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t's a bad sign when your commanding officer ignores your snide comments and looks at you with haggard eyes. It's even worse when he absentmindedly agrees with your opinion on his intelligence and parentage while shuffling through papers. Having just gotten back from a harrowing mission, Marika feels she deserves a good night's sleep before having to deal with any new orders. Oh, getting past the sleepy, well-fed Ezinen bureacrats was easy enough, but on the way back she ran afoul of a mage on patrol. Since when did Kisria have mages on patrol alone? Avoiding groups was something she does well, but a lone mage--she still shivers when she thinks of the flashfire and chiming wind that greeted her. And the talisman opening hinge after hinge to reveal fangs and claws was like no magic she'd ever seen before. Commander Zerre, naturally, took none of this into account when he summoned her. So here she is now, and more worried than ever. The least he could have done was have some tea for her. "Marika," he says quietly, now that her sarcastic comments have worn down, "I'm going to have to ask you to report in person to Tenu. The documents you nabbed were disturbing, much too disturbing for my old heart." "My going to Tenu will probably allow your old heart some rest," she says agreeably. "So what's your excuse for getting rid of me this time? Wouldn't a courier be faster?" "The courier," he says acerbically, "wasn't there. You were. Any memory, any slight recollection, could be crucial. And Marshal Rahen's latest directive asks us to send anyone with such memories directly to Tenu. Why, I'm not certain. But there are tidings of war, of foreigners seeking to pass our mountains, and everyone's on edge." He frowns at the papers again. Some of them, Marika now notices, bear wax seals--Tenu's seal, a gate. Now broken. She wonders if it's a portent. "You were right about that mage," he continues. "Foreigner. The Kisrien have been hiring foreign sellswords, sellspells. You ran into one. Can't think of any good reasons why they'd have mercenaries asking for trouble with Miris' troops in Moruhan." So he paid attention to that part of her report, after all; gratifying, but she still doesn't see any signs of tea. She wards away memories of her encounter with the mage, enough to summon up an impatient expression. "Of course I was right," she says, leaning against his desk and drumming her fingers along its surface. She attempts to catch a glance at the papers taking up his attention. Normally Zerre is good about catching her at such things--when she lets him. This time, he's too distracted for even a token effort. There's a memo: "No response from Miris. Word is he's been incommunicado for the past week..." [Gm's note: "week" here = 5 days. Marika is stationed in borderland Birechan and habitually makes her way through Moruhan.] Marika spares a quick moment for puzzlement. It's no small thing when a commandant disappears. Zerre notices her look and says, "He was called away to some conference amongst the Ezinen regents. It may just be a communications foulup." A list of incoming supplies, mainly involving metals and cloth and food. And the last half of a letter, covered up by an half-drained mug of chufa and other papers: "...reinforcements. Talk of revolution is never a good sign...and with support from the west, this could be a real threat. I'm not certain where Rahen thinks he's going to scare up troops capable of taking on mercenary mages, though. I'll let you know.--Commandant Esse" [GM's note: chufa, which really does exist, is the local equivalent of coffee, an import from Bereshen.] Mercenary mages... She shivers. The thought of a mage unbound by the spellsworn's oath--like the one she encountered--disturbs her more than she would let anyone know. Supposition is one thing, but knowing there are more of them out there... Is everything pointing to disaster? And her own report: "...feel as well that the demons that the Qenaren..." Oh, wait. He's handing something to her... Zerre passes her one of the documents, this one copied from Kisria. She recognizes her own handwriting. "Read this." A little disappointed that he handed it to her himself, she waits a few moments before finally taking it, as if she never tried to read it in the first place. The letter says: "It is well that sentiment runs in our favor. I feel we shall have allies from the far, far west. And I feel as well that the demons that the Qenaren claim to protect us from are nothing but children's fables...or the darkness in their own souls. The Red Hawk." Demons. Not wraiths, guardians to be feared and revered, but demons. And if they think that of Qenar's guardians, what must they think of the Qenaren themselves? Marika relives that moment of queasiness when she first made her way up a wall, as if the world will drop her at any second and the only thing she can do is cling to her place and pray. She quickly returns the letter before it can betray the nervous tremor that passes through her hands. "Another war, do you think?" she asks, a little too casually. Then she makes a swift, cutting motion with one hand, as if to cancel the question; she doesn't want to hear the answer. In its place she asks, "When do you want me to leave?"
Forward: Marika's Prologue 2 Tower graphic courtesy of Clipart Castle.
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