Forty days after the imperial ambassador’s murder.

Mining facility, Bellos III, 9:47 am, 3423 AA.

“What do you remember from last night?”

Tarnhold scanned Eliseal’s face for signs of confusion or recognition. If Durahein had used the Gift to scramble the team’s memories, it was necessary to see the extent of the damage done. Out of everyone, she was the only one who might believe him – she’d always believed him – but there had never been a situation quite like this one.

Eliseal blinked, opened her mouth, and closed it, looking at Tarnhold as if he was a difficult equation. “You only had two glasses of wine. I thought you were a better drinker than that.”

“For the moment, entertain the thought that I’m not. We talked about work, yeah?”

Her frown deepened. “Are you really alright? You didn’t actually inhale some of those vapours, did you?”

“No. Just indulge my curiosity.”

“Is it shock then?” she mumbled.

“Eliseal,” Tarnhold said, making an exasperated gesture.

She pursed her lips, then slid a stray lock of red hair away from her nose and tucked it behind her ear. “Work, was it? Yes, we found out about the augments, the amplifier, and then I went to the leader” – she looked at him – “at your suggestion and saw him handle it.”

“Handle how?” Tarnhold asked, raising a brow.

“He holoed a cell that’s currently doing an operation on Radaar.” She shrugged. “Seemed simple enough, and they agreed.”

“That’s impossible,” Tarnhold snapped. The Order didn’t conduct operations in secret, not from its members, and there were none within three systems of Radaar except them. “I checked all the current ops. They’re all elsewhere.”

She sighed. “Vor, I was with him when he made the call.”

Hearing footsteps approaching, Tarnhold glanced in that direction and saw several miners ambling this way, engaged in conversation. He stepped back towards one of the rooms and pressed the opening button on the control panel. Then he dragged Eliseal inside and closed the door behind them.

It was small and cramped inside. The air was stuffy and smelled of grimy water. Supplies were spread haphazardly across the room, and boxes had been jammed inside without any order, just pushed into whatever pocket of space had been available. Frowning, Tarnhold shoved a mop away from his face, regretting not having seen the sign that likely read Supply closet and almost certainly in large, bold letters.

He turned to Eliseal and gripped her arm, then leaned in close. “Eliseal, Durahein used the Gift on me,” he said gravely, “dampened my emotions and instilled a blind faith in his orders. If I hadn’t snapped out of it this morning, I would have been following him like a dog.”

She observed him for several seconds, scrutinising his face while her mouth parted with her growing perplexity. “Vor, if he had really done that to you, then it’d be impossible to just snap out of it. Not without consequence, and not as fast as you describe it.”

“But it did happen.”

She bit her lip, then spoke slowly, as if to a child: “It’s impossible. I’d have believed you if you told me he used something weak and that it faded on its own. It would have been wrong – morally, if nothing else – but within his authority if he deemed your behaviour was disrupting the mission.” A pause. “You’re saying something else. You’re saying you broke through a complex mental suggestion with sheer – what? Strength? Willpower?”

Tarnhold let go of her arm. “Look, I’m not saying I understand it, but it happened. It’ll be a surprise for Durahein, too, so we need to hurry and—”

“And what, Vor?” she asked, shaking her head. “Attack a senior member of the Order? Interrogate him? What are you even looking to get out of him? His only crime, if we take your theory as truth, is that he believes ensuring we catch the terrorists here is more important than chasing after a person with the amplifier.”

“Don’t you think that person’s a bigger threat?”

“He can be, but we’ll be done here by the time that threat becomes relevant. He warped a Furnace core; he can’t be fine. Depending on his strength, he’ll be recovering from the burnout damage for at least several weeks.”

“The burnout wouldn’t be a serious problem.”

“No, but he’d still need time before he’s at his maximum.” She licked her upper lip, then pursed her mouth, mulling on her next words. “Vor, is this… because of what happened in the past – with the Kingdom?”

He frowned. “What?”

She hesitated. “Because you lost your parents to—”

“Don’t,” he said, raising a hand to her, palm open. “Don’t go there. What happened then—” He stopped, inhaled, then exhaled. “What happened then wouldn’t affect my decisions like that.”

“That’s not something you can say. It was a tremendous loss.”

“I said don’t. Eliseal, look I – yes, I want revenge on the Kingdom, but not at the expense of messing this up.” He straightened, then recited: “The Emperor above all else. The Hands in his absence. The Order follows, and nothing bar that. I didn’t forget our code. The Order comes before personal revenge.”

She sighed. “Alright. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything today. Just… take it easy, yeah?” When she turned away from him, Tarnhold didn’t try to stop her; there was a finality in her tone that held him frozen.

The doors slid closed behind her, and a sense of abandonment seized him in a grip that was cold steel.

He stood in that cramped, little room for a while, replaying the conversation, the words, the questions. What did he want to do? As the initial burst of emotion that had spurred him to act faded, he realised that he’d never planned out all the steps.

His first thought had been to get Eliseal on board, but everything else had been vague. Something had to be done about Durahein, but just as she’d said, bar violence, there was little they could do; and if they were wrong, or if the leader truly believed the terrorists were a bigger threat, the Order would execute them promptly upon returning to As’al’Kaar.

What right did he have to implicate someone else in this mess? The short answer: he didn’t.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Tarnhold’s distrust in the leader had been sparked by what he’d considered an assault, a deprivation of his full mental faculty, which in truth might not be classified as such. Potentially, it could even be viewed as an adequate response to his wilful behaviour. If that was the case, his fate would have been sealed the moment he did anything to the leader.

Sighing, he exited the room and trudged to the window, peering up into the storm clouds above the mining facility. The wind howled and lightning struck frequently, preventing the team from flying out in a shuttle to search for the terrorists. That powerful storm would pass this evening.

Tarnhold turned and leaned his head to the cool glass pane, the memory of the red glare in the holographic projection appearing with every flash of lightning. The image consumed all else until only it remained in his mind. Laughter bubbled inside him, the ironic sort bemoaning his nature. “She was right.” Eliseal knew him better than he did; he couldn’t give up on his desire for revenge no matter how he tried to bury it beneath the Order’s creed.

His gaze drifted upwards to the ceiling. “You might as well smite me now.” When no Ascendant took pity on him and ended him there and then, Tarnhold headed down the corridor to the staircase leading to the rooms they’d been given.

He wouldn’t involve anyone else in his problems – it was morally reprehensible and logically idiotic – so he’d do what needed to be done alone. He’d track down this spy and either kill or capture them. The Order might execute him, or they might confine him to As’al’Kaar for the rest of his life, but he’d deal a blow to the Kingdom they wouldn’t soon forget. But first, he had to even the playing field.

***

The playing field refused to be evened. Maybe it was a bad day.

Tarnhold pointedly did not stare at the gauntlet sitting atop Nadak’s nightstand. He also ignored the prickling on his skin, a reaction from the thirty-or-so wards the amplifier was ensconced in. There was so much power concentrated on that little table that Tarnhold wouldn’t be surprised if the entire floor disintegrated in case of tampering. So, instead, he sat on a chair, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands, and stared at Nadak.

“Eliseal was the one who relayed the leader’s orders?” Tarnhold asked.

“It was initially alarming to hear that we would not be pursuing the threat of such a scale, but the leader’s orders are final. We, as the Val Tairi, must obey as per the creed,” Nadak said calmly, which, given his situation, shouldn’t have been an easy feat. “You do not share my opinion?” It was not a question.

“I don’t.”

“Why? Despite your occasional—” Nadak paused, searching for the right word. “—transgressions, you are a loyal member of the Order. Your current actions go against the nature I have observed in you so far.”

Tarnhold leaned back into the chair. “You think too much. It’s a simple matter: I always did what I thought was right. Now, I feel chasing that person is the right call. No more, no less.”

Tarnhold’s eyes fell to the floor, fragments of a memory flashing before his eyes: a military officer standing at his door, wearing a solemn expression; a crumpled letter, signed by the captain of the twenty-seventh imperial fleet; and Tarnhold’s house, dark and lonely. “I don’t wish to repeat a mistake.”

He looked up at Nadak. “The Val Tairi make no mistakes, was it?” he asked. “That’s wrong. We make them like anyone else; it’s just that we cover them up or serve them as part of some grand purpose. A few millennia and we’ve learned to do that quite well.”

“Those words are blasphemy towards the Order.”

“No, it’s a truth we refuse to acknowledge, as if doing so will make it less real. I have nothing but respect and admiration for the Order, but certain things need to be said plainly.”

“Is that why you are adamant about doing this?” Nadak waved his arms and swept his gaze over his sitting form. “Has the Order wronged you in some way?”

Tarnhold sighed, then finally looked towards the amplifier; the golden lacework making up its delicate design gleamed in the soft electric lights. “My parents died because of a wrong priority order.” He shook his head. “I don’t blame the Val Tairi that led the ops. As I said, mistakes happen; however,” – he turned to Nadak – “I do not wish to make the same one.”

“I see,” Nadak said resignedly. “I will not allow you to continue with your plan. You are aware of this, are you not?”

“Not much you can do like that.” Tarnhold gestured towards the other man and the invisible restraints holding him in place and obstructing his use of the Gift. “I bound you pretty tightly after all.”

“You won’t get past the ward I placed. Even if you knock me out, they’ll remain. I made certain they are perfect.”

It was the certainty of that statement that gave Tarnhold a clue to solving his issue. He wordlessly took Nadak’s hand and placed it atop the amplifier. There was a swell of power within the other man, a last-ditch effort to set himself free, but not enough to manifest any spell while suppressed by the restraints, so it deflated back into nothingness. Then, using Nadak’s hand, Tarnhold shoved the amplifier outside the wards. They trembled for a moment, and finally settled into an idle state.

Nadak stared wide-eyed at the now-empty spot on his nightstand.

“You think too much, obsess over details,” Tarnhold said. “We’re similar in that regard, and that’s why I know the simplest things escape your notice. When you wake up, I’ll be gone, but you shouldn’t need the amplifier to handle these terrorists.”

“You could be executed for doing this. It will not be the same as in the past.”

“I know,” was all Tarnhold said before he struck the other man on the back of the neck, knocking him out. He pocketed the amplifier and strode out into the corridor.

Running was out of the question. Despite the lack of time he had at his disposal, he couldn’t rush and draw attention to himself. He looked at his watch. There were twelve minutes left before the meeting, so Tarnhold had to make himself scarce before then. It would have been better to use the cover of night, but the storm would pass tonight and Durahein might have them set off immediately afterwards.

He slid his hand into his pocket, touching the lacework of the amplifier. It was real. The weight of responsibility that came with the thing made his feet drag, but he pressed on. Assault, theft – there really was no turning back at this point, no second guesses. He’d complete what he set out to do, then he’d resign himself to fate.

When the door to the hangar bay opened, he was relieved that the place was empty.

The spaces near the walls were populated by smaller aircraft, ochre on rusty white, comprised in their entirety of sharp angles, additional armour plating, and likely more rust than the safety protocols allowed. The safety hazards stopped at the centre of the room because that was where the Order’s ship was docked. An elongated bluish-grey beauty that bore a resemblance to a gun’s barrel; she was the fastest model of its sister ships, carrying a mark two Furnace. That would get Tarnhold to Radaar in two and a half days.

He took a deep breath, muttered a prayer, then headed for the entrance. Nothing could stop him now.

Eliseal emerged from the entrance and began tapping her foot at the top of the lowered ramp, arms crossed. “Honestly, Vor, how can you be tardy even when you’re running away?”

Tarnhold stopped. He stood rooted in place, mouth agape. The logical solution was to call on the Gift, bind her as he had bound Nadak, and deprive her of her use of the Gift’s power. But he didn’t. Despite the situation he was in and despite the danger of delay or getting caught at this point, a greater part of him refused to subject Eliseal to such force.

“You haven’t gone mute on me, have you? It’s not even been an hour since we met,” she said.

“How – why are you here?”

She shrugged, a lopsided smile tugging at her mouth. “Call it a spur-of-the-moment decision. I’m coming with.”

“Don’t joke with me,” he snapped. “This isn’t a game. Do you realise what it means to run away – what might happen to us?”

“Honestly,” – she rubbed her upper arm, her smile turning uncertain, afraid – “I don’t. I still think this is absolute madness, but I know I’d regret it more if I didn’t do this.”

“You could die.”

She turned her head away, speaking quietly. “Yeah, maybe that fact hasn’t quite sunk in yet.”

“Eliseal!”

She made a face. “Stop yelling and get inside before I change my mind. And be glad someone’s got your back on this.” She turned and disappeared into the ship.

It took Tarnhold a few moments and a bellow from Eliseal to get instead already to get a grip on reality. Then he followed her in, sat in the pilot’s seat, fired up the engines, and the ship took off with a minute left until the meeting. No one tried to stop them; no one even called them – though, the two of them had, admittedly, activated the option to block incoming calls. Still, no one hailed the ship either.

With the vastness of space in front of them, a single destination in mind, and no one hot on their heels, Tarnhold finally had a moment to think. And when he looked at Eliseal, who sat in the co-pilot’s seat next to him, he realised with trepidation that he should have done more thinking beforehand. He was not prepared to lose her.

For the first time, he thought of disobeying the Order’s creed, not to do the right thing but because of a selfish desire, and running away once everything was over. Strangely, that thought felt far more satisfying and truer to himself than any other he’d had so far.