CHAPTER THREE
Knowledge
COUNCIL OF VICEROYS – ….Though lacking the parliamentary form of Government seen in Galvenia, the Council is the Zion Empire's nearest equivalent. It consists simply of the twenty-four Viceroys appointed by the Emperor to administer his territories and dependencies, and is headed by a Chairman, elected by the members themselves and serving for a term of four years, if this is not preceded by the Chairman's death or removal by the Emperor. Though largely a ceremonial body, the Council has played an important role in ruling Zion following the sudden death of its Emperors, such as Johan II (q.v.). Its importance increased dramatically following the events of the Terran War…
- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24th Edition, C.Y. 347
"All things considered," Noah Ibrahim of Fulton observed, as he and his new classmates sat at one of the tables at the King's College cafeteria, "we are lucky, aren't we?"
"Lucky to have cleared the entrance test? You can say that again," Henrik Spenson said, with a nod of agreement. "If I hadn't made it, Father would never have let me hear the end of it." He laughed.
"I must confess that, despite trusting in the guidance of the Infinity, I was rather nervous myself," Brother Ivan Kasprowicz said, smoothing down his luxuriant beard. Though of Varald parentage, he spoke impeccable Common, with only a slight accent. "Though the Church of the Infinity has been generous, I doubt they would have been too pleased with a low score. Now, thank God, I can actually study philosophy at one of Terra's best universities."
"Not to forget that you miss out on the draft, Henrik," Noah said teasingly. "Were you going to sign up, anyhow?"
"Well, my friend Ryan did, but Dad would never hear of it," Henrik replied, closing his eyes. "Besides, many analysts say the war won't last long; the fact that the Zion accepted Hipper's presidency means that the current conflict is just a ploy, a test of strength."
"To what end, Brother Henrik?" Ivan asked.
"For the Zion – to test their new weapons, and also to assure themselves of our loyalty," Henrik replied. "And for the Varald – to send a message to Itaria, who are probably their true target. Kievan is the most militaristic ruler that the Directorate has seen in decades, but even he isn't fool enough to pick a fight with the Zion."
"There are interesting rumours about Charlemagne, the Zion Emperor, being ill," Ibrahim said, leaning forward. "He hasn't made too many public appearances in the last decade, and Wilhelm's death couldn't have helped. If he is weak, then Kievan will be slavering at the lips for a chance to strike soon."
"Er, excuse me," a soft-spoken voice said, interrupting this learned discussion. "Henrik, would you mind if I join you guys?"
Henrik, surprised, turned around to face a blonde young woman, blushing with embarrassment, and wearing a green coat and skirt that were obviously new. In one hand, she was carrying a suitcase which was far too heavy for her to handle alone.
"Viola?" He shook his head. "What brings you here to King's College?"
"I'm sorry I'm late," Viola Benise said breathlessly, as Ivan chivalrously offered her a seat and helped her find a resting-place for her suitcase. "My paperwork got all mixed up thanks to an error in Mayor Saunders' office, but the College staff were very kind, and aren't asking me to pay any sort of penalty. So here I am!"
"Are you a fellow freshman, then?" Noah said, with a grin.
"I'm afraid so," Viola replied. "All thanks to Prime Minister Socius, who announced a scholarship this year for the children of Galvenian servicemen who died in the line of duty."
"Hmm, I've heard of that," Henrik said, holding out his hand to her. "So you're the 'chosen one' this year, then? Congratulations!"
"Oh, thank you, Henrik," Viola replied, with a laugh. "They did allow me to take the entrance test yesterday, and they said I'd done well enough."
"Was your father a soldier, Miss –" Brother Ivan began.
"Viola Benise," she replied.
"I'm Ivan Kasprowicz, and I'm a candidate for the priesthood," he replied, offering her his own hand. "This is Noah Ibrahim of Fulton, who's here to study political science. And I see that you already know our resident genius…."
"Very funny, Kasprowicz," Henrik replied. "Don't mind them, Viola, they're just kidding around."
"Anyway, Mr. Kasprowicz, Daddy wasn't a soldier. He was a sailor with the Royal Navy, and his boat went down defending a merchant ship from a pirate attack, three years ago. That's – why I'm here, I guess."
"My condolences, Miss Benise," Ivan replied, his hand instinctively touching the medallion of Saint Geraud that hung from his neck. "So what will you be majoring in?"
"Literature, certainly," Viola replied, grateful for the change in topic. "I've always dreamed of being a writer, but if I can't do that, at least I can study fine writing!"
"That's an interesting topic, certainly," Noah said. Privately, he found literature a crashing bore, but personable young Galvenian women interested him. "By the way, Spenson, what are you opting for?"
"Hmm, can't say, old chap," Henrik replied, then looked up at the clock. "Goodness, it's almost closing time here, and we ought to get back to our dorms – the Dean's going to address us all tomorrow! Can I help you with this, Viola?" He picked up the suitcase.
"That's nice of you, Henrik," Viola replied, colouring as the two of them rose from the table
"Oh, least I can do for a fellow resident of Davenport," Henrik said. "Now, which way is your room?"
"It's Room 421 on the east wing, that way," she answered, pointing the way with one hand. Before their companions knew it, they were out of earshot.
"Gentlemanly kid, isn't he, Brother Kasprowicz?" Noah said, with a wink.
"Well, he's a fellow Church member," Brother Ivan said loyally. "Maybe you'll think of something next time, and upstage him. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a little work in the library." He bowed politely, and left.
"Very amusing, Kasprowicz," Noah retorted, as he finished his cup of coffee.
"With all due respect, Prime Minister, I think this is unwise," Sir Prescott Chuselwock protested.
"I know that as well as you do, Sir Prescott," Martell Socius apologized. "We are now four months into the war, and it seems the vaunted Zion Battalions are not what they used to be; after a month of pin-pricks, the first pitched battle has ended in a victory for the Zion and the capture of Eriksburg by the 27th Varald Division. General Tegawa and Chancellor Hunermann – who are making most of the decisions, given Charlemagne's indisposition – are both alarmed, and want some our best men to join them. The Queen personally recommended you for this task, and we have no better men than your Rough Riders. Think of it as an honour."
"The Queen?" Sir Prescott frowned. "With all due respect to Her Majesty, I suspect that the request for the Rough Riders must have come from our Zion friends themselves; she was merely being polite. She has little reason to honour me."
Socius laughed. "Come on now, Prescott, surely the two of you aren't beating that dead horse any more? But let us not gossip. Do you have any objections to this mission? I ask this as a fellow veteran, not as your Prime Minister."
"In military terms, absolutely none," Prescott answered proudly. "The Rough Riders will defend the honour of Galvenia and her allies, regardless of the situation. But remember what we discussed before this war began, Socius – the suspicions you shared with Trask. I am now in a position where I can confirm them, and what is more, I can give you another name."
"Give it to me before you leave, then," Socius said placatingly. "We will continue to work discreetly."
"If you wish," Sir Prescott replied, and whispered a few words in Socius' ear. Socius seemed concerned, though not shocked, and his expression turned grave.
"Are you sure of this?" Socius replied. "How could he possibly –"
"I have some ideas, Socius, and I will communicate them to you before I leave. But for now, silence. Too much knowledge can be dangerous. But now, I must leave. The new recruits are completing their basic training, and I need to review them."
"I understand, Sir Prescott," Socius said, saluting as the young Commander of the Rough Riders left his chamber.
A spider's web, he thought. One strand leads to another, and to another. But the chain must end somewhere. Prescott is surely right. And when I find that end, may the Infinity help that man.
"Guard duty?" Ryan said indignantly. "You mean we went through three months of boot camp just for this?"
"Pipe down, kid," Sergeant Ferrars said indulgently, "and listen to some hard facts. Joining the army doesn't mean you get to be General after a week! Now, the truth of the matter is this. We've received information that enemy agents are trying some sort of monkey business in Mount Lorea Mine, in Northern Galvenia. The police combed the area twice, and found sabotaged bridges, home-made bombs, and the apparent theft of some mineral samples. Major Trask, the head of Palace Security, is concerned."
"Did you say Trask?" Ryan said, staring open-mouthed at the Sergeant.
"Son, when addressing me, it's always nice to use the word 'sir'," Ferrars replied with a wink.
"My apologies, sir," Ryan replied. "It's just that – I may know something about this, sir."
"Do you?" Ferrars looked at him appraisingly. "Well, you can tell us about it later, Eramond, but for now, I'm doing the briefing. Apparently, Trask has received a tip that someone might try to reach the mines again. Whether there's something hidden there, or whether it's just an attempt to harm our economy, is immaterial. You three – Eramond, Davies and Humphreys – will take turns guarding the entrance to that mine, until we get further orders from the Palace. You'll leave tomorrow morning. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," the three men in front of Ferrars replied.
"And one more thing. We'll give you a radio, and there'll be backup waiting at Checkpoint Alpha. If you feel things are getting out of hand, don't try to be heroes – we need you in one piece, because in a couple of months, if you guys do well, we'll have you on call when the Royal Family comes to visit Davenport. Is that clear?"
The Royal Family? That means…. Ryan thought to himself, and grinned. "Of course, Sir," he replied.
"Good man," Ferrars replied. "Eramond, you can be team leader on this one, so don't goof off. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Ryan replied enthusiastically. I wonder if I'll get to see her soon…
"Hunermann," General Tegawa said, walking quickly to interrupt the Chancellor as he walked away from the Emperor's chambers, "a word with you, please."
"Tegawa!" The Chancellor smiled. "What a pleasant surprise. How may I help you?"
"First, a simple question, Chancellor. How is the Emperor?"
"Not very well, I'm afraid." Hunermann shook his head. "The best physicians of Zion are puzzled. It is as if every system in his body was slowly, but inexorably, giving up the ghost. They toss diagnoses around – chronic infection, cancer, internal bleeding – without coming to any firm conclusion. Thankfully, his mind is spared."
"Let us be grateful for small mercies, then. Tell me, Chancellor – as I am busy coordinating the war effort, and may soon be called to the front…"
"So soon?" Hunermann looked aghast.
"The news from the front is hardly any better that Charlemagne's health, Chancellor," the General replied. "The Varald have now taken not only Eriksburg and its dependencies, but they have captured the garrison at Saint Johan. Our Galvenian allies have managed to intercept shipments of their weapons, but have lost some ships in the process. And while King Arlbert has been generous enough to loan us his Rough Riders, we will need more than this to fight back against the frenzied attacks of the Varald Divisions. We are trying to be as discreet as possible, but the news must break sooner or later. And given the gravity of the situation, we must be doubly sure that we are not facing internal enemies as well."
"Internal enemies?" Hunermann looked at General Tegawa with concern. "Surely –"
"How good a Church member are you, Hunermann?" Tegawa asked, with a smile.
"Middling," Hunermann answered honestly. "My wife and third son are the devout ones; the boy will probably end up a priest if he stays that way. Why do you ask?"
"I ask because I suspect that it is through the Church that our internal enemies will strike. Tell me, Hunermann, have you heard of the Sealed Prophecy of Geraud?"
Hunermann shook his head. "I set little store by such things. Geraud was a great Emperor, and the father of the Commonwealth; what he saw in his dreams matters little to me."
"Do yourself a favour, Hunermann," Tegawa replied, "and ask your wife about it. Then speak to the Archbishop of Caledonia. A storm is about to break, and while you cannot avert it, you must be prepared."
It was a clear hint, and Hunermann took it. "Thank you, Tegawa," he said, shaking hands with the General. "Have no fear, I shall see to this prophetic foolery, whatever it might be."
"Your Holiness, the Zion envoy is here," Archbishop Diaz said nervously. "Shall I send him in?"
"Well, why not?" Pontiff Pious XXI replied with a smile. "Though, if he wants troops to support him against the Varald, I can only offer prayers."
"Your Holiness, this is no time to jest!" Diaz said, irritably. "Do you not see that what I warned you about has come to pass?"
"My good Diaz, please remember that patience is one of the Seven Virtues commended to all clergymen by our saintly predecessor, Guibert V," Pious XXI replied. "Now, send the man in, and let me speak."
'The man', as the Pontiff referred to him, was dressed in all the finery of a Zion noble, and carried a sword at his belt – a clear sign of hostility, given the tradition of pacifism that everyone, even visitors, respected in Itaria City.
"Good afternoon, Your Holiness," he replied. "I am Count Kraemer, envoy of His Imperial Highness, Charlemagne III of Zion."
"Good afternoon, Count Kraemer, and may God's peace be with you," Pious XXI replied, holding out his hand for the traditional gesture of respect. Kraemer ignored it, and sat down opposite the Pontiff, his brow furrowed.
"Pontiff, the task I have is an unpleasant one, and it is not one that I have asked for," he said, almost apologetically. "But it is the decision of the Council of Viceroys, and has been ratified by the Emperor."
"You puzzle me, my good Count," Pious XXI said benevolently. "Is the Emperor ailing, that he should need the Council to make decisions for him? Normally, the Council takes an active role only when an Emperor is a minor."
"I am not at liberty to discuss that," Kraemer said, his facial expression betraying the utmost discomfort. "Instead, I will give you the Council's missive."
"Please do so," Pious XXI said, placing his eyeglasses on the bridge of his nose. He took the scroll that Kraemer held out to him, and read the following:
"From the Council of Viceroys, and His Imperial Highness, Charlemagne III, Supreme Ruler of the Zion Empire and Defender of the Faith, to our brother, Pontiff Pious XXI.
Greetings to you!
We need not remind you of the deep bond of brotherhood that unites our nations, a bond that has been forged in the twin crucibles of war and belief. We write to you on two matters of grave import.
First: Given the gravity of our war with the Varald, and the predilection of this detestable nation for striking unfair blows, we undertake to station a fleet of Imperial ships, and members of the 7th and 8th Imperial battalions, to defend Itaria should the need arise.
Second: We deplore the fact that your late predecessor, Augustus VIII, has been remiss in providing us with valuable knowledge related to Saint Geraud. We hope that you will remedy this situation at once, and release this information to our envoy, Count Kraemer. Failure to do so will be viewed as a hostile act.
Yours in the name of the Infinity and in the name of the glorious Zion Empire,
Kurt Walters, Chairman, Council of Viceroys."
"What is your Walters referring to, Count Kraemer?" Pious XXI said, removing his glasses and shaking his head.
"I can only assume he means the prophecies that Pontiff Augustus spoke about – the visions of Sister Anna," Kraemer replied, so softly that Pious had to strain to hear him. "Many in the Council believe that Augustus…did not tell the whole truth."
"Do you not realize," Pious replied, "that accusing a Pontiff of lying on religious matters is a very grave allegation?"
"Holy Father, I know," Kraemer pleaded. "Infinity help me, I never asked for this task. Walters commanded me to carry out, on pain of losing my office as Ambassador."
"Then help me a little, Count Kraemer. Why do the Council doubt my sainted predecessor?"
"Because they believe, Your Highness, that the prophecy speaks of things that are yet to come – the defeat of the Zion Empire, world-wide devastation at the hands of the Varald, and so forth. I do not believe this myself, but I can only follow orders."
"Tell your Kurt Walters, Count Kraemer, that he may have the following answer from me: That the Church of the Infinity does not lie. That its Pontiffs are committed to telling the truth, in word and deed. That even if we have erred in interpreting a mysterious prophecy, there is no certainty that a council of laymen can do any better. And that if he chooses to view this as hostile, when it is clear that the Varald are his true enemies, he is either being willfully blind or foolish." Pious had never raised his voice during this entire monologue, but Diaz blanched at the language – which, coming from the Pontiff, was a rebuke of the sternest kind. "Is that clear, Kraemer? Tell him you tried your best to persuade me, but that I was unyielding. The blame is mine."
Count Kraemer sighed with relief. "Very well, Your Holiness. I – hoped you would answer this way, honestly. Can I have documentary proof of this statement of yours?"
"Diaz, call one of our scribes," Pious said genially. "Have him take down what I just said…"
"Your Holiness, no!" Diaz pleaded. "Do you not see? Those troops and ships…"
"Diaz, if I want hysteria, I shall pay a visit to the unfortunate souls in the Asylum at Meduno. Do as I say. Is that clear?" The smile had not left the Pontiff's face, but Diaz knew a command when he heard it.
"Very well, your Holiness," Diaz said, leaving the room slowly.
"Now please wait a little while, Count Kraemer," the Pontiff said inflappably. "Our scribes are fast, but even they will take a few minutes."
"Lieutenant Reckland?"
John Reckland – glad that, in the first wave of deployments from Galvenia, he had been spared – looked up from his desk at the guard post in Serin's Peak Naval Shipyard, and what he saw, apart from one or two details, brought a smile to his face.
What a lovely young girl, he thought, spending a moment or two in quiet admiration of her long chestnut hair. I wonder what she wants with me. She looks rather distraught, though. Did she lose someone aboard that accursed Paradiso?
"That's me, Miss," he said, tipping his cap to her. "How can I help you?"
"Lieutenant," the girl replied stumblingly, "how is – how's it like in the Army? Is it very tough? Does it – change people?"
Reckland laughed. "Good heavens, Miss, don't tell me you're thinking of signing up! We have more than enough men in the Army, the Navy and the Marines right now; in fact, though we're over half a year into this 'war', our role has been strictly limited. After the initial gains made by the Varald, the Zion have found a second wind, and right now, no side has a major advantage. Besides, the Galvenian Army only recruits women for domestic service right now."
"That's not what I meant, Lieutenant," she said, her hands trembling. "You see, there's – someone I know well, who's…"
"Sit down, Miss, if we're going to have a long conversation," Reckland said gently, handing her a chair. "And before I go any further, let me tell you that those legends of sweethearts following their men into battle are – how do I put this nicely – legends. I hope you weren't thinking of doing that!"
"I don't know what I'm thinking of doing," the girl replied sadly. "That's unusual for me, but it's how I feel. Daddy mentioned your name, and said you were one of the officers who brought the men from the Paradiso back to Davenport…."
"Well, why don't you tell me your name first, Miss?" Reckland replied.
"Lavender Regale," she replied, "though everyone calls me Lavie."
"Regale? Hmm, Sigmund Regale's daughter, then? I remember Mr. Regale coming down here often to find out about that ship. He even helped us finance the rescue efforts, since one of the Zion ships bringing our men back had an engine fault, and we had to go and meet them halfway."
"That's me. Tell me – did you meet those men? In particular, a boy called Ryan Eramond?"
"Why, I know the lad," Reckland replied, with a look of approval on his face. "He did me a good turn some time ago, by helping me to find some historically important material. He was in a pretty terrible shape when we brought him in, but he recovered quite well, from what Dr. Dubois tells me. Last I heard, he signed up, and he's now doing guard duty like I am." He chuckled. "Is he a friend of yours?"
"Yes," Lavie replied, trying to hide her blushes behind her scarf.
"Oh, dear, I see," Reckland replied sympathetically. "Let me guess: he hasn't been writing to you, or something of that sort. Don't fret too much, Miss, Army life can be quite busy for newcomers! Give him some time to settle down."
"That's not it, Lieutenant," Lavie replied, feeling a lump rising in her throat. "It's just that – even when he was recovering, he didn't really want to see me, and he only did because his parents wanted him to…..and now he's gone, and I can't even tell him –"
"How you feel, perhaps?" Reckland suggested, feeling rather embarrassed himself.
"Yes, that's it….I feel like I've lost him, Lieutenant…"
"Well, have you discussed this with your family, Miss Regale?" The voice was gentle, unlike the Lieutenant's habitually clipped, military tones, and perhaps it was this that led Lavie to unburden herself.
"Things aren't easy at home, either, Lieutenant," she went on. "Daddy has….troubles, and my Gran's in the Infirmary at Davenport; she fell ill a month or so ago, and Mom has to look after her. I don't know what to do, or where to turn, anymore. God – why am I telling you all this?" She covered her face with her hands, and began to sob.
Lieutenant Reckland, like most men, disliked scenes of an emotional nature – but as at least one family in Davenport would testify, human suffering could still move him despite his years in the Army. He remained silent, looking at Lavie with concern, then helped her rise from her chair, taking hold of her hand.
"Ohmygosh, Lieutenant," Lavie said, as he handed her a large Navy handkerchief concealed up his sleeve, "I have been rather silly, haven't I? After all – it's not the end of the world, is it?"
"It happens to the best of us, Miss Regale," Reckland replied soothingly. "We all feel like that someday, I suppose, except that we show it in different ways. It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Lavie replied, blushing as she spoke. "Well, I guess I'd best be on my way home, then! I'm – uh – sorry for wasting your time."
"Oh, the Galvenian Navy exists to serve its citizens, Miss Regale," Reckland said, as they shook hands. "Good fortune to you, and may the Five Angels protect you and that friend of yours."
"Good day to you, Lieutenant, and thanks for your service!" Lavie replied, with some of her customary cheer returning, as they waved goodbye. Reckland watched her recede from him, then returned to his desk.
I wonder if the whole Regale family is going to come to me for advice, he thought, and the idea brought a smile to his face. I wonder if she and Eramond will make a match of it? Somehow, I don't see him as the marrying type. Much like myself.
He chuckled. Though I suppose it's a question of finding the right person. After all, Franz was very fond of his wife, and she's a fine lady indeed.
"Regale," Ellesimar Vryce said, calmly, "we need to act soon. The blockades imposed by this war are placing all of us in a difficult position."
"Vryce is right, Sigmund," Simeon Wright – Director of the Galvenian Chamber of Commerce – observed, folding and unfolding his hands nervously. "Frankly, Socius has disappointed us all, and even his Finance Minister, Jameson, has been pleading with him for more restraint. However, he has backed the Zion's call for extensive blockades, and has asked Lucan to vote for them at the Commonwealth."
"There is worse," Sigmund Regale said sternly, sipping his glass of brandy. "Have you heard of Charlemagne's latest jackassery in Itaria? He has sent troops and ships there, ostensibly as a prophylaxis against Varald incursions, but in truth to severely curtail trade to and from the entire continent. What is he up to?"
"I wish I knew," Jeffrey Tolbruk, Chairman of the Galvenian Royal Mining Corporation, growled, taking a sip from his own glass. "Good liquor, Sigmund, very good stuff. But really, Socius has got to be reined in. Not only is he abetting the Zion in cutting off imports, he's got his men sniffing around the mines, looking for real or imagined spies. Bah! Which self-respecting spy would hide in those wretched mines? I have a hard enough time persuading our workers to go down there!"
"Robertson, what news?" Regale said, looking at the man on his right, who was taking notes carefully, and seemed the least worried of all those present. "Have you been able to find out anything, my discreet friend?"
"Precious little, Sigmund," Alex Robertson replied, smoothing down his hair. "Apparently, Socius is collaborating with the Zion because of their role in the Princess' return, though Arlbert is quite tepid on the whole thing. Also, on the Itarian thing, this appears to be some sort of religious dispute. I've got men working on it, since I'm hardly an expert on such things."
"A religious dispute? Charlemagne is a fool," Tolbruk thundered. "His son is dead, his heir presumptive is a distant cousin, he is ill, his army is getting whacked by the Varald, and he wants to pick a quarrel with the Itarians on top of it all? Next thing we know, the Pontiff will place Zion under the interdict, as he did a thousand years ago, and they'll start panicking. And this time, he's so weak that he can't even try what the Hohenzollern imbeciles did."
"I don't think Charlemagne is the one responsible," Sigmund Regale replied calmly. "It's probably the Council of Viceroys which is calling the shots. Well, gentlemen, that is the situation in a nutshell. This war isn't harming us too much, but the blockades and the Itarian sanctions certainly will. What is to be done?"
"Let us meet Socius," Wright suggested. "He will certainly be cooperative once we remind him of how much his party, and his last electoral campaign, owe us."
"Exactly," Tolbruk said, bringing his fist down on the table. "Tell him that unless he stops backing the Zion and their monkey show, we will switch allegiance to Breckenridge and the Pragmatic Conservatives. That ought to show him."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Jeffrey," Ellesimar Vryce replied. "As the chairman of Galvenia's Guild Alliance, I can assure you that the guilds will not be happy with Breckenridge's policies. We need to knock some sense into Socius, but we must do it discreetly; he has regained much of his popularity since the war began."
"Agreed," Sigmund said. "Leave it to me. I shall send him, shall we say, a discreet message. It ought to do the trick."
"What do you have in mind, Regale?" Wright said sharply. "No funny stuff, remember. We're at war, after all."
"To deliver this message," Sigmund replied – with a steely look that his colleagues had learned, over the years, to respect – "I shall make use of Eramond Delivery Services. They are certainly efficient."
"Eramond? Sigmund, you sly dog." Wright chuckled. "That is a good idea."
"I'm sorry, Ryan," Private Jim Davies said, as the medical team from Checkpoint Alpha tended to the wound in his side. "I didn't realize what the bloody chap was up to until it was too late. Ugh, that hurt."
"Never mind about that, Jim," Ryan replied, drawing his pistol. "Tell us what you saw. We can still find the intruder."
"There were two of them, both wearing cloaks," Jim replied, stifling a groan. "One of them was tall and looked a bit like you, Ryan – dark hair, blue eyes. Another had funny spiky hair, like the old Zion mercenaries, and was wearing brass knuckles. The second guy handed me a pass claiming that he was a Lieutenant in the Galvenian Army, but I wasn't fooled that easily. I challenged him, and parried his blow, but the first guy swung his sword at me. I could have sworn I'd dodged his thrust, but I suddenly found myself thrown against the wall of the cave, and bleeding." He gritted his teeth. "That's when I decided to call for help. I ought to have called earlier. I'm sorry."
"Don't worry, Jim," Ryan said darkly. "If that second man is who I think he is, he has a lot to answer for. We'll be moving you out to Checkpoint Alpha, and you should be well soon enough. Mike and I will head down into the mine, and the Sergeant has sent three men from the Academy to guard the entrance."
"Stay safe, okay, Ryan?" Jim said nervously. "That weapon – I don't know what it is, but it's not an ordinary sword. It's – some kind of magic…"
"Magic or not, we're the Galvenian Army, Jim," Ryan said, as he and Mike Humphreys opened the gate that lead into the mines. "And we'll get those two, don't you doubt it!"
"Where are we going?" Makarov Juno asked, looking at the carcass of the giant worm they had just killed. "I see nothing here, save worms and broken mine carts."
"Be a little patient, boy," the tall man in the cloak replied. "My boss is eager to meet you."
"Your 'boss'?" Juno smiled. "Look, my friend, let me make one thing clear. I am here to pursue the traitors who are betraying Galvenia. My trail led to Kodenai, whom I punished without compunction, and I now seek clues as to his plans. You needed help to enter the mines, so we decided to collaborate. But Makarov Juno is no one's lackey, my good man. Is that clear?"
"My, you certainly can talk the talk, boy," the man replied. "Let's just say that he has an offer to make you, because he is impressed with your skills. Now, just climb onto this lift."
As they descended, Juno stared with amazement at the walls studded with blue and rose crystals, which reflected the light off his companion's mysterious red sword.
"Breathtaking, isn't it, Juno?" the man said. "I remember the first time the Boss had me summoned here. I reacted much the same way you did."
"Let me make one thing clear," Juno said firmly. "If your 'Boss' is involved in treachery, I shall do to him what I did to Kodenai, your help notwithstanding. Is that clear?"
"Son, you don't know the half of it – but I'll let him explain. As he's fond of saying: 'Who will betray the traitors?'" The man chuckled. As they spoke, the lift reached its destination, and they found themselves in front of a door.
"Knock, knock," the man called out, as he struck the door.
"Is that you, Jason?" a voice called out from within.
"Yes, and I've brought him, Chief," he replied. "Let us in."
A moment later, the door swung open, and Juno found himself in a room which was adorned – like the walls of the lift's shaft – with crystals of blue and pink, illuminated by the light of a large lantern. Standing near the door were two men, dressed in the black outfits of Zion mercenaries. Seated at the other end of the room was a man whom Juno, to his dismay, knew all too well.
"You?" he spat.
"Now calm down, boy," the man replied. "Jason and I believe that you can help us, and that you can help Galvenia. Listen to me, and if you do not believe what I say, you are free to go. I recommend that you wait, though, if you are truly concerned about defending our country."
Jason nodded. "Trust my brother, Juno," he replied, and at once, Juno could see the resemblance between the two men – even if the man in the seat had a harder, more world-weary face. "You have my word of honour that neither I nor my brother Jacob intend any treachery."
"Jacob? Is that another of your aliases, Lugner?" Juno muttered.
"Patience, boy," Jacob Lugner replied, rising from his chair. "In time, if you want, you will learn a great deal."
"Try me," Juno said. "But expect no mercy if you play me false."