The Fallen World

Tara

     The enemy had indeed set up a screen of interference, but the city's wizards had done their job well and he felt only a very mild discomfort as he reappeared in the special teleportation reception room in the west wing of Marshal House, the only room in the building that wasn’t shielded with anti-teleportation magic. He identified himself to the eight Senn guards and the two wizards who stood around the room, on guard against assassins and saboteurs who might try to teleport in, and endured the security check to prove that he was who he said he was. Two of the guards then asked him to accompany them into the building.

     They took him along corridors and up flights of stairs, past dozens of other Senn guards, all with the disturbingly intense look in their eyes that alone would have betrayed what they were even without the tattoo. One of them also had the brand of a well known trading company on the back of his hand, the elderly priest noted, indicating that he had committed some kind of crime against it. Resalintas paid it no mind. The man was in the Senn guard now. Everything that he'd been and done before being taken for conditioning was gone now, as if the man had died in the conditioning chamber. It probably meant that the man hadn't volunteered for the guard, that there was no loved one benefiting financially from his sacrifice, but all Senn guards were equally dependable and trustworthy no matter how they came by the tattoo.

     “In here, Sir,” his escort finally said in his dead, emotionless voice. “General Klima's expecting you.”

     “I know,” replied Resalintas, knocking twice on the door and going straight in without waiting for a reply.

     The General was sitting at his desk and reading from a sheaf of papers. At the priest's entry he rose from his chair with a sigh and walked to the front of the desk, a grave look on his face. “Captain,” he said in a croaky voice, stopping to clear his throat. “Glad you could make it. Good of you to come at such short notice."

     "Your summons piqued my interest," replied the old priest, but he was only speaking to conceal his astonishment at the change that had come over him in the months that had passed since their last meeting. This was the man who had slapped the Emperor’s son back into place at the council of war on Pargonn, a man of strength and confidence, but the man who greeted Resalintas now seemed only a shadow of his former self. His hair was noticeably whiter now and his face was wrinkled and sagging around the cheeks. When they shook hands, some of the strength had gone from his grip. Worst of all were his eyes, though. Where before they had burned with energy, anger and determination, they now held only a vacant emptiness where something vital and irreplaceable had died. It was a look the old priest had seen before, in people who had lost their families in some terrible tragedy or refugees who'd been forced to abandon their homes and flee to a foreign land. What in the name of hell's happened to him? he wondered.

     The General seemed to read his thoughts and shrugged dismissively. “The war is not going well,” he explained. “I’m one of the few people in this city who truly understands just how bad things are, and on top of trying to stop the Shads I have the additional task of trying to explain it all to our beloved leaders. As you can see, it’s taken its toll.”

     “I know what you mean,” replied the old priest, feeling a great sympathy for him. “We have the same problem down in Ilandia. So you understand that I’m needed down there more than ever. What in hell am I doing here?”

     “You’re needed more in Bula Pass,” replied the General. “I knew you’d be angry. That’s why I summoned you here first, so I could explain in person.”

     “You’ve got Captain Tarros in Bula Pass,” said Resalintas. “A greater priest than I will ever be. Two Captains of Samnos in one place...”