Hope Sundered

It was a lovely evening, all things considered. A thin blanket of clouds, saturated in moonlight, hung low in the night sky. The black void could be seen through the gaps, revealing a few bright stars despite the nearby aura of torchlight.

Varzeth took a deep, satisfying breath. He appreciated nights like this. He hadn’t had the opportunity to enjoy one in a very long time. He missed the rolling hills surrounding his farm, not in the desperate longing of the homesick, but in a bittersweet recollection of something once familiar.

Toramin was a small town along the northern coast of what had once been the kingdom of Rendoya. It wasn’t remarkable; the port was small and wouldn’t exist without the mining from Ki, but it was home.

Or at least it had been, before the Azrahteran Empire swept through like a brush fire, engulfing everything it touched in the name of Aguliss the Thirteenth.

A light scuffle to his right drew some of his attention, but not all of it. He was expecting company, after all. “Good evening, Kalder,” he said aloud. “I assume you’re here to give me my reassignment.”

Kalder cleared his throat in a vain attempt to dispel his own discomfort. “You’re now a pikeman, second-class, reporting to Major Woxley.”

“Ha! Full demotion to the bottom of the barrel. And on the front line, as well. Zordecai wants me dead in the worst way, and he’s not even trying to hide it anymore.”

“I didn’t think you’d find Zordecai’s punishment so amusing,” Kalder said, not hiding his concern.

“It’s amusing because it’s irrelevant. I’m free now.”

“How—” Kalder stopped short and lowered his voice, unsure of who might be wandering about. Rumors were like lightning; fast and fleeting, with dreadful results when they connect. “How can you say that? You’re not an officer anymore! You said it yourself: he’s looking for a reason to kill you, and if you step out of line by even a hair’s breadth, I won’t be able to protect you!”

“Don’t worry about it, Kalder.”

“Don’t worry about it? What game are you playing? Woxley doesn’t know you like I do and won’t hesitate to report you. What will you do when Zordecai sends his Kuronah after you?”

“He can’t send those he doesn’t command.”

Kalder could hear Varzeth’s mischievous smile in his words, but they didn’t make sense. “Are you saying you’ve…earned their loyalty?”

“No, Kalder. I’ve had their loyalty. For quite some time now. Like many among our ranks, they’re offended by our general’s recklessness.”

“Won’t Zordecai discover they’ve betrayed him?”

Varzeth shrugged. “By the time he realizes he’s been played for the fool he is, we’ll be well beyond his reach.”

“You’re leaving? Where are you going?”

“Across the river.”

It took Kalder several heartbeats to decipher the cryptic response. “Wait, are you saying you’ve figured out how to infiltrate the city?”

“Indeed I have.”

Kalder understood now. “And once you let us in and we take the city, he’ll be forced to acknowledge your success and reinstate you. Or,” he added with growing excitement, “the men will see he’s not fit to lead, thus securing unanimous consent to remove him from command.” He grinned and shook his head in amazement. "BIt was brilliant.

“Do you really think Zordecai would ever relinquish his authority?”

Kalder didn’t have to answer. It would take a very public bloodbath to bring that lunatic down, and a civil war at Wyndham’s doorstep would be humiliating beyond measure.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Kalder. If I’m successful, all will become clear in time. You should return to your tent now, lest whispers begin to travel. In fact, it’d be best if you stayed close to Zordecai over the next few days to absolve yourself of any lingering connection to me.”

Varzeth returned his gaze to the stars as Kalder left in silence. Of course he didn’t understand—how could he? Kalder was Azrahteran-born. He’d been career military from his youth, always following orders, knowing nothing beyond what he was told to believe.

True, he was smart enough to see Zordecai’s growing madness for what it was, but what could he really do about it? Like everyone else he wasn’t powerful enough to challenge the general directly. Men like Kalder wouldn’t deviate from their calling because they couldn’t; they just didn’t know how.

A plan had to be more than just precise to be successful. It had to be flexible, and Varzeth understood this more than anyone in the empire.