CHAPTER FOUR
Life and Death
MAGIC – Despite the long association of this term with superstition and "primitive religions" such as the animism (q.v.) seen in some parts of Fulton, magic was – until recently – a legitimate subject of philosophical and scientific enquiry. Reliable historical records testify to the use of magic as a weapon in the First Zion-Varald War (q.v.), the existence of guilds of mages (cf. JOURNEYMEN, ORDER OF), and the declaration by the Itarian religion that both demonic and "natural" magic existed, and should not be confused. This latter viewpoint was strongly affirmed by Pontiff Guibert VII (q.v.) in his Pontifical Letter "On The Gifts of the Infinity", dated C.Y. 158….
….In modern times, all scientific enquiry into magic has officially been stifled in Galvenia, Zion and Itaria, in accordance with the Concordat of C.Y. 307 (q.v). The reasons for this pact have been frequently debated, and are discussed in the relevant article herein. Only in Fulton does such research proceed, with particular reference to the alleged properties of certain metals, and their abilities to act as 'channels' or 'conductors' of magic…
- ENCYCLOPEDIA GALVENICA, 24th Edition, C.Y. 347
"Glorious," Makarov Juno gloated, as he thrust his sword forward again. A burst of fire surrounded his blade, and and saw the old Thorium shield literally melt before his eyes. "And, given what you have told me, I am ready to serve you, Jacob Lugner, and your brother. I do not revere the Commonwealth in the way that you do, but I now understand the truth of your mission in the mines."
"A wise decision, boy," Jacob Lugner replied, his facial features relaxing. "I am sorry that we began our relationship on the wrong foot, but you now see that we serve the same interests. The traitors in our country must be disposed off, and soon. I was on the verge of clinching Kodenai's arrest – by baiting him with a false promise – when you, ahem, interrupted me."
"It was not my intent to do so, Lugner," Juno replied.
"I know, boy, and that's why I will let bygones be bygones for now." Lugner smiled, but his face had once again taken on a hard expression. "Now listen to me, Juno. There is a man who will soon be recruited by the enemy – in fact, as we speak, they may have already approached him. In two days' time, this man will reach Serin's Peak Naval Shipyard. Their intent is to use him to harm the Royal Family. I want you to track this man down. If you can warn him and knock some sense into him, well and good. If not, Juno…"
"Yes?" Juno said expectantly.
"Show no pity, and feel no remorse," Lugner said firmly. "Do you understand?"
"Of course," Juno said, his finger caressing the hilt of his new sword. "What is the man's name?"
"Eramond," Lugner replied. "Ryan Eramond. Will you be able to remember that?"
Juno smiled. "By King Richard, Lugner," he said, "it was a fortunate day when my path crossed yours. Rest assured, I will not spare him."
xxx
Archaeology or physics? What a dilemma, Henrik thought. The rest of the world is worrying about war, about the trade sanctions on Itaria, and about how far Galvenia will be involved, and we College students are worrying about our majors. Perhaps we do live in an ivory tower, as Armin claims.
He closed his copy of Physics of Radiant Energy with a sigh of satisfaction. Well, I'm not exactly white feather material, but with Ryan and Armin both serving – Ryan in the Army, and Armin as an auxiliary for the Palace police – I can't help feeling a twinge of guilt every now and then. I did write to Ryan, and he did write back, but I don't think he's quite forgiven me yet. As for Juno, his mother told me he'd left to join the Special Services. I hope he and Armin don't get into fights! And someday, when I meet Ryan again, maybe I'll explain why I had to prevent him from fighting Juno. I wonder if he'll understand. His mother and father told me he'd become a lot harder – colder, even – after what he went through on that ship.
He turned off the lamp at his bedside, and got up from his chair with a sigh. Well, I'd best call it a day. We have psychology with Professor Parker tomorrow, and he wants us to be as bright-eyed as we can! Viola certainly seems to enjoy his classes; maybe she'll choose psychology over literature. Off to bed, then!
The scream pierced the air – a high-pitched wail of dismay and terror. "No – no!" it began, before continuing wordlessly.
Though not in the Army, Henrik was as much a disciple of Whitworth as Ryan, and as ready for quick action. With a flash, he reached for his sword, and dashed out into the corridor, where he was confronted with the sight of Viola Benise, leaning against a wall for support, her face pale.
"Henrik!" She ran towards him, stumbled, and he caught her. "Oh, Henrik – it's horrible, horrible! He's….dead."
"Who?" Henrik said, helping her remain upright. "What happened, Viola?"
But a quick glance forward made his question unnecessary. Leaning near the door of his room in a crumpled heap, bleeding from a wound in his chest, was their classmate, Brother Ivan Kasprowicz.
"Ivan?" Henrik rushed to where he lay, and knelt down beside him. "What happened, Ivan?"
"Henrik…." The words came with effort, and Henrik strained to listen. "You're…a good man, Henrik. Infinity bless you…"
"Who did this to you, Ivan?" Henrik said, a note of urgency in his voice.
"Mothers…can be ruthless, Henrik," he said. "I never would have believed…"
"Ivan?" His breathing was more laboured now, and his head sagged.
"Auntie…."
"Your aunt?" Henrik looked at him incredulously.
Ivan shook his head. "Pontiff…" he whispered, and then lay still. Henrik felt for his pulse, then stood up.
"He's gone, Viola," he said. "Sweet Infinity, who did this to him? And how did you find him here? We've got to inform College security at once."
By now, several more people had emerged onto the corridor, and there was a buzz of excitement. Henrik left Viola with their mutual friend, Noah Ibrahim, and ran to inform the guard on duty, who soon arrived carrying a pistol, with an incredulous look on his face.
"Stand back, all of you,"the guard said. "We'll have to call the police. Mr. Spenson and Miss Benise, please stay here. He was stabbed with a sword, poor man. And he couldn't have inflicted that wound himself, even if he'd fallen on his own sword."
"You seem to know a lot about these things," Henrik said appreciatively.
"I was in the Glendale Police for a spell before that fool Talmadge cut the law-enforcement budget," the guard explained. "Look, Spenson, why don't you just take care of the girl for a while? I'll see to things. The rest of you, scram!"
Noah and the others left, with varying degrees of alacrity, and Henrik led Viola, who was still pale and unsteady on her feet, to one of the benches in the corridor.
"Tell me, Viola," he said gently, "what were you doing here? How did you find Ivan?"
Viola blushed. "I was having trouble with the third of our physics problems," she replied, "and I thought I would come and ask you for help…" She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress, then went on. "As I came down the corridor, I saw that Ivan's door was ajar, and when I looked – he was there, lying in the doorway. My God, Henrik….who could have done such a thing?"
"I don't know, Viola," Henrik said, as she leaned against him, "but this is very ugly. For years, King's College has been known as a peaceful place – though some of us do party a bit, there have never been riots, assaults or murders on this campus, ever since the days my father worked here. Now – that's no longer true."
"What did he say, Henrik?" Viola said, nodding sadly. "Did he – tell you anything?"
"He said something about mothers being ruthless. Then he began to say something about his aunt, and then he mentioned the Pontiff. He tried to say more, but…"
"His aunt?" Viola tried to smile. "Poor Ivan. He told me that his parents had died in an accident when he was little, and that his mother's sister brought him up. Perhaps he was remembering her. Just like Daddy…"
"Your father?"
"When he was shot by the pirates…the sailors told me that the last two things he mentioned were Mummy's name – and my name," Viola said, with a distant smile. "I guess Ivan felt the same way about his aunt."
"Perhaps," Henrik agreed, "but why mention the Pontiff? I know he was going to be a priest, and that the Church had sent him here to study philosophy, but still…No, Viola, there's got to be something more to it."
"But I don't understand," Viola said helplessly. "Why would anyone want to murder a gentle soul like Ivan?"
"Well, maybe the police will find out something," Henrik mused. "And if they don't, maybe I can try my hand."
"Henrik!"
"Oh, I've done a spot of detecting in my day, during the summer vacation," Henrik replied, remembering the way he and Ryan had tracked Kodenai. "And that guard seemed quite knowledgeable. We'll find something out, don't worry. And now, you ought to get back to bed."
"I don't know if I'll be able to sleep, really," she replied, holding out a trembling hand to him as she stood up. "Blood….So much blood…."
"Come, I'll take you back to your room, and I'll ask one of your friends to stay over with you tonight," Henrik said, in a reassuring tone. "Things will look better in the morning, you know. And may Ivan's soul rest in peace. I'll wait with you till that guy comes back, since he wanted to question us, and then I'll leave. Does that sound all right?"
"Thank you, Henrik," she said, simply, as they left together.
xxx
"And once again, I must thank you brave souls, the second wave of our contribution to the war effort," King Arlbert said genially, as the crowd of sailors and Marines cheered. "Your service will ensure that peace and freedom are once more established over Terra, and that the Varald will never again expand their territory at the expense of the men of Arlia. May the Infinity guide your sails and your swords, and may King Richard and Prince Derren watch over you."
There was a hearty round of applause, and King Arlbert turned to leave, with the Queen and Princess Carranya following silently in his train.
What a dope, Ryan thought with irritation, as he and the other guards marched forward, encircling the Royal Family. I've only been with the Royals for a week, and I already realize that the King only cares about goofing off. Poor Carranya. That mother of hers doesn't look too friendly, either. But I can't blame her, if her husband makes Armin look like an Itarian priest!
And it's not fair to blame him alone. Sergeant Ferrars was furious when the Palace released that guy Jason Lugner. After we took the trouble to capture him in the mines, they said they didn't have enough evidence to hold him! Moreover, both Mike and I clearly found traces of at least two other men. Something funny's happening in those mines, and I wish I knew what it was.
The procession ended at Mayor Saunders' home, where the perennially dozy Mayor of Davenport had – with some reluctance, and some financial aid from the Regales – been persuaded to extend his hospitality to the King. A small, elite group of guards remained to ensure the Royal Family's safety, while the rest of the soldiers – Ryan included – returned to Serin's Peak, where they were accommodated in comfortable, if somewhat cramped barracks.
"Hey, did you see this, Ryan?" Jim Davies said, handing him a newspaper as they sat on their bunks after the curfew. "Murder at King's College. This world is a dangerous place."
"King's College?" Ryan drew in his breath sharply. "Let me see that, Jim."
"Curious, are you?" Jim grinned. "Here, take a look."
Ryan scanned the article quickly. "Hmm…seminarian of Varald origin found stabbed late in the evening….body found by two other students – Good God!" he exclaimed. "Henrik? Viola?"
"Friends of yours?" Jim said.
"They're both from Davenport," Ryan explained, closing his eyes. "Henrik's, um, an old friend of mine. What on Terra is happening these days?"
"Don't know, old chap," Jim replied. "Don't know about you, but I'm calling it a day. We have to babysit the Royals for their visit to Westchester, and I'm not very strong on sea journeys, even if they're short ones!"
"Landlubber," Mike Humphreys teased. "But your idea's a good one, Jim. Good night, Ryan."
It was a little later, as Ryan lay in his bunk trying to fall asleep, that he heard the sound of footsteps, followed by the sight of a piece of paper being slipped under the door. He waited until the footsteps had receded, then got out of bed quietly, picking up the paper. Unfolding it, he read the following:
Ryan, please come down to Davenport Beach in the next half-hour. There's something important you must know.
The note was printed in capitals, though the hand was elegant and slanting forwards. He did not recognize it.
Maybe this is something to do with Mount Lorea Mine, he wondered. I should tell someone before going down there, though.
He walked down to the next room, where Sergeant Ferrars was still awake, reading a book, and showed him the note.
"Hmm," the Sergeant said, reading through it carefully and handing it back. "Do you think this might have something to do with our adventure at the mine?"
"Perhaps, sir," Ryan replied. "At any rate, given that the Royal Family is here, we need to follow any leads. Perhaps it's some sort of anonymous information."
"It could also be a trap, son," Ferrars replied. "I remember you telling me about your earlier adventure in the mine, and that boy Juno. I know a thing or two about his history, and it wouldn't surprise me if he'd decided to turn traitor."
"Really, sir?" Ryan whispered.
"I'll tell you about it some other day, Ryan," Ferrars replied. "Now, if you want to go down there, I'm not preventing you. I always admire initiative in my men. But do you want backup?"
"Tell you what, sir," Ryan said, his hand going to the butt of his revolver. "If I'm not back in half an hour, send someone after me."
"I don't like the look of this, Ryan," the Sergeant said, "but I trust your judgment. Good luck, boy."
"Thank you, sir," Ryan said, as he left the barracks and began to walk towards Davenport Beach.
xxx
He won't come.
The girl shook her head. It was a moonlit autumn night, and her thin clothing offered little protection against the chill. She drew her cloak around her more closely, and waited, looking expectantly at the water – when, suddenly, she heard him.
"Stop!" Ryan said, drawing his pistol as he looked at the cloaked figure which had. "Don't move any further. Raise your hands above your head, drop any weapon you have, and come over here. I'm not falling for any tricks."
The girl turned around, lowered the hood of her cloak, and Ryan gasped.
"You?" he exclaimed.
Princess Carranya smiled. "I'm glad you came here, Ryan," she said, as he hurried down the path to join her. "I had to – warn you, somehow."
"Warn me, Princess?" he said, a look of disbelief on his face. "What on Terra for? By King Richard, it's good to see you again, even if we're not play-acting this time."
Carranya blushed. "I feel the same way, Ryan," she replied, "and yet – I think you know, as well as I do, that things have changed."
"Have they?" Ryan said. "Princess, what is this all about?"
"Ryan….I don't know how to tell you this, but there's something wrong about this whole war. Even though Father and the Prime Minister don't tell me much, I've been hearing things about the Zion, and their Council of Viceroys. Our army may be putting itself in terrible danger by supporting them."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll explain, Ryan, but first, I have some bad news for you. Following my attempt to reach the Emperor, Mother and Father have decided that it is unwise for me to – remain unattached any longer," she said, bowing her head. A tear rolled down one cheek, and Ryan instinctively wiped it away with his glove.
"You mean –" Ryan began, feeling a sudden chill.
"The Prime Minister agrees, especially since the succession of the Lionheart dynasty has to be ensured. He feels that both my life, and that of my father, will be in danger if this war lasts another year. In four months, I will marry the young Duke of Marksmith, in a ceremony that will be held in the Hall of Heroes at Lorean."
"No!" Ryan exclaimed, involuntarily.
"I'm sorry, Ryan…." Carranya said brokenly. "I wish it didn't have to be this way. You know that I – you know, don't you?" She hid her face in her hands.
Ryan clenched his fist. "It may surprise you, Princess, but I feel the same way," he said, looking out at the sea with a dazed expression. "But if that's what being the Princess entails, I suppose – we don't have much of a choice, do we?"
"Ryan…" Carranya held out her hand, and he took it. "Do you remember when we were on the Paradiso, just before – those pirates attacked?"
"Yeah, I remember," Ryan said gently, squeezing her hand. "You were about to tell me something. What was it, Carranya?"
"Ryan, I'm – not the person you think I am," Carranya said, in a voice filled with remorse. "If certain things hadn't happened, I promise that I would ask you to – to stay with me, and I would take the risks. But – there's something wrong with me, Ryan. I don't have the right to ask you, or any man, to do that for my sake. I don't deserve it…." Another tear rolled silently down her cheek.
"Carranya," Ryan said kindly, "don't ever say that about yourself, okay? Look, nobody's perfect. We all make mistakes. What is it? Another guy? Someone who cheated on you? Those things are a part of life, you know. Heck, I've pretty much forgotten about Marianne, ever since I met…"
"Don't say it, Ryan," Carranya replied, trembling from head to foot. "Please, if you care for me, forget what I just said. Instead, let me explain why I suspect the Zion. Look at this." She drew an object from within the folds of her dress, and held it in her other hand. It glowed green in the moonlight.
"A Memory Crystal?" Ryan said, surprised. "What does it show, Carranya?"
"I will sh…."
It happened faster than either of them could realize – absorbed as they were in each other. A man in a dark cloak swept down on them from behind, and lashed at the Memory Crystal with a sword, its blade glowing red as if it had just been forged in the furnace. The Crystal shattered, and Carranya screamed.
"What the – Who the hell are you?" Ryan swore.
"Filthy traitor," the voice hissed. "You will not hand over your secrets to this wretch. Die, Varald wench!" He thrust at Carranya with his sword, and before Ryan could react, the blade slashed against her cloak, setting her attire on fire. With reflexes honed by months of training and duty, Ryan covered the flames with his own cloak, then thrust her into the sea nearby, quenching the fire.
"And now, take this, you murderer!" he cried out, drawing his pistol and firing it at the cloaked man – who, in turn, slashed again with his sword. His blade burst into flame, wounding Ryan in the leg, but Ryan had the time to fire before that, and the man fell to the ground, clutching his shoulder. He would have fired again, despite the pain he felt, but Carranya's cries drew him away.
"Carranya!" He rushed to the waterline, and helped her stand. Her neck and shoulders were badly blistered, and her cloak was half burned away. "Damn it, who was that…"
Too late, he turned back, only to see that the man had crawled away into a waiting boat, which was being rowed by another man in a cloak. He fired once, then again, but the boat moved away, receding into the horizon.
"Ryan…" Carranya stammered, lying at his feet and overwhelmed by the chill of her now-drenched clothing, as well as the pain of her wounds. "Ryan – once again, you've saved me…."
"Shhh, Carranya, it's all right," Ryan said, looking at the footpath, where three of his fellow soldiers were now approaching, their rifles drawn. "I've taken care of that assassin, and I've given him a little bullet to remember him by. You'll be all right. Come, we'll get you back to the Mayor's house, or to the hospital."
Carranya smiled as he lifted her up, then lost consciousness.
xxx
"Congratulations, boy," John Reckland said, as he entered Ryan's room in the Naval Hospital at Davenport. "You're a hero again, or so it seems."
"Very funny, Lieutenant Reckland," Ryan said, sitting up in bed. His shin-bone was now mending, but his mind was still troubled. "Hard to believe I've been here a week now, really."
"You'll receive a Medal of Valour from the King himself around St. Mikhail's Day, rumour has it," Reckland went on, "not to mention an instant promotion to Lance-Corporal. But I'm afraid I've brought an unwelcome visitor for you today."
"Not Lavie, I hope," Ryan said, with a frown. "She'd probably turn on the water-works, throw a tantrum, or do something silly of that sort. Why can't she understand that, when you're in the Army, getting hurt isn't that big a deal?"
"Ryan," Reckland said firmly, "it's not nice of you to speak that way about Miss Regale. After all, she is a loyal friend of yours, and she can't help being concerned. Women are like that. Heck, my late mother was."
"Lavie isn't my mum," Ryan quipped. "So who's the guest, if it isn't Lavie?"
"Good morning, Mr. Eramond," Silas Trask replied, entering the room quietly. "John, could you leave us alone for a moment?"
"Of course, sir," Reckland said, saluting and leaving. "Have a nice time, Ryan."
"Good morning, Officer Trask," Ryan said. "What's going on?"
"First of all, I must thank you, Mr. Eramond," Trask said. "Ferrars has told me the whole story, and your actions have clearly saved the life of the Princess."
"Who sent me that note?" Ryan asked.
"Ah, we're still at a loss on that one, Mr. Eramond," Trask replied. "The Princess denies writing it, of course, and that was never a serious possibility – why should she voluntarily lead you both into an ambush? Instead, she claims she received a note asking her to come to the beach at around the same time. And it's in connection with that note that I have to interrogate you. But first, tell me this: what exactly happened at the beach? Apart from Carranya, you are our only eye-witness."
Omitting only the middle portion of their conversation, Ryan told Trask every detail of what had happened. Trask nodded, as if Ryan's story confirmed some suspicion of his own, then closed his eyes.
"Just as we thought, Mr. Eramond. You say the weapon glowed red, didn't you?"
"It seemed to burst into flame, like the swords on display in the Military Museum at Lorean," Ryan replied, recalling the visit he had paid there with his two friends. How far away that seems.
"We also found marks of a small boat having been docked near the shore, and there were the footprints of two men, who were probably hiding near one of the kiosks at the beach," Trask went on. "So your story is confirmed in its essentials. It's a pity about that Memory Crystal, though. We've asked the Princess what was on it, but she's still in a state of shock, and she's being tended to by her spiritual advisor, Father Thomssen."
"Poor Princess," Ryan said. "She received quite a bad burn."
"Hmm." Trask leaned closer, and fixed a steady, disconcerting gaze on Ryan. "Mr. Eramond, when we asked the Princess why she was at the beach, she said she received a note from you, asking her to meet you there."
"From me?" Ryan exclaimed. "That's impossible!"
"Strangely enough, I believe you, Mr. Eramond. We compared the note she received with the anonymous one you showed Ferrars, and the writing on both is the same. Obviously, someone wanted to harm you both, and decoyed you there. The question is, who?"
"Judging by the words that lunatic spoke, it was someone who thought we were traitors," Ryan replied. "But that doesn't make sense. I'm no traitor, and Carranya – er, I mean the Princess – certainly couldn't be one either!"
"Most probably, they wanted that Memory Crystal." For the first time in their conversation, Trask seemed embarrassed. "But tell me, Mr. Eramond – why should the Princess come running at the sound of your name? Heavens, I sound like a lady novelist there." He chuckled. "Could you answer that for me?"
Ryan, his face flushed, spoke slowly. "You see, Officer Trask – when I met Carranya on board that ship, we had to keep up the pretense of being, um, friends – for her own safety. But after a time, it was clear that she wasn't pretending – she was lonely, and just wanted someone to talk to. I know we only spent a day together, and I know this sounds absurd, but….we did grow quite close, during the course of that day…"
"Oh, spare me the blushes, Mr. Eramond," Trask raised his hand in protest. "Now, unlike certain fine folks at the Palace, I trust the Princess – she is not like her rake of a father, and if she was, ahem, affectionate towards you, it was merely the natural impulse of a generous and unhappy heart. And, given your conduct and record, I see no reason not to trust you."
"Thank you, Officer," Ryan replied.
"That answers my question. But if I may give you a word of kindly advice – as an older man, and one who has seen the Royal Family at close quarters: she is not for you, Eramond. As a man and a fellow servant of Galvenia, I would be delighted if a daughter of mine were to choose you over an effete buffoon like Marksmith. But she is the future Queen, Eramond, and you must never allow yourself to forget that. Serve her and defend her with your life, but do not allow your feelings to get the better of you. Do you understand?"
Ryan nodded reluctantly. "I – understand what you mean, sir. I won't do anything reckless."
"Excellent," Trask replied, without much enthusiasm – for he was no fan of Marksmith, nor of the political manoeuvres that had led to his selection as the presumptive Prince Consort. "About the other things, Eramond, silence. Do your duty, and if we need you to look into this matter in future, we will call you. For now, leave it to us, and to the Intelligence Service. Is that quite clear?"
"Yes, Officer," Ryan replied.
"Then good day, Mr. Eramond, and I wish you a speedy recovery."
Trask left the room quietly, leaving Ryan alone with his thoughts.
Carranya….no, not that. Anything but that…
xxx
Saint Mikhail's Day!
To Itarian churchmen, it was a day to commemorate the martyrdom of one of their most beloved sons, and one of the noblest men to arise from the Directorate of Varaldia.
To the men of Varald, it was a day when their security forces – the Geheimpol – were doubly on the alert, to crack down on any foolish demonstrations or insurrections in defence of the Itarian religion or the Zion monarchy.
To the men of the Zion Empire, already scared by the turn their war with the Varald was taking – the ships of the Zion fleet had suffered a humiliating defeat in a recent skirmish with the Varald, and had to be rescued by a Galvenian flotilla - it was a welcome respite, an occasion to snatch a few moments of celebration and good cheer.
To those of Galvenia and Fulton, less affected by the war, it was a moment to indulge in the commercial pleasures that only an industrialized civilization could afford – and to eat well, besides.
But for Martell Socius, Premier of Galvenia, the day had begun badly – and it would soon get worse.
"Martell?" Sarah Socius said, looking at him with concern. He was seated at the desk in his study, an open parcel in front of him, and looking deeply displeased. "What's the matter?"
"Oh, it's nothing, Sarah," Socius replied, holding up a small glass sphere about the size of a paperweight. "Some crank has sent me a threatening message, that's all."
"A threatening message?" Sarah picked up the globe and tapped it with her finger. A deep, pleasant voice began to issue from it:
"Socius, enough. Do you not realize that your policies are harming some of your closest allies? Remember what you owe to us, Socius. If you curb your mindless support for the Zion blockades, we will always be grateful. If not, remember that a good reputation is easily lost, and recovered only with difficulty."
The globe flashed a deep green, and then there was silence.
"Cranks," Sarah remarked, soothingly. "Is there any substance to it, Martell?"
"Nothing that you don't already know, Sarah," Socius replied. "It's childish, really. And I know 'who done it', as the detectives say."
"Really?" Sarah smiled, and took his hand. "And what has my clever husband found out?"
"Oh, it's nothing clever. Judging by the tone of voice – which is very familiar – and the mention of the blockades, I'd say this is the handiwork of the Fletcher Council."
"The Fletcher Council? I've heard of them," Sarah replied; before her marriage to Socius, she had worked as a journalist. "Aren't they a group of international corporations and their allies, named after Edward Fletcher, the former Finance Minister of Galvenia?"
"Exactly, Sarah. This little St. Mikhail's Day present must be from my dear old friend Sigmund Regale. And, like everything Sigmund does these days, I'm going to ignore it. The man is an alcoholic, and I feel for his wife and daughter."
"Poor Emily," Sarah said sympathetically. "She's told me about his, um, little problem with the bottle."
"Daddy!" a cheerful voice called out, breaking in on their discussion. "Look what Saint Mikhail brought me! Isn't it beautiful?"
Socius smiled and gathered Violet, his youngest daughter, into his arms. "What a beautiful doll that is, Violet. It looks just like your mother, doesn't it?"
Violet giggled. "Sort of, Daddy!" she replied, and began to dance happily around her father.
"Very funny, Martell," Sarah replied, with a laugh. "Now, come on out and join the rest of the children, darling. I've got a St. Mikhail's Day lunch to see to, before that press conference you have in the evening!"
"Don't remind me, dear," Socius groaned.
xxx
"You are a fool, Juno," Jacob Lugner said, though his voice was calm. "Really, I wonder if I was mistaken about you."
"I did put Eramond out of action, and destroy that infernal device, just as you said," Juno replied coolly. "I do not see how I could have done better."
"For starters, did you not recognize the Crown Princess of Galvenia? I know the Army often speaks of 'friendly fire', but harming her will have serious repercussions, even though I doubt they will ever find us," Lugner said darkly.
"She was cloaked, and she was handing the Memory Crystal to Eramond," Juno retorted, "just as you said. For all you know, she could be the traitor you seek."
"Impossible, Juno," Lugner said, a little more gently. "While there is certainly treachery in the Palace, Carranya is not the guilty party."
"Well, then, perhaps you will honour me with a little more information," Juno said, closing his eyes. "So far, I have obeyed your orders unconditionally, and I have accomplished our first mission. I think I deserve to know what is going on."
"Very well, let me cut a long story short. About two years ago, my superiors in the Intelligence Service received information of a conspiracy between the Zion Empire and traitors in Galvenia. Their plan was to launch a Zion-Varald war, to commit Galvenia irrevocably to that war – and to use that war as a pretext to increase Zion presence in Galvenia. Their ultimate aim is the overthrow of the Galvenian government, and the installation of a puppet ruler – perhaps a distant relative of the half-dead Charlemagne – as Arlbert's successor."
"That does not make sense, Lugner," Juno said, with a frown. "Why seek such a roundabout means to an end? Why not strike us directly, as Charlemagne did at Darington?"
"Juno, my boy, you have a lot to learn about international politics," Lugner replied, shaking his head forcefully. "The Zion and the Varald have been at loggerheads for centuries, and with the weakening of the Commonwealth after Chespa Bay, those tensions have come to the forefront. Unfortunately, Socius does not fully realize this, even after being briefed by my superiors. He still sees the Zion as our allies. He does not realize that the venal Council of Viceroys, which has grown stronger with Charlemagne's physical decline, is now actively collaborating with those elements in Galvenia who wish to see the Empire reunited."
"And, as you told me earlier, these elements are also smuggling mineral deposits to Zion, for them to forge more powerful instruments of magic." Juno nodded. "It all makes sense. But what more can we do? Destroying the Memory Crystal may have set them back, but it will hardly stop them."
"Wait a little, Juno," Lugner replied. "For now, I want you to travel south to Straukpass, where Jason will wait for you in a cave. There is a little work involving minerals that you need to help him with. For the rest, do not worry. Things will begin to move very soon."
xxx
"A little silence, ladies and gentlemen," Trask said, as he and his men stood on either side of Martell Socius, seated between his wife and Alan Sheffield on the stage outside the Military Academy. "Please rise and welcome our Prime Minister."
Socius rose and walked towards the microphone, while the Academy's marching band played the Galvenian national anthem. The song at an end, Socius raised his hand in a gesture of greeting.
"My dear colleagues in the Press," Socius said, cheerfully, "I take this opportunity to wish you a very happy and blessed Saint Mikhail's Day! And I join my wishes to yours in wishing our brave men in Zion the greatest success, and a safe and early return home. I am at your disposal, so feel free to pose any questions that you may think important."
"Prime Minister," a woman in the front asked, "you spoke of a 'safe and early return home'. Is this the official position of the Government? Can we expect an early end to this war?"
"It is too early – if you will pardon the pun – to comment on that, but with both the Zion and the Varald reducing the intensity of their attacks, and negotiations open at the Commonwealth, we hope that my statement will become reality," Socius replied. "In the meantime, we will continue to fight, mindful of the fact that those who commit crimes with impunity cannot go unpunished."
"Are we certain that the Varald are responsible for the death of Koketsu and Wilhelm?" a man said sharply. "There has been little hard evidence to date."
"You are right," Socius replied with a nod, "but the silence of the Varald on this issue is, you will surely agree, suspicious. Besides, Hipper has been instrumental in blocking a diplomatic solution to the issue, as advocated by our envoy as well as the Itarians and the Republicans – he has vetoed both the request for an independent enquiry, and the conditional cease-fire that even Kanoi of Zion agreed to. Even if they are not directly guilty, they are certainly exploiting the situation to their own advantage."
Pleased by these two replies – clearly Socius was going to speak his mind, rather than pulling punches – the assorted journalists continued to fire their questions, but there was no malice involved; it was, to most of them, merely a Saint Mikhail's Day diversion. An hour passed, and the time appointed for the conference was almost at hand.
"Prime Minister," a man in the last row of journalists asked, "are the rumours about Princess Carranya's upcoming nuptials true? We have it on good authority that she will soon wed the Duke of Marksmith."
Socius drew his breath in sharply – for this was not supposed to be public knowledge. "The King and Queen, like all good parents, are always concerned about the future of their Heir Apparent. However, I must admit that any plan regarding the marriage of the Princess has not yet reached our ears, and that when it does, you will be the first to know. I am surprised, though" – he chuckled – "that this question was asked by you, and not one of our intrepid women's magazine columnists."
There was a good-humoured ripple of laughter at this, but the man remained staring at Socius, the winter sun reflecting off his glasses.
"You're a poor liar, Prime Minister," he replied, in a voice that sounded strangely loud and harsh, "but we'll forgive you that. After all, a dying man is allowed to leave this world peacefully. Let the celebrations begin for the Princess' nuptials!"
"What on Terra…" Socius began, then looked up to see a round metal sphere floating in the sky, just above the podium. Lines of blue light surrounded it, and every few seconds, it flashed, lighting up the entire area.
"That thing! Take it down!" Trask shouted, and the Palace guards drew their rifles, but before they could go any further, it happened.
The sphere split into two halves, and a large projectile, glowing red, issued forth, heading straight for Sarah Socius.
With a quick, jerky movement, Socius threw himself in its line, pushing his wife out of the way. The projectile struck him, and there was a deafening sound, louder than the twenty-one guns fired for a Royal salute. The red light that surrounded the projectile grew brighter and brighter, until it blinded the terrified assembly, and Sarah Socius, closing her eyes, looked in horror as her husband's coat caught fire, and she was knocked to the ground.
It would be a long time before she regained consciousness.
It would be an even longer time before she could begin to forget what she had witnessed.
xxx