“Next time it better be!” Mal snapped.
It is really just that easy—the second man made a mental note—to drive Mal to distraction.
Mal drummed his fingers on the armrest again, the raid on Trades already forgotten.
The second man smiled triumphantly to himself. It was fascinating to observe a man that could control the world, yet not himself. Maybe, maybe, he didn’t control the world as well as he thought either.
“So when activity returns to Edge, you want to create a situation that allows for a variety of observable responses?”
“Yes!” Mal exclaimed as if that was obvious. “You have ideas?”
“A few that I’m working on,” the second man assured. “I still have that map, you know. I have to confess,” he said thoughtfully, unable to resist pushing Mal just a bit further—for research, after all—“I find myself quite fascinated by the captain. I wonder how long he planned on entering the forest. He deserves a great deal of attention. Perhaps we should consider a closer presence for a time. Someone that can get—”
“I want Wiles OUT OF THERE!” Mal bellowed so loudly that his companion blinked in surprise. “I knew he wouldn’t be up to this assignment!”
The second man squinted. “Weren’t you the one who said he was ‘most fit’ for the assignment? Excellent work with the map and all?”
“He’s failed the oaths! Failed his duty! Just GET HIM OUT!”
---
Coaches travelling from Edge to Idumea pass many villages along the way, the wide cobblestone road lined with plenty of inns and taverns willing to take in weary travelers. In a hurry, the trip can be done in two straight days and a night, but rarely do people travel in such a grueling manner. One might die of the excessive distance.
Or of boredom.
Everyone knew that.
So the rest stations were established at intervals along the main road to provide comfort at an elevated price, with lumpy mattresses that felt like goose down after the jostling of the carriage, and gristly food that slid down mucus-lined throats where it met already nauseated bellies whose owners would attribute their increased illness to the torturous ride rather than the “comfort” they paused for. In such a manner, the journey—for those brave enough or desperate enough to take it—could be extended for weeks, ensuring no one chanced death along the journey. Unless they stopped at a particularly scruffy place outside of Rivers.
But army coaches were different. No one was sure exactly how, but they never stopped. Rumor was that they had some kind of privy fashioned into the large black enclosures. But the owners of the comfort stops and taverns grumbled that wasn’t true. The soldiers that rode in the coaches simply had stronger willpower than the rest of the world, or did unmentionable things out the window when they passed the less populated areas. To see a dark army coach whisk by, being pulled by four horses which were changed exclusively at the forts or the Administrators’ larger messaging stations, was to know whatever men it was carrying were in a hurry.
But Sergeant Major Wiles wasn’t aware of any of this as he lay on the coach bench, unsure of his surroundings. Everything had happened so quickly, then slowly, then quickly again as if his mind couldn’t regulate the passage of time.
He was ill—that much he knew—then it was light and dark again, then he was put into the coach, then it rumbled for hours and minutes and days and seconds. All was dark inside the coach and out, and for a lucid moment he began to understand what was happening. He hated that moment, because up until then his mind had allowed him to entertain all kinds of possibilities.
But then the coach door swung open while it still continued at a fast pace along the cobblestones, and when Wiles saw the gloved hand reach in towards him, he knew what was coming.
He didn’t even have a chance to plead for his life. The oaths wouldn’t have allowed it, anyway. The oaths had demanded he do something else days ago, but he hadn’t. That’s why the massive man dressed in black was there—to fulfill the oaths.
He snatched Wiles easily out of the hurrying coach. The old sergeant major didn’t make any sound at all.
The coach continued on, the horses once again speeding up, perhaps sensing their load was now slightly lighter, and galloped their way in the dark towards Idumea.
---
A week after the attacks ended, Captain Shin sat in his office in the command tower and reread the report from General Cush. He looked vainly for loopholes.
Captain Shin,
Your recommendations have been reviewed and discussed among the Command Board and Chairman Mal. We value your efforts to improve the Army of Idumea, but feel many of your ideas are premature or inappropriate.