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37: The Puppeteer
"Nadel Gantz... Colonel Nadel Gantz." Deun looked askance at the older man standing before him in a brown field uniform. "You are Galeran, are you not?" the Leader asked, noting the man's light tan skin tone.
"I am... Sire." the soldier grudgingly used the revered title to address the young man.
"And you are a part of my armed forces, is that not so?" the Leader raised an eyebrow.
Gantz nodded, hiding his growing disgust for Deun.
"Then why do you not follow my orders?!" The young man suddenly shouted into the soldier's face.
Gantz remained unmoved, a stone cold expression on his face.
Deun glared at Nadel for a long moment, then narrowed his eyes menacingly and raised a corner of his mouth in a sneering smirk. "Perhaps you do not approve of my methods, is that it?"
The room was silent; Gantz boldly stared right back at the young man without saying a word.
The contest of wills went on for a long while before Deun finally broke the silence. "Well, I think that, perhaps from now on you will be a bit more... cooperative."
The colonel blinked once, hiding a sudden feeling of fear that rose up in him at Deun's words.
"It seems that... in your most recent absence from home that your daughter... what was her name – ah yes, Hilde has... disappeared."
Gantz's heart began to pound as he realized that he hadn't heard from his daughter for two solid weeks. His eyes widened involuntarily.
Deun chuckled, "So, what do you say to taking that little assignment now, my friend?"
Nadel gritted his teeth in anger and reluctantly said the last words he wanted to say, "Perhaps... I was a bit... hasty in declining your... offer."
"Good... good." Deun smirked. "I'll tell Volga to expect you to stop off at Balan in a few days to load up the ship."
"Yes... Leader Deun." Gantz bowed his head in defeat as he left the throne room, fear coursing through him – fear for himself and especially for his daughter.
As he steeped out of the room he heard the quiet echo of Deun's smug laugh following him out.
Once the old soldier was gone Deun turned to look at Yeshin who had been standing quietly through the short exchange.
"Have you done as I asked?" the young man asked.
"Yes, Sire." Yeshin nodded. "The girl is now 'employed' in the kitchens. We have successfully kept her out of contact with her father. She suspects nothing."
"Good." Deun nodded, "Keep it that way. Obviously his multiple demotions didn't speak clearly enough for his ancient ears. But if our Colonel steps out of line again... you know what to do. "
Yeshin nodded, his hand involuntarily going to the knife he had taken to wearing over his heart.
Deun smirked his approval, "Very well, now that that matter is settled, let us turn to the problem of keeping Gantz under our constant, watchful care. Have you found a suitable man for the task?"
"I believe so, Sire. His name is Doron Bane. He is a zealot sympathizer. Not the brightest of the lot, but loyal to a fault. Though there was one thing he said during our conversation that puzzled me."
"And what might that be, servant?" Deun raised an eyebrow at him.
"He said that ever since the zealots lost their main communications link with the palace eight years ago that it has been more difficult to anticipate and fulfill your commands, Sire." Yeshin bowed his head and contemplated asking his question for a long moment, then finally decided that he had little to lose. "Who was he, Sire, and what evil befell him?"
Deun chuckled in his usual condescending manner, "He was involved in an... accident; the same one you were in, in fact. But you only lost your memory; he was not so fortunate. I tried to save you both, but I could only reach you in time. He was...," Deun feigned distress, "too far gone by then."
"If I may, Sire, what was his name?"
"He was called 'Yeshin.'" Deun replied, wary of this new line of questioning, but hiding his discomfort. He decided he would ride this one out – see where it ended up. Perhaps he could play it even more to his advantage.
"The name sounds familiar." Yeshin said, "Did I know him?"
"Oh yes." Deun replied, "Quite well. You were nearly inseparable."
"Ah, I see." Yeshin replied. "I only wish I could remember. It is... odd not to be able to mourn someone who must have been much like a brother to me... Perhaps if I could remember then we could help our zealot allies a bit more..." He thought about it for a moment then said, "But if they lost their link with the palace, why not simply replace him? Why go all these years without giving you another of their number to serve as an advisor to you, Sire?"
"Well, servant, I believe the zealots blame me for what happened to Yeshin."
"Oh, surely not." Yeshin replied, looking horrified that their allies would ever think such a thing.
"I'm afraid so." Deun sighed in not-so-genuine disappointment. "I've tried to assure them that it was only an accident – nothing that could have been prevented. But they still do not trust me."
"Perhaps I could speak with them, Sire. After all, you did save me. What better proof than that to show them that you mean no harm to your allies."
Deun nodded, already beginning to make plans and contingency plans for the new zealot who would be joining him in the palace as he was quite convinced now that Yeshin's sob-story would not fall on deaf ears. He only hoped that whoever they sent would be pliable enough to suit his whims and smart enough not to ask too many questions. As he thought about it, he realized that there could be advantages to having a lucid member of the Guardiana followers closer to him as well. Right now he had control over what the zealots heard and what they didn't. With another "advisor" at his side, perhaps he could tighten his control over them. After all, as had just had carefully demonstrated to him, adding to the truth could be just as powerful as omitting from it. He tapped his chin in pretend concentration for a couple of seconds, then said, "Yes, servant. I think that would be an excellent idea."
Yeshin's face lit up at the possibility that he could be a direct influence on something so important. "Thank you, Sire. I'll contact them right away to give them the proposal. I'm sure they will accept."
"Yes, servant. I'm sure they will." Deun nodded, keeping all traces of his deceit to himself. "As for Bane, dispatch him immediately. He is to be on board Gantz's ship before it launches."
"Yes, Leader." Yeshin bowed.
"Very well then. Go and make peace with our zealot friends." Deun said in feigned happiness. "The sooner we can regain their trust, the sooner we can take down that brother of mine."
Yeshin bowed again, nodded, and left leaving Deun to grin wickedly in triumph.
"So he's finally called for a replacement, has he?" Aurelia rolled her eyes. "It's about time the fool realized he has a prime opportunity to feed us false information. Whatever happened to the first contact you had in the palace anyway, Fiske?"
The bounty hunter coughed uneasily as he shifted from foot to foot, "He was reportedly in an 'accident,' Malha." he replied, "Supposedly he was killed."
"'Supposedly?' So you suspect otherwise?"
"Yes." Fiske nodded, "I believe Deun bent him to his will and is using him for some other purpose – what purpose exactly, I could never hope to guess. We have sent a few spies into the palace on occasion to search for Yeshin, but no one has ever seen him. Over the years the only people that have been seen near Deun on a consistent basis are his guard ensemble and a strange-looking man who appears to be some sort of personal body-guard or servant, but the man looks nothing like Yeshin. He is much too old, bald, and his skin tone leans much more towards violet than blue. He is the one who contacted us to propose we send a new representative."
Aurelia thought for a moment as she reclined on the ornate couch. Her once-old hands rested on the gold-streaked organically formed arm-rest. Her fingers and nails were looking much healthier today than they had yesterday. Her restorative measures had almost completely returned her to a much-younger looking body. She pretended to continue to ponder her decision for several more moments before giving Fiske the answer she had been ready to give for years now. "I have just the one – or rather, the pair – for you to recommend to Deun's servant."
Fiske waited for the Malha's answer, but instead of stating the names of the appointed two, she held up a hand and snapped her fingers. The sharp note rang through the air, summoning the two who awaited their mistress's call. From behind a curtain that sectioned off this part of the chamber from the rest, stepped two women. Both were thin and of average height, sporting grey-blue hair, though one wore it long and the other's was cropped impressively short and shaven oddly so that her hair-line looked just a bit like someone else Fiske had glimpsed before. Their ears had been surgically altered so that they extended out to a point rather than the normal rounded top that his own people had.
"But..." Fiske stuttered, "They're – they're Bolar!" as hard as he tried, he couldn't quite contain his inbred disgust for the race. "They've been trying to destroy all of Gamilon for decades."
"Oh, I know." Aurelia purred, unconcerned, "But these are not just any Bolars, Fiske, they are Jireli – the last two if I am not mistaken." She cast a glance up at the stone-cold face of the short-haired woman, "Isn't that right, Miezela?"
"Yes, Malha." the woman's voice was low and liquid, mellow, sad, and yet harder than forged Gamilishium. Her eyes narrowed at Fiske who felt the chill of her gaze sink into him like an icy ocean, ready to drown him.
"Fiske, these are no ordinary women." Aurelia tilted her head in the same way a teacher does when trying to convey something of great importance to her student, "This is the most powerful pair of shêd-wielders I have ever trained. One summons, the other channels."
Fiske's eyes widened as he imagined the results of such a practice. Instead of the normal process of calling the dark spirits and letting them roam at will, these two women called the shêdim and then let them control one of them to accomplish a specific purpose while the other guided and supervised. The implications were terrifying.
"We won't hurt you." The longer-haired woman said in her gentle, lilting voice, her large dark eyes almost melting his heart. "You are our ally. Do not fear us."
"I think it is too late for that, Mirenel." the woman Aurelia had called Miezela said without looking at her counterpart, an annoyed look on her face.
"Fiske, you are so easily overwhelmed these days." Aurelia chided, "Are you getting a bit jittery?"
"No – no, Malha. I had simply never contemplated such an idea before." he quickly recovered what composure he had left.
"I see." Aurelia said, knowing full well that her pawn, despite his reassurances, was thoroughly spooked. "Well, let me formally introduce you to these two lovely young women. Fiske, this is Miezela Celestella," the Malha gestured to her left, Fiske's right, "and Mirenel Linke." she indicated the less-threatening woman. "They are half-sisters, and two of my most loyal and dependable followers."
"Long live the Malha Guardiana and her Spirit." Miezela said in a sudden display of genuine patriotism.
Aurelia smiled, "Thank you, Celestella. I only wish all of my subjects were as dedicated." she looked pointedly at Fiske who visibly squirmed in place. "Now, please inform Deun's lackey that Miezela and Mirenel will be reporting to the palace by tomorrow morning."
"Yes, Malha." Fiske nodded and hurriedly rushed away, relieved to have been released from the presence of the terrifying women.
Desslok dove out of the way of an incoming projectile. It hit the ground several dozen feet behind him and exploded, sending a rain of debris all over the area. Small rocks and plant shards fell all around him as he continued his push forward towards the enemy base.
This was the third of Deun's troop placements that they had attacked. The first two had gone down without any trouble. This one, however was proving to be slightly more of a challenge. Thus far one of the tanninim had been wounded seriously enough to keep it out of the fight for a while and several soldiers had been seriously wounded, though not killed, thankfully.
The group at this outpost seemed to be in better fighting form than the last two. Perhaps whatever malady had befallen their comrades had not spread here. Whatever the reason, Desslok knew it would be a long skirmish today – perhaps extending on into the wee hours of the morning if nothing changed. It was mid-afternoon now and his troops hadn't yet broken through the defensive perimeter.
Despite Masterson's protests that he not be at the head of the group, Desslok had done just that, leading the charge into the enemy's camp and striking a hard first blow against them. The result had been that the enemy had fallen back, stunned by the speed and skill with which Desslok's forces fought, but the forward momentum had stalled after that. Now they were scurrying around like rats trying to dodge enemy fire and taking out one or two gun emplacements while they were at it.
They were on the defensive – a horrible position to be in right now. They needed to get some sort of advantage.
As he dodged yet another enemy round Desslok contemplated what might tip the balance in their favor. Suddenly his eye caught something: a crack in the outpost wall, not thirty feet away from where he crouched.
"Talan, lay down cover fire now." he said over the secure communication channel he and his men were using.
"Yes, sir." the reply came and right on its heels echoed the sound of concentrated laser fire aimed at another section of the outpost wall somewhere off to his left.
Desslok darted in close to the wall, now out of sight of whoever was watching this section of the perimeter. He quickly examined the small breech in the wall, running his un-gloved hand over it to determine whether or not it was accessible to him. To his relief, he felt the slightly ragged edges of the crack, rough against his fingers. But the crack was too narrow. He had to widen it before he could use it, but this had to be done quietly, or the guard on the wall would know what he was doing and send someone out to stop him.
He quickly withdrew his trusted computer and affixed it to the wall's surface, just above the surface of the crack.
"Mintra'el," he ordered, "Heat the breech then cool it quickly and repeat the temperature changes until I tell you otherwise."
The computer gave something that sounded akin to a sigh, "Now I'm a wall-cracker. This war hasn't done much for my self-esteem, you know."
The prince smirked, "Since when did you acquire a sense of vanity, Mintra'el?"
"I've learned from the best." she quipped.
"I will pretend I did not hear that." the prince gave the device an annoyed look then waited for several seconds before saying, "Status."
"The breech has widened by a quarter of an inch."
"It's not enough." Desslok replied, "Give me an inch more."
"Very well," Mintra'el replied in her best eye-rolling tone of voice. "An inch more you shall have."
As the prince watched, the crack began to widen and split the wall's surface so that the scar extended almost half-way up the wall.
"Well done." Desslok said, and removed the computer from the wall, sending her back to her pocket-abode. Now he withdrew something else he had brought with him for this particular venture and began loading the crack with as much explosive as he could squeeze in without blowing himself half-way across the wilderness.
When he couldn't fit anything else into the breech he hailed Masterson again, "Get everyone out of here as fast as you can and congregate around my position."
"Yes, sir." came the instant reply.
As soon as he had given the order he sprinted away from the death trap. Sixty seconds later the wall exploded. Almost before the smoke had fully cleared rebel troops swarmed through the gap into the outpost, taking the enemy by surprise.
It wasn't long before the third outpost, just like the first two, was raided and leveled.
Later that night, as the rebels made camp, Desslok, as was his usual routine now, sat by the night-watch fire, standing guard over his soldiers.
He stared out into the darkness. The stillness of the night closed in around him, seeming colder than usual. Once again something about the battle they had fought today seemed odd. That crack in the wall had been rather convenient... There was no reason for a crack to be there at all. None of his men had hit that portion of the wall at all, much less with enough force to crack it.
An icy finger of suspicious fear suddenly shot through his spine, bringing back that moment in the cell that Aurelia had tried to force that shêd upon him.
He shut his eyes and winced, hissing at the memory, trying to shake this new phantom away, the breech in the outpost wall, forgotten. At that moment he heard the all-too-familiar sound of a cracking twig coming from somewhere just beyond his line of sight.
As he always did, he withdrew Mintra'el and searched for life-signs, and, as always, he found only insects and night-creatures. The sound haunted him every night now. On the occasions he left guard-duty to others he would sleep, only to be awakened in the dark deadness somewhere between midnight and a few hours before dawn. He would always hear that sound – the sound of an intruder who would never show himself, never make himself known, never say a word, and yet whose presence remained.
He hadn't mentioned the phantom visitor to anyone, not even Masterson, for fear that he would be thought mad. But every time the thing returned the sense that he was being watched came with it and that odd stink seemed to float to him on the air. Tonight was no different.
After he heard the sound the stink came, assailing his nostrils until he felt like he would never expunge the scent from them.
He sat in quiet misery for a long while, knowing that something was there, but unable to banish it.
"Sir?"
Desslok was jolted out of his despair but the sudden voice. "Masterson." he whispered, so as not to wake anyone sleeping in the area. "What brings you out here?"
"I've taken the next watch, Sir." Talan said, a strangely wary look on his face. "It seemed... a good idea tonight."
The prince wanted to stand, to let Talan take his place, but feared that whatever lurked about the camp would follow him upon his departure hindered him. Then he suddenly realized that the feeling of eyes boring into his back had disappeared along with that rancid odor.