Into the Unreal

6. Firian

6

Firian

The next day wore away as swiftly as fire burnt paper. Two more days until the volunteer troops from Raewhith arrived and he had to plan the Torithian attack in earnest.

Belik stood before Firian in the Head’s office, rubbing one hand over his rough chin. “Bard is going to declare katah on the Torithian captain?” He asked the question in a slow, thoughtful way. Digesting, perhaps criticizing. His eyes, narrowed behind his glasses, offered little clue.

“He has the skill to do it,” Firian said.

“I know he does.”

Firian sat back in his chair. He could still smell Devanie’s musky perfume on himself. In the new daylight, the smell bothered him, as though he had done something wrong. But that couldn’t be. At least Devanie wouldn’t say so.

Belik, despite his bad leg, continued to stand. The old feeling that the Master held power over him because of his secrets, his decades of knowledge, crawled over him. It was time to take some of that power back. “You used to be the lead strategist,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Belik had dropped enough hints about his past that it was almost certainly true.

Belik didn’t deny it, but shifted, waiting for the point.

“I’m going to reinstate you to that position. I need to know what you know.” As much as he hated to admit it, Belik had far more experience than he did, and he needed support if this new mission was going to succeed. It had to succeed.

Apparently unsurprised, Belik eased himself into the chair across from Firian. The movement meant agreement. “What do you want to know?”

“How many fighters can we spare for the Torithian War? How many Tanyu do we have, including those on mission?”

Belik raised his eyebrows. “You think I know about everyone on mission?”

“Don’t you?” It was a challenge. A man like Belik wouldn’t abandon his job of knowing everything, only the title.

Belik pursed his lips with amusement. “Yes. We have about three hundred battle-ready Tanyu here, if you send them all.”

“And abroad?”

“Almost two thousand.”

Firian leaned forward, his brows lowering. “Two thousand?” That wasn’t possible. Memories of Belik’s lies came back to him like poison and Firian’s hand became a fist on the table. The small white scars stood out in relief. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I wouldn’t,” Belik replied easily. “The others are on mission or embedded strategically across the Western Kingdom and beyond it. Remember the man in Carradoc?”

The one who had told him to keep Kiria hostage. Yes, he remembered. “Where are these people?”

“Everywhere. Tanyu have infiltrated even closed societies in case we need someone on the inside. The movement started just before my time.”

“So they’re all older.”

“Most of them.”

He thought of how young the Tanyu in the Academy tended to be, apart from the teaching Masters. Had all the rest gone on missions? “Do we have someone with the Torithians?” Since the group was more of a pirate organization than a race or country, it was unlikely.

“Yes, there’s one man.”

Firian’s face flushed hot. “Who? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“You were so smitten with that Kepress and so angry at me that I thought it better to keep it to myself. What good could that information have done you?”

“You don’t get to decide—”

“Now I don’t. Now you’re the Tanyuin Head. And never forget who helped you get there. I’m on your side, Firian.” Belik held his gaze long enough that Firian felt seen, man to man. The recognition made his stomach crawl—did he want others to see him this intimately?—but he saw Belik’s humanity too. Another person sat before him, not an obstacle or a book of answers.

Firian’s fist relaxed.

Belik resettled his glasses on his nose, a soothingly familiar gesture.

“So, how many can we spare?” Firian asked.

“I wouldn’t send more than half. You announced our location to Brithnem, so they have every opportunity now to attack the Academy if they want to.”

With Kiria on his side, he hadn’t given the idea a spare thought. Other cities or nations might come to test their strength or steal their stores of tribute, but not Brithnem. “I told you I ended the war.”

Belik’s voice was carefully steady. “Still, you need a standing army here, as you said before.”

To the Tanyuin Head. Those were some of Firian’s last words to Sias Jairon before smothering him in his bed.

“Half,” Firian repeated. “I’m not going to pull everyone from their stations around the world for this. They need to stay in case I need them. So I only have a hundred and fifty? That’s not many.”

“Not for an ordinary army.” One side Belik’s mouth rose in a smile. “But these are Tanyu. You know what we can do. A soldier is a rainstorm. We are hurricanes.”