Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

Shin Galiana Calestis made no attempt to lessen her harsh tone. She spoke slowly, stressing each word as if trying to drill them into Headspeaker Valdeen’s head that shone with the sheen of sweat. “You were given specific instructions to make sure the boys came back with you. How could you let this happen?” She rapped her staff on the Council chamber’s floor as she counted off each issue. “Deliver the kinai. Allow the boys some pleasure. Bring them home. Simple tasks.”

Edwin Valdeen dabbed at his bald head. His other hand fidgeted on the tabletop. The man had arrived late that night without the boys. Galiana had called the meeting immediately, but it took several hours before all the Council made it to the Whitewater Inn. Outside, a rooster’s crows announced the lateness or rather earliness of the hour.

Valdeen’s eyes and mouth twitched as he surveyed the other Council members. Without his preening arrogance, the man was a sagging shell. His gaze settled on Galiana for a brief moment before he looked away. “I–In case you didn’t notice, they’re not boys anymore, they’re men. And they follow whatever Ancel does. He and his friends decided they wanted to stay for a few extra days. What was I to say? No? You yourself know the mood he’s been in. Who knows what he would’ve done if I tried to stop him.”

“Bullshit,” Devan Faber blurted. Mirza’s father stared down the Headspeaker, his eyes cold pits.

“A moment, Devan,” Galiana said, and Devan nodded. Galiana knew Edwin’s real reason was more the fact he wanted Ancel to have nothing to do with his daughter. She took in the Headspeaker with an unwavering stare. “I would advise you not to forget yourself when you address me, Edwin. As for him being a man, you are correct. I had hopes his involvement with your daughter would help, but that does not appear to be the case. We shall give them another week before we send to Randane and have the regiment escort them home.”

“And you better pray to Ilumni nothing happens to our sons,” Devan Faber warned.

“What about these other reports,” Guthrie asked. The portly innkeeper, and Danvir’s father, whose inn they used as a meeting place cast his gaze around the large lamplit room to all the other Council Heads at their respective seats. All but one were dressed in their red Dagodin uniforms. “Should we send out our own patrol to meet them along the road?”

“I don’t know about you, Guthrie, but I’m all for it. I’m not willing to risk my son’s life if some renegade Dosteri have decided merchants are fair game,” Devan said. Where Guthrie’s unrestrained eating habits shaped him, years toiling in the cliff quarries and mines marked Devan. Since taking over as mine foreman, he worked even harder, and his boulder shoulders and arms banded with thick muscular slabs had grown. “He may not act his age, but he’s still my son,” he added.

Guthrie nodded.

A smile, quickly masked, played across Shin Galiana’s face. In the bright light provided by the lamps in their sconces around the walls and on the table, she studied the two men. They had always been close, and they would have already discussed this action between them.

“I think you two are exaggerating as usual,” Rohan said. Galiana found herself leaning forward to hear the man’s thin, reedy voice. “I don’t believe the Dosteri would be so bold as to strike this far north. And it’s not like our boys cannot protect themselves. They have all almost completed their Dagodin training. As for the rumors from Ostania, the last real threat to us was what…over seventy-five years ago. The Bastions and the Vallum protected us then, and they will now. If the Tribunal felt an army in Ostania was a threat, they would’ve sent for us.” Rohan took a sip of water when he finished.

Stefan laughed, but neither the sound nor his piercing emerald eyes held any mirth. “The last thing the Tribunal wants is to include us in any plan of the sort. Not only are we old and retired, but have you forgotten who we are? We may have come a long way in our relationship with Granadia, but the Tribunal keeps its plans to itself and protects their interests first. The rest of Denestia is secondary. As for the Dosteri-”

“Which is why I agree with Rohan,” Jillian interrupted. The woman had ever been staunch opposition to the Dorns. “If there was a serious threat to Granadia or our children, we would have more than just Shin Galiana here. They also would have sent more than the one High Ashishin for the negotiations.” She glanced in Galiana’s direction. “No insult intended.”

“None taken,” Galiana replied. “Continue.”

“My eagles have given me no reports of any Dagodin movements other than the recent legions the Tribunal sent across the Vallum. Even then, there’s nothing unusual about such a stationing.” Today, Jillian was dressed in an extravagant dress with purple, silky folds, split and rejoined between the legs for a billowy, trouser-like effect.

Galiana said nothing, but she knew differently. The Tribunal feared what the Chronicles prophesied: the advent of the shade, an army of Amuni’s Children, the return of the Erastonian tribes and the end of the Tribunal’s reign. Chaos would follow. So far the first two events may well be occurring if the reports were indeed true. Those Dagodin legions had been deployed well before the first news from Ostania arrived and in far greater numbers than was required for training. And High Shin Jerem had sent Irmina across the Vallum a year prior. Ashishin or not, the girl still had not returned. That in itself troubled her. For all his many secrets, if Jerem said Ancel’s survival relied on Irmina’s success, then it was so. Sacrifices were sometimes necessary.

“Be that as it may, I feel the same way as Guthrie and Devan.” Stefan stood. His soft yet commanding tone and the golden knots on his scarlet uniform commanded attention. “I want to know my son is safe. It’s not as if the Dosteri representatives will tell us the truth. But where rumors spread like flies, there must be an inkling of shit. If I have to send my own guards, so be it. I prefer caution when in doubt. I won’t feel comfortable until our sons are home.”

“Well, we should bring the matter up for vote,” Jillian said.

Stefan waved her off. “There’s no need for a vote. Either we send a patrol or I’ll lead my men from the winery myself.”

“B-But what about the kinai crop…the wine…the juice for the Soltide Festival?” Edwin stuttered.

“Soltide can go to Hydae and rot for all I care.” The vehemence in Stefan’s curse brought gasps from around the room. “This is my son we’re talking about here. All of our sons.”

“Too bad it has taken our suffering as well as possibly losing a child of your own to feel this way,” Jillian said, scowling.

Stefan whirled around, his face mottled with rage. He took several steps toward Jillian until he towered over her. Thania rose to her feet and hustled to her husband’s side.

Eyes icy, emerald barbs, Stefan glared down at the scout leader. “Repeat that if you dare.”

Jillian opened her mouth, but Shin Galiana had seen enough. “Stop it, both of you,” Galiana commanded. “Jillian, we may no longer be in the old lands, but Stefan is still your Lord. Show appropriate respect.” Jillian sniffed, but Galiana ignored her and continued, “There’s no time for petty arguments. Despite what you feel Jillian, I must agree with the men on this. We have not taken risks in the past three hundred years, and we will not start now. I suggest you send a patrol and your eagles.”

Stefan’s arms trembled, and his fists clenched. His wife rested her hand on his shoulder as she reached up to whisper into his ear. He caressed her hand in response and gave her fingers a light squeeze. His eyes closed, and a deep, drawn out breath left his lips. When he opened them again, his eyes were serene. Turning away from Jillian, he strode to a window overlooking the Eldan Road.