39: Of Sorts

Brumbow strode his way through the flow of foot traffic at the busy city gate and entered the Servatori gatehouse off to the side.  The buzz and stomp was instantly muffled by the heavy iron door.  Part holding cell, part lounge for the guard, the inside was homey but sparse.  Most of the detachment for this gate seemed to be inside.  Those sitting stood when he entered.

“Watchcaptain,” the Sergeant-at-arms greeted him.

“Alain.  What seems to be the hullabaloo?”  Alain bobbed his head towards a corner of the room and Brumbow noticed the little woman and child sitting next to what appeared to be a very sick panthera.  “Oh.”  The woman looked up at him, “OH!”  Brumbow looked back at Alain.  Alain nodded.  “OH!  Okay.  Um, yeah, it’s good to see you again…your majesty!”

“One is very glad to be..home," Ch'loi said, as if tripping over the last word.

“Ah good, you know.  This could have been very awkward otherwise.”

“Hella awkward as it is,” one of his brother Servatori said.  Brumbow believed his name was D'farah.

“Understatement of the year,” Alain agreed.  “What do we do?”

“We get her the hell out of here is what we do!  How many know she’s here?”  Brumbow asked.

“All of us, Macklin, Boboli and Hiro outside, and about fifty to a hundred people who were in the gate when she was processed.”

“Who are now scattered about the entire city," D'farah added.

“We couldn’t have detained them all.  As soon as we recognized her we just tried to casually direct her in here without drawing any attention,” Alain reported.

“You did good, best thing you could have done.  Did anyone seem to recognize her?”

“Not in any obvious way but who knows?”

“Best to assume they did and by now the palace knows.  Couldn’t have happened on a Sunday when everyone would still have been in bed?  Right?  Or the middle of the night.  Damn.  Alright, we’re just going to have to commandeer an outgoing cart of some sort, hope the driver is a loyalist and sneak them back out that way.  Get them down to Kiriath Arba where maybe they can find a guide.”

“We could escort them,” Alain suggested.

“Too obvious.  We don’t exactly blend in.  An apple cart with a Servatori escort?”

“Reckon not.”

Ch’loi finally spoke.  “One’s guide is in need of medical assistance.”

“Well, at least you’re bringing us the bodies alive this time,” Brumbow said.  “Sorry, that’s in poor taste.  We’ll do what we can, your majesty but time is of the essence and we cannot wait.”

“One does not understand.  It would seem the Servatori are trying to remove one from the city?”

“That’s exactly what we’re trying to do, your majesty.”

“One wishes to see the Primary.”

“That would not be a good idea.”

The sick man stirred and moaned something.

“One objects.  One is very concerned for the health of one’s guide and has brought it here to receive medical treatment.  One feels the Primary would be pleased to see one and do this thing.”

“Yeah, well, one would think so but that’s probably not the case.  So we’re gonna try and smuggle you back out of the city and contact someone who can help.”

“One wishes to see the Primary.”

“I can’t stop you if insist, but I won’t help you either.”

“One wishes to see the Primary.  One wishes to see one’s kin.  One wishes to see Chofa.”

Brumbow looked at Alain.  “Uh..?”

Alain said, “She doesn’t know,” and to Ch’loi, “Your majesty..um..”

At that moment the sick man put out a hand and gripped Ch’loi’s arm, “Been…been…meaning to tell..you, Chofa… isn’t… he isn’t Viceroy anymore.”  Ch'loi stiffened but otherwise did not react.

Brumbow sighed.  “Your majesty, there’s been a coup.  Of sorts.”

38: And Hades Followed After...

They rode in roaring darkness.  There were no windows, no lights in the cargo hold of the Legion machine.  There was only noise and the violent shaking of flight punctuated by sickening drops which left one’s insides feeling more shook than one’s outsides.  It was impossible to know how long.  It was impossible to speak to the child and be heard.  Though the harvester now known as Ch’loi was uncomfortable with touch, one held the child to calm its fears.  It slept now in one’s lap.  The Legion had taken the guide to a different container where they assured one the guide would receive medical attention.

The pitch in the noise changed.  The sickening drop feeling persisted.  The container tipped over.  The child awoke and clutched one.  One gripped the nearest secure point, a pile of crates chained to the floor with one hand and secured the child with the other.  The pitching increased, the noise became a whine, then a shriek and at last, as one thought of prayers to commit one’s spirit to Yahweh, the container leveled again and with one last plunge, slammed down upon something solid.  The noise decreased and finally, blessedly, thankfully stopped.  One welcomed the silence as oppressive as the dark.  Small sounds returned.  Pings.  Clunks.  Metal contracted, settled.  Somewhere outside a weight thumped and thumped and thumped again.  

The motors ground and the rear doors pulled apart and the container opened its maw as light, yellow and white, forced its way around them to burn one’s eyes.  Gradually other colors formed shapes.  The light diminished and a smell reached one’s senses: GRASS!  Moist earth!  Green, a color one had not seen since leaving … the word, ‘home,’ leapt into one’s mind and one’s breathing stopped.  One had involuntarily thought of the Western Paschimi as home.  A place of belonging.  One belonged.  One suddenly longed to return in a way one had not been conscious of before.  The thought was as painful and beautiful as the first ones the Firemaker had placed in one’s head so long ago at the beginning.  One took the child’s hand and led it to the door.

Outside.  Fields.  Hills.  Green.  The Legionnaire known as Major Nakba stood with its hands behind its back.  At its feet, the guide, fresh blankets and an intravenous stand, lay upon a stretcher.  One looked about.  

“Just you and me, Ch’loi.  Soon to be just you,” Major Nakba walked a wide circle around one and the child.

“One is not detaining one further?”

“No, Ch’loi, I’m not.  Frankly, I don’t want to waste another minute on you.”

“What will the Legion do about the impending swarm?”

“That matter has been addressed.”

“In what manner has the Legion addressed the swarm?”

He stopped mid way up the ramp of the Legion vehicle one had just exited.  “In an ultimate and final way.  You know Ch’loi, i’m glad to be rid of you but i’ll be nervous and looking over my shoulder for some time.”

“One does not understand.”

The engines of the machine roared to life again, the Major yelled above them, “The Westvale.  The Caravanserai.  Aedlin.  Everywhere you go, death and slaughter follow.  You are the ultimate kiss of bad luck!  You are the harbinger of Armageddon, Ch’loi!  You are plague!  And I bid you, Good Day!”  He chopped the air with his hand, a angry wave of sorts, a dismissal, but it reminded one of a harvester’s hand signal.  The Legion container leapt up, tilted and flew away like a fat insect, the rear doors still in the process of closing, the one known as Major Nakba still staring at one until it was too small to see.

37: The Worthy Protectors

“His Imperial Majesty, the Lord of Lords, the King of Kings, the Master of all he surveys, and all his servants survey, the bringer of Life, Joy, Hope and Peace to all who kneel before his name, Savoy the Ascendant,” the herald proclaimed.  None of the soldiers knelt.  “Has sent his royal consort and chief steward to examine what business concerns the realm and bring report to his majesty.”  

The herald stepped back and Rizzlethop sloughed forward and addressed the Legionnaire commander.  “Well met, protector of the realm.”  

Rizzlethop knew people’s faces well enough to recognize one biting off the first and maybe the second thing it wanted to say before settling on, “Well met, sir.  What can we do for you today?”

“The Empire and the Emperor himself are always delighted to host their worthy guardians and allies from the far lands beyond the horizon.  When they invited you to stay here, they offered you the choicest lands from among the fertile, abundant holdings of all Aedlin, blessed by the gods.”  The commander’s eyebrow went up at, ‘invited’.  “His majesty gave you and your men your every desire up to half his kingdom.  His majesty put every resource at your disposal.  His majesty made known to you every mystery.  His majesty withheld nothing from his worthy protectors but freely gave as you had need.”  Rizzlethop collected himself.  He stood a few inches less than the Union commander even drawn up to his full height.  He held his tail firmly in check to not give away his agitation.  “Yet, His Majesty finds himself grossly uninformed as to the mystery of this night and day’s activity.”

“Is there a question in there, sir?”

The impudence!  “What is the meaning of this?”

“This?”

Rizzlethop waved his hands taking in the soldiers, the walking machines which lumbered all over the city, the massive trucks which cracked the paving stones, the electric birds, electric bugs, electric horses and mules and dogs which seemed to be everywhere like a plague of locusts and frogs together.  “This!  All of this!”  The commander, Nakba, Rizzlethop reminded himself, looked around as if seeing all of ‘this’ for the first time.

“Maneuvers.”

“Maneuvers.”

“Yes,” the commander said, “maneuvers.”

“This is all some,” Rizzlethop struggled to find the right military jargon, “training…thing?”

“Sure.”

“Sure.”

“Look, your excellency, I’m a busy guy, gotta empire to protect.  If we’re just going to stand here in the street and repeat what each other say…”

“What have you done to our children!?”

“Your..I’m sorry, what?”

“What is happening to our children?”  Rizzlethop rephrased the question and lowered his voice.  There wasn’t much chance of them being overheard by passerby with the soldiers keeping everyone at a distance with their raucous machinery but even royal guards have ears, and families, and those families have mouths which reach other ears…

“I’m afraid I don’t know what your asking.  Please tell me what has happened.”

Rizzlethop stepped back next to the palanquin and listened.  He nodded, stepped forward to prominence again, “Some of our children have taken ill.”

“I fail to see how that’s any doing of ours.”

“It is…an unusual illness.”

“And?”

Rizzlethop was called back to the palanquin.  The commander stepped toward them and he jumped back in the way to head the barbarian off.  “Mummified, commandant protector!  They have been mummified in a single night.”

“Wrapped up?  What are we talking about here?”

A voice, shrill and angry, burst from behind Rizzlethop, he bowed his head and moved to the side.  “Desiccated, O Worthy Protector!  Desiccated in a single night!”

“Savoy the Eminent.  I’m sorry, Ascendant.  I did not realize you had come yourself.  What are you telling me?  How many children?”

“Does it matter?  One is too many!  Especially when that one is the heir!”

“Your heir, was..?”

“Sucked.  Dry.”

Nakba stood very still.  Or at least his feet did not move, which were all Rizzlethop could see of them from his obeisant position.  The silence between them held.  Rizzlethop stole a peek, the commander’s face was grim, dire grim.  The face of one who has seen the first muddy water pulled from the well and knows that the next one or the next after that will pull no water at all, but only sand and cobwebs.

When the commander sprung to life it was jarring and instant like a restarted machine at full throttle.  “I’m deeply sorry, Your Imperial Majesty!  You have my deepest condolences and the condolences of my masters, your servants!  We shall do everything within our power to end this as quickly as possible and will remove our threatening presence from your blessed valley this instant!”  He did something to his helmet, “Ops, give me full command override, now.  Now!  All units, the Sea is Red.  Repeat, the Sea is Red.  Over.  Ops: repeat that command until you have confirmation from everyone…. everyone.”  He took two steps back, bowed, “Your excellency, please know this is being taken care of.  You have nothing to fear.”  He turned on his heel, did not wait for his retinue to fall in with him and boarded one of the now roaring trucks.  They, the walking machines, the electric locusts and the electric frogs all leapt up and flew away in a cloud of dust and engine smog.

Savoy looked around him.  Blinked in the dusty and deafened aftermath.  Looked at Rizzlethop, “Well, what the very hell is going on, Steward?”

36: Sparrows Before Bulls

The command vehicle stopped.

“Major,” his driver said.  

“Yes?”

“Got a sitch up here.”

Nakba looked up at his wall of screens, his eyes climbing to the driver’s and gunner’s viewcams.  There in the early morning light, blocking the armored column like sparrows before bulls, stood a blurry but familiar trio.  He tried to focus the image some but it didn’t get any better.  

“Looks like our girl has decided to come home on her own,” said a radio operator, Nakba couldn’t remember her name.  He fumbled some painkillers out of his vest pouch and washed them down with cold coffee.  “Do we call off the search, Major?”

“Not yet,” he croaked.  His voice lower due to lack of sleep.  Loss of consciousness didn’t count as sleep.  “Let them keep looking.”

“For what?”

“For whatever they find,” he keyed up the column command frequency, “D and D; cordon the area but do not engage and do not pressure the subjects.  Just keep everybody else out and them in…” he toggled off, “..hopefully.”  He watched them watch the soldiers disembark and disperse a moment.  He tried and failed to gauge the threat.  The woman betrayed as much as the sand above a buried scorpion.  The child looked nervous, shifting feet and hiding behind Ch’loi.  The former camp cook was probably another pint away from being a corpse.  “Nothing, absolutely nothing,” he muttered.

“Sir?”

He pulled his helmet on and even cinched it down tight.  He tested the com, “Fourth quarter, game’s on the line.”  The operators gave him a thumb’s up and so he punched the hatch and picked up his bodyguard waiting for him outside.  He added to their numbers as they walked down the line to the lead vehicle, gathering nearly a full platoon before they walked through the forest of legs of the walking-tanks.  Overhead a flock of drones kept long range watch.  In between their orbit and the ground, a swarm of gnat-drones flew in and out in seeming random patterns.  It was all a ridiculously impressive response for one tiny female, a street urchin and dying blind guy.  The platoon fanned out.  Nakba stepped into the ring.  He locked eyes with Ch’loi.

“What?”

She cocked her head, “One has not spoken yet?”

“What-do you want?  i’m busy so make it quick.”

“One desires safe passage for One’s companions and self.”

“Oh, we’re running a taxi service now?”  She said nothing.  “Why would we take you anywhere?”

“One has information the Major requires.”

“Nope, nope.  Nope.  Don’t care anymore.”  He turned to walk away, only a little unsteady.

“One has come to warn the Major.”

He was glad to have a reason to stop.  His body came to a halt but the world swayed a little.  “Warn away.”

“A Swarm is imminent.”

“A swarm?”  He took a deep breath to settle his stomach.

“A-“ but whatever she was about to say was drowned out at that moment by a fanfare of trumpets and a radio operator in Nakba’s headset saying, “Major, there’s a local delegation moving our way from the South.  Picket is asking for orders and rules of engagement.”

“Ah joy.  Tell them to let them through, and then shut the door behind them.  Fire only if fired upon.”  He suppressed a sigh and a desire to lean against something, he was nauseated and his head ached, even with the painkillers but indecision and weakness were nothing to show the enemy or for that matter, his own men.  What to do with Our Lady of Oneness and her mission of mercy?  Couldn’t have them talking to the Grand Poo-bah, Mucky-muck, vizier, whatever these desert vermin called their chief.  Corrupt, is what they should call them.  Whatever he wanted, he didn’t need his attention split between them or the Mucky-muck finding a new ally.  “You wanna lift?”  She cocked her head.  “A ride.  You want us to take you back to the mainland?”

“One would be grateful.”

“Swell.  Sargent!”

“Sir.”

“Load her Gratefulness and her luggage on carrier three and have your squad keep them company there.”  The man nodded and turned to go, “Oh, Sarge!”

“Sir?”

“They are our guests, you understand?” he held the Sargent’s gaze, Sergeants didn’t become NCO’s by being dumb and oblivious to nuance.  At least he hoped this one hadn’t.

“Sir.”

“That’ll be all then," as they were safely dealt with Nakba caught his first glimpse of what appeared to be a royal procession, bloody palanquin and gold plated honor guard and all.  “Alright, what does this moron want?”