"Sir, our mission is... complete?" Hemingway independently offered Count and the Countess a contorted expression of success tinged with a complexion of sorrow. "I do not wish to be a bearer of bad news, but the Ambassador-wrought 'Slicer Swarm' had ended in partial success on our part, and a now Soulless Ivel has been left to rot in Northwest Waise. I am pleased to offer this to you as a memento." He handed them Ivel's jarred Vorren, pulsating in captivity, much to their consternation.
"You mean to say that Ivel is dying?" Count was in shock. "Well, we knew about the catastrophe that the insects brought. We should quickly begin to incorporate the leaderless Crusaders into our Henderian militia. Worse, however, we will also be forced to cope with the threat of the hierarchy's return, as well as a system of Sogburian Thieves who have no functional ships to transport goods anymore, while our practically nonexistent farmland has been completely ruined by the Swarm. Food will have to be rationed, and we will have a much larger population to feed and support in the long run. Additionally, we must learn to protect ourselves in an increasingly dangerous time." Lucy seemed to share this concern, as the fall of the Crusade and potentially the Thieves of Sogbury as well was a daunting event for which Hendera may compensate. "To add to this, we reject your offer of the Vorren, to be more specific."
"I understand, sir," Hemingway gestured, continuing to grasp the jar at his side. "What is my next instruction, sir?"
"We have no more work for your role to fill as of this point," Lucy directed. "We would like to thank you yet again for your service in Counter's Hall, acting as an aid for our information and a scout for the Great Five."
"You are very welcome," Hemingway nodded, before turning back around to exit Counter's Hall.
"Wait, wait, before you go, there's something you must know," Count beckoned the pseudo-Sulukridger back to the room just before stepping away, drawing his attention back to the thrones of the duarchy. "...You're fired."
* * *
"Soal, Irene," Hemingway rasped before two Riverift wormholes of his own formation, one of them tainted blue, the other tinted green. The Master Bringer stood confused before him, awaiting an explanation. "Count and the Countess have agreed to give you both another breath of fresh air in your own time. If you have not already done so, you may have to further explain the scenario to your families, as things are growing dire here in Hendera. Your mother, Soal, has reluctantly decided to collaborate with some of the investigation teams in Counter's Hall to further their search for your sister. These decisions were not made by me; I believe that they were only intended to keep you rightfully satisfied with what you have... thus, what you may lose in the future."
"Wait, we're leaving already?" Irene spoke for them both. "This doesn't make any sense. There's a lot of work still to be done here, especially at this time. Just look up at the sky."
"I can keep my sword, Hemingway," Soal grasped his other arm, unarmed and in casual clothing aside from his quiver. "I'll be okay, so long as I have it..."
"You can trust me with this," Hemingway's facial emotions did not convey a sense of confidence, either. "You deserve it. But if anything goes wrong along the way, I will be there to assist you in any situation." The Master Bringer continued to send the pseudo-Sulukridger a heavily bewildered glare. "To both of you, farewell."
YOU ARE READING
The Sketch Rift: The Eternal Crusade
Fantasy{Book Two in the Sketch Rift Trilogy} Samuel Lawrence, or Soal, is revolted by the mere premise of returning to the bleak metropolis of Hendera. But these hopes are laid to rest when sentinels of the enigmatic Charles Hemingway draw his reentr...
