Samuine would have been wise to rush back from the dunes upon receiving his summons. He could have called for transport. He could’ve run. But he did none of those things. Instead, him and his subordinates walked. They let hours fall between their fingers as the sky filled with streaks of orange and blue engine flame from arriving reinforcements.
House Caldion had arrived in force, with far more than was necessary to win Nimbus Sands back from the Pantheon. It was a statement, a condemnation of Samuine’s efforts. Every layer of his forces and command was made entirely superfluous less than an hour after their arrival. A force of this size, with this level of immediate cohesion paired with his immediate relief of command meant it was someone senior to him by a wide margin.
Samuine hadn’t flipped his comms back on since the initial summons. He knew there wasn’t going to be a change of heart. The other kartorim shared in his silence. They’d had their differences, sure, but the reprimand they were about to receive would doled out equally. Dread sobered them and made minuscule the tensions of the last few months.
The presence of the arriving allodoans was felt more as they drew closer to the forward base. Tanks and armored transports ripped across worn roads and sand. Abandoned towns and hamlets were reanimated by House Caldion forces, shops and storefronts re-lit and transformed into impromptu fortifications. They were fast. Samuine wondered how much they acted on their own initiative and how much they relied on direction from an overseeing kartorim. The forward base wasn’t far now.
“Ten minutes, clean yourselves up. Use a fire hose if you have to. Don’t want to give him anything else to be angry about,” Samuine dismissed the others, and himself, for a much needed all to short break. He’d not been entirely serious about his fire hose remark, but when he saw one attached to the wall of a burned out building and found it to be working he heeded his own words. The film of battle fell away from his carapace plate. For the first time in months his armor shined, though numerous chips and dings remained. Those would take a few days to ‘heal’.
Samuine retracted his helmet and sprayed his face off with the hose. Frigid water washed away exhaustion’s tells. Sathiar came upon him just as he’d finished, and without a word Samuine passed the hose off to him. Sathiar took it, but did not make use of it right away.
“What’s the plan once we’re in?” the sole inheritor of House Korman began to spray off his own plate. Samuine blinked away his inattention. Sathiar was not one to move without a plan of action if he could help it. Whether that was a trait of all Korman, or one exclusive to him Samuine doubted he would ever know.
“Let me do the talking,” Samuine wiped the water from his eyes and extended his helm back over his head, blue helm eyes lighting up and banishing any notion of sleep deprivation behind his faceplate. Sathiar nodded, his own face still hidden beneath his olive drab and dark grey helm. Unlike Samuine’s eyes, Sathiar’s were lit with an amber color. So far as Samuine knew the only difference that ever meant anything was red, everything else was purely superficial.
“Works for me. Just let me know if you need me to do anything.” Sathiar replied dispassionately as he continued to spray down his armor. Leaving him to it, Samuine went back tot he forward post’s entrance, an arched gate fixed into a wall of stacked sand filled cargo containers. Aesthetic quality had been the first sacrifice upon the altar of finite resources, and shield generators were better served attached to mobile forces.
When the others finished their brief respite, Samuine led them in. The forward post was itself a repurposed town, its shops and homes transformed into quarters, command centers, storage depots and stockpiles out of necessity. What had once been a sprawling park had been flattened out into a landing field for short range craft. It lacked the ground ports for bladeships to land, but shuttles to ferry men and material up into vacspace crowded the compacted earth where green grass and old trees once grew.
What craft sat nearest to the command center made Samuine’s heart jump and plummet all at once in his chest. He’d expected one Fell Eagle shuttle, adorned in House Caldion colors and polished to textbook perfection. The second Fell Eagle caught him entirely by surprise. Embossed on its white and gold hull, the hammer of House Tyvess gave him spiritual whiplash. If one from his own house had come to deliver his reprimand… Samuine did not want to entertain what a horrid effect that would have on his career.
All four of the kartorim retracted their helmets as they entered the grocery store turned command center, ducking through the human sized doorway as they did. Everything inside felt too small, as was common for kartorim when entering a space not designed to accommodate their size. The guards posted outside, each large and well built men, only reached the space between his chest and belly. It was hard not to feel annoyed at times, if not outright superior, when ninety nine percent of the people he interacted with were children by comparison.
Samuine’s hair had dried some and he wore it pushed back. Fenrothyne and Thenrothyne both wore their hair in tight buns atop their heads, a House Bolund custom. Sathiar was the only one among them who looked positively martial, his hair was cut short and squarely on his head. His jaw was set and inexpressive. Any hint of apprehension the others wrestled with had been subdued more thoroughly by the Korman than any of his compatriots.
The inside of the store was dimly lit, power was available but bulbs had been strangely uncommon. Candles were lit on empty shelves to make up the difference, and the whole building was cast in a flickering flame-light. Empty workstations and desks were in abundance, the command staff had been ushered out earlier in preparation of Samuine’s dressing down. When he saw who awaited him at the lone occupied desk, any hope of salvaging his record died in his chest.
“Samuine of House Tyvess,” the voice came from a massive blue and green figure with his back turned to the group, shuffling through paper documents arrayed on a table before him, “you seem to be having trouble retaking Nimbus Sands.” The figure turned, his antler like crown aerials immediately recognized and known by all in attendance.
“Lord Caldion!” Samuine fell immediately to one knee, joined quickly by the others. The patriarch and namesake of House Caldion judged him silently, his red eyes passing on each of them.
“On your feet,” Caldion retracted his helm. In the candlelight his symmetrical face looked almost cast from stone. His eyes were the striking green of all allodoans, his so blonde it was nearly white hair was cut short and combed back, and unlike many of the most senior kartorim he was clean shaven. The four rose but remained rigid, terrified of breaking protocol. Caldion looked ready to leap across the table and rip the four apart, restrained only by their adherence to procedure. A bead of sweat began to trail down Samuine’s forehead.
“At ease boys, I believe you misunderstand why you’re here,” A different voice came from behind them, one Samuine knew all too well. He whipped around and was greeted by Braem, patriarch of House Tyvess walking in with his helm retracted to reveal his large braided beard and unabashed smile. “It’s good to see you lad!” Bream reached out and clasped his arm with Samuine’s, drawing him in and smacking their shoulders together while patting him on the back with his free hand. While not as tall as Caldion, Braem still stood around a head taller than the four younger kartorim. He greeted each of the other three with fist bumps before passing them to stand next to Caldion. Worry became confusion, and cautiously, excitement. The four kartorim stood more relaxed now, eager to hear what Braem meant by his words.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Speak for yourself. These reports are abysmal,” Caldion scolded, dropping a thick stack of pages he’d been reading onto the desk with a loud smack. He scowled to no one in particular and appeared to working something out from between his teeth with his mouth closed.
“Caldion, the man was the top of his cohort and has done more in the last five years than most whelps achieve in their first twenty,” Braem passed a quick wink to Samuine, “if he’s stalling out here, it’s because the circumstances are, to be blunt, utter shit. He should have been reinforced months ago.”
“You are absolutely right,” the blue-green titan turned his attention back to Samuine. Involuntarily the four stiffened their postures again. “So why is it that no request for reinforcements was made? Why did I have to check in?” His eyes darted between the four, hunting for a satisfying answer.
Pride, pure and simple. Samuine wanted to have another notch on his tally of break out successes. Retaking Nimbus Sands without outside aid would have achieved that. Like Braem said, he was the top of his cohort, he had a title to live up to.
“We did, several times in fact. Were our calls for aid intercepted?” Samuine lied.
“Is that so?” Caldion asked, unconvinced. “Then let’s go check the comm logs. Any outgoing messages or courier manifests would surely be archived.” Samuine constrained his feeling of relief.
“You’re welcome to my lord but Pantheon forces hit our main data center a few weeks ago. Most of our records were lost.” Caldion’s scowl deepened.
“Convenient,” He drew in a breath to continue, but Braem interjected before he could speak.
“Whoa lads, lets not lose our focus. Caldion, we do have a reason for being here and it’s not this. We’ll finish up the defense here, past be damned,” Braem offered a disarming smile between the two, “There will doubtlessly be some kind of investigation here, but it can wait. Samuine, you and your team is being re-tasked.”
“Right, the Torchbearers,” Caldion’s scowl became something else, determination perhaps. It was an oddly respectful if nevertheless adversarial expression. “Are any of you familiar with them?” The name rung a bell, but Samuine did not immediately place it.
“They were one of the brotherhoods that helped Avaron found Thurgia nearly three thousand years ago. They were formally disbanded and absorbed into the wider Thurgian state around eighteen hundred years ago,” Sathiar delivered the information without a hint of doubt or hesitation. Caldion nodded with feigned astonishment.
“Thank you, Korman. I would have expected top-of-cohort to know, but I suppose that would be unfair,” Caldion narrowed his gaze back to Samuine, “after all, he isn’t really the top of your cohort. Your actual best died on his way to break rocks on some backwater.” His words tore at Samuine, his blood ran hot with anger he had no choice but to suppress. He didn’t like to think about Voy, none of them did. It felt unfair to everyone in his cohort that one unworthy scion refusing to lay down and die years ago left the whole generation marked as lesser. For Samuine it stung all the more, he had achieved his goal to be the forerunner of his cohort but only after Voy had thoroughly sullied any meaning the title carried.
“Speaking of backwater worlds,” Braem took charge again, stepping partway between Caldion and Samuine while shooting a look of disapproval at the former, “The Torchbearers were, officially, disbanded. I was there actually, rather dry as major historical events go,” he paused to stroke his beard, “but unofficially, they rolled over into a more off the books, clandestine role. Specifically, they were given the reign and resources to act outside the normal legal channels and eliminate threats to Thurgia before they were realized.”
Braem picked one of the folders up from the desk and thumbed through it absently while speaking. “More recently, as in about three weeks ago, a torchbearer by the name of Fortheo Dayne Hembrandt went rogue with his flagship. He claims that he is acting to stop the Apoctillon, but in so doing he is risking a war we would rather not have to fight.”
“The Apoctillon, that’s that doomsday prophecy right?” Fenrothyne cut into Braem’s speech, going pale when he saw how Caldion’s hostility jumped from Samuine to him in a fraction of a second.
“Projection,” Braem corrected, “but yes, basically. It used to be taken quite seriously, but when it was first received a few centuries ago it had a plethora of conflicting dates for when it was supposed to occur. For a time, Thurgia poured a lot of resources into response efforts but as each date came and went without anything major happening, funding gradually got pulled. It became regarded as a dud, a projection built on flawed data.”
Braem stifled a laugh, and Caldion shook his head in resigned disbelief. “No such event will come to pass. The man’s gone mad, which would only be a minor inconvenience were it not for his warship and stated plan.” The white and gold patriarch of House Tyvess closed the folder he held and slid it into a pouch at his waist, trading it for a small glassy half sphere that he promptly set on the desk.
Tapping it a few times, the device lit up with a blue glow at the Lord of Tyvess’ touch. Cyan light danced out of it, overpowering the orange candle light in the room before focusing and resolving into a floating render of a planet Samuine did not recognize. It was almost entirely covered in water, with only a few speckles of land poked onto its surface.
“Do any of you recognize this world?” Braem asked, inviting an answer. Samuine leaned in for a better look, straining the furthest reach of his memory to not be made a fool of again.
“I think so, but its name escapes me,” Samuine answered, uncertain. Caldion scoffed.
“I’m not sure how you could. That world doesn’t officially exist.” It had only been said twice but Samuine was already annoyed with the ‘officially’ turn of phrase. It seemed to to indicate he should believe the opposite of whatever the ‘official’ story was. He bit back his ire at Caldion’s foul temperament and remained glued to the model of the unknown world. The other three kartorim each stepped forward to get a better look at the water world hovering in the air before them.
“It’s name is Filigree, and it is firmly situated in the buffer zone past our borders. Your primary task will be to intercept the torchbearers here, ideally before they make planet fall. The world’s ruler is a fickle egotist, it is imperative that war with him be avoided at all costs. His world is home to many horrors from bygone ages that would be better left buried in the past,” Braem continued. Samuine started drumming up questions in his mind about finer details, intel, logistics, time-frames and so on. His eyes were locked onto the image of the world before him.
“How will we be getting there?” Sathiar asked from over his shoulder.
“There is a house-unaffiliated bladeship in orbit. A Zanthel-class full spectrum dominance battleship by the name Merriment. It will be more than sufficient for you to neutralize the Auric Wind should you succeed in catching it in-vac, but it has considerable ground assets as well if Hembrandt slips past you,” Caldion answered. Fenrothyne and Thenrothyne bumped their fists together and exchanged eager grins.
“One other thing,” Caldion interrupted the brief celebration, “Command will be shared for this operation with Illati, one of mine. She is already on board the Merriment.” Surprise overtook Samuine’s speculation, he hadn’t seen Illati since… ascension day. “You are dismissed.”
“Additional information is already on board,” Braem picked up and handed the half sphere device to Samuine, shutting it off in the process, “You’ll have time to read up on your flight.” Samuine beamed.
“Thank you. I won’t let you down.” Samuine turned and led his team out of the store-turned-headquarters.
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Once they had gone, Braem reached into the pouch at his side and extracted the folder he’d placed there earlier. He tossed it to Caldion, who caught it with one hand. Caldion raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Three pages past the middle. Its not a full archive but it is a record of out going comm connections,” Braem said, closing the pouch. Caldion opened it and thumbed to the correct page. Once found, and no evidence to support Samuine’s claim made itself known, his concern became wicked satisfaction.
“Why give me this?” Caldion said, closing the folder and gesturing with it. Braem shook his head and sighed.
“Samuine lied right to us. That can’t be tolerated.”
“No, no, there is definitely something else going on here. Spill it,” Caldion said. Braem smiled slightly with one breath of a laugh escaping his nose.
“He was sloppy,” Braem confessed, “I get why he did what he did, but the evidence to discredit him was right there,” Braem pointed incredulously at the desk. Frustrated, yet also amused, Braem looked at the floor then back at Caldion. “Now he’ll learn a lesson about leverage, a subject I’m sure you’re familiar with.”
Caldion laughed drily. “You’re such and insufferable bastard, you know that?” Braem turned to walk out of the command center, stopping just before the door.
“Yes Caldion. In fact, there is very little I don’t know. Remember that,” extending his helm back over his head, his eyes lit red as Braem ducked out of the command center and into the night.
