Flames of Attrition, page 1
part #2 of The Unremembered King Series
Flames
of
Attrition
The Unremembered King
Book Two
Vanessa MacLaren-Wray
Copyright © 2023 by Vanessa MacLaren-Wray
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for the purpose of review and/or reference, without explicit permission in writing from the publisher.
Cover design copyright © 2023 by Kelley York
sleepyfoxstudio.net
Published by Water Dragon Publishing
waterdragonpublishing.com
ISBN 978-1-959804-92-5 (EPUB)
First Edition
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For my dad, who served in Korea, Vietnam, and NATO
And for my Uncle Red, who served in France and Italy
And for my Uncle Bob, who served in the Pacific
You couldn’t tell me your war stories, so I made one up for you.
Foreword
The Unremembered King is a two-volume story, and all the gratitude detailed in the Acknowledgments for the first volume applies equally to this one. The Morgan Hill Writers suffered through the first round of development, chapter by chapter. The East Bay Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers provided feedback to deepen the characters and realism of the story. Friends and family kept me sane, more or less. While I may not have taken everyone’s advice, I’m indebted to everyone for their constructive criticisms and encouragement.
I owe much of the grounding for Corren’s memoir to the hidden stories of my military-rooted family. So, I hereby digress into an essay on that topic.
My father and uncles—who saw combat of vastly different types—shared very little of the memories they had to live with, of the conflicts they endured. But they shared the surroundings to those events: their attitudes towards the country they served and the people they served alongside. So while the characters in this book are entirely fictional, these are the kind of service people they are meant to echo: patriotic (but for good reason) and skilled at war (because it’s part of the job), but also egalitarian, caring, knowledgeable, funny, and complex. Flawed, in some aspects, but aren’t we all? Damaged, probably, but not so you can easily see.
The way Corren tells his story—focusing on process, planning, and people—reflects the way I’ve received such stories. So that approach is also inevitably a product of my interpretations of hints, partial revelations, and a few accessible facts. Still, however unavoidable death and destruction may be, a war story isn’t a celebration of blood and gore, it’s about the people who stand for what’s right against those whose ambitions create horrors, about the land and people who need defending.
My father, William G. MacLaren, Jr. (Major General, USAF) flew every military plane he could get his hands on, including spy planes, fighters, bombers, and Chipmunks. His uniform jacket proves, by the awards pinned to it, he had at least a dozen harrowing wartime stories he might have told. He kept in his office a seemingly humorous plaque, awarded by fellow pilots, that he could only have “won” by being shot down in wartime. I never heard that story, either.
However, the rest of his service was an open book. He shared stories of off-duty activities, such as meeting kids at the orphanage he raised funds for in Thailand or being teased by his comrades for spending his free time tinkering with reel-to-reel tape recorders. (“Doesn’t everyone have two?”) I leveraged those rare opportunities when I could watch his interactions with people under his command, in urgent and casual situations. I remember the honest respect between wing commander and airmen, attention to detail, and concern for his people’s safety. He shared process knowledge, such as “The Three C’s” (command, control, communication), the importance of trust, and the need to address security risks, whether due to individual vulnerabilities or system failings.
My uncles, John and Bob Logan, served in World War II on opposite sides of the world. Like their flame-haired sister Lorraine (my mother), they were dubbed “Red” by their friends, so it’s good they weren’t in the same service or the same theater. Might have been confusing. In later years, only John retained the nickname … and then, only with his relatives.
John E. Logan (Private, First Class, US Army) might have had some truly chilling stories to tell—he came home with a silver star (awarded for gallantry in action) and a purple heart. He would have said it wasn’t anything special, that he didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t have done. (I read your commendation, Uncle Red. That’s not what it says.) He was wounded, and returned to the field, because—he’d have said—why not? There was a war on. But he didn’t tell those stories, and brushed off probing questions. He studied chemistry, invented a metal-plating process that he leveraged into a career, and settled into a life he chose for himself, far from those curious questions and close to the found-family he constructed for himself.
Robert L. Logan (Seaman, First Class, US Navy), dodged the whole awards business, so he could keep his war stories even more private. He’d rather talk about the time his big brother taught him how a kid could buy a bleachers ticket to see the Pirates in action and parley that into a down-front seat if you kept your eyes peeled for the ushers. He’d rather tell you about his kids—he raised six of them, shouldering the burden on his own when cancer took his wife far too soon. Or give you advice on quitting smoking. There was only one time I eked out of him a reminiscence about his time at sea. At first, he might have been describing a pleasure cruise, sailing the beautiful Pacific with friends. Suddenly, a flash of memory leaked out, an instant that transformed the sailor he’d just been chatting with into a casualty. They’d been talking, sharing photos and family news, and then … and then …
“Great guy,” my uncle said. “He was a great guy.” Seventy years later, he'd been plunged back into that moment. It might have just happened. You could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice.
“Did I tell you about the time me and Red went to the game?”
“Yeah, Uncle Bob. But tell me again. I want to hear it again.”
Vanessa MacLaren-Wray
June 6, 2023
People of Jeska
The people in my life, and what was up with them when the war started. You think you remember it all? Then skip it. Come back here at need.
• • •
Essential people to know about, although most of these guys are dead:
Orkast: my true-father, armorer, shaman, explorer of thin patches and the worlds they lead to. Dead for years, since my first command.
Yutek of Jeska: twenty-first king of the Unified Districts of Jeska, my adoptive father. The condors are still picking at his bones. I miss him.
Yutek the Younger: son of Yutek, deceased. He did one good thing for Jeska: he dropped dead. I had nothing to do with it.
Tymon: foster-son of Yutek, my brother, senior member of Runners’ House Jeskaryan. A few months ago, he suddenly retired, withdrew all his funds, and bought an apprenticeship with the shamans of Lakeside. Why? You tell me. Well, there was that incident where I caught him in bed with my wife.
Me: Corren, son of Orkast, adopted son of Yutek. Served at NeverSnows (don’t ask), led the forces at Heart’s Bend, survived a turn as Governor of Lakeside. Invested and soon to be installed as king, but only for the duration of the war, thanks to rumor-mongering traitors.
• • •
I left family behind in Lakeside District when the runner arrived with the news Yutek had died. I’m trusting them to lie low, let the invaders pass by, stay safe. Keep in mind that hiding wouldn’t be typical behavior for any one of these people.
Kul: one of the six men who’ve been with me since my first command. Fast and smart, strong as a bear, my right-hand man. He’s supposed to be escorting my wife and son back to Jeskaryan, posing as my brother-in-law.
Heyliannin: the aforesaid wife, also called Ta-ma. Thin-patch traveler, Orkast’s heir-designate, which makes her a shaman, technically. Almost married to Tymon, until she learned more about the ways of runners. Investigator of corruption in Lakeside. She’s pregnant, but the two of us know it’s Tymon’s child, not mine.
Calestinise: my seniormost foster-son, trapper, lady’s-maid, spy. He’s a girl-looking boy, and don’t you dare forget to call him by the right words.
• • •
Another clutch of the missing—my friends, longtime comrades-in-arms, and essential associates. I need these guys with me in Jeskaryan. Yesterday.
Case: our troop’s expert on brews of all kinds, he had been leading an under-the-covers investigative party down the west side of the Great Lake. His crew should be on their way here now, if they got my message about Yutek’s death.
Stevvin: my middle foster son, stableboy, humorist, spy, sports enthusiast. Drives me up the wall, that boy. He set out to carry the news to Case’s crew, the day I left Southeast Township with Harad and Radeo.
Affram: my last foster son, stableboy, serious guy, gamer. Good left hook. Comes in handy when Stevvin gets to needling him.
Karthi and Andus: a matched set, part of my troop from the start. Married. Rarely apart since that one time I sent them off on separate scouting runs. They never let me hear the end of that. Karthi is older, quieter, less inclined to leap into a chaotic situation than Andus, who tends to dive in with both feet. Andus carries the added burden of his brother’s memory. Keev fell at NeverSnows, our first
Ganderrison: midwife to my wife, general medical practitioner. She’s acting as the matriarch of Case’s fake spy family.
• • •
The essential staff I have on-hand here in Jeskaryan:
Arnim: master interrogator, one of my original troop. I’ve just promoted him to commander and I’ve got a mission for him that he won’t like and I don’t want to send him on.
Dramin: our troop’s medic ever since NeverSnows, he’s taken on liaison duties to the Council of Elders during the current crisis. Raised in a medical family, he knows how to talk to the matriarchy.
Radeo: originally one of Ta-ma’s bodyguards, great field cook. We posed as cousins all summer, and now he thinks he can tell me what to eat, when to rest. He’s old enough to be my father and sometimes acts like it.
Harad: Radeo’s partner. He’s been acting as my head bodyguard since we got back from Lakeside, but I need his brain, not his sword-arm. He spent years working for my foster-father; that head of his has a lot of good ideas in it.
Magaran: seniormost officer in the guard, my mentor. He’s managing outbound deployments to HandOverHand right now.
Errem: career captain, bodyguard to the king (that is, me). Haven’t met him yet. Well, we were in under-guards together, but that was a long time ago.
Durse: career soldier, bodyguard; that is, one of the more-competent guys who’ll be following me around for the next few days. The crimp in his nose is from one of those days in under-guards—the day Yutek-en ran his blade down my back.
• • •
Not to leave out the villains:
Fennic: Master Shaman of Jeska, schemer, back-dealer, liar. Typical shaman. Oh, ya, right. Traitor. He’s hiding down in the Shamans’ House, pretending he has no idea what’s going on, when his organization’s been funding the rising insurrection for years now.
Racac: Master Shaman of Lakeside. Traitor, sellout, conniver, child abuser, profiteer. Also, liar and thief. He’s teamed up with the invading Southerners, including kidnapping Lakesider kids and turning them into fanatic soldiers.
Velisennin: leading manager of Southeast Township (home of Shamans’ House, Lakeside), conniver, supporter of the insurrection. Certainly up to no good. Probably not in on the child-soldier scheme. Figure on her killing someone when she finds out.
• • •
People—and others—you’ll hear references to and shouldn’t feel you have to ask someone about:
Asdyel: thin-patch-hopping mantle creature, originally my father’s; now belongs to my wife, but my brother has it in his hands. While the shamans have Tymon in their hands. Most people don’t know the capes shamans wear are living beings.
Eldennian: the woman who should have been my wife, but refused me. Small-holding manager, event organizer. She’s headed north, to keep our kid away from the war.
Deliasin: my daughter, with Eldennian, most beautiful child you ever saw or ever will.
Keev and Shellon: the men from our original troop who fell at NeverSnows. Keev was Andus’ older brother.
Nandeen: merchant, manager’s-husband, border observer, all-around good guy. He’s safe down at South Point with his wife and enormous child.
Goram: Master Smith of Jeskaryan, old, old guy, good with puzzles, code-cracker. He’s reading a book right about now. Not the kind of book you’re thinking about. Or maybe it is.
Part I
Be Prepared to Wait
1
One of the first things i did when the kingship fell on me was sneak into town for a private confrontation with Fennic, Master Shaman of Jeska. The pompous bastard had little response to the clear evidence of his organization’s financial misdealings, but enough to confirm his culpability in my mind. With the nation on the brink of war, dealing with the shamans’ rotten connivance would have to be put off for a few days. My gut jabbed insistent reminders the thieves and liars were up to worse than redirecting funds, but what could I do? Until I could get my matriarchal bosses, the Council of Elders, to order a thorough investigation of a major guild, my hands were tied.
All the long way up the hill to the fortress, I had to fight the urge to march back down there with a dozen men and burn the Shamans’ House down to its foundation. That would have put paid to the agreement I’d made with the elders, to serve as king until the war was over, and then step down. The rumors floating up from Lakeside, concocted by the shamans and their allies, the matriarchs of that restless district, had taken root in Jeskaryan.
The elders figured that if by chance I was right about the coming war, they’d need my skills. So I was useful. Temporarily.
Fine by me. There’d be time for my brother to get over his fantasy of becoming a shaman, and then Tymon could step into those boots. I’d always figured he’d make a better king than me. In peacetime, anyhow.
The next morning, Radeo dragged me out of the first decent sleep I’d had in days and demanded I eat a proper breakfast, as if we were still spying our way through the countryside and pretending to be cousins. I took my old spot at Yutek’s table and picked at the meat and bread. The last time I’d sat in that place, my foster-father had been urging me to track down the corruption in Lakeside. I kept expecting him to walk in and demand to see the results of my labors.
Nothing was as it should be. Yutek dead. My wife, my closest friend, and the boy I was determined to make my foster-son hadn’t made it out of Lakeside with me. I’d had to ride hard and fast when the news came. Heyliannin was pregnant—and a terrible rider in the best of times. Kul would keep her safe, but I couldn’t help worrying about her. She wasn’t the kind of woman to stop and think when a brilliant—to her mind—idea overtook her. Calestinise would have insisted on staying with her, even if we’d had an extra pony for him to ride. He took his job seriously, even if it was that of lady’s maid to my other-world wife.
In Jeskaryan, my three closest retainers—Arnim, Harad, and Radeo—had fallen into place as my personal guards. Worse, here was Radeo, a senior captain, fetching my meals.
That wouldn’t do.
I needed those men on bigger jobs.
As soon as I’d put away enough food to let Radeo believe I wouldn’t starve that day, I told him to go fetch the other two in.
“But then there’ll be no one at the door,” he objected.
“Exactly. So go round up Yutek’s bodyguards. Do they think they’re on leave?”
He hesitated.
“What?”
“Arnim and Harad’s been vetting them out, sir.”
“Oh?”
“We had word some of ’em were not, shall we say, in line with your accession.”
That was bad news. But not so bad it couldn’t be fixed.
“Never mind,” I decided. “Let’s start scratch.” I rummaged pen and ink and paper from Yutek’s desk and made out a list of men I’d fought with enough to feel I could trust them. Not so much men I’d fought alongside. I chose ones I’d had disagreements with before, that we’d worked out one way or another. Men I knew. “These guys I’ve worked with since we were swinging wooden swords at each other in under-guards. Men who remember Yutek-en.”
Radeo took the paper and turned it over in his hands. He squinted at it and his mouth turned down. “This isn’t names, is it?”
He was right—it was descriptions, not names. Magaran would recognize them, that’s what counted. He knew my trouble with names.
“Give the list to Magaran,” I told him. There’s no excuse for a man at Radeo’s level not to be able to read. Except it was never required, was it, if you weren’t training for a job in the bureaucracy, like me. “Tell him what I said. One or two may already be mustering out. Fetch them back if they’re close enough.”
He gave me a nod that was almost a bow and headed out. I heard Arnim’s voice in the corridor and called him in. That would leave Harad cooling his heels outside the door, doing the job of a first-year guardsman. No, that wouldn’t do at all.
I waved Arnim to sit opposite me, and he took Yutek’s old spot with hardly a change of expression. Could always trust Arnim to stay focused on the task.
