Two statues guarded the wide stairway from the first floor of Fortress Marana to the second. The statues were taller than the height of a man, with curved necks and narrow, pointed faces. Each had a long protrusion of flesh from their scalps, hanging down their backs with pointed patterns that were either decorative or functional. Aralim had no idea what they were supposed to be, aside from some form of gargoyle to invoke fear into the people. Of course, all the soldiers were decorated with similarly grotesque and unnatural sculpting on their armaments.
At the top of the five-foot-wide staircase was a double door, defended by two sentries. The visor of one was completely devoid of decoration, while other’s had a protruding bird’s beak between his eyes. The bird-face opened the door into General Ro’s office, while Aralim took one last glance at the wet tiles of the training platform. Two pairs of warriors were sparring in hand-to-hand combat, while trainers and other soldiers watched. There were men and in orange robes here as well, he noticed, as well as a dozen servants and squires of other varieties. The blue lantern staff hesitated in the air for that moment, and then went through the double-doors.
General Ro sat at a desk hewn from dark, smooth stone. A thick papyrus sheet had been laid on his surface, patterned subtly with alternating slashes. The military man was probably ten years Aralim’s senior, with a short layer of grey fuzz across his scalp and a small moustache haloing his mouth. Two medallions hung around his neck, partially obscured by a tanned leather vest he wore over his aging muscles. He tilted his head as Aralim approached. “Walker,” he said, quietly. They had spoken once before, just to assess if Aralim was a foreign spy or assassin.
“General,” Aralim replied. His voice was a little stuffy, for he was still fighting the cold he’d contracted. It was his birthday, on top of everything. He had been born 47 years ago.
The seasoned commander scratched his cheek, then waved a few fingers toward one of the low positioned wooden chairs. Aralim thought the last time he had sat in a proper chair, with legs, was his meeting on Miss Athanu’s balcony. He hoped this conversation would prove more enlightening. “How is Miresh’s training going?” the General asked as the walker situated himself.
“It’s going well, but I like to think I’ll never fully adjust.”
“You’ll never fully adjust to what?” Ro asked. “To magic?”
Aralim smiled. “To the amount of schemes taking place in this city. But also magic.” He chuckled.
The General did not break his stoic expression. “And how is your position as a Selected? Are you suited to Court life?”
“The position on the Third Court is excellent. I’ve encountered an intriguing person or two.” Aralim put a finger on the corner of the stone desk. “It’s the proximity to Ovoe that makes it more difficult, which is the main topic I had hoped to discuss with you.”
Ro leaned back in his cushioned seat. “Ah, yes. I heard about your brief foray into the war. I suppose I ought to be impressed that you exited the strategy with all the parts of you still attached.”
“Unfortunately it was all for nothing. I’m afraid it is a little personal now, however.”
General Ro pursed his lips and inhales heavily. After a moment of regarding Aralim with level eyebrows, he raised one. “Your issues with Ovoe are personal, is what you’re trying to say?”
“They’re… many things, but my main motive is that I don’t want him near Miresh. Of course I also hope to stay with the Emperor’s wishes,” Aralim explained.
General Ro rambled, “The Emperor’s wishes are more varied, more numerous, and more contradictory than anything you and I could keep up with or make our decisions based upon.” He took a deep breath. “My intolerance of Ovoe is well known, but how can you assist me in any way? Do you have skills at subterfuge and investigation? Or at combat? Or are you just a man trying to make a daughter out of a stranger?”
Aralim blinked. “I’m just a man that Ovoe didn’t kill for opposing his wishes, and occasionally surprises the Emperor. I can go if you’d prefer.” He started to stand up.
“Wait,” General Ro said. “Let me explain.”
Aralim sat down again.
“Many years ago, my wife was taken to force my hand—when I refused, I discovered her hand, on my doorstep. And still I refused to betray my duties,” General Ro said, his expression still carved from stone. “I could, at any moment, kill Ovoe without obstacle and without remorse. Should I learn, in whatever jail cell his Ascendance throws me, that I have killed the wrong man, I will be damned to a suffering more eternal than even our Emperor. If you wish Ovoe gone, find me proof that it was he who killed my wife, and your ‘personal’ problem will be no more.”
Aralim absorbed General Ro’s declaration with a few blinks. Sometimes the political maneuvering of the Iron Palace astounded him. Ro did not know him, so Aralim assumed he was willing to present this story of malicious intent to anyone who might aid him. Therefore, Ovoe would know of General Ro’s thoughts. And the Eternal Emperor would know it all. He shook his head to clear it. “I have something different in mind than murder, but that could be discussed after I aid you,” he told the General. “Could you tell me more? What was the action they had hoped to force?”
“A glass first,” General Ro said. He stood up and poured clear liquor into a small glass. Aralim declined one with a gentle shake of his head. “Do they have glass in your homeland?”
“They do,” Aralim said.
General Ro nodded as he regarded his drink without tasting it. “In Radregar, they do not. Perhaps the man who was to invent it in that land was crushed by the Orrish when the heavens decided our land would last and that land would not. I wonder if his Ascendance would survive even that disaster, to rule the ashes.”
Aralim watched as the man downed the contents of the glass and puckered his lips. He sat down again and began his story. “When I was still a sergeant in his Ascendance’s army, I was assigned a mission of great importance, to delivery an individual of great significance to Old Numa. I was not apprised of this person’s identity, but it did not matter. My superiors asked me to delivery them, no matter what, to a fortress there. Two days before I left, my wife, Illena did not come home from the market. I left regardless, when the time came. It was my duty.”
Aralim nodded. Some might consider it foolish, and suggest Ro should have sought out his wife instead. But to Aralim, the General had simply trusted the Path.
“At an inn along the Ake’ma, I opened my door one morning to find a severed ear—dear Illena’s—and a note, on my doorstep. The letter demanded I kill my passenger, or my wife would be killed. We continued. In Maykren, I received a second letter, with one of her hands…” General Ro’s visage finally cracked, and he averted his watery eyes. “This time they told me my wife would be released if I simply ordered my men to leave the passenger in Maykren, so the blackmailer could do the deed in lieu of my weakness to comply.”
The General set his empty cup down with a solid tap, and marched into the next phase of his woeful tale with a hardened scowl. “I completed my delivery. And I heard not a word from the culprit for the entire journey home. I found my wife’s corpse, fresh, and awaiting me at her place at my table, here in our home…” He paused again for a moment, but did not show sadness as he had before. “I spent the next few years trying to determine what had happened. The first step was determining who my passenger had been. She was an average young woman then, and it took a great deal of money and time to determine the answer. She was the most direct descendent of his Ascendance. I spent the next ten years becoming an invaluable member of the Emperor’s Court, and Ovoe has become my top suspect.”
“I see…” Aralim said. He scratched his tender, sniffling nose. “What points to Ovoe as a suspect? Negotiating his demands—lowering his request—does not seem like him from what I have seen.”
Ro smiled. “Motive is the most obvious clue. As for what you observe Ovoe to be is separated by fifteen years… His power has grown and his aggression has been honed. Furthermore, I was not a player at the game then, I was just a soldier. I could give you ten different cases within the last three years where Ovoe has resorted to tactics such as these, in the streets where the Emperor’s friends do not watch…”
“That’s fair…” Aralim muttered, “although, at this point the only evidence that could suffice is a confession…”
General Ro held out his hands like Hayan had at the end of Ghanam and Paraclar. “And so, I continue my duties,” he declared. “I will not act unless I am certain. Ovoe would not do the deed himself, nor would he do it here. I once found a cell in an abandoned warehouse, stained with blood, which could have been where she was held. I’ve never gained an answer about why this woman was moved so securely… My point being, there may be clues, there may not. I will act against Ovoe only if they are determined.”
“A soldier to the end,” Aralim said, puffing out his chest. “If something should come up, I’ll bring it to you. But I feel I can trust you’ve rigorously followed your leads.”
The General smiled. “Of course. That is all that I can ask. Although, I’ve never had his Ascendance’s friendship. I do my duty anyway, so the Emperor has never had need to assist my investigations. But… I am probably overstepping, to even have brought that up.”
“You can always ask. I just wont force it into conversation. The Emperor is too wise to give information he does not intend to give.”
Ro nodded. “That’s very true. And why I haven’t asked directly.”
“I meet with the Emperor far less often than people think…” Aralim said, smiling.
“You met with him nine days ago,” the General said, grinning. “Ovoe’s not the only spy in the Iron Palace.”
Aralim shrugged. “Before that, what? Two months ago?” He smiled.
“Well, it’s been a year since I had a conversation with his Ascendance that was not a military matter or a session of the First Court…”
Aralim raised an eyebrow.
“I think you may have overestimated how unified this government is. The councillors all interact with one another as business requires… but all of our business is also the Emperor’s, courtesy of the Aura and the Keeper of Information also. Instead of a ruler, we get a recluse, or, as the people would say, a god.” General Ro poured himself another glass. “But I’ve been around the Iron Palace long enough to know that Tag’na has not built himself a utopia.”
The Walker nodded ponderously. “I wonder how much of that is due to the Emperor’s fatalistic approach to everyone’s actions…”
“There’s more to it than that, but I’m not the sort of man to stir up gossip. Especially not with a relative stranger… no offence.”
Aralim raised a hand. “None taken. Although you are welcome for tea any time you like.”
The General stood up. “Perhaps I will take you up on that offer, and meet the ever-popular apprentice outside of the court room.”
They nodded to one another and Aralim strode toward the door. He paused, and turned on his lantern staff to look back at the military man. “Oh, before I go, I have an unrelated question. Someone once told me you find Rattar’s ‘crux to be flawed.’ I haven’t much interest in Rattar’s secrets, but what makes a crux flawed?” He regarded the General with an open expression.
“Your curiosity is very well worded…” Rattar chuckled. He crossed his arms. “A Crux must be unchanging. The more deviant it is, the less familiar a magician’s impression of it is, and the more flawed his use of it may be… if you would like more information, perhaps we should wait until I get some tea from you, in the very least.”
Aralim raised his chin, in a big nod and shrugged. “Thank you for your time,” he said, smiling, and exited the office.
A member of the Aura was walking up the steps with a letter in hand for the General. His Ascendance’s presence was everywhere.