Midnight Moon

Chapter 39 - Surrender

At long last, the wood splintered and Jate crashed through the door. His racing heart sank to his stomach as he stared frantically around the room. The empty, abandoned room.

He had come so close, perhaps within touching distance of Veanna. Could he have saved her, if he had been moments earlier? What if he had ridden harder, if he had kept a single extra coin to barter for information faster, if he had sped through the inn and kicked in the door seconds sooner? The smashing window had been audible as he rounded the top of the stairs, and there had been movement inside the room while he battered the door. Just how near had he been to success?

He ran to the window, staring hopelessly at the grey afternoon. A chill breeze whistled through the frame, scattering shards from the shattered pane. The streets were empty and still, not a trace in the town or on the horizon to hint where Veanna had been taken.

His sword arm hung limp by his side, useless and helpless. He had failed at this last hurdle, unable to save Veanna before Lord Sae and the Outlander stole her away again. Maybe he should have known he could not rescue her.

He could only grasp onto the dull hope that she was alive. Why would the Outlander and Lord take a dead body to an inn, and take such trouble to flee with it?

He turned his head at a gasp, and found the innkeeper framed in the doorway.

"My room!" she cried, hands clasped over her mouth in horror.

"I'm afraid the people I was searching for have escaped," Jate said, gesturing lamely to the abandoned bedroom. He glanced at the splintered door and shattered window and straightened up, regaining some composure. "I will make sure the army reimburses you for the damages."

The innkeeper seemed unconvinced, but her gaze lingered on the rank pins he held and she nodded. She looked like she wanted to ask questions he had no desire to answer, so he spoke before she could.

"Where are the nearest barracks? Corshu?"

She shook her head. "Tveyin is closer, the eastern road out of town passes near it."

"Thank you. Ancestors guide you." He moved past her and heard her mumble a response. His gut ached with guilt at walking away from the distress and damage he had left her with, but what else could he do? Helping Veanna had to be his priority, and he wasn't sure he could do it by himself anymore.

***

Jate arrived at Tveyin while the sky was still light, though the clouds to the east were looking increasingly black. He entered the base with little difficulty, met with some surprise, but no hostility. He outranked everyone he came across, so it was easy to get Farilyth taken care of and be shown to the commanding officer's quarters. He paced the room as he waited for their arrival, his thoughts heavy and dark.

Over and over, he replayed his near victory at Hallenfeld, each moment drawn out and painful. He should have given more for those precious seconds before the room emptied.

Then again, what would have happened if he had made it into the room in time? Little was known about Outlanders, but their fighting prowess was famed - he was a good soldier, but perhaps not good enough for that challenge. Add in whatever magic the Order of Kysuk may have supplied, and he may have died right there in the doorway.

And what of the exiled Lord Sae? Jate couldn't remember what he had done to deserve his punishment, but he was surely not someone to be trusted near the Princess. If his crime was bad enough to face the King's wrath, he would hardly show kindness to the man's heir.

Jate slowed his pacing, his legs complaining after hours on horseback. He noticed for the first time that his fingers had been absently tapping his leg in time with his aching heartbeat. He swallowed, grateful when the door to the office opened and he could blink the tears away.

A stocky woman entered the room, her mousy hair pulled severely back from a solemn face that showed the first signs of wrinkles. The triangle of stars on her collar displayed her position of Colonel, only two ranks above him - unusually high for a small outpost far from any major town.

"Captain," she greeted, her eyes darting to his own rank pins. "Sorry for keeping you waiting; I was just overseeing an armoury inventory."

That explained her oddly high rank - a storage base a short ride from the Southlands would need to be led by an experienced officer. There hadn't been any outright trouble from the border regions for many years, but there was a constant undercurrent of tension in the area. Jate was looking forward to returning northwards.

"It's no trouble," he said easily, though his heart hammered with the urge for haste. Every moment was another step Veanna was taken further away.

The Colonel gave him a tight smile and moved to sit behind her desk. "What can I do for you? I assume you aren't passing through the area."

He strode to the desk too, but agitation and impatience kept him from sitting across from her. "I need to send a letter to Beyall, urgently." He pulled out the stamp the King had given him at the start of his mission and laid it on the desk, the engraved diamond of petals catching the lamplight. Any letter sealed with its mark would be sent through the army's network as a top priority, straight to the King. Jate could only hope it would be enough.

The Colonel raised her eyebrows, but either through discipline or expedience didn't question why he had the seal. "That can be arranged," she murmured. Her eyes lingered on the stamp before she turned to a drawer, pulling out a stack of paper along with a quill and ink. "Use what you need."

"Thank you," Jate said stiffly, tearing his own eyes away. It broke his heart to use the seal, because that meant that he was admitting failure. He had no leads, no money, no ideas. He could not do this alone.

He was accustomed to problems that he could get around using his mind or, if needs must, his sword; usually with the security of an army behind him. He normally operated within a world he understood; one with ranks, responsibilities, and rules. The rules he thought he knew had done nothing for him now.

The letter he penned was short, and vague enough that ideally, only the King would be able to understand it: he could obey his order for discretion, even in this plea for help. Though he had been so tantalisingly close it hurt, he didn't know how to track Veanna down again by himself. He needed the power and numbers of the King's army, before her captors could get too far.

It was up to someone with authority and prudence now, out of Jate's hands: literally, as he blew the ink dry and passed the folded paper to the Colonel. She made no attempt to read the letter before sealing it, giving the stamp back to him.

"I will send a rider on our fastest horse, at once;" she promised. "At a good pace, they should get the letter to the palace by dawn, maybe before."

Ancestors, let that be fast enough.

"In the meantime, we can provide you with food and a bed," the Colonel continued, as she scanned his rumpled appearance. "And you're welcome to... clean yourself up."

He nodded, aware of how far from a respectable soldier he must look. He was an officer, even if he didn't feel much like one. Despite the disappointment pervading every nerve, he itched to return to his uniform.

"Thank you," he said simply.

"We will be holding a memorial ceremony in a few hours, so you will have time to eat with us first."

Jate remembered with slightly dazed surprise that it was still the Day of Ashes. It seemed an age since he stood with Farilyth in a Southlands stable, but the day was not yet gone. He was glad he had not missed the chance to pay his respects, whatever else was happening. Few felt the poignancy of the day as soldiers did.

It would do him good to lose the grime and dust of travel, and to spend some time commiserating with his fellow soldiers. Every idle moment until word arrived from the King would drive him slowly mad.

He prayed that the King could fix what he could not.