Insignia, page 31
Giles continues to shout, “You are the ones who told me he was dead without letting me see him! He was my only child and I didn’t even get to bury him! Whoever the townspeople saw last night was not my son! It was a demon because he was never buried on hollow ground!”
Dicun squats down, lowering his face to Giles’ still pressed against the table. “We’re going to need you to refrain from raising your voice at us. Or we will arrest you for threatening a member of the Cavalry. They’ve got a special place for people like you.”
Calix leans, putting his weight on Giles’ head, pressing his face harder against the table. “I’m not believing this crap of it being a demon. Tell us, baker.” Calix spits the last word. “Now, tell me. Who was it?”
Why does it matter who it was? They said they killed him. Why won’t they leave me alone? Giles wonders. Spit runs from the side of his mouth, caking the flour to his lips. Plumes of white dust float from the table as he huffs, struggling in the Rider's hand.
“I don’t know!” Giles cries, out broken.
These are the people Stirling had so desperately wanted to be. They are the reason he is dead. They were unable to accurately conduct their job in finding him and returning him home. They declared him dead. Now they are here, with the glint of murder in their eyes. These people aren’t our guardians. These people are our nightmares.
Before releasing his hold on Giles’ head, Calix drags his face down to the edge of the table. Giles, no longer holding up his own weight, collapses to the floor with the help of an unfriendly hand. Frightened like a small child, he peaks up at Calix and Dicun, his mind flashing back to the boy who lay terrified on this floor last night. The way he wore fear-filled eyes, but not the way he is now, staring up at strangers threatening his life. The boy had pleaded up at him as if someone he loved and trusted hurt him, shattering him into pieces.
“Mr. Bakere, you need to tell us the truth. Otherwise, we can take it as you are withholding information and we have ways to extract the information from you. So, I’ll ask you one more time. What do you remember from last night?” Dicun stresses, his figure towering over Giles.
“It was dark, I only had one candle lit and I dropped it. He was tall with curly light-colored hair. He was wearing a cloak, so I didn’t see his mark,” Giles stammers. “He-he—” Giles stops. “He looked a lot like my son, Stirling,” he tells them, “but Stirling is dead! My son is dead!” Tears begin to trickle down his cheeks as he murmurs, “He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.”
Dicun turns to Calix. “We’re done here. I’ve got what I need.”
Calix’s face twists as he sneers, “Sir, he has admitted nothing. A few broken fingers will get us some real answers.”
Dicun steps closer to Calix, their chest almost touching. He leans in and speaks, barely audible in his ear, “Watch your tone, child. You obviously know nothing.” Dicun straightens back up and says clearly, “We’re done here.”
He glances down at Giles. “Clean yourself up, Mr. Bakere.” He pushes past Calix, who is seething.
Calix talks through his teeth down at Giles, “You’re lucky he’s here, baker.”
Giles collapses, lying on his back as the door slams behind Calix, and sobs. He cries over the loss of his son. He cries for the idea he was alive, and he loses him again. He cries for the love he never got to show him, and for the father, he should have been to him. He cries for his wife, the love of his life, and the one person who would have prevented all of this from happening.
Sixty-Five
Inside the antechamber, Unit Larua sits patiently around an enormous yew wood table with a runner stretching from one side to the other colored with the Winged Cavalry’s coat of arms; red and purple quartered with a silhouette of a wyvern. A candle chandelier made of wood and dark metal hangs above the table. If Amiria lets her eyes gloss over, the chandelier blurs out of focus, and the excessive amount of candles blends into one large ball of fire floating above them. Torches mounted to the walls light the tapestries of honored Winged Riders and weapons through the ages.
On one side of the table, Amiria sits in the last seat before the end. Calix poised beside her with his arms crossed. The member who stood outside the bakery holding the horses named Everard sits across the table from her beside Eda, the only other female on the team in her late twenties. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a short braid reaching to her collar.
Dicun sits on the other side of Calix directly across from Armundus, the most senior member of her squad besides Captain Gautier; he tends to remain silent, his features a statue. Amiria has only spoken a few words to him over the past few years.
At the end of the table, King Dietrich sits at the head. Her father, out of her peripheral view, sits across from Captain Gautier beside Dicun.
King Dietrich glares down the length of the table, eyes stopping on each of the members of his personal guards sitting stiffly with their shoulders pulled against the back of their seats, none wanting to meet his eye.
“You disappointed me last night. I am making the assumption the fugitive who should have been brought down has made it to Uviktiland. Tracks in the sand leading into the tree line had been spotted this morning by scouts. Because of your failure, I now have to include other squads in this investigation since you can no longer be trusted to complete your assignments alone.
“I should fire all of you today, but I don’t have the time to find a new team of Riders possessing the same talents you are so luckily gifted in. You have caused me embarrassment because, as much as it pained me, I had to send a letter to the King of Uvikitland requesting permission to search his land since we couldn’t control what we know now as a single boy. This permission won’t come for free. You’ve cost your kingdom a lot of resources. Let that sink in. Remember who this falls back onto—” He stops as the members stare down at the wood grains of the table, feeling the weight of each stone King Dietrich is personally setting on their shoulders.
He resumes, “The citizens shall believe the fugitive has been shot and killed, any further information is classified and anyone prying for answers on the topic will be arrested. We don’t want anyone getting any sort of ideas. If any of you leak even the smallest amount of information, you will be charged with treason and sentenced to death. I don’t care what talent you have. I don’t stand for mutiny. I will be splitting you in half to lead a specialized reconnaissance team.
“Armundus, Eda, and Everard you will be joining the first team, team requaero. You will be taking two units of my picking to survey the surroundings and geography of Uviktiland. You need to gain all intel you are able to on where this fugitive can be hiding. You will begin operations build up immediately on how to survey the landscape and configure an accurate map of the land. You will be dispatched as soon as I get the response letter from their King.
“Dicun, Calix, and Amiria, you will remain here. You will be joining the secondary team, team perimo. You will be making contact at the rendezvous point that is not yet determined. Team requaero, you will decide on a designated location deemed safe and secure. The location you will send back with a runner. Team perimo. You will take their intel and you will locate this fugitive and kill on site.”
King Dietrich pauses again as Amiria’s squad refrains from squirming under his heavy presence. “You will be deploying to check in all directions, north, east, and south.”
Amiria’s fist clenches in her lap beneath the table, the memory of her and Stirling sitting in the cave still fresh in her mind. “If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”
“The southeast.”
“Permission to speak, sir,” Amiria exclaims.
The entire table all shifts their gaze in silence to Amiria. She feels like she’s stuck on display in the stocks for everyone to gawk at. Without moving his head, Calix’s gaze drops down to Amiria’s hands still balled into fists. Field Marshal Rey shoots a warning in his daughter’s direction.
King Dietrich smiles deviously. “Permission granted, Ms. Rey.”
“I have a strong belief this boy will not travel south or southeast. It will be a waste of men to send them in those directions,” Amiria suggests.
“Oh? Now, why do you say that?” King Dietrich says, intrigued.
“I’ve been made aware I am of the same age as the fugitive. He is young and inexperienced. We don’t know what the world to the south and southeast is like. It is unknown to us. We live a perfectly structured life here. Nothing is ever unknown to us. We know exactly where to go and what we should be doing. So, a whole uncharted world? That sounds frightening to someone who has most likely never even left this section of the island before. The most reasonable direction he would go in is Uviktiland’s mountainous range in the north. It is something semi-familiar and gives him an excellent cover. Those mountains themselves need a whole team to cover,” she proposes, keeping her breathing steady.
King Dietrich sits back, his jeweled hands intertwined and resting on his flat stomach. His eyes follow the flow of her dark that flows over her shoulder and down her chest. His eyes flit over to the young Gautier at her side, who’s distracted by something in her lap or the ground. He returns his gaze to Amiria’s eyes, pursing his lips he ponders to himself over the information Amiria has given him. “I will take your words into consideration.”
The eyes of Amiria’s squad members stab into her repeatedly. She can’t meet any of their eyes, afraid they will read the lie on her face, read the pages revealing she was the one who cost them the mission, the one who purposefully committed mutiny.
Calix watches discreetly as Amiria swallows hard, her hands still clenched beneath the table.
“Field Marshal Rey, Captain Gautier, we have more to discuss. The rest of you are dismissed, return to your quarters till further notice,” King Dietrich instructs.
Outside the antechamber in a large hallway lit by the afternoon sun shining in through tall thin windows with the top of each one rounded in an arch, Amiria is the last to exit the room. She softly closes the door behind her and trails the group as they begin their loud obnoxious chatter.
“How much are you willing to bet I’ll bring that boy’s head to the king?” Dicun says to Armundus.
Armundus gives Dicun a sideways glance. “Nothing.”
Everard pushes forward, joining the conversation. “That’s because his demise will be by my own sword. I’ve got the best swordsmith money can buy, sharpening it right now. I’m also on the first team. So, you won’t even get the opportunity to search at all.”
Eda links her arms around Everard’s, “You men go ahead and kill the boy as gruesomely as your heart desires. My eyes are on that dragon. I want to see what those feathered wings look like up close. They will add such a lovely color to my room. Plain walls can be so cold and dreary. It’ll surely brighten it up,” Eda chimes, her eyes sparkling as she fantasizes how she will use them.
“Why are you so sure we need to kill the dragon?” Calix asks. “It is a new species. Do we not want to keep it?”
Eda scoffs, “Do you know nothing? If this traitorous boy bonded—” Her facial expression twists with disgust as she says the word. “—with this dragon. Then this dragon will fight to the death to protect him. There is no re-bonding with dragons. Obvious information. If you were the top of your class, I’d hate to see how the rest of you tested.”
“Watch how you speak to me, Eda. Just because you are my senior by only a few years, it does not give you permission to do so. Remember where my family stands to yours,” Calix growls. “If anyone is going to bring that boy’s head to the king, it’ll be me and when I take over for my father, you will be taking orders from me.”
Amiria doesn’t follow the group as they turn right at the end of the hallway. She can’t stand listening to them anymore. The way they speak about Stirling as if he is some sort of game. As if they were a group of hunters and he is the buck they want to bring home to display on their mantle.
Feeling sick to her stomach, Amiria turns down the opposite corridor. The thoughts of her teammates finding Stirling runs through her mind. She hates him for abandoning her, but she doesn’t want her friend to die. He wouldn’t last a minute in hand-to-hand combat against any of them. He has no special training, no special bloodline. He is only human. His crime that is punishable by death? Nothing but wanting to be something he was told he couldn’t. He isn’t some sort of monster that needs to be slayed.
“Amiria Rey, now where can you be off to?” Calix slyly calls out to her.
Rolling her eyes, Amiria refuses to acknowledge him and continues walking. Calix slowly jogs after her.
“It’s rude to ignore someone,” he says, catching up to her. Amiria slows to a stop as he steps in front of her.
“What do you want?” she bites.
Calix steps closer to her as he talks. In return, Amiria instinctively steps away backward. “Just thought we could spend some time together before we deploy to new lands as a team.” Amiria’s back bumps into the colorfully painted wall. Calix presses his palms against the wall on either side of her head, trapping her in place. “It’s really good to get to know your partners.”
“And what makes you think I’m interested in getting to know my partners?” She raises her eyebrow.
“Because then we can really know each other, inside and out.” Calix grins a mischievous smile.
He shifts all his pressure to his left hand, freeing his right.
He picks up a portion of Amiria’s hair, letting the dark silk slide through his fingers until it reaches the end, where he stops and plays with the soft strands, “You seemed pretty sure of yourself back there when you told the king about the fugitive not going southeast. Is there something you’re keeping from me, my little bird?”
Amiria grabs his hand, “I know if you don’t let go of my hair, I will be forced to cut your hand off for indecently touching a personnel of a higher family status.”
Amiria slips under Calix’s arm, pulling it behind him with her. With his arm wrenched behind his back. Amiria slams him against the wall, “But I’d hate to upset the king by staining his nice floors with the blood of someone like you.” She pushes off him, stepping back a safe distance out of his reach.
Calix spins around, his back still leaning against the wall, “You better watch yourself Amiria. I will win you over, or I will ruin you.”
Amiria pivots on her heel, her hair whipping as she turns away from him. “I don’t see any difference.” She calls out over her shoulder.
She can feel his stare like burning arrows piercing her back as she calmly walks away. She slips around a corner, prepared to take a breath of relief but instead freezes as she hears Captain Gautier call out Calix’s name. He sounds furious.
Flattening herself against the wall, she scoots to the edge and peaks around the corner.
Calix stands up straight from leaning against the wall and turns to face his father. He is the spitting image of the Captain, as if he is a younger clone, with the same dark hair and crystal eyes.
Captain Gautier’s eyebrows furrow. In a blur of movement, he backhands Calix across the face. His knuckles connect hard against Calix’s cheekbone, whipping his head to the side. He doesn’t move, his head staying where it was forcibly positioned by his father’s hand.
Amiria gasps silently.
Captain Gautier leans into Calix, his voice the deep rumble of a thunderstorm. “If you ever embarrass me in front of the king like that again, I will disown you.” He spits on the floor at Calix’s feet, “If that is how you will perform during the most crucial missions of your life, you do not deserve to carry on our family’s name.”
Calix doesn’t move, his eyes directed at the floor as he mumbles, “You failed too. You oversee us.”
Captain Gautier becomes enraged, grabbing Calix’s face, his hand cupped under his jaw, his claws digging into Calix’s cheeks as he forces him to look him in the eye. “Do not speak against me. Do you understand me? Fail me again, and you’re gone. I have more children to succeed your mother and me. You’re disposable, just like he was.” Captain Gautier releases his grip on Calix with a throw of his hand.
Calix sidesteps to keep his balance.
“Look at you, you’re pathetic. Twenty-four and still haven’t wed. You’ll be lonely forever. You need to get your life together Calix.” He lowers his voice for only Calix to hear. “Get the Rey girl on your own before I have to arrange it. Because I’m starting to reconsider that your younger brother has a better chance.”
Calix whispers half to himself, “I don’t like her because she’s the next Field Marshal.”
Missing the tail of the conversation, Amiria slinks away before anyone notices she was eavesdropping. Amiria feels like she should be happy to see Calix getting what she believes he deserves after the way he treats her and everyone else as if they are no more than objects. But she isn’t glad. It was solely her fault, yet her father isn’t upset with her. Of course, her father tends to be too busy to pay much attention to her, even to be disciplined.
Justice isn’t as sweet as she thought it would be. It is sour, and she wants nothing more than to spit it out.
Sixty-Six
The sun is beginning to lower in the sky, striking the back of their heads as they continue forward. Stirling pushes through a large thicket and turns back to face the sun. He holds his thumb up horizontally to the sky, measuring the distance between the sun and the horizon.
The land had flattened out compared to the mountainous region he spent his life in. Other than being high in the air he has never been able to see such an expansive distance before. He grew up shadowed by leaning buildings, towering pines, and mountains that disappeared into the clouds. It gives him an almost dizzy feeling, the feeling of eternity, the land a limitless stretch in front of him, never to end.
