Forest For The Trees (Book 3) (38 page)

“Then let us
assume
that any threat posed by
the Galemarans would be best met by applying the greatest force.  I expect this
mobile bastion to resume its best speed for Galemaran soil within the hour.”

Xenos siphoned away the last dregs of the horse’s
energy before pushing past Mellcoff.  The major’s fingers twitched from his
efforts not to speak his mind.

A flight of Wyverflies waited nearby.  Xenos ignored
them.  Most court nobles, council members and esteemed members of Arronath’s
society believed that making an entrance into a Citadel on a Wyverfly’s back
offered a grandiose image.  In truth, only expert riders from the Wyverfly
Corps could comfortably sit or control them.

He continued past the egotistic parade Mellcoff had
prepared, marching to the method of entry any experienced army officer always
chose first.  The lifts.  Mellcoff had descended on one when Xenos’ dust cloud
had ridden into view.  Not expecting to share it, he had come on the smaller
version.

Xenos stepped across the stone square to the granite
tablet set into the far railing.  No words were needed for his faithful to
understand what to do.  Four squeezed onto the lifting platform with him.  The
other five would wait below, glaring at Mellcoff until the heat was only a
minor contributor to the man’s sweat.

Beside the tablet, a steel can was riveted to the
railing.  Xenos withdrew a pinch of rich, dark earth from it.  He scattered it
across the alien letters carved into the tablet…letters few but he could have
deciphered.  In a deliberate intonation, he said, “
Hark, as the bindings to
natural law are broken, rise now under the contract of Humus
.”

At the closing syllable, the stone under his feet
vibrated.  Within moments the platform lifted from the ground.

His faithful clutched the railings.  Xenos kept his
eyes on the dark hole in the Citadel’s underside directly above.  The distance
closed rapidly, wind rocking the lift more than its movement did.

No part of the Citadel’s exterior had been worked by
human hands.  Its surface underneath was as jagged as a mountain slope ravaged
by avalanches.  The hole this lift belonged to lay between three stalactites
large as watchtowers, sharp as daggers.

When they rose past the tips, with stone passing them
on all sides, lifthands threw ropes down to them.  Xenos caught one, the other
two snatched from their uncoiling fall by others.  They threaded the ropes
through iron eyelets in the railings.

Shouted commands from the lifthands had Xenos’ group
pulling the ropes through the rings tight as they could manage.  Their platform
slowed for the last thirty feet.  The Citadel had drifted since Mellcoff had
taken the trip down.  A straight rise with no guiding ropes would have crashed
the railings against the underside of the entry-hole’s edge.

Tugging on the correct ropes realigned the platform. 
It made a smooth entry.  The last ten feet proceeded at a pace agonizingly slow
compared to its speedy ascent.  When it came to a halt, lifthands tied the
ropes securely and pushed a walkway out over the three feet of empty space.

The platform, immobile, was as steady as the stone
from which it had been made.  Xenos crossed the wooden plank without a care for
the dangers of slipping.  His men followed with traces of hesitancy.

This particular entry bay housed six small-sized
lifts.  The large, cave-like room contained no shadows thanks to the oil lamps
set every ten feet along the walls.  Two crews serviced the six lifts, which
meant they had very little to tend to with only one in operation.  Each of the
other five were tied tightly in place over their exit holes.

Walking to the command chambers meant climbing several
hundred steps to the center of the Citadel.  The hallways were clearly marked,
not that it mattered very much.  Every existing Citadel possessed the same
interior as the others no matter their exterior faces.  Though having never
entered this particular one, he already knew where to find his personal
quarters, the supply caverns, kitchen areas, Wyverfly roosts, barracks halls,
training centers, water supplies, Healing wings…everything.

Two branches down the hallway their noses were
assaulted by a strong animal musk.  To allay any doubts, Taur growls bounced
off the walls.  Taurs could never be penned very far from the largest lifts the
Citadel utilized.  They could not be controlled so thoroughly as to ride a
Wyverfly without problems, nor could the flies support their incredible
weight.  Herding them to the lifts already stressed the handlers’ abilities
enough.

His men quickened their step.  Although they eagerly
sought the glory of his holy services, primal chaos such as the Taurs embodied
appeal little to them.

Hard, short breaths huffed from each faithful when
they arrived outside the command chambers.  Xenos alone looked as if he had
just stepped from his bed after a comfortable nap.  He entered without
knocking.

Ten eyes looked at him from five faces.  He recognized
two.  That would not do.  Soon he would need to expunge the foreign three and
replace them with loyal followers who understood god’s glory.  The man he could
easily cycle into a makeshift job while making him believe he had moved up in
the ranks.  Both women would be problematic.

Women’s minds were harder for males to manipulate
without detection.  With his strength considerably low after constant use
during the long journey with no opportunities to replenish, it might be unwise
to attempt any forays into their psyches.  Cross-gender work would have to
wait.

“You should know who I am.  Start by giving me the
current status of all known operations at this time.”

One of the women instantly stood to be first.  “We
have current reports from each of our holdings across the kingdom of
Tullainia.  Occupied lands have been subdued with only sporadic incidents of rebellion
by the locals.  Along the northern border with Perrisan, we—”

“Stop,” Xenos ordered.  She blinked once.  “That is
fine, and to be expected.  But I was sent by King Lambert, sovereign of
Arronath and all its domains, to rectify the grievous error committed by former
General Adrian.  It is against Galemar to the east that he failed, allowing our
military structure to crumble and the ignorant peoples therein to learn too
much about what faced them.  Therefore it is to repair this damage that I have been
sent.

“To that end, all towns under occupation will remain
so with the exact number of soldiers needed to maintain the peace.  The
northern border forces will offer no aggression toward the Perrisans unless
they attempt an illegal border crossing.  All non-essential personnel will make
their way to the Galemar camps which, I understand, are still intact.  To
regain control, we must present a strong front against which the enemy has no
hope to stand.  Is that clear?”

The woman nodded.  Less convinced expressions met him
from the other two non-believers.  They were the type who would need a
semi-plausible reason to keep their morale high.

“The kingdoms of Merinor are very much in the shape of
a horseshoe that faces east,” he explained.  “Along the gulf’s southern shore
runs Tullainia, Galemar and then Nolier.  Perrisan bridges the south to the
north, where Rubia occupies the western shore, followed in line by Olander,
Gusturief, finally the city states of Vyajion.  Since we cannot war against the
whole continent as one, we must capture the southern kingdoms first, enabling
us to work our way north through the Perrisan deserts and the Stygan Gulf until
we locate the seeds of evil that pose so great a threat to our homeland.”

His voice was wisdom, his expression compassion.  He
needed no higher power to use against mindless career soldiers like these.  All
he must do is play the part.

The two faithful had swollen with pride in their
secret cardinal.  Even the other three appeared ready to work tirelessly to aid
the war effort.  Perhaps these three were open to higher callings after all. 
He would need to test them before long.  Far better to convert new followers
than commit the few he already had to immutable positions.

He set them to working on logistics.  They were aware
of the force dispositions across Tullainia.  Soon they started drafting orders
that would be subsequent to multiple reviews before they were sent, shifting
men across the landscape as markers across a game board.

Xenos watched the two women for a short time.  They
proved to be the dual scryers.  Military code ordained that two should always
be present in the command chambers.  Their talents worked the scrying rings set
into the walls, or they empowered the thin wire rim encircling the round command
table to reflect the ground below the Citadel.

“So you have completely failed to raise any of the
anchors across the mountains?”  He carefully kept his true feelings of pleasure
at bay, only allowing concern to enter his voice.

“Yes sir,” the second woman answered.  “All the items
we transformed into scrying anchors must have been destroyed in Adrian’s last
battle.  Except for one in a crate in Colonel Mendell’s base camp.  It was
packed away as soon as they returned to secure their hold.  No one must realize
it’s one of the scrying anchors, or else they would be using it to contact us.”

“You say not a one survived that battle?”

“Not that we can find, no.”

“How very curious.  What would you say are the odds of
that?  Granted, a few are always destroyed by stray blows, yet every single
one?”

“It has seemed rather strange,” she admitted.  “It
must have been a calamity over there.  Or else the locals scavenged them all
and destroyed them to keep us from watching them.”

“Looking at these new facts, I am left wondering how
accurate the information is that Adrian truly fell in service to his duty.”

“Sir?”

“Did any person ever report seeing the general’s
corpse?”

“No.  The entire force was destroyed.  Only a few
survivors who managed to flee in spite of their injuries reported a tremendous
cloud of fire bursting over our men.  Most were killed instantly.  We’ve been
trying to locate the general every day but none of us are sure which of his
items was serving as his personal anchor.”

“I find it difficult to believe Adrian could have
walked into a situation where such powerful magics were being brought to
bear.”  He contained his smile, knowing the truth but finding it convenient to
misstate it.  “In fact it strikes me as highly suspicious.  Are you aware of
how many devious snakes plotting against our sovereign we have rooted out among
the nobles lately?”

“Of course not.  Sir.”  She looked uneasy.

“An astonishing number.  Here we have an experienced
general leading his men into a record-breaking ambush.  No one can verify
whether he has died or still lives, since all the scrying anchors have
mysteriously been destroyed.  Another record broken.  Is it not possible that
Adrian acted deliberately, that he realized his own machinations were on the
verge of being uprooted, and chose to seek clemency in a foreign kingdom?”

“That…sir, that sounds pretty farfetched.  I mean,
considering the sort of man the general was.”

“I have seen the noblest of souls prove to be vipers
with poison in their fangs,” Xenos announced for the entire room to hear. 
“Draft a new order immediately.  Former-General Adrian may have escaped death,
using this tragedy as a screen to escape his impending fate.  We might
recapture him when we break the Galemaran resistance.  Any soldier finding him
is to restrain him, then escort him in force to the Citadel.”

They looked shocked, the faithful pair included.  Then
the moment passed and they set to work.

Xenos basked in his power.  Simple minds.  Give them
concepts to worry over, and they concentrated on them to the extreme of not
causing problems when the work that mattered was laced with moralistic
conundrums.  Especially if the concept struck them as abhorrent at first. 
Their minds, once over that initial hurdle, would embrace the idea tighter with
each passing day until Adrian was condemned to sentencing without trial.

People were indeed easy to manipulate if you
comprehended their basic nature.  All to the good that Mendell and Harbon had
purged their forces of all known scrying anchors before embarking on god’s
mission.  It came in so very handy now.

He passed time in front of the window while they
worked.  Four feet high, fifteen feet in length, it looked out into the central
cavern hollowed from the mountain.  Entire castles could be stacked within that
yawning space.

From the ceiling descended a thick stalactite that
narrowed to a fine needle.  Below it rose an equally titanic stalagmite. 
Between their points beat one of the magnificent gems bestowed on the Fallen
Lands by Humus.

It was a three-foot diameter stone with uncountable
facets.  Rich, crystalline brown, the color of freshly plowed earth, its shade
changed in time with an interior heartbeat.  Unlike the beat of living
creatures, each pulse required hours to complete.  The colors shifted to a nearly
pure white with brown overtones at the beat’s peak.  A genuine heart of the
very world.

How deeply ironic that it currently served the ancient
enemy against whom Humus had bestowed these gifts on mortals in the first
place.