The Knights of Sheba Ep. 11: "Wings" A

 Episode Eleven: Wings

            Geneva remembers the halls at summer time, how empty they were, how they echoed her footsteps, but they were nothing compared to this.  The lights are out and the halls are lit only by what pale, winter light the windows let in.  It stabs at the darkness but does not penetrate deep, and she has to take a moment for her eyes to adjust before entering.

            She follows Ms. Olivia through the empty halls.  Their footsteps echo.  The compound never truly welcomed Geneva, but her harsh treatment of Erak has made it worse.  A new place was needed, and so Ms. Olivia decided to use the school until she could find another, more perminent solution.

            With school out the halls are cold and, Geneva finds, unfriendly.  The air feels tense, like there are ghosts around every corner watching them.  She keeps close to Ms. Olivia for fear that a teacher will manifest in the air and reprimand them for being there.

            They reach the gym and flick on the lights.  Geneva rubs her arms, trying to get warmth in them.  Her jacket isn’t thick enough.  “Think we could turn on the heat?”

            “No,” Ms. Olivia says.  “I want our presence here to go unnoticed.  We cannot stay for long, but I assume this is preferable to the compound?”

            “What,” Geneva says, puffing into her hands.  “You saying I’m not welcome there?”

            Ms. Olivia gives a level stare and turns.  She sets a black duffle bag on the bleachers and begins extracting a host of training equipment.  She pulls out a few bottles of water, some bandages, a few empty bottles, and two wooden training swords.  She twirls one absently while turning to speak to Geneva.  “You’ll want your jacket off, I think.  If things go well, you’ll be plenty warm soon enough.”

            “Exercise and all of that.”  Geneva undoes her jacket and sets it aside.  Her arms prickle as soon as they touch the cold air.  She rubs her hands together again, futilely.  “Let’s hurry up then.  How do you want me?” She pauses.  “That sounded better in my head.”

            “Armor first, please.”

            Geneva nods, closes her eyes.  She imagines the switch, the choice, and makes it.  The ring spreads up her hand, up her arm, and across her body.  It slithers and crawls and solidifies.  When Geneva opens her eyes, she finds Ms. Olivia smiling.

            “You’re faster.”

            “I’ve had some free time to practice.  Now what?”

            “Your wand, please.”

            “Swand.”  Geneva reaches down, draws her wand in one smooth motion.  “So, is this review or something, because I think I have all of this mastered.  My problem isn’t dress up.  It’s everything after.”

            “We will be practicing our combat, but I have ideas.  I’ve been doing research on the armors, reviewing what texts we have.  How much do you remember of what I’ve told you?”

            “That there is more than one.”

            Ms. Olivia sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose.  Then, she picks up one of the bottles from the bleachers and steps out onto the gymnasium floor.  “Yes?  And what else?”

            “They have swands, too?”

            Ms. Olivia places the bottle at the center of the gym and stares across at Geneva.  “Ms. Oaks, please, do try and take this seriously.”  Geneva shrugs, and Ms. Olivia shakes her head.  “Each armor has its own special strength, a gift of sorts.  Do you remember yours?”

            Geneva looks her armor over.  “It’s white and blends in with the snow.  Winter soldier style.”

            “Ms. Oaks.”

            “You know, you could just save yourself some time by telling me the answers you want to hear.”

            “Yes, I suppose I could,” Ms. Olivia says, strained.  “Yours is the feather signet.  Supposedly, your armor is gifted with flight, though we won’t be doing that just yet.  Instead, I want to test the capabilities of your wand.”

            Geneva holds the wand up and turns it over in her hands.

            “If you remember, each armor has its gift and also a wand with which to channel that gift.”

            “So, what, my swand can make things fly?”

            Ms. Olivia smirks.  “In a sense, if I understand what I read.  Your armor catches air currents.  In particular, it glides and, if done properly, can do so for extended periods of time.  In the same way, your wand can be swung and release bursts of air.”

            “Right?”  Geneva takes a few steps forward, swings in the direction of the empty bottle.  “Sounds like science.  Don’t know if you’ve seen my grades, but I don’t exactly science well.”

            “Yes, which is why I have an interest in giving you hands-on experience.”  Ms. Olivia steps away from the bottle and points at it.  “Knocks this over, if you will.”

            Geneva stares across the room, her attention now on the bottle.  She looks between it and Ms. Olivia.  “Yeah, I’ll get on that.  How, exactly?”

            “Try swinging your wand.”

            “At what? The air?”

            “Yes,” Ms. Olivia says, and then more certainly, “Yes, try that.”

            “Guess I’ll try anything once.”  Geneva looks at the blade of her wand, eyes the evenly spaced notches across the surface of it.  There are eight in total, each granting access to the hollow interior.  To Geneva, it makes the blade look to her almost like a feather.  She takes a deep breath.  “Okay, time to feel silly.”

            She takes a charge and leaps into the air, spinning her sword and swinging it about like a child with a basket.  Then, skipping and stumbling to a stop, she lunges forward.  A hard roar of air fills the room and knocks a foam pad from its place on the far wall.  The bottle rattles gently on the floor.

            Ms. Olivia looks between the pad and the bottle.  She takes another step back.  “It seems as if you were able to make a current.”

            “You sound surprised.”

            “Try again.”

            “Could’ve said you weren’t to make me feel better.”  Geneva walks back to where she was and turns.  She sets her feet and this time flourishes, twirling the blade around her.  She gives four quick swipes at the air, feeling the momentum building, and then swings down.  Another current of air, a howl of wind, and Ms. Olivia falls flat onto her rear.  “Oh, crap!”

            “No, I am fine.”  Ms. Olivia pushes herself back up.  “I think you were a tad high.”  She eyes Geneva and takes another step away. “And perhaps a bit too far to the right.”

            “Yeah…”

            “Try to aim lower and over.  Also, try the thrust.  It seems to give you more precision.”

            Geneva nods and holds her blade before her.  She lines it up with the can and closes her eyes.  A deep breath, and then she repeats the process.  Again, she takes for quick swipes and then steps forward, thrusting

            The air shifts, spirals forward, and tears the bottle apart while scattering it across the floor.  It comes to a stop, the lid tossed to one side with the body sundered.

            Ms. Olivia claps.  “Quite impressive, Ms. Oaks!”

            “Yeah.  Only took three tries.”  Geneva cheers ruefully.

            Ms. Olivia climbs the stairs to the bleachers and grabs another bottle.  She sets it in the same place.  “Now, let’s see if you can give a repeat performance.”  As she speaks, she makes sure to put distance between herself and the target.

            “No problem, I’ve got this.  In fact, I’ll try something a bit more flashy. Maybe show off a bit.”  Inside of her helm, Geneva sticks her tongue out while lining up her sights.  She takes another deep breath and starts spinning her wand.  Then, she twirls and swings upward, holding her blade like a golf club.

            Air rushes across the floorboards, shifting the dust.  It hits the bottom of the bottle and this time sends it rocketing up toward the ceiling.  Ms. Olivia cheers in the background as the bottle takes a quick, decisive flight into the light directly above it.  Sparks shoot and fly, and the bottle falls, a blackened, smoking chunk on the ground.  Glass gathers around it.

            “Oh, my,” Ms. Olivia says after a brief silence.

            Geneva, cringing, whines out a, “Sorry,” and then whistles nonchalantly.

            Ms. Olivia sighs.  “Yes, well, I suppose that is our cue to move on to something else.  First, let’s change the light, though”

            Geneva slides her wand back into the waist of her armor.  “Right. Yeah. Good idea.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

They change the light together, an act which involves Geneva watching and making half-hearted suggestions while Ms. Olivia does all of the work.  Afterward, they put away the remaining bottles and stand apart in the center of the gym.  Ms. Olivia paces a wide circle around Geneva.

            “So, what are we going to do now,” Geneva asks.  She is happy to find that the cold seems distant to her now.  Ms. Olivia shivers occasionally and hugs herself for warmth, and it reminds Geneva that her armor protects from extremes in temperature..

            “Now, we will test the other properties of your armor.  The wand allows you to channel your armor’s gift, focus it into a point.  It gives you control of air currents, but your armor should be able to glide on its own.  Before it can do that, however, we must conjure your wings.”

            “Wings?’  Geneva looks over her shoulders and, finding nothing, feels along her shoulder blades.  “Yeah, any advice on that?”

            “How do you conjure your armor?”

            “I don’t know.  I just, kind of—It’s like a switch, but it’s more.” She sighs.  “It’s stupid.”

            “I highly doubt that, but whatever it is, it works, Ms. Oaks, and that is what is important.  Try to do the same sort of thing.”

            “Right.  Just imagine a switch.  That makes wings pop out.  Like a switch blade.” Inside of her helmet, Geneva rolls her eyes.

            “Don’t roll your eyes, Ms. Oaks.”

            “How did you even…”

            “Just try it.”

            “Fine.”  Geneva straightens up, closes her eyes, and she breathes, calm and deep.  She imagines the switch in her head, the one that turns her from a girl into a knight.  Then, she imagines another, one that turns her from a knight into something else, something she can’t fathom.  She opens her eyes.  “This is stupid.”

            “Come, Ms. Oaks.  You’ll never get anywhere with your complaints.”

            “Yeah.  Maybe you should pull your gun on me again.”

            “Ms. Oaks.”

            “You’re a real pain today, you know that?”

            “The feeling is mutual, I assure you.”

            Geneva huffs, closes her eyes again.  There are two switches, but one doesn’t work.  It isn’t right.  It isn’t her.  She can hardly see herself as a knight.  Flight seems so much like fantasy and, after the battle, she knows that none of this is fantasy.  It is real, and harsh, and hard, and her nose still aches, and so does her body.

            Instead of the switches, she clears her mind.  She imagines, instead, wings and feathers, pure and white like snow.  She imagines her armor, extending, stretching, growing into them.  They are fictional but distinct, and they are there.  They aren’t her, but she can feel through them, feel them swaying, folding, fanning.

            “Ms. Oaks?”  

            “I’m trying to focus.”  The image is lost.  She opens her eyes, glares.  “What do you want?”

            “I was just making sure you were okay.  You’ve been quiet for some time.”

            “I was,” Geneva sighs and runs her hands along the helm.  “Know what? Never mind.  This isn’t happening today.”

            “Fair enough.”  Ms. Olivia pulls her sleeve up, checks her watch.  “It is almost noon.  Let’s retire for the day.”  She tosses Geneva her jacket.  “Come, get out of your armor.  I will drive you home.”

            “Wait, we’re done today? We haven’t even trained with swords.”

            “Ms. Oaks, not to be confrontational, but you clearly need a break.  So, we should quit for the day.”

            Geneva holds the glare.  Her armor slips away, compressing back into the ring, but the glare stays.  She jerks her arms into the jacket and zips it up.  “Fine. Let’s go then.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The sun appears at noon, bleeding through the clouds and touching the snow drifts with its warm fingers.  They melt, slowly, great streams of water pooling in the streets, filling the drains.  That night they will freeze, only to thaw and refreeze in the days to come.

            Claude watches from the window, still isolated and increasingly irritated by his situation.  Shirley is at home with him, having lunch.  She sits on the mattress with a plate on her lap and tears small bits from her sandwich before eating them.

            “You should get out of here for a while, get some fresh air,” she says.

            “Nothing to do out there.”

            “More to do than there is in here,” she says.  “Go to that sporting equipment store we saw.  You could look at the bows, see how much a new one would cost.”

            “It’d cost a lot.”  He turns and leans against the wall while biting, almost bitterly, into his sandwich.

            “When you get back to work, we’ll be fine.”  She smiles.  “Don’t worry so much.”

            Claude sets his plate to the side and scratches at his cast.  “I can’t wait until this thing is off.”

            “Me either.”

            “You just want me out of the apartment.”

            “Maybe a little.”  She stands and takes her plate to the sink while he glowers, and then she blows him a raspberry.  “I’m just kidding.  But you are getting little cranky.  Go out for a walk, at least.  It’s sunny out, and you don’t know how long that will last here.”

            Claude glances back out the window.  “Probably only a few hours.”  He sighs.  “Maybe I will.”

            Shirley crosses the room, takes his plate and puts it in the sink with hers.  She runs water over both of them before going to Claude and hugging him about the waist.  Then, she smiles up at him.  “I think you should.  It might cheer you up.”

            He smiles back at her and relaxes into her grip.  Sometimes when she is away, it startles him to realize that they are living together, as a couple, even sharing a bed, but when they are together, it is like they were never anything else.

            They stand together, swaying, and kiss.  “Okay, if you insist.  I’ll go.”

            “Good.”  They part.  “Maybe you could buy something nice for your date.”

            “I really wish you would stop calling that.  It’s weird enough that we’re meeting at all.”

            “Oh,” she slaps his chest before grabbing her purse from the bed.  “You’re over-thinking it.  She’s just a girl who needs help, and you’re the one who can help her.  It’s sweet.”

            “I have no qualifications for this sort of thing.”

            “You’re a hero, aren’t you?”  She gives him that look, the one she always wears when she says something like this.  It is her way of saying that she knows what he is and that he better know, too.

            “I guess.  Just wish it was a little more impersonal, you know?”

            “It’ll be fine.”  She goes to the door and stands with it open.  “I’ll see you tonight.”

            “Yup.”  He waves, and she blows him a kiss.  Though embarrassed, he returns it.

            “Also,” she says, peeking back inside, “Go for that walk!”

            “I will, I will,” he says, and he smiles as she closes the door.  Then, he turns to the window and watches the people on the street, watches the snow melt again.  Soon, Shirley is out there, looking both ways before crossing to the parking lot.

            When she is gone, he has nothing to distract him, and he starts thinking about tomorrow.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “You know, you could always use the house phone.”  Geneva holds her cell to her ear while crossing the room to lock her door.  Once the door is locked, she returns to her bed.  “I’m weird, but even I don’t walk around my room and talk to myself.  My parents are paranoid enough without me having to hide a cell phone from them.”

            “Tell them it is from your teacher.”

            Geneva shakes her head.  “Listen, that isn’t really the best excuse in the world, and it would definitely start more fires than it would put out.”

            “Well, we can’t risk anyone listening in, so this is the safest option.  Erak is already upset that Mr. Sylvain is involved.”

            “Yeah, yeah, wouldn’t want to put my family in danger, secret identity, yadda-yadda.  I know.”  She falls back onto her bed and stares up at her ceiling, traces a small spiral leading in toward her ceiling light with her gaze.  After wincing in the light, she follows the spiral back out.  “So, what do you want now?”

            “I had considered surprising you, but I think it is better to give you warning ahead of time.  Tomorrow, your training will be different.”

            “What, are we taking a class trip to the nearest mountain so I can try jumping off?  Because, I don’t really think that will help me much with the whole sprouting wings thing.”

            “No, Ms. Oaks, but we will not be training at the gym.  Instead, I would like for you to meet with Mr. Sylvain.”

            “Mr. Sylvain?  Oh, that Claude guy?”  Geneva furrows her brow.  “What for?”

            “Now is the time to build connections, Ms. Oaks.”

            “But I thought Erak hated him.”

            “He does.”

            Geneva waits, shrugs.  “Okay, fine, whatever.  I’ll meet with him. I guess.”

            Ms. Olivia is quiet for a moment, perhaps apprehensive.  “Really?”

            “Yup.  You say jump, and I say, ‘I’m tired,’ and do it anyway.”

            “I see.  I suppose that will work.  So, I will pick you up at our usual time then.”

            “Yeah, yeah, and I’ll go build some connections.”

            “Yes,” Ms. Olivia says, briefly, sounding somewhat surprised.  “Well, then, I will see you tomorrow.”

            “Ah-huh.”  Geneva hangs up and goes to her jacket.  She stuffs the phone inside.  Then, she goes back to her desk and sits.  She stares at the wall but doesn’t see it. Instead, she sees a young adult, a man, with dark hair and dark eyes and a serious expression on his face.  He fires an arrow that explodes on contact, moves with precision, with meaning, and perhaps this works against him.

            She sees a beast towering over them.  It attacks the man, snaps his bow, snaps him limb.  She sees bone through flesh and blood in the snow, and then she sees fatigue and smells burnt flesh and, over that, fresh blood. The bruises across her body, now healed, ache in remembrance.

            Looking at her ring, the material polished and shining, she wonders what sort of battles the knights fought, wonders what sort of person Belquis was behind the legend.  Having fought demons, she finds it hard to see someone so different from her, someone larger than life, and she thinks how experience seems to make the mythic mundane.

            She wonders if Belquis was there, fighting the big demon, would Claude have gotten hurt, or would Belquis have gotten hurt, but she knows there are no answers to those questions.  She knows, also, that they are pointless, that Belquis is gone and dead, and she is there.  She is wearing the armor, the armor without wings, the armor that can fly but won’t for her.

            It reminds her that, whatever she is wearing, she isn’t really a soldier, or a knight, but a scared young girl crying herself to sleep in the dark.

            The phone rings, the house phone, and Geneva jerks into awareness.  She waits for someone to answer and, after three rings, sighs.  “Oaks residence, Geneva speaking.”

            “Hey, just who I was looking for,” Kit says from the other end.

            “Oh. Hey.”

            There is a short pause.  “So, how are you?”

            “Good.  I guess.”  Geneva shifts in her seat, drums her fingers on the desk.

            “Me, too,” Kit says quietly.  “You busy?”
            “No more than usual.  Why?”

            “Wondering if you wanted to go out tonight, maybe catch a movie.”

            “Oh.”  Geneva looks around her room, leans back in her chair.  She stares at the ceiling and tries to come up with an excuse, but her thoughts never go where she wants them to anymore.  “Can’t tonight.  Sorry.”

            “Oh. School stuff?”

            “Always,” Geneva says, and she worries that the lie is getting too easy for her.  Sometimes, she worries that she is even beginning to believe it, but then she always thinks that Kit is just being patient with her.  The latter options always hurts worst.  “Sorry.”

            “It’s fine.  What about tomorrow?”

            Geneva thinks about Claude again, about blood in the snow.  “Can’t, either.”

            Kit sighs on the other end, not angry but disappointed.  “That’s fine. Rain check?”

            “Yeah.  Sometime.  When I’m not so busy.”

            “Of course.”  Another pause, more silence.  “I’ll let you get back to it, then.”

            “Thanks, Kit.”  She hangs up without waiting for response.

            Off the phone, Geneva pulls open her drawer and finds the journal inside.  She eyes it and then shoves the draw closed.  Instead of reading, she crawls into bed and curls up, and she hugs a pillow tight to her chest and tries hard not to think about anything at all.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The sky is dark, bleak, and the air so cold that it chokes.  Icy winds blow, tossing snowflakes, twisting them across the sky.  There is no light to speak of, but everything shines in the darkness.  A creature glides through the air, shaking in the earth with the movement of its leathery wings.

            A woman, tall, blonde, and shapely, is pursued by figures that glow.  They follow her close as she retreats, but she never turns her back to face them.  She isn’t running; she never runs.  They surround her, holding blades that gleam in the non-light.  The woman staggers and stumbles, landing on her back.

            A tower looms in the distance, watching without a care.  The beast sweeps by it again, going unnoticed.  Whatever it is, it is enormous, and its scales gleam white in the dark, pure like the snow.

            The woman is surrounded by light but doesn’t seem afraid.  Instead, she looks furious, stands up and stands her ground, fists balled, jaw set.  She is wearing a dress and a crown and looks to be a princess of some sort.  The lights ready their blades and close rank.

            The beast drops and lands amidst them, the size of a house and its scales shining.  Talons cut the earth, leave deep gashes as its feet settle.  Its body, long and serpentine, curls around the princess while its wings fold in, and it snaps at the light, roars like a maelstrom.

            The wind shifts, fast and hard, and the light is carried away, and he stands in the center of it, hair tossing, blinded and deafened by the wind.  He hears voices calling out to him, and then…

            Claude wakes up, stares at the ceiling.  The room is dark, but the first blades of sunlight drift in.  He sits up and stares, at first, at the wall, and then rubs his face.  He is sweating.

            Shirley peeks out of the bathroom with a toothbrush in her mouth. “You okay, sweetie?”

            “Yeah, I just,” he looks at her, “Strange dream.”

            “Dream or dream?”  He looks away, and she joins him on the bed.  “One of those, huh?  You sure you’re okay?”

            He nods.  “Nothing bad, just confusing.”

            “Should we cancel your date?”

            “No.  And stop calling it that.”

            She giggles and stands, spits and rinses before going to the clean laundry and digging around until she finds socks.  Then, she slips them on while looking around their tiny apartment.  “We really need a dresser.”

            “We need a lot of things.”  He leans back, supporting his weight with his good arm while Shirley closes in and kisses him on the lips.  He smiles up at her while she stands and poses.

            “How do I look?”

            “Good.”

            “As always.”  She flips her hair and laughs.  “Guess I should head out.  I’ll get something for lunch today, if that’s fine with you.”

            “It’s fine, but why not come home?”

            She grins.  “You might need some privacy.”

            “You are really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

            The grin spreads, and she goes to the door.  “Just have fun, okay?”

            “Yeah, yeah, you too.”

            “Love you, Claude.”  She pauses at the door, leans against it and waits.  “Always have.”

            He smirks.  “I love you, too.”

            “I know,” she says, and she saunters out the door.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina picks Geneva up shortly before noon and drives her downtown.  The ride there is quiet, with Geneva slouching in her seat and staring, absently, out the window.  She has her arms crossed and her feet up on the dashboard.

            As they enter downtown, they slow to a stop at a traffic light.  The streets are long and narrow, clogged with lunchtime traffic.  People walk brusquely in the sunny cold, passing the cars by.  Geneva shifts in her seat.

            “This isn’t some weird child prostitution thing, right?”

            Nina gives a befuddled glance.  “Excuse me?”

            “This visit.  I mean, you weren’t clear on the details.  So, I’m just asking, it’s not a child prostitution thing, right?  You’re not selling him my body or anything, are you?”

            “No.  Ms. Oaks, I would never!”

            The car inches forward, and Geneva tugs on her seatbelt and shrugs. “Now that I think about it, and I mean really think, I guess it wouldn’t be so bad. If it was child prostitution, I mean. So long as I got a cut.” Geneva pauses, thoughtfully. “Though, I don’t know if you can still count me as a child. I’m a bit too old for childhood. So, it’d be teenage prostitution, I guess. Is that even a thing?”

            “Ms. Oaks, this is in no way any form of prostitution. I simply feel we should reach out to Mr. Sylvain and make connections.” Nina takes a right, stops suddenly and waits for the other cars to start moving again. “He was quite helpful during the battle with the demon lord, was he not?”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, distantly, sinking further into her seat. “Wouldn’t have won without him.”

            Nina glances again before pulling forward. They turn down another long, narrow street, this time going north. The buildings in this area of town are tall and old. Though it is late morning, they block much of the sunlight and cast everything in deep shadows.

            “Hey, Ms. Olivia, can I ask you a question?”

            “Of course.” Nina eyes the numbers on the buildings as they pass.

            “It’s about Belquis. Or the Queen of Sheba. Or whatever she’s called.”

            Nina slows the car and they make brief eye contact. “And what would you like to know about her?”

            “Well, I was reading, and it said she betrayed the elves. Froze an entire world shut, and I was wondering, well, how did she do that?”

            Nina goes quiet, pulls into a parking space across from a squat, brick building. With the car parked, she keeps gripping the steering wheel and stares ahead, as if considering her words.  Finally, she says, “In truth, Ms. Oaks, I am uncertain. No one really knows, and so few people—elves, mostly—are willing to ask the question. If there ever was an answer, it has long since been lost to the revised and re-revised history of the knights.”

            “It all just sounds like magic.” Geneva stares across the street, too, unclips her seatbelt. “This is the place, I assume.”

            “Yes.”

            “Okay. Well, guess I should go inside. Make connections.”  he grabs hold of the door handle. “Though, I don’t think I’m the best of representatives.”

            “You will do fine.” Nina watches Geneva open the door and then grabs her by the shoulder. They make eye contact again, and Nina pulls her hand back quickly.  “Ms. Oaks, call me if you need anything.”

            Geneva quirks her brow. “I’m going to need a ride home.”

            “Yes, of course, I simply meant—I will be waiting on word from you.”

            “Sure,” Geneva says, and she climbs from the car and shuts the door behind her. After a half wave and a shiver, she crosses the street. Nina watches Geneva to the doorway, where Claude greets her and shows her in.

The Knights of Sheba 111 A…End

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