Voice of war, p.2
Voice of War, page 2
part #1 of Threadlight Series
“I’m glad to hear it.” Malachus rounded the other end of the table, looked at the leather book, and laughed to himself. “Chrys, do you know why I chose you to be high general?”
One year had passed since Chrys had accepted the position: one of three high generals to the Great Lord. He had been twenty-nine at the time, young for the prestige of the highest office, but well-respected for his leadership in the War of the Wastelands. Many discounted his achievements and saw him only as the boy that had lived in Endin Keep during his early years. Malachus’ wife had taken in Chrys and his mother when they’d first arrived in Alchea from Felia. They’d lived in Endin Keep until Chrys was eight years old, and in those years Malachus had grown fond of the little fighter. Even after two decades, the fondness remained.
“There are many practical reasons, sir. The political…”
“No, no, no. Come now. Politically it was an awful choice. Rynan had more years of experience, had spent time in both Felia and Alir, and is possibly the best swordsman in Alchea. Jurius thought I’d gone mad when I chose you instead. It wasn’t completely mad, of course. You were a legend after the war. The Apogee. For me, that was nothing but a convenient selling point. Even still, some considered it a form of nepotism when I promoted you. But, do you know the real reason?” Malachus gestured to the book and papers. “This. You sitting there with your head in a book is why. When you find a weakness, you wake up with the sun, grab it by the stones, and bring it to submission. Self-betterment is the rarest form of ambition. I admire it greatly.”
“I wouldn’t call it ambition, sir.”
“Sure, it is,” Malachus said, his brows furling. “You know, sometimes I look at you and wonder how it’s possible. On the one hand, you’re this.” Maachus gestured to him. “A man completely in control. And on the other hand, we’ve all heard the stories.”
“That part of me is gone, sir.”
Malachus huffed. “No, it’s not. I know you too well. That fire you get in your eyes. Some fires burn so bright you spend years finding unbridled coals. One of these days, if you’re not careful one of them will catch fire.”
“I’m managing.” The truth was that Chrys had struggled ever since the war. He still had nightmares of his hands dripping red while hundreds of wastelanders lay dead around him. Women and children. Even some of his own men. The Apogee they’d called him. The man who turned the tide.
“Don’t shy away from ambition, Chrys. It’s a tool as useful as any other. I was once overflowing with it and it won me a nation. These days, I’m afraid I find it in short supply. I like to tell myself that I’m just waiting for the right opportunity but, when decades pass, you start to doubt your own lies. If you’d known Jurius and I thirty years ago, you’d have seen pure ambition personified.” He relaxed back in his chair.
In many ways, Chrys looked up to Malachus. His cunning rise to power. His peace treaty with Felia. He had been ruthless in those days, but somewhere along the way he’d grown softer. Chrys had never understood what had brought about the change, but “diminishing ambition” was as good a reason as any.
A knock at the door broke the moment. A man and woman entered and Malachus gave a wide smile. “Speak of the old stone.”
High General Jurius, an older man with well-trimmed dark hair and a beard that was dusted with gray, frowned as he entered. Deep bags lay beneath his bright green eyes. “What are we talking about?”
“Ambition,” Malachus smiled.
The white-haired Alirian woman, High General Henna, raised her brows. “From Chrys? I’ve seen more ambition from a fish.”
Malachus laughed.
Chrys rose and greeted her with a handshake. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It’s not,” she smirked.
High General Jurius took a seat and noted the book in front of Chrys. “What is ‘Late-stage Obstetrics’?”
“It’s a…” he looked to Malachus.
“The handsome one is a doctor now?” Henna interrupted.
“…weakness.” Chrys finished. “I don’t like to be caught off guard twice.”
Henna ignored him. “That is rather serendipitous; I’m due for my next lady checkup.” She smiled. Despite having been born in Alchea, it had been a scandal when she’d been named high general. Angry commoners cursing and calling her a spy. As far as Chrys knew, she’d never even been to the Alirian Islands. “I’ll have Geoffrey schedule it.”
Malachus pointed at the book. “Knowledge is the foundation of every victory. Rather than mocking Chrys, you both would do well to follow his example.”
The room grew quiet. The other high generals hardly tried to hide their disdain. Both were many years his senior, and neither had earned the title so easily. He hoped it would fade sooner rather than later, but a year had passed and the aversion remained.
“Henna,” Malachus leaned forward. “Why don’t you give me your report.”
She nodded. “Of course, sir. The mountain passes have continued to receive pressure from the wastelanders, but only reactively. They appear to have greater numbers than our original estimates, but we’ve managed to force them completely out of Ripshire Valley and down into the swamps. We’ve set up an outpost at the choke point and should be able to sustain control of the passes with minimal manpower.
“A small skirmish broke out south of the pass, but we were able to dispatch them easy enough with a small force of threadweavers. We’ve still yet to see any threadweavers among the wastelanders—probably because they aren’t human—so it should be safe to man the outpost with achromats going forward.”
Henna was achromic herself, but she was one of the fiercest fighters in all of Alchea and her knowledge of historical battle strategies was second to none. Chrys had started to believe the stories about her. Supposedly, when she’d first joined the Alchean army, a group of sloven soldiers had approached her on her way home. They had surrounded her and tried to convince her that, although she wasn’t the prettiest, her Alirian hair and fit frame were enough to find her a special “someone” to take care of her. When one approached with grease in his gaze, she caught him off guard, pinned him to the ground, slipped out a knife and cut his thumb off. Before the others understood what had happened, she held up the finger and told them she’d already found her special thumb-one and wouldn’t be needing their services. Everyone left her alone after that. A guard had once claimed to Chrys that there was a thumb framed in Henna’s living room. Chrys didn’t doubt it.
“Proceed to man the outpost as you see fit,” Malachus nodded. “And keep me informed of any further advancements. Especially if they become more proactive. At some point, we may want to send scouts deeper into the Wastelands to get a better read on their numbers but, if things have settled for now, do as you wish. Was there anything else?”
She raised a finger. “There is one thing. While scouting the mountain peaks, one of our men discovered a cave. There were etchings found at the mouth of the cave and it appears to go deep into the mountain. He traveled and never found the end, but he did find mining tools and a few weapons along the way. Looked fresher than they would have expected. They are exploring further at my request.”
“As long as the wastelanders are kept at bay, you may use your resources as you see fit, though I would not personally spend time exploring caves. Thank you.” Malachus turned to his longtime friend, High General Jurius. “And what news from Felia?”
“The roads remain clear of bandits on our side of the border. I’ve heard reports of trouble on the Felian side but, for now, it’s nothing but hearsay. The Empress doesn’t care about us so long as we stay east of Shay’s Meadow.” General Jurius hated his assignment. When Chrys had been tasked with weeding out the Bloodthieves, Jurius had about jumped over the table and strangled him. But for good reason—his son was the first threadweaver that had gone missing.
Malachus nodded. “Good. Any word from the spies?”
“Nothing new,” Jurius paused. “There is little to worry about and little to do. I would be happy to help in other areas while my duties are light.”
“Jurius,” Malachus exhaled. “It’s not a matter of qualification or workload. This needs to be handled carefully, and you are too emotionally connected to it.”
“It’s been more than a month and we have nothing! I don’t care how emotionally connected I am. We need results, and we’re not getting them!”
Chrys shifted in his chair, his hands clasped atop the book. The words were an attack on his abilities, but Chrys understood. Jurius wanted his son back. As a soon-to-be father, Chrys couldn’t even imagine what Jurius must be feeling. While the Bloodthieves were out there, kidnapping threadweavers and selling their blood, none of them were safe. The doctor who’d performed surgery on Iriel the previous day had said something about stopping the Bloodthieves and stopping them from taking his child. He wished he could ask the man why he would say something like that.
“I’m following up on a lead later this morning,” Chrys responded. “We’re doing everything we can.”
“That is well. I want Chrys to focus all of his efforts on rooting them out.” Malachus nodded to Chrys then turned back to Jurius. “In the meantime, I would like Jurius to take over the training of the Sapphire threadweavers until the Bloodthieves are dealt with.”
“But, sir—” Chrys started.
“It’s not up for debate. There is nothing more important than stopping the kidnappings before it gets even more out of hand. Thank you, Jurius. Chrys, what updates do you have?”
Chrys composed himself. He knew Malachus well enough to know when his mind was set in stone. Even more frustrating was the smirk on Henna’s lips. He ignored her. “We received a report that the Bloodthieves have a base of operations in the lower westside. The source gave us directions to a warehouse. I plan on taking my team to investigate later this morning.”
“What kind of source?” Henna asked skeptically.
“Someone from the area who said they saw a brown-eyed man go into a warehouse and come out with his veins tinted green.”
“Someone?” she pressed.
“A boy,” Chrys said.
“A boy? How young?” She wouldn’t let it go.
“I don’t know, Henna. A young boy. Maybe twelve? A source is a source.”
Henna frowned. “How much are you paying him for the information?”
“The most recent missing threadweaver was an Emerald. The boy saw green veins. It could have merit. Every source is worth confirming.”
Jurius shook his head. “You can’t be serious. This is the only lead you have? A deadbeat off the street looking to make a few shines? How could this possibly be the best lead you have after a month?”
“Enough!” Chrys exploded. “We’re on the same side. I understand that you want your son back. I want them all back. Malachus trusts me. If you doubt his judgment, then speak up.”
Silence.
“And if not, then keep your mouths shut and let me give my report.” Chrys felt a familiar anger boiling inside him, a voice in the back of his mind.
Mmmm, the voice spoke to him. You don’t deserve to be disrespected this way. Let me help. I will make them respect you.
Chrys shook his head.
For the last five years, ever since the War of the Wastelands, Chrys had heard the voice. Like a shadow living inside him, a reminder of the day he’d slaughtered hundreds. The world believed that Chrys was the Apogee, that they were one and the same, but Chrys knew better. And he knew how dangerous it would be to lose control once again. No one knew. Not even his wife. Insanity isn’t high on anyone’s list of leadership qualities. But Chrys had controlled it for years, and he wasn’t about to let his guard down now.
He spoke back to the voice. No, I am in control.
But you don’t have to be.
Malachus scowled. “It appears that matter has been resolved. Chrys, please finish your report.”
“Of course, sir.” Chrys took a breath. “As I said, I will be taking my team to investigate the warehouse later this morning. Whatever the outcome, I’ll report back as soon as possible.”
“And what of the missing threadweavers?” Malachus asked. “I assume I would have heard if we’d found any bodies?”
Chrys shook his head and sighed. Four had gone missing, but the body of one had been found the prior week. Bruised and pale, with marks all over his body from cuts they’d used to drain his blood. “Still no sign, sir. This afternoon I am heading to the temple to get a complete list of threadweavers. I am going to see if there is any pattern with those who have been kidnapped in an attempt to predict the next target. It’s a long shot. The Bloodthieves have been careful.”
“If you find them,” Jurius said, scowling, “rip the heart out of every last one of those cowards. They don’t deserve a trial. They don’t deserve a chance to explain themselves. They deserve a swift death.”
“I would prefer to capture them alive.”
Henna leaned forward. “I say we drown them in blood. Pour it down their throats and let them choke on the irony of it.”
There were rumors that Jurius and Henna had been lovers in the past while Jurius’ wife was still alive. Chrys didn’t believe it. They respected each other; friends maybe, but certainly not lovers. Jurius was older and reclusive, and Henna had other interests.
“Your creativity is inspiring, Henna.” Malachus leaned back in his chair. “I will ponder on a befitting punishment for our transgressors after we find them. Thank you all. You are dismissed.”
Chrys gathered his things and left the room, glancing back to see Malachus deep in thought and the two high generals talking as they walked out behind him.
“Chrys.” Jurius ran forward and stopped him.
“What do you want, Jurius?”
“I wanted to apologize…for everything. You were placed in a tough situation, and you don’t deserve the way I’ve treated you. I just hate sitting back while my son is in danger.”
Chrys looked at Jurius, and the man seemed sincere. “I appreciate that.”
“If you ever need help with the investigation,” Jurius added, “I’m here and I’ll help in any way that I can. I would do anything for my son.”
The words sparked a memory in Chrys. He recalled the odd man who’d saved Iriel, and his words of caution. Your child is the key. Find the Bloodthieves before it’s too late. Stop them. And, above all else, do not let them take your child.
“Of course,” Chrys nodded. “I’m not a father yet, but I know I’d do anything for my child. I promise I’ll find them.”
Jurius thanked him and walked down the spiral staircase. Chrys was surprised by the unexpected apology. The high general was smart; he must have realized that the only way Chrys would ever let him get involved is by smoothing over the relationship.
Chrys walked forward and made eye contact with two guards posted at the top of the stairway. He stepped forward and fixed the collar on one of the guards. “Soldiers.”
“High General,” they said in unison.
“Thank you for your vigilance. You are prime examples of professionalism.” Chrys turned to the female guard. “How’s your uncle?”
“Much better, sir.”
She stood a little taller and Chrys was sure that, for a brief moment, he’d caught a smile forming in the corner of the woman’s mouth.
A tall, wide window lay just a few strides from the top of the stairs, looking out over the keep’s courtyard. Chrys stepped forward, opened the window, and nodded to the guards. His veins began to glow a bright blue as he opened himself to threadlight. Then, as if he’d stepped into a higher plane, brilliant strands of colorful light burst forth into existence all round him, a tapestry of pure energy connecting him to everything around. Below him, a dense, bright thread ran from the ground up into his body. His corethread. His connection to the world itself.
Then, he jumped.
The wind rushed through his dark hair and his cloak flowed high up overhead as he fell to the distant ground. He focused on his corethread and, as he approached the ground, pushed energy through it. His veins burned hot, adrenaline mixing with the power of threadweaving. As he pushed, it pushed back and his eyes glowed bright blue. He pushed harder until gravity no longer had hold of him and, just before he hit the ground, he gave a final push on his corethread, stopping his fall completely. He landed with the smallest thud. The veins in his arms radiated a strange, luminescent blue light that seemed to pulse brighter with the beat of his heart.
In a world where Chrys had to be in control, he cherished such moments of ungoverned freefall. He stood up straight, smiled, and clasped his hands behind his back.
His manservant, Geoffrey, bolted upright from his seat on the carriage. “Stones be damned,” he let slip. “My apologies, Lord Chrys. My tongue curses quicker than my mind can stop it. Really should keep my eyes up, like the priests are always telling me to do. Again, apologies, my lord.”
“No apology needed,” Chrys assured him as he walked toward the carriage. “I need you to send out runners to fetch my crew. Have them meet me at The Black Eye. I’ll meet them at noon.”
“Even Luther, sir?” he asked.
“Yes,” Chrys confirmed. He’d thought about what Luther had said about not wanting to be sitting at home with his thoughts, and he was right. If Chrys were in his position, he wouldn’t want that either.
Stealing a quick glance up at the high tower window that was still open, Chrys was sure he heard another “stones be damned” under Geoffrey’s breath as he the manservant rode away to notify the others.
Chapter 3
The Black Eye was empty save for the scarred-up barkeep and his daughter. Chrys sat in silence for a time thinking about Iriel, hoping that everything was okay with her and the baby. After studying each of the medical books he’d had procured from the keep library, he was fairly certain he understood what had happened to her, but he still wasn’t certain what the doctor had done. None of the methods he’d read about required surgery. But whatever the stranger had done seemed to have worked.
