Waking Olympus (The Singers of the Dark Book 1) (24 page)

Her gaze drifted back to him. "You look so innocent but you know. We both know, we're kin in suffering. Remember child, do what you have to do if you get the chance."

She slipped out from somewhere that curved dagger. He shivered. Inside he prepared himself for death. Instead she held it vertically, pointing at the ceiling.

"This is our bond, don't forget it."

She stabbed it into the top of the table.

He left the room with a new tray. He was too young to understand what had caused the scene, he still didn't, but he understood too well what she meant. There was an odd bond between them, like fellowship corrupted. It almost made him physically sick. Yet he pitied her, he wished he could rescue her, but perhaps she had already become her own jailer.

“I am sorry Mikel, I can’t stay with you. I have to go to the defense of Tanten.”
 

Not the best 'good morning', but he expected that response. However, he was in no mood to just give up.

"Can't you send a messenger back with a copy of the map? I need you Tei. We make a good team."

"We make a great team but I can't stay. You can have some fellow Traders stay with you. They will keep you safe."

That momentarily diverted his attention.

"Do you regard me as a Trader?"

"It was a slip. I suppose so, perhaps you are a Wizard and a Trader." She smiled as she patted his right shoulder like a colleague.

He got back on track.

"But. When I said I
need
you I meant …"

"I know."

"No. I have to say it. I love you Tei, and I need you with me. I'm also worried about you."

"I know. Don't worry, the Valis clan is made of stern stuff. I can't stay with you, this is about duty. You have a duty to the Truth, I have a duty to Tanten."

He stopped and looked down, defeated. Waiting for the troubled sea of thoughts to calm, for the storm to pass by. Eventually, he looked up at her. She saw his shoulder suddenly relax. He saw tears in her eyes.

"Of course. When you get back talk to the librarian. Ask about guerrilla tactics, perhaps you can harry them through the Pass.”

"No doubt. There are already fortifications for that, just unused for a long time."

She nodded, gave him a kiss on the lips, shed a tear, gave him another longer kiss, and she was off. She couldn't delay or she would risk giving in and staying with him. She took the copy of the map he had made earlier, mumbled some words, then she was gone.

He spent some more time with the map trying to see if there was anything more that was hidden. He thought he detected some other encodings, much older than the recent Bethor additions but it would require a more careful analysis. One of the first things he learned about codes and ciphers is that secrets have an expiry date, you tailor the strength of the encryption to that, these fainter markings were for secrets long since expired, buried with their creators.

"But you never know." He whispered.

Mikel excused himself from those in the court and grabbed a late lunch from the kitchen. He slinked into the gardens with a wooden plate and started eating.
 
He heard a crunching sound of the gravel. Looking up, a piece of chicken in hand, there was the Sanfran military commander, a man in his early forties, black hair graying at the temples. Mikel, embarrassingly, had forgotten his name.

“Master Mikel. We urgently need you at the front gate.”

“Why? What is the problem?”

“We — I mean,
you
, have visitors.” He looked flustered not quite sure how to say it.

“Who? From where?”

“We have an army from the Center outside the city, their leader wants permission to enter and seeks an audience with the Queen. They mentioned your name.” The man was incredulous, as was Mikel. There was no such thing as a Center Army, only small uniformed militias.

He rushed to the gate, halfway there remembering his half-eaten chicken in the garden. Crazy thing to think of at a time like this. The main gate, on the eastern wall of
 
the city, was a rickety contraption of old thick blocks of different timbers, latched by leather and iron, yet it was the only usable entrance. There was a man on horseback, in the middle of the opening, dressed in typical Center militia uniform. Beside him was Major Rayan Valis and several other Traders in uniform just outside the walls.

“Mikel! Good to see you.” Called Rayan, a big smile on his face.

The Center captain addressed Mikel. “Wizard Mikel Peres? I am Captain Jack Soren of the Center garrison of Iska and Tanfel. I believe you asked for our help.” He was much more sober than the Traders who looked almost ecstatic.

The small Center force encamped outside the city and set up defenses while its captain met with Mikel.

The Traders, Captain Soren and Mikel gathered in a small meeting room. Remarkably well preserved, with abundant light coming in the window facing the west. A little cramped however. Captain Soren wasted no time.

“The messengers from Tanten reached Northern Brother, the tower outpost that marks the beginning of the pass through the Penta Mountains, and onto Tanfel in the south. The riders were cleared through the pass and met me at the garrison outside of Tanfel. We, that is, the Center in Lind, have become concerned about the actions of Bethor and the Cities. There was a real risk of them disrupting the trade route from Tanfel to the Eastern Caravanserai. My orders were not to provoke a war but to defend the trade route. I must admit when I first received your letter I suspected a diversionary plot. But I looked at it carefully and saw the telltale marks of a simple encoding. It took me only a few guesses at the key to work out what it said.”

He was glad, he had no idea if the hidden message would even be noticed, but it had to be included otherwise anyone could have sent it. The key was a piece of secret lore, or rather the first sentence of their oath. “I am surprised you came, even knowing that help was requested by a fellow Wizard.”

“As I said my orders are to protect the trade routes. In detail they are more strongly worded. I can’t fight a war of course, there just are not enough of us, but I can offer tactical help. Firstly though, I have some news for you. On our way up the southern road our scouts saw an army, about two thousand strong, marching on an intersecting path towards Sanfran. We believe they were from Pareth. It was clear they were a direct threat. We positioned ourselves a little before the path of this army and sent out an envoy to the army asking their intentions.”

“No surprise attack?” Mikel asked.

“No. We wanted them focused on us.”

Mikel thought better of his comment. “But you number only perhaps two hundred. I would say your best chance was to retreat.”

Soren smiled. “Yes, I am sure they thought we should too. Their scouts saw our numbers. We had some high ground but that was no real advantage.”

“They massed and started marching towards us in columns. Then we started firing our cannon volleys. With shrapnel, phosphorous bombs, explosive shells. A fine time to test our best performing munitions.”

Mikel took some seconds to react and understand that what he heard was not some wild dream.

“Captain, just a moment. These are gunpowder based weapons?”
 

“Gunpowder and nitrocellulose, we had the designs from some old texts we knew about, but we still had to develop the right compounds and steels. Then manufacture shells and bullets. And the rifles of course. A few experimental machine guns. With rifles and artillery our 260 fight like ten thousand. The enemy broke and ran.” He was beaming with pride.

Mikel wondered what had been going on in the background in Lind. While he was learning Respect for Life, the Center had developed an arms industry, which it would not share, he knew that already. He didn’t want to know how many died, or how many died from injuries on the battlefield, too much suffering to add to the tally.

The valley was beautiful, so green and rich. Once more the legends had turned out to be lies, myths to frighten any interlopers. She glanced in the far distance at the rising mass of Olympus; like a reflex she looked away. It was an affront, a rejection of her assumptions. It was vast, carved. No, that was an illusion, her best experts had told her it was just the action of wind and the elements that made it look that way, and some kind of special rock made it able to rise so high. Still, she found it harder to reject the notion of Zeus, she would just have to — not look in that direction — there were too many more important things.

Far in the distance to her right she could make out the gap in the mountains that they were aiming for. Barely visible was an old worn road snaking like the ghost of an old river from those mountains towards their location, sometimes coming close to the true river of the valley.

"See, down there, where the road meets the river? Looks like remains of a crossing. Just to the west of our planned bivouac. Send scouts to reconnoitre the river for crossings and any 'complicating' factors."

"What if we come across any farmers?" The lead scout asked. Dressed in his highly non-official hat, beads and plaited black hair.

"Explore in teams of five. Kill anyone you meet. We can't risk word getting out that we are here."

The scout looked concerned. He may even have known some of these people.

"General, does that include women, children?"

He was probably hoping for an escape clause to prevent him doing anything distasteful.

"All of them. In this environment it is a mercy. You have your orders."

The scout left, heading down the hill towards his teams. He would do as he was commanded. In the distance she noticed a tiny curl of smoke rising from a crude farm house. Breakfast, the mother cooking some porridge for her children, the father talking about the work he had to do, admonishing some child for a mistake or selfish act. She felt her eyes starting to water.
Dammit. Can't let anyone see me like this.
She thought. Her mother and father were killed by assassins, but she was left to live, there were times when she wished for that mercy, that the assassins had killed her.

That day still burned ragged in her heart. She had just returned from her flute and painting classes, the rest of her education was under the direct tutelage of her governess, Magri Talou. The hired carriage had dropped her and her governess off at her home. They were surprised to find the door ajar.

She called out, "Mamma! Dadda!", but there was no response.

The house was still and felt cold. Governess Talou was concerned and grabbed her by the hand, and placed her finger over her mouth. They should be quiet. They started walking back towards the door. Then two men appeared cutting off their escape. Dressed entirely in black with face masks. She had never heard of the Death Squads, costumed assassins, said to be agents of the royal family protecting against not only traitors but financial competitors. Magri, as she sometimes called her, pushed her behind her voluminous dress. She couldn't see what happened. But knew there was great danger here.

"Magri Talou?" One man said in a surprisingly sophisticated accent.

"Yes." Her voice was shaking. "Please, not the child. She's innocent."

There was a sound and a gasp. The wall of green dress shielding her collapsed revealing her to the masked men in black. There on the floor before her lay Magri, eyes closed squeezed tight in pain, slowly relaxing as a pool of red spread out beneath her.

Her heart was beating so hard she thought it would break. She looked up to see the culprit, his black gloved hand held a sword pointing straight at her, still dripping blood. She saw Magri's blood gathering at the tip, close to her eyes, then dripping, drop by drop. She was too terrified to see where it dropped and knew then that her mother and father were dead and that she was about to die.

"So little one, and what are we to do with you?"

She was too afraid to run, she was bound to the spot, which probably made her look defiant.

"She doesn't scare does she?" The one with the sword said. "I like that. Well, my sweet, my contract was for the adults no one mentioned you by name. This is your lucky day." They burst into laughter, then ran out the back disappearing through the back alley probably to a waiting closed carriage.

She kissed Magri on the forehead. Then walked to the dining room where she found her parents, she kissed them goodbye and went to fetch her uncle a few doors down the street, walking slowly in tears and covered in blood.

Her uncle and aunt would help raise her but now she had a grim independence, a mission that only she knew. A dark, bloody mission. Hate burned and warped her, made her into what she was; she regretted none of her actions or decisions.

Many years later — in a dark, lonely alley — those same assassins would be on another mission, but this one was her own special trap. Her men subdued them. That was when she honed her torture techniques. That was when something broke, or was lost, from that moment there was no way back.

She raised her arm to call back the scout but caught herself before she could yell.
No, that wasn't the path. There had to be sacrifices, what was the point in pretending?
She took her hand down and prepared to descend to the valley entrance, on the western side of the small river draining the valley, there she would take her army into the Xanadu Valley and continue the march to Tanten.

A new day and a new mission.
 

The first person he wanted to see today was Captain Soren. If Sanfran could defend itself then perhaps Soren’s band could come to Tanten’s aid.

Soren was in the palace garden talking to some of his lieutenants. He didn’t know their names. One of them looked at him as he approached, the captain turning towards him, following the gaze.

“Master Mikel, good to see you.” He said, clearly in good spirits.

“No need for the ‘Master’ captain. I am only an Apprentice Wizard out of his depth.” Now why did he say that? Maybe the presence of one of his own people let him open up a bit, a bit too much.