The Knights of Sheba Ep. 10: "Blood, Sweat, and Sacrifice" B

 The Knights of Sheba 110 B…Start

           

            Kit drives them across town, to the diner where they ate together for the first time.  The ride is long and silent.  Outside, the streets are clogged with traffic and cold air whips around jackets of pedestrians on the sidewalk.  Geneva watches them, her head leaned so far forward that her face is nearly against the glass.  Even in the warmth of the car, she can feel the cold trying to seep in.

            Inside of the diner, they find a booth in the corner and sit in uncomfortable silence.  The waitress takes their orders.  Kit gets a large order of biscuits and gravy with orange juice.  Geneva orders two pancakes and a water.  The silence lingers as they wait, and when the food arrives Kit devours her portion.  The gravy looks a bit soupy but she seems content with it.

            Meanwhile, Geneva picks at her pancakes, sliced into tiny chunks on her plate.  Once Kit finishes eating, Geneva sets her fork down.  “So,” she says, drawing the word out.  “What did you want to talk about?”

            “Are you done with that already?”

            Geneva pushes the plate away. “I’m not that hungry.”

            “Then we’ll get you a box.”

            “It’s fine.  I’ll just let them toss it.”

            “But it will go to waste.”

            “Kit, I don’t want to take it home.”  Geneva sighs, shakes her head.  “I thought we were here to talk.  This isn’t like you, avoiding things.”

            “We are here to talk.”  Kit wipes her mouth with her napkin, and then bundles it and tosses it onto her empty plate.  She rests her elbows on the table as she leans forward.  “And we’re going to.  I’m just trying to figure out what to say.”

            “Just say it.”

            “Okay.”  Kit sits back now, takes a deep breath.  She stares Geneva in the eyes.  “Why have you been ignoring me lately?”

            “I haven’t.  I’ve been busy.”

            “You have?  I could hear you on the phone each time.  You weren’t busy.”

            “Just because you heard me doesn’t mean anything.  I have been busy, with tutoring, and…”

            Kit rolls her eyes, slaps her hands flat against the table.  “Oh, come on already. Your sister told me you’ve been avoiding my calls! Listen, if you want to dump me, then just do it.  But don’t play these freaking games.  For Christ’s sake!”

            Geneva stops, stares at her plate.  She glances up.  “You want to break up?”

            “No. I don’t want to break up, but I also don’t want to be in a relationship that isn’t there.  Do you understand?”  Kit settles back into her seat, crosses her arms, a calm in the storm. “You’ve been acting strange, Genny.  Like, really strange.  And the party, the other night, what was that all about?”

            Geneva sips her water, sets it on the table.  She spins the glass around slowly in her hands and thinks of every lie she can.  None of them seem adequate.  She says, “It’s hard to explain.”

            “You could at least try.”

            Holding the glass, Geneva laughs, humorlessly.  “No.  I really, really can’t.”

            “Then what about the cell phone?  You always talked about how your parent’s couldn’t afford to get you one.”

            “They can’t.  That’s for my—It’s for my tutoring.”

            “Ms. Olivia got you a phone?”

            “I don’t want to talk about it, Kit.”

            A long pause follows.  Kit searches Geneva’s expression for something, and Geneva does her best to hide it with averted gazes and blank stares at the table.  After a minute of silence, Kit says, “Geneva, is she molesting you?”

            Geneva looks up, meets Kit’s stare, finds her face tight and her eyes narrowed.  Normally, only Lana can elicit such a stare, and then only if she is particularly cruel.  Geneva throws her hands up and shakes her head rapidly.  “No.  No, no, nothing like that.  It’s because,” Geneva stammers, “Well, I’ve been so stressed.  With school.  And tutoring.  And everything.  So, she got me one of those cheap-o phones, so I can call her whenever I need help.”

            Kit considers it and sighs.  “I guess that makes sense, if you’re telling the truth.”

            Geneva relaxes in her seat.

            “But why did she call you the other night, then? And where did you two go?”

            “That, I really can’t talk about.  Just believe me when I say it’s important and leave it.  Please.”

            Kit’s face tightens again.  Sitting in her seat, not slouched but coiled, compacted, she looks imposing despite her litheness.  “Geneva, are you cheating on me with her?”

            “No.  I’m not, and I promise you, if I knew a way to explain, I would.  But, it’s not molestation, and it’s not cheating, and I don’t want to break up.  It’s just complicated.  I got myself into a bind, and I need you to be patient with me.  I need everyone to be a little patient.”

            They stare across the table at each other, a little silent war waged between them.  Kit relents first, sighing, relaxing.  She leans forward.  “Does it have to do with your grades?  Are they that bad?”

            “You have no idea.”  Geneva tells herself it’s not a lie.

            “Well, I know all about how a mistake can ruin your year.”  Kit smiles, winks.

            Geneva tries a smile in return.  It feels like she is borrowing someone else’s.  It doesn’t fit right. Still, she says, “Thanks, Kit.”

            Kit reaches forward, takes Geneva’s hands, and Geneva thinks to pull away.  It feels tense, dangerous, to have her hands occupied, but she stays in place for Kit.

            “Geneva, just, well, whatever you’re going through, always know that I can listen.”

            “I know you can.”

            “And you can tell me whatever you need to.”

            “I know,” Geneva says, feeling increasingly exasperated.

            “Good.”  Kit releases her.  “Now, finish your pancakes.  You’re becoming skin and bones over there.”

            Geneva looks down at her body.  “What? No I’m not.”

            “Well, maybe not yet, but you’ve been losing weight fast, and I’m half afraid you’re starving yourself.”

            “Thanks, mom, but I’m not.”

            “Not on my watch,” Kit says, and she shoves Geneva’s plate back toward her.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The entirety of Andormalius’ duchy gathers at the base of his keep in the morning.  The keep is a tall, stout tower surrounded by ramparts.  In the battle, these ramparts didn’t work so well as the duchy’s military had hoped.  Without a leader, the tower had fell quickly.

            Before the tower is a small pavilion, open at the front with two staircases leading up the sides.  Seere stands atop the pavilion, wearing a dark purple robe embroidered by golden fabric.  He paces with his hands folded behind his back as the crowd gathers and settles.  The dawn hits him and casts him in soft glow, making a halo about his crown.  When he lifts his hands the crowd in entranced into silence.

            “Welcome, everyone, I am Viscount Salamand Seere, and I am sure you have many questions, questions about your nation, questions about your future, and I assure you that I have every intention to answer them.”  His voice, though soft by nature, seems to carry well before the tower.  Even the demons in the back listen raptly to his words.

            “Firstly, I would like to apologize for your rude awakening.  I can understand your fear, considering recent events.  Your home has been invaded, and now the conquerors come calling at your door, demanding your presence.  Frightening, indeed, but also necessary, for if we are to move forward, we must first reach an understanding.

            “I have come to teach you, to tell you the truth, plain as I can see it, because I believe that for us to reclaim our glory, we must work together, a world united, not one torn apart by the selfish squabbles of lords and the blind obedience of those beneath them.  So, I shall speak plainly when I say this, and I hope you understand its full value—the door is open, and our world is connected.

            “Some of you, farmers or bakers or servants might ask, ‘what does that mean to me?’  The records tell of an age where once we had glory, and we spread across the realms and stood alongside gods.  This was, of course, long ago, but it can be again, and the gate tree is the first step, the most necessary.  With it, we have access to trade, to communication, to resources unheard and forgotten, and with them, the south will prosper and your lives will transform.

            “Your Duke, Andromalius, saw that and, seeking that power only for himself, hid the truth from you.  He feared the outside worlds, feared what once was, but I am not afraid, and neither do I think you should be either.  So, I came in the night, with Duke Dantalion at my side, and we liberated you and come offering you a new future.”

            A murmur spreads through the crowd.  Demons and demonesses alike exchange glances, and Seere raises his hands and returns the silence.

            “I believe in a future, one of peace, one that must be earned.  These wars have gone on too long, and our people have suffered for it.  Times are changing and our world changes with them, the opening of the gate is proof enough of this.  And there is nothing to fear, for out in the realms there are nothing but soft things, easily broken, and we are demons, resilient and strong.

            “Instead, we must fear what we have in here.  Higher lords and nobles, waiting only for the proper chance.  They want not to liberate you but to extinguish you, or otherwise, to indenture you to their service.  Either way, it is not a future you should want, nor is it a future you deserve.

            “And so, we come to me now, a humble lord myself, speaking to you from on high after raiding your land and taking your throne, and you ask, ‘how am I any different?’”  Seere leaps from the platform and walks among the people.  Around him, demons and demonesses stare, a lord among their ranks, small and alone and also unafraid.

            “I see what we lords have done, to you people and to our lands, and grow sick of the stagnation.  Once, we had glory.  We walked with gods and warred with gods, and we brought the gods to their knees, and we can again. But to do so, we must be united, and to do that, the world must change.

            “But change does not come easy.  It comes with blood and sweat and sacrifice, and that is what I come today to ask of you.  Join me in my conquest.  Help me to unite the lands under one banner—one rule—to change this world.  Should you do that, help me along, then I promise you reclamation.  I promise you glory greater even than our forefathers knew.  Follow me, and I will make you stronger, and for your efforts, I will fight alongside you, protecting you until my dying breath.”

            Seere walks, slowly, into the center of the crowd.  He is surrounded by the sick and injured, by the weak and lame, and the strong and stout, by enemy soldiers and blood thirsty brigands, and he stands among them, unarmed, fearless.  He slowly looks each in the eye, and he says, “What say you?”

            A cheer spreads through the crowd.  Loudly, they shout and cry, and Seere smiles at them as they bend on knee and bow their heads to him.  When he calls for silence, it spreads quickly through them, and they all watch him as he stands tall while legions kneel.  “In truth, I expected nothing less from you.  Thank you.”

            He moves among them again, and they part as he passes.  Some touch his hand, bow their heads, kiss at his feet.  He meets them kindly, pulls them to standing, or bows in return.  Finally, at the other end, he is greeted by Ruka, who watches with his usual glare.

            They return to the war camp together.  “That was quite the speech, my lord,” Ruka says after a time.

            “Really?”  Seere sighs.  “I had thought it went on a bit long, but still, it seems to have gotten the job done.”

            Ruka looks back at the gathered crowd, still cheering to themselves and now welcoming their brothers from other nations to their fold.  “I’ll say it did.  What will we do about the sick and hungry, sire?”

            “Tend and feed them,” Seere says.  “What we need is not numbers, but healthy soldiers loyal to a cause.  They like me now because of a flowery speech carefully molded to appease, but they will follow because I am more than words.  I am action.”

            “Of course, sire. We will see to it.”

            “Yes, you will,” Seere says, and he stops on the outskirts of the city and looks between it and his camped armies in the distance.  “And bring my soldiers in, move them among the people, and meet them.  We have a long way to go, still, Ruka, but this is an important first step.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            At noon, Nina pulls into the parking lot across from Claude’s apartment building and lets her car idle.  She stares at the squat old brick building for a moment, recognizing it from her previous trips.  To her it looks less like a home and more like landscape, like there was a lot of effort put into creating the proper aesthetic of a downtown here.

            She turns off her car and climbs from it, out into the cold.  After the battle with Andromalius, Nina made contact with Claude at Erak’s request.  He is her responsibility, now, alongside Geneva, and that suits Nina just fine.  It is better than murdering a potential ally in the name of ‘security.’

            The front door is locked, she finds, and she grabs at her phone and considers dialing him.  Then, she paces the stoop and stares up at the building, looking for the window to his apartment to make sure he is even there.

            “Did you forget your key?”

            Nina turns to find Shirley waiting.  While she hasn’t met Shirley personally, she has read reports and recognizes the description.  Shirley is prettier than they implied, and also taller.  “No, not quite.  Actually, I am wondering, would you happen to know a Claude Sylvain?”

            “Yeah, sure,” Shirley says, twisting her brow.  “He’s my boyfriend.  We live together, actually.”

            “As I suspected.  I was hoping to speak with him, if I could.”

            “Oh.”  Shirley passes Nina and unlocks the door.  Holding it open, she watches Nina enter.  “And you are?”

            “An acquaintance, of a sort.  I assume you’ve heard about…”

            Shirley stares at her for a bit, and then her face brightens.  “Oh!  The battle.  You’re one of those, uh, one of the elves!  Awesome, cool, come on in.”

            Leading Nina through the front, Shirley stops to check her mail and then starts up the stairs.  They climb three flights together, Nina keeping easy pace with long, precise strides, and they talk on the way.  Shirley is smiling broadly.

            “I’m on my lunch break right now and thought I’d come eat with Claude.”

            “I see.  Well, I don’t intend to take too much of your time.  I simply wish to speak with him on a certain matter.”

            “What about?”

            “It is a rather private subject.”

            “Oh. Sorry.”

            Nina eyes Shirley for a hint of insincerity and finds none.  “No, it is fine.  I apologize if I am being too clandestine.”

            Shirley laughs, waves it off.  “Oh, don’t mention it.  I know all of this is some sort of big old secret.”

            They reach the third floor, and Shirley comes to a stop.  She looks at Nina.  “I do have a request, though.  Could I, uh, see your ears?”

            Nina blinks, stare, and then tucks her hair back.  Shirley frowns.

            “They’re not pointed.  They’re supposed to be pointed, right, or is that just a stereotype?”

            “Oh.”  Nina releases her hair.  “Normally, they are, but I’ve had surgery so that I could better integrate with humans.  It is common of those working here, but elven ears are normally pointed.”

            “I see.”  Shirley seems, briefly, disappointed, but brightens up shortly.  “Well, thanks anyway.  My apartment is down this way.”

            Shirley leads Nina down the hall to her apartment door and unlocks it.  Stepping inside, they find Claude sitting in bed, reading an old paperback.  He folds it when Shirley enters and smiles until he sees Nina trailing.  Then, he adopts a sharp frown. “Why is she here?”

            “Claude,” Shirley says, her tone almost motherly.  “Don’t be rude.”  She looks back at Nina.  “Come on in and make yourself at home.”

            Nina nods.  “Thank you,” she says, and she stops in the entryway while Shirley closes the door behind her.

            Shirley drops her things on the counter then and goes to the sink.  “Would you like something to drink, Miss…”

            “Olivia.  My name is Nina Olivia.”

            “Nina.”  Shirley smiles.  “That’s a nice name.  So, would you like anything? We’ve got water, and, well, water.”

            “That will be fine,” Nina says, turning her attention to Claude.  He is now leaning against a wall, his book abandoned on the bed, and he is giving her cold stare.  She takes off her gloves and stuffs them into her pockets.  “Yes, well, I do apologize for such a sudden visit.”

            “You don’t have to apologize,” Shirley says, drawing water from the tap.  She sets it on the counter for Nina.  “You’re fine.  Claude, tell her she’s fine.”

            “I don’t want to lie,” he says.

            “Oh, stop it,” Shirley says, slapping him on the shoulder.  She smiles back at Nina.  “Would you like anything to eat? I’m making a sandwich for myself.”

            “No,” Nina says, “I’m fine, thank you.  I won’t be long.”

            “Okay, tell me if you change your mind.  Claude?”

            “I’ll make one later.”  Claude holds Nina’s gaze, goes to cross his arms and remembers his cast, and then suddenly isn’t sure what to do.  “So, what do you want, Nina?”

            “I came to check on you.”

            “Again?”

            “Claude,” Shirley says, two slices of bread pinched between the fingers on her left hand while the right clutches a plate.  “Doctor’s visits aren’t cheap.  You should be grateful.”

            Claude looks at Shirley, scratches the back of his head.  He looks at his cast and puts his arm to the side.  “Fine.  I’m sorry, I just—You guys are freaking me out.  You’re like ghosts, sneaking in, asking questions.  And I know you’re watching me.”

            “Yes.  I apologize for any discomfort, but you must understand our position.  From what we know, what we live, all humans have forgotten their old ways and their histories.  To find we are wrong is unsettling, to say the least.”  She takes her cup, cradles it in her hands and stares him in the eyes.  “You are an unknown, Mr. Sylvain, and that concerns us.  However, that is not truly why I am here.”

            “Then why are you here?”

            “I wished to speak with you about Ms. Oaks—Geneva.”

            “Geneva?”  Claude squints, thinks.  “The girl?”

            “Yes, the girl who fought alongside you.  The knight.”

            “And why do you want to talk to me about her?”

            “Well.”  Nina pauses, holding her thoughts, her breath.  “Have you spoken with her since?”

            “No.  She’s just a kid.  What would I say to her?”

            “That is the question,” Nina says.  “I was hoping that, since you were in a harrowing situation together, you may have insight.”

            “Okay, about that.  What was she even doing there?”

            “That is not an easy question to answer.”  Nina turns the cup around in her hands.  Condensation collects on her fingers.

            Claude holds her gaze, showing his disbelief with his eyes.  “Right, whatever.  Either way, I don’t have any way of contacting her.  And, really, I have no way of contacting you, either.  Seems like you all have the cards.”

            Nina shifts.  “I see.”

            “Is there anything else?  Is that all you wanted, to ask if I had spoken with her?”

            “Claude,” Shirley says, eating.  Her sandwich iss finished, and she has a couple of baby carrots to go with it while she is watching them.  “Be nice, please.”

            Claude looks at her, and then back at Nina, who says, “No, he is fine. I should apologize.  This is a trying situation, and I am being ambiguous.  In truth, I came to ask if you would speak with her for me.”

            “If I would...” Claude frowns again.  “What? Why?”

            “Because, I think the battle has left her scarred.”

            “Make sense.  She took a beating, but your people are better for that, I promise.”

            “I don’t mean physically.”  She looks at the glass, watches the water move, and then sets it aside and shakes her fingers dry.  “I mean emotionally.  She has always been private.  Hides behind her humor, but over the past week, there is no humor in her.  Just rage and indecision.  She is in conflict, I think, over what happened, over what she had to do? And I do not know how to reach her.”

            “And I would?”

            “You fought alongside her.  You were there with her when she,” Nina pauses meaningfully, “Also, you’re an outsider.  She is kind but stubborn, refuses to burden those around her.  She wants to protect, not be protected and won’t accept my help, and with circumstances as they are, she can’t turn to those around her.  But you might have a chance.”

            Claude rubs the back of his neck again, with his good hand, and stares at the floor.  He tries to imagine a conversation between himself and a seventeen-year-old version of himself.  Then, he tries to imagine that version of himself as a girl.  It is not comfortable.

            “Okay, well, I’m no therapist.”

            “I don’t need you to be one.  I’m not even sure if it will help.”  Nina sighs, stares out the window, at the pale storefronts across the street.  “I do not mean to cause you any undue stress, and I know that she is my responsibility, not yours, but it is like you said.  She is a child, unfit for combat but I fear I may have seen that far too late.”

            “Then that’s your problem.”

            “Claude!”  Nina and Claude have their attention yanked to the side and find Shirley standing, hands on her hips, and a glare on her face.  “Really?  Are you really going to be like that?  There’s someone needing you help!  What about your destiny?”

            “This is different. Look,” he stops when Shirley’s eyes narrow.

            “No, you look.  You should help her.  It’s the right thing to do.  Besides, didn’t she help you?”

            Claude groans, rubs his face now.  “Fine,” he says after a long pause.  “Fine, I’ll help.  Send her over.  I’ve got plenty of free time anyway until my arm heals up.”

            Nina and Shirley smile in unison, and Nina bows her head slightly.  “Thank you very much, Mr. Sylvain.  Ms…”

            “Seville,” Shirley says, nibbling a carrot and smiling cutely.

            “Yes, thank you.”

            “Yeah, yeah.”  Claude looks toward the door, and Nina nods.

            “Yes, of course.  I will see myself out.”  She goes to the door and stops to look back.  “Thank you, both of you.”

            “You’re quite welcome,” Shirley says, “Oh! And feel free to stop by any time.”

            Nina slips out the door, and Claude stays by the wall, staring across the small apartment at Shirley.  “Sometimes, you’re too sweet.”

            She smirks.  “Someone has to make up for you, you old grump.  Here.”  She crosses the room and shoves a plate into his good hand.  “Let’s eat while we can.  I need to head back soon.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After brunch with Kit, Geneva goes straight to her room and hides.  She sits alone in her bed, and eventually lies down for a rest.  It is the first time in weeks where she can breathe without school, Kit, or the knights there to take the breath from her, and she feels restless without distraction.  Her mind won’t settle, nothing will.  She tries video games, sleeping, reading, and none of it works.

            As night comes, she decides to stretch her legs.  She goes down the hall to Beatrice’s room as if on instinct, her body guiding her, and she knocks.  Beatrice welcomes her in, and Geneva finds her sister inside, painting her nails while listening to a podcast of some sort.  When she sees Geneva, she turns it off before continuing work on her toes.

            “Well, hello there, Genie-butt.  Strange to see you out and about these days.”

            “Yeah.”  Geneva closes the door behind her, leans against it.  “Been busy these days.”

            “All that tutoring.”  Beatrice angles her toes and blows on them as best she can before screwing the brush back into the bottle and giving it a shake. Then, she switches feet.  “So, what have you been up to lately?”

            Geneva shrugs.

            Beatrice glances at her.  “That’s descriptive,” she says, twisting the brush out of the polish, wringing the access out against the bottle lip.  She starts applying it to her left big toe.  “So, what? You came here just to watch me paint my toenails?”

            “Didn’t know you were doing that.”

            “Then you came here to stand quietly while I did something, anything at all?”  Beatrice moves to the next toe.  “Must be a nice life, to have so much time.”

            “Not really,” Geneva says, meaning it.  She never realized how much time there was in a day until she didn’t have any.  “Kit stopped by today.  We went to lunch.  Had a talk.”

            “That’s good to hear. So, everything good in paradise?”

            “More or less.”  Geneva stretches her arms and pretends to yawn.

            “What’d you two talk about?”

            A shrug.  “Stuff.”

            “Girl stuff?”

            “Stuff-stuff.  She did say something interesting, though.”

            “Yeah?”  Beatrice glances up, tucks her hair back and moves onto another toe. “Probably something about me telling her how you’ve been screening her calls?  No need to be coy, Gene.”

            “I’m not being coy.”

            Beatrice stops, stares Geneva in the eye, and the older sibling-younger sibling relationship reasserts itself for a moment.  “Yeah.  You are.  You’re not doing it well, but you’re definitely making an attempt.”  Next is her pinky toe, and she squints and moves carefully to keep from touching skin.  “I got tired of lying for you.  I’m your sister, not your secretary.  Your problems are yours, and you kept shoving them off.  So, I made them mine, and I handle my problems.”

            “Would it have killed you to keep your mouth shut?”

            Beatrice pauses, as if thinking about it.  “No, guess not.”  She puts her polish away inside of a drawer on her writing desk.  Then, she holds out her feet to appraise her work.  Finally, she turns her attention full of Geneva.  “But I think it was killing Kit a little bit, and she’s so sweet on you.  She doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment, and you should be better than that.”

            Geneva crosses her arms, frowns.  “And where do you get off being all high and mighty?  You never date anybody, so what would you know?”

            “I know it’s not a relationship if only one person is in it.  Seems a bit like commonsense.”

            “I am in it,” Geneva snaps.  “I’m trying, Bea, I’m trying really hard.”

            “Oh, sweetie, avoidance isn’t trying.  It’s avoidance.  Do you need to borrow a dictionary to help out with the subtleties of our language?”

            “Now who’s being coy?”

            “More sarcastic, perhaps even a bit hateful, but not really coy,” Beatrice says.  “But I can tell you who’s being petulant.  Don’t want me to tell the truth, then speak for yourself.  Don’t want to speak to your girlfriend, then don’t have one.  Cause I’m pretty sure communication is fairly important in these sorts of situations.”

            Geneva rolls her eyes.  “You just have all of the answers, don’t you?  God, why do you always have to butt in?”

            “I don’t and didn’t,” Beatrice says.  “Remember, sister, not secretary.  You shove your problems onto others, they solve them how they like.  And what is that all about anyway?  Lately you’ve been a real tough pill to swallow, and frankly, I’m sick of it.”

            “Then choke on it!”

            Beatrice pauses, knots her brow.  “What does that even mean?”

            “It means…”  Geneva goes quiet.  Then, she screeches and yanks the door open.  “Just shut up!”  She slams the door on her way out.

            Partway down the hall, she hears her sister call, “Nice talking to you, too, dollface!”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The ride back to Seere’s viscounty is long and quiet.  He rides with a small group, those chosen specifically by Ruka to serve as his royal guard.  Ruka is, as always, by Seere’s side.  When they reach the city gates they are welcomed inside.  The streets are quiet and dark in the night but will be loud with revelry in the morning.

            It was the first battle won in the south in over four decades and the first fought in almost as long.

            They arrive at Seere’s keep and enter through the front.  Seere removes his cloak and tosses it absently after him.  Ruka catches it, trailing along, leaving muddy boot prints on the stonework as he goes.  Outside, the rain patters across the roof.

            “The weather certainly took a quick turn,” Seere says, ringing out his hair.  He shakes off his hands afterward and unbuttons his vest.  “Such a bother.”  He smiles.  “Good to be home, though.  Never feels right to be far away.”

            “I agree,” Ruka says, setting his things aside.  He crosses his arms and looks over the empty room.  “Easier to keep you safe here.”

            “Please, Andromalius’ hall is much sturdier and has many more barricades.”

            “Yes, but we have more tunnels, and I know them.  They won’t find us unless I let them find us.”

            Seere glances back, flashes his teeth.  “And you would never do that.”

            “Never.”

            Together they leave the entry way.  They make the long walk toward the back of the keep, to the throne room, where Seere settles upon his throne.  He rubs the smooth, polished wood of the arm rests with both hands.  “Ah.  A proper throne.”  For a moment, he closes his eyes, rests his back against the throne.  Then, he straightens up and stares at Ruka, who waits at the base of the stairs leading up to the throne itself.  “I have a task for you.”

            “Lord?”

            “Call for the messenger.  I’ve need of an audience.  Now that we’ve secured the gate, it is time to do more.”

            “Shall we call the scavengers?”

            Seere’s face brightens.  “Oh, you darling thing.  How would I ever live without you?”

 

The Knights of Sheba 110…End