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35: The Inquisitor
Constance was on her knees, staring up at the roof of her tent, wishing she could go to sleep, but as the hours passed she finally gave up on the idea and began, instead to revisit some of the more troubling thoughts she'd found herself dwelling on recently.
Over the past several days, she'd noticed that Garen Krenshaw had been behaving strangely, especially when it came to her mother. Garen had always welcomed the time he spent with Dara and the past six or seven years had been particularly good for them both – at least, that was how Constance saw it.
On occasion she would ask her mother what she thought of the once-mysterious lieutenant who had come and almost literally swept them both off their feet and into an entirely new world with new challenges and obstacles every day of their existence. But for all the difficulties their new life presented, Constance and Dara had never thought of the change as bad. In fact, the two had learned to thrive here with the rebel forces in the Gamilon wilderness.
Dara's appointment as a scout had been a good change for her too, Constance knew. She had only to listen to her mother's talk of her adventures to know that. It had been a long time since Constance had heard her mother talk so animatedly about anything, much less her job. To hear her relay tales of the fantastic creatures, locations, and information she had uncovered was thrilling to Constance. It meant that, although times were hard, her mother was happy.
Garen Krenshaw – the man she had come to know as a father figure – was also happy, at least, Constance had thought he was happy. Then he'd suddenly started acting very odd. It had all begun just after Desslok had returned from his unexplained disappearance and declared that they would be moving against Deun soon. She had been in the middle of finishing her story for Deror when she'd seen Garen leave with the strangest expression on his face.
She'd left Deror momentarily and stepped back into the main supply room and seen her mother staring after Krenshaw with the most troubling look she'd ever seen on her mother's face. She remembered the brief scene vividly.
Constance stepped through the doorway back into the storage room and looked around, wondering why Garen had left in such a hurry. Once back in, she saw her mother standing speechless, one hand hovering over her mouth with a look of fear, confusion, and uncertainty all rolled into one.
"Amah?" Constance's voice made Dara jump, "What's wrong?"
"Oh – oh, it's just – It's nothing." Dara stuttered.
"Amah..." Constance walked over to where her mother was and put a hand on her shoulder. "Unless I've gone blind it doesn't look like nothing... Now, I know it might not be any of my business, but I know something just happened."
Dara looked at her daughter and then back the way Garen had gone, then at Constance one again. She sighed and nodded, "You are perceptive," she laughed a little, "as you've always been."
" So what is it?" Constance ventured, hoping to get some sort of answer this time.
"I... don't honestly know, neshamah sheli..." Dara looked at the floor, "I thought everything would go on as it always has for us here... but it seems that that is not to be the case." she sighed again. "I suppose it's something that I'll have to work out for myself soon, Connie." she paused and went on, seeming to try to divert her daughter's attention to something a bit more comfortable, "We'll be moving against Deun soon, after all, and we won't be staying here forever, I imagine that, after the nearest outposts are taken down that we'll all move with the army."
"Does it have to do with Garen Krenshaw?" Constance asked pointedly, cutting through the charade.
Her mother further avoided her gaze and looked as though she wanted to nod, but didn't know if she should. Finally though, Dara turned her eyes back to her only child and said, "It seems that he and I have some things to... resolve... once this current crisis is over."
Constance's heart almost dropped into her gut. "What kinds of 'things'?"
Dara put an arm around her daughter and replied, "Things that aren't important right now. We'll take care of it after Deun's sorry carcase has been booted out of the system." she struggled to fabricate something resembling a smile. "Now, let's get back to work, shall we?"
The memory was strangely disturbing to Constance. Up until now, her "family" had been composed of: her mother, the stalwart matriarch of her life; Masterson Talan, the man she'd befriended as the closest thing she had to an elder brother; Elisa and Dommel Lysis – sort of an aunt and uncle along with David; Deror, much like a little brother or cousin; Zimring, the funny old hermit who was like an almost-grandpa war veteran; Frakken, the lone wolf of the group who preferred to do everything himself, but was quite intelligent and pleasant once you got to know him; the elusive Desslok who was more and more of a puzzle to her every passing day, but also a delight to try to understand, he was every inch her leader, and her inspiration; and then there was Garen, her almost-father, mentor, and protector. Over the past couple of years, her family had grown to also include the rakabim: Baruch, Eliyah, Yariyah, Tsedeq, Tirzah, Yishayah, and their tanninim: Shiyah, Rek, Yote, Misha, Raphael, and Yehoyada.
Of all the rakabim, Baruch and his red tannin Shiyah were her favorites. Never had she heard a harsh word escape the man's lips and he always took the utmost care with Shiyah, who loved her master very much. The pair were the perfect partners. It was always interesting to watch them practice together, working in perfect synergy. The pair were arguably the best of the lot, if not the best on the planet.
Constance had toyed with the thought of joining the rakabim at one point, but quickly gave up on that idea after taking an ill-fated ride with Tirzah and Raphael that ended with Constance skipping dinner and returning lunch. Flight, she'd decided, was not for her. She could shoot well enough to last in a fight, and throwing knives flew true for her, but all in all, combat was not her forte. She preferred the less violent aspects of life. In truth, she would have been content to simply keep the camp looking respectable for however long they intended to use it. She thrived on neatness and abhorred chaos.
Now, on the eve of their first assault on one of Deun's troops' outposts, she wondered if the coming day would bring victory or defeat. She knew that Desslok had done his best to plan the attack wisely – as he always did – but that was no guarantee that they wouldn't lose anyone in the fight. It was always hard to accept their losses, though they were often few and far between, and she feared the day when their next loss would come.
Constance sat down on her cot and rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the headache she'd gotten sometime during the past several hours. Even though she knew they would all be up before dawn, she still couldn't sleep. This was only her second trip out with the army and she found herself dreading it even more now than she had when she'd agreed to go as one of the supply handlers.
Something about the coming conflict didn't sit well with her. It didn't "smell" right and she couldn't shake her overwhelming feeling of discomfort.
She finally lay down to try to sleep for a few hours, but every attempt to drift off failed.
Eventually she gave up and left her tent to go sit by the night-watch's fire.
The camp was quiet at this time of the night as most of the others were soundly sleeping, their nerves long-hardened by experience.
She walked through the camp, passing tent after tent and several sleeping tanninim before she got to the fire.
The night was cool, but not cold, the temperature just low enough to make her appreciate the warmth of the flames when she reached the fire pit.
When she was several feet away she noticed someone - or rather, two someones, already sitting by the fire – the night-watch she thought. She got a little closer and saw that it was two men, but not the night-watch. Then, she caught a glimpse of orange-blond hair by the glow of the fire and knew instantly who the two were.
"Getting in some last-minute planning again?" she said, coming around to sit beside a half-dozing Masterson Talan and a fully-awake Desslok.
Neither man replied. Masterson opened his eyes a bit wider and nodded to her in greeting, but Desslok just continued to stare into the fire, his face blank.
Noting the continued silence and realizing she'd probably walked into a very long, very drawn-out conversation, she shrugged and accepted the quiet, sitting with the two men for a half hour before either of them said anything and when the first word was spoken, it didn't make any sense to Constance.
Desslok, still gazing into the dancing flames uttered it.
"Fiske." he said.
Constance looked at Masterson quizzically, waiting for some sort of explanation, but instead of offering her one, Talan seemed to rouse and turned his gaze to Desslok, "Close?"
Desslok nodded and whispered with narrowed eyes, "Close."
"In the camp?" Masterson asked.
Desslok sat silently for a moment, then shook his head, "No." he withdrew his weapon and began fingering it, the threat clear. If whoever this "Fiske" was could see Desslok now, he would get the message and keep his distance – at least for now.
Constance pitied any intruder who would try to get past this seemingly sleepless sentinel.
Suddenly Desslok looked straight ahead, leveled his weapon at something Constance couldn't see and fired a single shot into the darkness.
Half an instant later he smirked as a muted yelp sounded from the blackness beyond the perimeter.
"Talan, you may go." Desslok said, seeming to relax just the slightest bit. "I believe he will be occupied for some time."
Masterson nodded and gratefully headed off to bed.
Constance, however stayed right where she was, fascinated by the bizarre exchange that had just taken place before her eyes and the unorthodox pest control measures Desslok had just taken on her and every other one of his soldiers' behalf, and perhaps also for his own entertainment.
Fiske hopped away from the campsite, wincing and cursing with every step as he tried to get onto his hover-board only using one foot,
He finally managed to do so, but discovered that using one foot to steer said board was quite impossible. Resigning himself to looking like the dolt he knew he would be called by the Malha, he sat on his board and used his hands to fly himself back to his mistress's abode.
Once back he tried to sneak in, hoping not to have to explain why he was back so soon, but to his chagrin, Aurelia caught him just as he was about to step into his quarters.
"Ah, I see you've met up with our quarry." She chuckled as she noted the raw burn mark on Fiske's leg. "I told you to keep your distance."
"I did." Fiske growled. "You didn't tell me he could shoot that well."
Aurelia laughed again, "Now, Fiske, you know I expect my subordinates to figure out things for themselves."
"I cannot express my gratitude," he grunted, wanting to glare at the woman, but not daring to.
"Ah well, such is reality." Aurelia snapped her fingers and a black fog appeared around Fiske's wound. This was arguably the part he hated most about returning to the Malha wounded.
The fog swirled around his leg and began to adhere to the broken flesh, causing the wound to sting and burn as though it were being seared by a torch. He fought the urge to scream as the "healing" his mistress bestowed on him was ten times more painful than the wounding had been.
Along with the strange fog he could also hear unearthly voices emanating from the cloud, voices that, though he had heard them many times before, still gave him chills.
He hissed at the pain, but took it without complaint as he had done too many times in the past – before his recent return to the Malha. Every time he experienced it, he hated it more. Every time she did this to him he wanted to stop her, to run away and let his body take its natural course and mend itself without the aid of his mistress's dark spirits. It was at times like this that he questioned his loyalty to Aurelia, but the promised rewards soon reeled him in again and made him forget the more unpleasant aspects of his role as the Malha's servant.
Fiske let out a groan as the mist evaporated from around his leg, revealing red and blistered flesh, newly knit back together, but instead of his usual dark blue veins running beneath his lighter blue skin, the wound was laced with black lines where his veins should have been.
He sported several other similar marks, the most impressive one being right in the middle of his chest. It had been a massive wound, one that should have been fatal, but the Malha had seen to it that he had lived through the experience. The healing had been the most painful thing he had ever lived through, but Aurelia had seen him through that near-death experience and as a result, he had sworn his loyalty to her.
"Shall I go back tonight, Malha?" Fiske asked, hoping her answer would be "no."
"Not tonight." she said, "My grandson is no fool. He will suspect something if you return too soon. I will send one of my... other assistants to watch over him and his band tonight and on through the rest of their excursion. Tomorrow you shall return to ensure the fall of Deun's outpost. A bit of sabotage to their defense systems, perhaps some bad food in their supply stores, etcetera. Use your imagination." She grinned wickedly.
"Yes, Malha." Fiske bowed to Aurelia as she turned and walked away.
"Once the shêd-summoners are down, take the amulets!" Desslok shouted to his men as he rode through the battleground on horseback – a rare occasion as they were not often near enough to their camp to ride or walk to the site they intended to attack, but this time they had been.
His mount snorted and shook her head in excitement as she noted all the activity going on around her, her ears swiveling this way and that listening to everything she could.
Desslok guided the animal through the masses, shooting down a number of the enemy soldiers as he went. He heard a sudden yell from behind him and whirled the horse around just in time to put a blaster bolt right between the eyes of a zealot who had intended to impale him through his back with a wooden stake.
The zealot fell lifeless to the bloody ground as the heir-apparent rolled his eyes at the man's clumsiness.
The clamor continued as zealot after zealot fell to the superior skill and intelligence of the rebel force. It was arguably an unfair fight as half of the zealots they saw looked rather ill and the rest looked thoroughly spooked. Soon the battle was over and the outpost searched and raided.
Once that had been done a team of rebels set explosives throughout the structure and as soon as everyone was far enough away, the building was blown to pieces, leaving a pile of rubble where the outpost had once been.
The rebels cheered as they watched this first victory accomplished.
It was only mid-day by the time Desslok's forces returned to their camp of the night before so they continued on, making their way back to their base of operations before the sun had fully set.
Not much happened during the unpacking, for which they were all grateful. The day's journey and the morning's conflict had taken a toll on many of them and most of the men and women were ready to call it a night just after sun-down.
Desslok didn't say a word as the soldiers bedded down for the night and went to sleep. Instead he waited several hours into the night and stole back to the night-watch fire, bidding the guards to take their leave and telling them that he would take their shift instead. They protested, but not for long, and were eventually also soundly asleep in their own beds.
It was some time before the restless man let himself review the events of the day in all the gory detail that they'd unfolded.
He reached into one of his pockets and tugged out a silver chain from which dangled one of the zealot amulets they'd acquired today. He let it rest, face up, in his palm and stared at the graven image there. The hollow eyes that stared back at him were both his grandmother's and not his grandmother's. The face was much younger than he remembered Aurelia's features being when he'd seen her. She had been a very pretty young woman once... before the shêd had made her its abode.
He tucked the amulet back into his pocket and began to go through each scene his mind had captured of the battle one at a time, examining them all for something he couldn't place – something that made him uncomfortable about their relatively easy victory today.
Just as he thought he'd begun to figure it out he heard a twig snap somewhere in the trees behind him. With the speed of a striking nachash he dropped to the ground facing the sound and drew his weapon. He peered into the thick darkness. The moon was not out tonight and it wouldn't return for several days yet, making the night blacker than it normally would be.
He lay in the dirt listening hard, trying to pick out the sound of silent footsteps or the humming sound of the hover-board he'd heard the night before, but nothing met his ears. Finally he withdrew the only resource he had left and held it out in his palm.
He tapped a certain sequence on the tiny computer's face and suddenly he was able to see through the blackness, aided by the faithful Mintra'el's programming and holographic projection capabilities. The A.I. remained perfectly silent through every tense second.
Desslok saw nothing. There were no thermal readings, no animal life-signs, nothing at all except nighttime insects. For some reason this troubled the prince all the more. A feeling of icy dread gripped him and tried to wriggle its way into his heart, but he fought it off, determined not to let phantoms dictate his state of mind, but despite that, he found himself dreading turning back around to face the flickering fire, exposing his back to the silent woods.
He continued to gaze into the darkness, his almost-discovered discomfort of earlier that day now long forgotten.