Chapter 17 Recall to Arms
Chapter seventeen
Recall to Arms
Nelanta, the early morning after General Calder was captured
Azaleen woke to a pounding noise. Was it coming from inside her head? Her eyes cracked open to darkness, and she rolled over. A knock at her bedroom door, and she shot up, fully awake.
“Madame Queen,” Maggie said from the hallway, her voice low. “There’s been an urgent development.”
Wrapping a light robe over her thin sleeping gown, Azaleen peeked out, her heart pounding. It wasn’t often affairs of state woke her before dawn, and she feared the worst—whatever that could be.
“What is it?” she asked, struck to the bone with dread. Surely the Iron Army hadn’t already made it this far east.
“General Stark is downstairs,” Maggie informed her. She shot a glance down the hall toward the boys’ rooms.
“Tell him I’ll only be a moment.” Azaleen hastily dressed in comfortable clothes and shoes, anticipating a long, hard day to come.
Running a brush through her hair, she didn’t bother with fragrances or cosmetics, feeling the urgency of the matter.
Abandoning a regal pace, she jogged down the stairs and around the corner into the living room, scanning for the general. Maggie was handing him a mug of coffee.
“What’s happened?” Concern edged Azaleen’s voice, not panic.
“My Queen, I apologize for waking you so early.” The solid man in uniform hadn’t taken time to shave.
“No need to apologize,” she said, crossing to stand before him. “Must we evacuate?”
“No, not yet,” he assured her, tone grim, his gray mustache framing downturned lips.
“A pigeon arrived an hour ago with a troubling message. I was informed, and I knew you’d want to know immediately.
General Roderic Calder has been captured.
We think he’s alive, and we have his last known location. ”
“We must begin planning a response at once.” Relief flickered briefly that the news was not worse.
She must compose a robust response to avoid accusations of disregard for a political rival’s welfare.
In truth, she wished only the best for her brother-in-law, despite petty squabbles over the years.
“Has someone been in touch with Lord Calder at Highcrest Hall?”
“I dispatched a pigeon just before coming here,” Stark replied. “I took the liberty of sending messengers to Chief of Staff Fontaine and Secretary Navarro.”
“Yes, certainly. Let’s meet across the way at the Capitol Building—my office. No need to wake everyone until we have more information. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Very good, Your Excellency. I’ll start a pot of coffee.” Stark bowed and showed himself out.
“I warmed a pastry for you,” Maggie said, walking into the room with an aromatic treat wrapped in a hand towel. “What else do you need?”
“Just a moment to gather myself.” Azaleen needed to project strength and authority, not joy that her home was safe for the moment. And Lark, she thought. One of her instant fears had been a negative report from her team, that Lark had been hurt or killed. “Please see the boys off to school.”
“What if they hear what happened to their uncle at school?” Maggie’s concern struck Azaleen like a hammer. She sighed and glanced at the stairs.
“I hadn’t thought of that. News travels so fast, and they need to hear it from me.
Thank you, Maggie. I’ll get my breakfast in a minute.
” She mounted the stairs, a million thoughts spinning in her head, woke her sons, and told them that Uncle Roderic had been taken hostage and she would do everything possible to get him back safely.
Caelen rubbed his eyes as he sat up in bed. “The Iron Army captured him? Will they hurt him? How will we get him back?”
“We’re working on it.” She raked her fingers through his hair. “Don’t be afraid.”
“What happens when the war comes here?” His youthful eyes pleaded with her, and Azaleen wished she could do or say something to ease his fear.
“Then we deal with it,” Eldrin declared. He stood beside his brother’s bed in pajama pants, his arms folded over his bare chest, an intense look on his face.
When did Eldrin develop those muscles? Azaleen thought. He’s growing up so fast.
“That’s right.” She nodded to her elder son, stood, and instructed, “Go to school. Do your best. I’ll let you know what is decided. They won’t be foolish enough to kill an important leader like General Roderic Calder. He’s much more valuable alive. Now, you have three more hours to sleep.”
“I’ll pray for Uncle Roderic’s safe return first,” Caelen said in a sombre tone.
“Pray to whom?” Eldrin’s posture remained closed, his brows narrowed.
Caelen lifted his chin with the earnestness of a spiritual sage. “To all the gods and angels, like Mama does. Someone will hear me.”
Eldrin dropped his arms, his shoulders with them, and shook his head. “Yeah, right.”
“Eldrin,” Azaleen called his name, pinning him with sharp disapproval. “All spiritual beliefs are valid. If you choose to adhere to none, do so without disrespecting others.” She sighed, sliding from queen to mother. “Go back to sleep, both of you.”
A small council met in the queen’s office before dawn, the weight of it already pressing in.
Azaleen picked at her pastry and sipped the general’s coffee while Stark read the note they’d received.
He rolled out a map on the table and pointed to Bethel Springs and Cypress Creek.
“This is where he was planning his ambush, so we believe this is where he was when they took him. From here, it’s hard to say if the Iron Army is marching to Stonevale or Marchland.
It’s almost certain General Garcia will take Tupelo and raid their storehouses to feed his troops. ”
“How successful was the ambush?” Azaleen asked. “Do you know casualty counts?”
“I’m sure those will arrive in the coming hours. Sergeant Brant, who sent the pigeon, only reported on Calder.”
Camille, worry etched on her face, suggested, “Perhaps we can bargain for Calder’s return. We captured at least two Iron Navy captains we could offer to trade for him.”
“You assume Garcia cares about the Navy captains,” Azaleen said frankly, already spinning a proposal.
“Well, President Irons would,” Camille countered. “Experienced naval commanders don’t grow on trees.”
“I hope they are agreeable to a prisoner exchange,” Stark said, leaning back in his chair, staring blankly at the map. “We don’t have a strong enough force to meet them in the field, and I won’t pull Longstreet out of Marchland. It would be suicide.”
“No, you’re right, General,” Azaleen concluded. “Even if Calder managed to deal a substantial blow to the Iron Army, they would still greatly outnumber any force we could throw at them. That’s why a small, elite team will be needed to extract Roderic.”
“But VERT is in the south,” Sabine reminded her, speaking for the first time.
“We must recall them at once,” Azaleen said.
“By the time they return, probably late tomorrow, we should have gathered more intelligence. We’ll need to deploy our balloons,” she said, meeting Stark’s deep-set eyes.
“Motorcycles as well. Sabine, compose a letter to Lord Calder assuring him that we are exploring every means to recover his son safely. I want open lines of communication between Highcrest Hall and the capital. Camille, draft a letter to General Garcia and another to President Irons regarding a prisoner exchange. It doesn’t hurt to ask.
But I want contingencies. We need to know exactly where Garcia’s army is and where they’re holding Calder.
It is imperative that we retrieve Roderic alive.
If that becomes impossible, Lord Thorne Calder must know we’ve done everything possible. ”
“I concur.” General Stark squared his shoulders, resolve on his weathered face. “I’ll get a balloon and motorcycle patrols headed south to find the recovery team and send more west to get a fix on the Iron Army’s whereabouts.”
“I’ll get on those letters,” added Camille.
“And I’ll have a pigeon sent with a note for Lord Calder within the hour,” confirmed Sabine.
“Let’s plan to reconvene with the rest of the cabinet in …” Azaleen glanced at the clock. “Twelve hours, at 4:00 p.m. We should know more by then. Meeting adjourned.”
The others hastened to perform their assigned tasks, leaving Azaleen alone with her thoughts. This is the last thing we needed—another complication.
Lark took up her position behind a thick pine at the edge of the woods, a sea of high grass rippling across the meadow, sweet and sun-warmed.
She notched an arrow in her longbow and aimed at the whitetail deer.
Lark preferred her familiar longbow to the multi-fire crossbow the team had equipped her with for fighting.
Better range. Quieter. More honest in her hands.
Lark had always hunted for survival, and, right now, they were hungry.
She settled her aim and loosed the arrow, the bowstring thrumming against her fingers. It flew true, striking the buck in the chest. Three does and two fawns dashed from the meadow into the trees, leaving the staggering buck behind. She was moving before he fell.
Diego jogged behind her. “I don’t know why you didn’t let me shoot it with my rifle,” he complained.
Tossing back over her shoulder, Lark called, “And make all that noise? What if Republic Marines are patrolling nearby? But I’ll let you help me carry it back to camp.”
“Oh, thanks,” Diego huffed, rolling his eyes.
When they reached the deer, Lark retrieved her unbroken arrow and replaced it in her quiver. “Can you get the head end?” she asked Diego.
He met her question with an offended look.
“Well, you’re always going on about how you’re the strongest member of the team. Let’s see some of that muscle in action.”
Laughing, Diego flexed his biceps. “True.”
Something in the sky snagged Lark’s attention, dark against a cloud. Laughter disappeared in a flash, and she dropped into a crouch in the tall grass. Staring up, she pointed. “Balloon.”
Diego took cover as well, peering up, the bill of his cap shading his eyes from the overhead sun. “But whose?”
They remained still, waiting for the balloon to get closer.
If it were theirs, it might be looking for them.
Skye sent a message about Fort Jasper, but Nelanta couldn’t reply by pigeon.
Since then, they’d avoided detection by the Republic and warned the villages in the area.
They were heading to Troy, a mid-sized town in the south, as it was on the way to Fort Hammond, but General Stark wouldn’t know their exact location.
However, if it were an enemy balloon, they didn’t wish to be spotted.
As it neared, Lark made out the green and gold silk and the “V” painted on the bottom of the basket. “It’s ours!”
They both jumped up and waved their arms, dancing across the field to signal the balloon.
As if from nowhere, Luke zoomed across the clearing, his motorbike sputtering and kicking up dust. Skye, Wes, and Harlan emerged from the forest, holding up the corners of a Verdancian flag.
Slowly, the balloon descended until it came to rest a hundred meters away.
Lark was reluctant to leave her dinner in case wild animals carried it off, but clearly, if a balloon came looking for them, it brought important news. By the time she and Diego arrived, Luke was already talking to a lieutenant from Nelanta.
“OK, we’ll leave immediately,” he told the dark-skinned lieutenant.
“I’d say just hop in,” the man answered, “but we can’t spare your vehicles. Make it fast.”
“We’ve got a few good roads heading north,” Luke said. “If we don’t run into trouble, we should be there by tomorrow morning.”
“We can take turns driving the jeep,” Wes suggested, “but you fellas’ll be like zombies on the bikes.”
“Mount them on the back of the jeep,” Harlan said, “and we’ll all squeeze in.”
“Good thinking,” Skye agreed. “Let’s strike camp.”
“Wait,” Lark said, curious about the sudden recall. She looked at the balloon lieutenant. “What happened?”
Luke answered instead. “General Calder’s been captured. We have to rescue him.”