Chapter 157 – A Plethora of Praetorians

Mirian looked back as she left the room. The bishop was watching her. He didn’t have any soul bindings. As soon as he noticed she’d noticed him, he looked away.

Does he know Adria? Or does he know something else?

She would have to find out more later. For now, she followed Praetorian Trinea.

They shut the door to the meeting room. Two of the Praetorians immediately started casting divination spells from their books, while another two cast infrared and illusion-detecting spells.

“Room’s secure,” one of them reported.

A man with dirty blond hair and several scars along his face rolled out a parchment map onto the table. From the strategy meeting, she knew his name was Voran. He had the rank of First Praetorian and was leader of the expedition. “First strike team stays at Citadel and acts as a rapid-response team to any unforeseen developments. Teams two through five, we’ll overwhelm them. Standard flying formations for high-danger unknown targets. Positions also standard. Team two and three will fly over the river in line, then adjust to norm. Two takes a shallow angle, three sharp. Four and five, north along our position, with four shallow, five sharp. Both teams sweep, then reassess target. I’ll lead team two, Trinea, you lead four. Questions?”

Shit, Mirian thought. I didn’t understand half of that. What in the hells is a standard formation, or standard position? Does shallow or sharp mean a swooping attack, or the path across? None of the questions were ones she could actually ask, because Adria would know it all.

The room was silent.

“Teams, ready up. Meet at the takeoff platform at nine. There’s usually a prayer at that hour, so there’s a chance we catch them with their pants down. That gives you a few hours to talk, rehearse, plan, rest—whatever your team needs. Just be ready to fly. What burns in the cage?”

“We are the flame!” came the chant.

“What do we bear?”

“The aegis and the hammer!”

“The crown of eyes rests on our head.”

“The guardians are ever watchful!”

Mirian didn’t recognize the chants at all, though she could catch the religious references. Again, Trinea was looking at her. Some of the others might have noticed her conspicuous silence.

“Adria, what position?” Trinea asked as they broke off.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to improvise based on the tactical situation,” she said. “There’s some new tricks I learned up in Torrviol.”

Trinea stared at Mirian, then said to the others, “Our squad will use the usual positions. Rest up. Adria and I need to talk.” As soon as they were out in the hall, she said, “Something’s wrong. If I didn’t know your face, I wouldn’t recognize you. You didn’t say the vow.”

Mirian said, “Is there a garden we can walk in? I noticed a critical flaw in the anti-spy procedure. Namely, it wouldn’t have detected someone simply listening in with no magic.”

Trinea’s eyes widened. “That’s routine procedure, not—wait, do you have reason to believe…?” Then she looked around. “This way.”

They made their way out the Citadel and into a garden on the east of the hill. Manors, spires, and temples were all laid out around the edge of the hill, looking out to the city. The garden was full of strange looking desert plants, leaves and stems all decorated with spikes and edges. Here, there were aloe plants, there, echeveria. There were jade plants, yucca trees, and a dozen succulents displaying vibrant colors she didn’t know the names of. All of it formed a tapestry of texture and color, so different than the temperate forests of the west, but beautiful in ways they could never match. Like home.

“Adria, what is going on?”

“How have you been?” Mirian asked, giving her the gentle smile she’d seen Specter use when she was performing as Adria.

“Fine. Well, enough, I suppose. I just miss my friend.”

Mirian nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. I said there’s a crisis developing in the north, and there is. But there’s also a crisis out west. Have you been getting my letters?”

“Infrequently.”

“And what did they say?”

“You would know.”

“I do, but humor me.”

“Never much after those first few years. Mostly how busy you were. Mostly how you still couldn’t talk about what you were working on, either assignment. And you stopped asking about… was it the accident?”

What accident? “The project became political. As best I can tell, Deeps started intercepting my mail.”

“They what!? Adria, that’s a crown offense! The Royal Couriers are sacred!”

Mirian tried to put herself in the position of the dead Praetorian. “The law only means anything if it can be enforced. I could never find out who. It was like trying to pin down a shadow. But I couldn’t leave either, I had my duty.”

“I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t have. It’s kept me out of the know, though. Don’t get me wrong, it’s lucky you’re all here, but… why?”

“They think they found him.”

It was clear Mirian was supposed to know who ‘he’ was. “I’m sorry, I don’t know—”

She turned toward her and spoke in a harsh whisper. “Him! The necromancer! Atroxcidi!”

Mirian’s heart caught. “Where?” Surely not in Alkazaria!

“In a Persaman town along the East Sound. Spotted twice, once in Falijmali, then again by the ruins in the north wastes. It was the strange arcane activity that made them pay attention to the area, and it worked.”

“Arcane activity. Like the eruptions?”

Trinea nodded. “What if he’s the source?”

Mirian blinked. “But he can’t be. The eruptions have happened as far as west Akana Praediar.”

The other Praetorian kept her voice low. “Maybe the rules are different when you reach that kind of power. Maybe he discovered an ancient machine. Either way, we eliminate a blade that’s been hanging over Baracuel for generations. One less thing for you to worry about, at least. The Deeps are sure—” Trinea hesitated, making the connection. “Unless we’ve been lied to.”

“Is there any independent confirmation of the sighting?”

“No. We’ve done divination sweeps of the area, of course, but he’s too clever for that. Wait… is this connected to Dawn’s Peace? Could this be how they did it?”

Mirian didn’t think so. After all, if Ibrahim had an army and the arch-necromancer who beat an archmage and his entire cadre in a duel, not even the Praetorians could stop him. But she couldn’t exactly reveal that she knew the Persamans had a Prophet without introducing the question of how she knew that.

Instead, she changed the topic. “There’s another possible source of the arcane eruptions. We discovered a myrvite titan lying next to a leyline. From what we can tell, it’s going to surface at the end of the month. Just north of us. That’s why I’m here. And the Deeps is running interference for some Gods-forsaken reason, so the resources I’ve been able to assemble in such a short time frame are limited.”

Trinea blinked at her. “An Elder titan. From… like from ancient times?”

She nodded.

“That can’t be.”

“I wish that were true.”

“Then you have to tell Voran.”

“As soon as we’re done with the assault. Now there’s two things we need to save Alkazaria from.”

Trinea looked at Mirian again, searching for something. “You’ve changed so much,” she said. Then she said, “Did they give up on the relic? Who’s watching over the hostage?”

Mirian’s mind raced. Hostage? What in the hells is she talking about? “I don’t know. Someone,” she said, as calmly as she could. “I was focused on the new development. There’s no way they give up on the relic, especially now.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author’s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

They fell into an awkward silence as they walked. The grounds of the gardens were mostly empty. Some of the families had boarded up their windows, or hired workers to fortify their manors.

“There’s so much to say,” Trinea said. “I don’t know where to begin. How’s your partner?”

Mirian knew at least a little of Adria’s boyfriend in Palendurio from the letters. “Well enough, considering the circumstances. When this is finally over, I’ll go see him.”

“He didn’t come see you?”

She sighed softly the way she’d heard Specter do it. “His own circumstances. It’s been a tough few years.”

“You should have let me come and see you last year. I still don’t understand.”

Because that was Specter trying to keep her cover from getting blown, she knew. “I was trying to keep you away from the politics. But I couldn’t just say that, because I didn’t know if they’d open the letter and know I was on to them.”