Ch 3: Treason

  Major Antillus Brok was a tough and uncompromising commander who led his men from the front and could generally be found in the thick of the most frenzied fighting. Fierce grey eyes beneath thick greying hair set him apart from most, while few held his steely gaze for long.

  Those who knew, likened it to the cold fixed glare of a large predator, a snow leopard or a half-tame wolf. A strong square jaw and heavily built shoulders gave pause to even the toughest. If that was not enough, a deep frown now darkened his normally dour countenance, further twisting his features far beyond what could be described as human.

  He should have been at the front with his men, but instead he was making for the Pathfinder headquarters in Kan-Ta by order of General Chael.

  The message he’d received had been short and succinct:

  Return to headquarters immediately. Bring three of your best men.

  Signed,

  General Drogo Chael.

  Something must be seriously wrong to drag him and three of the best men all the way back to the capital when every man was needed at the front.

  Fewer than forty-eight hours and four horses later, here he was loping up the steps of the Pathfinder officer barracks. The guards at the main door, resplendent in their Pathfinder dress uniforms of green and blue, snapped to attention as he approached.

  Just behind them stood the officer of the watch. ‘Good evening, sir. Can I be of assistance?’ inquired the lieutenant.

  ‘Evening. Major Brok to see General Chael. I’m expected.’ Brok handed over his identity papers and orders to the young lieutenant.

  ‘Very good, sir. Everything seems to be in order. The general is waiting for you. Do you need directions?’

  ‘I know the way.’

  The lieutenant saluted again and opened the door.

  Chael’s office was up the stairs and to the left. Outside its solid grey doors stood two sentries. Brok walked to the door, the two men snapping to attention as he turned the brass handle and pushed the door open. Inside, the general’s secretary was sitting at his desk. He immediately stood and saluted as Brok entered the room.

  ‘Sir, it’s good to see you again.’ Sergeant Mangra had served under Brok until he lost a leg.

  ‘Sergeant, it’s good to see you too. It’s been a while,’ Brok replied, casually returning the sergeant’s salute.

  ‘Yes, sir, almost three years since this.’ Mangra rapped his knuckles against his leg, its dull report echoing like raindrops on hollow wood. ‘I got the Silver Falcon for it, sir.’

  ‘Indeed, and well deserved. In fact, I recommended you for the Falcon with gold arrows. But I suppose they only give those to men who are severely injured in the line of duty.’ Brok couldn’t hide the smirk. ‘Perhaps if you’d lost both…’

  The sergeant knew his old commander was gently ribbing him and there was no offence intended. ‘Thank you, sir. In fact, I’ve been thinking of requesting a posting back to the front. I fancy another crack at getting those gold arrows,’ Mangra replied with a laugh. ‘If you’ll just take a seat for a moment, I’ll let the general know you’re here,’ he added, pointing to a line of chairs against the wall.

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  Brok sat and crossed his legs.

  The sergeant opened one side of a set of burnished oak double doors. ‘Major Brok to see you, sir.’

  There was a muffled response.

  ‘You can go in now, sir,’ the sergeant said, holding the door open and closing it behind Brok after he had entered the general’s office.

  ‘Antillus, it’s good to see you again.’ The general walked over and warmly grasped Brok’s hand.

  ‘And you, sir.’

  ‘Care for a brandy, Major?’ Chael asked as he sauntered towards a well-stocked drinks cabinet.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘I imagine you’ve had a long trip,’ remarked the general. ‘Take a seat, I’ll bring it over.’

  ‘Yes, sir. The roads have been busy of late. Many are abandoning their homes and fleeing to the west. It would seem bad news travels quickly.’

  ‘Indeed. There’s little cheer these days. You can’t blame them really, can you? I’d do the same in their shoes, if I’m honest.’ Chael passed a half-filled brandy glass to his friend and sat on the edge of his desk. There was a short silence. ‘How bad are things at the front?’

  ‘Very bad.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The troops are surviving on half rations and have been doing so for a year. We have few or no supplies, and sickness stalks the rear areas like a ravenous beast. Cholera is so rampant that the injured men feel they are better off staying on the lines rather than chance going to the aid stations. The enemy is getting stronger, while we get weaker. Even the Pathfinder battalion is filled with new young faces, fresh out of training. They are doing what they can, in all fairness. Most of the old guard are dead or crippled. Frankly, it’s a complete mess, sir. We need a miracle.’

  Brok downed the brandy in one gulp and stared at his feet.

  Chael shifted uncomfortably on the desk. ‘I knew it was bad but, let’s just say, you know how to paint a picture, and it’s not a pretty one.’

  ‘No, sir, it’s not.’

  The general stared silently into his brandy.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes, Major.’

  ‘If I may be direct. Why was I ordered back?’

  The general took a deep breath before he too downed his drink. ‘What I tell you now is a supreme secret. What you hear next must go with you to your grave. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Brok sat up in his seat.

  ‘Three days ago, a diplomatic mission to E’Ben was attacked on the Deel to Roat road, by Gantu slavers. The reason for the mission, to finalise a treaty that would ally E’Ben and Jarro. Prince Ralto and Princess Megan were to be married, thus uniting our two nations under one banner. Princess Megan is missing, believed captured by the marauders.

  ‘Prince Ralto, to his credit, has mobilised his army and shut down all border crossings into Anvar from E’Ben. But we suspect that the raiders have retreated north into Gantu through the Benteer Pass. Though we have no proof at present, we strongly suspect that Sulan Al-Imri is involved.’

  ‘I see! And my mission?’

  ‘To find Princess Megan and rescue her, or failing that… kill her.’

  ‘Sir?’ Brok visibly recoiled.

  ‘She cannot fall into the hands of the enemy, and if she does, all will be lost. The king is weak when it comes to his daughter.’

  ‘Am I to understand the king knows nothing about this?’

  ‘We have a higher responsibility to our nation, Antillus. Al-Imri is renowned for his callous disregard for life, his followers living in abject fear of his displeasure, for it is without cause or rational. All perceived slights are strictly punished beyond merit or sanity, and doubly so for those thought to openly defy him. There would be little mercy shown if we capitulate. Every man, woman, and child would be put to the sword; it would be genocide. We cannot allow them to use the princess as a weapon against us.’

  ‘General, this is treason!’

  ‘Yes, it is, Major, but for the greater good.’ Chael could see that Brok was close to walking out. ‘If it were in your power to save your people by sacrificing your princess and you refused, would that not also constitute treason?’

  Brok stood and walked over to the window, his mind ablaze.

  Chael walked over and stood beside him. ‘We’ve been through much together, you and I, Antillus. I remember when you were a spirited and eager second lieutenant under my command,’ he said, then paused. ‘I would not entrust this mission to anyone else. There’s simply too much at stake.’ Chael shook his head sadly.

  Outside the barrack walls, the city spread out into the distance, the street-lamps winking on here and there in slow progression in preparation for the fast-approaching night. Brok felt trapped. On one hand, his heart demanded loyalty to the Crown, while on the other, his head agreed with the logic of Chael’s argument. He stood for a long time before finally speaking.

  ‘Okay, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Thank you, Antillus. Believe me, I’m as unhappy as you that it comes to this.’

  ‘Wait, General, I have a condition.’

  The general blinked. ‘And that is?’

  ‘I want Brinn Thronso released from prison.’

  ‘That could be difficult given the circumstances. After all, he murdered the king’s cousin.’

  ‘Panther may be the only chance we have of getting her out alive. Either he is in, or I am out. I will use any means at my disposal to return her safely. Now it’s your turn for the hard call, General. So what’s it to be?’

  Chael mopped his brow before answering. ‘Fine, I’ll see what I can do.’

  Brok turned to leave.

  ‘Antillus, one thing more.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Your men cannot know of the second part. They must never know that the princess may have to be... well...’

  ‘General, if they did, they’d gut me and leave me for the crows. And who could blame them?’ Brok opened the door and left.

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