Arc VII : The Wanton Kingdom

  Chapter LXXXIII : Promotion

  Latenight of Denuo, First Day of Duskmoon

  Konrad raced through the streets of Rungholt, a lantern in one hand and a large sack in the other. In the latenight hours, the city was quiet, and townsfolk had long since gone to sleep. However, those at the highest levels of Kitezhian government still worked tirelessly, for the hour of Surrogate King Unruh’s counterstrike had arrived.

  Unfortunately, the process was stalled due to an unexpected hitch. The Saladina Clan Lord responsible for handing over six refurbished airships put a pause on the transfer based on new conditions. On King Unruh’s orders, Konrad rushed to Georg’s apartments to awaken the one-armed man and prepare him for a final negotiation.

  The Primary Minister felt winded. Not just from the run, but also due to anxiety over the tardy arrival of Józef’s convoy. His ward was now four days late, but without a good reason. Konrad had checked with Lady Rouge on possible weather delays, but she assured him the seas were calm, and ships arriving from the east should face no hindrance.

  Konrad was hoping the timely return of the country’s true heir would force a change in Hans’ strategy. He still didn’t want to face Angkor head on. But without Józef’s legal authority, the Surrogate King ignored his Ministry’s pleas to postpone the attack. He pushed forward, intent on a direct assault, and Konrad had no choice but to aid him. Despite his reservations, the safety of his country depended on securing additional firepower. Undeniably, he and Géorg needed to take possession of the newly refurbished airships.

  So he bolted to his friend’s bedchambers, hopeful that Géorg would work a miracle. Despite Lady Rouge’s grim prediction that his friend would turn against him, Konrad believed his faith was well placed. Géorg had proven himself competent, loyal, and determined. Konrad saw a man who would persevere when Kitezh needed him most, and he would succeed in convincing Samir to honor his deal.

  When he reached Géorg’s bedside, he lit some nearby sconces with his lantern. His friend slept with bed sheets partially draped over his slender yet muscular body. Even after a decade off the battlefield, he still had the build of a hardened soldier. Konrad admired his broad chest with tufts of curly blond hair, the kind of masculine form he wished he had inherited from his own father. It wasn’t just envy stirring in his bowls, but also something more desirous.

  Géorg stirred. His eyes fluttered, and his voice cracked. “Konrad …? What is it?”

  With a start, the Primary Minister tossed the sack he had been holding to the foot of the bed. It contained some of his father’s old clothes. Not the most modern livery, but Konrad had clear instructions to provide Géorg with something formal, ostensibly to aid in the negotiation. The attire was dated, but it met the requirements.

  “Put these on. You’ll need to dress quickly, my friend. The transfer from Samir was supposed to have happened tonight, but instead our Saladina friend came to us with new conditions. Unruh needs you to close this deal. Immediately.”

  Géorg’s eyes went wide. He threw off the bed sheets without hesitating, exposing his unclothed body. Konrad tensed, knowing he ought to avert his eyes out of respect, but he couldn’t tear them away. He was transfixed, like the time his father caught him staring at new recruits on their way out of the showers. It couldn’t have been more than a second before Friedrich’s backhanded his son’s face and sent him sprawling. Konrad picked himself off the ground that day feeling angry and hurt, but also humiliated. Those who witnessed the spectacle avoided him for months ….

  “Konrad? What’s wrong?”

  Georg’s innocent question pulled him from his trance. He instantly voiced a lie before his conscious mind could think of something else. “I—I’m just worried. We’ve yet to hear from Master Brandt, you see. His ship hasn’t arrived, and I fear something terrible has happened.”

  Géorg pulled up the pair of navy slacks before resting his hand on Konrad’s shoulder. The contact, though brief, sent chills.

  “One crisis at a time, my friend. He’ll find way back. Promise.”

  Despite the glib response, Konrad felt reassured. It was certainly better than the deaf ear Hans had given him. For someone who had taken the oath of surrogacy, the new king did little to ensure his ward’s safety.

  Géorg continued to dress with one hand. It looked slow and laborious, so Konrad helped. He grabbed the white dress shirt and drew it across Géorg’s body, determined not to be distracted by his friend’s chiseled chest.

  “What are these new conditions, Konrad? Samir should be swimming in king’s bounty by now. Enough to, uh … compensate both cost of ships and personal risk. Why renege?”

  As the uniform came together, Géorg turned pale. His navy slacks and shirt, cleanly pressed, matched a jacket with brass buttons and silver stars along the lapel. The emblem of the Kitezhian army ran across his sleeve. It was the uniform of a military general.

  “What is this? I cannot wear such rank. You say these instructions came from the king?”

  Konrad gave the uniform a final touch by rolling up the right sleeve and pinning it to Géorg’s shoulder. It fit him perfectly. He looked powerful. Handsome. Like he had earned his place inside of it.

  The Primary Minister was at a loss for words. He shook himself out of it. “Yes, and you’ll see him soon. Samir arrived in person this evening, and Unruh wants you by his side to make an impression. Exactly as you are now.”

  Géorg merely nodded, as if accepting orders. “Lead on. Should not keep them waiting.”

  Konrad nodded and left Géorg’s apartments. As he and his friend jogged through Rungholt’s empty streets, lit by nothing more than the pale blue moonlight, he considered Samir’s strange request. Indeed, the Clan Lord himself had insisted on seeing Géorg dressed as an officer. Surely, he must have known the one-armed man had long since retired, and it would be almost denigrating to force him back into military attire, let alone something above his previous rank. But no matter how odd, Konrad knew that Unruh would humor any request, as long as he got his airships.

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  When the two men reached the inn, high level personnel ushered them in quickly. Konrad recognized a few faces, but others must have been newly promoted to replace their fallen comrades. They led him and Géorg to a conference room on the second floor, which Hans had transformed into his base of operations.

  It was packed with Unruh’s top advisors, all on one side. Samir’s retinue stood opposite. The Clan Lord had brought handpicked bodyguards—mercenaries by the look—with exposed muscles and an intention to appear intimidating. They wore white, loose-fitting tunics and baggy trousers, and their heads were wrapped with turbans. Most had thick, dark beards and watchful eyes.

  Hans looked uncharacteristically weary. Likely, his many sleepless nights planning the assault had finally caught up to him. Konrad didn’t always agree with the Surrogate King, but he had to credit his passion. As soon as Konrad and Géorg entered, Hans beckoned them forward. But, before he could speak, Samir walked in front and welcomed Géorg with open arms.

  “My friend! Is good to finally meet you in person!”

  Géorg brightened, and the two hugged like close family.

  Samir chuckled. “The uniform suits you. You must know by now that I want you to lead the operation, so I insisted you look the part. I am pleased that your king indulged me.”

  Konrad felt his jaw drop at the shocking revelation. And from the wide-eyed look on Géorg’s face, he wasn’t the only one. They both spoke at once.

  “You want him to lead?”

  “You want me to lead?”

  Hans elbowed his way in front. “About that ….” He paused to clear his throat. “We’ve already arranged a crew for this mission. And with all due respect to your lordship, I have not yet agreed to replace any of our qualified captains with Mister T?ller.”

  Samir’s eyes narrowed. “What qualifications could any of those captains have over this veritable war hero?” He placed his arm around Géorg’s neck. “For weeks, I have been regaled with tales of Mister T?ller’s exploits. They have inspired me! I would not have even agreed to be here, if not for the opportunity to see this brave man once more at the helm.”

  Géorg smiled weakly, making Konrad wonder just how much his friend might have embellished.

  Hans’ features hardened. “I have no intention of questioning Mister Toller’s record. Nevertheless, he has been off the battlefield for many years, and I’m not about to send even a retired war hero on such an important mission. At least, not one so long out of practice. Besides, we planned this mission with a strict timeline. If we don’t leave within the hour—”

  Samir stepped forward, and so did his hired hands. The room grew tense, as Hans’ soldiers placed their hands on the hilts of their swords.

  Konrad stepped in, hoping to deescalate. “Your Majesty, be at ease. Please.”

  He reached out in a pacifying manner. “Clan Lord Samir, please accept our apologies and understand the delicacy of the situation. Allowing an old war hero to relive his past is a noble gesture. But for this particular mission, I must impress upon you the scale of danger and risk. We lack a full assessment of Angkor’s military strength and have only a vague idea of their weaknesses. There are many unknowns, and it would be irresponsible to send anyone short of peak fitness and training. You and I have a common enemy, one that is poised to conquer the world, and we have but one chance to weaken them. If we are to succeed, you must trust us to assemble the right crew.”

  Samir held up his hands. “I’ll forgive you for nearly drawing your weapons. I’ll also forgive your ignorance in Saladina politics. Surely, I needn’t remind you of the Clan Lords’ history with Kitezh. While I might secretly root for your success, my peers would mostly prefer to see you crushed. If I am then to place my thumb on the scales of justice and strengthen your hand against Angkor, I would be placing my reputation at risk. Listen well: because to be a Clan Lord, reputation is everything. I cannot face my peers without showing them that I demonstrated superiority in this transaction. Otherwise, I will lose my business, my wealth, and at some point, yes, even my life. I would gladly give up this sale, if it means protecting my future. For me, it is a missed opportunity. But for you, six fewer airships is the difference between victory and defeat.”

  Hans scowled. “And you think by naming your own captain, it will somehow make it amenable to the other Clan Lords?”

  “Yes, indeed!” Samir’s face was cold as stone. “The Clan Lords respect other warriors, and they are especially empathetic to those who have been robbed of their destinies by way of injury; like our friend, Mister T?ller. If not for the loss of his arm, he might have remained in the Kitezhian army, and perhaps, even one of these fine officers standing by your side, ready to pilot my airships into danger. I want to give Géorg another chance at destiny, and I think the other Clan Lords would respect that vision.”

  Hans appeared willing to consider it. He faced a highly decorated man to his side. “What if we placed Mister T?ller on the lead ship? Could you complete the mission without him getting in the way?”

  Konrad felt a great weight descend. Earlier that night, he didn’t think Samir had a chance of changing the terms of the deal. But now, things had taken a turn. He had to say something to stop the madness.

  “Your Majesty, you can’t seriously consider—”

  “Silence, Mister Rommel.” Hans left no room to argue. “Your calm presence here is appreciated, but you should know full well that we’re out of time. The flight takes precisely two days, and we planned to arrive under cover of darkness. If we delay further, the ships will arrive at sunrise, the worst possible time for a surprise attack. I’ll do whatever it takes to get those ships off the ground within the hour.”

  The man next to Hans responded to his question. “We have space aboard the lead craft for Mister T?ller, Sire. And we’ll have enough time in transit to brief him on the mission. My men have trained to find and bomb their targets, no matter who shouts the orders.”

  Hans turned to Géorg. “What about you, Son? I surely don’t need to explain the gravity of this mission, nor the consequences of failure. I can’t guarantee your safety, but the stakes have never been higher. If we accomplish what we set out to do, I promise: your heroism will become legendary.”

  Konrad faced Géorg, wishing he could beg his friend to back out. But he knew how the one-armed man would answer before he even uttered a word.

  “Am honored, Sire. I, eh … have experience leading platoons and know how to follow orders. Is, uh … just that, um … is first time on airship.”

  Samir cracked a smile. “Is like being at sea, Friend. Just don’t get sick!”

  He burst out laughing, but Hans’ dark expression showed no amusement. He addressed Géorg again. “I must have a decisive answer, Mister T?ller.”

  Konrad knew there would be no stopping the inevitable. He caught Géorg’s gaze for a brief moment. And when they locked eyes, he could almost sense an apology.

  But then the moment passed, and Géorg’s expression was just as stoic as Hans’. “I accept, without hesitation. And vow to return victorious.”

  Samir looked pleased. “Wish I could witness it myself.”

  Hans looked impatient. “Well, then? Will you relinquish the shipment?”

  The Clan Lord nodded. “We will proceed as agreed.”

  The surrogate king looked relieved. He nodded to his general, and the man escorted Géorg from the room. Samir and his entourage followed. It happened so fast that Konrad never had a chance to say goodbye. He restrained himself from reaching out or attempting any last words. This was Géorg’s decision. And on that night, Kitezh needed him more.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. It belonged to Hans, whose voice appeared almost consoling. “We’ve all been under a lot of pressure, Mister Rommel. Nevertheless, I believe our hard work will pay off.”

  Konrad tried his best to sound upbeat. “Surely it will, but … wounding Angkor is just the beginning, Your Majesty.”

  Hans nodded. “The beginning of a very long road. I just wanted you to know that I’ve taken note of your loyalty, and you have not disappointed.”

  “I love Kitezh more than anything, Sire.”

  The words meant something to Konrad. He just hoped Hans felt the same way.

  The surrogate king nodded. “A bright future awaits us. I must speak to the Ministry, Mister Rommel. Let us go together. Shall we?”

  Konrad joined his liege to the next appointment in what would be a very long night. The Ministry needed to be briefed on the updated battle plans. Then, he needed to meet with Lady Azul to prepare a long distance communications channel to keep in touch with the fleet. Neither he nor Hans would likely get much sleep. And by morn, Géorg would be well on his way.

  Konrad said a prayer, hoping that Gaia would help his friend to return home safely.