fails, people starve. If I am wrong about the syndicate, I want to have ears in other places. I need to know everything and anything about caravan routes. Each meeting you listen in on, each report you give me, will lead to another mouth fed, another life saved. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir,” Terynn said, saluted, and then left.

  “You’re dismissed. I will see you tomorrow evening.” The Captain looked back at the ring on his hand.

  As the Captain expected, one by one, each of the students returned their contracts with a corresponding blank sheet of paper.

  CHAPTER 9