The Silver Sheen Chronicle - Emblems of Power

by C.L. Patterson

  The stable boy was putting the tack on the horse when the Captain walked up. The sun had not yet risen and the chill of the desert night still lingered. The Captain didn’t say a word to the boy, but walked around the horse, patting its neck, shoulders, and legs. He checked the reigns and stirrups, making sure each were at their proper length. As the sun began to break over the horizon, Lieutenant Ryale walked down the stairs of the Linnouse Barracks. A tall, lanky student with shoulder length dark hair walked next to him. Dark purple bags hung under his slightly bloodshot eyes.

  “Captain,” Ryale called down to him. “Mikael just returned from his assignment.” The Captain turned and stood in front of the guardsman with his arms folded.

  “Good, let’s hear it,” the Captain said.

  “When I first arrived, Aldair was in his office. He has a desk in front of a window. He sits with his back to the window which makes for excellent spying. After an hour or so, he left his office and went to the loading docks. He visited with two syndicate caravan drivers there. I was unable to hear what he told them, but the meeting wasn’t very long and Aldair looked upset. I kept my eyes on Aldair the rest of the night, but nothing else happened. He worked on some papers in his office and then retired to his home for the evening.”

  “Were you able to see the papers he was working on?”

  “No. He is left-handed and leans over his papers in such a way that his whole upper body is bent over the desk. The paper is also skewed at a sharp angle. He writes in such a small print too and goes from one side of the paper to the other. I couldn’t see it from a distance, even with my telescope.”

  “And what did he do with those papers?”

  “He was working on two. One he put in a locked drawer in his desk and the other he tucked in the inside pocket of his coat.”

  “Thank you, Mikael,” the Captain said. He grabbed his money pouch from inside his uniform and paid the boy five pieces for his efforts. “Now go get some rest. That’s an order.”

  “Yes sir,” Mikael said with a salute. After the guard had gone back into the barracks, the Captain mounted his horse and began to head to the gate.

  “Captain,” Ryale called. “Why did you pay him? What value did he provide you?”

  “More than you know lieutenant.”

  At the city gate, the government caravan was just preparing to depart. The suon hissed and grunted. There were eight wagons on the caravan and it was led by the driver that the Captain accompanied the evening before. He and the Captain exchanged nods. Each guardsman carried a spear, a short sword on their hip, and a buckler tied to their back.

  “Line up!” the Captain bellowed. The guardsman ran and stood in a straight line in front of the Captain. There were twenty of them. “I have a strong suspicion that this caravan is going to be attacked. In the last caravan that I was in that was ambushed, the nomads had bows. One of the guards of the Capital Barracks was wounded but should make a full recovery. If we are attacked, stay with the caravan. Let them come to us. The wagons provide plenty of cover and the archers are not incredibly skilled. They seemed to make an impact simply by numbers. Stay on alert.” The guardsman saluted and the Captain returned the salute. He then made his way to the front of the caravan

  “You think we are going to be attacked? I do not think so, Captain,” the lead caravan driver said.

  “What is your name?” the Captain asked.

  “Quinn, sir,” the driver said.

  “Quinn, why do you think this caravan will not be attacked?”

  “We are going back to Noiknaer. The winds have changed and now come from the southeast instead of the north. There will be a sandstorm somewhere along our route today. The nomads know this and will leave us be until tomorrow. They consider sand storms a bad omen and do not venture near them if they can help it.”

  “I appreciate your insight Quinn, but one of my best students was nearly killed in an ambush during a sandstorm. I won’t take the risk of letting my guardsman be anything but their best.”

  “I understand Captain,” Quinn said and then looked behind him. He surveyed the eight other wagons and their drivers. He whistled loudly and swung his hand in a circle above his head. The suon grunted and pulled as the gate into the desert was opened.

  Although the day was already beginning to heat up, the south winds were surprising cold and bit at the inner ear as they passed by. Every half hour, the caravan stopped for a water break. By mid-day, the guardsmen shoulders were hunched. Some sniffled and coughed, while others were pale and sweaty.

  “This is why the nomads consider sand storms a bad omen,” Quinn said. “The hot and cold can make one sick. The mind cannot comprehend it. The body cannot decide whether to shiver or sweat. So, it does both, leading to quicker dehydration, leaving the body weak. The nomads are not as healthy as those from the cities, and it is certain death if they are caught in the front of a sandstorm. Look.” Quinn pointed onto the horizon. A long brown cloud was quickly growing larger and coming towards them. “We have a half hour and then we must stop.”

  The caravan pushed forward for another half hour before stopping. Each driver released their team of suon and covered up the wagon. The Captain dismounted from his horse and pulled it into one of the makeshift shelters that the drivers made next to their wagons. After the horse was tended to, the Captain stood next to the lead wagon. The next minute, the sandstorm was on them.

  Sand seemed to whirl in every direction and made its way into every crease, crevice, corner and crack in the Captain’s face. He wiped his face, attempting to clear gritty sand. It seemed for every grain of sand he wiped away ten more took its place.

  “Captain, please come inside,” Quinn called above the wind. “No one will be out in this type of storm.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” the Captain called. “But I am rarely wrong when…” the Captain stopped and looked as far into the sandstorm as he could. On the edge of his visibility, there were two amber eyes with black slits staring back at him. The Captain drew his sword and unstrapped his shield from his back.

  “Guards! Form up!” The guards came running out from their canvass shelters with spears in one arm and shields in another. The lindworms wasted no time. The guards jabbed and thrust their points into their hard skin, aiming for a killing stroke. After the guards made short work of the desert lizards, they smiled to themselves for the small success. The Captain examined the kills, turning each head, looking at the teeth and color of the scales. He picked one of the larger heads that was missing an eye as well as some of its teeth and began cutting away at the neck.

  As the guards walked back to their shelters, a black jet of wind shot from where the desert lizards came from. Before the Captain could warn the guards, the black wind swirled around them and engulfed them in a dark cloud.

  “No!” the Captain yelled as he sprinted towards them. A large club or mace thudded against guards’ shields. There were flashes of purple. One of his men screamed.

  The Captain entered the black cloud. The wind was still. A black mist rolled at his feet. The guards struggled to hold their shields and were pale. One of the guards lay dead in the mist.

  A figure dressed in black from head to foot shot up out of the mist. It held a long club and swung towards the Captain. The Captain raised his shield in his left arm to deflect the blow. The blow forced the Captain to one knee. Before the Captain could recover, the figure swung down a second time. As the club made impact, there was a snap, and the Captain growled in pain.

  “Get out of here!” the Captain ordered to the guards. The guards nodded, picked up their fallen comrade, and ran out of the black cloud.

  The black figure swung at the Captain’s side. The Captain ducked and rolled backwards. He tried to raise his shield, but the pain was too great. He looked at his arm for a second and could see why. The middle of his forearm was slightly bent. The figure lowered his notched club and laughed a dark, slow, deep, rattling laugh. The Captain dropped his s
hield and tucked his arm close to his body. His fingers reached around his belt for the pouch with black sand.

  “I know you. You are known as the Dark One. Sixteen years ago, you approached me in the tower of Noiknaer, saying you would have need of me. Recently, you attacked my prized student, my son,” the Captain said.

  “And I know you, Captain,” the Dark One said slowly and softly, like a dark wind. The Captain untied the pouch from his belt and held it in his hand so that the Dark One could see it clearly. The Dark One laughed again. “Your dead earth will not serve you here. I expected more, much more, from the Captain of the Capital Guard, but I cannot kill you here, no. I still have a need of you and your Guard.” The Dark One closed his yellow eyes, lifted his head, breathed deeply, and then all at once, the darkness was gone as was the sandstorm.

  The other guards stood next to the caravan, sweating. When they saw the Captain, they cheered. The Captain tied the pouch to his belt and walked slowly back to the caravan, wincing and holding his arm. Quinn ran out to him.

  “Your arm is broken,” he said. He looked back at the caravan, held his arms above his head in a cross and whistled. The other drivers jumped down from their seats. One started to make a fire. Another filled a kettle with water, and another brought wraps and four flat metal bars. “Captain, how do you feel?” Quinn asked.

  “Weak. It takes all my energy just to walk,” he said. He breathed heavily.

  “We will tell stories later. We cannot go further. Most of the day is gone as is the strength of the Guards. We will camp here tonight.”

  “What?” asked the Captain, astonished. He looked up in the sky and saw the sun close to the horizon. There was about one hour of daylight left. When they reached the caravan, they laid the Captain and the dead guard next to the fire.

  “Are there any guards with strength enough?” Quinn asked. One stepped forward. “In my wagon, in the driver seat you will find a small box. In that box, you will find a bottle about the size of my hand filled with a dark brown liquid. Bring it to me.” The guard nodded and ran to the wagon. “Captain, I commend you for how your guards behave. They take orders very well.” The Captain nodded but closed his eyes. The fire cracked and popped. The kettle let out a low hiss as the water began to boil. One of the drivers unraveled the bandages one by one and soaked them in the hot water. The guard returned and handed the bottle to Quinn.

  “Captain, open your mouth,” Quinn said as he opened the unstopped the vial. He lifted the Captain’s head and held the bottle beneath the Captain’s nose. “I have saved this bottle for a special occasion such as this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Consider it a pain killer.”

  “The pain is good for me, it will make me stronger.”

  “Then consider this a celebratory drink then,” he said as he pushed the bottle into the Captain’s mouth. The Captain swallowed a couple mouthfuls before Quinn pulled the bottle away and closed it back up. “We are going to set the bone, attach the splints and then wrap it with our bandages. This is going to be a painful process.” Quinn waved over to the other guards and told the guards to the Captain down. He placed the flat pieces of steel next to the broken arm, took a breath, and then set the bone. The Captain groaned and breathed quickly, but did not struggle. A few moments later, he was asleep. Quinn then placed the steel on the sides of the forearm, on the top and on bottom, and dressed the arm with the hot, wet wraps. The steel splints that were on the top and bottom of his forearm stretched from his elbow to the tips of his fingers. The wrappings were wound tightly around his arm and splints as well as up to the middle of the bicep. It was night when Quinn finished the cast and it looked the like Captain wore a mesh gauntlet on his arm.

  All the guards and drivers sat around the fire. Some were roasting and eating pieces of lindworms they had killed earlier. The Captain woke, sate up and stared at the fire.

  “Guards,” the Captain said. He paused and looked up from the fire. “What happened in the black cloud?” The guards looked at each other and gestured for Seth, one of the younger guardsmen, to speak.

  “A figure appeared out of the shadows and struck. We had just enough time to raise our shields, but couldn’t retaliate. Hamleton raised his shield, but the figure didn’t swing. Instead he raised a hand and these black ropes shot out and wrapped around him. They exploded in purple and he was down. Then you showed up.”

  “What did you do with the Hamelton’s body?”

  “He was wrapped in a canvas and placed in one of the wagons,” said Quinn.

  “And how long was I in the dark cloud before it vanished?” the Captain asked.

  “Eight hours,” Seth said.

  The Captain stared back at the fire and said nothing for a while. A small piece of lizard was passed to him. He took it and ate it. After he swallowed the meat he cleared his throat.

  “What we have seen this evening stays within this circle. If people begin to believe that the Capital Guard has a weakness, enemies will do all they can to exploit it.”

  “What will people say of your arm?”

  “My horse was spooked by a snake, I was thrown and the wagon ran over my arm. Understood?”

  “Sir!” the guards said in unison.

  “Don’t you think the Council should know about this?” Quinn asked.

  “No.”

  “You do not trust them,” Quinn said.

  “Why should I?” the Captain barked. The guards looked up from the fire and stared at the Captain. “Go stand post,” he said. The guards stood up and left the fire. Quinn stayed behind

  “What good would it do?” the Captain said in a hushed voice. “At best, the Capital would say that more evidence is needed to link the syndicate to the Dark One. I could ask for a warrant to seize all their property, personal or otherwise, but I can’t ignore what I have seen.”

  “You’re afraid of something,” Quinn said. The Captain was quiet for a moment.

  “I have never felt so close to death. If the Dark One, the figure that attacked us in the cloud, wanted to kill all of us, he could have. The Dark One said he still had a need of me and my guard, and that my dead earth,” the Captain pulled his pouch from his belt. “This black sand is worthless.”

  “The Dark One implies then that he has some control over what the Guard does,” Quinn said.

  “If that is true, then he has some control over what the Capital orders, and that is why we will never speak of this again.”

  The Caravan set out at dawn and arrived at the government distribution center in Noiknaer before noon. People glanced at the Captain’s broken arm as they lined up to receive their bread, dried fruit, wheat and other staple foods. The Captain oversaw the process until the last wagon was emptied.

  After the Captain returned his horse, he walked to Market Street, searching for the syndicate merchant. The stand where the Captain first met Leudoy was empty. The Captain asked the other merchants where Leudoy was. Each said that they hadn’t seen him for a couple days. The Captain asked if they knew where Leudoy lived, and was surprised with the answer.

  “Somewhere in the Tangle,” a merchant said, “though I can’t see why.”

  The Captain paid them a penny for the information and walked quickly to the Tangle. The shade from the makeshift wooden structures was a relief in the afternoon heat. Boards creaked and squeaked as the Captain walked across them. Ladders wobbled and shook as the Captain climbed them. People sat under sheets of wood, covered in rags, blankets, and rugs and smelled like rotting flesh.

  “Leudoy?” the Captain asked. None of the people spoke, but rather pointed in the direction the Captain should go. The Tangle was silent. The clamor of the market could be heard, but it was faint, like a distant waterfall. After climbing a few more ladders and getting a few other directions, the Captain eventually found Leudoy’s home. The home was more like a room. The four walls, door, and roof were made from large planks of wood that came from broken wagons. A small symbol of the
syndicate was painted on the door. The Captain knocked softly. Leudoy cracked the door open. The Captain took off the ring and held it in front of him.

  “Thank you,” Leudoy said. He grabbed the ring, put it on, and began to close to the door but the Captain held it open with his foot.

  “Why is there a needle under the ring?” The Captain asked.

  “Oh, you found that did you?” Leudoy looked behind him walked out slowly and quietly shut the door.

  “When someone decides to join the Three Brothers, it isn’t a decision that is taken lightly. The Three Brothers feed their own, and provides means for basic survival, which is something this city cannot provide on the streets alone. Joining the Three Brothers is literally a contract signed in blood that you will under no circumstances, on your life, swear that you will not compete in any way with them. If they were to find that you faked being a member of their group, and that I gave you that ring, I don’t know what they would do to me.”

  “You don’t have a reason to fear. You did not break your contract. You did not compete with them, and your ring has brought me more information than I could ever pay for.” The Captain untied his money bag from his belt, handed it Leudoy, and headed back to the Barracks.

  CHAPTER 11