Merciless

“Scythe Unit 7, patrols have spotted figures approaching from the southwest. The numbers seem to be small, and they carry no banner and do not appear to wear any uniform. Assign a small team to investigate.”

Sackrin nodded sharply to the messenger, who saluted before retreating with a quick, purposeful step. Sackrin turned to face Unit 7, expression that of the hard drill sergeant. Jistan was still getting use to this side of his father.

“Ranks 1 and 5,” he barked. “Suit up and move out. I want two groups of four, with two people from each rank. Watch each other’s backs and try to pin these intruders between you.”

“Yes, sir,” a chorus of voices echoed. Jistan followed suit with a slight delay, the words coming out awkwardly.

Each Mind Scythe Unit had five ‘Ranks’ with four members in each. Jistan, being one of the least experienced, was in Rank 5. He swallowed down some nervousness. At least they had been put with Rank 1, the most skilled. He followed his Rank to the side of the large grassy area where they had been training. The weather had taken a turn towards winter, and the grass was starting to brown.

He quickly slipped on his uniform jacket and sheathed his extra knife into the side of his boot. Karrin told him that was a stupid place for it because it would be too hard to get to in a pinch, but the weight on the inside of his jacket annoyed him. Plus, it bumped against his ribs every time he took a step. And he had his sword, which he was making good progress with. He didn’t see why he needed the knife at all.

Within a quarter hour, he and three others were moving in a swift, silent formation through the wooded area outside the army camp. Each member was about six feet apart, with the two on the outside hanging back several feet for safety or to make a hasty retreat. Jistan was on the far right. He couldn’t help but feeling completely exposed, and kept looking furtively to the side and over his shoulder, certain a monstrous figure would leap from the shadows at any second.

After what seemed like ages of tense, silent searching, their leader, Harvis, raised a fist to signal them to stop. Karrin, to Jistan’s chagrin, had gone with the other group.

Jistan halted, his entire body so taut his muscles could’ve been used as bow strings. Up ahead, he could hear voices. Images of mystical creatures slowly faded from his imagination as he realized that the accents sounded Manicoti. Harvis appeared to relax as well. He gestured for Jistan and Kopia, the other fifth rank, to wait behind while he and his partner moved on ahead to investigate.

The two disappeared from sight in the dense foliage. Jistan found himself shifting his weight from foot to foot, feeling agitated. What was happening? The talking cut off abruptly. Jistan strained to listen, torn between hunkering down to hide and moving off to investigate.

Harvis’s voice rang out a moment later, loud and clear. “Well, scorch me and send me to the Flames. You actually managed to capture one.”

***

Aniah seemed more than willing to relinquish the Delani to the Manicot soldiers. She was clearly drained from her constant exertion of Will on the other girl, who had made no move to attack or even escape. She had followed Joree without even a hint of protest, pulled by a rope tied to her wrists.

Now, the three of them made their way through the forest, flanked on all sides by intimidating men and women in stiff grey uniforms with the royal insignia sewn onto the right shoulder, dyed a deep red. Each of them gave the Delani harsh, distrustful glances. One had taken the rope from Jistan and held it in a white-knuckled grip.

Ahead, Joree could see a break in the trees. He stumbled forward, suddenly realizing just how exhausted he was. He wanted nothing more than to curl up on the ground and close his eyes, at least for a few minutes…

The small group broke out of the trees, and Joree’s exhaustion fled. It was replaced by disbelieving awe. Sprawled before him was an army encampment, full of tents and cabins, soldiers and messengers.

“It-it’s real,” he whispered, not meaning to say it out loud.

Aniah smirked. For once, she didn’t say anything, instead letting the sight of uniforms, swords, and soldiers speak for her.

***

Furl tried to keep the burning anger off of his face as the Highness interrogated the three newcomers. One, blessedly, was Areniah. The other was that peasant child from Ranteel, which was strange enough. It was third figure that was most shocking, the one that made Furl’s blood boil.

“You say there were three others?” Arellia asked.

Areniah nodded. She didn’t meet her mother’s eyes, instead staring at the wall behind her, expression stiff. “Yes. Three other Delani, two male and one female. They were chasing this one,” she pointed to the creature that was sitting on the ground, hands and feet bound in chains. “Perhaps she is their slave.”

“That is irrelevant,” Arellia said. “You left them alive? On Manicoti soil?”

Areniah’s lips tightened visibly. “Yes. We were in a hurry to reach the army and did not think we could handle them all.”

“And yet you said they were all unconscious.” The Highness managed to sound condescending without changing her vocal inflections or volume.

Areniah looked ready to burst, her stiff façade cracking around the edges. Surprisingly, the boy stepped forward.

“It was my idea, Highness. I did not think it necessary to kill enemies once they were already defeated and thought it imprudent to waste time killing when this girl seemed in dire need of help.” He gestured to the seated Delani.

“In the future,” Arellia said, “do not presume to take command or make decisions in any matters of importance. You are ignorant and acted with foolishness.” She said this all matter-of-factly, as if not even recognizing the insult she had given. “Areniah, you should not have been swayed so easily by the words of an unwitting citizen. It seems your time away from luxury has not increased your inner strength as I had hoped.”

Areniah dropped her gaze to the floor, hands clenched at her sides. The boy folded his arms and dropped his weight onto his right leg, the casual position starkly disrespectful in the presence of the Highness.

“Well, excuse the ignorant pig,” he said, “because I apparently am far too stupid to weigh in on this matter, but I do believe it takes a certain amount of strength and courage to leave an enemy alive.”

Furl felt his face grow hot, and he stepped forward. “You will hold your tongue in the presence of your betters,” he growled.

“Right, sure, whatever. As I was saying-”

“Are you listening, you insolent boy?” Furl roared. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, and as soon as my ‘betters’ arrive, I’ll be sure to hold my tongue.”

Furl nearly stepped forward and slapped him. How dare he? The boy started talking again before he could act.

“It is the act of a coward to simply dispose of every difficult problem. It takes true courage to risk showing mercy. I believe Aniah-er, Areniah, acted with strength beyond what a simple soldier shows on the battlefield when he slaughters his foes. She showed the prudence and decisiveness of a monarch who has weighed her options carefully, and chosen a difficult but potentially rewarding path.”

Arellia did not seem impressed. “When you see the Delani fight, you will not be so quick to equate mercy with prudence.” She turned to Furl. “Escort the citizen out. His presence here is unnecessary.”

Joree gave a flourishing bow. “The citizen has two eyes and two feet of his own, Highness. He can find the way out.” He spun on his heel and strode towards the doors. The two Mind Scythes there reluctantly let him pass.

***

Aniah slunk away from the meeting with her mother like a child caught stealing sweets. The outcome had been as expected. The Delani would be interrogated and then executed. A scouting party had been dispatched to find the other three, as well as discover if there were more small groups like them creeping about on Manicoti land.

One of the Fiedon recognized her and bowed, slightly, murmuring, “Heir Areniah.”

Areniah. Her formal title, the name that would officially become hers only once she ascended to Highness. Each Highness took on the ‘Ar’ at the beginning of their informal name, which changed the stress put on each syllable. In ‘Aniah’, the stress was on the ‘I’ sound. In ‘Areniah’, the stress was on the ‘eh’ sound. The name was pronounced ‘air-EN-ee-uh’, rather than the regular ‘an-I-uh’. Her mother’s name had been Alliah, before she became Highness Arellia.

Aniah found Joree leaning against a shabby wooden barrack, watching people pass with disinterest. Velching man. She had just been dressed down and put through the Flames, and here he was, unconcerned as always.

“Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut?” she snapped.

He turned to her-lazily-then cocked an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“You got me in trouble,” she exclaimed. “All that imbecilic talk of mercy and what-not. What in the Flames was that all about?”

He had the gall to look amused. “It seemed to me that you were already in trouble.”

“Yeah, well,” she was fuming. She wanted to lash out. Not at him specifically, but he seemed a good enough target. “Guess what? You’re precious little creature is going to be tortured for information and then executed. So much for your mercy.”

She felt a stab of satisfaction at the horrified look that crossed his face. After a moment, his expression hardened. It wasn’t a look she had seen on his face before. Cold and stony, his jade green eyes seeming to almost swirl like storm clouds.

“Where is she being kept?”

Aniah snorted. “In the army prison, idiot.”

He gave her a flat look. “And where would that be?”

“In the center of camp, where captives won’t easily escape.”

He nodded once, then turned and walked away from her, completely ignoring her demands that he halt.

***

Joree found it surprisingly easy to slip out of his tent and through the quiet camp. A few people, mostly some guards, were still up, and occasional fires lit a few tents and barracks. It was still very easy to remain in the shadows. This far into the camp, no one was really expecting to find an invader. Those would all be caught by the more vigilant patrols watching the perimeter.

A single guard stood at the entrance to the prison. The building was easily identifiable as it was the only stone structure he had seen thus far. Only one entrance, no windows. It was a very small building, likely holding no more than four cells inside. As far as he knew, only one of the cells would be occupied.

Joree crept to one side of the building, to the right of the guard. Taking a deep breath, he threw the object he held in his hand, and prayed to the gods of Arkadia that it would work.

It was a little trick he had learned from his mother when he was small boy. Take a piece of wood, coat it in the reddish-brown oil that came from the fat of orchos, and then douse that in salt. For some reason, the fat from the small, pudgy orcho burst into flame when it came in contact with salt. His mother had been trying to warn him never to work with orcho fat around anything flammable, like wood or cloth, and to only cook with it in a steel pan.

He waited a painfully long moment, heart thundering in his ears. The generous bucket of salt he had stolen and dumped on the ground in that direction was plenty to set the wood ablaze, and likely catch any clumps of grass or sticks. But he couldn’t see well enough to know if his aim had been true. If he missed the salt…

A small light sparked into existence, and then flared up. He heard a cry of alarm, and then saw the guard rushing forward.

He allowed himself a small grin before dashing around the side of the building towards the door.

It was locked. Of course. He felt like an idiot. He tried slamming his shoulder against the door, but that just made his shoulder ache. He glanced back at the guard, who had taken his jacket off and was trying to douse the fire with it.

Joree sighed. He probably didn’t have another choice. He drew his knife and moved quietly up behind the guard, who was completely distracted with his task.

Joree slammed the hilt of the blade sideways into the man’s temple. He dropped like a sack of wheat.

Joree finished putting out the last embers of the fire before fumbling around at the man’s waist until he found a ring of keys.

He went back to the stone building, moving quickly. He didn’t have time for caution. If someone came now, he would be caught. Speed was his only chance.

The Delani was in the first cell. She appeared to be asleep. It took him three tries to fit the right key in to the hole and open the door. His hands were trembling slightly.

“Hey,” he hissed. “Hey, we have to go.”

She sat up so quickly he jumped back a step. Her eyes fixed on him, and they almost seemed to glow in the dark. He beckoned for her to follow. To his relief, she did.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her free, slipping into the shadows. She didn’t resist, which was good, but also weird. No one should be this accommodating when being dragged around in the middle of the night by a stranger.

Still, her acquiescence probably saved them. They made it to the perimeter without being caught. The guards were all facing the forest beyond. No one was worried about people leaving.

Joree found a place in between two particularly tired looking guards. He pulled the girl behind him, wincing when her foot scuffed the ground. But the guards did not turn his direction. They slipped away into the night undetected.