“No, but it is imperative that I see him urgently and, I fear, he will want to see me.”
The guard nodded and then conferred with his companion in his own language for a moment before turning back.
“Wait here.”
Ghassan nodded and stood silently, his gaze wandering over the buildings both inside the compound and out as he waited for what seemed an eternity. The white-clad guard effectively ignored him, standing stiff and proud by the gate.
With relief, perhaps five minutes later, Ghassan saw the guard emerge from a door on the far side of the compound and gesture, calling out. The guard in front of him gestured.
“You go in now.”
Ghassan saluted and marched across the compound. He had always hoped to see the inside of this place and now he found he couldn’t wait to get out of it. The closer he came to his meeting with the governor, the more convinced he became of the bleakness of the fate that awaited him. The new local governor in M’Dahz had seemed very straight and humourless at their last, brief meeting. Ghassan’s future career, livelihood, and even life, may well depend upon the decision or recommendation of this man. Ghassan realised he didn’t know the political structure enough to know how much power this lesser governor had when compared with that of the Provincial governor in Calphoris or his military commanders.
His heart pounding, Ghassan reached the doorway and was ushered inside by the guard, who escorted him in silence up one of the flights of stairs that framed the main hall.
The governor’s door was open and, as they approached, the white-clad guard gestured to him to enter. Making a futile gesture to tame the tangle of black curls on his head and straighten his jacket, Ghassan cleared his throat and entered the room.
The occupant was a tall and well dressed man with a long nose and piercing eyes, a foreigner, sent from Velutio to take control of M’Dahz. He also had a dangerous look. Ghassan swallowed nervously.
“Sir.” He came to attention and saluted.
The governor turned and stood against his desk, crossing his legs as he leaned back and folding his arms.
“Captain. I presume the news you bring is not good?”
Ghassan shook his head and had to fight for the words, momentarily wishing he’d taken Samir up on his offer. Duty must be done, though.
“I beg to report, my lord, the loss of the Wind of God and a small portion of her crew. Most of the men returned with me and await further instructions at the docks.”
The governor tapped his finger on his lips.
“I felt certain you had not made it to Velutio and back in this short time. Pray tell me what happened to the most renowned vessel in the Calphorian fleet and where your charge, the lady Asima, is at this time?”
Ghassan swallowed again. There was an edge to the man’s voice that spoke volumes, regardless of his almost casual words.
“Regretfully, sir, we fell prey to pirates.”
He winced. This was a moment of defining character, he realised. Did he take on the full responsibility himself? The situation had been unfortunate and largely beyond his control. The truth was less noble and considerably less believable. But then, Asima deserved anything that life threw at her now… or that Ghassan threw.
“The lady Asima, in an effort to prevent us achieving our mission, sabotaged the ship and left us unable to manoeuvre when the pirates appeared. We were not in a position to take them on, sir.”
“And may I ask if you identified your attackers?”
Ghassan sighed.
“Yes, sir. It was captain Samir of the Dark Empress.”
The governor nodded knowingly.
“I’m sure you realise just how irregular all of this appears, captain Ghassan. I would normally have to decide between disciplinary courses of action to take against you for the loss of a ship and an important passenger. However, given that both said passenger and the captain of your attackers are old acquaintances of yours, other questions are raised and I fear that we have now surpassed my jurisdiction.”
Ghassan nodded professionally.
“I can see how this must appear, my lord…”
“Be silent!” the governor hissed. “You will be very lucky to escape this debacle with your head on your shoulders, captain. At any rate, I will pass along my recommendation to my superiors in Calphoris that you be dishonourably discharged from the force without pay or benefits and possibly banished from the province.”
Ghassan shook slightly, trying to hold himself straight.
“Sir…”
“That is all, captain Ghassan and be grateful that I am a merciful man. The lord who trained me in Velutio would have recommended execution for such a failure and given the dubious circumstances surrounding it.”
Ghassan straightened and saluted.
“Yessir.”
The governor glared at him.
“You have family in M’Dahz I believe? A home here? I’m sure I’ve seen it in the records.”
Ghassan blinked for a moment, unsure of the answer.
“There is a house that belonged to my mother if it still stands, sir. None of my family survived the occupation.”
“Very well. We’ll have the address on file, no doubt. Go there and stay until you are ordered otherwise. I will send a courier to Calphoris with the news and ask for the Marshal’s recommendation. When it is given, I will send for you.”
“Sir.”
“And do not think about leaving the city. Your name and description will be given to the army and the port authorities. I am releasing you on your honour on the understanding that you are still currently a serving officer and that no decision has yet been made. Stay out of trouble until you are sent for.”
Ghassan nodded and saluted.
“Now go.”
With a final salute, Ghassan turned on his heel and strode from the room. Without pausing or looking back, he marched down the stairs and across the hall; out through the doors and across the compound, into the plaza.
Those occupants of M’Dahz he passed shied out of the way of his fierce gaze and gritted teeth. Depression and despair had given way to something else as Ghassan left the compound: angry determination and a cold certainty.
There was only one way to make this right with his superiors. He would have to give them Samir on a platter and return Asima, unscathed, to answer for her own crimes.
The baking sun hung suspended above M’Dahz and shone down on a town in flux. The end of a regime had lifted the spirits of the people and had brought back trade and life. Things were changing in M’Dahz and many of its lost children had returned home.
And now, three of those children, repeatedly torn away from one another and thrown back together, changed beyond measure from the boys and girl who raced across the hot rooftops a lifetime ago, converged on their childhood playground.
The pirate, the soldier and the princess were coming home, bringing schemes and plans with them.
Part Four: My Enemy’s Enemy
In which Samir goes home
