Chapter 5: The White General
Research Log, 1 Year, 17 days (350 days)
“I designed the Animal Intelligence to grow and learn much like a diordna child would, though I never got to see that happen. Until now. About a year after its birth I can say it’s learning at much the same rate as a diordna child.
"How do I know this? From my research, there are two early indicators. The first indicator is speech development. As noted in previous logs, its development in this regard runs parallel to diordna children. Today it reached the second early indicator and has begun to walk, again at about the same time as an average diordna child. The time it has taken for it to reach these two achievements leads me to believe that it has the same potential as any diordna. I can only continue to observe and hope that this rate of development continues.”
Iakedrom jolted awake to the sound of someone knocking, sitting upright on the cell bed. Fosia stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the door frame.
“Morning,” she said. “Looks like you had a rough night. What’re you in for?”
“A stabbing,” Iakedrom said, holding up the blood crusted bandaged prosthetic. “How late is it?”
“Not,” Fosia said. “I just got in, thought you might want to be woken up.”
“How’d you know I was up here?” Iakedrom asked, groggily.
“I saw you take Ekivia up here, but then neither of you came down,” She said, then a mischievous smile appeared on her face and her eyes turned blue with pleasure sight. “I came to check on you before I went home, and was kinda hoping things had gotten…interesting, but you were just asleep. Someone had a hard day and needed a nap.”
Iakedrom rolled his eyes, standing and following Fosia from the cell “Any progress on the Esile thing?”
“Not really,” Fosia said. “The machinologist I talked to about the living skin said he’d never seen anything like that before. He thought I was trying to prank him. Once I convinced him he suggested it could have something to do with the prosthetic, and not the diordna skin.”
“I’m not so sure,” Iakedrom said, mind racing. “I can’t imagine how the prosthetic could cause the skin to write on it. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“I agree,” Fosia said. “The machinologist suggested we could run some experiments, test if something similar happened with the skin from another diordna. He’ll supply the prosthetics, and the craftsman supplied the skin donors.”
Iakedrom’s eyes yellowed, and as he thought about it an even darker thought occurred to him. “Fosia, what do you know about the real Esile’s work?”
“Just the basics,” Fosia said. “Mother of isolated organics and modern machinology, creator of the theory of micro-mechanics, and the first diordna to posit that Dytie created animals first then modeled parts of us after their design.”
“Yeah,” Iakedrom said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “The real Esile talked a lot about the idea that the biggest difference between diordna and animals is the material we’re made of, not the structures of that material. What if she combined that idea with her theory of isolated organics? She started the first experiments with them before she died, and if she were alive today she would know they worked. What if she also did the opposite?”
“You’re not suggesting what I think you are,” Fosia said, her eyes yellowing to match Iakedrom’s. “That Esile tried, and succeeded in making, isolated mechanics as well.”
Iakedrom nodded. “It would fit her pairing of organics and mechanics functionality.”
“That’s true,” Fosia said. “But…I don’t know, it seems too strange for her to have done.”
“It does unless you consider one other element,” Iakedrom said. “If the Esile we have in custody now is the real Esile. This Esile could try something like that. What if she survived all these years by using her knowledge of diordna and animal physiology? What if she made isolated mechanics as a pair to isolated organics?”
“That idea is not one I like,” Fosia said. “But I’ll pursue that line of questions with her. And I’ll ask the machinologist.”
“I’ll ask Ekivia what she thinks,” Iakedrom said. “Since we have a leading genetic engineer here with us, might as well get something useful from her. Though I’m not sure she’ll be that helpful.”
“It’s worth a shot,” Fosia said.
“Any news on the fugitives?” Iakedrom asked.
“Not yet,” Fosia said. “But, since the sun is finally up the search should get easier. I’m gunna get started with Esile. I can’t tell if she’s stubborn or forgetful, but either way, answers are going to be slow coming today.”
“Based on my experience last night I’d say she’s both,” Iakedrom said. “And even though Kiv probably isn’t forgetful I get the feeling she’s going to be stubborn.”
“Good luck with that,” Fosia said.
“Thanks, you too.”
Iakedrom went to his desk near the back of the room and started making notes. He preferred to write out his interrogation plans beforehand to be sure he had it all clear in his head, then if he missed something while he was in with the suspect he could refer back to his notes after. Fosia, on the other hand, was the kind to just go in and read the flow of the conversation, let it take her to the answers she needed, so she walked past their desks and to Esile’s interrogation room.
He was almost done with his notes when a hush came over the room, so much so that he could hear the front door close on the far side of the room. He glanced up to see who could bring such a hush across the room.
Then he leaped to his feet and bowed with the rest of the room.
A priestess of Dytie had come to visit. She was average height, so a little taller than Fosia, and she wore the orange robes of the priests and priestesses. His face was partially obscured by a mask of sorts, a wooden oval with the hand of Dytie cut out of the center, making it look like their god had grabbed the nawo by the face with its four fingers upward and its thumbs gripping both sides of her face. He couldn’t get a good look at her features from here, but he knew that where her face showed would be painted the colors of emotion in spiraling patterns; black for sorrow, white for fear, yellow for disgust, red for anger, and blue for pleasure. At points those colors would blend, as they often did in the eyes of the diordna, indicating the complexity of the emotional spectrum.
Their commander, Ailif, approached the priestess respectfully and bowed again. “To what do we owe the honor, your grace?”
“I am Nailil, and have come on orders from the Drol,” the priestess said. “Who is in charge of the Ekivia Neitkarf investigation?”
Ailif gestured toward Iakedrom and he raised his right hand by instinct, displaying the prosthetic with its bandage blackened with dried blood. The priestess bowed shallowly in thanks to Ailif then made her way to where Iakedrom stood waiting. He was genuinely in shock at seeing a priest at all, his sight slightly whitened with the emotion, but he was more surprised that one would come for Ekivia and not the Craftsman. He’d think the Drol would be more interested in the high-profile killer’s case, not the usually mellow scientist’s.
Iakedrom bowed as the priestess approached. “Graceful Nailil, it is an honor, though I can’t see why the Drol would be interested in this particular case.”
“The Drol has his reasons,” Nailil said as Iakedrom straightened and met her eyes for the first time. They were devoid of emotion sight, but her expression was that of a storm, like anger brewed beneath the surface. “I am also working on a deadline, and would like to get started immediately.”
“Yes, of course,” Iakedrom said. “She’s in room six today. If you’ll follow me I’ll take you to the room.”
“Thank you,” Nailil said as they started walking together. “What is your name, investigator?”
“Iakedrom.”
“Ah yes, that’s right.” The way she said it made Iakedrom feel like she already knew but was being polite in asking. “Investigator Iakedrom, I read your reports from last night. Do you have any updates for me on the case?”
“Not yet,” Iakedrom said. “I haven’t had a chance to start the questioning yet this morning.”
“That’s fine,” Nailil said as they reached the door. “You can wait out here.”
“Actually, your grace” Iakedrom said. “There are some questions I needed to ask for my other investigation, and I also believe I could be an asset to you as Ekivia and I have already developed some level of rapport. Would it be too much to ask that I join you?”
Nailil looked him over briefly, then nodded. “You’re right. Having someone who’s dealt with her directly before will be more than welcome. However, the Drol believes she may have some very sensitive information, so I need you to agree to keep anything we learn between us and Dytie. Am I understood?”
Iakedrom felt an odd wave of relief wash over him and his body relaxed a little, and he nodded. He hadn’t realized he’d been so tense, but for some reason, he didn’t much like the idea of leaving Ekivia alone with this priestess.
He touched the trigger to unbind the door and pressed it open. This time Ekivia was sitting at the table, her hands tied in front of her by a rope.
The priestess looked at Iakedrom disapprovingly, eyes slightly red. “Rope? You’ve bound her only with rope?”
“Based on past experiences I didn’t think stricter measures were necessary,” Iakedrom said. “As I mentioned we have a rapport.”
“By past experiences do you mean the time she viciously attacked one of your officers?” Nailil asked, not bothering to hide the anger in her voice. “Or how she associates with others who nearly killed another one of your officers?”
“I… well, no,” Iakedrom said. “Those were out-of-character events in my opinion.”
“Out of character they may be,” Nailil said. “But that they happened once proves they could happen again. So if you don’t mind I would appreciate it if you would grab the constrictor before we get started.”
Nailil turned away from him and stalked into the room, and Iakedrom opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. Had he really been about to argue with one of Dytie’s priests? Someone chosen to represent the Drol and by extension to represent Dytie? He shook his head and entered the room, turning immediately to the right as he did so. In the corner beside the door was a waist-high shelf holding a cube-shaped vine box. Unlatching the box, Iakedrom reached in and removed the constrictor, a snake long enough to wrap around both wrists and through holes in the table to hold a prisoner in place. Not only that, but if the prisoner resisted or put too much strain on the creature it would only tighten more. He didn’t like the idea of using one on Ekivia.
But Ekivia was smart enough not to do that to herself, so he had nothing to worry about.
Nailil removed the rope and Iakedrom approached Ekivia. The scientist looked up at Iakedrom and he saw a little white in her eyes as he looped the constrictor around her wrists and through the table. He met her eyes and hoped she saw the slight darkening of sorrow in his eyes.
“Now that that’s taken care of,” Nailil said. “Iakedrom, would you like to start or shall I?”
“If I could ask a few questions for our other investigation first that would be helpful,” Iakedrom said, meeting Nailil’s gaze. “Just so we can get them out of the way.”
“Go right ahead,” Nailil said.
“Thank you,” Iakedrom said, bowing and then turning to look at Ekivia. “You’ve studied Esile, I assume?”
“Of course,” Ekivia said. “All genetic engineers have.”
“She taught that the structures found in animals were also found in diordna,” Iakedrom said. “And also believed that isolated organics were possible. We’ve proved her right several times over on both accounts.”
“I know,” Ekivia said, confused but cautious looking.
“How close is the resemblance between animal and diordna would you say?” Iakedrom asked.
Ekivia looked from Iakedrom to the priestess, then back, and answered slowly. “Very similar as far as I can tell. But I’m no machinologist.”
Iakedrom nodded. “In your opinion are the two structures close enough to each other that isolated mechanics could theoretically be possible?”
I…” Ekivia’s eyes flooded with yellow disgust and her nose flared as she thought about the question. “That is not something I have ever asked myself or anyone else. I don’t see how it could be possible.”
“If animal and diordna structures are the same,” Iakedrom said. “Then could we not possibly find a way to engineer diordna bodies in a similar way to how we engineer animals? And if so then could we not create isolated mechanics?”
“I don’t know if it’s possible,” Ekivia said, obviously increasingly uncomfortable with the line of questions. “Theoretically? Maybe when you put it that way, but I don’t know as I’m not a machinologist. And you’d have to have a diordna willing to do that kind of thing. It goes so far beyond ethical that I don’t think anyone would be willing to find out.”
Iakedrom glanced at the priestess, who displayed disgust not only in her expression but in her eyes as well. Which was a relief to Iakedrom, as she’d been so brooding and stoic so far. “Thank you for your opinion.”
“No problem,” Ekivia said. “Can we talk about something else now?”
Nailil raised an eyebrow at Iakedrom as if asking the same question.
“Yes,” Iakedrom said. “We can move on. I guess the first question we need an answer to is this. Have you been engineering without a license?”
“Of course not,” Ekivia said, her eyes reddening a little. She seemed genuinely indignant at the implied accusation, though at the same time her answer came a little too fast like she’d rehearsed it in her mind.
“If that’s true then who made the false door in your house?” Iakedorm asked. “You worked with animals in the past, true, but plant work was also covered under your old license.”
“I didn’t have to engineer anything,” Ekivia said. “Doors can be bought and installed by anyone.”
“Not doors like that,” Iakedrom said. “It was cultivated specifically to hide its existence. I’ve never seen another like it before.”
“That must mean you have never looked hard enough before,” Ekivia said, snidely.
Iakedrom glared at her. She was deflecting, not answering his questions about the door, dodging and jabbing. He didn’t like it.
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He took a deep breath to calm down.
“Mind if I ask a question or two?” Nailil said.
“Of course not,” Iakedrom said, taking a step back as the priestess approached the table.
“Tell me, Ekivia,” the priestess began “When you called Nevets, inviting him to visit, you said you had something you wanted to tell him but that you wanted to do it in person. What was so important that you had to do it in person?”
Ekivia’s eyes paled and Iakedrom could almost see her mind racing for an answer. “He’s working on a new kind of biolume that would be animal instead of plant, and he wanted my opinion on some of his ideas.”
“He wanted your opinion so you called him?” Nailil said. “That sounds a little backward doesn’t it?”
“We talked about it before,” Ekivia said. “I just hadn’t gotten back to him yet.”
“I see,” Nailil said. “So you admit to engineering without a license.”
“No,” Ekivia said. “Not at all. Reading his work and discussing it is no different than reading a book and discussing it. Theorizing is not engineering.”
“If you weren’t engineering, why would he have to visit you in person to see what you’d come up with?” Nailil asked.
“If Iakedrom is here to interrogate me why would you have to come yourself?” Ekivia asked, surprising Iakedrom with her pique. “Some things are easier to explain in person, especially the kind that are drawn.”
Nailil turned to Iakedorm. “Have you found any drawings she might be referencing?”
“Not that I know of,” Iakedrom said. “But they’re still bringing in her possessions. We can check for that later.”
“And if we don’t find it,” Nailil said, trudging back to Ekivia. “What then?”
“Then your crews need better training,” Ekivia said. “Because they’re there.”
“Alright then,” Nailil said. “I guess we’ll come back to that.”
“I have a question,” Iakedrom said, stepping forward. “Who is this Mada you and Nevets are trying to protect?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ekivia said.
“Really,” Iakedrom said flatly. “So when we left your house and you saw that figure in the woods you didn’t call out telling him, by name, to run?”
“You must have heard me wrong,” Ekivia said.
“And when you shouted at Nevets to finish your work,” Iakedrom continued. “To finish what you started, that had nothing to do with engineering or that person in the trees at all?”
“No none at all,” Ekivia said.
“If that’s the case why would Nevets chase after that figure?” Iakedrom asked.
“I’m not sure,” Ekivia said. “I could speculate if you want, but I can’t do more than that.”
“Go ahead and speculate,” Nailil said.
“I suppose,” Ekivia continued. “He could have gone to catch the figure, to help your officer.”
“He failed miserably if that’s what he wanted to do,” Iakedrom said. “And if so, why did he disappear with the figure?”
“He’s a smart na,” Ekivia said. “And has a lot of information in his head. Perhaps he was captured for that information, possibly by Redaeli spies.”
“I suppose that’s technically possible,” Iakedrom said. “But you do realize how wild and unlikely that all sounds.”
“I do,” Ekivia said. “But you’re the one who asked me to speculate.”
“True,” Iaekdorm said. “And what work was it you wanted Nevets to finish exactly?”
“I misspoke,” Ekivia said, then paused a moment. “I meant to say his work, not mine. He was rushing into danger, that much was obvious, but I know how important his work is to him. I thought I could help him stay safe if I reminded him of that, but…”
She trailed off and looked down as if ashamed, though Iakedrom didn’t notice any shift in her eye color. Eye color didn’t tell you if someone was lying, but it did tell you if their emotions matched their words, and it didn’t look like that was the case here.
Iakedrom sighed. “I never realized how stubborn you are. It’s not a side of you I ever really saw in the last twenty years, and I don’t think I like it.”
Ekivia didn’t respond.
“I’m going to pass on your opinions about isolated mechanics to my partner for our other investigation,” Iakedrom said. This first set of questions was always to establish a baseline that they could then use to trip the suspect up later, get them to contradict themselves. He’d need a little time to put together some new questions and to tear apart her story so far, then they could start again. “When we get back we’ll have more questions for you. I hope you’ll be more cooperative.”
“Actually,” Nailil said. “I’m going to keep interrogating her. As I said before, the Drol gave me a deadline.”
Iakedrom hesitated. He didn’t much like the idea of leaving Ekivia with the intense priestess, but what choice did he have? He nodded and stepped out of the room.
“Close the door and lock it for me,” Nailil said. “And tell everyone not to interrupt me.”
He did as he was commanded, and returned to his desk to start tearing her story apart while he waited for Fosia.
**********
Ekivia watched the seal vines tighten and noticed a shift in the priestess as soon as Iakedrom left the room, and it wasn’t a shift she liked. The nawo seemed suddenly more intense and cold. More dangerous. She could tell that the interrogation was about to get even harder. So far the questioning hadn’t gone well. Ekivia had expected less than half of the questions they’d asked, and the ones about the origin of the hidden door were not among them. Why would they ask about the door itself and not the room it hid? And on top of that, the priestess seemed to know more than she should, citing Ekivia’s conversation with Nevets, a conversation that was, as far as either of them knew, private. She had no idea how the priestess could have gotten that kind of information, and she didn’t have time to theorize about it just yet, considering the mind space she needed to deal with the questioning.
Nailil approached the table and stood confidently across from Ekivia. “Look, we both know the questions that need answering, and I’m short on time, so I’m not going to keep asking them over and over. Instead, I’m going to give you this last opportunity to tell me about Mada and Nevets and whatever illegal project you’ve been working on together. Will you take it?”
Ekivia met the nawo’s eyes defiantly, letting her expression be her response. She thought that in cases like this silence would be the best option. She wasn’t going to answer those questions the way this priestess wanted, and she needed to give Nevets and Mada as much time as possible to figure things out from their side.
“Very well,” Nailil said quietly, and something about her tone made Ekivia uncomfortable enough that she shifted unconsciously in her seat.
The motion caused the constrictor around her wrist to squeeze a little tighter against the table.
“Last chance,” Nailil said, hands at her hips.
Ekivia rolled her eyes. There wasn’t anything this priestess could…
Nailil drew a cnido and fired a bonelette straight through Ekivia’s forearm.
There was a moment of silent shock before pain exploded from the wound. Ekivia gritted her teeth against the pain, he throat scratching as she half shouted, half grunted in pain. Life-oil dripped from the wound onto her leg before rolling off and onto the floor where it began crawling into the woven floor branches.
She glared up at the nawo, teeth clenched, her vision tinted red with anger. The priestess stared back a moment, reading her eyes.
“I will have my answers by the end of the day,” Nailil said. Then she bent down and pressed her thumb into the wound on Ekivia’s arm. Ekivia grunted in pain they were so close that their noses nearly touched and Ekivia could smell the priestess’s breath. "There is a limited amount of pain a body can endure before the mind breaks."
**********
Something heavy stepped onto the edge of the domed dirt roof, shaking the hair roots and making the ceiling branches creak quietly under the weight. Nevets’s eyes paled even further, nearly blinding him in the dim light. He and Mada were standing silently, staring upward to watch the roots.
Dytie protect us, Nevets thought as the creature took a second step, further toward the center of the room, and the ceiling branches creaked even louder. He thought he could see the branches bowing under the weight. That was no Tracker. The canine mounts were smaller creations that could barely hold a single rider and were almost as light on their feet as one of the felines. No, this was something else. Something designed for war. Perhaps the Rebmevon garrison was returning from their patrols and passing overhead?
The creature took another step and as its foot came down almost directly above him Nevets knew how wrong his guess had been.
A talon punched through the ceiling between branches, sending rocks and dirt showering down on Nevets’s head. As it stepped with the other foot, placing all its weight on that one leg, the ceiling groaned under the weight so loudly that Nevets was sure they could hear it above. The downward pressure forced two more talons through the ceiling, snapping branches. The next footstep fell heavily as the creature tried to get its footing above them and the claws of that second foot punched through as well. Three long, thick toes facing forward, one backward. This mount was a massive bird. It was a mount designed for war, though not one designed for the Drol’s armies.
No, this mount was one used by their enemies. A Redaeli war bird.
The ceiling suddenly jolted under the weight of the creature as ceiling branches started breaking, one after the other. The beast would plummet through in mere moments and the two of them stood almost directly beneath the creature.
Nevets leaped forward, shoving Mada with all his might as the ceiling finally gave way and light flooded in from above. Mada stumbled backward, arms flailing as he tripped, landing on his back across the small room where the ceiling wasn’t collapsing. Nevets tried to use the momentum of his shove to follow Mada to safety, but dirt and rocks and a net of branches and roots pummeled him from above.
Then everything fell still, morning sunlight lighting the dust that filled the air so thickly it was as blinding as being overwhelmed by every emotion at once. Light still passed through somehow, but shapes were so obscured they couldn’t see anything anyway.
Except for the silhouette of a massive bird as it stood back up in the hole it had made, tucking its wings into its sides, its long neck rising up and out of the dust, long, spearlike beak scraping the edge of the destroyed ceiling as it rose. Even blinking dust and fear from his eyes Nevets saw enough to know what kind of mount it was.
Lancer. He’d seen drawings of them, though never one in real life. This was one of their enemy’s most important mounts. The creatures were extremely fast in a straight line, faster even the Drolian Panths. Flightless, they still used their wings to balance at high speeds and to keep their head up as they leaned forward to spear enemy soldiers on the ground or off mounts. The beak was long enough that it could probably spear three or four diordna before needing to shake the corpses free, and Nevets didn’t doubt that it was hard enough to accomplish just that. And if a soldier managed to avoid the beak the claws were just as deadly. Anyone in front of this beast would die a swift and painful death, speared either by its beak or its deadly sharp claws. Nevets and Mada were lucky that neither beak nor claw had pierced them in the collapse.
Coughing, Mada stood and reached down to help Nevets to his feet. As he stood he saw a second silhouette through the cloud of dust, a short diordna in Redaeli raising a stone-tipped spear. He breathed in to speak but before he could the figure threw the spear. It dug into Nevets’s thigh just above the midpoint, and his leg buckled in pain, forcing him to one knee and drawing a shout of pain from his throat. Oil oozed from the wound out both sides of his leg, where the spear had entered and then again where half the stone tip had exited.
“Wait!” Mada shouted. “We surrender!”
The figure dashed through the dust, closing the distance between them in an eye blink, knife in one hand to strike at Mada. The figure was short, even shorter than Nevets, which made them more than a head shorter than Mada, and he caught a glimpse through the opening in her wooden helmet of what looked to be a delicate feminine face with an expression that was anything but delicate, and an aggressive looking pattern painted from the top of her eyelids back across her head in colors he couldn’t identify through the dust, its shapes jagged as was the fashion among nawo lately. She was fast, and even with his vision obscured Nevets could tell this figure looked deadly in her armor.
Redaeli armor always looked so intimidating to Nevets. The materials were the same as Drolian armor, just leather with overlapping wooden scales and panels. But where the Drolian armor was curved and smooth, the Redaeli armor was jagged, with ridges like an alligator’s all over their chest, legs, and back, and wooden shoulder pieces that curved slightly upward at the ends into points. Even their helmets had curved spikes and ridges, making it look as though they had horns.
Mada took a fighting stance, crouched, elbows close to the body, fists up by his head. Grappling someone in that armor would be unpleasant without protection from the spikes and ridges, but at least Ekivia had taught him to fight. Maybe if Nevets could help they could keep this nawo back long enough to convince her to accept their surrender.
Am I really thinking that fighting someone will convince them that we surrender? But he didn’t have any better ideas to delay her.
Nevets tried to stand, to help Mada fight the assailant, but his leg buckled as soon as he tried to put weight on it. Their enemy reached Mada and the AI deflected her knife hand with more skill than Nevets had expected, but the attacker was ready for that. She spun, grabbing the hand Mada had used to deflect the first attack, then she crouched, back to Mada, and pulled the arm hard, standing as she did and hurling Mada over her head using the combined strength of her legs and her upper body, following through to the ground so she ended on one knee to add extra downward force on Mada as he struck the ground.
Mada thudded to the ground in the sunlight, grunting as he hit and dust puffed around him. It all happened so quickly that Nevets could barely track the attack with his eyes. He doubted Mada could have been prepared to defend against that.
The figure raised the stone knife over her head with both hands, prepared to plunge it downward into Mada’s maskless face.
“NO!” Nevets shouted, pushing with his good leg to reach her, knowing that he couldn’t. It had happened too quickly, and even if he wasn’t wounded he’d never have been fast enough.
Then the nawo froze, knife still held overhead. Mada coughed and heaved a breath in, and Nevets forced himself forward on one leg, reaching to snatch the knife from her hand while he had the chance.
Without looking at him, the nawo released the knife with one hand, caught Nevets’s wrist, then tucked the knife back into her belt scabbard. Nevets couldn’t see the nawo’s face from his position beside her, as she was still looking at Mada, but he saw her shoulders relax, the armor settling lower on them. She did not, however, relax her grip on Nevets wrist, and he could already feel the bruising, the hardening of his skin as it was crushed beneath her grip.
And still holding Nevets wrist she finally spoke. “I accept your surrender.”
A second soldier dropped into what was left of the room from above, spear in hand and ready for a fight. He was average height, with a narrow face and a prominent nose, his face painted in smooth swirling patterns that didn’t reach his eyes like the ones on the nawo. These soldiers were Redaeli, as Nevets had guessed, confirmed by this new soldier’s copper skin with swirling teal-green patterns from oxidization where his skin was visible beneath the paint.
The new soldier spotted them and turned his spear toward Nevets.
“Hold, Treblig,” The nawo said. “They’ve surrendered.”
“Yes, general,” the na, Treblig, said, obeying though he didn’t take his eyes off Nevets. “Would you like me to handle one of them?”
She nodded toward Nevets. “Grab some rope and tie that one’s hands first, then this one.”
Nevets hadn’t noticed the insignia on their helms that would indicate rank until now. Redaeli had the Mark of Dytie on the back of their helms in a reflection of the mark on the Redael, their leader. The Redael’s wasn’t a true mark like the one on the Drol’s chest, but it had the same shape. The hand of Dytie had all six fingers out on the general’s helm, indicating her rank, though Nevets couldn’t see Treblig’s through the dust as the soldier retrieved the rope from a pack hanging from the Lancer’s saddle.
When Treblig finally approached the general released Nevets’s wrist and Treblig began binding Nevets’s hands.
“What’re you going to do with him?” Nevets asked, rubbing his wrist and nodding toward Mada even though the general wouldn’t see it, her eyes still fixated on Mada. This general had a powerful grip. Rubbing at his wrist Nevets felt the hard skin where she’d bruised it. She didn’t have a big hand, but she made up for it with grip strength. It seemed everything about her was small but strong.
“Him?” The general asked, still staring down at Mada. Nevets wished he could see her eyes, to gauge her mood, but he thought he heard a smile in her voice. But that didn’t make any sense to him. Either way, this one word sounded much less intense than her previous command to Treblig. “First I’m going to ask him where the entrance to this place is since climbing out of here is going to be hard for you otherwise.”
“It’s in that wall,”’ Mada said, pointing.
“Thank you very much.” There was a small fluctuation in her voice, one that sounded almost like a laugh. Even though he couldn’t see it, Nevets was sure her eyes would be blue with pleasure. Was she amused by Mada? “Treblig, would you go let some more light in so we can see each other better? I want to get better acquainted with our guests.”
Treblig rushed to do as he was told, but Nevets kept his eyes on the general. There was something odd about the color of her armor, but he couldn’t tell what because of the dust covering every inch of it and the paleness of his own eyes. Still, he thought it was lighter colored than Treblig’s forest green and wood tan armor.
“You two stand over there for me,” the general instructed, pointing so that their backs would be toward the door and she would be facing the light when it came in.
When Treblig opened the door Nevets immediately knew who this Redaeli general was.
He hadn’t seen it before because of the grime and darkness, but the armor’s wooden panels and scales were painted white. This alone would have identified her even to a Drolian like Nevets. No soldier wore the color of fear to battle, they wore the color of anger or the colors of their nation. Besides, white would be too easy to spot, too dangerous to the wearer. Sometimes those who committed crimes worthy of death would be sent to the front lines in white, so their death would be useful. Soldiers in white were always the first to die in a battle.
That’s what they said happened to this general, only she didn’t die. She’d been sent out to die by the Redaeli generals and returned with the head of a Drolian general after killing a hundred soldiers on her own. She’d changed how enemies reacted to seeing soldiers in white on the enemy lines. Once they would have attacked them, fired arrows at the easy targets, performed the execution for their enemies. Now, because of this nawo, they feared those who wore white. Drolian soldiers still tried to kill soldiers in white first, but no longer because they knew they would be easy pickings. Now they did it just in case one of them was the dreaded White General. But the armor wasn’t the only odd thing about her.
She was a half skin.
Her skin was a mixture of iron and copper swirling together, the oxidization both teal and orange. Like fear and sorrow in the eyes, the two colors didn’t mix, instead creating intricate swirling patterns. He’d known this would be the case, but the sight was still striking. Half skins were extremely rare, and Nevets hadn’t ever seen one before today. The conflict between the Redaeli and the Drolians was too long running, too painful for both sides for most to even speak with someone from the other side, let alone have a child with them. It confused Nevets, and if this were any other diordna it would have made him angry that someone would betray their nation in such a way. But instead, his fear only deepened, his eyes turning so white he almost couldn’t see through the fear sight.
Nevets had always pictured her as a tall imposing nawo, striking fear into those who faced her by her size alone. But no, she struck fear into those who faced her with far more substantial traits than size. She struck fear with her reputation and her skill.
Any Drolian who met the White General in battle expected to die, so why were they still alive?
She saluted, and Nevets noted that it was directed at Mada. “I am Nagemai, the Redaeli White General. And it is a pleasure to meet you both.”