Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

In some ways, she could understand why Jerem would see it as a sound strategy. Not only would these killings, which were spread over a great area, delay the Tribunal’s Pathfinders, but the Chronicle of Undeath and any knowledge of Mater fascinated Ancel. This could function as a way to draw him back into his studies. But at what cost? Sacrificing someone to guide Ancel was one thing, but risking his discovery was folly. One issue was clear. If this was not Jerem’s actions, then she needed to take any possible measure she could in case the Dosteri had indeed infiltrated this far north into Sendeth.

Galiana was so deep in thought, she hardly noticed the early risers around her going about their daily activities. Or those hurrying along to early morning prayers at the Streamean temple. She raised her hand or nodded her head out of habit as she traveled down the street. Not even the clangor from a blacksmith’s hammer interrupted her musing. Preoccupied by her thoughts, Galiana arrived at Eldanhill’s south end.

She gazed across a field at the regiment’s encampment. Torches stood out on tall posts, and patrols strolled around the perimeter. Standards displaying a black boar charging across a green pasture under blue skies flew from many tents. Others had the banners and flags from minor nobles flapping in the light breeze. Next to those, and flying higher still, was the Silver Spear-a fist enclosed around a shining lance set against a black backdrop-King Emory of Sendeth’s banner.

Galiana shambled toward the tents, relying heavily on her staff. Her fingers tightened on the weathered wood at the thought of this Captain Giomar adding to the present troubles. She did not appreciate having her hand forced like this.

Today, she’d made sure to wear her long, flowing crimson dress with the one silver sleeve and its short, white stripes. Five stripes marked her as one rank below a member of the Tribunal. Embroidered onto the breast in gold and white was the Lightstorm insignia. She hoped they would be enough to serve her purpose.

She headed across grass flattened by constant travel toward the largest tan structure, more a pavilion than a tent, positioned at the encampment’s center. It was one of the few with light inside. The Charging Boar and the Silver Spear flew at the same height in front the tent. A sign of this man, Giomar’s arrogance, to fly his standard the same height as the King’s.

To one side of the field, dartans picketed in neat lines stamped and mewled impatiently. One of Eldanhill’s small dogs barked at the creatures, until they showed their fangs, trilled a warning reply and tore at reeking pieces of meat piled on the ground. The dog ducked its head, whimpered, and slunk away, its tail between its legs.

Soldiers, in blue and green or gold surcoats emblazoned with the Charging Boar and worn over chainmail, moved about the camp with a purposeful bustle. Lancers, in burnished armor, practiced formations under the supervision of a stern-faced man-at-arms. Another group copied sword forms taught by a swordmaster. A few dozen murmurs followed her as she passed, but no one questioned her. Several soldiers knuckled their forehead, or nodded slightly, and she acknowledged them in kind.

Hopefully, she could affect the Captain in the same manner and with as much ease. From what she’d heard, the man brandished his insolence as much as his sword. Like so many others accustomed to command, he wouldn’t be easily intimidated, and he was loyal to a fault.

Therein lay her biggest obstacle-his blind loyalty to the King. The same King who had made his displeasure with the Tribunal’s lack of direct interference to resolve the issues between Sendeth and Doster abundantly clear. In fact, he went so far as to declare his dislike for the Tribunal and Matii as a whole. In his words, if they wouldn’t help him, then why should he tolerate them? He was not the first ruler to make such a declaration, but once the Tribunal turned their attention on those monarchs, they had a habit of changing their minds. All this meant she would need to give Giomar a stiff reminder of her status. There was something to be said for small dogs with big barks.

She stopped at the tent’s entrance where a grizzle-faced, bone of a man stood at the slit for a doorway. His eyes shifted as his gaze followed her, but nothing else moved. She announced herself as Ashishin Galiana, Eldanhill’s mender and a Teacher. The man blinked. He nodded and ducked inside to relay her arrival. Returning shortly after, he beckoned her in. She shuffled inside past the guard, and he let the flap fall behind him.

Captain Giomar stood next to a table poring over Granadian maps by lamplight. Among the maps and papers, she noticed a half-rolled glossy sheet of paper with the King’s Seal.

The spacious pavilion contained two other tables, a bedroll, and a stand with a black and green suit of armor embossed with the Charging Boar on the chest. One table held food-two roasted quails, bread, gooseberries, kinai fruit and two pitchers filled with wine, one yellow, and one red. A longsword rested on the other table along with gauntlets, greaves, and a gorget, all matching the armor on the stand.

“Good day, Mender Galiana, or would you prefer Teacher Galiana. Better yet, Shin Galiana?” he asked, in a smooth tone without taking his eyes from the maps. A smirk played across his lips. “I tend to forget myself sometimes when it comes to addressing your kind. I seem to have a difficult time deciding which title is appropriate. You tend to have so many it can be quite confusing to one as simple as myself.”

She dismissed the man’s blatant attempt at disrespect, refusing to let any emotion show as she stepped up to the table. “You shall address me as Shin Galiana.”

Giomar straightened to his full height. Any other time, she would have chuckled at the man now towering over her. Men often felt their great size and height over women affected a meetings’ outcome. She smiled inwardly with the thought and leaned even more heavily on her staff. Most men could be such fools. He strode from behind the table with a smooth, arrogant grace, his beady eyes studying her. She met his gaze with a blank expression.

“My humble apologies, Shin Galiana. Although, I thought the title of Shin was reserved for those still in active service. Anyway, where are my manners? May I offer you a drink?” She shook her head, and he continued, “I always wondered what became of you Matii once you were of no more use. Imagine my surprise when I discovered you’re relegated to teaching young pups in the most obscure parts of Granadia.”

“Let me guess, you could not muster a good enough score to be admitted to one of our Mysteras.” Galiana said, unblinking. “So you resort to snide remarks in hopes you can bruise a Matus’ pride while your envy is plain to see.” She shook her head in disdain.

Giomar smiled mirthlessly. “I have no envy toward the Matii. You’re as good as any other watch dog. You keep the nobility safe from the other dregs of society. You enforce the iron rule of the Tribunal and maintain the blessings of the Streamean temples. I simply feel you should be treated no different than a wolf hound. Once its day is done, the animal needs to be put to pasture. Why King Emory allows your school in Sendeth is beyond me. And if you are still a Shin, rather than one of these so called Teachers,” he almost spat the last words, “tell me, why are you in Eldanhill? There are no nobles to be protected in this useless town.”

“Despite what you may think, it is an Ashishin’s duty to represent all. Whether they are lowly peasants, soldiers led by an overzealous Captain, or the King himself. Everyone is afforded the same protection and counsel,” Galiana said.

The lines about his eyes tightened, and a fire flickered in them for a brief second. Good, now he knows where I stand as far as he and King Emory are concerned.