Demonkin (39 page)

“Of course I did,” chirped the fairy as Morro entered the room. “The next time I get to push the trigger, and you get left behind.”

“I am truly sorry,” apologized the elf. “I did not realize that you were gone until it was too late. I sure could have used you in Alcea. I went the wrong way.”

“Serves you right,” grinned the fairy. “Never leave me behind again.”

“I doubt that there will be much chance of that,” sighed Morro. “Once King Arik leaves Tarashin, I fully expect to get a thrashing that I will never forget.”

“Garala is here?” Karicon asked excitedly. “Where is he? I must go see him.”

“He is in the Great Chamber,” answered Morro. “The other dwarven monarchs are there as well.”

“I will talk to you later, Morro,” Karicon said as he raced out the door.

Morro slumped down on the low table and sighed deeply. Sparky flew to the elf and settled on his shoulder.

“You seem depressed,” the fairy said compassionately. “Was it that bad in Alcea?”

“I felt like a fool,” replied Morro. “I went the wrong way and was attacked by Elderal elves. I used the hourglass to escape but then the humans of Mya jailed me. If King Arik had not come to rescue me, I would have ended up dead for sure. I was totally unprepared for the journey.”

“You did not plan on losing me,” the fairy said sympathetically. “I could have helped you in Alcea. Do not be so hard on yourself. The next time we will do great.”

“There will be no next time,” replied the elf. “I am sure that Garth will berate me for my risk taking, and I bet he removes you from me as well.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” grinned the fairy. “Fairies hear things that they should not speak of.”

“What do you know?” Morro asked warily.

“Things that I should not speak of,” Sparky replied teasingly.

“We are partners,” protested Morro. “If you know something truly important, you have an obligation to share it.”

“I think I understand your meaning,” the fairy responded slyly. “So you won’t get mad at me if I shared the secret of the hourglass with Garth Shado?”

Sparky expected outrage from the elf, but Morro simply sighed and nodded.

“I was wrong to keep that a secret, too,” he said wearily. “I ended up telling King Arik about it. I am sure everyone will know before too long.”

“I think you are wrong,” replied the fairy. “You do not understand Garth and the Bringer well enough. They understand the importance of secrets, but they also demand to know them so that they may make the best use of whatever skills we have.”

“I suppose.” Morro shrugged. “Tell me what you heard that I should not hear.”

“Garth has a dangerous mission planned for us,” the fairy whispered conspiratorially. “I think it involves the use of the hourglass.”

“So,” mused the elf, “he does not know that anyone can use it.”

“He knows,” retorted Sparky. “I told him that I used it.”

“And he still wants me to use it?”

“It is yours. It was a gift from the Mage. You do not see Garth using Tedi’s staff, do you?”

“Did he get that from the Mage?”

“He did.” The fairy nodded. “It was a long time ago. Most of the Knights of Alcea have had close relationships with the Mage at one time or another.”

Morro dwelled on the fairy’s words for a while. He thought about the Knights of Alcea he had met, and recognized that each of them was special in some way. He wondered if the Mage’s gift meant that the Mage thought he was special, too. The thought intrigued him, but his mind soon returned to the mistakes he made in Alcea. He just couldn’t put them out of his mind. For twenty years, he had had an impeccable record among the thieves without so much as a slip up, but he made many mistakes in one short trip to Alcea.

“Who is Garth Shado?” he asked the fairy. “When I used that name in Alcea, they thought he was a bandit who died a long time ago.”

“It is an alias,” answered the fairy. “His real name is Alexander Tork. He is Alcea’s most famous warrior, and the queen is his daughter.”

Morro’s eyes widened in awe. “And Kalina?”

“Her name is Jenneva Tork. She is Alexander’s wife and the greatest magician to ever live, besides the Mage of course, but he is no ordinary magician.”

“And I stole their belongings and lured them into the Sands of Eternity,” chuckled Morro. “I guess whatever Garth throws at me, I deserve it.”

General Forshire sat on a bench near the docks of the Imperial Palace in Despair. He gazed out at the Sea of Tears, but his mind was not focused on the many ships that plied the waters. The revelation that Grand General Kyrga was making secret trips to the Temple of Balmak troubled him. The disguise and the elaborate methods that Kyrga used were a strong indication that he wanted that secret kept from the emperor. For Clint that information was enlightening. The Ranger was fairly confident that Kyrga was manipulating the emperor into doing the bidding of K’san, but what was unclear in Clint’s mind was what he should do about it. Was Kyrga a rival for leadership of the Federation? Or was Jaar essential to K’san’s plan for attacking Alcea? The answers to those questions suggested different paths of attack for the Ranger.

If Kyrga was a competitor to Emperor Jaar, General Forshire could gain great importance, and hence great access, to the emperor by revealing Kyrga’s duplicity. That, of course, was dependent upon the emperor winning the struggle between Kyrga and himself. That was not a foregone conclusion considering that Kyrga had the help of the demonkin in his favor. If Clint spoke up and Kyrga won the contest, Clint would die.

On the other hand, if Emperor Jaar was being manipulated to do the demonkin’s will, it was an indication that K’san thought that Emperor Jaar was necessary for some reason, otherwise Kyrga would merely replace the emperor. So why would Jaar be needed? Would the other countries of the Federation refuse to follow Kyrga if he seized power? Would the whole attack plan fall apart? Clint shook his head and sighed. There were too many questions and too few answers.

“Something weighing heavy on your mind?” Colonel Taerin asked in a friendly manner as he stepped off the walkway.

Clint looked up at the emperor’s man and smiled thinly. “I find this a good place to sit and reflect on things. What is happening in the real world?”

“Not a great deal,” the colonel replied. “Your two fellow guests of the emperor seem to be having fun strutting their new armies around. It is comical.”

“I do not know much about General Fabio,” chuckled Clint, “but Garibaldi is no leader of men. Put him together with the dregs of the prison who were unfit to be redeemed, and I would also find it comical.”

“General Fabio is not much better,” shrugged the colonel. “He is not quite so self-absorbed, but he certainly overvalues himself.”

Clint found the colonel’s observations interesting. He was sure that Colonel Taerin did not share such feelings with other officers, so why was he willing to share them with him? Or did the colonel play every officer against the others? For all Clint knew, Colonel Taerin could be saying similar things about him to the other generals. Befriending people would be an excellent way to gain information for the emperor.

“You are a fine judge of character,” General Forshire smiled.

“I like to think so,” the colonel replied with a slight smile. “I understand that you have been asking questions about Captain Kent.”

A warning shiver raced up Clint’s spine. He had thought that his questions had been informal and casual, but evidently, he had tipped his hand a bit too much.

“I heard his name somewhere,” shrugged Clint. “It sounded familiar to me, so I thought I would inquire about him. Do you know him?”

“I have dealt with him,” Colonel Taerin responded. “He was a captain in the city guards.”

“Was?” questioned the general.

“He was recently transferred to Olansk,” stated the colonel.

“A promotion?” Clint asked curiously.

“There was no promotion,” answered the colonel. “Merely a transfer.”

“Curious,” mused the general. “Perhaps he has family in Olansk.”

“I believe that Captain Kent was born in Despair,” shrugged the colonel. “I can’t imagine him having any family in such a backwater city such as Olansk.”

Clint recognized a gift when he saw one. For whatever reason, Colonel Taerin was informing General Forshire that Captain Kent had been sent away against his will. That gift probably indicated that the emperor wanted someone to follow up on the reason why, but he didn’t want it to be official.

Clint stared out to sea silently for a few moments as he tried to collect his thoughts. He knew that Colonel Taerin held the confidence of the emperor, but that did not mean that he was not also Kyrga’s man. Taerin would not be the first officer to play all sides in a conflict. He wondered if he should mention the reason he was trying to find Captain Kent, but he decided to hold off for the time being. Instead, he decided to pursue a different line of thought, a line concerning Kyrga’s duplicity and the need for Emperor Jaar to be kept as a figurehead of the Federation.

“I know so little about the history of the Empire of Barouk,” General Forshire said. “In Tyronia we have a royal family, and leadership is passed down from a father to a son. How is it done here?”

Colonel Taerin’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the general. “I can’t help but wonder what brought such a question to mind,” the colonel said warily. “It is a far leap from discussing Captain Kent.”

Clint detected a certain wariness in the colonel, a wariness that he had not seen in the young man before. Clint knew that he had just overstepped some invisible barrier of correctness, and he tried to fabricate a reason for his question.

“I was just thinking about the reasons for Captain Kent being transferred,” lied General Forshire. “What if he was related to the emperor, and the emperor sent him away as a punishment or something like that? Perhaps he failed the emperor in some way.”

Colonel Taerin visibly relaxed. “That is hardly the case. Emperor Jaar does not get involved in the minutiae of the army. That is what he has generals for. Oh, he may promote or demote a general when he feels the need, but he would never interfere with lesser officers.”

“It was just a thought,” shrugged the general. “It has made me curious, though. Is the succession handled the same in Barouk?”

“It is the same here,” answered the colonel, “but asking questions about the heirs of the emperor is considered to be in bad taste. He is very protective of his family. Will you be staying long in Despair?”

The abrupt change in conversation told Clint that the talk was over and that the emperor expected him to leave for Olansk right away.

“No,” replied Clint. “I think it is time to rejoin my men. I will leave Despair in the morning.”

“I wish you a safe journey.” Colonel Taerin rose and saluted before walking away.

General Forshire sat and gazed out at the Sea of Tears until the sun began its descent. Answering the call of his grumbling stomach, he entered the palace and made his way to the private dining room that he shared with General Fabio and General Garibaldi. Both men were already seated, and General Forshire could not suppress a smile as he took his seat.

“I do not think I have ever been the first one to sit down at this table,” he chuckled. “You gentlemen are getting spoiled by the food served here.”

“It is hard work making those misfits into an army,” laughed General Fabio. “I do not understand why you bothered. I am ready to send mine back to prison.”

“I will take your men,” General Garibaldi said with a mouthful of food.

“You should keep them,” General Forshire said to General Fabio with a broad grin. “It will give you something to do besides eating. One more meal like this, and I am ready to get back to trail rations. I always feel sluggish after such a heavy meal.”

General Garibaldi spilled hot gravy on his lap and leaped to his feet, his hands moving quickly to remove the gravy from his pants. The motion only caused the hot gravy to stick to his hands, and the Vinaforan general frantically clawed at the cloth towel on the table. He wiped his hands and pants and then stared down with irritation. He threw the towel on his chair in disgust and stormed out of the room, curses tumbling from his lips.

“Quite a reaction for such a small incident,” mused General Forshire.

“He only has two uniforms,” chuckled General Fabio, “and he put on his best for the reception tonight. Now he will have to wear a dirty uniform in front of the emperor.”

“Reception?” questioned General Forshire.

“Where do you spend your days, Forshire?” asked General Fabio. “Emperor Jaar is throwing a party this evening. The three of us were invited.”

“Ah,” Clint sighed with a nod. “I do remember something being slid under my door the other night. I had forgotten completely about it. I fear that I will not be able to attend. Give my regards to the emperor for me.”

“Not attend?” frowned General Fabio. “That would be an insult.”

“No insult is intended. I am leaving Despair in the morning, and there are some things I need to pick up in the city before I go. I just will not have the time for a party.”

General Fabio nodded and gazed at General Forshire questioningly. For several moments, he watched Clint eat in silence, but something was clearly on his mind.

“You seemed awful eager that I keep my soldiers,” he eventually said. “Why?”

“I think a general should be in command of troops,” shrugged General Forshire.

“I think it was more than that,” challenged the Karaminian general. “You didn’t want Garibaldi to get them, did you?”

General Forshire lifted the towel from the table and wiped his mouth in silence. He folded the towel neatly and placed it next to his empty plate. Only then did he meet the gaze of the general across the table from him.

“I have heard things about V Corps that do not bode well for the future,” General Forshire said conspiratorially. “Garibaldi’s men are untrained and uncultured, but worse than that, I think he will do something stupid with them, and that will jeopardize our own positions here. There is certainly no need to give him more men.”