Dark Foundations (98 page)

“Hello, Son,” his father said in a matter-of-fact way. He waved a hand that seemed to take in the shattered furniture, the broken ornaments, the burned walls, and the drying puddles of silver fluid on the floor. “Bit of a mess this really.” His face brightened. “But we will fix it, won't we, dear?” He squeezed his wife's hand.

Merral's mother, her face pale with exhaustion, gave a mild but contented sigh and leaned against her husband. “Yes, Stefan,” she said slowly. “We will. It's only things. And the neighbors will help.”

“I was just passing,” Merral said, feeling awkward, as if he had intruded on something private. “I thought I'd drop in just to see if you were all right.”

His parents looked at each other and Merral sensed that in their weary gaze they said much. His mother, stroking a disordered and dusty strand of silvery hair, smiled. “We're fine, thank you. . . . But no, Stefan, you say it.”

His father toyed slowly with his tangled beard. “Why, thank you, Lena. I could say a lot. I really could. But no, we have realized something together.” He puckered his brow as if thinking deeply. “It's just that in the old days, we never had to work at what we are. How can I say it? What we were and all the good that we had we just took for granted. It was always there. Now though, now that evil has come back, we realize that we need to work at it. It takes an effort.” He frowned almost as if his own analysis puzzled him. “Does that make sense?” he asked while Merral's mother nodded.

“Yes, Father,” Merral said. “We need to fight for what's right now, in every area.”

“Thought so. Pity it took me so long to see it.”

“Us,” his mother added with a quiet insistence.

“Us, indeed. Anyway, time for bed.” His father stifled a yawn. He rose and then gently helped Merral's mother up from the sofa. “I guess you still have things to do?”

“I have a lot to do,” Merral said softly. “And a long way to go.”

“I thought so,” his father said. “Will we see you soon?”

“No. I think not.”

“I see.” There was a note of acceptance in his father's voice.

Then striving—and failing—to keep away tears, they hugged and kissed each other.

Dawn was breaking when Merral met Frankie Thuron where the causeway joined the airport road. Utterly weary, his garments smeared with Krallen fluid, Merral flung his chipped and dented sword down, took off his helmet, threw down his gloves, and embraced Frankie with aching and blistered hands.

About them, the last Krallen were being cut down.

“The Krallen are destroyed,” Frankie said, rubbing dirt off his face and staring round with evident bewilderment at the piles of ashen forms all around. “And all the other things.”

Merral bowed his head and gave thanks to God. Then he looked to where, rising out of the early morning mist, the spired and towered mound of Ynysmant glinted in the dawn light amid coils of smoke.

“So, Frankie, what's the status?”

“My people are repairing the airstrip,” Frankie replied, gesturing stiffly with his synthetic hand. “The first fliers are on their way to pick up the wounded.” He paused and gave a dismembered Krallen limb a thoughtful kick. “Commander—”

“Formerly,” Merral interrupted. “I no longer have that rank.”

“That's the thing.” Frankie dropped his voice. “It's all nonsense. Clemant's gone mad. The soldiers and I are happy to march on Isterrane and remove him, if that's what you want.”

Merral sighed. “No. I don't. I will not encourage civil war. Stay here, Frankie. Move the troops to Ynysmant; they will receive you gladly. Help them with the rebuilding. Don't do anything unless Clemant attacks you.”

“As you wish. But what will you do?”

Merral stared westward over the piles of the Krallen and the advancing soldiers for some moments before answering. “I must do what must be done. I will go to Isterrane.”

“But he will arrest you. There's a warrant out for you.”

“Then I will let myself be arrested.”

An hour later, as they were loading the flier with the worst of the wounded, Vero came over. He wore his dark glasses and walked stiffly.

Merral took him aside. “Vero,” he said, “I need to go to Isterrane and face Clemant.”

Vero nodded. “I will come as well.” He paused. “Are you curious about what the envoy said to me?”

“A little. But I have been . . . preoccupied.”

Vero smiled and then, as if embarrassed, looked at his feet. “He said, among other things, ‘Verofaza, cleverness is not the same as wisdom.' And ‘I warn you, the results of your scheming and Merral's disobedience are about to come together.'”

“What do you understand by that?”

“Very little. But it alarms me. He also warned me that I would need to hide for a while. That was sort of an afterthought.”

“I see.”

“So, I think I will sneak off the flier, find some space down in the foundations, and stay out of sight for a bit. Anya and Azeras are already there and I have arranged for Betafor to be shipped there in her box.”

“Good. Will you take Lloyd too?”

“If you think that's a good idea.”

“Please. I have to do this on my own.”

Merral fell asleep on the flight and only awakened upon landing at Isterrane. Out of the window, he saw medical staff milling around the flier and, as he watched, a dozen blue-uniformed police pushed their way through.

He glanced around the compartment. Lloyd and Vero had already left.

Merral rose from his seat and, with resignation, walked down to the front doorway of the flier.

“Merral D'Avanos,” said a brusque man dressed in blue at the top of the stairway. “You are under arrest. Where are Sentinel Enand and Sergeant Enomoto?”

“I have no idea.”

“Come with us.”

The police removed Merral's diary and escorted him to the terminal building. As he walked with them, Merral saw two white-masked medical orderlies rush past him with a stretcher bearing a figure whose slim form was almost entirely covered by a white sheet. As they headed toward an ambulance, Merral noticed that one of the orderlies had a massive physique and short blond hair and that the limp hand that hung down from the sheet was dark skinned.

In the terminal, two policemen took Merral to a bare, windowless office, ordered him to sit in front of a desk, and then stood behind him.

After a few minutes, Clemant, wearing a neat dark suit, walked in and without a word sat behind the desk. He frowned at the desk, straightened its contents, and then looked up with what Merral felt was an oddly detached expression.

“Thank you for not making a fuss,” he said in a peculiarly emotionless tone.

Merral said nothing.

Clemant gazed at his fingers for a moment before looking up with his deep-set dark eyes. “Things are happening. The secrets of the
Dove of Dawn
are being worked out. What we have found means we must act.” He paused and corrected himself. “That
I
must act.”

He stared at Merral. “I could use you, Captain. You could be an asset.” He stroked the hair over his ears. “But I don't think I could trust you to cooperate.”

“Probably not. What about the hostages?”

“The hostages?” Clemant seemed caught off guard. “Ah yes. At the peninsula. Zak is taking care of that. He has immobilized the shuttle. There are plans. . . .” His voice tailed off in a way that suggested the matter did not interest him.

There was silence.

“No,” Clemant said after a few moments, “you wouldn't cooperate. Quite the wrong sort.” There was a soft insistence in his words as if he was delivering a verdict to himself.

Then he gave a little shake of his head and looked hard at Merral. “The verdict is this: you are hereby relieved from all military duty and stripped of all rank. That—rather disgusting—uniform will be taken from you. You will revert back to your Forester title. To avoid questions, no formal announcement will be made for some time. We will simply say that you are on sick leave. Stress and overwork are only to be expected after a battle.”

He paused as if expecting a response, but receiving none, continued. “Colonel Larraine has suggested that we press charges of mutiny. Prebendant Delastro wants you to be examined on issues to do with invoking spiritual powers.” There was a cold smile. “Do you need me to say that both sorts of investigation could be very unpleasant? You might have to choose between the firing squad or the bonfire.” There was another humorless grimace. “Anyway I have overruled them.”

Clemant paused, again evidently seeking a reaction.

“Thank you,” Merral replied, his voice sounding flat.
The envoy's command was to endure
.

Clemant seemed disappointed. “It is tempting to try you and Thuron.” There was a flicker of anger in his eyes. “Instead, as a kindness, I am sending you to Camp Kunagat to recuperate. Do you know of it?”

“The conference center? Only by name.”

“There are lakes. The woods are lovely, they say. You will be well looked after. I have never stayed there.” He shook his head. “Never found the time. Anyway, Camp Kunagat it is, if you promise not to escape or communicate with the outside world. As I have said, there are alternatives
.
” There was a meaningful pause. “Do you promise?”

“Not to escape or communicate? Yes.”
Endure
.

“Good. You
do
need a break. Sentinel Verofaza and Sergeant . . .” Clemant paused, trying to remember the name. “Sergeant Enomoto will join you as soon as they are located. And of course, ex-Colonel Thuron.”

“Can I ask how long I am to stay there?”

Clemant shrugged. “As long as it takes. We have decisions to make and we don't need distractions.”

“What sort of decisions? Anything to do with the Langerstrand hostages?”

There was a look of bafflement. “The hostages? Not at all. They are a minor issue now. No, we have the data from the
Dove
on the Dominion and its aims. Professor Habbentz and the others are looking at it all. It is raising considerable alarm.”

“In what way?”
I need to know this
.

Clemant looked up. “The Dominion is making a fleet ready—a vast fleet. I can barely believe the figures we are recovering from the
Dove.
And they have made a structure, a colossal construction. The Blade of Night they call it. We do not fully understand it. But we fear it.” He looked at his neatly trimmed fingernails for a moment. “The issue is no longer Farholme, Forester. It's the entire Assembly. Speed and action are of the essence. And we must do what is best for the Assembly.”

He nodded, as if agreeing with himself. “I must do it.” Suddenly, he rose to his feet. “Forester, I am coming to believe that the Most High has made it my destiny to save the Assembly. I must not fail.”

Clemant walked to the door in a way that reminded Merral of a man in a dream. “Enjoy Camp Kunagat,” he said in a distant voice. The door closed behind him.