The Chronicles of Heaven's War: Burning Phoenix (82 page)

Crilen was not satisfied with Zadar’s coy
answer, but saw it useless to probe for more. He turned to Chesse,
asking, “What’s so outstanding about this Ishtar so as to make
Darla run off and leave
prince charming
for her?”

“Girl’s special to her.” Chesse answered.
“Goes back before the Gallic Wars... She helped save the girl and
her uncle, Cephas, from Legion’s ruffians. Came close to dying. Was
put up in a convalescent home for some time. Drorli told me that
she made arrangements to come to the village as soon as she
arrived, had to stop over to retrieve something from the vaults
under Palace City first.”

“Cephas’ niece, huh?” Crilen glanced back
and forth between Zadar and Chesse. “Doesn’t sound all that casual
to me.” He looked a Chesse. “You seem to know a lot about what’s
going on. What’s the big secret, anyway, Miss Tricksy?”

“No big secret...” Chesse confessed. “Just
happened to be about my Postal duties when Drorli asked for a hand
in the village.”

Zadar interrupted. “I think with Darla it’s
more being that it was her first clandestine assignment with
someone in the Lower Realms. She took a shine to Ishtar, something
common in cases like that, what some call the ‘motherly affection
syndrome’. But I feel there’s more to Ishtar, or to Ishtar’s
arrival.”

“How so?” Crilen asked. Chesse chimed in,
also, wondering.

Zadar explained, “I was at the last council
meeting before we departed for the Prisoner Exchange. As you have
heard, Mihai spoke of three swords - two being already here, Trisha
being one, and another hiding in shadows. The third was yet to come
and, when it arrived, the Three would be made complete. I got the
impression that the arrival of all the Swords of Prophecy was a
harbinger of future events. Then,” He waved his hands about
gesturing. “when Eutychus told me what Sirion spoke to Legion
during her rescue… well, I just think Ishtar might be our Third
Sword of prophecy.”

Crilen and Chesse both asked excitedly,
“How? What did Sirion say?”

Zadar leaned forward, speaking in a hush.
“After Sirion retrieved the skin bag from Legion, Eutychus said she
spoke some kind of a curse to the man. It went something like, ‘It
has waked. It has waked. It smells the blood of the one murdering
it. Daughter of the Gorgons it is.’ And as she hobbled away, she
turned and hissed, ‘Pleasant dreams, brother.’”

Crilen could little contain himself. “So
what do you think it means? How do you connect it with Ishtar?”

“Well…” Zadar leaned back in the seat.
“Sirion said something had waked, and implied that Legion would be
troubled over it. From what I’ve been told, Ishtar awoke about
then, and she’s been the only one from the Lower Realms to arrive
here for some time. There are no others.”

“And…” Zadar held the suspense until he felt
the two were about to burst. “it was said that Mother warned Legion
that day when Ishtar was murdered by his henchmen that the girl
would return to haunt his dreams.”

“So!” He slapped his knees. “I just put the
pieces together and concluded that Ishtar might just be the Third
Sword we’ve all been waiting for. The Swords of Sharon may all be
arrived as I speak.”

Crilen sat back, disappointed. “I thought
there might be more to it than just some wild hunch. I have to
admit it, though, you do weave a good tale.” He then offered a word
of caution. “I doubt you’ll find our girl cooperative, seeing all
she’s been through, and now the new toy she has to play with. You
know Darla, all fuss, all fuss, when she’s got something like
Ishtar on her mind. Sinks into that secret world of hers and
doesn’t let anyone in.”

He wagged a finger. “And that’s what I think
you’ll find if she does let you in -
nothing
. Locked up
tighter than a drum she is, poorest… Well, I just don’t think she
has much to share, and I don’t think Asotos would have found that
much in her either – ‘least not enough to leave anything behind in
her head.”

Zadar was displeased with Crilen’s
insinuations concerning Darla, but he remained silent. After all,
few who knew the woman felt differently. Even many of her close
acquaintances viewed her the same way. He finally replied, “Try I
must, even if it might be a long shot.”

Crilen leaned back, resting his head on the
pillowed cushion, closing his eyes. “Let us know if you do find
something important, which I doubt you will...”

* * *

The remainder of the journey back to Palace
City was rather quiet. Crilen added other details about the
Prisoner Exchange. He also went to some length explaining how he
came about being permanently assigned to the Shikkeron as
midshipman and his increase in rank to first leftenant. Chesse told
about her escapades with Ishtar and the duoreachees. Zadar remained
politely quiet, silently absorbed in private thought.

After arriving back in the city, an argument
ensued between Zadar and Crilen as to who would escort their
traveling companion to dinner. It was finally settled by Chesse
that both men could. So, with two fellows at her side, the trio
sauntered toward the Northern Concourse entrance.

Chesse had obtained another blouse while at
Diamond Ridge, silky sheer and billowy with some frills down the
front and at the end of its long sleeves. The woman was truly a
sight to behold! She was of medium build, buxom, brown-skinned,
winter-white hair, with an oval face sporting delicate features.
Shoulders back and with dignity she walked, her long years as a
former officer in the Children’s Army showing in her every step. It
was no wonder that her two companions had vied for her attention, a
rose surrounded by, well, you know...

The banquet hall where dinner was being held
was one floor up from the main concourse level, not far from the
north entrance. There was already a rather large crowd gathered by
the time the trio arrived. This appeared to be quite a formal
affair, being attended by some of the Empires’ most important
officers and dignitaries. Seats were assigned, with attendants
ushering each new arrival to his or her respective place.

A smartly dressed hostess approached the
company, addressing the woman, asking, “ChasileahUUnooNiemie?”
Surprised, Chesse acknowledged her name. “This way, please.” The
hostess smiled, extending a hand to guide her guest to a seat.

The banquet tables for this formal dinner
were arranged in long, narrow rows so that groups of about sixteen
would be seated together. This design was usually chosen to
encourage several small conversations among the guests rather than
have the entire table absorbed in a large one. It was also
orchestrated for the guests to be seated immediately. Waiters would
descend upon the people, requesting their choice of drinks and
nibbles, and then quickly return, assuring that the people would
not get up and wander.

The dining hall, though, was already filled
with pleasant chatter from dozens of ongoing conversations. ‘Quiet
but comfortable’, that was what this kind of gathering was often
described as. A formal occasion, but relaxed, possibly a mixer of
sorts, a selective mixer where specific groups were chosen in
advance. In this manner, guests could look about the banquet hall
to see the many faces to find out who was there, while at the same
time steal away in pleasant discussion with only one or two at
their table.

After the formal dinner was finished and any
speeches made, finger-food desserts would often be delivered on
large carts near the center of the hall. Minstrels or a small
orchestra might begin playing sweet, musical refrains in the
background, chairs and tables moved aside, clearing the floor of
their clutter. Wine and other drink would be made available by
waiters scurrying about. There was usually no ending hour, the
crowd gradually thinning until only the staff remained to tidy
things up.

At least this was the way since the
Rebellion ended the festivals. The formal banquet had replaced them
in a way. One could be arranged at any time and for any reason. It
might be a small affair with only a dozen of so participants, or
there might be thousands, which was rare. A formal event was far
different from other, more casual festivities, the primary
difference being the control the host exercised. Seats were
assigned to encourage a pairing up of certain people, the host
specifically wanting them to become better acquainted. The
after-dinner dessert permitted guests opportunity to mingle and
seek out specific individuals for conversation.

When Chesse realized this was a formal
occasion, she became uncomfortable, regretting accepting Trisha’s
invitation. Now there was little to do but follow the hostess. She
sighed relief at seeing that her table was off to the side of the
hall, away from where the most important guests were supposed to be
seated. The hostess ushered her to a corner seat next to the head
of the table, pulling out the chair and assisting her.

After a waiter had hurried away to bring the
drink and appetizers, Chesse looked about at the others already
arrived at her table, and then scanned the room. Many she knew,
several from her military days. A large number of guests were
neatly attired in the finery of Army dress. There were a few from
the Navy, a smattering of Marines, and the occasional ones dressed
in uniforms unfamiliar to her. Then there were the dignitaries,
some clothed in little more than a scant ribbon or two, such as
Tashi, the governor of Exothepobole, compared to Ardon, who was
fully robed in purple splendor of state.

There were also others dressed more as
Chesse was, simple fare, or nothing at all other than some painted
accents and hair ornaments. Indeed, Chesse’s blouse was little more
than ornamentation, its sheer, billowy cloth leaving nothing to the
imagination. That was often true for most of the guests, other than
the people in uniform. Revealing or suggestive military attire was
generally frowned upon. Regalia did not make for a formal event. It
was entirely based on the protocol implemented by the host.

Chesse struck up a quiet conversation with
an officer on her left, asking if he knew what this banquet might
be all about. The officer sat his mug of simmering tea down, and
folded his hands on resting elbows. “Well…” He slowly swept his
eyes around the hall. “The smell of coming war is stirring the
blood of many of our old veterans. Most of us feel that what’s
coming is going to be the
big one
, bigger than the Great
War. Searching for old comrades and seeking out former commanders
is on many a mind. I believe our leaders are busy doing the same,
gathering the vultures for the coming blood feast.”

“So you believe that is the reason we’ve
been invited here, to gather the
crows
for war?” Chesse
asked, somewhat concerned.

The officer turned to make reply, studying
the woman beside him. Something about her was familiar. They had
met before, but where and when? He offered a hand, “Braiden,
BraidenChuuShon, 4
^th
Tennyion Mobile Artillery, one of
the few artillery units to be retained for active duty after the
Armistice.”

Politely accepting Braiden’s inviting
gesture, Chesse remarked having some recollection of that unit.
“Served gallantly, as I recall...”

Braiden thanked her, adding, “Yep, we held
the northern ridge covering the retreat of our infantry during the
Battle of Bauglow. Took heavy losses holding the line, but managed
an orderly withdraw, keeping all our guns. Later we took part in
the Battle of the Tower Gate. Were the last to leave the field that
day, I the sole surviving officer in my company.”

He then commented, asking. “I should know
you. You are?”

Chesse hesitated, finely replying,
“ChasileahUUnooNiemie, I work with the Postal.”

“A pleasure to meet you, but…” Braiden
peered into Chesse’s face. “but I’ve seen you somewhere in the
past. Were you ever in the military?”

Chesse’s face clouded as she looked down at
the table. “Yes…I was.”

“Were you at Memphis?”

This was the most feared and dreaded
question Chesse could imagine. She took no pride in her conduct in
that battle, was ashamed at the
murder
of those under her
command. She had been their officer in charge. She had led them to
their deaths, and she had lived. It was not fair! She had
lived...

“Yes.” Chesse answered in little above a
whisper.

Braiden silently nodded, finally remembering
where he had seen the woman. He assisted the litter bearers the day
following the Battle of Bauglow. This woman, a colonel, torn,
shattered, and barely alive, he helped deliver to the ambulances.
He was pleased to find out Chesse survived, but could see how badly
the war had damaged her.

Chesse turned to look at Braiden, her eyes
distraught.

Braiden smiled, lifting his mug. “Well,
ChasileahUUnooNiemie with the Postal, it’s good to meet your
acquaintance.”

Chesse and Braiden continued on with some
small banter, inviting a newly seated guest into the conversation.
All the while, Chesse watched for familiar faces as the room
filled. Euroaquilo arrived arm in arm with Sarah, the woman dressed
in one of those mysterious, bright-white uniforms. The cut of the
jacket and the decorative braid indicated to Chesse that Sarah was
an officer of high rank, something Zadar failed to mention during
their earlier introduction.

All eyes were focused on the woman as she
and Euroaquilo were led to their table. Silence was quickly
followed by quiet whispers and occasional glances. Most believed
her to be an Off-worlder, but who she was and how long she had been
here was the mystery. She matched Euroaquilo in height and stride,
her beauty of equal grandeur. Many a man and more than a few of the
women lingered with their gaze, basking in visual delights that
stirred other more carnal desires.