Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

The dark haired man schooled his face to calm as he replied, “It seems the King’s name does not ring out as it should within the Whitewater Falls despite it being part of Sendeth.”

“The people here do not take kindly to badgering, not even from the King’s men.”

“Are you saying their refusal was warranted?”

“I’m saying Whitewater Falls folk and those in Eldanhill in particular have provided more than their fair share to the King’s coffers. That has never changed. Not when they suffered the worst winter storms in years or when pestilence struck their crops. As such, they should be treated with respect. Yet, you approached them with hostility and demands as if they were beggars and thieves. What did you expect? Wine, women, and song?”

Giomar shrugged, but the lines about his eyes tightened. “I expected them to obey. Everyone faces trials and tribulations, but there’s one defining constant. This entire area is within Sendeth’s borders, and thus under the King’s rule. I am but an extension of the King’s arm, and he decreed I should recruit, so I obey.”

“Is that the excuse you used for trying to secretly recruit Eldanhill’s youth without their parents’ permission?”

“You’re all part of Sendeth, aren’t you?”

“I see you miss my point or you are simply a blind fool. I’m positive King Emory advised you of my presence here. But, you decided to do as you wished in his name. Only idiocy could promote such an action.”

Giomar scowled, his face becoming a dark shade of red. “I would watch my mouth if I were you. The Tribunal has decreed they will not interfere with the local government within the kingdoms, and this is a local matter, Ashishin.” He hawked and spat to the side. “My orders were to seek new recruits, and I will leave with as many as I deem necessary.”

“About new recruits,” Shin Galiana held the man’s gaze and hardened her voice, “You will not recruit Eldanhill folk.” She drew herself up until she no longer leaned on her staff. Giomar’s eyes widened. “I shall send word to the capital to address the people’s concerns about recruitment. You and your men can make yourselves useful by keeping Eldanhill safe in the meantime. I’m sure you have heard the rumors.”

Giomar’s body stiffened at her command, and he strode to the pavilion’s other side. “Galiana, is this the Council’s decision?” The air in the tent stilled as he turned to face her, his eyes blue ice, his hands balled into fists. “If so, it is treason against the realm to deny a royal decree.”

“Treason?” Curling her lips in as contemptuous a smile as she could manage, she allowed Giomar’s anger to wash over her. “Captain, is it? You seem to have lofty goals for a man of your rank. Well, I suggest you allow me to assist you with them.”

“Gal-”

She waved her hand and cut him off. “The decision was made by me, Ashishin Galiana Calestis as the Tribunal’s representative here in Eldanhill.” She refused to allow the man any attempt to recover. He needed to be humiliated. “Should you,” she paused, pointing a finger at the man, “choose to meddle in the Tribunal’s affairs, rather than provide Eldanhill with protection, you will feel mine and their wrath.”

“How dare-”

“Before you utter another word, Giomar.” She realized now her words nor her uniform would be enough. She gave the essences around them a subtle touch. “You say you possess a royal decree, yes?”

Giomar’s face bloomed almost purple with the struggle to restrain himself. He gave her a single nod.

“Good. You should know every decree bears the Seal of Light, approved and signed by the Tribunal. Yes?” She dipped her head slightly. The man nodded, his skin flushed as if he was choking. “Every Royal decree contains instructions on who could override its order and who should be treated with as much respect as the King himself. I suggest you look at your Seal.”

As she spoke, she made a delicate Forging. A slight amount of water from one of the pitchers on his table, a tiny amount of dust to give it substance, and the singular shade she could touch to give her creation its color.

Giomar reached among the maps on the table and picked up the half-rolled sheet of glossy paper she’d noticed earlier. Unrolling the lower part, he uncovered the Seal and the names listed there. His eyes narrowed, and then he gaped.

“Overstep your bounds Giomar, and you shall answer to me,” Shin Galiana said in a soft tone.

“Yes, Blessed High Shin. My humble apologies, Blessed High Shin.” Giomar’s words almost tripped over each other with not a single hint of divisiveness attached. His shoulders slumped, and he looked as if he lost a foot or more in height.

Galiana smiled. With Giomar’s spirit broken, her task became simple. “Now, here is what you shall do. This year we sent an unusually large amount of kinai wine and juice to King Emory. As the Dosteri have decided to slay Sendethi merchants, we would not want one of our own to be mistaken as such. You would not want them to lay their hands on Lord Loriz after the failure of the negotiations. Yes?”

Giomar’s face blanched. He nodded weakly.

Galiana continued, her voice soft but nonetheless filled with the authority the Captain expected. “You will leave Eldanhill at once and proceed toward Randane to escort the Lord as normal. Your purpose will be twofold. See to his safety and make sure the Eldan Road is safe from here to the capital, sending men to escort any of our people you may meet on the road. You will maintain the King’s peace for at least two weeks.”

“Yes, Blessed High Shin,” Giomar answered as if in a trance, his gaze locked on the Seal.

Now, for the most important and delicate part. “You will forget we had this conversation or that my name is on the Seal. When asked you will state your actions are a part of your orders to strengthen the King’s regiment.” She couldn’t help but smile. The man’s own blind loyalty would be his undoing.

“I hear and obey, High One,” Giomar intoned. He bowed from his waist.

Galiana gave him a mere dip of her head and strode from the tent.

She left the stunned man still staring at where he thought he saw her name signed after the King’s on the royal decree.

Ancel and Ryne retreated from the army of shadelings surrounding them. Ten thousand throats wailed. The army washed over them in a black wave.

Irmina started awake. Yet, she couldn’t see. No, that wasn’t entirely true. She could see, but her eyes wouldn’t open. Raising her brow to force her lids apart made no difference. They refused to budge. Brightness shone through the skin of her lids as if someone held a torch inches above her eyes. She would’ve pried them open with her fingers if her hands didn’t also refuse to do as she bid. With each failure, her heart raced, and her breaths came in short, panicked gasps.

Perspiration poured down her face, and chills wracked her body. Despite the sweat, she felt as if she stood outside during one of Eldanhill’s fierce winters.

Take a hold of yourself, woman. She reached for that cold place deep within her mind and found calm.

Her concern drifted to the rest of her body. She was in her small clothes. From the smell, someone had changed her bandages. The wounds no longer lanced with pain as they did earlier, and their ache was now a dull throb. Something soft, maybe layered furs or rugs, lay beneath her, a blanket hugged her body, and a pillow cushioned her head. She again attempted to open her eyes, but managed no more than a flutter. When she tried to push up onto her elbows, she failed.

She would have frowned if she could. The last she remembered, she, Ormand, and two surviving Dagodin Knights were fleeing toward the Vallum of Light. Why am I now in a bed? Attempting to conjure a memory of how she arrived here proved futile. Something rustled above her. She held her breath. Fingers like old leather stroked her face.