Viam Persequi

     “Now you’re not listening,” Archel moaned.

     “I am too,” Cassie said, adding, “the Advisors won’t listen. And, you want me to do something about it.” She gave him a bland smile, “what can I do?”

     “Give them a message.”

     She tilted her head, “what message.”

     “We need help.”

     “I don’t think that your Advisors will like that.”

     “They don’t have to know,” Archel’s emerald eyes sparkled, “you don’t have to tell them.” He whispered, insisting, “we have to do something.”

     Cassie shook her head, “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but what if they find out?”

     “What are they going to do? Fire me? I didn’t ask for this…” he waved an arm around the sweat stinking Elite’s Training Center.

Angustiis Premi

     “Stop that right now,” Mary Darin’s high-pitched voice echoed throughout the caverns. In every crevice, the children of the Servants paused in mid-action, all fearing that Ms. Darin’s wrath was directed at them. “Willem! Gerick and Jocelyn! Put those babies down!” She glared at the older children with vehemence. “Come!” she ordered.

     The twins, Gerick and Jocelyn Motown, were the eldest of the children rescued by Sirios when the town of Avalona had been destroyed two weeks earlier. Though Willem Slaughter was only a year younger than them, his well-trimmed beard and thick build made him appear much older. Being eldest and close in age, the trio had developed into the group’s de facto leaders taking discipline unto themselves—a situation that Ms. Darin simultaneously encouraged and carefully monitored—though, occasionally they overstepped their bounds. Par for the course, considering the group was overwhelmed by their immense losses. The youngest unintentionally added further stress to the situation, since they did not yet comprehend their new lot as the first orphans of the bitterest travesty in recent collective memory.

Patria Carere

     Pacing the Bard’s Quarters, Kent Wheelock paused at the window overlooking the Forum Publicos. From this vantage point, he could see the tiny walled courtyard that separated Fintan’s quarters from the forum, as well as the mass of people haggling at the midday market. He could also see the Pissing Puppy Statue where he’d cussed Fintan out the first time they’d met after... You old rat bastard, Kent sighed, turning his back from the forum to continue his short journey to nowhere. Every day for the last two weeks, Celatrix Julianne Verna had plagued him with memorizing Donian rhyme schemes, epic grammar, and ancient idioms. Just thinking of her made his brain ache and his heart long for the far easier life he’d lived on the Gambling Strip, where scrambling for food and shelter were the apex of his intellectual problems. He sighed again, she’ll be here any minute. Get your head on, he shivered at the unintentional thought which brought with it the all too realistic feel of the shovel as it had connected with West’s neck. Throwing his hands to his knees to keep from falling, Kent weaved where he’d bent over. Staring at the maroon rug he suddenly experienced a wave of vertigo that ended with him kneeling on the floor, holding a hand over his mouth. As he was crawling on three limbs in a feeble attempt to make it to the bathroom, his door swung open and Ensign Balin entered.