Chapter 11 – Gathering

Septum waited patiently in the center of the Council Chamber, the locus of strings from which the Concord was maneuvered.

Plumes of smoke rose from the councilors as they puffed at cigarettes, seated behind a large, semi-circular table. The walls were adorned with one giant painting, depicting the Siege of Northmark which had taken place over two centuries ago, primitive guns frozen mid-fire, soldiers falling and dying and exploding in displays of bloody limbs. Muddy browns, greys, and greens dominated the painting, with stark dashes of scarlet blood and pink viscera.

Septum found himself marveling at it, despite how many times he had seen it before. Such a masterpiece should be displayed in a place for the public good, not hidden away in a dark, smoky chamber.

All eleven councilors were assembled for this meeting. A surprise, as they rarely ventured to interfere with the work of their ministers. That meant they were at least trying to appear threatening.

“Septum Couldess,” spoke the man at the center of the table with a loud, booming voice. “We are highly disappointed with your performance.”

Prime Councilor Azor was a large man, with dark skin, short, curly hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. He carried himself with a straight, proud posture, hands folded on the table in front of him.

Septum sketched out a shallow bow. “Prime Councilor. You are right in assuming that I have encountered some… troubles regarding the management of my staff. However, I—”

Councilor Hix, CEO of Golden Bowls Food Group—a rotund, red-faced man—slammed his fist on the table. “Troubles? Couldess, the city is in an uproar! This Blue Mage, Linton Granhorn, is all the people rave about! You allowed him to infiltrate your ranks and escape with valuable information, as well as a fugitive!”

“Disgrace!” another councilor called.

“Now is not the time to throw insults around,” Couldess said. “I have already set plans into motion to seize Granhorn and his cohorts. Have a little patience, gentlemen.”

“What plans?” shouted Councilor Ubani, CEO of Sparrow Vehicles Incorporated. “As far as we’ve been informed, your last attempt to capture Granhorn ended in the deaths of an entire strike team. Enlighten me, please, how that was part of your plan, because I do not see it.”

“You should be ashamed!” shouted one councilor.

“Abdication!” said another.

“That’s enough,” Couldess said firmly.

He closed his eyes and balled his fists, holding back the rage that bubbled up his gut.

“The work of a bumbling child!” said a third.

“Quiet!” Couldess yelled.

A silent, invisible shockwave flew out around him.

The councilors shuddered and jerked back in their seats. A deathly quiet settled over the room. The armed guards standing in front of the doors behind him audibly fidgeted with their weapons.

Only the Prime Councilor remained unfazed.

Septum swept his hair back and took a deep breath. That had been more satisfying than he cared to admit.

“You cannot make Linton Granhorn go away by screaming into the wind,” Azor said.

“As I said, I’m working on it,” Septum said. “I’m assembling a taskforce to put an end to the Bluebirds.”

“Regardless, we thought you might need a little… help.”

Azor nodded towards the doors. Septum looked back as the guards opened it, allowing an older woman wearing a blood-red blazer and pencil skirt enter, hobbling on a straight, thin cane. Her hair was grey with a single streak of brown, done up in a loose bun. A tall man walked beside her. Square jaw and dark hair, nose high and chest puffed up like a proper soldier. He wore a red sash over his dark suit, pinned with a smattering of medals.

“Merith Whittler,” Septum murmured, unable to take his eyes off the woman.

Minister of Glory. The Mad Dog of the Concord.

“The very same,” Whittler said with a wolf’s grin. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t curtsy.” She tapped her left leg with the cane.

Septum was immediately suspicious.

“Who’s the boy toy?” he asked.

He was abysmal at shielding his mind—his thoughts read like an open book. The smugness and pride flowed out of his pores like thick molasses. He was taking joy in every second of this, like a dog about to be given a treat for performing a trick.

“This is Commander Barder Kessel,” Whittler said, motioning to her cohort. “In charge of the Second Infantry Division.”

Kessel bowed with an unnecessarily obnoxious flourish. “At your service, Minister.”

“The commander’s troops will aid you in garrisoning the city against further insurrections,” Azor explained.

Septum spun around, facing the Prime Councilor.

So that’s what this is about.

He hadn’t thought the People’s Council would be so bold as to actually try to get rid of him. Whittler was a vulture—she would never pass up the chance at grabbing more power.

“Last time I looked, we were still at war with Gaerwyn,” Septum said. He checked his rage this time, affecting perfect calm. The game had just taken a dangerous turn.

Whittler stopped right next to Septum. “And we will lose that war unless we can keep our own nation protected.”

“The Second Infantry Division will step in to supplement the truthers in Northmark, as we agreed,” Azor said.

“That’s not necessary,” Septum insisted. “This problem is not due to lack of resources. Whatever Whittler has promised you, her soldiers will make little difference. If anything, they’ll make things worse, bumbling through the city looking for rebels. We all know the MOG is better suited for blowing things up than intelligence gathering and domestic policing.”

He couldn’t let Whittler get what she wanted. Whatever she was planning, it would certainly prove detrimental to both him and the Concord. She was a hammer, whereas the current situation needed to be handled with surgical precision.

“Then prove to the Council that you can handle this situation,” Azor said. “Do things your way, for now. If you make another public mistake like this one, Commander Kessel will intervene with the full authority of the People’s Council and the Ministry of Glory to conduct an independent investigation.”

Septum straightened out his sleeves. “I will not make another mistake.”

He turned to leave the room without waiting to be dismissed. He cast a scathing glance at Whittler, who merely smiled back, the cool, calculated shrewdness of a predator behind her eyes.

Time to hunt some rebels.

I bet the Ironhearts are eager.

He met up with Fummel outside and pulled him aside.

“I want you to have a word with Mesa Mara,” Septum said. “Have her find out everything she can about a Commander Barder Kessel. I want her to present the findings to me in person.”

Fummel bowed. “Very well, sir. I will see to it as soon as we return.”

***

Linton sat down on a stool at the bar counter with a contented sigh. Doc stood behind it, pulling out bottles, and everyone else was seated to his left and right, apart from Aeva who sat at one of the tables behind him.

“So, I hear things went well with the Rags,” Doc said.

“Well enough,” Linton said. “They agreed to initiate an assault with all their strength once the archons are dead, and we’ve weakened the MOW enough that odds are in our favor.”

“Once people start to see blood in the water, the common folk will flock to our side, too,” Hunter said in his garbled, distorted voice. “It’s starting to look doable. We might just be able to kill these bastards.”

Linton nodded. “Indeed. Which means it’s time to kick things into high gear.”

“You mean we’re finally going after the archons?” Cat asked.

“Yes. It’s time.”

“What is an archon?” Aeva piped up.

Linton swiveled around on his stool to face her. “The archons are the three officers positioned just below Couldess in rank. They are his right-hand men, and each head up a separate department of the Ministry of Welfare.

“There’s Wenslow Tamos, who leads the Department of Public Compliance, where I worked. He’s in charge of most of the truthers by number and heads up street surveillance, interrogation, incarceration, and indoctrination.

“Then there’s Mesa Mara. She leads the Department of Special Intelligence, which is responsible for, as the name suggests, gathering intelligence, as well as deploying counter-terrorism tools.

“Lastly, there’s Lazarim Drakemyth. He leads the Department of Technological Advancement. They think up increasingly ghoulish weapons and tech for the truthers to employ.”

“We’re going after Drakemyth first, yeah?” Hunter asked, sharpening a large knife against his metal forearm. He held it up to the light, scrutinizing it with a close eye. “Remember the promise you made me, Granhorn.”

“I remember,” Linton said with a nod. “I know you’ve got a grudge. Sadly, we have to do this the right way, not the way that offers the most personal satisfaction. I don’t have a bead on Drakemyth’s location.”

He held up a finger. “I do know where Tamos is, though. Taking him out first will mess with their street surveillance, making the rest of our work a little easier.”

Hunter drove the knife into the counter with a sharp thud. It sank in all the way to the hilt, his fist hissing with pneumatic power.

“Hey!” Doc said. “Someone has to fix that, you know!”

Hunter ignored him.

“You serious, Granhorn?” he asked. “We had a deal.”

He stood, slowly walking closer to Linton. While his face was forever an expressionless steel mask, his looming presence was a clear giveaway of his intentions.

He seemed to grow as he got closer, his eyes lighting up with intense, blue fire.

Aeva slid in between them. She held up a hand to the construct, compelling him to stop.

“Linton is your leader, and he has given you an order,” Aeva said. “You have the reasoning. So follow.”

“I’m not here to frolic around on some little quest to free the people of the Concord,” Hunter said, his voice a distorted growl. “I am here for one reason. Killing Drakemyth. If Granhorn won’t see that through, he can find another gunner.”

My, my, Linton thought. She sure got protective all of a sudden.

He guided Aeva to the side and looked the construct in the eye.

“I’ll make sure you get to kill Drakemyth, Hunter,” he said. “Just be patient. He doesn’t work out of the Arcanex or any facilities I know about. We have to wait and see if Tess can find that information for us. Until then, we will continue weakening the MOW. If we let them recover, it’s all over.”

Hunter stared at him for several long moments with dull, impassive eyes.

“Fine,” he said.

He went back over to his seat, retrieved his knife, and stalked off.

“Someone’s in a bit of a mood,” Cat said once he was gone, balancing her stool on its back legs.

“I’ll talk to him once we’re done here,” Frost said. “He listens to me.” The lubbard shrugged. “He’s got no choice. I’m the guy who has to put him back together whenever he gets busted up.”

Linton nodded. “Good. I was about to suggest the same. For now, I will be going through our plan of attack. We split into two groups. Tamos is confirmed to be staying in a seaside mansion outside of Spitforge. Cat, you will be taking Hunter and Doc on a road trip down there to eliminate our first archon.”

Cat’s face lit up and she did a celebratory spin on her chair. “Sweet! I’m ready to kick some fucking butt!”

“And what will the rest of us be doing?” Frost asked. “Crocheting little socks for orphans, perhaps?”

Linton shook his head with a smile. “Sadly, nothing so rewarding for the soul. We’ll be infiltrating the Vault of Kings at the same time that the rest are killing Tamos. Once their archons start dropping, the MOW will surge with activity like a beehive, which’ll make it that much harder to retrieve the Crown. If we do it all at once, however…” He shrugged. “You get the picture.”

“They won’t know what hit ‘em,” Cat said, grinning.