Shadows & Swords

Shadows & Swords ― Of Gods & Aliens →

Error creating thumbnail: File with dimensions greater than 12.5 MP

Shadows & Swords is a roleplay story, within the Mythos Unbound collection, that follows the adventure of a Balancín petty lord Kamari Tartary as he is blackmailed by The Lord Maekar into arranging the assassination of Wiltshire Prime Minister Ramsay Bowell. The mini-series following Lord Kamari as he gathers a team of experienced Knights to assist in the mission, before infiltrating Erimo Command (the emergency hub of Wiltshirian leadership). The mini-series takes place during the Doggerlands Crusade of 3023, which saw Rockfield declare independence from Wiltshire.

The protagonist of the story is Lord Kamari Tartary, the Lord of Claremont. Kamari enlists the help of two war-time comrades, Sir Eagan Pena, a former member of the Balancín King's Guard, and Howland Chambers, a Wiltshirian soldier who lost his wife and daughter during the NCR/IDO War. In addition, Dame Arecel Duffy, the first ever female member of the King's Guard, joins the team.

The mini-series employed an experiment first-person POV form of prose, which told the story from the eyes of the four main characters. A sequel, titled Oaths & Honours, is in pre-production and is set to be released in the (unspecified) future.

Characters

Shadows & Swords has four main POV characters.

• Kamari Tartary, a Balancín petty lord.
• Eagan "Egg" Pena, a former knight of the Balancín King's Guard and wartime friend of Kamari and Howland.
• Arecel Duffy, a current knight of the Balancín King's Guard and first female member.
• Howland Chambers, a Wiltshirian veteran and wartime friend of Kamari and Eagan.

Other original non-POV characters include Eagan Tartary, the son of Lord Kamari, and Sir Hector Ortegas, another King's Guard knight. The story also features apperances from existing characters such as Ramsay Bowell (the Wiltshire Prime Minister) and The Lord Maekar.

Part One: Kamari I

The Lord of Claremont Tower is a position with weight: Besides the responsibilities of upkeeping a tower that has stood for three-hundred years, through the rise of fall of dynasties and space empires, the Lord must also keep an protective eye over the huddled masses that call Claremont Town home. On this far edge of the realm, the King’s attention is always elsewhere. Seldom does the Lord of the Iberian Palace take leave from his high seat over Courts and Councillors to visit a place like Claremont Town.

I love Claremont. The town itself isn’t anything to look at, with buildings tossed together like a leftovers meal. The roads are battered; not through activity, or any garrisoning army. Claremont is far too unimportant for that. No, the weathered roads and pathways are just that - they are old. No multinational corporation has yet bothered to descend the heaps of shit and dirt that we call Claremont Hill. No new roads, no new buildings. Yet, I still love it.

For every crumbling tavern and tired vagrant, there is a person with a smile. Believe it or not, Claremont may be the friendliest place in all of the Kingdom - perhaps even in all of the Doggerlands. You can walk from the Tower to the old granaries and feel safe in the knowledge that the streets you walk are walked by your kin. The world is not a place for friendly community anymore. Since the Burn, since the era of the corporation, the face of the world is just that bit less kind. That’s why I love Claremont.

Here, at the end of the world, where Kings and corporations alike turn their backs, the presence of a noble lord (besides that of the Lord of Claremont Tower himself) is enough to draw anybody’s eye. It was no different on the day that the Lord Maekar rode from the Dreadfort, over Claremont Hill, and to the gates of the Tower.

’The Lord Maekar’ is just what we call him, mind you. He is formally ‘the Duke of Mountbatten’. A political animal - as the saying goes - who’s roar can be felt across the entire Kingdom. He is my liege lord, as Claremont falls under the dominion of the Maekar’s Dreadfort. When his four-by-four arrived at the gates of Claremont Tower, he was greeted with the pomp and exaggeration as he would expect as Lord Paramount.

“My Lord Maekar,” I said, begrudgingly. Difficult as I find it to respect a man more focused on the Iberian Palace than his own castle, he is my liege lord. I gave a shallow bow, which I am sure he noticed. He didn’t pay it much mind, though. He doesn’t care about Claremont enough to make a fuss. “Claremont Tower is yours.”

Maekar shook my hand. It was meek but the lack of strength was handedly disguised with an overpowering jolt of energy. “Lord Kamari, so good of you to accept us at such short notice.”

The formalities are what killed me. No smiles, no kindness. He doesn’t care for me, nor I for him. So why must I conform to the pleasantries of small talk and brass. Might I explode?

“It is always a pleasure, My Lord. Is this the first time you have ever visited Claremont?”

“No,” Maekar lied, “I was fortunate enough to visit briefly some years ago. Far before your own tenure as Lord, I imagine.”

“Yes, of course. Would you like to come inside?”

I ushered the Lord through the main gates, trying my best not to notice his judgemental eyes or his pompous snickers. He was too good for my Tower, at least he liked to believe. I just wanted him to leave and for life to return to normal. Once we were in and up the stairs, the old man’s breath began to deepen. Funny really: his aura of self-importance led him to belittle my home. Yet, he could hardly conquer the first flight of stairs. I decided that the best decision would be to forgo dinner at the top of the Tower. Let’s cut to the chase. He’s here for a reason. The sooner he tells me, the sooner I can begin to plot my escape from his audience.

We arrived in the minor state room on the second floor. There wasn’t much more than some chairs, a dusty bookshelf, and an ungodly outdated carpet in the room but it was enough. We weren’t going to be enjoying breakfast together. This was business - unfortunately.

“Leave us,” Lord Maekar muttered to his aide, one of whom I was sure was his bastard son. Whoever really knows these days?

They left the room, obnoxiously slamming the old door when they did. Maekar sat on the largest of the chairs in the room, of course. I was content on a rickety wooden assemblage. I hoped it would forcibly speed up the conversation, if I was at risk of falling through it at any moment.

“So,” I opened, “what exactly brings you to Claremont Tower, My Lord?” I didn’t want to open with too much disrespect but, at the same time, I was more done with pleasantries than any man on Terra.

Maekar grumbled in his typical tone. I did wonder if this was how he spoke to the King. Of course he didn’t - he actually respected the King. “His Majesty has a mission for you.”

My eyes froze. The King has a mission… for me? Surely this was some kind of mistake. Nobody even thinks about Claremont, let alone selects it for duties to the realm. Wait, ‘a mission’, I wondered. Surely this can’t be some kind of ceremonial business? That’s all the King can perform now, right?

“A mission?” I asked, rolling all my rambling thoughts into one coherent and concise question.

“You fought with the Lancastrians - during the Corporate War?”

Here we go.

“Yes,” I replied, proudly. “Rockfield was neutral, yes. But I refused to sit by and watch facism take over this Bank. Enlisting with the Lancastrians was a logical solution for me.”

“Yes, yes. I have read your report,” Maekar commented, meanwhile I was wondering if the King had read my report. Had the King even known my name? I had too many questions. Maekar continued, “You seem the appropriate candidate to lead a new task force that the King wishes to see created. Undercover, of course, to impregnate the heart of the Wiltshirian war effort.”

My mind began to spiral. Then, he did it. Lord Maekar spilled the truth about Rockfield’s plans. The coup, the crusade, the war; all hand in hand with the Pontifex. Pain. Pain and devastation. All for power. Of course, I didn’t think this at the time.

“If all this is true,” I replied, once Maekar had finished explaining the King’s plans, “this ‘task force’ would be put in immense danger. My Lord, I fought for the safety of my country but this is something entirely different.”

“You would refuse the King?” Lord Maekar exclaimed with entitlement.

“No,” I lied, “but, I would advise the King that I don’t want it. If I’m honest, my Lord, I don’t have the motivation to leave my home, to pretend to be a Wiltshirian… all in order to kill unsuspecting civil servants.”

Lord Maekar stood up, as if he was signalling his conforming anger to my opposition. “Well, if it is motivation that you need, then perhaps I can provide it.”

He handed me a brown folder. Blank on the outside and truly unsuspecting. My eyes glanced over the words and the photographs and the testimonies of people I thought I could trust. I sighed with defeat before I could even present a fight. How could I? This folder was my defeat, my heel unveiled.

“The King and I are happy to let this document fall into the incinerator. This never needs to get out to the world. Perhaps, if you let me explain the King’s proposal to you once again, we can arrange for that to happen.”

I had lost. The only thing I could do now was listen.

Part Two: Kamari II

My wife was worried. Of course she was. After a hastily scheduled audience with my liege lord, I was even more hastily packing an overnight bag. A fresh pair of clothes? Essential. Flexible wear for combat? I didn’t know. Hot weather, cold weather? I didn’t know when I would next be back home at Claremont Tower, if at all. I had to be prepared for anything.

“Kam, please,” my scared wife pleaded as she put her hand on my bag, forcing me to pause, to think, and to look at her. “You’re scaring me. Tell me what happened. Why are you packing?”

I didn’t know what to say. My own panic was enough to deal with, I didn’t have time to add hers onto my plate.

“What did Lord Maekar want?” she asked again. Clearly my poorly acted expression of confidence wasn’t enough to appease her.

I sighed, “the King is sending me on an… urgent mission.”

“What kind of mission?”

I took a deep breath. The words were harder than steel as they scraped out from my mouth. “One that I probably won’t come home from.”

“You wouldn’t have agreed if it wasn’t important…”

She knew - she always knew. Ever since we first met - that cold night after Lady April’s wedding in 2999. She was the reader and I was her book. She turned the chapter.

“Lord Maekar has information that he assures me won’t be released - to the world - if I obliged.”

She paused, processing. Yes, she could read me but I could also read her. The cogs weren’t just turning in her head - they were spiralling. An adorably ironic representation of my own reaction to Maekar’s revelation.

“He blackmailed you? Kam… no…”

I nodded. We both knew what Maekar had - we both knew the damage it would do. We only ever had one secret. This was it, this had to be it. In that moment, she understood.

“He’s just a boy…” she cried. My wife seldom cried - she was as hard as they came. But yes, she cried.

“I have to protect him, Nyota. I promise. Our son will be safe.”

She understood why I had to leave - what I was fighting to protect.

“Where will you go?”

“This mission… I can’t do it alone. I need help from somebody I can trust.”

Her head tilted. As if she skipped ahead a chapter to my meaning. Her caution doubled. “Field?”

“Well, this is the kind of work for a King’s Guard.”

“Yes, Kam, but he isn’t a King’s Guard anymore. Can you really trust Egg?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

I made my goodbyes to my wife. I did go up to my son’s room - I very nearly knocked on the door. ‘Nyota will explain to him’, foolishly thinking that would be enough. It would have been better coming from her, anyway. While I kept justifying it to myself, from the car ride, to the train station, to staring at the words “Tayven” plastered on the NC train timetable. Justifying it myself through hours of tracks and changing scenery. Rocks and hills morphing to dirt and wasteland. Just enough to get me to where I know I will find him: Club Atom.

Before I could go into Club Atom, where the music was seeping out of the walls, along with the chants of a sea of soldiers and men, I realised I had one more thing to do. What I should have done back at Claremont Tower.

“Hey mate,” I whispered into the phone, hiding behind a corner so the battle songs of Club Atom couldn’t be heard through the phone.

My son’s breaking, teenage voice came through, “Hey Dad,”

“I’m going to be going away for a while. You take good care of your mother for me, okay?”

“Can you bring me back a present?” he said with excitement. I suppose I was fighting to bring him back a present of sorts: his freedom and maybe, just maybe, his life.

“I’ll see what I can do. Be good,” I said as I hung up the phone. I didn’t cry, although I definitely wanted to. No, I was about to meet a very old friend. I had to be focused.

Part Three: Egg I

The days of war were long past, or so I thought. You know, for however much pride I took in my work, somebody always found a flaw. A problem. God, I could never get anything right. However hard I tried, however many medals I won. I was even honoured in the King’s own fucking Guard. That's right, I was Sir Eagan Peña - a Knight of the King’s Guard. Fuck lot of use that ever did me. The most honourable knights in the Kingdom? Give me a break. It's just a group of ambitious sycophants, all led by a self-centred golden boy, pretending it’s still the 28th century. I didn’t even want to be there anyway.

Still, even after my mutual separation from the King's Guard, I still got to keep the “Sir” bit. That’s nice - it works wonders on the ladies. Oh yeah, I know. Whoring and drinking in a Tauran club at the end of the fucking world is a stereotype I didn’t intentionally seek to inhabit. Yet, it was where I was when Kamari came to find me. I’m still surprised he could hear me over the music. God, that music was an earful. It never stopped either. I never understood why these people listened to such drivel, anyway. It puts off all the girls! For as long as I’m staying in the backend of civilization, I’d at least like to not have to rely on the girls on call.

The music, looping over and over again, too loud to even think. I suppose it must have lowered my guard a little bit… I felt a hand on my shoulder. I didn’t turn around immediately. Firstly, I swirled my bourbon. Secondly, I prayed for the smile of a girl with a Terran face. Thirdly, I turned around, only to see the smile of Kamari. The soppy prick - he looked like he could cry at the sight of me.

“Egg…” he mumbled. Clearly, he hadn’t gotten used to the noise of Club Atom.

Shocked, I stood up. I hugged him. I didn’t know what to do, I hadn’t seen him since my dismissal from the King’s Guard. He was the last face I saw before I left Rockfield.

“Let’s go outside,” I said, perhaps more delicately than my surprise should have allowed.

We waded our way through the thick air of dense music and smoke, all the way to an outside seating area. The music wasn’t gone, despite my prayers, but at least we could have a conversation.

“How did you know where I was?” I asked, sitting down on a wooden bench.#

Kamari sat opposite me. He looked different, even though it hadn’t been two years since we last spoke. He seemed shorter, somehow. Slightly more tanned, and definitely more grey. His hair was always something that enticed me - how it managed to be so firm, like a wall of jet black hair sitting comfortably above his brow. Now, the jet black was fading away, his eyes were growing more and more tired. He looked scared. He was a soldier: his face had seen more battles than even mine had. But now, besides the scarred jawline and the covered up brotherhood tattoo, he could understandably be mistaken for a suburban dad. God, how far he’d fallen.

“I know you better than you think I do,” he said, typically cliché. He may have been a soldier but he was an obnoxiously arrogant one.

I scratched my head, moving my overgrown blonde hair around. “Before you say anything, I’m not off the rails.”

He chuckled, “if this isn’t off the rails, I don’t know what is.”

“You know what, Kam? Go fuck yourself.” I stood up in anger. He was my friend, my last friend, yet this was how he greeted me? I made my way back to Club Atom’s shadowy side entrance. “Enjoy the trip back to Claremont,” I said, spitefully.

“I need your help,” he shouted, stopping me in my tracks. I didn’t decide to stop - I didn’t decide to hear him out. But I did, like a reflex. I suppose he still had some key to my brain. He was my friend, even if he was up his own arse.

I turned around and, when I saw his face, I knew he was serious. This was serious. I sat back down, only to venture into a moment of awkwardness.

“How’s my namesake?” I asked, avoiding the inevitable request that I could see brewing on Kamari’s wrinkled lips. The inevitable denial I was sure to give him. I wasn’t his pet that he just could call upon.

“He’s growing well. I must admit, I miss him a lot.”

“Why are you out here, man?” My patience broke. “Why are you sitting with me in the back end of nowhere, a world away from Nyota and Eagan?”

“I have to go on a mission and I need your help. It’s for the King.”

“Fuck the King. You’re out here, busting your ass for Maximilian Murcia? The man threw me to the wolves!”

“You don’t understand.” He sighed, “I thought he’d be safe at Claremont. Nyota and I have tried but…”

“What are you talking about?”

“The King has dirt on Eagan. If I don’t do what he asks…”

Then, I knew. Maximilian Murcia had stripped me of my titles, my place on the King’s Guard. He took everything away from me and now… now he was blackmailing my best friend and my godson? I exploded.

“I’m gonna kill him,” I shouted, standing again.

“Shut up and sit down,” Kamari commanded. He grabbed my arm. “Listen to me. If the King tells the world about Eagan, it’s all over.”

“Tell the world what about Eagan? What could be so important that it’s this damaging but that you’ve never told me?”

He let go of me, I sat down. I knew my question was selfish. He knew it too. But the guilt on his face told me everything I needed to know. My friend was in need - what could I do but oblige?

After another screech of silence, I broke. “You don’t have to tell me,” I said, assuringly. “I’ll help, for Eagan. Still can’t believe you named your son after me,” I chuckled.

“I know that I’m asking a lot of you, I know the field isn’t where you need to be right now. But I don’t know who else to trust. I can’t do what the King wants alone.”

“I’m in, Kam. Just tell me when, where, and who I’m killin’. We’ll keep Eagan safe, I promise.”

Kamari smiled - a strange site from the old man without a funny bone. “Thank you, Egg. We need more, though. The King wants us to infiltrate the Wiltshirian command centre. Two’s a start but not enough. I don’t suppose you have any ideas?”

I smiled in thought. My memory was pulling me in a direction I didn’t quite expect. “We need somebody we can trust.”

“Obviously,” Kamari said, “but who?”

My smile grew, occupying half my face. “Do you reckon you could trust the honesty of somebody trying to prove themself?” I chuckled, “I think I know just the girl. Come on - we need to go back to Rockfield.”

Part Four: Kamari III

The journey back to Rockfield wasn’t nearly as long as the journey out. Sure, it might have taken the same amount of time; I might have traversed the same distance. But there was something different about seeing the wasteland evolve into the Rock. For the first time since Maekar’s visit, I felt something other than aching despair. Was this hope? No, I’m not that foolish. But, then again, as the path ahead opened up to the possibility of survival, I may have been guilty of indulging my more optimistic side.

As we arrived at the capital, being stared at by the towers of the Iberian Palace herself, Egg guided us through to a side alley. He wasn’t very talkative on the journey home. As far as I could gather, this was his first time back in Rockfield since his dismissal from the King’s Guard and yet he gave the vapid impression of somebody uninterested in the very ground he walked on. Throughout the whole journey, whenever he did speak, he spoke only of Arecel.

The first woman ever appointed to the King’s Guard, Dame Arecel was our target. And, if what Egg had told us was anything to go by, she was the greatest woman to ever live. Okay, perhaps that was a little exaggeration. After all, the silence of the journey left my imagination free to run a little wilder than I would normally permit. Whatever his feelings towards this Knight, he trusted her. Weirdly, he believed in her. I didn’t know her but I knew him. If she could be trusted, then it was good enough for me. Beggars, indeed, cannot be choosers.

Egg called in an old favour. Sir Hector Ortegas of the King’s Guard helped us get into the HoloZone. From what I could gather from the dusty promotional material loosely scattered on the bland walls, it was a training ground for Knights of the realm. Some quite advanced tech, it seemed. The HoloZone was where we would find Arecel, and Sir Hector could get us through the door.

“Don’t stay too long,” Sir Hector said, looking over his shoulder. “If you get caught, you didn’t get in through me.”

“Thank you, Hector,” Egg said without a smile, staring through a one-way glass window in front of him. His eyes were locked, moving along with what he could see through the window.

“I can assure you,” I said, tapping Sir Hector on the shoulder, “this is for the greater good.”

“Yeah, I don’t care. Egg, consider my debt paid in full. Don’t call me again.” Sir Hector walked away with the pace of a run. He didn’t look back, which I understood. When I was watching his back shrink into the distance of the corridor, I couldn’t help but think of Sir Hector. His honour, his courage… his corruption. ‘This man protects the King?’ I thought. ‘This man is the best of us?’

I turned around, finding Egg’s eyes still in the same locked position they were moments earlier. Was he truly enchanted? His eagerness about this girl on the journey back to Rockfield was noticeable enough. But this? This surely had to be something more than professional interest.

“So,” I said, looking through the one-way glass, “this is Arecel?”

“Mhm. Something to prove? Check.”

Her movement through the air was majestic, to say the least. Her arms gripped the handle of her JetSword tightly as it sliced through the air like the blade of a propeller. Her focus was absolute. It had to be. The sharpened JetSword, propelled by the jet stream, sliced her holographic opponents in two, in the same way a butcher portions his steaks. No, finer than that. This wasn’t a cleaver; it was hardly even a sword. Dame Arecel was wielding a chisel. She was sculpting her victims into the statues of death and defeat. This wasn’t combat: this was art.

“She's as good as you are,” I said, provocatively. I knew Egg’s pride and his ego. I was putting it to the test. Was his fascination with this girl more powerful than his claim to be the best swordsman on the Rock?

“She’s better.” He didn’t even look at me. Though, to be fair, I didn’t look much at him. We hadn’t seen combat like this before.

From behind the glass, once she had finished her mosaic of human remains, Arecel paused. She took a deep breath.

“Computer. End training programme.”

The holograms faded into nothing. And, as the walls dissolved into the photons and force fields that they were, Arecel stared at us through the one-way window.

“Can I help you?” she shouted, jolting us out of our old day dream.

Once she made her way out of the HoloZone, we were able to make our offer. Egg’s enthusiasm aside, we didn’t truly know this woman. For all I knew, her skills with the JetSword could be used equally against myself than any Wiltshirian. No, I had to keep my cards close to my chest. I explained the mission, no more, no less.

“A mission for the King, you say,” she said hesitantly.

“Umm, yes. Our job will be to infiltrate Erimo Command and await orders. Given the nature of this mission, I fully expect those orders to get bloody. That's where you come in.”

“And,” Egg stumbled, “we think you’d be great for the job!”

She sat down, wiping a bead of sweat off with her hand towel.

“I…”

The moment of truth. Her answer could end the scheming before the mission. We could get started, we could finish. I could get home to Eagan. In the year or two between the beginning of her syllable and her answer, I had hope.

“... can’t,” she finished.

“What?” Egg’s surprise was even deeper than mine. Or was it disappointment?

“Look, I’m sorry but I am the first ever female Knight of the King’s Guard. And the King doesn’t even know my name. He wished Mary hadn’t appointed me… the other Knights wish Mary had never appointed me. I can’t up and go to Wiltshire without orders.”

I sat down next to her, looking dead ahead. “If I were just asking for myself, or even for the King, I’d take your ‘no’ and move on. But I can’t because this mission is about more than myself, and it’s about more than the King. Lives are at stake. My boy’s life could be in danger. I can’t explain but… if you don’t help us…” There: my cards. “Look, Egg and I are going to do this mission with or without you but we’d stand a much better shot with you on our side. You’re not just the best swordsman on the King’s Guard, you’re the best I’ve ever seen.”

Arecel smiled inwardly.

I continued, “heck, you’ve even got Egg smitten. We need you. My boy needs you. You’ve got to understand family.”

Arecel fell quiet. She looked up at Egg, back to me, and then in on herself. For a moment there, I really thought I could have convinced her…

“I’m really sorry. I just… can’t.”

I sighed deeply. Even as she walked away, down the same path as Sir Hector minutes before, I hoped. Maybe she would turn around, smile, and give us exactly the answers we were looking for! Egg was silent, as anybody who’s glowingly recommended candidate turning out to reject us would be. As the clang of the closing door echoed back to us, still outside of the HoloZone, my hope drew to a prolonged close.

“What now?” I asked. I tried to think of another way, another option. I couldn’t. The Kingdom of the Rock was full of skilled warriors, for sure. But I didn’t need a skilled warrior. I needed somebody I could trust. I resigned myself to my fate: Egg and I would have to do this ourselves, no matter the cost.

Egg scratched his mop of hair, biting his lower lip with anger. “Okay,” he exclaimed, “okay…” his breaths drew deeper, yet farther apart. “Okay…”

Suddenly, Egg collapsed to the bench. He was sitting upright, but his face of fear was hunched over his feet. His breath was deeper than ever, like he was being chased. Panic. What now?

Part Five: Egg II

I told him that it was a panic attack. Obviously. What was I supposed to tell him? The truth? God, the arrogance of his nobility blinded him to who I really was. What I became in the two years between my dismissal from the King’s Guard and our not-so-coincidental encounter at Club Atom was not something he would have approved of. Kam’s disappointment was the last thing I needed. I made a promise to him and letting him down wasn't an option. He may have been up his own arse but this was for Eagan.

In the shallow stall of a public restroom, I rolled up my sleeve. The slow search for my vein and the incision all happened while my eyes were closed. I tensed my arm as usual, I put the needle into my vein as usual. I couldn’t wait, I had to act. As I opened my eyes, reborn anew, I couldn’t help but smile in on myself.

The knock on the bathroom stall was deafening. Bang. Bang. Bang. I could feel every vibration, every molecule smashing into every other molecule. Right from the skin of the fist on the other end of the door all the way to my ear drum, being played like a tambourine.

“Egg,” Kam said through the door. “You good in there?”

“Yeah”, I said, and I meant it. Every fiber of my being was ‘good’ at that moment. I wasn’t Egg then, I was alive. Simply alive. Fuck, if that wasn't perfection, I don’t know what is.

I continued, maintaining the coherence of my sentence more successfully than I suspected, “I’m going to be a few minutes in here… did you say you were going to call that lead?”

“I don’t know,” Kam said, “Howland Chambers is a last resort.”

“Not to be rude, Kam, but we’re pretty much out of fucking options.”

Again, the vibrations of Kam banging his head against the door flood my ears.

“You’re right… I’ll give him a call. Hurry up in there, we can’t stay in Rockfield for much longer.”

Kam left the restroom… finally. Peace. Quiet. Completion. I was still at the summit of my euphoria. God, happiness once again.

Through the door, I could hear Kam dial into his phone. The taps of his fingers on the glass of his AI device. The slide of the cold phone on his warm ear. The repeated beep of the phone call itself. Through two walls, I could hear it all as if it were in my own ear.

“Who is this?” A man, catching his breath, growled through Kam’s phone. The muffle of the sound through the wall was nothing compared to the perfection of pitch. I could hear it all.

“Howland, it’s Kam.”

I closed my eyes as I listened in closer, and closer, and closer. I took a deep breath.

“I told you,” the voice through the phone sharpened, “this number was for emergencies only.”

“And I am a man of my word, Howland. You told me once that you would defend my blood. Well, what’s at stake is as good as my blood. My boy, Howland. I’ve got Egg with me but we need you too.”

Another growl bellowed through. “West Bromwich Community Center, Newton. If you’re not there in four hours, you won’t be able to contact me again.”

“Understood,” Kam’s voice begins to mix with the muffle of the wall. The fineness of the voice is blunted. I could only hear a murmur after that. I had arrived back on Earth.

I stood up, cracking my neck against my hand. This was enough… for now. It had to be: I had the weirdest feeling that we were about to travel to Newton.

Part Six: Howland I

I didn't train then. I used to, back in the old days. Back when I had plenty of things to think about, enough to keep me distracted from any one of them in particular. Wife, daughter, work, war. There’s a certain relief in having too much to think about: at least you have something to do.

The staff at West Bromwich Community Center were kind people. Mrs Granthem, the sweet grandmother-like figure, would always smile and leave candy out on the reception every morning. Or Chief Tartar, the electrician who was always smart enough to know when to speak and when not to. Even Mrs Granthem, who’s pity often compelled her to say something, knew when I needed to be alone. Kind people. And, on the night that Kamari came to pay me a visit, they were kind enough to leave the place empty.

Kamari and Egg walked into the gymnasium, their eyes filled with pity. I could smell it on them, even before I unravelled the bandages on my hands and stopped punching the punch bag, which hung from the ceiling.

By the time I had stopped, putting a lid back on the boiling lava inside myself, and the resentment of Kamari and Egg’s pity subsided enough, I sat.

“You got here quick,” I said, watching Kamari’s hands fidget.

“So perhaps you can appreciate how important this is,” Egg replied, Kamari still guiltily moulding his hands together like wet clay.

“Finally found our way to the bottom of the bottle, did we Egg?” I stared at Egg as he mustered up the courage to reply.

Back during the war, when Kamari, Egg, and I would laugh and try to put our minds beyond the world falling apart outside our barracks, that sort of question would have ignited Egg’s flare. I’d have gotten some witty reply, or maybe even a smack across the face. Now, his reply was as awkward as the stares of pity I had been fielding off since they walked into the gymnasium.

“Give us a minute, Egg,” Kamari said, breaking his silence. Still, his eyes refused to meet mine.

As Egg nodded and walked out of the gymnasium, likely to plunder Mrs Granthem’s stash of butterscotch candies, Kamari finally did me the respect of looking into my eyes.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t at the funeral,” Kamari opened.

“Don’t be. I wasn’t there either.”

Kamari’s pity turned to confusion. His face asked the question and my face was the reply: leave it be. He took the hint.

“What have you been up to?”

“You never were one for small talk, were you Kamari?”

Kamari chuckles awkwardly, like he had just walked mud onto my carpet. “No, I don’t suppose I was. I just… worry about you.”

“Why?”

Kamari sighs, “you know why. I couldn’t even get you to come and stay with me. I - I didn’t know if you had anyone.”

“What? You’re worried that I’m lonely?”

“Yes, as it happens-”

“Well let me save you the bother. I’m not lonely, Kamari. I’m just alone. And that's okay because there isn’t anything you can do to change that. Save your pity for somebody who needs it. I'm fine.”

“Okay, okay.” Kamari wasn’t convinced - I don’t think he believed me. He was a good man, his righteousness notwithstanding. But he always felt like he needed to save me. But this time, he needed my help.

“How exactly is Eagan in danger?” I asked.

“There are people in Rockfield who would be very pleased to see his life turned upside down, let alone put on a spike. If I don’t do what I’m told, it’ll all fall apart. And I can’t do that without you. I know that you’ve lost so much but I’m desperate, mate. I’m out of options and out of time. Please… can you help me?”

As if he even had to ask.

“What’s the play?”

“Erimo - in Lorikeet. We’ve got less than thirty-six hours to get into an empty bunker there.”

“What’s the deadline for?”

“It won’t be empty for long. The King is planning something - I don’t know what but it’ll end with a lot of influential people hiding in that bunker. Once we’re in, we await orders. Probably cause a mess… maybe even kill a few people.”

“Wiltshirians?”

Kamari nodded, solemnly.

“That’s not going to be a problem.”

While Kamari continued to fill me in on the rest of the plan, it wasn’t necessary. I was onboard. I knew the risks, I knew what would probably happen to me. I didn’t care - I was ready to kill some Wiltshirians.

Part Seven: Arecel

I was training, alone, the day the King visited me. If truth be told, I didn’t quite believe my eyes. I thought perhaps one of the other King’s Guard were pranking me - after all, Sir Hector was talking about an experimental holo-disguise technology that some contractor was developing. I thought this was that: a prank. They would prank me, out of the whole King’s Guard. I’d be their target. It all seemed reasonable, reasonable enough for me to laugh in the King’s face as he entered the training room, shaking slightly.

“Fuck off, will you Hector? I’m trying to train.”

The King was not amused by my mistake. As the puzzle pieces came together like a train running me down, I knew I had made a horrific mistake.

“Your Majesty… I’m… I’m sorry…” I uttered. To be fair to me, I don’t think I am entirely to blame. The King doesn’t even want me on his King’s Guard - so why is he standing in front of me, like a puppy who’d made a mess on the sitting room carpet?

“Dame Arecel,” the King shuttered slightly. I was starting to become concerned. “I need your help…”

I deactivated my JetSword, Detmer (yes, I named my sword after Lieutenant Detmer, give me a break), and bowed my head.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“There is a… mess. In my study. I would… I would like you to clean it up.”

As he stuttered slightly - something I have never seen the King do before - my eyes slowly creeped down. His hands, shuttering like his speech, had stains of red. Dyes of rose and wine, hidden on the palms of his hands. Even on his shirt, the poor white thing. He stood, like an apprentice butcher: he had never done this before.

“What kind of mess?”

“And I need you to do this work discreetly. Your colleagues mustn’t know. Nobody can know… do you- do you understand?”

In the hours that came after my encounter with the Butcher King, I did my duty. I saw his office. The shattered glass. The body that glass impaled. The blood. Oh, the blood. Thankfully, centuries of murderers and despots had made the Iberian Palace a great place to discreetly discard a noble corpse. Noble, huh. The irony of nobility and provinciality on the face of a dead man. His rank was now nothing more than the greyish tone of his skin, and the smell squatting in the room after he had shit himself.

I did my duty.

But duty is nothing if it isn’t honourable. What honour was there in scraping the skin off a broken coffee table and wiping up the blood that remained? None. I was a King’s Guard - the highest honour a knight could receive. But I was a woman. I wasn’t there to protect the King, was I? I was there to clean up his messes. In everything that came later, in every soul that burnt in the Crusader’s wars, I rest easier knowing that I chose to do something honourable.

I did my duty and, once I had, I knew I had to make amends. I couldn’t stop thinking about Lord Kamari. His desperation. Much like the King himself, Lord Kamari had approached me, shaking and stuttering. He was desperate, too. But his desperation wasn’t one of murder, it was one of honour. If I couldn’t save Prince Antony from the Butcher King’s hands, perhaps I could save Lord Kamari’s son.

That night, I packed my bag and, with the moon at its highest, staring down in judgement on us all, I left the Iberian Palace. Would they even notice that I had left? No matter. Lord Kamari needed my help. I was to save a life.

Part Eight: Howland II

“This is the Northern Continental Service to /Erimo/. We will be stopping at /Juneville/ and /Erimo/. The next stop is /Juneville/. Please take all your belongings with you. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform when departing.” The stretched voice of the train conductor was loud and sharp. It stung, just as I was trying to close my eyes.

When my eyes closed, like every time since the War, I saw them. Their faces. Their scars. Their tombs. I opened my eyes.

Across from me, sitting cramped in one of those four-seater tables, was Egg. He sat back, obliviously, using a toothpick to clean the gaps in his nails. He blew them, once he had finished his disgusting task, before noticing I was awake.

“Thought you was sleeping,” he smiled, obnoxiously. There was something about Egg’s face - his bleach blondness - or maybe even his smile itself. Whatever it was, it annoyed me even more than during the war.

I growled. “I was.”

“Well, I for one can’t wait to get off this bloody train. I feel like we’ve travelled half the distance to China going back and forth.”

“Yes.”

Egg nodded, indicating over to Kamari and the girl, Arecel, who were sitting a few rows down.

“Whatcha think about her?” he muttered.

“What do I think about who?”

“Arecel! Fit, right?”

My eyes rolled so far back into my head, I could see the oozing frustration-stimulating electrons in my brain.

“Eagan,” I leaned forward, “do you ever shut up?”

“I was just-”

“Just talking shit. We’ve got a mission to worry about.”

“You’ve become a right cunt, ya know that? Back in the war, when it was just the three of us, you, me, Kam, the three of us in those fucking trenches. You were the one who sang the songs, told the stories. YOU kept us going.”

I knew he was right. I wasn’t the same man I was back in the war. Back when we made fun of the weird looking Lancastrian generals, or sang songs from the 2960s, watching the shooting stars in the sky, before we realised they were bullets. But loss changes people: it changed me.

“It's just- I trust Kamari. So if he trusts Arecel, so do I. We’ll need her.” My voice was eased, slightly.

Just as I was ready to return my eyes to closed, and drift back in my memories of blood and pain, Kamari stood up and approached.

“Boys,” he opened, “you’re going to want to hear this.”

Kamari and Arecel joined us, as the four of us squeezed into the four-seater. He pulled out a radio - an old thing, even older than the crap we used on the Lancastrian front.

The voice was muffled, as if the transmission was being poorly scrambled.

[Static]

”... can confirm now that Prime Minister Ramsay Bowell has just been evacuated from the capital...”

”... confirmation from... ... ... Terrace Street has fallen. Repeat, Terrace Street has fallen...”

Our faces were all stuck. Like we were copying each other. The concern.

Kamari turned off the radio, sitting back.

“We don’t have much time.”

As the train screeches to a halt, the conductor assaults us again. “The next stop is /Erimo/.”

Part Nine: Kamari IV

The sky above Erimo was on fire. Storms of helicopters and floodlights. The mutilated night sky flooded with unholy lights, mocking the stars that they shrouded. I could smell the panic and could hear the shouts of soldiers and men, all rushing towards one place: Erimo.

Erimo was an unsuspecting town. A small population, with even smaller ambition. The houses were nice, if a little bland. Rows of repetition, soullessness, and corporate brutalism. The people reminded me of the peace of Claremont; the buildings reminded me of the greed of Wiltshire. The town itself, though, was not the destination of the skuttled men, nor myself. Our destination was the bunker beneath.

Built during the Great War, the bunker in Erimo was a fall back. A command centre, designed to house the government of Wiltshire in cases of disaster or, indeed, attack. My radio told us what had happened - that a rebel had taken the Wiltshirian’s marble walls - and I knew we had to act fast if we were going to get into the bunker before they sealed the doors to the rest of the world.

Over a small mound of red rock, Egg lay with an old pair of binoculars. Non-digital, classic. Exactly what we needed to avoid detection. He made an odd humming noise, to the clear frustration of Howland.

“What do you see?” Howland said, kicking Egg’s leg.

Egg just carried on humming, like an injured bird, ignoring Howland’s annoyance.

“Seriously, Egg. We haven’t got long,” I added, wading through dry mud myself.

He rolled over. “Thirty-one men. Six choppers. And maybe a goat, I couldn’t make out…”

“Too many to take,” Howland reported, accurately.

“But not too many to fool…” Arecel chimed, her eyes racing from thought to thought. Her usefulness wasn’t simply confined to her mastery of the JetSword, or even her skill with a phaser. It was her mind, too.

Egg smiled as I spoke, “you have an idea?”

“They’re panicking! How much do you reckon they’re paying attention to exactly who is coming and going right now?”

“If that’s true, we have until Ramsay Bowell arrives. Once he’s in, they’ll seal the fucker and not let up until winter.” Howland said, snatching the binoculars from Egg and taking a look for himself. He grunted mildly as his eyes reported the same as Egg’s had just moments prior.

“So, what’s the play, boss?” Egg asked.

As the swarms of parliamentarians continued in the skies above Erimo, our objective was simple: walk in without getting caught. A difficult job in the middle of the highest security operation in Wiltshirian government history. Alas, I trusted the power of confidence. Everybody outside that bunker had a job to do, whether that be clearing out the cobwebs or loading all the phasers. If we were to walk in, I reasoned, we’d have to look like we were doing a job too.

If we focused too much on the security guards, they’d notice. If we focused too much on the bunker, they’d notice. If we focused too much on each other, they would notice. We had to fit in as seamlessly as the final piece to an arduous puzzle. Like clockwork, only silent.

Eagan once told me of a drama lesson he had in school a few months before this, when he was surrounded by actors and distractions. The ‘paper tiger’, he called himself. He loved the tiger, the traditional symbol of my house. He grew attached to it. My mind was with him, as it had been since I left Claremont. My smile inspired me: we were about to become actors, I thought, and that bunker was to be our stage.

We waited for the noise to climax, for the chaos of preparation was so intense that an observer wouldn’t be able to tell two soldiers apart. That was our window and, when it opened, we pounced. I was on weapons, carrying our rifles like they were stock. Arecel, she used her backpack as a bed to place debris onto, picking up piece after piece as she slowly made her way to the entrance. Egg and Howland moved together, pretending to compare orders on a make-shift comm-pad. Together, we were as well oiled as a Marinian masseuse but, to the unsuspecting eye of the hectic Wiltshirians, we were unnoticeable. Plain sight, as they say, is the best place to hide.

I was first through the bunker door, which spiked from the ground like a silver iceberg, amidst a sea of red rock. Egg and Howland rushed through after. Then, finally, Arecel brushed the shit and mud off her backpack as she silently celebrated her arrival.

I patted Egg on the back but we couldn’t rejoice for long. We may have been the first in but we certainly weren’t to be the last. Before we could sigh in relief, we were flooded by the rest of the swarms, finishing their (real) tasks and entering the bunker. We were in.

After an hour, Bowell arrived at the bunker. Not that we saw him, mind you. We were keeping out of sight and out of mind. Plain sight works in a panic, less so in a submarine of paranoia. Eventually, we found a storage cupboard to have mini-parlays. In our few moments of reprieve, I sat on an upside down waste-disposal bucket in the cupboard, as my three comrades crammed themselves into the box.

“What now?” Arecel whispered.

Howland gently moved his hand around the wall near the door, triggering the light switch.

“We wait,” I said.

“Wait?”

“Our orders were to get in here and wait for further instructions.”

“How will they contact you?” Howland asked, crossing his arms to take up even more space in the shoe-box they called a cupboard.

“Maekar has my radio frequency, I guess. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?!” Arecel shouts, shattering the silence of her whisper, shocking even herself with her volume. “We’ve come all this way and you’re guessing.”

“This is Maekar’s plan,” I explained, half-convincingly. “he’ll know how to reach us. You’ve trusted me this far. Trust me now.”

“But it’s not you that you’re asking us to trust,” Egg muttered, probably worried about disagreeing with me, “it’s Maekar.”

A moment of silence fell on the small cupboard. Howland spoke up. “You must have been real desperate,” he said.

I looked at him, his eyes wider and more sincere than I’d seen in years.

He continued, “what could the King possibly know about your son to make you go this far without a proper plan?”

Part Ten: Howland III

’Huh’, I thought to myself. Is that guilt on Kamari’s face? I’d seen lots of his expressions over the years. First, righteousness - his worst and most infuriating. His actions were /right/, and he was to fight for it! Then, we got to enjoy the warm embrace of the face of pity. He liked that one too, especially recently. Especially since…

But this - this guilt - this was new. My question had gotten under his skin, as he mumbled a reply.

“- we have a mission,” he said, avoiding the question. “Our job is to wait. That’s that.” The confidence in his voice built.

Egg climbed towards the exit of the closet, “I’ll scout.”

“I’ll come with you,” Arecel followed, leaving Kamari and I alone in the box called hideout.

Kamari leaned forward, his elbows well rested on his knees. He rubbed his paws together, almost as if he was scratching the back of his hands and in between his fingers. His eyes didn’t meet my own.

“Kamari,” I said, “I didn’t mean-”

“I know” he interjected. “You’re going to have to start trusting me.”

“I do trust you.”

With the words of my lie penetrating his consciousness, his eyes sprinted from a state of avoidance to a state of persistence.

He stood up, giving his hands a needed break from the fidgets.

“No, you don’t. You’re not here for me, are you?”

I sighed.

“No,” I admitted, staring into the endless shadow created by a flickering light in a once forgotten bunker. “I never told you how my girls died.”

Kamari listened. For once, the many faced man mellowed. The guilt, the righteousness, the pity. It all broke away, like tender meat falling off the bone. For once, he just listened.

I continued, “the attack on Leigh.”

“The NCR?”

“No, not NCR. That’s what they told everyone. That was the Wiltshirian’s story, to avoid being tried as war criminals. There were three KRV politicians hiding in Leigh. They knew and they-”

“Howland, I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be. The Wiltshirians traded lives in that war. Now they’re gonna pay.”

Kamari understood. He might not have agreed, in fact I think he probably detested it. But he understood. He simply nodded, patting my shoulder, and understanding.

The weeks that followed were harsh. Jumping from closet to closet was becoming increasingly difficult as Erimo Command quickly transitioned from a mothball bunker to the functional command centre of the parliamentary government of Wiltshire. Kamari told us to wait, and wait we did.

When we heard the news that the King had declared independence, we fawned the same surprise that was plastered on the faces of the Wiltshirians. We took on our roles, our simple jobs, waiting.

Every day, without fail, Kamari checked the batteries in his radio. The time differed, depending on the fake job that Kamari was carrying out that day. His shifts as janitor allowed him more freedom to check, while his foray into cooking kept him occupied enough. But even then, even when he was busy maintaining his façade, he still checked the batteries. And every day, the batteries were found to be working. We waited still.

Weeks passed. And we waited. Enough time to create ourselves fake ID cards, based on a putty mould of a stolen pass. I was in logistics, helping source the food and supplies for the base. After a week of complete lockdown, the first expeditions to the outside world were made. Eventually, I was the only one fortunate enough to get fresh air. The others kept their post.

The truth is, I welcomed the distraction. Day after day, trapped in a confined bunker, drowning in the arrogance of the Wiltshirians. Infantry men would talk, as they do, about the traitors to the north and the traitors in the capital. They talk about /legitimacy/. Their mouths opened and the sewage of their own masturbatory propaganda came rushing out. I wanted nothing more than to sow their lips shut. But instead, we waited. The batteries were checked, my tongue was held, and we waited.

Eventually, the parliamentarians began their march. The mobilisation seemed to happen in an instant, compared to the slog of waiting for weeks. The young Wiltshirians, infantrymen, soldiers, warriors, were all off to fight. The bunker was small enough to let word get around quickly. I heard from Arecel, who heard from an 18-year old recruit called Huck. They were marching on Juneville.

The doors to the bunker churned open, causing a screech throughout the entire bunker. If we were ever going to make a move, the time was now.

“Anything?” I shouted, rushing towards Kamari who’s eyes lay unmoving on his radio.

He shook his head.

Arecel brushed the dust off her JetSword, activating it. “We can’t wait forever. They’re moving - now! We have to as well.”

“We have to wait for our orders,” Kamari exclaimed, still fixated on the radio.

I grabbed a phaser rifle. My hands melted into the metal like they were made for it. My brain was racked, thinking of the last time I held a Wiltshirian phaser.

“Kam!” Egg shouted, “this will all be for nothing!”

Kamari was silent and still as the world we built - the world of acting and logistics - collapsed around him.

Then, the beep. Quiet, yet loud enough to bring us all to the edge of our metaphorical seats. Kamari looked up.

”GSTK: Terminate Bowell. Discard device. Over.”

Without a word, Kamari grabbed his hand phaser. The pounding of his heart was visible through his workmen's uniform. Arecel raised her baby, the JetSword, ready. Egg reached around his torso, loosening a particle gun from his belt that was previously hidden by his long trench-coat like jacket. I lifted my rifle.

“Orders, boss?” Egg said, with almost a smile on his face.

“Egg, Arecel, get to the troops. Cause the fuckers some havoc. Burst tires, spanners, the whole works.” Kamari was back. “Do as much as you can but get out before you’re caught. Escape into the Redlands if you have to. Survive. Good luck.”

Egg nodded, locking eyes with Arecel as they rushed off down the corridor.

“Howland, you’re with me.”

Together, Kamari and I waded our way through the halls of the Erimo bunker. At this point, the guards were half depleted, owing to the mobilisation, or maybe just fatigue. We faced little resistance making our way through the galley and towards the central command post. All the way to the double doors of the command centre. Through a tinted glass, the back of the Prime Minister’s head could be seen nodding.

Kamari placed his hand on the knob of the door. Without a second thought, my hand covered his, holding it in place.

“Go,” I commanded. “I’ve got this.”

“You can’t do this alone.”

“I can - if I don’t mind being gunned down by a dozen generals.”

“You can’t…”

“Kam,” I sighed, “I’ve been ready to die for a long time now. I thought it’d be for revenge. But it’s not. It’s for you. Let me save your son. I can die for him like I couldn’t for them…”

“Howland…”

I stopped him. “No, this is it. You need to get out of this place and survive - /for Eagan/.”

Kamari’s hand relented, falling off the silver knob.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling. He took a step back, patting me on the shoulder for the final time.

He took a few more steps back slowly, before turning around. I shouted.

“One more thing,” I ignored the tear that I could see forming on his cheek. “Tell me, before I go…” I nodded. “Why is your son in danger?”

Kamari wiped the tear from his cheek. “Because they’ll kill him… because he isn’t mine… because he’s Brandon Blackfyre’s bastard.”

I nodded, I understood. Kamari left, probably to catch up with Egg and Arecel. I hope he survived. I hope he made it out, so he could protect the boy. So he could make all of this worthwhile. I do hope.

Turning the silver knob, I crept the door open. Bowell turned around, his face one of surprise.

I smiled, raising my rifle. “I have a present from Max Murcia…”

THE END.