7 Days Left

Ragnar nodded to the young man as he stepped out of his office. Once the door closed his face fell into the scowl he’d been fighting off and his gaze returned to the notes before him. The kid was a talented tethered and a decent commander, but he was somewhat lacking in his ability to instill discipline. From all accounts, his achievements as a commander came from being buddy-buddy with his soldiers, not leading them.

Not to say there wasn’t merit in that kind of leadership, Ragnar just doubted whether that was the kind of leadership a class full of teens needed. He knew from experience that the kid would lose his edge if his responsibilities grew to encompass too many kids, as he would be unable to bond with them individually. That counted double since he would be changing out his entire team of students regularly.

Ragnar looked at the two piles he’d built up. Maybes and nos. The ‘no’s were cleaned nightly, before returning to his chambers he threw them all out but the ‘maybe’s he would visit in a couple of days after he’d gotten some distance from the interview. Growling to himself, he tentatively put the folder in ‘no’. Just as the door opened, he swiped the folder into ‘maybe’.

“You can’t barge into my office,” Ragnar said without looking up.

“I’m the representative from the United Alliance,” Zubair stated.

Rolling his eyes, Ragnar looked up from a folder with another promising teacher, though, even more controversial than a second-stage tethered would be. “I’m sorry Lord Master Tyrant of the Alliance, you can’t barge into my office. Get out.”

Zubair threw his hands in the air and closed the door while remaining on the wrong side. He stopped next to the chair Ragnar used for visitors and gave it a disdainful look, before leaning in over the desk putting both his hands on Ragnar’s notes and folders.

Taking in a long breath, the old man leaned back in his chair moving slowly so Zubair didn’t think he was frightened.

“What?”

“What is going on in this country?”

Ragnar shrugged, “I’m doing my job running the academy. Other than that there’s a slight disagreement in the city that we’re also handling while the Queen is away.”

“You know what I mean, Ragnar.”

“It’s not really your responsibility.”

Zubair’s gaze darkened, “Don’t play coy with me. You and I both know that a civil war will affect Elusria’s ability to support the war effort.”

Ragnar shrugged slowly, “There’s no civil war going on,” technically true, Inaaya—who wasn’t elusrian—was the leader behind the enemy forces making it regular war. “And whatever conflict there currently is, it’s not going to affect the United Alliance’s ‘war effort’.”

Zubair’s mouth puckered like an asshole as he scowled at Ragnar. Hearing a slight crackling sound, the old general looked down at the cup of water he’d set out for himself. Crystal were slowly forming on the surface spreading to form huge snowflake.

“I’m trying to understand, Ragnar,” Zubair said his voice as cold as the ice in the cup. “I need to give a reasonable response to the alliance about Elusria’s circumstances and right now? It’s not looking good for you.”

“So you’re threatening me now?”

“Threatening you?” Zubair asked his voice dripping with scorn. “I read your files in that ‘war room’ of yours. I know the numbers involved in your ‘conflict’, you don’t want to call it a civil war, but it is what it is.”

Ragnar clasped his hands before him forcing himself not to grit his teeth, glaring at Zubair in return, “You really think I don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?”

“You haven’t hidden your moves that well.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Is this about Inaaya?” Zubair asked. “I know she planned to make moves against Elusria, bring it directly under ankirian rule, but she was called off.”

“Called off?” Ragnar mocked him, “Are you sure about that?”

“We got a message from the King. He has some concerns relating to Elusria.”

“Oh yeah?” Ragnar asked. “Those concerns wouldn’t happen to be related to the insane tethered you left in the palace?”

Zubair’s jaw muscles visible jumped at that accusation.

“You know one of the top twenty strongest people in the world?”

“Saleema’s a Triplet Master, that means she’s at least as strong as I am. She’s top five.”

Ragnar raised his eyebrow, “You, Anva-Diin, Akashin, Bilaal, and Noora?”

Zubair hissed in a breath and finally leaned back from the desk, “Top six.”

“Saif al-Bacchus?”

“Top seven.”

“And what about…”

Zubair grit his teeth glaring at him, “I get it.”

“So why is she here? Why did you bring a nutjob into my country? To threaten not only my Queen but also my students. Your mere presence have done more to destabilize this country and it’s ability to produce tethered for your war effort than anything I could’ve ever done, so don’t give me that shit about you caring,” Ragnar sneered at the Triplet Master, “At least have the decency to be honest with me.”

“I am being honest with you,” Zubair said. “We’re trying to prepare for Saleema before she becomes too unstable.”

Ragnar looked him in the eyes, shifting from one to the other as his face descended into a scowl. The more he examined Zubair the more genuine he seemed. “We’re not in a civil war.”

Zubair rolled his eyes and pushed off the table as water crystallized in the air, pure and clear flakes of snow began falling within Ragnar’s office. “Stop bullshitting me, Ragnar. Stop pissing in circles. We both know that the amount of soldiers moving through the city means war. Whether it’s on the scale of a few conflicts or wide-spread. War is war.”

“But it’s not civil war.”

“You’re saying that the people you’re fighting, the houses Sworden and Serpent-Vein aren’t elusrian?”

“They are elusrian,” Ragnar agreed, “But they do not fight for Elusria.”

The ice in the room snapped as Zubair came to a halt, “No. She agreed to stop. The King ordered her to stop.”

“The King didn’t order her to stop. A father told his infamously rebellious daughter to stop, Zubair. I know you’re more soldier than politician, but this is pathetic.”

Zubair shot him a glare that could’ve killed had there been just a hint more of intent behind it. Ragnar shook his head before resting it in his hands, rough calloused palms pressing against weather-worn skin.

“I don’t know what’s more terrifying,” Ragnar began. “That you’re that strong and that stupid, or that you’re this old and that stupid.”

Zubair’s footsteps sounded loudly in the room as he approached the desk once more. One hand pushed Ragnar’s face out of his palms forcing it to look at the older tethered. Ragnar felt older than Zubair looked, then again, he was sure Zubair sometimes felt much older than his appearance suggested.

“I will talk to her about it,” Zubair said. “I will call this off.”

“Good luck,” Ragnar said. “She’s gone to ground. She’s not in her chambers at the palace any longer.”

Zubair’s eyes narrowed, “You don’t know where she is? She’s gone?”

Ragnar sighed but nodded.

Zubair worried at his lower lip staring intently at Ragnar. “Doesn’t matter. We stop this conflict, now.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Now, Ragnar!” Zubair yelled his face pale.

Ragnar narrowed his eyes, “I’m not giving you the country, asshole.”

“Ragnar!” Zubair yelled slamming a fist into the table shattering it to saw dust. Ice that lingered on every surface sharpened into cold blue needles and shot throughout the room. In an instant, Ragnar went from being surrounded by obsidian to only sensing the bits of dust floating through the air as all of the cataclysmic stone had either been completely shattered or enveloped in ice.

The room dropped from comfortably warm to finger-numbingly cold in an instant. Ragnar’s breath bloomed before him as ice frosted over the hairs on his arms. Instantly, he began shaking from drop in temperature, his wounded leg hurting like it’d just been damaged.

“Listen to me for once in your pathetic excuse for a life!” Zubair yelled. Ice hoisted Ragnar into the air, for a moment forcing his weight on to the bad leg. The pain made his eyes water as stone ripped around them. The usually cold late evening breeze seared across Ragnar’s skin as mist formed from the clash of temperatures. “I don’t care about your country, Ragnar. If I wanted it, I would have it. If Ankiria wanted it, they would take it. If the United Alliance wanted it, there would be nothing you could do to stop it.”

Ragnar blinked, looking around and realizing that Zubair had lifted him into the air next to the tower. The triplet master had ripped through two feet of solid stone in an after-thought, all the while overcoming Ragnar’s own native presence. He gritted his teeth, gathering what little dust was still within the reach of his Veil and tried to pry the ice sticking to his uniform off. Fully engaged his Heart, the power of obsidian crashed through him, the unbound weight of stone increasing his strength and durability. Still Zubair hoisted him like a child. Ragnar hadn’t been treated like this since he was a new recruit. More than forty years ago, he didn’t not appreciate the reminder.

“In all of your country, there’s only one person that matters,” Zubair said. “And if your war, civil or otherwise, sets her off…” Zubair shook his head and dropped Ragnar.

The obsidian tethered fell with a thump leaving a foot deep divot in the dirt from his fall. With a grunt he pushed himself off, lowering his weight to not push into the soft soil around the tower. Fire coursed through his veins, the fight on the edge of his finger tips.

“Who is she, really?” His voice like grinding stone called out to Zubair who landed in a flurry of snow opposite him.