Tales of the Vangen: The Black Ministry's Betrayal (Book 1)

Chapter 15: A Meeting Between Old Friends

 Night in Byzantia came alive with lamplight. Masked rebels patrolled the streets in mobs, their farm equipment, and gardening tools glinting brightly in the ruddy fires. Several greenhorn Vangen patrolled the window cracks and door hatches of the warehouse, quiet as church mice on Sabbath. One, in particular, kept watching over the southern quarter. His lower lip quivered. Dark shadows appeared on a wall nearby. Seconds later, an entourage of soldiers dressed lamellar trimmed in red cord appeared, intermixed with masked rebels. The man took a step back into the safety of the darkness.

A hand appeared suddenly and wrapped itself around his mouth. A muffled gasp escaped him.

Civis hushed the greenhorn, his face appearing next from the dark. The man nodded, his eyes wide and wet. Civis released him and put a finger to his lips. He motioned with his hands to speak only in finger-cant.

"What have you seen?"

"Caligati and rebels patrol the streets."

"How many groups?"

"Five in the past hour."

Civis puffed his cheeks. "More than last time. They're getting desperate." Civis watched the mob disappear behind a bend in the road before he motioned again. "Change shifts with one of your brothers. Your time is up." The greenhorn saluted and padded off.

When the replacement showed up, Civis gave him the same order as was given before. "Watch for patrols. Count the numbers and memorize what they're strapping. Don't be seen." The replacement nodded and took his post. Civis gave one final glance out the window before leaving towards the central floor.

The night's watch had been a strict and rigid affair. The greenhorns needed continuous instruction and oversight. Civis was already starting to feel the dull ache of exhaustion creep through him, and the night had only just begun.

Even worse was the fact that the Black Ministry was now fielding the Caligati, The city guard. They were still no match for a regular Vangen, but Civis was not leading regulars this time. Greenhorns lacked experience, something Civis and the other officers desperately needed right now. He weaved past groups of men hunched together in bunches on the ground. They chewed through dry rations, swallowed down with wine stolen from nearby crates. Civis noted to find the merchant and provide compensation once the Vangen had retaken the city.

A shiver ran down his spine. A cold wind had blown in from the Album Sea, chilling everyone to the bone. Some of the greenhorns had blankets; most, however, only had their cloaks. The Vangen would have to make due, though. Dux orders stated that no fire be lit. If they wanted to survive the night, secrecy and discretion would be required.

Civis spoke to a few petty officers in finger-cant, keeping them up to date on the reports. Orders still stood to wait out the night and to strike out a little before sunrise. Finally, he meandered to the northeast corner and descended into the cellar.

The air down below was stale, smokey, and colder still. Only in the cellar were fires allowed. No window or doorway would reveal them. Two greenhorns stood by a nearby door, parting to enable Civis to pass. He greeted them in hushed words and entered inside.

The cramped stone hewn room was once used to store vegetables and wines. Now it served as the officer's staging room. A makeshift table made from crates stood in the center, covered in maps and cartography equipment. Dux sat on a barrel nearby, studying the map with a carrot in hand.

"What's the news?" Dux asked, taking a hearty crunch out of the carrot.

"Caligati. Lots of them." Civis strode towards the barrel opposite and sat his tired ass down. He placed a finger near their general vicinity on the map.