Beyond space and time was a location that did and did not exist. This was the place of meeting, where the matches were played and the fates of whole worlds decided. Now, though, it was empty.
Presently, the fogginess of the place retreated to reveal a tiled floor. There were benches at the edge of the mist so the others could sit and watch — and judge — to ensure that the match was being played according to the rules.
This contest had been a stalemate for a millennium, a draw that was about to come to a decisive end. The situation had changed. The time for the final round was drawing close. Once the contenders returned, the Game would be renewed.
Day 185
Before the Time of Meeting
River Saar (near Ravelin),
Valandov Province,
Federated States
The morning air was still and frosty. A caravan of enormous galleasses slowly skimmed the surface of the River Saar, traveling west toward the Alpas Mountains. They were average-sized for their class, which included ships ranging from one hundred and fifty to two hundred tons. The sails were completely furled and there was no visible activity above deck. The gray water reflected the light of an overcast sky, with only a bright patch to indicate the sun’s location. The river was as lifeless as the air. Only the rhythmic motion of the galleass’ oars disrupted its tranquility.
The Saar had spent the last few millennia carving its way eastward from its source in Lake Kristalvas, which was high up in the Alpas range. It snaked its way through the Alpas foothills and into the rugged terrain of Valandov’s interior. Like the rest of the Federated States, Valandov was covered by a thick, mostly coniferous carpet of trees that seemed to glide by the galleasses. The rolling forested hills climbed as high as three hundred and fifty meters, making the country nearly impassable to anyone not using the Federate’s roads or extensive riverine system. The beauty and serenity of this vast country were deceptive — beyond the paths eked out by humans and the rivers lay great danger.
All along the shoreline, the wildlife was awakening. Movement could be seen at the water’s edge. A faunn appeared from behind a bush and dipped its snout in the water. Suddenly it jerked its head up and listened intently. It watched the first galleass travel upriver, but it was far from shore. Satisfied that it posed no threat, the faunn returned to its drink. It pretended not to notice eight other galleasses pass by.
Soon the forest came alive and animals of every kind ventured out to the shore. Winter was finally retreating, which meant that hibernation season was over. Most of the animals ignored the crafts that moved smoothly along the River Saar.
The galleasses were designed simply. They consisted of hundreds of wooden planks that were bolted together along wooden ribs and attached to a keel, with framework that supported three decks and a cargo hold. Since the Federated States couldn’t afford a large navy like the Hansic Alliance or the Dominion of Khadash, it had to resort to the cheapest system of transportation for its rivers. Galleasses were an efficient and inexpensive way to move raw materials and manufactured goods. They also made effective troop carriers. One galleass was big enough to carry two entire platoons — nearly one hundred soldiers, plus supplies and provisions — in addition to the normal crew of seventy-five.
The first people to get up were on the second galleass. One of them was a herald who put a horn to her lips. Her commander laid a restraining hand on her arm. He spoke quietly, and with a measured cadence that betrayed his Teivan heritage.
“Not this morning, Sergeant. I want to enjoy the peace. Wake them personally.”
The sergeant nodded and headed below decks. While she went about her business, her commander alerted the other galleasses by signaling to the captains of the watch. Once that was done, he returned to the bow of his craft. He nodded curtly to the helmsman, who was wrapped tightly in a thick cloak, and inhaled deeply. How he loved these mornings! The crisp air refreshed him. He stood there and gazed at the shoreline, which was a short swim away. The foliage wasn’t as thick in this part of the Federate as it was in the rest of the country because of its altitude and its proximity to the Alpas Mountains. He noticed a faunn taking a drink. It looked up at the galleasses for a moment before returning its attention to the water.
Duncan Milius displayed the hardened expression that was typical of all military commanders. If his visage betrayed a sense of youth, it was because he had achieved his rank faster than anyone ever before. He was of medium height, burly, and had sandy hair that lay flatly on his head in the absence of a breeze. The man wasn’t ugly, though he wasn’t handsome, either. It was fair to say that he would be average looking if not for a scar running the length of his left cheek.
He stretched his cramped muscles and the distinct sound of creaking leather was heard. The Federate states were the only parts of the Commonwealth in which metal armor was prohibited. Steel protection was very expensive, and although the Praetorship could afford to equip all of its troops in such a fashion, the organization recognized that steel provided poor range of motion in the densely forested country, and good mobility was necessary to combat the constant threat from grimal clans.
The sun broke through the cloud cover and for a moment, its glint reflected off the rank insignia on the soldier’s shoulders: the likeness of two wolvan’s teeth overlapping three chevrons, indicating a commander of a company that was only now beginning to wake up. Above these symbols was the depiction of an attacking vulturn with a bow in its claws and a sword and pike crossed behind it — the crest of Valor’s Keep.
“Captain Milius!” The sergeant approached him. She had put away the horn. “The other companies have reported in, sir. The battalion is awake.” This woman was youthful, short and stocky. She was called Terrel. Not much to look at, mused Duncan, but then his thoughts in this regard dwelt on someone else. He closed his eyes, and his love’s image flashed before him. Long, dark hair framing a milky, oval face… almond-shaped eyes the color of oak… thin, inviting lips… He had memorized every square millimeter of her face, and he could still remember her body’s scent even though weeks had passed since their last meeting. With an inward sigh, he opened his eyes. His reverie had lasted only a second and he found himself matching the sergeant’s gaze again.
Terrel didn’t carry what most people in the service referred to as the “Praetorian Air” but she had passed her training and served her time as a cadet. Duncan studied her for a moment and recalled everything he knew about her. He had seen her type before: loyal, efficient, but not particularly creative. She was certainly no career officer. It was most probable that she would finish a long and honorable tour of duty as a squad leader before returning to Valor’s Keep as a cadet trainer. It wasn’t illustrious, but she filled a need.
Duncan nodded curtly. “Thank you, Sergeant. If I’m not mistaken, meal duty goes to Sergeant Parsons’ squad today.”
“I believe so, sir. I’ll inform them right away.”
Duncan’s stomach grumbled loudly. “You’d better hurry,” he added.
Terrel smiled and headed off.
*
After breakfast, Duncan received a summons from Marshal Corinn Wallace, who was traveling with the first platoon. Two privates detached a small lifeboat and rowed him over. He was escorted to the marshal’s cabin and ushered inside, where the battalion commander and the other three captains waited. They were seated around a map of the Ravelin region that lay three hundred and fifty kilometers south of the Palladum, the closest major Federate garrison.
Duncan saluted. “Sir.”
The marshal didn’t get up. “At ease, Captain. Have a seat. The next time you decide to wake up early, try to let the herald do her job. The entire unit was four minutes off schedule this morning.”
“I apologize. It was a peaceful morning and I didn’t want to disturb the tranquility. It won’t happen again, sir.”
Marshal Wallace eyed Duncan with annoyance, an expression that Duncan could see was shared by the other senior officers. Wallace had never been very good at hiding his feelings. He wasn’t a very attractive person and Duncan found his abrasive demeanor hard to get along with, though he had a reputation for being a vicious fighter.
“Captain Milius, I appreciate your concern for the tranquility of our environment, but this is a military venture, not a Teivan pleasure trip. If you’re looking to enjoy yourself then resign your commission and return to your father’s parliament.”
Duncan averted his gaze, humiliated. “Sorry, sir.” The barb about his Teivan background was unnecessary.
Wallace gestured to the map. “I want ideas on how to relieve the siege of Fort Ravelin.”
“What’s their supply situation?” asked Captain Blaine. Duncan studied her. Fair skinned with auburn hair, he had heard that her promotion was due more to a display of valor in battle than to any real expression of intellectual skill.
“When we left Valandov they still had three months of rations,” answered Wallace, “and they’d been siphoning water from a glacial stream which flows beside the fortress. They were well-stocked with ammunition for their ballistae and catapults, and they had plenty of arrows and bolts, though it’s impossible to speculate on the situation now.”
“We’ve been out of contact with them for two weeks,” mentioned Captain Lecy. “There could be munitions shortages of every kind.” Duncan wasn’t sure about this captain — he hadn’t met or heard of her before this mission. She had blond hair and skin like Blaine’s, though Lecy was considerably more attractive. ‘She wears her armor well’: it was a saying he had heard during his cadet years that referred to the more desirable female proctors and cadets. The wisecrack infuriated them.
“Shortages may not be the only problem,” stated Blaine. “We don’t even know if there’s a fortress left to relieve.”
Captain Alren concurred. He was an exceedingly tall man with simple features and, from what Duncan could discern, an intellect to match. The chair he was sitting in was too small for him and he shifted uncomfortably.
“I think we have to assume the worst,” suggested Alren.
Wallace nodded. “Agreed, we have to proceed on the assumption that the fortress has been overrun by Hansic forces or is still under duress. In any event, we should expect no support from them at all.” The marshal glanced at each of his executive officers for approval. “Captain Milius, we haven’t heard from you. Have you something to add to our discussion, or should I fetch your senior lieutenant instead?”
There was no visible response to the insult from anyone, but Duncan felt Wallace’s sting. His foster-father was always warning him about receiving such treatment, and he was right. Duncan’s short career already featured more promotions and commendations than most Praetorians saw in a lifetime, but most of the officer corps still believed that he had something to prove. Except the Grand-General, he mused. He sees everything and judges honorably.
Duncan was by far the youngest person at the table right now and he knew the others resented it. He could see that they were awaiting his response. He decided not to take Wallace’s bait and dealt instead on the matter at hand. “The last message from the fortress mentioned that they were besieged by an unidentified force, so we’re assuming that the Hanse is involved. But there haven’t been open hostilities between the Hansic Alliance and the Federated States in years. Why pick a fight now?”
Wallace straightened himself up. “We’re not politicians. As far as we’re concerned, the motives of the two sides are irrelevant. Our job is to enforce the Commonwealth Treaty which both of these countries signed in good faith and have since renewed.”
“All the more reason to suspect a group other than the Hanse.”
“Who else has the resources or the manpower to assault a fortress like Ravelin?”
Duncan inhaled deeply. The others weren’t likely to accept his answer. “Grimals.”
Alren treated this remark disdainfully. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve dealt with grimms all my life. I spent my childhood living alongside them before I was… taken in by my foster-father. I even fought in skirmishes against them when I was in the Federate militia. Cutting off communication and supplies, starving the fort into submission: this is their pattern.”
“And I suppose you’re writing the book on grimm tactics,” jibed Alren.
Duncan pressed on. “The problem is that there aren’t any such books. If there were, they would say that this situation bears all the signs of a grimm attack. Expecting to meet Hansic troops makes no sense.”
“Why not?” challenged Lecy.
Wallace cut off any further debate. “Captain Milius is correct on one count. We can expect that the only route through the forest has been cut off. So, presumably, has the pass Ravelin guards into the Hansic Alliance.”
Duncan examined the map. It displayed the region around the fortress in a twenty-five kilometer radius. “These marks represent the Ravelin garrison’s patrol routes?”
“Yes, red corresponds to Federate troop movements and blue is for the Hansic patrols that we know about.”
Duncan studied it intently while the others discussed possible strategies. Their voices faded into the background as he focused his attention on the map.
“We should cut east and come around the fortress from its south flank with our backs to the mountain,” suggested Blaine.
“Send two companies out to break the blockade on the road to Ravelin while the others continue through the forest in flanking positions,” said Alren.
“We’re assuming that they’re blocking the road, but they may not be,” countered Lecy. “They could be entrenched in the forest anywhere along the route.”
“Our biggest problem is that we can’t know for certain where they’re positioned,” voiced Wallace. “Our most recent information is two weeks old — before any engagements took place between the two forces, assuming there were any. It seems most probable that they’re spread out around Ravelin in small groups to better avoid detection.”
The three captains nodded.
Duncan was still trapped in his reverie. Images from his militia days flooded his mind… and then he was back at his outpost near Gath. His regiment was stationed in a fort twenty kilometers north of the capital city. The fort had been placed there in advance of a new settlement that was to be built around it. A scout party was ambushed by a small group of grimals, and Duncan’s regiment was being dispatched to clear the immediate vicinity of enemy activity. He heard echoed shouts from officers as they barked orders to form offensive lines to drive the grimms out of human territory. He heard cries of pain as his comrades fell and recalled the adrenaline surge as his regiment tried to cut a swath through the defense. He remembered the shouts of success as the grimms kept falling back — it was almost as if they were trying to draw the humans away from something…
He returned to the present. “I know where they are,” blurted Duncan. The memory had been so vivid, he felt like he had actually traveled back fifteen years. He felt a bit dizzy, so he steadied himself against the table.
“What are you talking about?” sighed Alren.
“The grimals.”
Wallace’s eyes narrowed.
Duncan ran his fingers through his hair. “They’re just keeping enough of a presence to make us think they’ve surrounded Ravelin, but really they haven’t. There’s a pattern here. Look!” Duncan pointed out the markers indicating the patrol routes. “Both the Hansic and Federate troops avoided this border area northwest of Ravelin. It’s unexplored territory, and for a reason: that’s where the bulk of their forces are concentrated.”
“The phantom grimm army,” muttered Wallace.
Duncan ignored the quip and continued. As the conversation became more heated, his accent became more pronounced. The others shifted uneasily, uncomfortable with the reminder that one of their battalion’s senior officers was a Teivan. “We can send an expeditionary force along the road — at least a platoon, something large enough to make them think we’re serious — and divert their attention from our main strikes in the forest northwest of Ravelin.”
“And just what do you expect to find there?”
“I don’t know… a camp… a settlement…”
Wallace laughed. “I think you’re giving these creatures too much credit! They’re primitive, incapable of employing the strategies you’re ascribing to them. We’re fighting a more intelligent enemy, a human enemy, and our best bet is to flush them out. Captain Milius and Captain Blaine, your companies will take the road south to Ravelin.” He leaned over the map as he spoke. “The other units will begin a day in advance so they can assume flanking positions in the forest, here and here. Captain Alren’s company will take up a posture to our west and Captain Lecy on our east. You two will flush the Hansic troops north along the path towards the main force, where we’ll issue our ultimatum: return to the other side of the border or be wiped out. Brief your lieutenants and sergeants accordingly and prepare your troops. We’ll be disembarking before nightfall.”
* *
Within thirty minutes, the supplies were organized and the troops were ready. The Praetorians spent the rest of the morning in their platoons being briefed by their lieutenants. After lunch, Marshal Wallace made his rounds from one galleass to the next inspecting the soldiery. Following that, the Praetorians spent the remainder of the day chatting quietly, relaxing and concentrating on the next few days. They weren’t afraid of dying in battle — Praetorian training propagated what most people interpreted as a callous attitude towards death. To Praetorians, falling in combat was an honor. A Praetorian’s greatest concern wasn’t for one’s own life, but for the lives of others. No one wanted to be remembered with the dishonor of failing his or her own squad.
Duncan sat alone as he often did before entering combat, though his thoughts were not on the coming battle. He had been unable to convince Wallace of his tactical oversight when the marshal boarded the galleass on his inspection tour. A nagging sensation told him that they were headed for disaster. The problem was that he could find no fault with Wallace’s strategy. The marshal was making the most logical conclusions based on the available data. Duncan simply knew that his commander was wrong, but there was no way to convince him without corroborating data. He tried to reassure himself by pointing out that no Praetorian force had ever lost a battle in the entire history of the organization. Unfortunately, this did little to convince the instinct which told him that he was about to participate in the very first one.
He looked up and saw the eastern end of the Alpas Mountains looming before them. Two giant, jagged peaks: one right next to them on the north and one to the distant south, which was their destination. Ravelin lay at the foot of that one. Duncan sighed and stood up. The dock would soon be in sight. It was time to rally his troops.
*
Sergeant Terrel was chatting with two corporals when she heard a loud voice in her head.
Terrel.
She broke off the conversation and excused herself. She looked all around for the source of the voice, but she only saw soldiers sharpening their weapons and checking their gear.
I’ve hidden myself, Terrel. Speak telepathically, and for the Spirits’ sake, behave normally! You look like you’re about to break down!
Terrel composed herself. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting any contact. Chieftain, is that you?
It is. I’ve been watching your captain very carefully. He put on quite a show today in the strategy session.
You were there?
The Chieftain sounded proud of himself. I certainly was.
How did you get in? Surely, they didn’t invite you…
Oh, come on, he snapped, do you honestly think I asked permission? I was hidden, just like I am now. But don’t think I wasn’t tempted to reveal myself. It would’ve caused quite a stir. Now that would have been something to see.
The sergeant shook her head. They probably would’ve tried to kill you on the spot. Sometimes I wonder why they tolerate our presence at Valor’s Keep.
They don’t have a choice, really. They know that the Circle gets what it wants — better then to agree to our terms and keep us in plain sight where they can monitor our movements.
The Chieftain said this sarcastically, and Terrel laughed inwardly at the irony. What do you want me to do?
Watch Jehorom Galaddi carefully, but at a distance. Don’t draw too much attention to yourself. Let us know if he does anything unexpected.
Like what?
I’m not sure, you’ll know when you see it. Right now, it’s just a hunch, but I’ve had a feeling about this one for a long time. He may be the culmination of our work. I must return to the Enclave, so you’ll be on your own for now. Report everything directly to Phylar, no matter how insignificant.
I’ll do my best.
With that, the contact ended. Terrel stood there for a moment shaking off the echo of the Chieftain’s voice when Duncan called the troops to attention. The dock had been sighted. Alren’s and Lecy’s companies were disembarking and settling in for the night. Tomorrow, they would assume their flanking positions and begin the three-and-a-half-day trek to Ravelin. Twenty-four hours after that, the bulk of the army would follow along the road. The battle would be joined soon enough.
Great Sea District,
Hansic Alliance
The Explorer was moored near Longpoint, a lighthouse that jutted out into the middle of the harbor. A sea of merchants and commoners surrounded the dockyard to witness the start of this historic voyage. The people stood quietly and still, as was expected in the Hansic Alliance. They did so despite the constant sting of light sleet and mist that swirled around the pier. This was winter’s last desperate attempt to hold out against spring, and the common folk, unlike the dignitaries below them, shifted their weight from one foot to the other to try to keep warm.
An enormous galleon bobbed in the water before them. Rugen’s normally crowded harbor front had been cleared of traffic for this occasion — all the other ships had been moved or rerouted to Lubec, which lay on the opposite shore of the River Odra’s mouth.
The galleon’s skipper was a retired navy captain who had a handpicked crew with which to explore the unknown waters of the Great Sea. If any land existed beyond the realm of Halcyon, it had been forgotten. If any civilization existed in the midst of the Great Sea, it, too, had passed from memory. They carried enough supplies for a three-month voyage, after which they were to return and report on their findings. The motives were purely economic: the discoverers of any new resources stood to profit tremendously from the monopoly they would gain, as would their patrons.
Behind the crowd, a pair of robed figures stood motionless. Their bodies were completely covered, one in crimson, the other in navy blue. Long cowls hid their faces. Subtle bulges at the chest were all that identified them as women. Except for a map case dangling from the shoulder of the one in blue, the color of their attire was all that distinguished one from the other. They engaged in a silent conversation, nodded and parted ways. The one in crimson was now left alone to watch the proceedings on the pier.
The crashing surf was the only sound to be heard as the captain and her crew stood at attention while the governor inspected them. Forty ceremonial guards from the district garrison waited patiently at the opposite end of the pier. Rivulets of sleet marred the oiled surface of their black, padded leather armor. Their faces stung from the constant pelting of tiny ice pellets, but they pretended not to notice.
The robed figure watched as Governor William Lessander continued with the inspection, studying each sailor’s face in turn. The crew arrayed before him consisted of hardened professionals, more than three hundred souls who wore poor masks over their brimming pride. These men and women were being afforded the highest honor possible in the Hanse — short of meeting the chancellor.
The crewmembers stared straight ahead in a military fashion they had learned during their service in the Hansic armed forces. Such tours of duty, whether in the militia or the navy, were required of every citizen in the realm upon reaching the age of eighteen, and they remained in the service for three years.
Despite the distance, the robed figure had no trouble making out Lessander’s features, marking him for their encounter later on. A light breeze tousled his jet-black hair while his plain, expressionless features showed no hint of emotion. His eyes were the only crack in his stoic demeanor — eyes that betrayed his intense pride. The governor was dressed in formal garb. His black overcoat and pants were tight and uncomfortable, and they featured a navy-blue sash that ran from shoulder to opposite hip. The district crest was sewn over his heart and he wore a short dagger at his side — this was more of a throwback to archaic times than a modern fashion statement, though more than one political leader had been called to defend himself against a highland rebel who managed to break through the array of bodyguards.
Just as the crimson-robed observer began to grow impatient, the inspection ended. Lessander came about to face the captain. The old sailor was decked out in full naval regalia, a reminder of her esteemed service to her country.
The unseen observer concentrated slightly to augment her hearing. Her instructions were to record every moment of this event for the Inner Membership.
Governor William Lessander spoke formally. “Captain Grayden, I commend you. Yours is the finest crew I’ve seen in a long time.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Do you have any final words to speak on their behalf?”
“No, sir.”
A pause. “Very well.”
Lessander spun around, marched halfway to the honor guard, and turned to face the crew of the Explorer. He looked at the cleric of Samlah who was standing nearby. The priest was of medium height, rotund, and his head was shaved according to the demands of his order and a platinum pendant depicting a closed fist hung from his neck. He stepped forward with two acolytes who were carrying a brazier. They placed it on the dock and the cleric reached into a pouch at his side. He produced a pinch of dust and sprinkled it over the element while the acolytes did their best to shield it from the breeze and the sleet. They lit the brazier and it gave off a strong aroma.
The priest had to raise his voice over the blowing drizzle so everyone could hear him. “We bow our heads in meditation,” he called. Everyone present, including the sailors and soldiers at attention, did so and concentrated intensely. “We pray to the Spirits, that in their Games our comrades may find fortune and favor. You follow in the tradition of our ancestors, distant cousins who explored the waters of their own world seeking treasure and glory. And while the full story of their deeds is forever lost to us, Ahenak’s Codices tell us that a quest into the unknown is a search for greater understanding. Hear the words that Elren, Bestower of Wisdom, inspired him to write: ‘The individual attains Truth by exploring the natural world and applying reason, for only through reason can we unmask the universe.’ Godspeed. May Yarmah of the Seas grant you safe passage, may Qedem guide you truly, and may the Spirits in their Forum view you with favor. Amen.”
Everyone repeated “Amen” and the acolytes removed the brazier to conclude the proceedings.
Using this as a cue, a military band at the back of the crowd struck up its instruments. The all-brass ensemble played the Hymn to the Hansic League. It was a tribute to the short-lived antecedent to the Hansic Alliance that existed three and-a-half centuries earlier, and it was now the Hanse’s national anthem. The hymn had a slow meter, but the tone was respectful. The people stood quietly at attention, as did the sailors. The militia troops and government officials saluted.
*
Aboard the Explorer, muffled sounds of the ceremony penetrated the captain’s quarters, where the woman in the dark blue robe sat hunched over a desk. Rifling through the captain’s trunk, she removed several large maps. Unslinging her map case, she exchanged the captain’s maps with some of her own. Carefully, she placed the maps back in the trunk in exactly the order she found them. After one final cursory glance to make sure nothing was amiss, she stood straight and concentrated. In a moment, she was gone.
*
Back outside, the band had finished playing. Eager to get under way, the captain stepped forward. “Your Honor, we hereby request permission to take our leave of you.”
“Permission granted,” replied Lessander.
The captain raised her right hand and touched her temple with the tip of her middle finger, a centuries-old naval salute. Lessander returned it and the skipper barked an order to her sailors. The crew boarded the galleon and the captain was heard shouting more commands. The tether lines were hauled in and one hundred oars were broken out. Lessander nodded and signaled to the militia-general.
“Present arms,” she cried.
With a single ring, the ceremonial guards drew their swords and saluted the Explorer. When the ship pulled away, the general barked, “At ease!” The soldiers sheathed their weapons and the crowd applauded loudly. There was no cheering — such a display would be deemed raucous and inappropriate. The crew of the Explorer was being given a hero’s sendoff.
*
Still in her place behind the crowd on the pier, the crimson-robed woman turned her head at a slight movement in her periphery. Her companion with the map case had rejoined her. Their unspoken exchange was momentary and their only outward sign of communication was a satisfied nod from the one in crimson. The one in blue had to report back to the Inner Membership. The one in crimson had a meeting to get to.
They parted ways again.
*
On the ship, the navigator set a westward course, beyond the borders of the Hansic Alliance and into uncharted territory. The captain stared back from the navigation deck. She could still hear the applause. The people would remain there until the vessel was out of sight. Then, the governor would dismiss them and they would go about their regular business. She inhaled deeply and scanned the western horizon, eagerly anticipating the task ahead of her.
*
Once the ship disappeared from view, the crowd quieted down and began to disperse. The crimson-robed woman watched Governor Lessander wave absently at the troops on the pier to dismiss them. The regional militia-general who was on hand for the honor guard shouted a command and the soldiers headed for their nearby steeds. Lessander mounted his own animal and the guards formed in around him to escort him to the district keep.
The city of Rugen was built on a steep incline and at its summit lay the home of the governor of the Great Sea District. As they wended their way through the curving streets, merchants and commoners stopped and stared at the escort. Periodically, a break in the tightly packed buildings revealed a glimpse of Lubec, which lay across the River Odra. That city was practically identical to this one and was the seat of power for the regional mayor. They were both densely populated, with two- and three-story buildings crowding the edges of the cobblestone roads. As the main street snaked its way uphill, other arteries branched off at regular intervals. These roads made roughly even circuits around the giant hills upon which the cities were built, giving Rugen and Lubec a layered appearance. Larger intersections tended to boast fountains and small stands of trees, though most of the time the only greenery to be found in either of these cities was in the gardens of the wealthier families who lived near the keeps at the two summits.
The escort continued in silence. Presently they arrived at the keep. It consisted of a large, plain building that functioned as the main audience hall. A single tower stemmed from one end of it, from which an observer could see just past the city and into the surrounding countryside. It also provided a clear view of the River Odra and Lubec on the opposite bank. Three rectangular wings were attached to the main keep, two of which housed the governor’s family and his personal guard. The third one included the kitchen and a mess hall. This was all enclosed by a defensive wall that was two stories high. Surrounding the keep were a handful of large stone buildings that were used as offices for the district government. The district’s Praetorian garrison was also stationed there in a walled compound of its own.
Two bronze plaques on either side of the arched entrance commemorated the keep’s construction. The robed woman kept pace with Lessander’s group, all the while keeping her presence secret, her movements feeling like little more than a passing breeze. She passed by two plaques that flanked the entrance to his keep. Written in Old Ghaultic, the one on the left read: “Completed at the behest of Olaf Fenn Brelinner, Patriot and Separatist, first leader of the city-state of the Great Sea, Year 218 After the Appearance.” The other plaque was written much later in the Hansic dialect: “Strength of the mind derives from a sense of the just; strength of the flesh, from the unjust.”
The robed woman grinned inwardly. Verse ninety-one from Ahenak’s First Codex. What would Olaf Brelinner have thought if he’d known that the words of a man he called ‘murderer’ would one day greet those who entered his keep?
Soldiers from the district garrison kept the mob of petitioners at a distance while the governor and his escort dismounted in the keep’s courtyard. Their steeds were led away while a frenetic clerk rushed to meet them. A little man with a portly physique, he was huffing from a shortage of breath as he bustled his governor inside to open the legislature.
The unseen woman augmented her hearing again so she could listen to the governor’s conversation.
“Sir, representatives from several regions have been awaiting your return.”
Lessander’s tone barely concealed his annoyance. “Let them wait.”
“They’re angry, sir.”
Lessander stared at him impatiently.
The clerk took a step back. “Very angry.”
The militia-general chuckled and led her troops away. The governor walked briskly towards the audience hall with the clerk scurrying along beside him. “We also have important petitions from the masonry, smithy and cobbling guilds. They all seem to be very miffed about the tax issue.”
They entered through a side door to avoid the crowd. Lessander was only half-listening as the clerk continued. “There’s also this written request for a private audience.”
“I don’t have time for private audiences.”
“It says that it’s urgent.”
The clerk thrust a sealed envelope at the governor. Lessander broke the seal, removed the letter and scanned its contents. He stopped abruptly.
“What is it?”
Lessander looked up. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“Believe what?”
The governor handed him the note. “See what you make of it.”
Lessander entered a door on his right and emerged inside the audience hall. It was spacious, comfortably holding the few hundred petitioners with plenty of room to spare. Windows that were two stories tall lined the sides of the chamber, and sconces with torches were attached to the walls between them for occasions when the light outside was insufficient. Today, the windows let pass a dull white light with streaks of sleet, an adequate reflection of the governor’s mood. Next to Lessander was a ceremonial replica of the chancellor’s throne from Hansehaven. It bore the crests of each of the five formerly independent city-states that negotiated the creation of the Hansic Alliance two centuries earlier. The Hanse’s national crest was displayed above them. An unlit brazier was set beside the right armrest. All this was situated behind a large, raised table. Lessander managed the assembly from here. A dozen meters from the table was a wooden barrier about waist-high.
The robed woman watched discreetly as he moved further into the chamber. A squad of sentries snapped to attention.
Praetorians, mulled the woman, the impartial observers of our realm.
There were only a dozen of them, but the woman was confident that they could wipe out Lessander’s entire garrison if they wanted to. Their steel armor was heavier than anything found in the Hansic Alliance and they wielded their weapons with deadly efficiency. They were few in number but ferocious in battle, making them the perfect peacekeepers. Every year, thousands of Praetorian hopefuls entered training at Valor’s Keep. Very few became cadets. After that, there was a slim chance that they would have what it took to become actual Praetorians.
The clerk had scurried in ahead of Lessander and he now stood at his governor’s side. He held the note out to his governor. “In all my years of service, I’ve never seen the Circle take an interest in local affairs.”
“What do you think they want?”
“Damned if I know. Usually they’re content with keeping to their tests. I’ve never heard of them demanding a private audience with anyone outside of the highest government circles.”
Lessander considered this for a few moments until the clerk cleared his throat loudly.
Setting aside this unusual request for a private meeting, the governor sighed, “Yes, I know. Bring them in. We’ll begin with the regional administrators and guild representatives.”
The clerk hurried off to an antechamber while two enormous doors at the far end of the hall opened wide. Commoners started to file in, stopping at the waist-high wall. The clerk led the administrators and guild representatives in from a separate entrance to stand before the governor.
The governor rose and silence quickly descended over the assemblage. Lessander waited until the echoes of their mingled conversations faded away before nodding curtly. An aide entered through the same back door that Lessander had used. She was carrying a scepter that lay on a velvet cushion. A cleric wearing an azure outfit followed her. Unlike her counterpart at the pier, this priestess was old and thin, though she shared the shaved head and the pendant. She reached into a pouch that hung from her sash and sprinkled some incense over the brazier. She then lit it and a sweet fragrance disseminated through the chamber. The cleric’s voice resounded clearly.
“We extol the Spirits who dwell in the Forum up on high. May Elren’s wisdom prevail as our guiding principle in this, the nineteenth day of L’Xarmonth of the seven hundred and seventieth year After the Appearance, thirty-first day since the election of our governor, William Lessander. May fortune and justice favor him, and let us say, ‘Amen.’”
Everyone repeated “Amen”. Lessander took the scepter from the waiting clerk and held it aloft. “I hereby declare this day in session.”
As he sat, the chamber became abuzz with life.
Three councilors stepped forward. They were dressed in soft brown leathers with heavy wool vests — a stark contrast to the more fashionable black and grays of the city.
“Your Honor,” started the one in the middle, “we represent the Rheine area in the Odra’s highland region.”
Lessander smiled politely and was about ask them to continue when the clerk returned puffing frantically. “Sir, the person who requested the private audience is waiting in the antechamber.”
Lessander rose and placed the scepter on his seat. “My apologies, gentlemen and ladies, but this is a pressing matter. We’ll deal with your concerns when I return.” He stepped down and headed for the antechamber.
The robed woman retreated inside and prepared herself.
Crossing the hall quickly, Lessander entered the antechamber and closed the door behind him, taking care to ensure that the clerk was on the other side. From this room only hear muffled sounds of the rowdy district assembly could be heard.
The antechamber was about seven meters square with a large window on one wall. The furnishings were soft and velvety. In all, the room presented a decidedly elitist atmosphere, a place where the rich and powerful would feel comfortable waiting for their turn to see the governor. Seated in one of the armchairs was the robed woman. A long cowl hid her face. She motioned to a seat on the opposite end of a low table.
“Sit.”
The voice was cracked and barely recognizable as being feminine. Lessander ignored her. “Who are you to pull me away from my legislature? I have important matters that require my personal attention. State your business and be off.”
“You may return to your precious legislature once I have gleaned the information I require. Now sit.”
She could see that Lessander was losing patience. “I don’t have time for your magician’s games,” he snapped. He grabbed hold of the doorknob and tried to leave the room, but the door was jammed.
“Let me out!”
“Not until you’ve told me what I need to know.” The voice was cold, businesslike.
Lessander glared at her. “I warn you: there is a squad of Praetorians outside this door.”
The cloaked woman appeared unfazed. “Shout all you want. They won’t hear you.”
The governor had had enough. He crossed the room in four paces, repeating his demand in a threatening tone.
“Let me out. Now.”
She matched his gaze, rose slowly to her feet, and answered plainly, “No.”
A surge of rage swept through him. In a quick motion, he balled his hand into a fist and swung at her with all his strength. Her reaction was just as sudden as his attack. His fist froze ten centimeters from her face and was held there by an invisible, intractable force. The woman appeared unfazed by his fury. He stared wildly at the hand that was suspended in midair. He was unable to move it — the muscles below his elbow were completely stiff and beyond his control. It was as if they weren’t even there any more. He struggled madly, but his hand remained fixed in the position in front of her face. She sat back down, watching Lessander struggle with mild amusement.
“William Lessander, newly elected governor of the Great Sea District. When we heard of your election, we were somewhat surprised. It appears that the reports of your violent temper were not exaggerated.”
His hand was released from its hold, and he stumbled backwards. She motioned to the chair again. “Sit.”
The woman drew back her cowl to reveal a gaunt face with sunken eyes and high cheekbones. Her skin looked like it had been pulled tightly over her skull. Her dark hair was long and thin.
“I am called Quinn. I am a tenth-level member of the Circle. We have questions that demand complete answers. Candor is required.”
Lessander recognized the title. She could see that although his anger hadn’t subsided, he understood that he was not leaving this room until he gave her what she wanted. Nursing the hand that was slowly tingling back to life, he sat in the indicated chair.
“Good. I saw that the Explorer was put to sea this morning.”
“You were there?”
Quinn folded her arms. “I was. Where is it headed?”
The governor furrowed his eyebrows. “Why is the Circle interested in this ship?”
Quinn persisted. “Need I remind you of the charter between the Circle and the Commonwealth? We are granted complete autonomy to operate our programs in all the countries, a freedom which includes cooperation from the local and regional authorities.”
“What do Hansic economic policies have to do with testing babies?”
“That program is one of many we involve ourselves in. I’m not at liberty to justify my presence here to you or anyone else. The charter renewed by your chancellor compels you cooperate with me. Now answer the question.”
Lessander gripped his chair’s armrests so tightly that it looked painful. He appeared ready to throttle Quinn, though she knew he could never get close enough.
“The Explorer was headed into the midst of the Great Sea,” he said. “This is no secret. Surely you read news pamphlets.”
“I need information that isn’t printed in the news. I want coordinates.”
“There are no specific coordinates. They’re supposed to chart a course due west.”
“What do they expect to find?”
He eyed Quinn suspiciously. “New fisheries… fresh land to mine for resources… perhaps even a safe passage to Ghault. No one knows for sure. That’s why they went out there. To explore. Hence the name of the ship.” This was spoken with an apparent amount of sarcasm. The Circle member ignored it.
“When do you expect them to return?”
“They carried supplies for a three-month voyage. Why do you need to know all this? What purpose does this information serve?”
Quinn rose and headed for the door. “Thank you for your candor, Governor Lessander. That will be all.”
Lessander rose as well. “You know what’s out there, don’t you? You know what they’ll find! Tell me!” He tried to grab her arm but he was thrown back across the room by an invisible force.
Quinn turned to face him. Her expression darkened, revealing her first display of emotion since the start of their encounter. “I would advise that you think again the next time you try to assault me or any other Circle member. I have no issue with death, yours or anyone else’s, but to die needlessly would be a waste. As a former military man, I should hope you understand that. Good day, Governor Lessander.”
With that, she opened the door and left. As she departed, she heard Lessander’s clerk scuttle into the room tittering with excitement.
“Great news, your honor! A dispatch just arrived from Hansehaven. Chancellor Hanser is demanding the presence of all the governors in two weeks.”
Quinn paused to listen to the exchange.
Lessander took a deep breath as he picked himself up off the floor. “Why?”
The clerk tittered excitedly. “It’s the Kahanne of Assize. She’s visiting the Hansic Alliance and they want to receive her with full honors!”
Quinn allowed herself a half-smile. There were very few people on Halcyon she disliked as much as the Chieftain, and the Kahanne was one of them.
