"You've unfortunately forced my hand," Kerris said, tugging on a pair of supple leather gloves, these dyed green unlike his previous pair. Jarod glanced up from where he stood, head heavy like it had been filled with iron. His return to consciousness had not been pleasant, and his head throbbed with each pulse of his heart. Aiden stood beside him, back straight and looking as if here were in control of the situation despite his hands roughly shackled behind him. Jarod envied his resolve.
The army moved out before them, hundreds of armed men and women moving in near unison. Only a dozen of the army remained behind with them, some sort of bodyguard for their leader, though they stood off at the edge of camp, waiting expectantly. When the order to march had been given, a cheer had rang like a bell through the camp. They weren't simply paid for a job. Whatever Kerris intended, they believed in it just as fervently.
Jarod shook his head, and then winced at the pain. An army, camped within a dozen miles of one of the largest cities. It defied logic. It wasn't a large army, by any stretch of reason, but there would be almost nothing stopping them from sweeping into Upper Terrin. As part of the treaty signed at the forging of the kingdom, no city nor the country itself could keep an army. The wars that had clouded the world during those dark days had almost destroyed mankind, and the Order had welded the warring nations into one strong piece of steel.
It almost seemed as if Kerris could pluck the thoughts from his mind. He smiled, thought it did not touch his eyes.
"There will be little in the way of resistance," he said. "Perhaps two hundred half-trained men, hardly more than boys? Police, not soldiers. Useful for breaking up a drunken brawl, but hardly trained to repel a siege."
"The Order won't stand for this," Jarod growled.
"The social elite wouldn't deign to house even a single detachment within the walls of the town," Kerris said condescendingly. "Is the Order going to stuff your Justices onto boats and ship them downriver? No king has ever consented to running a railway between here and the Order. A very unsubtle snub that works quite well in my favor. It would be weeks before any force came overland. " He grinned with exuberance. "They don't even close the gate. I'm going to walk right in."
"And then what?" Aiden asked. "So it takes a few weeks to get us down here. Do you honestly think you can hold against a superior force?"
"There are a large number of sympathizers within the city itself, aching to join my cause. Upper Terrin has always stood aloof from the church," Kerris said. He waved a hand dismissively. "How will it look when your army comes and finds a city that doesn't want to be freed? Quite the contrary. What they want is to be free of your incessant meddling."
"Excellent," Jarod said. "Crazy and delusional."
"Perhaps a bit of both," Kerris agreed, turning to watch the last of the assembled troops marching out of sight. The camp grew silent, an unnerving feeling after the din of camp had been so prevalent even moments ago. They stood in the quiet, the only sound the steady patter of rain on the tents that had been left behind.
"The world chafes at your yoke," Kerris said in a hushed voice. "The seed has already been sown. You've all just been too blinded by your supposed piety to notice."
"The Order brought stability to chaos," Aiden snapped.
"Save your breath," Jarod said. "Let the lunatic wax intellectual so we can get on with this."
"The Order brought stagnation," Kerris said, suddenly filled with passion and fire. "The world has sat tepid for millenia, thanks to your dogma. Mankind has grown complacent, and now the first struggling crops begin to grow again." He fixed Jarod with a solid stare. "Even if I fail here, the wheels are already turning. Were you aware the Takarians have been turning priests and Justices away from their province?"
"You're lying," Aiden said.
"They've grown tired of you. It will soon come to civil war."
Jarod frowned. Jacob had mentioned reports from the Takarian province before he'd urged the Lord Commander to give him Daron. Could this raving lunatic actually be right? He dismissed the thought. If a province was actively turning away Justices, the Order would have already moved to do something. King Edwin wouldn't stand for murmurs of civil war.
Though what could the king even do? He had no armies to himself. He was just as bound by the treaty as Upper Terrin, perhaps more so. Aside from a token guard, even the king had no troops he could field in battle. Would the crown pay mercenaries to fight? Could you even trust a force to fight for home and country, simply because of gold?
"I see recognition in your face," Kerris said. "Your commander knows the truth of it. Who else has kept you in the dark of the truth?"
Jarod kept his face impassive as Aiden glanced up at him. He knew nothing for certain, but some of the words Kerris spoke rang true in him. The realm was stagnant, of that he was sure. He had been reprimanded for sharing similar thoughts long ago, when he was younger than Daron. He met Aiden's stare with a look like granite.
"Now," Kerris continued, drawing himself up to full height. "I must bring my children to do battle. We will be at the forefront of the host when it arrives, that I might display to the city that I have you captive. They will see with their own eyes the failure of the Order."
"The capture of two men is going to show the city they shouldn't trust in us?" Jarod snorted.
"It is a start," Kerris shrugged. "Besides, you robbed me of my precious stock. I need warm bodies, and I'd hate to cull new volunteers from my own army when I get my hands on the book."
"A book? I thought you were preaching that this was about stagnation and showing people the light?"
Kerris smiled and shrugged again. "I have two goals that are not mutually exclusive. Once I have the book in my hands, I will no longer be the voice of war. I will be its harbinger."
He focused his gaze upward for a moment, unblinking in the rain. From the shadows of the trees shapes lumbered forward, with slow and methodical steps. A wild, ecstatic grin grew across the man's face, and he gestured sharply forward in the direction the army had taken. The shambling forms turned and staggered after them. Jarod's stomach turned in revulsion, but thankfully he'd had no food today. They looked like ragged men and women, but moved in a way that was alien and unnatural.
"Come, and then," Kerris cried out. He strode purposefully across the camp, the remaining soldiers falling into step and urging the two captives forward with pointed pistols.
"Is what he says true?" Aiden whispered as they walked. "Is Takaria preparing for war?"
"I don't know," Jarod said, but he doubted the truth behind the words. It meshed too well with his own thoughts and feelings over the last two decades, and all that he'd observed during his time with the Order. Could the realm truly be on the edge of warfare?
"My property lies near the border of the province," Aiden said. Worry blossomed on his face.
"If it comes to revolt, the Order will take care of it," Jarod said. "They wouldn't let such a threat stand. It undermines everything we've worked for over the last few thousand years."
Aiden nodded slowly, but he could see disbelief etched onto the man's face. He wished he could offer greater words of solace, but he wasn't even sure that Takaria revolting was a problem. He knew he'd be expelled from the Order for thinking such thoughts, or worse, but he had to think that maybe if someone were to start some motion, the stagnation could be swept away. Certainly he didn't wish for the Order to fall. It simply needed to adapt. He'd never imagine it would come to war to do so, however.
He sighed. It was easier to tell a mountain to change than it would be for the Order. It wasn't even the most pressing issue at hand. If he didn't find a way to get free soon, he wouldn't live to see any such changes. He prayed Daron was having better luck than he was.
Chapter 18.
Winded and exhausted, Daron breathed a sigh of relief when the stunted walls of Upper Terrin finally appeared on the horizon. They'd made decent time, running when possible, desperate to keep ahead of the advancing army. His chest burned from exertion, but some of the stress bled out of him as the city finally came into view.
He wasn't sure how long they had to prepare. The logistics of moving an army wasn't something he'd learned during his years at the academy. He knew they'd left behind all their gear, so their pace would be quicker than if they'd had a supply line, but he still estimated at least five or six hours. They'd made it to the city themselves in under three. Two, perhaps three hours to warn the town and rally a defense. That was something, at least, but would it be enough?
They slowed to a walk the last few hundred yards, curving around the outer walls to meet up with the main road as it meandered into town. The gates were naturally still open, a steady stream of traffic ebbing and flowing in and out of the city. He recalled the first time he'd passed through the gates, wondering if they'd even close after so long set open. No defense they could muster would stop the advancing army if those gates didn't slam closed. Even then, what about other avenues into the city? This wasn't the only path that led inward.
Daron pushed his way through the throng and spied the mostly ornamental guards that flanked the wide avenue. He strode up to the nearest guard, barely more than a teenager who watched the passing crowd with a look of exceptional boredom blanketing his face. His eyes flicked to Daron and away again.
"Who is your commanding officer?" Daron demanded. The guard's eyes looked him over, and then back to the crowd. He probably looked a poor sight, haven't barely slept in days, his clothes unchanged in as long.
"If you have an issue you'll like to bring up, you'll need to take it up at the station," the guard drawled.
"There's no time for this," Daron snapped. He jerked his sword a few inches out of its scabbard to bare the white blade. Surprisingly, the guard didn't even flinch at the motion. If this is the best the city has to work with, we're doomed, he thought.
"I am a Justice of the Order," he said evenly with as much restraint as he could muster. "I have urgent news that needs to be brought to the attention of your superiors."
He held his breath. It was a fairly large gambit. While a Justice commanded a large amount of respect, he had no secular authority. If the guard wished to dismiss him, there was little he could do about it.
The guard drew himself up to full height, nearly on a level with Daron. His bored expression faded away to false bravado. Daron groaned inwardly. This was going to be useless.
"I don't think you-" The guard cut off as Daron abruptly swiveled, slamming his blade back down and pushing against the sea of traffic amidst the pouring rain.
"What are you going to do now?" Brynn asked, scrambling to catch up.
"I'm going to buy a cloak," he said.
It took far too long to cross the city by foot for his liking. He was already ragged and tired from the run back, layered on top of the lack of sleep from the night before. His legs burned with each step, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself forward. Each minute they burned away in fruitless effort was one more than they could afford.
He didn't pause as they arrived at Tel's tailoring shop, throwing open the door with enough force for it to rebound off of the wall with a resounding crash. The glass in the windows rattled.
Martin paused at the threshold. "I think I'll wait out here," the historian muttered, leaning against the front wall.
"This is no time to get apathetic," Daron said cooly. "Either you're with us, or you can leave. I don't have time for this."
Martin detached from the wall and met Daron with an unreadable look. After a long moment, the historian gave a curt nod and followed Daron in. The steady rhythm of the sewing machines abruptly died off as he strode around the desk and past Breddon, who scurried after, one hand raised on protest. Leah slid smoothly in front of him, blocking the clerk off as the remainder of the group strode through the workroom and up the rickety stairs in back.
Without preamble Daron threw open the door to Tel's office. The man was seated behind his desk, face buried in a thick ledger. A tall bottle of whiskey sat on his desk, a wide and short glass half full of the amber liquid sat nearby. He blinked as they filed into his room.
"Please, do come in," the Justice muttered, not bothering to rise. He sipped at his drink as his eyes flicked across their group, narrowing when they landed on Martin.
"You," Tel snarled, half rising from his desk, slamming the glass down. Amber liquid splashed unnoticed. His knuckles gripped the edge of his desk until they turned white.
"Yes, me," Martin responded wearily. He waved a hand dismissively. "We have more pressing matters here."
"You are a damned-"
"I am a simple historian," Martin interjected, raising his voice over the enraged Justice's. "And you are simple tailor."
Daron frowned between the two, and then slammed his fist down on the table.
"We don't have time for petty squabbles," he spat. His hand throbbed, but he refused to show it. It might not have been the best idea, but it seemed to have worked. Tel and Martin jumped, both turning to face him. Even Brynn and Leah were watching him with a bit of shock evident.
"We have an army advancing on this city," he said in more neutral tones, trying to regain his composure. "I have no pull with the city guards or police, but you've been here long enough to have some contacts, if I had to guess."
"An army?" Tel scoffed.
"The boy has the right of it," Martin said in a jovial voice. He seemed to have brushed off whatever confrontation had been brewing. "If you don't trust his eyes, trust mine. I'm sure you know how keen my observations are."
Tel dropped back down into his seat with a frown. He glanced between the group arrayed before him, and then his eyes narrowed.
"Where's Jarod?" he asked.
"Captured, by the invading force," Daron said quietly. Tel lowered his head for a moment and uttered a prayer.
"Can you help us, or not?"
Tel pushed himself to his feet and regarded them all for a moment. He bent and yanked open a chest beside his desk, pulling out large stacks of paper and a few books, tossing them onto his desk. He whipped a brilliant sapphire blue cloak out and swung it about his shoulders, fastening the hourglass and flame clasp at his chest. A moment later his Oathblade was belted to one hip, retrieved from behind a bookcase.
"I guess I'm not a tailor today," he announced. Tel stood for a moment, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his eyes distant and unfocused. Fingers traced along the leather wrapped about it.
"I have a little pull, if we can get to the right ear," he said.
"Welcome back, Justice Tel," Daron said, offering his throbbing hand. The rotund man blinked at it for a moment then clasped it, giving him a firm shake.
A short carriage ride later they returned to the gate. The traffic had dwindled slightly down to a trickle of carts, carriages and pedestrians. If they closed the gate, what would become of the travelers on their way to the city, finding their entry barred? Could they instead muster enough of a force to surge out and meet the advance before arriving?
Tel strode purposefully up to the guard that had ignored Daron's pleas earlier. The man detached from leaning against the wall, his eyes narrowing when he spied Daron again.
"I want you to find your superior," Tel said, gliding to a halt inches away from the startled guard. "Then I want you to tell him to find his superior and meet me here."
"You don't get to-"
Tel grabbed the man's uniform and yanked him closer, cutting him off.
"If you do not leave in the next few breaths, I will ram my Oathblade through your gut, pin you to this wall and find someone who will. I will heal the wound enough to let you live, but trust me when I say it will be the most excruciatingly painful half hour of your life." He yanked his blade from its sheath and threw the guard back a few steps. He blinked, and sprinted away.
"The opinion of the population is not likely endeared by actions such as that," Martin said delicately. Tel snorted.
"Wouldn't have actually done it," he admitted. "Sometimes you just need to get someone's attention."
Martin nodded, but said nothing.
The other guards were watching warily, keeping their distance, though their hands clutched at their weapons. Daron began to pace. They didn't have time for these delays. If they were lucky, they might have an hour to prepare, a woefully inadequate amount of time to seal up the city.
Fortunately, they didn't have to wait long. A lanky man with crisp black hair and a neatly trimmed beard arrived a short time later, the gate guard in tow a few steps behind him. The newcomer tapped two fingers to his throat with a slight nod.
"Master tailor," he acknowledged. "I hear there's a little trouble brewing here."
Tel waved a hand in irritation. "We don't have time for this nonsense," Tel said, echoing Daron's sentiments. "I'm perfectly well aware you know who I am, Captain Dax."
Dax smiled broadly and nodded. "Dispensing with the game, are we? This must be serious."
"Sir, an armed force is moving on the city as we chatter," Brynn said. "At least a thousand strong. Arriving from the south, from Mediya."
Dax didn't blink. Instead he swiveled and pointed a glove at the guard that had given Daron trouble.
"Gather a few more and head out to verify this," he barked. The guard glanced between Dax and Tel for a moment, threw a sloppy salute and wove through traffic. "Be quick about it," Dax roared. The remainder of the gate guards dashed out and around the wall of the city.
"So, you believe us?" Daron questioned.
"Not hardly," Dax admitted. "However, I'm inclined to believe that our esteemed tailor here is worth listening to. Should he be proven wrong, I've got some explaining to do to the city council and some wasted time on my hands. For now, we'll act as if what you say is truth and work accordingly."
Daron heaved a sigh of relief. Finally someone was listening. It finally looked like they might have a fighting chance.
Dax wasted no time. As the main garrison was close at hand to the eastern gate, it took only a few minutes before they were standing before it. The garrison was a sprawling stone building surrounded by a meticulously maintained yard, one of the few open patches of grass Daron had seen besides the museum. Large electric lights sat atop poles around the perimeter, darkened now during the day. A dozen people lounged about, men and women between shifts in patrolling the streets and keeping order. They snapped a sharp salute as Dax hurried past and inside. The captain ignored them.
Dozens of tables and chair littered the room, though it was lit with the pleasant glow of electric light. A handful of people sat playing at cards or dice, hardly giving a glance as they bustled in. Dax threw open a door on the far side of the room and led them down a short hallway before yanking open a door to one side.
The office was utilitarian and simple. The only adornment the walls held was a chalkboard covered in what looked like a duty roster to Daron, and a yellowed map of the city nearly a dozen feet wide.
"Now," Dax said, "explain to me what I'm risking my neck for."