1 State of Grace (8 page)

Chapter 8: Two Phrygians

(Three Days before Revelation Day)

Sagaius Silverleaf sat impatiently in a dirty tavern in the small town of Qesh in northern Jifan. He had exchanged his customary silks for a rough wool tunic and leggings and an even rougher cloak. Everything he wore was brown, even his leather boots, and all of it looked boorish. He kept the hood of his cloak up, so he could not be recognized. While that was principally a security precaution, he also didn’t want to be seen wearing such terrible clothing.

He was in an ill mood. Coming to Jifan always made him angry. He hated what the cowardly theocrats had done to his beloved Alfheim – what they had done to him. He recognized the necessity of this meeting, but he detested having it here. He would rather have traveled all the way to Phrygia to meet with General Tupelov.

Absently, he rubbed his left wrist. It had been years since the Jifani terrorists maimed him, but he sometimes still felt the pain.

Presently, the subjects of his meeting arrived. Tupelov was sensibly out of uniform, although his khaki tunic and leggings were similar in color to the Phrygian Army’s olive. Sagaius supposed he was a man who couldn’t stray too far from what he knew. Ravager wore his customary black cloak, tunic, and pants.

The two were speaking when they entered. Sagaius understood Phrygian, but they were talking too low for him to make out the words. After a moment, Ravager spotted Sagaius and nodded. Tupelov followed his eyes and smiled. They exchanged another brief word, and then Ravager moved to the bar, while Tupelov came straight over.

“
Privet
, Ambassador,” Tupelov said, seating himself. “How are you tonight?”

“Irritated,” Sagaius said. “You’re late.”

“My apologies, Ambassador,” he said. “I was delayed leaving Pushkingrad.”

Ravager arrived carrying four shots of vodka. Sagaius sniffed in disdain at the predictability. He set two glasses in front of Tupelov and kept the other two for himself. He sat down between the two of them.

“
Nosdrovija
,” Tupelov said, and the two of them threw back a shot.

“So,” Tupelov said after wiping his mouth. “Where are we?”

“We have successfully penetrated the Sons of Frey in Al-Adan,” Ravager said. His voice was flat and dead-sounding. “Starfellow believes I am feeding him inside information on the movements of government officials, so he may send his suicide bombers to wreak havoc. Simultaneously, I have tipped the Elite Guard to the imminence of all but the most inconsequential of attacks. Thus, the Guard appears to be on top of the violence, making it look like they have security well in hand.”

“How does Starfellow perceive these setbacks,” Sagaius inquired.

“He is growing discontent,” Ravager said with a shrug. “He cannot deny the accuracy of my information, but his lack of success at getting a government figure is causing him to have doubts. I threw him a bone, as the Urlanders like to say.”

“What bone?” Sagaius said, concern rising in his mind.

“A new Urlish ambassador arrives tomorrow,” he answered. “I gave him the location and time. He couldn’t resist the opportunity to assassinate an occupier.”

“But that could jeopardize the whole plan,” Tupelov protested. “If the Urlanders grow suspicious—”

“It won’t matter,” Sagaius said. He gazed at the general with disdain. “The Feast of the Revelation begins in three days. So long as the president continues with her plans for a unified celebration, everything will be as we need it. Ravager’s little bone most likely helps matters. If Starfellow is able to assassinate the Urlish ambassador, he will trust us more and be certain to play his role on Revelation Day.”

Tupelov nodded thoughtfully. He played with his empty shot glass, turning it around and around on the table.

“And are you sure the president will continue with her plans?” he said.

“Leave that to me,” Sagaius answered. How dare this human question his part in all of this? “The question is, General, is everything ready on your end?”

Tupelov turned red from his neck to the top of his bald head. Sagaius could see him struggling to control his temper. Apparently, he didn’t care for his preparations to be insulted either.

“All of my units are ready to march,” he said through his teeth. “My agents in Al-Adan are ready as well. They need only receive the order.”

“I will signal them on my return to Al-Adan,” Ravager said.

Sagaius nodded his approval. It seemed everything was as set as it could be. Now he just had to put the final piece in place.

“Very well,” he said. “Ravager and I will stop at my manor
en route
to Al-Adan. I have a few things to collect before the final stage. In the meantime, General, you will return to Pushkingrad. Take this.” He pushed a silver ring set with a black stone across the table. “When the stone turns orange, it will be time to start your march. I trust you can penetrate the border and make it to Eranbul with relative ease.”

“That part will not be a problem,” Tupelov said. “It’s what happens after we arrive that may cause trouble. Don’t be late.”

“Never,” Sagaius replied.

Tupelov threw back his second shot. He stood and looked at the two of them.

“May the Great Bear watch over the both of you,” he said.

“As long as I enjoy Frey’s favor, I won’t need any from Ursa,” Sagaius said.

Tupelov scowled at him with his single eye. Sagaius held his gaze, daring him to escalate. The Phrygian general tried to remain defiant, but he wilted after a few moments. It was just too hard for a human to look on an elf for that amount of time.

“
Do svidanija
, gentlemen,” Tupelov said. He put the ring on his right hand. “I look forward to your signal.”

So saying, he turned on his heel and practically marched out of the tavern. Several elves stared at him as he went. Sagaius shook his head.

He hated depending on others to advance his goals. He much preferred to have control over everything himself. He was doubly unhappy about partnering with an arrogant Phrygian general. The man was used to giving orders, not taking them, and he liked things to be orderly. Sagaius shared his desire for order, but his life had taught him you sometimes had to embrace chaos to make things right. He wondered if Yevgeni Tupelov would be able to adjust if anything went wrong.

Still, he supposed he was saddled with the two Phrygians. Like it or not, they had things he needed. If he was going to bring his plans to fruition, he was going to have to put up with Tupelov and Ravager a bit longer. Once they succeeded, he would be in a stronger position to dictate terms.

“Finish your drink,” he told Ravager. “We have a lot of accomplish.”

Ravager tossed the vodka back wordlessly and then stood to go. Sagaius rose, and the two of them left the tavern.

Outside, Sagaius’s carriage waited for them. Ravager took a moment to stow his magic carpet on the back with Sagaius’s luggage, then he climbed up and joined him inside. Sagaius knocked on the roof to indicate to the driver they were ready to leave. A moment later, the carriage moved off with a crack of the reins.

“Fill me in,” Sagaius said. “What have I missed?”

Chapter 9: The Thing about Elves

(Nine Days before Revelation Day)

Wolf made his way up the gangplank of
The Shimmering Veil
as his three wooden trunks were hauled up over the sides by a grumbling crew. The two-masted vessel looked fairly beat up. She appeared as though she’d weathered a few storms and possibly pirates. Wolf was nervous. She didn’t look entirely seaworthy, and he didn’t want to be on a leaky ship or one that might collapse in a storm.

As he boarded, he was greeted by a large man who was obviously the captain. Unlike the crew, he wore a coat, although the tarnished brass buttons were falling off, and it looked like it had gone through two wars. He had a scruffy face with red cheeks and was missing a tooth. At his side was a comely young man with blonde hair. Wolf guessed he was nineteen, maybe twenty.

The captain looked Wolf up and down, scrutinizing him. Wolf hoped he wasn’t going to have to deal with any sort of working-class hero or land-lubber-versus-seaman crap.

“If you’re an ambassador,” the captain said, “where’s your fancy silks and perfumes?” Wolf was dressed in a warm cloak, comfortable pants and a loose-fitting tunic – perfect for traveling.

“They’re in the trunks,” he said. “The truth is I hate wearing them. They’re stuffy and silly and uncomfortable. But, in my line of work, you have to wear the uniform or people won’t take you seriously. It’s all way too pompous if you ask me.”

Wolf met the man’s green-eyed gaze. He was hoping being a little honest with him would help his trip. They were going to be sharing a ship for approximately a week. If the captain didn’t like Wolf, he could make it unpleasant. Presently, the captain broke into a wide grin and guffawed.

“Too pompous,” he said. “D’ya hear that, Richie? The ambassador says silks and perfume is ‘too pompous.’ Ha!”

Richie laughed. It sounded sincere to Wolf and not sycophantic.

“You’re all right, Ambassador,” the captain said, clapping Wolf on the shoulder.

“Thank you,” Wolf said. “Perhaps we should have introductions. Wolf Dasher, Ambassador from Her Majesty’s Government to Alfar.” He extended his hand. The big man shook it warmly,

“Rough hands,” he commented. “You’re no fop, Ambassador. Whatever you were before you got this post, you worked for a living. I like that.”

Wolf winced inwardly at the implied class warfare, but at least it was working in his favor. He hoped the captain wouldn’t ask too much about his background. If necessary, he’d lie and say he was a soldier, but he’d rather not discuss it at all.

“My name’s James Hoag, captain of
The Shimmering Veil
. She may not look like much, but she’s the sturdiest ship in the sea. This here’s my boson, Richie Cartwright. Say hello, Richie.”

“Hello,” the young man said.

“A pleasure,” Wolf said, shaking his hand.

“He’s worth his weight in magic, Richie is,” Hoag said, stroking the young man’s hair affectionately. “Anything you need, he can provide.”

Just then, the last of Wolf’s trunks was dropped by the men trying to carry it, and they complained bitterly about its weight. Hoag cast a shrewd eye on Wolf.

“That ain’t no silks and perfumes in that one,” he said. “What’ve you got in there?”

“Books, mostly,” Wolf answered. “And some maps. I’ve never been to Alfar before, and I need to research it on my way there.”

Most of what he said was true. He didn’t say anything about the intelligence documents provided by the Urlish Army and Shadow Service.

“Blood and bones,” Hoag swore. “You don’t need no books. I can tell you all you need to know about Alfar and the elves. I’ve made my living sailing back and forth to that strange land. I’ve known plenty of elves, and I know what makes ’em tick. Stick with me, Mr. Dasher. I’ll get you all the learnin’ you need.”

Wolf couldn’t help but smile. Blood and bones? What a fantastic curse! He must remember to use it. And, while he had no intention of not reading the research material he brought with him, he was glad to have Hoag’s perspective. That was something he could never get from documents and reports.

“I put myself in your hands, Captain,” Wolf said.

“A wise decision,” the big man replied. “Richie, take our guest below and show him his quarters.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” he said with enthusiasm.

Richie led him down into the heart of
The Shimmering Veil
and offered him a small room. It had a porthole and just enough room for his trunks, a rack for sleeping, and a tiny table and chair. It was cramped but private.

“If you need anything, sir,” Richie said, “just ring this bell. Someone will summon me. Can I bring you anything else at the moment?”

“No, thank you,” Wolf answered. “Please extend my thanks to Captain Hoag.”

“Captain takes dinner at nineteen hundred hours in his quarters,” Richie said. “He’d be pleased to have you join him.”

“Tell him he can rely on my presence.”

“Very good, sir,” Richie said. He turned and went out.

Wolf was relieved. The carriage ride from Urland through Gallica and down into Celia had been hard. Speed was of the essence, and so the driver had moved them along at too fast a pace for comfortable travel. In fact, they changed horses four times, so he could push them harder. Furthermore, Wolf hadn’t been able to stop at any of his favorite inns for a pleasant dinner and some entertainment. They stopped just long enough to grab some food, and move on, often driving into the early night and camping by the roadside.

Now, it seemed, things were improving. He had a captain who liked him, and quarters below decks, where he could enjoy some privacy. He’d never been enthused about sea travel, but he had to admit, he was going to enjoy the more languid pace.

He removed his cloak and hopped into his rack. Within moments, he was asleep.

***

He arrived at Hoag’s quarters at precisely seven o’clock feeling refreshed. The nap had done him good, and he’d found time to wash his face and change his clothes. His muscles still ached from the uncomfortable carriage ride, but it was more bearable now that he’d rested and put on fresh things.

He was greeted by a delicious smell of roasted fowl that immediately caused his stomach to rumble. The table was set for three and was covered in food. Hoag beamed when he saw Wolf at the door.

“Come in, Ambassador,” he boomed. “It’s not often I get to entertain a government official.” He let out another of his loud guffaws.

Richie appeared and escorted Wolf to a seat to Hoag’s left. He then poured Wolf a flagon of sweet-smelling white wine before seating himself at Hoag’s right. The captain raised his cup and indicated the other men should do so as well. Wolf obeyed.

“To Neptune!” Hoag said. “May he grant us a smooth and safe journey.”

He tossed his wine back. Wolf and Richie followed suit. The wine was quite delicious. It was crisp and dry and contained strong notes of apricots. It had a clean finish and, despite its sweet flavor, wasn’t a dessert wine.

“This is amazing,” Wolf said.

“You like it?” Hoag replied. “I get it from a friend in Alfar. They’re very good at wine there, Ambassador. If you have a taste for the
vino
, you’re going to like your new assignment.”

“Somehow I’m guessing the wine will not be the factor that makes or breaks my enjoyment of the job,” Wolf said with a smile.

“Blood and bones, Mr. Dasher!” Hoag said with a laugh. “No job as an ambassador is ever going to be fun, especially one where you’re supposed to sort out a bunch of people determined not to agree. But there are advantages. You get to live a nice life and sample some of the finer things. That’s what makes the posting worthwhile. You’re new to this whole diplomacy game, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Wolf said, unable to suppress another smile. He was really beginning to like Hoag. “And call me Wolf. You’re not at court.”

“Very well, Wolf,” Hoag said. “But if you don’t mind me asking, why would Her Majesty’s government send an ambassador who’s new to diplomacy and has no tolerance for pomp to one of the stickiest messes in the world? Doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. Seems like they’d want someone more experienced.”

“Her Majesty wants a new approach,” Wolf said. “Someone with fresh eyes, ears, and ideas. She’s hoping that might break the impasse.”

“Hmm,” Hoag said. He searched Wolf with his green eyes, probing for the truth. Wolf smiled innocently. “Maybe.”

They set to feasting. The fowl Wolf smelled was roast pheasant. Each man had a bird, and they were prepared with apples and a maple sauce spiced with herbs Wolf didn’t recognize. It was extremely sweet and a perfect match for the apricot wine. There were also roast potatoes doused in butter and parsley, and well peppered sweet corn. The meal was a little on the sweet side for Wolf’s taste, but he had to admit the potatoes cut the sugar of the pheasant sauce nicely, and the pepper gave the corn a spicy flavor that was very agreeable. He hadn’t had a meal this pleasant since leaving Urland days ago.

“My god, Captain,” he commented, “this is superb. Where did you find a ship’s cook with this kind of talent?”

“All my crew are talented,” Hoag replied. “When I meet a man with a certain skill I can make use of, I offer him whatever I can to get him onboard and then keep it coming to make sure he stays. A happy crew is a productive crew.

“Take Richie here,” he said with an affectionate glance towards the young man. “He’s extremely efficient. There’s not a man or boy on the sea who understands rigging and cables as well. One of the reasons this old sea hunk holds together as well as it does is Richie knows what she needs.

“Richie has a sweet-tooth. He’s always loved sugar. So I make sure Cook has plenty of the kinds of things he likes to eat. This maple sauce here is one of his favorites. Richie eats better here than any other ship on the sea. So it’s worth his while to stay. I get what I need, and he gets what he likes.”

“That’s not all you get,” Richie said, a suggestive tone in his voice. He winked at Hoag.

“Yes, well, there’s that too,” the captain said. “But that’s all side benefits.”

Wolf watched them stare at each other. There was passion there. They were obviously lovers.

“Anyway,” Hoag continued, “if you have a happy crew, they remember who made them happy, and they work their asses off for that person. No one ever jumps ship from
The Shimmering Veil
, Wolf. Not unless they think they’re getting their own ship.”

Wolf studied Hoag for a moment and concluded he was sincere. It was easy to like James Hoag, and if he went the extra mile for you, which Wolf didn’t doubt, it was easy to see how you could become devoted to him.

“I like your philosophy,” Wolf said.

“It’s not just philosophy, Wolf,” Hoag replied. “I have the results to prove it.”

“I’ve no doubt. I wonder if I might change the subject a bit. You mentioned you had insight into elves. I’d be very interested to hear your thoughts.”
Hoag pushed himself back from the table a bit and refilled his cup. He took a long sip from his wine before fixing Wolf with a serious gaze.

“To understand elves, Wolf,” he said, “You have to understand their religion. The thing about elves is they’re a very proud people. All of them, whether they’re Shendali, Freyalan, or unreligious, revere the prophet Frey.”

“That much I know,” Wolf commented.

“Ah, but you have to understand what it means, Laddie,” Hoag said. “Frey was an elf. He wandered the earth searching for the meaning to it all, spiritual insight, whatever these prophets are looking for before they have their moment of revelation.

“He wandered for seven years before he had a vision in the desert. According to the elves, God spoke to him directly. God told Frey that elves were His special creation. They were the greatest life form on Earth. That’s why they were so beautiful and so gifted with an understanding of magic. According to Frey, elves are made in the very image of God. Because this race is so blessed, it’s their job to care for the other races and bring them to enlightenment.

“Frey returned to Alfheim, as it used to be known, and spread this message to his people. As you can imagine, it was well received.”

“Told you were made in the very image of God and charged with caring for all the Earth?” Wolf commented. “Who wouldn’t want to hear that?”

“Precisely,” Hoag said. “It didn’t take long before Frey was declared a prophet, nominally made head of the nation, and worshipped nearly as a god. He retreated to the forests for days at a time, and then came out with new proclamations about God’s plan. People hung on his every word. He became so popular, everything about him was revered. If he had dates at dinner, this was some sort of sign over the importance of dates in the diet and their divine nature. Whatever clothes he wore became instant fashion statements. Hell, if he farted at dinner, it was seen as proper table manners, not a social
faux pas
.

“Every elf wanted to be Frey, and, failing that, they wanted to be as close to him as they could in behavior. They believed it would bring enlightenment and God’s favor. That has never changed, Laddie. To this very day, they all seek to be more Frey-like. And since Frey told them they were God’s chosen people, they believe wholeheartedly they are better than all the other races.