Days 181-178
Before the Time of Meeting
- Four days after Captain Duncan Milius and his battalion prepared for battle at Ravelin in the Federated States
- Four days after the Circle Chieftain, Cain, ordered Sergeant Terrel to spy on Jehorom Galaddi
- Four days after the Explorer’s departure from Lubec in the Hansic Alliance
- Four days after Quinn’s meeting with Governor William Lessander in Lubec in the Hansic Alliance
Ravelin,
Valandov Province,
Federated States
Valandov Province,
Federated States
Captain Duncan Milius led his company in a steady march southward, the eastern end of the Alpas Mountains looming before them. It had been three days since Marshal Wallace sent half of his battalion ahead into the forest to flush out the invaders, and in that time there had been no contact with them. Duncan shrugged. This was expected — according to the plan, there would be no sign of the flanking units until the enemy was practically upon the main force.
Wallace had ordered Duncan and Captain Eliss Blaine to deploy their troops into standard defensive formations. Each company marched in a square, with three infantry squads forming double lines on each side: eighteen pikemen in every outer line and eighteen swordsmen forming every inner line. In the middle of the squares were the companies’ command teams (Wallace marched with Blaine), their attendants and the supply carts, as well as four squads of archers.
The road was just wide enough for the formations to pass, though Duncan had argued that smaller groups would allow for greater mobility and spontaneity — should they be attacked en route, platoons could be redeployed more quickly and efficiently than whole companies could. Wallace had opted instead for a more traditional defense.
They were progressing very slowly. Duncan’s company marched ahead of Blaine’s, and he instructed his front lines to be on the lookout for the scouts he had sent ahead as warning against any advance. Thus far, the scouts had been reporting regularly that there were no hints of the flanking companies, enemy forces, or signs of battle. Duncan considered the possibilities: the flanking companies had not yet met the enemy; they had been forced to hole up inside Ravelin; or their troops had been completely wiped out — a possibility that no Praetorian ever considered.
As they marched, many soldiers shifted their gear uncomfortably. Every person carried a backpack that contained a bedroll, rations, a sewing kit, extra leather patches for their armor, and basic medical supplies like bandages and tourniquets. Their bedrolls were water-resistant and had built-in head coverings. This was the standard issue for every Praetorian. Although it was generally understood that a tour of duty in the Federated States meant a greater risk to one’s life, troops assigned to other parts of Halcyon were envious of the fact that in the forests of the Federate they didn’t have to march with an ungainly backpack and heavy steel armor.
Leather protection may have made for easier travel, but this thought was far from the minds of those who marched to Fort Ravelin. With every new step, the tension increased. With every negative report, the soldiers’ anxiety deepened. Their training kept their emotions in check, but no amount of preparation could suppress the human need for action. They could deal with the notion of being a small force facing superior numbers — it was a fact of life in the Praetorship and a source of pride for its members that they enjoyed such success in spite of it. To the contrary, the apprehension on the road to Ravelin stemmed from the unknown. Had their companions engaged the enemy? Had they faced death honorably? Duncan had often remarked that the worst part of battle was waiting for the fight to begin. He decided to ease the tension by starting a marching tune. Soon, every soldier in both companies was humming along. Duncan knew he would hear about it later from Wallace. The marshal considered singing a distraction.
It was midmorning now and the weather was clear, just as it had been for the last two days. The coniferous forest spilled over onto the side of the road. Pines stretched up from the ground in light clumps — many of them were as tall as a two-story building. The ground was frozen but not hard. There had already been one spring thaw, though most farmers were saying that there was still time for one last gasp from winter before it was finally chased away for the year. The air was chill but refreshing.
And a good thing, too, mused Duncan. It’ll keep the troops alert.
The captain looked about uncomfortably. This place was too still. He signaled a halt and the troops obeyed his command immediately. A second later Blaine’s company stopped as well. The echoes of the marching and singing faded away. Now there was no noise at all — the area around the road was completely silent. Duncan beckoned to two privates and ordered them to boost him up. They cupped their hands at their waists and hoisted him above their shoulders. At the same time, the troops readied their weapons: the infantry set their pikes, balanced their shields and steadied their swords, and the archers loaded their bows and prepared to fire. Blaine’s company did the same. Everyone awaited Duncan’s next move.
He stood above his privates’ shoulders and surveyed the scene. His searching gaze swept slowly and methodically over their surroundings. There was no movement in the forest, no natural sounds of animals or insects. It was as if the wildlife had been evacuated. Duncan suddenly felt out of place in the forest in which he was raised. Something was wrong — he could sense it right in front of him. He knew the answer was there, but his mind danced around it.
Blaine silently placed her company on high alert while Wallace watched Duncan intently. Didn’t he know that he was exposing himself needlessly by raising himself over the heads of his troops? He glanced at Blaine, who shrugged. They would have to wait and see what Milius was up to, and hope that a Hansic archer hadn’t managed to slip past their scouts.
Duncan returned to the ground and ordered the second infantry line from his rear flank to reinforce the front. Blaine and Wallace merged the second company with Duncan’s into one long rectangular formation. The three senior officers met in the middle.
“What did you see?” whispered Wallace.
“I don’t know,” answered Duncan. “I just had a feeling, that’s all.”
“What kind of feeling?”
Duncan shook his head. “It’s hard to describe. It’s an intuition that hits me whenever I enter battle. I felt like we were being studied.”
“Studied? What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’re a professional soldier! If I want to know what someone feels, I’ll consult a psychic. Give me hard data, not intuition!”
“Sorry, sir, it’s just that I’ve come to learn to trust my instincts, and I’m telling you that that something’s out there watching us.”
Wallace surveyed the pine trees that stretched above them along the sides of the road. “No one’s reported any movement. There’s nothing here.”
“That’s the problem, sir.”
Wallace and Blaine looked questioningly at him. Duncan was getting desperate. He knew this was his last chance to sway Wallace. “Look, I know you don’t trust me because I’m Teivan —” Wallace glared at him “— but you have to believe me. I know things about this forest that you don’t. I can detect subtle signs… the movement of animals and insects, disturbance of leaves, certain kinds of trails designed to look real but they’re not—”
The marshal grabbed Duncan by his collar and pulled him close. He whispered harshly, “Listen carefully, Captain, because I’m not going to repeat myself. I am responsible for seven hundred and sixty-eight lives. I don’t care about overturned leaves or footprints on the ground!”
“Then listen to someone who does. We’re being tracked.”
Wallace released Duncan. “Tracked…”
A moment passed while the marshal considered his options.
“Sir,” ventured Duncan, “I recommend that we close into a tighter formation to protect our flanks and our rear. Each side should be four squads deep with double lines of pikes and swords backed by cover fire from two dozen archers.”
“We’re fine, Captain,” assured Wallace.
“Our perimeter’s too thin! They can break through too easily!”
“At ease, Captain! I’m warning you, I’ve heard enough!” He turned around to face the south perimeter.
All the soldiers had their backs to the officers, but if they heard the conversation, they flatly ignored it.
Duncan half-shouted at his commanding officer. “Sir, we’re boxed in!”
Wallace wheeled on his junior. “You’re relieved of duty! Captain Blaine, strip him of his weapons!”
At that moment, a corporal came running up to them. “Marshal, our scouts are reporting back from Ravelin!”
Presently, one of the scouts approached the marshal and saluted. Wallace returned it and demanded a report.
“We assumed our position in the forest, as per orders,” she began. “It took us three days to reach Ravelin, but we encountered nothing, not even a single person. When we reached the fort, the main gate was barred shut. There were no answers to our hails. We decided to scale the wall and see what was going on inside.” She paused. “Sir, Ravelin is deserted.”
“What…?”
“Not a soul remains. We unlocked the gate and I toured the place myself. There are signs of a struggle everywhere — judging by the amount of blood we saw, it was a hell of a fight — but there are no bodies.”
“Are you saying that the Hansic militia abducted everyone?” asked Blaine incredulously.
“I’m saying that they’re not there. I don’t know what happened to them. The gate was locked from the inside, but no one seems to have remained behind to secure it.”
“A militia garrison of fifteen hundred soldiers doesn’t simply vanish!”
“There’s something deeper happening here,” stated Wallace. “I was sure that two whole battalions could hold out. We’re not dealing with Ghaultian militia here, either — these Federates can fight.”
Wallace and Blaine stood there for a moment contemplating the new situation. The troops around them waited patiently, poised for action. Duncan was standing slightly behind the marshal, staring fixedly at a tree.
“Wait a minute,” continued Wallace, “what about our own two companies? Was there any sign of them?”
The scout exhaled slowly and averted her superior’s intense gaze. “We found no trace of them.”
“They’re dead,” stated Duncan. He hadn’t moved his gaze from the tree.
Wallace turned to glare at him. “Captain Blaine, didn’t I order you to relieve him of duty?”
“Sorry, sir, I got sidetracked with—”
“Hold it.” Wallace moved to stand beside Duncan and follow his line of sight. “What are you staring at?”
“That tree, sir, directly ahead of us, to the left of the tall one.”
“What about it?”
“There’s a grimal crouched on that branch, sir, about two and-a-half meters from the ground. It’s staring right at me. I’ve locked eyes with it.”
“I don’t see it.”
“I do. Remember that feeling I had? It’s even stronger now…” Duncan’s voice grew distant. “I can see what they’re planning. My God… they’ve outmaneuvered us. We have to get out of here, sir. Fast.”
Wallace wasn’t sure what to make of his captain. He had heard stories of Duncan’s uncanny ability to anticipate an enemy’s moves, but as far as the marshal was concerned, this man was a spoiled, insubordinate, rich man’s kid who was obviously sick in the head. To suggest that the Praetorship should retreat? This was an affront to everything Wallace held dear!
Duncan spoke as if he read his superior’s thoughts. His eyes were still trained on the tree. “We’re only an expeditionary force, sir, half the size of the garrison we were ordered to relieve, and we’ve already lost half of our number. We don’t have the supplies or the people to man that fortress properly. We need to come back here with an army and teams of experienced trackers. Grimals did this, sir, not Hansic militia.”
“Ravelin’s less than half-a-day away at a fast march,” suggested Blaine. “We can hole up there and send a carrier bird to the Palladum advising them of our status.”
“The fortress may be deserted, but it’s well-stocked,” added the scout. “All of the garrison’s supplies were left behind.”
Wallace nodded but was disappointed. The last thing he wanted to do was relieve one of his senior officers from duty. “We’ll go to Ravelin. I’ll assume direct command of Captain Milius’ unit. His weapons will be surrendered and his hands bound. I’ll decide what to do with him when we reach the fort. Redeploy the troops. We’ll march in separate companies with the defensive box pattern.”
No sooner had the order been relayed to the lieutenants than Duncan cried out.
“Marshal Wallace!”
“What is it now? Do I have to gag you?”
Duncan motioned wildly at the front lines. “Get them away from there!”
At that moment, a low rumble sounded from the ground. The earth shook and everyone lost his balance. It was over in a few seconds and order was immediately restored.
Wallace grabbed Duncan. “What the hell was that?!”
“Marshal!”
The shout came from a sergeant at the front. Wallace and the captains jogged up and pushed their way through. Their eyes widened in shock, except for Duncan, who backed away. He had seen this sort of thing before.
The entire front line had vanished — in its place was a yawning ditch in the ground. The elongated pit was a half-dozen meters deep and at the bottom lay nearly a hundred Praetorians. Some of them were dazed from the fall and others were clearly wounded. Many of them were impaled on sharp wooden spikes that protruded from the pit’s floor.
Wallace’s jaw tightened and his hands clenched. “Reinforce our position,” he whispered.
Blaine answered, “Sir?”
“You heard me. Do as Captain Milius said: a formation to protect our flanks and our rear. Four squads to a side with double lines of pikes and swords. Each flank will be backed by cover fire from two dozen archers.”
“What about our wounded in the pit?”
“Now, Captain!”
As the marshal’s orders were relayed, Duncan pointed at the trees. “Grimals!”
The Praetorians were just breaking formation when the attack came. The forest came alive with hundreds of brown blurs as grimals detached themselves from the trees they had been using as cover. The sergeants on the front lines quickly gained control of their troops, but the left and right flanks, which still had only two defensive lines, were breached almost immediately. The attackers were smaller than most humans and were covered entirely in brown fur, but what they lacked in size they more than made up for in catlike speed and agility. The Praetorians immediately broke out of their large formations and into squads, and the grimals danced between them, avoiding pikes and swords. The archers were having only moderate success — it was difficult to aim and fire without hitting one of their own. Soon the well-ordered defense had completely devolved into a large melee, with only a few squads of infantry forming a tight defensive shield around a dozen archers. The pikemen had dropped their gangling weapons in favor of the swords at their sides. Total bedlam ensued — except for Sergeant Terrel’s group, the archers had been completely taken out in the first minute of battle.
The grimals darted back into the trees and the attack ended as abruptly as it began, allowing the confused Praetorians to regroup. Officers were shouting orders all over the place, but eventually the defensive pattern that Duncan originally suggested was established. They were now packed tightly together, with at least three meters of open ground between the flanks and the forest wall — enough space to provide some reaction time for the infantry. Most of the archers had been killed and many pikemen lay dead or wounded on the ground.
All was quiet.
“Sir,” ventured Blaine, “we can still make it to the fortress.”
“If we do, we’ll end up like our missing companies and the Ravelin garrison,” replied a panting Duncan. “The ships are our only option.”
“At Ravelin there are supplies and a wall, for God’s sake!”
“Neither of which helped the garrison all that much!”
“Enough of this,” snapped Wallace. “We seem to have fought them off for now. Captain Blaine, have some of your people collect the arrows from any fallen archers and see to our wounded. Redistribute the arrows between two infantry squads — I want that archery units reformed. Assign a squad to rescue any survivors from the bottom of that pit. Our archers will cover you from here.”
As Blaine turned to fulfill her orders, Duncan whispered, “Marshal, we’re packed too tightly. Our people don’t have enough room to maneuver against grimals.”
Barely concealing his spite, Wallace eyed his subordinate. “We’ll be under way soon enough, Captain.”
A gap opened in the southern defensive line for a rescue team. Medics were out tending to the wounded, and two dozen footmen were being reassigned by their sergeants to the depleted archery unit. While all this happened, the Praetorians remained on high alert. They weren’t going to be caught off-guard again.
Duncan watched everything anxiously. “Sir, we have to get out of here.”
“Calm yourself, Captain.”
Duncan grabbed the marshal by his shoulders and spun him around. “Sir, they’re coming back! We need to go now!”
Wallace stared back angrily and freed himself of Duncan’s grasp. The marshal was about to order Blaine to restrain the maverick captain when he realized that the warning was too late. Another low rumble sounded, and the ground beneath the northern line collapsed.
With two of the Praetorians’ four defensive lines compromised, the battle was rejoined. The grimals danced between the humans with impunity, and the Praetorians were packed so tightly together that there was no room for them to move freely. Soon they regrouped again into squads but the tide had already turned against them.
The grimals brandished formidable weapons: retractable claws in their hands and feet. Combined with their feline quickness and movement, these proved deadlier than the sharpest knife as they tore into the leather armor of their opponents. Perhaps the most disturbing element was the stark silence of the attackers. The only sounds to be heard were shouts from officers and dying humans.
Duncan spied the ring of soldiers that protected the remnant of the archery unit. He fought his way over. All around him were flailing bodies of grimals. It was hard to tell who outnumbered whom. One private caught a leaping attacker on her shield and stabbed upward with her sword, impaling the creature. Just as she extracted her weapon, she was jumped from behind and knocked down. Duncan jabbed a dagger into its back and threw it off, but not before it managed to gouge open the Praetorian’s throat. She was still alive while the last of her blood pumped out of her body. There was nothing Duncan could do.
Marshal Wallace had managed to rally a dozen troops around the standard of Valor’s Keep but the grimals fought savagely, using the confusion to a startling advantage. As Wallace felt himself being pressed back, he marveled at the way the attackers managed to keep a battalion of Praetorians completely off-balance. He was unaware of the losses his troops were taking around him. The Praetorship had never lost a battle and it wasn’t about to lose now.
Duncan reached the archery squad and grabbed a lieutenant. “Come on, we’re leaving,” he shouted.
She ordered her troops to follow as Duncan led them to the east side of the road.
“Into the forest,” he shouted. “Move!”
The soldiers followed without question. As he turned to call for more troops to retreat, a grimal leaped from the tree above him. It danced away from his sword but he grabbed his dagger and slashed open its belly. It opened its mouth in a silent scream of pain, revealing frightening incisors. It tried to maul his hand but he twisted away and lopped its head off with his sword.
“Let’s go, Praetorians,” he shouted. “This is Captain Duncan Milius! Fall back to the east perimeter! The east perimeter, into the forest! Fall back!”
Duncan looked back and saw Wallace. Blood spattered the marshal’s armor and helmet. With a hoarse battle cry, Wallace leaped into the midst of a group of advancing grimals with his sword arm flailing. He took two out immediately and lopped off the arm of a third before another raked his back with its claws. Wallace roared, spun around and thrust wildly while the grimal nimbly danced out of the way. As it ducked under his next sword stroke and rolled past him, it thrust out its foot and found the open spot in his armor behind his knee. It slashed open his leg with a protruding claw, and Wallace faltered. Duncan tried to fight his way over to his commanding officer as Wallace fought off his attackers from his knees. A grimal slashed his throat open. The standard of Valor’s Keep, the honor of which they had all sworn to protect, lay trampled on the ground.
Giving up, Duncan joined the soldiers who were fighting for their lives in the forest. “Northeast, people, move it! Stay away from the road!”
He darted past them and they followed obediently. Even in the thick of battle, with their lives in jeopardy, training overrode their instincts. Duncan looked back and saw a score of Praetorians running at a frenzied pace, weaving around the trees. Behind them, grimals could be seen as dark blurs leaping from one pine to the next in pursuit. The captain spied Sergeant Terrel and two archers. He stopped them and had them fire three rounds at the pursuers before rejoining the flight. Soon, the sounds of battle faded away into the distance.
The grimal pursuers quickly gave up the chase. Duncan ordered a halt to the retreat and everyone returned to the road. When they reached the edge of the forest, he stopped them.
“Careful, there’s a trap here.”
The soldiers shot questioning glances at each other but obeyed nonetheless. They watched their captain step carefully onto the wide path. He surveyed the scene before sprinting to the middle. The others followed. Duncan led them to a large pit that had been cleverly dug in the middle of the road. A taut, thin line of bark extended from the trap to the trees on the west side. The line was coated with an unfamiliar resin that made it tougher than the thickest rope. Inside the pit were the bodies of a dozen Praetorians. They had been slashed and mangled. The fetid stench emanating from the pit indicated that they had been dead for several days.
“They bear the insignia from Captain Alren’s company,” commented a forlorn corporal. “They must have been his scouts sent to warn us.”
“We were marching on top of these pits the whole time,” remarked a lieutenant. “How could they possibly have known we were coming?”
“They were watching us,” replied Duncan, “just like they’re watching us right now.” The captain made a quick count of the survivors: fifty, maybe sixty soldiers. A dozen seriously wounded, perhaps more. Eight archers but their quivers were nearly empty. He had one lieutenant, three sergeants and Captain Blaine, though she was ready to collapse from a vicious gash in her side.
“We’ll bind our wounded and make for the ships. We have to move quickly. It isn’t safe here.”
Blaine sat down heavily. “We have to go back. We have to finish—”
“There’s nothing to finish,” interrupted Duncan. “The grimms won’t follow us north. We should be okay as long as we keep moving toward the river. Then we’ll return to Valandov. For now, rest for a moment.”
The Praetorians sat down and tried to catch their breath. No one spoke. The Praetorship had just lost its first battle, and they hadn’t even been able to make an honorable fight out of it. Of an entire battalion, little more than a single platoon had survived. The traditional Praetorian stoicism crumbled as the soldiers’ faces conveyed their humiliation and dishonor. Everyone wanted to rush back to the fray, but their oath of loyalty demanded total adherence to their superior officers, and since Marshal Wallace was dead and Captain Blaine was barely conscious, that position fell to Duncan.
Duncan himself had no time for misgivings. The realization that he was in command came quickly. He rose and stood over the pit of fallen Praetorians. Quietly, and with due solemnity, he began to chant a morose tune. The soldiers around him perked up and got to their feet. They stood at attention and saluted as Duncan assumed his first role as commander by reciting the funeral dirge.
At journey’s end we meet eternal night—
With Honor, Valor and Might.
We defend the Keep against Chaos’ shadow
With Honor, Valor and Might.
Whosoever welcomes Eve’s cold embrace
With Honor, Valor and Might
Shall prevail in legends of yore retold
With Honor, Valor and Might.
We pass from this age to bequeath to the next
Our Honor, Valor and Might.
May these souls live in death as they had in life—
With Honor, Valor and Might.
They stood there observing a moment of silence. As if snapping out of a trance, Duncan turned to look at his ragtag troop. They looked filthy and utterly downtrodden, as if someone had picked a group of beggars from the street and outfitted them with discarded armor and weapons. They awaited his orders, not caring whether they lived or died.
Duncan spoke hoarsely. “We need to bury these soldiers, but we don’t have the time.” As if to highlight his point, the breeze carried to them a distant, high-pitched call. The Praetorians looked about nervously, unsure of what to do. They knew the battle was lost, but to leave comrades unburied on the battlefield…
Knowing their thoughts, Duncan continued. “We can’t go back and lay hundreds of people to rest. Our primary responsibility is to the living!”
If there was any agreement, it was grudging. More than one fighter interpreted his words as cowardice, including Blaine, but she could think of no alternative course of action.
“From the sound of those calls, we have about three minutes before they catch up,” continued Duncan. He turned to his subordinate. “Lieutenant, organize our medical supplies and redistribute the remaining arrows among four archers. Reassign any extra archers and medics to the infantry.”
Thankful to be taking some positive action, the junior officer replied, “Yes, sir.” She went about her tasks, and the rest of the troops slumped dejectedly to the ground to take advantage of the short respite.
Duncan surveyed what remained of Wallace’s battalion. They don’t trust me, he realized. Will they mutiny?
It was then when he noticed that Sergeant Terrel was missing.
Circle Enclave
The Enclave was a shadowy place that had earned a unique position in local lore. Children were taught from a young age to believe that if they did not close the door to their bedrooms, sorcerers from the Enclave would abduct them. Before the legitimization of the Circle as an official stratum in society, it was common to account for inexplicable disappearances as a twisted desire to become a magician by visiting the mysterious Enclave. Even now, nearly three centuries after the Commonwealth constitution made Circle members full citizens of Halcyon, many people still reviled them. The Enclave was a focus for popular mistrust, but to the six thousand men and women who counted themselves a part of the Circle it was a second home.
No one could quite tell exactly where it was. In popular legends, it was “just over those hills” or “out beyond the Great Sea” but only Circle Members knew its true whereabouts. The Enclave’s location was telepathically imprinted on the mind of every Member as part of the induction rite. It could only be reached through what commoners referred to as “magical” means, though such a description was a misnomer. It only seemed magical because most people lacked the education they needed to understand the true nature of what the Circle called “psychic” abilities, or mentallics.
The Enclave was an immense complex. Whether it was underground or built into the side of a mountain no one could tell. All they knew was that there were no openings to the surface. It was designed very simply, with just enough room to satisfy the Membership’s needs. There were twelve chambers — one barrack for each of the ten psychic levels, a mess hall and the convocation theater. The theatre was cathedral-like in its proportions and contained small workstations for each Member. They were arranged into ten concentric circles of decreasing diameter, starting with spots for the first-level Members on the outside and ending with a tight ring of six stations on the inside for the tenth-levels. A single place for the Chieftain stood on a dais in the very center. This was where rare meetings were held for the entire membership.
There were no decorations on the walls. Everything about this place espoused functionality over aesthetics, though no one understood why. Some of Halcyon’s greatest artisans were Members.
Quinn stood alone in the convocation theater. A dim ball of light floated above and slightly behind her, casting her features in a sinister shadow. It had been four days since the Explorer’s departure and her aborted conversation with Governor William Lessander. In that time, her suspicions about the coming of the Time of Meeting had mounted. She was now sure that the ancient Enemy was stirring. Would Halcyon survive? Would the Circle survive?
Certainly not under our present leadership!
Quinn stood before the Chieftain’s place and stared at it longingly. The whites of her sunken eyes were strangely visible as soft gray spots in the shadow created by the suspended light.
Patience, she cautioned herself. I must have patience.
With a flicker of a thought, she levitated into the air and deposited herself on the raised platform. Just as her toes touched stone, a hazy outline took shape next to her. She watched as it slowly coalesced into a human form. Like her, he was cloaked in crimson, but he was tall and gangly. His wispy white hair flowed over his shoulders.
Hello, Quinn. Cain, the Chieftain, stepped forward. His light voice resounded in her head. A little dim, isn’t it?
He glanced at her ball of light and its radiance increased. Now the entire area was well lit, though the light’s radius only covered the first four circles of desks. Quinn could now easily make out his impish expression.
I hope you don’t mind, but I added a tinge of yellow to your light, continued Cain. Your pale white was just a little too depressing. He tapped his chin. That reminds me… I always felt that we could use some decorations in here. It all seems sort of… “Spartan.”
This last word was spoken aloud and the sound reverberated through the theater.
I love doing that.
Need I remind you that decorations are a distraction, reprimanded Quinn. We’ll require the undivided attention of every Member when the time comes to enact the Greater Cause.
Yes, the Greater Cause, agreed Cain. Too bad we don’t know if — well, hello, who have we here?
Two more hazy forms took shape beside them. One was dressed in the familiar crimson robe. The other newcomer was dressed in tight leather armor. It was stained green and brown so that she looked like a patch of moss. A bow was slung over her shoulder and a quiver with two arrows hung at her side, as did a sword and a dagger. A buckler was strapped to her left forearm. Badges on her shoulder depicted three chevrons beneath the emblem of Valor’s Keep. She looked scratched and beaten up.
Cain approached and shook her hand. Sergeant Terrel.
Terrel nodded. Chieftain.
The remaining four Inner Members materialized before the discussion could continue.
Cain smiled at Terrel. I apologize for the haste, but, as usual, we don’t have much time.
That’s all right, she replied. Captain Milius didn’t see me leave. As far as I know, he thinks I was lost to the grimms in the forest.
Excellent, let’s make this quick. Open your mind to us. Let us see what you saw, hear what you heard.
Terrel nodded and closed her eyes. She concentrated on the events of the last few days. Images of her departure from Valandov with Marshal Wallace’s battalion flitted by, followed by memories of Captain Duncan Milius and his disputes with the other senior officers. Terrel probed deeper, reliving the tragic battle with the grimals en route to Ravelin and the order to retreat from the fight. As she focused on these memories, she felt intruding eyes and ears watching and listening from a distance. This was quite unlike the feeling from a joining of minds, in which each participant shared the experiences of the other. That kind of rapport defied description: it was a closeness that was beyond intimacy, which transcended sexuality. The connection that the Inner Members opened with her now was of a vastly different nature, more like the uncomfortable feeling she got when someone stood over her shoulder while she read a report, except that when she looked back, no one was there. In a moment, it was over.
Thank you, Terrel, grinned Cain. We’ll reassign you to the Dominion of Khadash. With no armed forces and a minimal presence from the Praetorship, there’s little chance of you being recognized.
The Chieftain addressed one of the other Inner Members. Reeve, please inform our agent in Irbirah that she’s receiving a new assistant. Tell her to use the usual story — the Khadashites who aren’t Teivan will be suspicious, but by next week, they won’t even remember that Terrel wasn’t there to begin with. And get her out of that soldier’s uniform!
Reeve smiled and established a link with the appropriate person. He nodded to Terrel, who prepared herself for transportation.
One last thing, Sergeant, mentioned Cain. I promise not to read any more reports over your shoulder.
Terrel grinned at the joke before vanishing from their presence. Reeve concentrated for a moment before nodding affirmatively. She’s there, and our agent is waiting with fresh clothes.
Good, began Cain. This is the situation. The Explorer was put to sea a week ago with orders to sail west and find new land or resources or whatever. Failing that, they expect to end up on the east coast of the Isle in Ghault, or, if they’re really off course, on the eastern end of Kennedor Province in the Federated States.
They had no specific heading but carried provisions for three months, added Quinn.
And there’s no indication that they really know where they’re going? asked Reeve.
Not according to Governor William Lessander, replied Quinn. He gave me no information beyond what we just told you. I believe that’s all he knows.
Cain nodded. I agree. I checked our maps and there is a chance that they might miss the Champion’s continent entirely. If so, we’ll call it a near miss and wait for the Time of Meeting to arrive in another generation.
Fair enough, replied Reeve, but let’s assume for the moment that the Dark Champion does find the Explorer. What then? How do we prevent the Enemy from coming here and destroying us before we’re ready?
Cain looked at Quinn, and she responded. We’ve taken steps to ensure that the Champion never finds us. The maps and all the navigational data that the Explorer carries have been altered or replaced to conceal the location of the Fingers of Khorshim.
What good will that do? countered Reeve. The Enemy knows the geography of this world as well as we do. It knows where the Khorshim are.
Yes, but if the Explorer carries no information about them, the Champion won’t suspect our presence. It will assume that if we haven’t bothered to record their location, we obviously haven’t discovered them yet.
Reeve glanced at the other Inner Members who were listening silently. They gave their assent.
Now that she had gained their approval, Quinn saw an opportunity to nudge the Inner Membership further. She continued speaking matter-of-factly. We’ve taken every precaution to ensure our own safety but the mainland is still vulnerable. Since we have no means of tracking the ship without revealing ourselves to the Enemy, we must assume the worst. I recommend that we proceed with phase one of the Greater Cause.
The other Inner Members eyed each other uneasily. This was a situation the Circle had been dreading for centuries, and they, like previous generations, didn’t want to have to be the ones to deal with it.
Cain changed the subject. There’s also the matter of Jehorom Galaddi.
Quinn turned her back on the group. She was being slapped down, and everyone knew it. He’s a waste of time, she denounced.
But what if he’s the one? pressed Reeve. The Elders did foretell the presence of a savior in their Harbinger.
He exhibits nothing more than first-level abilities, spat Quinn. She slowly walked a few steps to her workstation and slumped into the seat.
Nevertheless, he’s worth watching, decided Cain. Consider his situation: he’s Teivan, so from the moment he was born there was a high probability that he’d be a Member someday. Plus, his parents were high up in the breeding program. Who knows what kind of children they were capable of producing?
We’ll never know, will we? argued Quinn. His parents were killed years ago.
Yes, but Galaddi survived.
Through no actions of his own! Quinn was becoming angry. The Chieftain was pinning their hopes on conjecture, not evidence. Why couldn’t the Inner Members see this? Why was she the only one speaking out against him?
Leaning against his desktop in the center of the convocation hall, Cain exhaled slowly. Quinn didn’t know when to give up. We don’t know that. He might have saved himself by using skills on some instinctive level.
Or it could have been luck. We have to—
“Enough, Quinn!” Cain’s bark echoed across the stone chamber. The other Inner Members flinched. Quinn stood her ground, pleased that she had pushed the Chieftain too far.
Cain resumed the telepathic conversation. My decision’s been made. He turned to the rest of the group. We can’t let him return to Valandov with the rest of Marshal Wallace’s battle group — we have no one stationed there. Let’s divert him to the Palladum.
My sources inform me that General Hawkwin is due to arrive there in a few days, mentioned one of the other Inner Members.
The Chieftain clapped happily. Perfect! He’ll make sure that Galaddi gets back to Valor’s Keep. We won’t even have to interfere! He’ll do our work for us!
What of the Greater Cause? demanded Quinn icily.
It’ll wait, replied Cain. For now, I’ll review our file on Jehorom Galaddi. Birth records, lineage… everything. We may need to retest him. In the meantime, return to your posts, and let us pray that the Explore does indeed miss its mark.
Everyone nodded and six bodies grew hazy before gradually disappearing. Only Quinn remained. She dared not vent her anger in the presence of the other Inner Members. But here, alone, she could stew. The Chieftain was making a grave mistake.
River Saar (near Ravelin),
Valandov Province,
Federated States
Three days had passed since the battle’s tragic end. The remnant of Marshal Wallace’s battalion was thankful that the grimals had left the galleasses intact. Curiously, they had met with no evidence of any enemy activity north of the pit trap where they discovered the dead Praetorians. Every since Duncan had led the singing of the funeral dirge, the grimals had left them alone. Duncan ordered the skippers of seven of the galleasses to return to Valandov. His platoon then set out on the remaining ship.
The Praetorians conducted themselves almost in a robotic fashion — they expressed no emotion when carrying out orders. The loss at Ravelin, at once shocking and humiliating, had sapped the joy of performing their duties right out of them. What remained were empty shells. The most debilitating aspect for them was that they were honor bound to avenge their comrades and ensure that they had not died in vain, but they were powerless to do anything. Certainly, many felt that they had abandoned their people by retreating and not facing death at their sides. Duncan’s argument about living to continue the fight was logical but didn’t ease the remorse.
They obeyed Duncan’s orders blindly, as if they didn’t care whether the next moment brought death or life. The captain felt as if he had somehow failed in his duty, but he saw no way to raise the morale of his people. He was convinced that had it not been for the Praetorian oath of allegiance to one’s commanders, some of these survivors would have mutinied by now.
Duncan shared their grief, but for him there was something much more. He had felt something when he locked eyes with that grimal just before the ambush. He couldn’t quite express it, but there had been some kind of rudimentary exchange, a communication of sorts. He knew about the attack before it came.
Then there was Captain Blaine. Despite the injury, her weakness of will had become painfully apparent these last few days. She seemed paralyzed to assume any kind of command ever since Duncan’s theory about the grimals was proven correct. He had resorted to treating her like another lieutenant — she deferred to him in every situation.
Which is probably as it should be, he mused. She should never have been promoted in the first place.
On the morning of the second day of their journey down river, Blaine awoke Duncan from a fitful sleep.
“Captain Milius, there’s something you should see.”
“Can’t you handle it?” he answered groggily. “This is my first break in twenty hours.”
“I’m sorry,” replied Blaine. She brushed back a strand of red hair that had fallen over her face and grimaced at the pain in her side. “It’s just that I think I know why we haven’t seen any grimm activity since the fight.”
With a groan, Duncan sat up and dressed himself. He left his quarters and followed Blaine to the ship’s bow. A small crowd was gathered here and they stared forlornly ahead. Duncan motioned some of them aside so he could see.
The entire river was blocked. Trees and boulders had been pulled out of the ground and laid across the Saar to form a solid line right across the galleasses’ path.
“It doesn’t look like we can plow through it,” stated a corporal.
“We can put to shore and move enough of it to get the ships by,” suggested a private.
“Do you have any idea how much that must weigh?”
“If we get everyone to work together, including the crews of all eight ships…”
Duncan closed his eyes and shook his head. His mind flashed back to his childhood, to memories of his birth parents drilling him on the locations of safe paths through the forest. Although many years had passed, he still remembered the network of trails. As Duncan rubbed the scar on his cheek absently, he heard his father’s voice — his Teivan father — reiterate lessons he had learned long ago.
Grimals always settle near dependable water sources, he lectured. Although some roving bands exist, they tend to stay near the rivers and streams that attract larger herbivores and omnivores, which are their main source of food.
Then why don’t we see them crowding along the riverbanks, Duncan remembered asking.
If they stayed too close to the water sources, their prey would pick up their scents, came the answer. No, grimals are smarter than that. They carry their water back to their settlements, and they set traps out of sight of the water’s edge where we won’t see them. Knowing grimal habits is the key to knowing how to live with them. You see the damage to those trees, and the way the undersides of the leaves are facing outward? They look natural, don’t they?
Duncan nodded.
They’re territorial markers to let other grimal bands know that a clan-group has already claimed the water and food resources in this part of the forest. By recognizing these signs, we know where to cut our trails so we can avoid violent confrontations with them. We may even be able to imitate their markers to tell them where human territory begins and ends.
The debate over how to proceed subsided as the Praetorians and sailors standing with Duncan awaited his response. He knew they were growing impatient, but he had to consider the options. They watched as he wrestled with himself, trying to convince himself of something. Finally, he looked up with a dejected expression. He was about to violate a centuries-old taboo. “Head for the north bank,” he sighed. “We’ll gather what supplies we can carry. Prepare stretchers for our wounded.”
A lieutenant glanced at him. “Sir?”
“You heard me. We’re disembarking. There’s no way we can get around this blockade. The debris is impossible to move — even with all the crews working together. Whoever did this is bound to return, and we’re in no shape to defend ourselves against another onslaught. We’ll head north to the Palladum.”
“How?” asked Blaine. “The intersection with the Nillus is still a day away. The river is the only way to get there.”
Duncan hesitated. “That’s not entirely true. There are… Teivan routes.”
Blaine and the others around her exchanged mystified glances.
Their commander explained. “We don’t have time for my biography. Suffice to say that I’m privy to certain paths through the forest that most Federates aren’t aware of. I can guide us safely to the Palladum.”
This only increased the unease of the soldiers and sailors within earshot. That he was Teivan was obvious from his accent, but his status as their new commanding officer did nothing to counteract a lifetime of conviction that Teivans were not to be trusted.
“Won’t we come across more grimms?” ventured Blaine. “Won’t they notice the passage of fifty-six fighters and three hundred sailors?”
“Probably, but they won’t bother us. I… that is, Teivans know where the territorial boundaries for all the grimal clans lie, and we know how to avoid them. Our paths are safe for human travel. You have to trust me. Teivans have been living side-by-side with grimals for centuries without trouble.”
“Maybe they’re trying to force us back on foot since they know they can’t ambush us while we’re in the middle of the river.”
The commander sighed. Wallace would have relieved Blaine if she’d spoken to him this way in front of the common soldiery. Duncan, however, knew that he had to regain the respect of his troops. Besides, there was something to be said for having an informed soldiery. They tended to excel when they understood why they were doing something.
“You’re assuming that the grimms are responsible for that blockade,” replied Duncan.
“Who else could do it?”
“I don’t know. All I can say is that we no longer pose a threat to them so they no longer have any need to pursue us. Why blockade the river anyway? If they wanted to finish us, they had many opportunities to do so before we reached our galleasses, but they gave up the pursuit. The only major settlement south of us is Ravelin. We can’t go east, and west will take us further into the mountains where there’s no civilization at all. North is the only direction we can go.”
Duncan rubbed the jagged scar on his cheek and looked pensive. “Whoever put up that blockade wants us to think it was the grimals.” He snapped out of his reverie. “You all have your orders. Carry them out.”
Trustworthy or not, their captain had just issued a command. The Praetorians dispersed. Their ship weighed anchor and they lowered the lifeboats into the water. Blaine set about organizing their supplies and fetching stretchers for the wounded. She also gave instructions for the crews of all eight ships to join them.
In the meantime, Duncan retreated to his quarters, his thoughts still troubled. Someone wanted them to head north and it wasn’t the grimals.
