Chapter One Hundred Eighteen: ‘O, radiant Star...!’

It had been ages since Parson Miles last visited Jesbol. The capital city of Corpei looked nothing like he remembered. It was all cloud-grazing towers now, making the mountains they stood upon seem almost like an afterthought. Parson remembered when this place was little more than a hamlet, snuggled up to a lone salt mine and barely scraping by because of it.

He wondered if Jackson remembered that as well.

The Vanguard’s central facility in Corpei was no impressive thing. It looked just as humble as every other building they owned in this country. Field Marshal Jackson was a firm believer in the old Vanguardian tactic of blending in, Parson knew. Leaders like that were becoming less and less common, it seemed, so that was a quality Parson could admire.

He walked right into the tiny headquarters, and a lone guardsman reading a newspaper with his apparent reaper just waved the captain general on. Parson proceeded farther in but soon noticed something amiss.

‘What’s that look on your face?’ Overra asked him.

‘There’s an ashy smell in the air,’ he informed her. To his eyes, she was a faceless angel, winged and glowing all over with a soft white light, save only for her halo, which emanated gold instead. ‘Do you sense anything strange?’

‘No,’ she said, as ever devoid of any sort of expression. ‘Jackson is ahead and to the right.’

When they turned the corner, the hallway became abruptly black. Charred, to be specific, and he could hear the floor crunching under his boots.

Odd.

He shrugged and kept going.

Jackson’s small office was entirely burnt black as well, save only his desk and chair in the middle, both of which looked new. The room was also missing a ceiling. Instead, it was just open blue sky there, in spite of the fact that there should have been another two floors above them.

“Did we catch you in the middle of redecorating?” Parson asked. “I like it.”

Jackson looked up from the document he was reading, but as soon as he took his eyes off the paper, it burst into flames and disintegrated in his hands. “Dagh!” The man stood up from his chair and took an exasperated breath.

It was only then that Parson was able to get a good look at Jackson’s unique overcoat. The thing was a complex swirl of white and crimson, and it was supposed to be fireproof, Parson knew, but about half of it was missing, and now it looked more like some kind of torn and melted cloak.

Parson had heard about Jackson’s recent victory here, but he’d been too pressed for time to find out any of the details. Frankly, the whole thing had been a surprise--perhaps even to Jackson, by the look of things.

By appearance alone, Jackson was actually quite short, but his face could have been chiseled from bronze, dark complexion and all, and his eyes were as brilliant a blue as Parson had ever seen.

“Best not get too close to me,” the field marshal warned. “I accidentally incinerated Kane earlier.”

Parson blinked at that. “Kane? As in, Field Marshal Kane?”

“Yes.”

“And by ‘incinerated,’ you don’t mean...?”

“Oh, no, of course not. He’s fine now. Though, if you run into him, I wouldn’t advise bringing it up. He seemed rather upset.”

Parson decided to take a few steps backward. If he was being completely honest, Jackson’s power was one of the ones he feared most in this world, if only because it held such an overwhelming advantage against him. So to then find out that the man was having difficulty controlling it--this was not the most comforting news.

“Where is Hyozen?” Parson asked.

“Resting,” said Jackson.

Parson didn’t want to let the conversation slacken. The longer he could dance around his reason for being here, the better. “So Abolish has really been run out of Horsht, huh?”

“It seems so.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

Parson didn’t like the way the man was staring at him. “I know you’re not one for celebrations, but I doubt anyone could argue that you don’t deserve one. A big party. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“A celebration would be one of the most foolish things I could possibly do right now,” said Jackson.

“You’re much more uptight than I remember,” said Parson. “Is that your wife’s influence?”

“Are you trying to annoy me?” said Jackson. “I don’t see why. You usually do it so effortlessly.”

That pulled a barking laugh out of Overra. ‘I’m glad to see that biting wit of yours hasn’t changed. You’ll have to forgive Parson. I think he’s somehow getting stupider with age.’

Parson just frowned.

‘One could argue that Abolish is at its most dangerous after taking a major loss like this,’ she went on. ‘I’m sure they’ll be feeling the need to reciprocate. And soon, too. Else the balance of power will begin to shift in our favor. And Dozer can’t very well let that happen.’

She was right, Parson knew. Morgunov was about as predictable as a lottery that used imaginary numbers, but Dozer, at least, would certainly not take this lying down. Gunther and Dunhouser had both belonged to him. Their deaths would undoubtedly leave a power vacuum that many of Dozer’s other men would be looking to fill, and what better way to distinguish oneself in their master’s eyes than through battle?

There was no need to voice his concerns, though. Overra had it covered, and besides, he was supposed to be the stupid one.

“The only question is where Dozer will strike,” said Jackson.

‘Certainly not here,’ said Overra. ‘Trying to retake Horsht from you would be messy, at best, and draw Sermung’s attention, at worst. If I were him, I’d redouble my efforts to seize Korgum.’

Doubtful, Parson figured. While it was true that finally getting a hold of Korgum would certainly make up for losing Horsht, it would still be a long shot. At the moment, winning that territory meant courting Chaos itself.

“I don’t think he would push any harder for Korgum,” said Jackson. “He’d run the risk of overextending himself there, and Dozer isn’t one for gambling.”

Parson had to agree. That old bastard had built his empire upon calculated strikes and measured responses. He wasn’t the type of opponent who could be expected to make any strategic mistakes. A most irritating enemy, to be sure. And against such a foe, even the most carefully laid plans were all but worthless. Parson Miles had spent many years learning that lesson the hard way.

“Perhaps we should accelerate Blacksong,” Parson suggested.

Jackson scowled, and Parson’s coat caught fire. “Oh!”

Parson hurriedly patted himself down, trying not to panic with the knowledge that if he used his own power right now, Jackson’s flames would swallow him whole.

“Sorry,” said Jackson. “But honestly, Blacksong? The project that your Gema Elroy might have leaked to Abolish?”

Parson was still patting. The flames weren’t going out. “Did you soul-empower these?!”

“No.”

“Well, could you put them out, please?!” Now they were spreading.

“Eh, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Sir, please!” Parson dropped to the floor and started rolling. It made no difference whatsoever. He could feel the searing pain beginning to pierce his passive soul defense.

“Oh, very well.”

And in a blink, the fire extinguished itself, leaving only his smote uniform and smoking flesh behind. No actual damage had been done, as far as Parson could tell, but it was more than enough of a glimpse at the power that this person now possessed. Perhaps that had been the marshal’s intention.

“Project Blacksong has always been a fool’s errand,” Jackson went on. “Now, it has only become more so.”

Flames aside, that was the reaction Parson had been expecting. Jackson’s disapproval of Blacksong was only natural.

On the surface, Blacksong was a multinational operation with the expressed purpose of discovering and exploiting weaknesses in Abolish’s territory. Specifically, it was an initiative which would mount a simultaneous offensive against twenty-nine Abolish strongholds spread all across the Eloan continent. It was going to be the largest coordinated assault carried out by the Vanguard in decades.

But that was not the part Jackson had a problem with, Parson knew. Jackson disliked one of Blacksong’s many hidden objectives--albeit the primary one.

That was, to turn the Monster of the East away from Abolish. Or at the very least, away from Dozer.

Parson doubted anyone would ever be able to convince Jackson that this was a viable strategy. The Star of the West and the Monster of the East--these monikers were not coincidental. Even among non-servants, their rivalry was well-known.

Jackson saw Gohvis purely for the monster that he quite literally was, but Parson had seen shades of something else, something that still retained at least some semblance of humanity. He’d seen it thirty years ago, thanks entirely to the massacre of House Elroy, the one from which only two young teenagers and a single reaper survived.

The one Parson had helped orchestrate.

In truth, however, it had not been a plan of his or Overra’s making. Rather, they had simply been following the orders of Air Marshal Artemis.

In all his years, Parson had never known a more ruthless and vengeful member of the Vanguard than Artemis. Save, perhaps, Lamont. But that was another matter. Ultimately, Artemis was the one who decided to exterminate the Elroys, and his motivation for doing so had been a largely primitive combination of fear and hatred. Because, as Artemis discovered, House Elroy was the bloodline which spawned the monster now known as Gohvis.

Naturally, the Vanguard could not simply go around massacring people. Which was why Abolish’s involvement was necessary. Disgusting scum though they were, they still had their uses, and Parson knew how to handle them. That was why Artemis had promoted him in the first place, after all.

But Zeff, Joana, and Axiolis survived. Artemis considered that a problem, especially with the Rainlords on high alert. Worse still, the survivors were able to identify the Abolishers contracted for the job. That, in turn, meant that there was a chance--a very, very slim chance, but still a chance--that the Rainlords would’ve been able to discover who those Abolishers worked for. Parson had been careful, so the Rainlords still would’ve had a rather long and winding road to the truth ahead of them, but Artemis wasn’t one for loose ends.

And hilariously, that very tendency proved to be Artemis’ downfall. The air marshal went to extinguish the Abolishers they’d used, but the Monster was already there, killing them all and mounting their heads on spikes. And when the Monster sensed Artemis’ presence in that place, that was it. A death sentence. Artemis escaped, sure, but it hardly mattered. Over the next three years, Gohvis hunted him down.

All the while, Parson was profoundly glad that he’d only ever used Artemis’ name when dealing with Abolish. If he’d allowed himself to be identified even once, then the Monster probably would’ve hunted him down, too.

Now, there was no one else left who knew the truth of that story. Only Parson and Overra.

But it had been enough. A glimpse of the Monster’s lingering humanity. Surely, that demanded further investigation. So over the next several years, that was exactly what Parson did. And during that time, Zeff Elroy resurfaced, wishing to rejoin the Vanguard.

Parson could not have been more pleased.

Zeff didn’t know of his family’s connection to Gohvis, and even Axiolis seemed unaware, though Parson could never be entirely sure how much the old reaper knew. Regardless, the best way to discover more about Gohvis was to groom Zeff. This much was obvious.

But there was a problem. The more Parson got to know Zeff, the more it became clear: this boy would never be able to pull it off. Parson needed someone who could infiltrate Abolish and get close to the Monster. An Elroy should have been perfect for the task, but Zeff simply did not have the temperament. The boy was not a spy. He could hardly tell a lie to save his own life. Most of these modern Rainlords were like that, it seemed. According to Overra, they used to be so much more skilled in sabotage and deception, but generations of governing, power, and self-congratulations had made them too proud for their own good. How could they claim “honor” was of such importance when their ancestors practically invented guerrilla warfare? Where was the logic in that?

Instead, the key went to waste, reduced to normal service like any other Vanguardian, and Parson was left to scrounge for scraps of intel wherever he could find them. Painfully slow and inefficient. Which was actually strange. Gohvis did not make a habit of showcasing his exploits like most of the other Abolishers. His deeds were few and far between.

After years of negligible progress, the mission was all but dead. The Covert Intelligence Division had given up on turning Gohvis and moved on to other, more appealing targets. It was a common enough tactic, and Gohvis had by no means been their first attempt.

But then Gema Elroy appeared. And Parson saw new life in that old string of failures.

Unfortunately, he could not simply tell his superiors of the girl’s connection to Gohvis. Even if they did believe him, they could decide to simply kill her the way Artemis would have done--or worse, begin asking questions about his involvement in the Elroy massacre.

No, it had to be more discreet than any of that. So instead, he manufactured false leads in order to convince the marshals to revive the old intelligence-gathering mission on Gohvis. Which worked out better than expected. Project Blacksong was conceived around it--though by now, Blacksong had grown into an entirely new beast with many different objectives. Excepting Jackson here, all of the marshals had their own goals for Blacksong. Jackson seemed to be of the opinion that there were already far too many cooks in the kitchen, as it were.

As for Gema, her name was too famous for her to become a plant inside of Abolish, but at the same time, Parson needed Abolish to know her name, otherwise Gohvis might never even realize his connection to her. Therefore, the only viable recourse was to change her family’s affiliations. If the Elroys became fugitives of the Vanguard, Gema’s credibility with Abolish would improve tenfold. Whether that would be enough or not remained to be seen, but Parson had confidence in the girl.

And besides, even if she did fail, at least the resulting conflict in Sair would offer plenty of new angles from which to work. Like Zeff, for instance. Finally, that boy’s potential had begun to surface. And then, of course, there were the Sandlords. Ideally, they would secede too, before any of the Vanguard’s maladies began to infect their ranks. Parson just hoped they weren’t too afraid of Abolish to let go of the Vanguard. He would’ve liked to take more steps to ensure their departure while he was in Sair, but the Gargoyle’s intervening had rendered that impossible.

All things considered, Parson felt that Sair was on the right track now--not the safest track, perhaps, but the correct one. That was something so few of these political types seemed to comprehend. Always worried about avoiding conflict, but sometimes, conflict was necessary. Sometimes, a little bloodletting now prevented future disaster.

And Jackson was not a stupid man. Or even an incompetent one. But that was the kind of hard truth that the Radiant Sentinel would never be able to accept. As much respect as Parson had for this man, as much as the Vanguard needed more people like him, there were still some things that Jackson needed to be kept in the dark about. For the good of all.

“The other marshals will never agree to stop Blacksong,” said Parson. “Isn’t it about time you got on board with everyone else? Even your wife has a horse in that race.”

“That may be true,” said Jackson, “but Sanko is free to do as she pleases.” His expression hardened. “You, however, are not.”

Parson realized where this was going and had to stop himself from wincing.

“I have a job for you,” the Sentinel said, reaching down beneath his desk. He pulled out a box, and from it, he retrieved a pen and notebook and pushed them both toward Parson. “Actually, I have several jobs for you, but first, you will provide a full report of your activities in Sair. Spare no details.”

Parson frowned. Of course it would have to be handwritten. If it was sloppy, Jackson would no doubt force him to rewrite it. Or perhaps the marshal would just “accidentally” light it on fire.

“Once that’s done,” Jackson went on, “you will be handling the local call-ins and write-ins. You will investigate every request thoroughly, no matter how trivial it might seem. The point of this, in case that is not already clear to you, is to remind you of who it is the Vanguard is protecting. I’m sure a bit of time at the bottom of the ladder will do you some good. And of course, I will be expecting full reports on each of your investigations. Additionally--”

Parson’s frown only deepened as he listened. If he had one weakness that he’d never quite been able to overcome, it was paperwork. And boy, did Jackson love his paperwork.