Richard Tuttle - 13 Day War

“What is he doing with them?”

Colonel Taerin hesitated. “It is one thing to work together for peace,” he said with a frown, “but you are now asking me to betray my country. I cannot do that.”

“It is not your country any more, Taerin,” Clint said sadly. “Someone is driving this coming conflict, but it is not the rightful emperor. If it is any consolation to you, Alcea plans to spare as many of your people as we can afford to. The more knowledge we have of their disposition, the easier we can accomplish that.”

“You are in no position to spare Federation soldiers,” retorted Colonel Taerin. “While I am not privy to the invasion plans, I have heard the odds involved in the coming war. Alcea will be utterly destroyed, and for that I am truly sorry.”

“I will say to you what I said to your father,” General Forshire declared with a thin smile. “There are only a handful of Alceans in Zara, but we have freed the elves, destroyed your fleet and your shipyards, gained access to the highest levels of your Federation, and destroyed a large faction of the infamous Badgers. Think about that before you write Alcea off. Think about it and then realize that there are thousands more like us in Alcea waiting for your soldiers to arrive.”

Colonel Taerin swallowed hard as he thought about the Alcean’s words. “The bloodshed will be great for both of our nations. Let us pray that we can work together to stop this war before it starts.”

The bitter wind howled out of the south, driving the sea into a frenzy of towering waves. The ship creaked and groaned as it bobbed from crest to trough and back to crest again. Every time the Resurgence rose out of a trough, the masts shuddered and the lines snapped taut as the battering winds assaulted the ship anew. Every trough brought thousands of gallons of seawater across the deck as the wind whipped the crests of the huge waves and sent a torrent of seawater cascading down upon the ship. The captain fought the tiller constantly, trying to maintain some sense of direction and keep the ship from capsizing, but his hopes for survival were not high. The weight of his cargo was so immense that the ship had practically no freeboard, and he knew that a single wave breeching the rail could send the ship to the bottom of the sea.

“Can’t your people do anything?” Captain Imatin shouted to the black-cloak leader. “This ship is going to sink like a rock.”

Seiko’s eyes scanned the deck of the huge ship. Of the one-hundred black-cloaks under his command, eighty of them were already on deck using their magic to keep the ship afloat. Twenty of them were dedicated to keeping the sails full while the Resurgence was in a trough. If they did not, the masts would snap like twigs as the fury of the storm hit when they rose to the crest. Sixty of the mages were magically gathering the seawater from the decks and bilge and returning it to the sea. The water was coming aboard at such a voluminous rate that any less than sixty mages and the Resurgence would slip below the surface. That still left twenty black-cloaks, but Seiko believed strongly in a reserve. He could not afford to exhaust all of the black-cloaks at the same time. To do so would mean certain death.

“Remain steadfast, Captain,” ordered Seiko. “We will weather this storm.”

The black-cloak leader spoke with an air of confidence, but he was worried. The shipbuilders had underestimated the weight of Alutar, and the Resurgence rode perilously low in the water, even in calm seas. In a torrent such as this massive winter storm it truly took magic to keep the ship afloat. The question on Seiko’s mind was whether one-hundred black-cloaks was enough magic to see the journey through to its final destination.

“Do you have any idea where we are?” Seiko shouted to the captain.

“None,” spat the captain. “We haven’t seen the sky in days, but I can tell you this. When this storm ends, we will not be anywhere that we want to be.”

Seiko glared at the captain. “When this storm ends, Captain, we will be alive. That is all that matters for now.”

* * * *

The three Knights of Alcea rode into the slums of Farmin and dismounted near the building housing the impromptu infirmary. They avoided the front of building where many ornate carriages blocked the narrow street and walked their mounts around to the rear of the building. They opened the door and entered a large room with numerous beds scattered about. Most of the beds were empty and Garth Shado raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“The friends of Fakir have returned,” greeted Zynor, his eyes twinkling in a friendly manner. “Forgive me if I don’t remember your names. Fakir is in his office.”

“Names are not important,” smiled Garth. “Where are all your patients?”

“They stand out front for potions,” frowned Zynor as he scratched his bald dome. The long, thin wisps of white hair fringing his dome swayed as Zynor’s mouth opened as if he had more to say.

“I meant the indigent patients,” Garth replied. “Are the slums free of disease?”

“Pretty much,” interjected Atule. “Now we bilk the rich with tonics and elixirs.”

“And you would rather not?” asked Natia.

Atule sighed. “The rich are worthy of healing as well as the poor, but I worry about Kalmar. I fear that the lure of gold might once again grab his notice.”

“You worry too much,” stated Eulena as the elven mage passed into the room through a curtained passageway.

“Kalmar is not afflicted by greed,” declared Zynor, “and he is not ever likely to be again, at least not for his personal use. He is building a treasury to help the poor. Worry not for him.”

“Most of the gold is going towards food,” offered Valera as she carried a large box of breads past the Knights of Alcea. “These people were emaciated when we arrived. They still require a healthy supply of food to restore their bodies.”

Tedi and Natia both moved to take the large box from Valera’s hands.

“I need to speak to Fakir,” Garth said to Tedi and Natia. “Why don’t you two see if you can offer any help while we are here?”

Garth passed through the curtain to the showroom where Kalmar sold his goods. There was a line of well-dressed people waiting to speak to the healer, and Kalmar did not even notice the Knight of Alcea behind him. Without a word, Garth turned and entered the office where Fakir Aziz sat staring blankly at a wall. Without looking to see who had just entered, the Mage waved his visitor to a chair before the desk. He shook his head as if to clear it and then locked eyes with Garth as the Knight of Alcea sat down.

“You are becoming a regular visitor,” smiled Fakir Aziz. “Have you come for more local folklore?”

“Not this time,” smiled Garth. “Fakir Aziz has already given me what I needed.”

“And I have not?” frowned the Mage.

“You have given me much more than I ever wanted,” Garth replied cryptically. “Still, I need your help. There is a water witch named Haditha. If she still lives, I need to communicate with her.”

“If she still lives?”

“Haditha and Captain Gomery went on a mission to the Needle some time ago. They never returned.”

“Yet you still hold out hope for their safety?”

“Haditha is afraid of Captain Gomery becoming too involved with what is going on. It is plausible that they survived the mission and are hiding in order to avoid the coming conflict. She fears for his safety.”

The Mage nodded knowingly. “Her fear is not without reason. These are dangerous times that we live in.”

“Aren’t all times dangerous?” Garth sighed with weariness. “There is always some conflict that threatens us all. There are times that I curse you for the elixir you gave me, but…”