Colonel Rabb leaned on the doorframe of his office, a long day of filling requisitions and hearing captain’s reports from the previous night and day’s rounds, the details of which were still swirling in his mind. He’d just completed the shift change daily briefing, his second in command, Lieutenant Granby taking over for the next forty-eight hours. Technically he’d earned a brief two-day respite from command, but he doubted he’d see them to his benefit.

The big knight watched lightly as citizens of Divik traversed the busy boulevard outside the centre building and beyond the huge cobbled square out front, a once attractive fountain in the middle, but it had fallen into disrepair. The triple dolphins, arched elegantly at the top of a central, water-themed column, easily twenty feet in the air, must have been a moving sight at one time, but no water spouted from their puckered mouths now. The enormously wide basin was dry and filled with leaves and other detritus, the seashells and carved effigies of the circular walls all but invisible, covered by the muck.

Rabb sighed loudly, his eyes raking the sky over the rooftops across the street.

It was rather indicative of the rest of the forsaken town, really. A once beautiful example of wealth and economic cooperation, Divik had never been the jewel of the ilk of Port Town, but it had had other qualities worthy of the king – now queen – maintaining it in their portfolio the last five hundred years. Over the last fifty or so, with the corruption once held under the surface breaking through more and more, Sir Rabb knew it was a matter of time before Regent Patrick got a whiff of the stench that was the present Divik for real and likely there’d be little patience to sway in its defence. Already it was not a place of endearment for either Regent Patrick or his sister Queen Nyssa, considering their own father – the late king – had lost his life in the distraction of the last civil dispute while a real invasion took advantage of the disorganization of the city’s defences.

He remembered it well. Only twenty-seven or so years earlier, he’d been just a newly-minted knight, not yet assigned when news of the disruption had ripped through the academy. The army had been assembled and the knights called up to assist the king and fortify the regiments around the country. Rogun, an old enemy had been discovered crawling the dirt of his beloved countryside.

Rabb had been attached to the king’s extended contingent, the one that had rallied to accompany him from the capital to the north-eastern highlands – to Divik. The current commander had been overwhelmed and fled to reform with the regiment at North Cross. The remainder of his forces and that of North Cross were supposed to have joined with the king’s when he’d arrived.

Rabb looked down the street to watch the streaming people that filled the thoroughfare on both sides. Most kept to the sides to walk organized and with the flow of traffic, but still many confused the issue and mashed their way through the middle, little regard for their neighbour. Shouts called up and down, the constant din of voices the low rumbling soundtrack to the busy centre. The smell of many people, horses and sea waste wafted around the cool air of the oncoming winter. Soon it would snow, the harbour would freeze and the centre would become the dirty, sickly colour of waste and disease in the polluted snow that would accumulate against the buildings and curbs. Only the rooftops would look fresh, and then only temporarily, black soot and refuse from the constant chimneys would mar that too, soon enough.

Again Rabb sighed loudly. Why? Why was Divik so hard to love? He’d been living in the district off and on for nearly thirty years. He’d become an expert on the unique properties it faced. Four barons, who were no less honest than the common smuggler and thief, did pledge loyalty to their queen. If they’d been in the least insubordinate to her, Rabb would have dealt with them long ago. Instead, he found himself the quandary of having to protect the riffraff, if only to protect the peace. Through their influence and their holdings, Divik was loyal to them and could not be swayed to barter with their old enemies on political grounds. Trade, sure. Treason, Rabb didn’t think so.

It would have been nice if the riffraff had given a damn about the hovel they called home.

Pushing off the frame, Rabb moved to start his walk toward the block house, his residence of apartments in the military structure that guarded the supplies in the defence of the interior-facing, walled city gate. It was not fancy, but it was comfortable and afforded him the furthest residence from the harbour. Less noise, smell and trouble was what awaited him there.

Armed and wearing a dressed-down day version of his armour, Rabb solicited the nods and greetings of the people he passed. All were respectful to him to his face, most behind his back as well. He had a duty, he fulfilled that duty and he ran a tight ship with his officers and men. His ability to control or not what the barons let loose, nobody blamed him overly much, but winds he wished he had some say in who inherited the seat when they passed on. There had to be a way to re-start the city’s condition.

Therein was Rabb’s complaint. The baron’s inherited their seats and all the holdings bequeathed to them. Good, bad, illegal, all of it was expected to be assumed by the new baron, generation after generation. He had been building files on the current generation for most of his commission to Divik, it had been his plan to file all that he could gather with the regent when he had enough evidence to prove the corruption was beyond any regular policing could manage.

Arriving at the large, fortified stone building, Rabb saw the sentry at the front entrance who saluted him as he approached. Rabb returned the salute and mumbled a greeting but proceeded ahead without stopping. He climbed the stairs, large lanterns lighting his way in the interior, enclosed stairway. His footsteps scuffed the stone steps, loud in his ears.

At the top, he went through the continuous open doors of the armoury storage rooms, well stocked and ready should any disturbance befall them. He noted the neatness and completeness of the orders, the many crates and bushels filled with arrows, racks with pikes and shields. He had to travel through them, as they made up the hallway access that fed the wall defences and the stairs that led to the courtyard below. Two doors on either side stood open in peacetime, allowing him a shortcut to his apartments at the top and back of the structure, against the wall.

“Commander,” his batman said to him smartly, jumping to stand and salute him when he arrived to his apartments. The man had been working at this desk in the front entrance of the small cluster of rooms. Rabb nodded to him but was already moving to untie his sword scabbard from his waist. When it came free he handed it to him.

“What’s for supper, Camden?” he asked him mildly. The man wrapped the long strap around the scabbard and tucked it under his arm. He held a hand that his commander should precede him to the next room.

“Chicken, sir,” he told him and moved when Rabb wasn’t blocking his way to go around and hang the sword with the other equipment. Rabb grunted but wasn’t that disappointed. Their cook wasn’t imaginative but reliably consistent, which was good in his experience. At least it would be tender and savoury, the same as every other time.

Camden returned and began helping Rabb with what remained of his armour. When the plates and padding were done, Rabb sighed in relief and slipped into a light leather jerkin.

“A letter arrived for you, marked private, sir,” Camden then informed him. “I left it on the table for you.”

Rabb turned to his small dining table and noticed the envelope on his place setting. He nodded and went to it, waiting for Camden to be busy in the front room. It was unusual for him to get any correspondence at his home, likely due to the fact he was nearly never in it. Curious, he sat and used his dinner knife to open it. There was no ribbon or seal.

Sir Rabb, Commander of the Divik Regiment:

It is with pleasure that we inform you that the barons are poised to destroy each other – though they do not yet know it. Please rest assured, it is necessary and your role in protecting them is not required. Citizens will be given the opportunity to flee, a total of three days will be provided for the exodus of everything civilian and non-essential. We strongly urge you to escort the civilian population out of the city towards the interior as soon as possible. The deadline for Divik’s implosion is already begun, the stage will soon be set for the main event, to which you have no upcoming role.

We await your Queen’s arrival.

Yours truly,

The Black Tower

Rabb turned the letter over. Plain paper, clean, consistent handwriting, not rushed. The envelope was plain vellum as well, not high nobility fine but quality enough.

He was leaning on his forearms, one hand rubbing his mouth the other looking at the letter. If it spoke the truth, it spoke of an imminent attack. This was just as well, he thought and looked up to the table candle the swayed slowly in the low draft of the room. He’d already made his case to the admiral at the academy that he send the General to them, that he’d felt for going on a year things were coming to a head. General Lord Hayden was expected any day, beknown to no one, he’d not even told his officer staff or even Camden. Ironic, really.

What really mattered now? He thought, working to formulate his plan in the wake of such a threat. He would prioritize the exodus of the central population certainly, but how? If he sounded the alarm, it could mean chaos – or flat out indifference. This was Divik, it could go either way.

How much time did he have? He needed more information now, but how, who?

Rabb stood quickly and reached for his over-cloak. At the door he nearly ran into Camden, a plate with a silver bell overtop in his hand.

“Sir!” Camden exclaimed while he worked to steady the plate before it toppled.

“Yes, er, enjoy Camden. I have to attend something urgently,” he told him and rushed from the apartment.

“But, Sir!” Camden called after him. “Where will I find you?” But Rabb was already dashing through the double-opened rooms, heading for the stairs. He looked to the plate, opened the top and smelled deeply. He sighed but smiled a bit and turned to take a seat at the vacant table.

---

Stragen moved the sheet of paper to the top of the pile to dry. The ink was still shiny where he’d last scratched his name, a signature that belied a serious man; it curved and swirled on the page in elegant near-design.

The double doors to his office opened fast and Terence moved through to stand quickly aside.

“Commander Sir Rabb to see you, my Lord,” he announced hurriedly and almost instantly a dressed down knight stood in his study. Stragen blinked at him in surprise, his hand still held the quill above his next page, a drip now ruining the clean sheet in its neglect.

“Stragen, a word,” Rabb said to him quietly enough and he looked back to see Terence eye them, then roll his eyes and turn to close the doors after he stepped out.

“Obviously,” Stragen replied warily and moved to set his quill down. Frowning he moved the sheet of ruined paper to the trash can beside his desk.

Rabb looked like he’d run to his estate himself. He was slightly agitated but controlling it. Not a young man, Stragen knew him to be well-disciplined, honest and for the most part measured. Barrelling into a baron’s home without invitation was extreme for him.

He stood, still watching the man and made for the drink display. He lifted the decanter at Rabb but the knight shook his head.

“Thanks but this is rather delicate and oddly urgent, Lord Stragen,” Rabb said to him, remembering his manners. Stragen poured his own drink then and returned to the desk. Rabb watched him closely, his eyes glued to his body and his movements, as if Stragen would stab him at any moment. Instead, he whipped out a white folded paper from his back and handed it to him.

Stragen looked at it, but slowly took it from him. Without another word, Rabb went to stand and wait in front of the fire.

After a long few minutes in which Stragen had read and re-read the letter several times, he cleared his throat and leaned on the front of the desk.

“Who is the Black Tower?” he asked Rabb. Rabb turned a quarter turn to see him, his hands still clasped behind his back.

“Old enemy,” he said in a low rumble. “Really old. Old Rogun, old.”

Stragen squinted a bit at him but in the end shook his head and moved to take a deep drink of his rum.

“Rogun is a friend now, hell our wise queen made them family. The queen’s son sits on the throne,” he reminded the knight.

“I’m nearly sixty years-old, Stragen,” he told him and Stragen’s eyes registered his surprise over the edge of the glass. Remarkable if it were true, Rabb looked not a day over forty-five or so. “I remember only snippets from their first campaign because I was nothing but a pup in my first outfit, but I will always remember those whispering the title around the camps. The regiment was decommissioned after the fall of its commander. It was thought to be a crime to even mention their name here again. Your father would have dealt with their first invasion, he was certainly here at the time the king was slain,” Rabb added accusingly.

Stragen narrowed his eyes now. He crossed his legs at the ankle, still leaning on his desk and put his glass down, slowly, beside him.

“I remember the dark days,” Stragen replied carefully, “I was just a boy, but I remember when the king was murdered just a few miles from here,” he added, seriousness in his voice now. Rabb only eyed him with a knit brow and intense stare, almost as if he was daring him to say something like it had no effect on him if a king or queen was slain.

“The barons are supposed to war with each other?” Stragen went on, moving forward with the subject of the letter. “This is news to me. We might not always agree, but there are no open hostilities that I am currently aware of,” he told Rabb. He shrugged and looked to the letter again. He shook his head and shrugged a second time. Clearly he was as confused as Rabb.

But the baron only confirmed what he had postulated. This was an outside outfit and the likelihood they were the actual Black Tower – or loyalists at the least – was good.

“What will you do?” Stragen asked finally, leaning he offered Rabb the letter to take back.

Rabb turned fully and came back towards him. He retook the letter and pocketed it. A long moment he watched the man, considering first what he would say to him. Stragen was the most level-headed and honest of the barons. Rabb had always gotten along with him, even if he knew without question the man never trusted him with law enforcement affairs. It was illegal most of the time, the barons taking care of their own disputes, but at least Stragen didn’t flaunt it. It almost seemed to him that Stragen regretted that sometimes, but he’d never consulted him.

Rabb looked down at the floor, a plush and vivid coloured carpet with a wild and interesting design swirled in all directions under their feet.

“Consider this a professional courtesy, Baron Stragen,” Rabb said finally, leaning close to be discreet, his tone gentle, deciding to trust and offer something he would not the other barons. “Get your house in order and save as many as you can.”

He nodded to the nobleman, who served to look startled and had uncrossed his ankles quickly to stand in growing alarm. Rabb moved to the doors to leave but turned before opening them and looked back.

“General Hayden is already on his way, I had called him for assistance a few months back and I have word he’s already moving towards us,” he told him. “Fortuitous considering,” he added and patted his pocket.

“Assistance for what?” Stragen asked now more interested and a little frustrated to hear more muscle and judicial influence was on its way, especially when he’d obviously not understood something.

“Bandits on the road I cannot spare the men to wrangle, accosting your farmsteads. Yes, I know about them, your people come to me now, due your inaction, which they have confirmed is because you cannot because it would be seen as action against Pontas. Again, outside the city walls, I cannot spare the man power to interfere. The open piracy on the harbour waters, the fighting and the burning, Tatiana is no longer controlling it, and the open violence in the streets Droga is clearly turning a blind eye. Something is a foot here, Stragen, it is coming to a head. I know you think otherwise, you seem to genuinely care about the business side of things, but you’ve been blind, I’m afraid, maybe even blinded. I noticed this at the conference, it’s why I approached you after but you did not confide in me then, which confirmed to me you really were being kept in the dark.”

Rabb nodded his head to dumbfounded noble and turned to leave.

“Sir Rabb!” Stragen called him and he turned again, this time in the open doorway. Stragen hadn’t the words, he was confused and befuddled with such a revelation, he wanted to know everything Rabb did, at minimum what kind of disturbance he was expecting.

Rabb waited but it was clear Stragen still struggled to even formulate a question.

“Get your family home, prepare to leave the area. If you have folks you care about in the farms and elsewhere, get word to them. I’d make for the plains towns or North Cross. If you weren’t planning on staying with them, make for the capital. I can’t really speak to what will be left after Queen Nyssa finds Rogun terrorists on her country’s soil again, but I can’t imagine much will be left standing. Make no mistake our queen knows Divik is bad, Stragen, worse even than her father’s time. I’d bet my pension our esteemed highness will be happy to see it put down this time,” he added, and with a final nod this time, he turned and left.