Page 81 of The Study of Poisons
The Commander sat at the top of the egg-shaped table, which signaled everyone to be seated. Valek claimed the empty chair to the Commander’s right. Mostly out of sight, Yelena perched on the stool behind them. At least she had a wall to lean on when the discussion dragged. This annual get together allowed the generals to report on what each of them had accomplished over the course of the year. Also, to decide on certain issues or brainstorm solutions to problems. They all had a vote, but the Commander’s decision was final and not always aligned with the majority.
Pounding a wooden gavel on the table, the Commander signaled the official start of the meeting. Silence fell.
“Before we launch into the scheduled topics,” the Commander said, indicating the detailed agenda which had been distributed earlier, “I have an important announcement. I have appointed a new successor.”
Valek studied expressions and body language as the generals absorbed the news. Shock at first, and then a few showed anger, a couple appeared concerned, but most were confused. Brazell fought to keep a straight face. His brown eyes sparkled with delight as the edges of his mouth curled up. An odd reaction, unless he knew he’d been chosen.
Murmurs buzzed and tension fogged the air as the Commander handed each of the generals a sealed envelope. Inside was an encoded piece of a puzzle. Only when all eight pieces were together, and then deciphered from a key that Valek held, would it reveal the name of the new successor. The generals tucked them into their briefcases.
Ignoring the unsettled atmosphere, the Commander started the meeting with a call to General Kitvivan of MD-1 to proceed with business. A bottle of Kitvivan’s highest quality white brandy slid around the table. Each general poured a couple fingers worth of alcohol into their glasses. Valek served the Commander before splashing a mouthful into his own. Yelena sipped from the Commander’s tumbler. Protocol dictated that she swallowed just in case she missed an off flavor or foreign scent.
Valek spent too much time staring at her lips as she tasted the liquor. She handed it back and the Commander took a drink, signaling to everyone that it was safe. If anyone wished to assassinate all the generals, this meeting would be the perfect opportunity. So, they wereallcounting on Yelena. Even him. And, for the first time, he’d no doubts about the food taster’s abilities.
Kitvivan talked about the problems his district was having with mining and the frequency of the blizzards blowing from the Northern Ice Pack. It didn’t take long, though, for him to start whining about his favorite subject—snow cats.
“Come on, Kit. Enough about the cats. Just feed them up on the pack ice like we do, and they won’t bother you,” General Chenzo of MD-2 said in exasperation.
“Feed them so they’ll get healthy and fat and start breeding like rabbits? We’ll go broke supplying the meat,” Kitvivan shot back.
Valek stopped listening. Instead, he considered the eight generals. Or, rather, the eight old men. Even the youngest, General Franis of MD-3, had to be close to sixty years old. Set in their ways, quarrelsome, and unpleasant, they all needed to retire. Ixia was stagnating under their leadership. The younger generation was restless and bored. Even this meeting’s agenda could be from any of the brandy meetings in the last six years. The same issues with no creative solutions. The same old, same old.
Perhaps Valek could encourage them to retire. Or just assassinate them. No one would be missed. Except by the Commander. Which was the problem. Ambrose had grown up in Military District 3. His family worked a large and deep diamond mine at the base of the Soul Mountains and so did many of these generals. They’d been supervisors who had worked decades in dangerous mine shafts and had barely been paid a living wage.
When Ambrose had started preaching about the injustices of the monarchy, these men were his early supporters. With their leadership abilities, they helped build a following that eventually turned into an army. They acted as bodyguards when the King of Ixia sent assassins, Valek had been one of them. He hadn’t known his client was of royal blood. Good thing the generals also taught Ambrose how to fight. Otherwise Valek would have killed Ambrose. Instead, the Commander bested Valek and claimed his loyalty by carving a C onto Valek’s chest.
These old men had been pivotal in the successful takeover. Valek appreciated their efforts and service, but they should retire and enjoy the rest of their lives instead of arguing about how many sheep could graze in the plains before stressing the native grasses.
The Commander would never suggest they move on. He respected them and would be forever loyal to them. Unless they undermined the Commander’s leadership or plotted another takeover. Or failed to follow the Code of Behavior, which Valek knew Brazell was doing. Too bad, he didn’t have any proof except those beans, which the Commander had decided to ignore.
General Brazell caused quite a stir when it was his turn to discuss MD-5. He sent a silver tray with brown lumps around the table, instead of a bottle of brandy. At least it was something new. By the mutters, it wasn’t being embraced. No surprise. For the first time, Valek agreed with the generals. The lumps turned out to be Criollo. If Brazell managed to get them all addicted to it, he’d be able to get them to vote in his favor and would have more influence than any of them. Was that his plan?
Brazell explained about the Criollo and invited everyone to take a bite without waiting for Yelena’s all clear. She moaned and Valek whipped around ready to catch her before she hit her head on the stone floor. But she gave the all-clear sign and closed her eyes as she consumed the rest of the Criollo. She licked her lips and fingertips, cleaning off every bit of the dessert. Heat flushed through him, and he was tempted to offer his portion to her. Instead, he bit into the lump. The inside had been filled with the General’s famous strawberry brandy. Wow. No wonder Yelena moaned. The mixture of the sweet alcohol and Criollo exploded on his tongue. He’d eaten nothing like it before. Nor, he suspected, had the other generals. They eyed the leftovers.
Brazell then launched into his report. The construction of his new feed factory had been completed, but he didn’t offer any more details. Valek hadn’t heard from his agents assigned to watch the factory in a while. Had they been discovered? Or was there nothing to report? Valek made a note to follow up.
The meeting continued. Yelena appeared a bit glassy-eyed after sipping the sixth glass of brandy. It wasn’t long before she relaxed back and nodded off. Valek grinned. He’d let her sleep it off and would taste the two remaining brandies.
Sometime during General Tesso’s presentation, a strangeness pressed. At first, Valek couldn’t pin it down. A smell? None of the lanterns had gone out. The half-eaten food wasn’t rotting. Nothing but alcohol fumes. A breeze? All the windows were closed. A noise? Yelena’s light snoring sounded behind him. Then an invisible spider web brushed his left cheek. Magic. Very light. Very faint.
He straightened in alarm and scanned the room. Most everyone focused on Tesso. A few took notes or looked bored out of their minds. One adviser had rested his chin on his hand and his eyes were closed. Sleeping or using magic? This had never happened during a brandy meeting before. It had to be one of the new advisers. Valek studied each of them but couldn’t pinpoint where the magic originated. Mogkan stared at Yelena. A smug smile twisted his lips. The adviser had been paying more attention to her than to the proceedings.
Valek glanced at the Commander. He gazed into the distance, obviously not listening to Tesso, which was odd. Valek leaned closer and the magic pressed harder. The magician had targeted the Commander.
Valek bumped Ambrose’s arm, hoping to break the spell. “What’s going on?” he whispered. “Where were you?”
“Just remembering a time long ago,” the Commander said, sounding wistful and not at all like himself. “More enjoyable than listening to General Tesso’s excruciatingly detailed report on the corn harvest in MD–4.”
Normally, the Commander loved those details. A bountiful corn harvest meant plenty of food for his people. At least Valek succeeded in stopping the magic. And it didn’t reappear during the rest of the meeting.
At the end of the meeting, the Commander pounded his gavel. “Last item, gentlemen,” the Commander said. “A Sitian delegation has requested a meeting.”
The generals launched into all the familiar arguments that Valek could recite by heart. And just like the fifteen times before, the northern generals—Kitvivian, Chenzo, Franis, Dinno—voted against it, and the southern ones—Brazell, Hazel, Tesso, Rasmussen—voted in favor of a conference.
The Commander ended the discussions. “I acknowledge your opinions about Sitia, but the southerners would rather trade with us than attack us. We have more men and metal. A fact they are well aware of. To attack Sitia we would expend many lives and large sums of money. And for what? Their luxury items aren’t worth the cost. I’m content with Ixia. We have cured the land of the King’s disease. Perhaps my successor will want more. You’ll have to wait until then.”
A murmur of surprise raced through the war room. Brazell nodded in agreement. His smile had an edge, as if he’d known about the Commander’s change in heart all along.
“I have already agreed to meet with the southern contingent,” the Commander continued. “They’re due to arrive in four days. You have until then to express your specific concerns to me before departing for your home districts. Meeting adjourned.” The bang from the Commander’s gavel echoed throughout the dead silent room.
