Borderlands- Act 1 Read online

  I do my best at a satisfied smile. “Excellent! Good man. It’s good that I can always count on you. Tomorrow morning too, if you don’t mind. This may take a while.”

  It will not make it happen any sooner, but I cannot help but sit and watch my bulletin scrolls in their little pigeonholes. Yesterday, I took all afternoon to word the request. It was already dark as I sent it off with high urgency. Now I have to wait, wait for the chain of command to process it, wait for them to consider it and take a decision, wait for the confirmation to come back.

  I detest waiting.

  It might take days. I should probably be outside training the men, honing their skills, but what is the point? I am already pushing them harder than some can bear. They cannot give me what I want until I have given them what they need. Approval of my request is crucial. I need to know as soon as it is given. I need to be here so there is no delay.

  I need to wait.

  The stillness of the room begins to play on my mind. Is the response going to return the way I sent it by bulletin or should I actually be expecting a messenger to hand deliver a sealed letter? What would be a better sign? A knock at the door or a yellowish glow? Surely, a bulletin would be the quickest way to message me. That would indicate speed and urgency, the wish to set things in motion as soon as possible. Then again, a sealed letter demonstrates consideration and dignity. That implies careful thought and a firmness of decision that adds weight to the approval.

  Ridiculous!

  I rub my palms over my face and look up at the ceiling. I am driving myself mad! I let out a long sighing breath. The method of delivery is irrelevant. What matters is that it comes. Sooner rather than later would be good, but most important is that it does eventually come.

  I need to relax.

  I take another long breath and force my limbs to go limp. When I look at the pigeonholes one is filled with light. Snatching out and unrolling the scroll reveals an update for trivial administrative procedures. With a growl of frustration, I let it snap back together and toss it into its box. What was I thinking? That was never going to be the scroll with the response. Top left, that is where it is going to be.

  I eye the document in question. Is it glowing? It certainly looks brighter than its neighbour. I pull it out to inspect it. The paper is dull. I unroll it just to make sure. Blank! I look back at its compartment. The wood of the shelf appears to be glowing. Holding my hand up, I realise that a rogue fragment of reflected daylight has found its way in. Placing the scroll back in its slot, I hurry to close the blinds.

  Darkness embraces me.

  Without a burning lamp or candle, my eyes struggle to adjust. For a moment, I float in a black cocoon. Is this what it is like beyond the shadow wall, in the Realm itself? Stillness? Existence without shape or substance. The terror of knowing that you are utterly impotent. Trapped forever in a cage of nothingness. Is this why the Spawn comes? Not to invade but to escape.

  I shake the questions from my mind. Spawn is for killing! The room may be dark, but it is filled with truth. Concentrating on the air washing in and out of my lungs settles my thoughts. This is not Chaos simply a rational lack of sight. The sound of my own breathing fills me with certainty. I take the two cautious steps back to my chair. The floorboards are hollow but firm. I reach out my hand. The leather of the backrest is smooth and cool under my fingertips. I ease into the seat. The joints creak slightly under my weight. I pat my desktop. Leather polish and wood wax mix with the smoke of the fire and damp on the walls. I blink. Dim outlines of furniture begin to emerge.

  There is strength in certainty.

  Chaos is far away. The Realm cannot find me here. This is why we patrol, to keep the Spawn from reaching the homelands, from corrupting the sacred heart of the Rationalle. I smile in the darkness. It is good to be in the right. To be in control.

  Then it comes.

  With my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the sudden light from the bulletin scrolls makes me flinch. When I check the location of the warm glow, a chill shiver runs through me. This is it. This is the message from central command. My palms turn greasy. Leaning forward, I reach out and withdraw the scroll from its hole and set it on the table. Its luminescence patterns the room with an inviting yellow light and soft edged shadows. The paper is bright enough that I could read a second scroll by it, but as soon as I open it, it shall go dark. My hands shake as I light my reading lamp.

  I focus on the scroll. This is it. This is the point at which my ambitions turn into accomplishments. This is when I begin to turn the tide on my hateful sire. This is the beginning of my rise, of his fall. I take a deep breath, pick up the scroll and pull it open.

  NO!

  No, no, no, no, no! This is not an approval. It is a rejection! No, this is far worse than a rejection. This is a carefully constructed assassination. Every line stings with scorn.

  …The Aether Guard functions on the basis of merit not favour…

  …It would be unethical to single out one Patrol for special treatment…

  …It is not without reason that the town of M’Nessa is a leading light in the Guard…

  …Captain Poagonz Drickter makes for a noble example…

  …Greatness comes from focusing on the task at hand…

  …Petty ambition should be set aside in order to achieve the common goal…

  …Disrespect for procedure is the beginning of anarchy, the breeding ground for Chaos…

  …Every action must be taken in the light of preserving the dignity of the Aether Guard and the sanctity of the Homelands…

  As belittling as this is meant to be, it is tolerable. The mumblings of toothless old men. It is the closing paragraph that really bites deep.

  After careful consideration of Captain Banak Doneir’s request and following consultation with the senior authority pertinent to his case, we are re-assigning a new rota pattern to his patrol. We hope that through adversity rather than privilege he can achieve his true potential.

  Realisation comes slowly. It rises from deep within. Like the tide consuming a condemned man. Limb by limb the numbing chill overtakes me. Senior authority? Adversity not Privilege? I am shivering, my gut a block of ice. Ancients preserve me! What have they done?

  A soft yellow glow.

  Another roll of paper has lit up. It is the bulletin scroll for updates to the patrol relief rotas. My arm is in convulsions as I reach out. I must fight the aversion flooding my whole body. I force my shaking fingers to pinch the paper and pull it from the shelf. Tentatively, I unroll it, fearing what I may be about to read. Inside is a list, a long list, a list far longer than it should be.

  Usually, the relief rota only covers the next one or two cycles at most. This one goes on and on. Scanning down the page I know I have been shafted. Set out in neat columns and rows is the progressive destruction of my goal. Every combination of cycle timing, patrol zone and relieved patrol is carefully selected to ensure the least chance of me achieving my objective. It is not simply a hinderance. It is the slow deliberate murder of my ambitions.

  Like a tsunami reaching the shore, I break.

  “YOU…” My desk is tipped to crash on its side on the floor, “COMPLETE…” A shutter is torn from its frame to jab through the windowpane, “TOTAL…” My writing chair is flung to crash against the far wall, “UTTER…” Shelves are ripped from the wall to be smashed against the floor, “FUCKING…” My sword is drawn to cut deep wedges from the edge of my upturned table, “BASTARD!”

  My rage abates.

  Miraculously, the rejection letter is still scrunched in my left hand. I spread it out and read the last lines again. There can be no doubt. This must be my father’s doing. I can feel him smirking behind the words. Senior authority pertinent to my case? There is nothing like that in the Guard. He has reached into the very heart of the Aether Guard and bent it to his will just so that he can ruin my plans.

  My mood turns from fire to ice.

  The heat of my anger has faded, replaced by a col
d determination. I tear the page in half. “Fuck…” I tear the pieces again, “you,…” and again, “you, miserable, fucking, bastard.” With each calm measured word, the paper is reduced still further. Finally, I toss the pieces into the air.

  As the shreds flutter down, I notice another scroll is glowing gently on the ground. Having ripped the pigeonholes from the wall, I now have no idea which one it might be. With a sigh, I pick it up and roll it out. Reading the long-awaited update to the patrol rankings, I cannot help but smile. He has over done it at last. This move plays right into my hands. Now is my chance to recruit some support. I consider the carnage of my office. An excellent opportunity to leave the mess of my office and visit the officers’ mess. I smile again. If I can still manage a joke, then he has not beaten me yet.

  Entering the mess, I nod nonchalantly at a few fellow officers. One indicates the notice board. “Have you seen the latest bulletins, Banak?” Excellent, word has already spread and the situation is playing into my hands.

  I put on a puzzled frown. “No, should I have?” I wander over to the wall and make a show of reading the various notices. I recognise the copy of the administrative update from earlier. Half turning, I point at it and raise an eyebrow to my prompter. “This?”

  He shakes his head. “No, no, keep going.” He cannot help grinning. He thinks I am going to be pleased.

  The poor fool.

  I force myself to read some more trivia before getting to the most important sheet. Even though I already know what it says, I take a moment to read it line by line as if it’s new to me. Behind me, tension begins to build in the air. “What?” My bark provokes some tentative clapping. I let it build a little. “BONES OF THE ANCIENTS!” My bellowed curse triggers an avalanche of silence that smothers the fledgling applause. In another situation, the stillness might feel awkward. Right now, it is perfect for adding dramatic effect.

  Below the title, a neat list fills the top half of the sheet. My Patrol has done well. Though most would be pleased with our second place, it does smart a little. However, the announcement on the lower half of the page is the real focus of my attention. Snatching down the notice, I turn to face the room. With shocked stares, my fellow officers stand frozen, hands suspended in mid-clap.

  Oh, what lambs!

  I breathe slow and deep letting the air rumble in my throat. Like an angry cornered beast, the sound fills the room with the menace of violence.

  A throat clears. “Not so pleased then?”

  I round on the questioner. “Pleased? With this?” I hold up the offending sheet. “This obscenity, this travesty?” I crush it to a tiny lump in my fist. “No! I’m not pleased with it.” I launch the ball across the room to bounce off the exact centre of the speaker’s forehead. The surprise of the impact drops him into his seat. “And neither should you be, Lieutenant. This new scoring system is an insult, a slur on the name and honour of every dedicated Vegsel patrolman both here in Afreem and throughout the whole of the Aether Guard!”

  Another voice chirps up from the back. "If the golden boy is feeling frustrated, he can always take it up with his girlfriend. I'm sure I'd get plenty of satisfaction looking down on those royal eyelashes as they flutter in my stride.”

  A vulgar guffaw is cut short as I surge across the room. Like storm driven breakers assaulting a cliff, I chase the joker back up against the wall. He puts on a brave face but, stood toe to toe, I can see the fear in his eyes. He's not laughing at the Queen's expense anymore. I lean in even closer. "Speak of her Majesty like that again and I shall obtain all the satisfaction I require, just as a real officer should when defending the Throne." I reach for the handle of my sheathed sword in the small of my back, daring him to retort.

  "Now, now." An arm slips cautiously between us. "Simmer down you two." One hand presses lightly against my chest. "No need to compound insult with injury.” The other hand rests on my elbow, subtly blocking me from drawing my weapon. I consider the mediator. I know him well.

  What in the name of the vilest Spawn is Sgail Krin still doing in the guard house?

  He forces a smile. “Is there, Banak?"

  I swallow as much of my rage as I can manage. "No, Uncle, there isn't. Especially with a turdy Lieutenant that doesn't know his place."

  I take a step back and Krin eases himself into the space, blocking me from the joker. "Perfect, we're all brother officers in the Aether Guard after all." He takes his palm from my chest and balls a fist against his own breastbone. "Shield of the Homelands?"

  He's got me. I can hardly talk about honour and not return the Guard salute. I sigh and thump my chest. "Shield of the Homelands."

  He nods in satisfaction. "Good, how about a drink? Or maybe something more? I sent Vooli on ahead with the rest of the baggage so I’m currently a free agent. We could go into town.” He glances over his shoulder. “I’m sure Lieutenant Rehtils here would be happy to stump up for the first round, eh?” He smiles at me again. “This disagreement will be all behind us as soon as we’ve put ourselves behind a few wenches. What do you say?"

  "No thanks. I've wasted more than enough of my day in here already."

  "You sure? We could even mix a bit of business with the pleasure. I never told you about the ploosbahr we took down on my final patrol. It was enormous! You won't believe what we ended up having to do just to get through the fur!"

  Why did I react like that at the mention of the queen? I already told myself to discard my feelings for her. The heat of my anger is ebbing. Something that might develop into embarrassment is creeping in to fill the vacated space. This was not part of my plan. I need to get out. A blushing fit in the middle of the officers’ mess is the last thing I need right now. "No, another day maybe. I have to get back to my offices. So much admin to catch up on.” I do my best to storm off, flinging the door closed as I exit the room.

  I hurry through the echoing corridors until I arrive back at my door. After entering, I slam that shut too. My offices should provide a peaceful refuge from the world outside. I consider the room. “Shit.” Drab standard issue office furniture is never exactly welcoming. Now turned half to wreckage, it offers no solace whatsoever. Even the hearth seems to be smirking at me as greasy smoke from the last resinous embers reinforce the damp of the walls.

  Rather than just staring at the dull unadorned walls, I stride to the window. I pull back the second blind to avoid having to look through the cracked pain. The view of a dingy brick courtyard overlooked by a host of mostly vacant rooms does little to improve my mood. A little while later, my sullen self-recriminations are interrupted by a sharp rap at the door.

  “Captain?”

  I recognise the voice. “Enter!” Once in, Haddar closes the door without my bidding. It is a signal that he is anticipating a private conversation. I collect my thoughts before turning around to find him standing at ease, quietly waiting. “What is it, Sergeant?”

  “I wanted to check if yeh could throw any light on the rumours, Captain.”

  “Rumours?”

  “Aye, apparently somebody caused a bit of a stir in the officers’ mess. Couldn’e control his joy at climbing to second position in the Kill Rankings. Started throwing compliments and all sorts about.”

  “I am not in the mood, so spare me your wit.”

  Though his gaze has been fixed straight ahead so far, he cannot help a glance at the wreckage of my office. He looks genuinely concerned. “Ambition and drive are all well and good, Banak, but honestly,” he nods at the carnage, “yeh don’t think yer overreacting at all?”

  Reflexively, I draw in a deep breath ready to shout him down. Then, I catch myself. The air comes back out in a long sigh. It is best if he thinks this all happened after my outburst in the canteen rather than before. “No actually, I do not. The Guard should be about fairness and merit and this is neither. After everything we managed on the last patrol, all those trophies we hauled back, we should be in first place. We would be too, if they had not just changed the criteria from Kil
ls per Guard to Kills per Patrol. They are discriminating against us, making it impossible for us to compete.”

  “Firstly, nobody ever promised fair. Secondly, are yeh certain yer priorities are straight? Aren’t we all the Aether Guard together? As long as we’re all doing our bit to stop Chaos getting through, do the rankings even matter?”

  I inspect my toecaps for a moment. Haddar still has a way of making me feel like the naïve recruit he took under his wing in basic training. I snort at the memory. It seems so long ago. The realisation of how far I have come since then snaps me out of my petulance. I must start standing up for myself, literally. I take a deep breath and straighten my back. “Yes, they do. To me, a lot.”

  Haddar is not finished with the argument yet. “Ok, to you maybe, but hardly to anyone else. I mean, if this is all about what I think it is, I have to say, she probably isn’e aware the rankings even exist!”

  He is probably right but the unexpected thought of her again stings me in a way I can barely endure. I look away and re-gather my composure. Forcing my voice to stay level, I look back at him. “I have told you before...” I have to break off and look away again. He knows he has overstepped the line but the apology on his face is edged with such pity that I feel my wounds opening still further. I force a gruff aggressive tone and start again. “Getting first place is what I want. It means I have done a good job. It means I have excelled at my duties.” I square up and look him in the eye. “I want that first place. I have worked hard for it. I deserve it. Nothing you can say is going to convince me otherwise. Furthermore, nothing is going to convince me that Poagonz-BLOODY-Drickter, heroic saviour and grand master of the ancient cult of supreme arrogance, is worthier of that first place than me!” I look him straight in the eye daring him to contradict.

  He takes a moment for his own sigh. “It has nothing to do with how worthy Captain Drickter is or isn’t. It’s aboot picking the fights yeh can win. Drickter commands a Zdadiek, we’re a Vegsel patrol. Yer sulking about being in second place but the next highest Vegsel patrol is Captain Ganse in fifth place. Surely, that’s triumph enough?”