The next morning was overcast and dreary in the village of Rivers as Colonel Brillen Karna slid off his horse. Waiting for him in the stables was his second-in-command, Major Milo Rigoff, anxiously clutching a message. Brillen returned the salute of his major and eyed the parchment.
“If it’s another bit of gossip from Edge about Perrin, or another scrawled notice from Genev, I’ve already told you: I’m not believing anything, and neither is Yordin or Fadh, until I have hard evidence from Idumea.”
Rigoff clenched the message. “Sir, this is from Idumea. Maybe we should take it to your office—”
Brillen frowned as he took off his riding gloves. “Whatever it is, let’s get to it. I still won’t believe it.”
“But . . . there’s evidence.”
Brillen paused. “Real evidence?”
Rigoff nodded, and Brillen noticed his eyes were red.
Colonel Karna snatched the message out of his hands, and fumbled to open it.
Rigoff sent a warning glance over to an officer who had just burst into the stables.
A captain, also tasked to try to find their commander, stopped when he realized Colonel Karna had been located and was already reading the message. Now the two men watched worriedly as their commander’s light brown skin blanched, and they wished they had lured him to his office first—
“No,” Karna whispered. “No . . . you did not, Shem Zenos!” Another long pause.
The major and the captain exchanged dreadful looks, and Rigoff massaged his hands.
“Mahrree?” Karna said, his eyebrows furrowed. “Mahrree?” Another pause.
Rigoff’s cringe was now so severe that his cheeks were hurting. Karna would read the final news in just three, two, one—
Brillen’s eyes closed, the message crumpling in his hands as he gripped his head. “Perrin! No, no, no . . .”
His officers caught him before he collapsed on the ground.
---
The knock came at Lieutenant Colonel Fadh’s door. “Message from Idumea, sir.”
“Bring it in,” Fadh called.
“For immediate reading, sir,” the young soldier said apologetically as he handed it across the desk.
“They always are,” Fadh sighed. He opened the message and his eyes bulged. “Perrin!”
Several officers and enlisted men in his outer office came to the door. “More rumors?”
“Does anyone know where he really is?”
Fadh couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. He just read the message, his eyes growing wetter until the tears trickled down his face.
His soldiers looked at each other in alarm, but none of them dared to ask what was wrong.
In a calm yet quavering voice, Graeson finally said, “Gentlemen. Please close the door.”
The messenger stepped out of the office, and a lieutenant shut the door.
They heard him weeping for half an hour.
---
Lieutenant Colonel Yordin stormed into his office. “What is it? Another decree from High General Thorne?” he sneered. “The man just couldn’t wait to get that big, fat chair for his big, fat—.”
“In a way, yes sir,” his captain said, holding out the message. “But, um, it’s . . .”
“Better be important enough to drag me out of a training bout!”
The captain nodded vigorously. For some reason, his eyes looked bloodshot.
“Not sleeping well?” Roarin’ Yordin asked his younger officer.
“Sir, just please—read the message.” He took two large protective steps backward.
Yordin unfolded the parchment and started to read. “About Perrin again. Officially this time?”
The captain took another step back to the doorway.
Roarin’ Yordin’s bald, tanned head turned red as he read. His face contorted into a mixture of agony and fury. Bitter tears leaked from his eyes by the time he reached the end. He grabbed the first thing he could find—a heavy chunk of molten metal he used as a paperweight—and flung out of his observation window.
“SLAGGING ZENOS!” he screamed as glass shattered around him. “I’d KILL you myself!”
Gari drew his sword, and his captain ran out of the building.
---
Corporal Hili was getting ready to leave for his duty shift when he saw the door of the barracks open. His heart sank as he saw the commanding colonel walk in, with Grandpy Neeks following. Both of them wore somber expressions. In the colonel’s hand was an official looking parchment, and the two men headed straight for Hili.
Poe swallowed. The colonel must have found out about Poe’s thieving past, although Colonel Shin said no one would. His army career was finished. He glanced around at his bunk mates.
The other nine men who shared his quarters were about to leave, but each paused to watch where the colonel was going.
The colonel stopped and glared at the soldiers. “Shouldn’t you all be reporting for duty?”
They nodded, sent a fleeting look of sympathy to Poe, and exited. Grandpy Neeks shut the door behind them.
Poe gulped when he saw that Neeks locked it. “Sirs? Something wrong?”
“Actually, son—”
That immediately set Poe on edge. The commander never referred to anyone as “son.”
“—something is wrong. Terribly wrong. I don’t even know how to start.”
“Just give him the message you received, sir,” Grandpy suggested gravely.
The colonel nodded and handed it to Poe.
With trembling hands Poe opened the parchment and began to read. A minute later he slumped on to his cot, letting the message fall to the ground.
Grandpy sat down next to him and wrapped his arms around the corporal. “Go ahead, boy. No one’s here to see you cry but the two of us. And we still have a few tears left to shed.”
“No!” Poe whimpered as the tears bubbled up and streaked down his face. “He can’t . . . can’t be gone!” The words came out damp and muffled. “Was the only one . . . the only one. No one else ever . . . He was the only one . . . who cared.”
Grandpy wiped his nose noisily on his sleeve.
“That stupid . . .” Poe gasped between sobs. “Stupid . . . slagging Zenos! How? Why her? Colonel Shin . . .”
“I know,” Grandpy commiserated. “I can’t believe it myself.”
“That stupid Zenos . . . he sent me to Idumea . . . it’s his fault I got transferred from Edge,” Poe was nearly dry-heaving, “and now he’s . . . he’s . . .”
“Paid for his crimes, Corporal,” the colonel told him, and loudly cleared his throat of all emotion.
Poe doubled over in convulsing.
The colonel regarded him sympathetically. “Neeks, take care of him today. When the two of you are ready, go to Idumea. There will be a memorial service at the arena in a couple of days for Perrin. Represent the fort at Grasses for us. I can’t think of two men more capable of doing so.”
“Thank you, sir,” Grandpy said gruffly and wiped his nose again. “Will be our honor.”
---
“This school year will never end,” Chommy sighed loudly to the boys around him.
Lannard frowned. “But it’s supposed to, in about a moon and a half—”
“He was speaking figuratively, Lannard,” another boy rolled his eyes. “Not literally. And Lannard’s the one who passed the Final Exam with glowing numbers, everyone!” he announced sarcastically to their friends.
“That’s right,” Chommy said as he dug into his midday meal. “He gets to move on while we get to stay here with . . .” His voice trailed off.
They knew Mrs. Shin wasn’t coming back. The rumors had been rushing all over Edge. She was dead—all of them were—but the official notice hadn’t yet been made, and still the boys harbored a tiny hope that she was merely hiding somewhere and would be sitting at the desk at the end of the season with that mischievous twinkle in her eye and announce they would debate the color of the sky again, but in secret as they always did.
/>
The boys ate in silence, none of them quite sure what direction to take the conversation next.
Until they saw Hegek. He appeared even more peaked and dour than normal, and since he’d been teaching their class he seemed to have lost a few pounds as well. Right now his thinning frame was trembling, and in his hands was a large printed notice, the kind placed on the boards around Edge. His gaze fell upon the Special Cases class sitting in the grass.
“Oh, not again,” a boy murmured. “The last time he had that look on his face . . .”
“I think it’s confirmation,” Chommy whispered, “that she’s not hiding in the marshes.”
“Oh, slag,” Lannard mumbled, but since he had a sandwich in his mouth it sounded more like, “Othlag.”
Hegek swallowed, and swallowed again as he made his way to the boys. “It’s about Mrs. Shin,” he said bluntly, as if he had no more ability to add Idumeaic flourishes to his sentences. “About all of them. This notice isn’t supposed to be posted until tomorrow, but they wanted us to know. Seems . . . there was a lot more going on than any of us realized. Here, just read it. Then I need to post it. Oh, and class is canceled for the rest of the day. Just . . . go home.”
None of the boys noticed him stumbling into the school building, because they were jostling for position to read over each other’s shoulders.
Lannard was the last to get his view, but as the boys peeled off of the group, the faster readers staggering away in shock, Lannard finally got close enough to run his finger to track the words.
When he finished he sat back. Everyone else had left, how long ago he didn’t know. But he couldn’t move, even when the squat man in the red coat and tails came up to the gate of the school grounds.
“That’s him?” he asked the lieutenant next to him.
Lannard noticed Radan nodding, then widening his eyes at Lannard that he should stand at attention, or something.
The man in red marched through the gate and up to Lannard just as he got to his feet and saluted, remembering too late that salutes are done with right hands, not left, but the notice was still in his right hand and now he wasn’t sure what to do with either hand—
“So this is really him?” the man said, disappointment thick in his tone. “Well, I suppose it’s no surprise. Young man, I’m Administrator Genev. Certainly you’ve heard of me?”
Lannard struggled to find his voice and remembered only how Mrs. Shin had said she’d once met all of them—
“Yes, sir?”
Genev exhaled loudly. “Congratulations, boy. Not only have you passed the Final Exam this year, but you’ve also earned yourself a position at Command School in Idumea.”
“I’ve . . . what?!”
“I understand you’re the one who helped provide valuable information to Captain Thorne over the past year, helping us to uncover the deceit of Mrs. Shin—”
“I’ve . . . what?!”
“—and as a result of your loyalty to the Administrators and Chairman, you’ve earned this commendation signed by Chairman Mal himself—”
He didn’t notice the envelope Genev waved in his face, nor realized when Genev wrenched the notice from Lannard’s grip and replaced it with the sealed envelope.
“I’ve . . . what?!”
“And you will be sent to Idumea to begin Command School this Harvest Season, if you so desire. You’ve earned a full scholarship, complements of the Administrators, to become an officer.”
“I’ve . . . what?!”
“Perhaps next year,” Genev growled. “We’ll forego early admission seeing as how your vocabulary is still so limited. Slag, boy—just how did Thorne get so much out of you to expose the Mrs. Shin as the greatest traitor the world has ever seen?”
“I’ve . . . WHAT?!”
---
When Versula Thorne heard the front door of the mansion slam, she knew she had to slow her gasping, but she couldn’t. Not even if her life depended upon it. She buried her face in the pale blue blankets to muffle her sobs, but still she could hear the whistling.
Qayin never whistled, and he never did anything cheerfully, but it was definitely him, judging by the pounding of his boots.
His whistling paused.
Versula held her breath and wiped the leaking from her nose. She was ruining the silk sheets she clutched, but she couldn’t hold back—
Again she convulsed, wracked with sobs.
The footsteps came down the Great Hall, pausing to listen at each door to work out where the noises came from.
Eventually Qayin threw open the door to the pale blue guestroom and leered at her cowering figure on the floor by the bed.
She hid her head in the blankets in a futile attempt to conceal her blotchy face.
“You’re sobbing over him, aren’t you?”
She didn’t look up. His fist would come soon enough. She no longer cared. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, in the world she cared for . . .
Except for Lemuel.
Versula braced for the blow she knew would come, but instead she heard chuckling.
“Figures. You in here, sobbing. So this is where he slept when they visited? Surely the bedding has been washed in the years since that Dinner, wouldn’t you think?”
“Qayin,” Versula murmured, feeling not particularly brave but rather self-destructive, otherwise she never would have dared to say the words, “Leave me alone.”
“Leave you alone?” he repeated, and she glanced up to see him smiling. The expression was odd on his face. The lines around his mouth were shallow, as if not sure where to go since they were rarely in that happy shape. “It’s a fantastic day. Best one I’ve ever seen. The clouds are gathering, the birds are silent, and Perrin Shin’s dead. I finally understand what people say when they call a day glorious. But you don’t.”
He nudged her crumpled form with his highly polished boot.
“So how long are you going to mourn him, huh? We’ve got visitors tomorrow. Snyd and his wife, along with his niece, will be coming for dinner, remember? I think the girl is probably Lemuel’s best bet now. She’s young and has enough Snyd blood in her. With her uncle and grandfather both officers, she should produce a decent son or two for Lemuel. Granted, she’s isn’t much to look at, but if what the surgeon says is correct about Lemuel, that he’s crippled—”
Versula’s renewed sobs cut Qayin off, and his lip curled into a sneer. “Who are those tears for, woman? Your disfigured son, or the man he helped kill?”
She only shook in response.
“That’s what I thought,” Qayin spat. “Get over it, Versula. He’s never coming for you. Oh, don’t look so surprised. I know you married me to make Perrin jealous. You were such an impulsive and shortsighted girl. But,” he chuckled, “he never noticed, did he? So all these years you’ve been pining for him. Probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever witnessed. And now he’s never coming back for you—maybe the only woman who actually wanted him—so have your little cry and be done with it.”
“How can you . . . how can you . . .” Her gasping made it difficult to get out any more words than that.
“How can I what, Versula? Oh, I knew. I always knew. I didn’t marry you for your brain, you know. I married you for your bloodlines, although you’ve proved to be a bit skittish at times. But, the best way to the high generalship was to be as close to it as possible. And I got it,” he announced, as if the appointment hadn’t been expected. Otherwise, why would they have moved in to the High General’s mansion two weeks ago? “I’ll be officially installed in three days. Yes, you may go out and purchase some expensive frippery for the day. You need to look presentable as the wife of the most important man in Idumea.”
Versula said nothing but blubbered quietly.
“Kind of funny, isn’t it,” he said as he nudged her again with his boot, a bit more forcefully. “You didn’t get what you wanted. You wanted him, and now he’s gone forever, and you have nothing to remember him by—”
&n
bsp; His snickering stopped abruptly, and Versula braced herself again. She kept her head low and squeezed shut her eyes.
Qayin had just jumped to a conclusion, a connection forming in his brain which would manifest itself in his fist. Usually he went for her lower back where the bruises wouldn’t show, but he’d never waited this long before. That meant he was thinking . . .
Every muscle in Versula tensed, waiting.
“Something to remember him by . . . Slag. Oh, you slagging sow. You said that the night of The Dinner when they were here, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!” he bellowed and, gripping her upper arm, dragged her to her feet.
She lifted her head with as much pride as she could muster. “I said this before, and I’ll say it again: Leave me alone, Qayin.”
His grip on her arm became so tight that she was losing feeling in it, but she firmed her chin and stared into his cold blue eyes.
“You slagging sow,” he growled at her. “Tell me honestly, right now: whose son is Lemuel?”
Versula nearly swallowed her tongue in an effort to make it work. Before she could open her mouth he shouted again, “WHOSE SON IS HE—”
“—YOURS!” she shouted back, and hated hearing the word. She sagged in his grip and whimpered. “Lemuel’s your son. Yes, I went to Perrin once after we were married. To his dorm room in Command School, late at night. His roommates were out, I made sure of that. But—” She shook her head.
Qayin didn’t care that she fell to weeping again, and he dropped her unceremoniously on the floor.
“You’re sure? Absolutely sure?”
It was almost as if she could feel his fist in the air, hovering above her. It didn’t matter what she said next, he’d still use it.
She had nothing more of her plotting, her games. She had nothing left. Nothing.
“Lemuel is your son, Qayin. Your son.”
His fist never came.
Instead the boots retreated from the bedroom, and she heard him thumping down the Great Hall to his office, loudly whistling some inane little ditty because everything was right in his world.
Versula sobbed for another hour.
---
Teeria Rigoff looked up from her stitching. “Milo? What are you doing home so early? I haven’t even started supper—”
Major Rigoff took off his cap and set it down on the side table. “Brillen gave me permission to come home to tell you. Well, first we had to revive him, and then he had to recover from the sedation administered to put the stitches in his head—”
“What happened? Did he get thrown from that horse again? Does his wife know—”
“Teeria, I need to tell you something. There’s been an update from Idumea. Officially, from Nicko Mal himself.”
She set down the shirt she was mending, dread in her eyes. “It’s about the Shins, isn’t it? They really are gone, aren’t they?”
Milo nodded, and Teeria slumped, her chin trembling. “I knew it. But I just had to hold on to that little piece of hope—”
Her husband went down on one knee before her. “Teeria, there’s more. The fort received word this morning, and the notices will go out tomorrow, but I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else . . .”
“What is it?”
“I don’t even know how to start. It’s just . . .”
“Say it.”
He looked into her eyes. “First, I want you to know that I knew you used to have feelings for Shem Zenos—”
“Long ago,” she cut him off. “I was only a teenager. But once I met you, I never thought twice about him. I realized I preferred younger men,” she managed a smile.
“I’m only four years younger than you,” he reminded her.
“But still, there’s nothing more thrilling to an older woman than a younger man chasing after her.”
Her husband’s expression went unexpectedly wooden. “Why did you have to say that?”
She swallowed. “I was just . . . just trying to ease the moment. You’re always telling me I’m too serious. Milo?”
He had slumped to the floor, deflated. “True, but this is not the moment to ease. Especially with those words.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his face.
“Sorry, Milo,” Teeria joined him on the floor. “Please just tell me what’s happened.”
“I’m trying to. We always had our little suspicions, you know? Back in Edge? Sometimes Brillen or Grandpy or me would become worried. But we never saw anything inappropriate. They just seemed to be a little too close, you know?”
“Sort of?”
“We watched, always watched, trying to make sure no one got hurt. That no one pushed things too far. And from what we could tell, no one did. But then . . . then Perrin had his trauma, and all of us were gone by then to other forts. There was no one there to keep an eye on things for him. You know what I mean?”
“I’m pretending to.”
Milo sighed. “Shem frequently sent letters to Brillen updating him about Perrin, which Brillen shared with me, and . . . Teeria, Shem was close. Very close.”
“Ye-es?” she said slowly, not quite catching on. Or, if she did, she didn’t want to understand just yet. “I think he was close even at the beginning.”
Milo studied her thoughtfully before saying, “You’ve always respected and loved Miss Mahrree. I just don’t want to ruin that.”
She blinked at him. “What are you trying to get at?”
“Teeria, sit down—”
“I am, Milo. I can’t get any lower than the floor.”
“Believe it or not, Teeria, you’re about to get lower . . .”
---
Sheff Gizzada didn’t open the doors of his restaurant in Pools the next day. He sent home his staff and put up a sign that said only “Closed until further notice.”
But at the back of his establishment, the not-so-secret hideout of enlisted men looking for a massive sandwich for a tiny slip of silver, the doors were thrown open all day. Gizzada wasn’t cooking, but his barrels of mead and ale were freely available to whomever wanted to drown his sorrows with the old Sarge.
He didn’t talk much, which was uncharacteristic for him. Soldiers by the hundreds somberly filed in and out all day, sharing stories and saying the same things like, “Just can’t believe it,” and “What a shock,” and “So sorry, Sarge.”
At one point Gizzada took down the big sign behind the counter, and for the longest time fingered the burned words in the wood labeling The General Shin and The Colonel Shin sized sandwiches, and the dessert of the day, named The Peto. He traced an S so often that some of the blackening faded.
When sundown came, and Gizzada was feeling as drained as his empty mead barrels, he prodded the last of the mourners out the door. He was just about to lock up for the night when he noticed two more enlisted men in the alley heading for his door. He stepped out to shoo them away, but then noticed there was something familiar about them.
Not caring that his behavior wasn’t very Sarge-like, he broke into a lumbering run and was caught in an embrace by Grandpy Neeks. Gizzada reached out and pulled in Corporal Poe Hili to be crushed by their hug. After a few moments, the three men, arm in arm, trudged back to the restaurant. Sheff Gizzada closed the door behind them, locked it, and pulled the shades.
The lantern stayed on all night long as the three men reminisced about the only officer worth his weight, and speculated about everything else.
Shortly after midnight, they began to plan . . .
Chapter 21--“There is now an official story.”