Secret of the Sunstones, Part 1: The Wanton Kingdom

Chapter V : Machiavellian

Lateday of Quartus, Twenty-Eighth Day of Harvestmoon

By the time Bram reached his cabin, his stomach was in knots. Richard’s insolent and impulsive chancellor had clearly gotten under his skin. He needed to calm down or else risk another blow-out. Men with egos like Virgil’s usually didn’t last long in Angkor. Either they were ousted by senior bureaucrats or landed on a hit list. Even so, there was something different about Mister Garvey that allowed him to survive Angkorian politics. Something sinister, even.

The Knight thought back to anything he might have heard about newly appointed chancellors. Unfortunately, there were too many mid-ranking bureaucrats to keep track. Virgil must have been hired from outside of Angkor, something that happened more often, now that Richard focused his attention on nation building.

Bram went back to the note he received the previous night, hand-delivered by the king’s messenger and authenticated with the king’s seal. He read it aloud.

“To His Majesty’s most loyal Gnostic Knight, Sir Abraham Morrison: King Richard T. Cromwell the Second formally requests your service for a mission of utmost importance. Chancellor Virgil A. Garvey is to be granted safe passage and return to the Continent of Minoa, and to the location there of his choosing. Mister Garvey is to board the vessel known as the Heron at midnight. A crew is to be assembled at Sir Morrison’s discretion, bearing in mind the short notice of the mission and the requirement that all personnel pass security clearance. Further instructions shall be provided upon arrival at the destination. At no point shall any information concerning the mission, the payload, or the location be disclosed to anyone. All other protocols must be obeyed. Violators shall be subject to criminal prosecution. His Majesty, the King, wishes you a safe and speedy return.”

Bram gritted his teeth. Once again, the vague instructions contained no answers. They merely validated that the most relevant and meaningful information resided in Virgil. There had to be more to the mission than mere transport. Richard wouldn’t have sanctioned a Gnostic Knight otherwise. Something in Minoa was valuable, but only Virgil knew. Bram needed patience, but he felt unnerved. Never before had he received such instructions.

He pondered and paced in his tiny cabin. It was barely large enough to fit a small cot, his shelf of knickknacks and memorabilia, and his antique desk made of oak—a cherished heirloom from the man who raised him. All was nailed to the floor, of course. The desk was placed in front of a small window overlooking the front of the craft. He cracked it open to let in a whiff of crisp, refreshing, sea-salty air.

The Knight rested his hands on his worn wooden chair, watching the final rays of sunset disappear behind the horizon. An endless ocean stretched before him, its delicate waves reflecting thousands of slivers of light, shaded in colors of coral and aquamarine. A golden beam entered through the window and warmed his hands, melting his nerves.

His moment of joy was short lived. He heard a pounding at the door that shocked him from his reverie. It was rude and deliberate. Taking a deep breath, he tore himself from the view and beckoned his churlish visitor.

“Enter.”

Virgil strode inside, looking cross and defensive. To break the ice, Bram offered his only chair, choosing instead to lean against his cot. He kept his expression calm and professional, waiting for Virgil to make the first move.

“So? What do you have to say for yourself?” The chancellor demanded. “You know where we’d be without my magic, yet you admonished me in front of everyone. What now? A lecture?”

Virgil made it difficult for any rational man to meet him halfway. Bram summoned both patience and cool headedness before answering. “It might have sounded harsh, Chancellor, but I’m expected to maintain the safety of my crew. That’s why I set certain rules aboard my ship. Ones which I insist must be followed. So from this moment, I’m asking you not to make any more unilateral decisions. If you feel the need to use magic, you’ll run it by me, first. Understood?”

Virgil scoffed. “Captain, be reasonable. You can’t expect me to run everything by you. If we’re in the heat of battle, would you expect me to set aside split-second decisions until I get your permission?”

Bram kept his expression stone cold. “You can and you shall, Mister Garvey. You’ll find out soon enough that my men work pretty efficiently as a team, as long as no one deviates or works against them. If we remain disciplined, we’ll complete the mission successfully. I give you my word.”

Virgil looked like he was told to swallow a mouthful of bitter wormwood. But as distasteful as he found the request, he eventually relented. “Ugh, have it your way, Captain. As long as you deliver, I’m content on taking a passive approach.”

With diplomacy out of the way, Bram picked up on a useful segue. “Speaking of what I’m supposed to ‘deliver’, don’t you think it’s time you informed me about the nature of the mission? What’s King Richard’s interest in a remote region like Minoa?”

Virgil grinned as he made himself comfortable in Bram’s chair. The Knight fought back the urge to reach out as the chancellor leaned back on its fragile hind legs, which were never meant to bear the weight of a full-grown man. Yet he dared not interrupt the flow of information. Instead, he clenched his fists and stifled his complaints.

“How much do you know about Minoa?”

The question was simple enough. Virgil was obviously a man who loved secrets. More than that, he was a braggart who enjoyed knowing more than others. Bram knew the type well. Sometimes, the best way to get them to play their hand and expose the truth was to feign ignorance.

“I’m not all that familiar, but I’ve heard rumor that it’s a favored destination for refugees in the wake of The War.”

More than just rumor, Bram knew that King Richard had stopped receiving migrants at the ports and had started ordering captains to ship them farther south. It stood to reason that Minoa would be a viable frontier to anyone who lost their home or family during The War.

Virgil looked satisfied, and as Bram hoped, he volunteered more. “That’s right, but refugees are of no concern to Angkor. We’re more interested in the religious fanatics who have taken up residence.”

Bram furrowed his brow, trying to extract something meaningful from Virgil’s disclosure. The twinkle in the chancellor’s eyes suggested he enjoyed whatever game he was playing.

“Ever hear of the Gaians?”

Bram wondered if he meant the Gaian Priesthood, a centuries-old sect that worshipped the deified persona of the planet, Gaia, as if the land itself were a Goddess. These priests had once worshipped in small pockets around the world, but for ages had been in slow decline. As the world shifted to secularism, folks stopped believing in Gods or Goddesses. Even so, The War brought pain and misery to thousands. Just the recipe to inspire new faiths and dogmas. Perhaps, even the resurgence of an old religion.

“Sure,” he answered, “But are you telling me that an old religious sect on a remote continent somehow garnered enough strength or wealth to attract Angkor’s attention?”

A giggle escaped the chancellor’s lips. Bram was tired of being the butt of Virgil’s amusement, but if it kept the miserable man talking, he was willing to keep it up. “Two words, Mister Morrison: rogue scholars.”

Now Bram understood. The term referred to wizards or sorcerers who had been exiled by their own kind for violating the Scholar’s Creed—laws developed over the centuries to build trust with laymen.

Certainly, those gifted with magic could train for years and gain considerable power. But they were still a very small percentage of society. To avoid being ostracized or treated as villains, scholars found it necessary to create and enforce laws aimed at easing their integration into layman society.

The laws were simple: With the exception of the battlefield, scholars were not allowed to directly kill or inflict harm on others, or to enable something that would indirectly do so. Neither could they create curses that would alter, charm, or disable another person. Any wizard or sorcerer found to have violated the Scholar’s Creed would be driven from society by their brethren—or in some cases, quietly assassinated. For centuries, the Creed allowed scholars and laymen to live in harmony. But, if the general populace were to find out that rogue scholars were gathering in large numbers, it might lead to unrest.

“I see. King Richard wants us to deal with the Gaians before they become a spectacle. But if that’s the case, why send a Gnostic Knight and his laymen crew, and not a troop of experienced scholars?”

Virgil shook his head. “Our job is not to dispose of the Gaians. Rather, we’re here to stop them from using a very dangerous artifact.”

Bram was intrigued. “Which artifact?”

Virgil’s expression melted into a devilish grin. “Are you familiar with the sunstones, Captain?”

There it was: another of the chancellor’s tests. But this time the question was direct and to the point. Almost everyone had heard of the old religious relics known as sunstones. Long ago, people believed them to hold divine power, but the theories had been thoroughly debunked by scholars and scientists over the years. Bram was beginning to think Virgil’s game was getting him nowhere. It was time to change tact.

“Speak plainly, Mister Garvey. Of course, I’ve heard of the sunstones. They’ve been studied at length, and no scholar has ever found a reason to classify them as dangerous. Why would Richard go against centuries of conventional wisdom and risk damaging Angkor’s reputation in the process?”

Virgil laughed. “Do you really think we’d be here if sunstones were cheap jewels, like the rest of the world thinks they are?”

Bram paused, wondering if it could possibly be true. The sunstones he knew were simple ornaments, no more dangerous than a hunk of stone. And he wasn’t alone in this belief. It was commonly held across the world. The sunstones were in countless stories, passed down from parents to children, bard’s songs, poetry, and theater. They were supposedly gifts of the Goddess, granted to humans as elements of the planet: fire, water, earth, and air. It was a simple origin story, a myth, part of an old religion—nothing more. They were no more dangerous than the planet was a deity.

Yet, Virgil seemed convinced. Bram wondered if someone from the Council of Scholars could have discovered something the rest of the world had missed. Even so, it was hard to believe. Angkor’s two enemies of The War, Koba and Kitezh, had their own sunstones—yet neither managed to turn theirs into an effective weapon.

It was time to see what else Virgil knew. Bram kept his tone dry and cynical, hoping the change would provoke the chancellor into divulging something useful. “So, you’re telling me that someone close to Richard discovered a power or function that now makes the sunstones dangerous? And, incidentally, the first gathering of rogue scholars in more than a century happened to discover the same secret?”

Virgil gave him a wry look. “Sorry, Captain, but you won’t lure me into divulging classified information. I’ve told you all you need to know. You can be sure King Richard has already provided us with everything we need to successfully complete the mission.”

Bram raised his brow. “Oh, really? And how exactly do you expect to infiltrate this religious sect of rogue scholars and extract their artifact?”

Virgil put on his signature smirk. “By making use of some new intelligence, Mister Morrison. It just so happens that we’re about to enter an important Gaian holiday. That’s why the mission was on short notice. The timing itself is vitally important.”

Bram had no idea about Gaian holidays, but Virgil was happy to elaborate.

“It’s called the Por Qhai. The details aren’t important, but it requires all clergy to participate by worshipping in their private quarters. In fact, it’s the one time of year when security is expected to be especially light.”

Bram perked up. The pieces were fitting nicely into place, which made him feel a bit more comfortable. “Alright. Suppose we succeed at infiltrating their compound. How do we go about finding the sunstone?”

Virgil licked his lips. “During the Por Qhai, it’s expected to be in the hands of the Gurudeva, their spiritual leader. You might think of Minoa as unpopulated, but there’s actually an ancient temple, built centuries ago when the Gaian society was more prolific. We’ll infiltrate during their holiday, find the Gurudeva, and force him to hand over the sunstone.”

“But—”

“Let me guess: you’d like to know how a Gnostic Knight is expected to square off against a roomful of rogue scholars?”

He took the words right out of Bram’s mouth.

“Quite simple, Captain. We’ve learned from our sources that the Gaians worship in a room in the heart of the temple, which is enchanted such that magic cannot be cast. If you and your swordsmen manage to corner them inside, they’ll be defenseless.”

Bram had to admit that Virgil’s plan was cleaner than expected. But something still bothered him.

“One last question. What do you plan to do with the sunstone once you obtain it?”

The bureaucrat’s eyes went wide. Clearly, he hadn’t expected Bram to raise the issue. It lasted only a moment, however, and Virgil was quick to recover. Even so, it was plain as day that he was hiding something. Bram trusted his instincts to dig deeper.

“You’ve already revealed the sunstone is dangerous in the hands of rogue scholars, and you’ve at least implied that someone in the kingdom was wise enough to have advised King Richard to address it. I can’t help but wonder, then, what you’d do with a dangerous artifact, except to bring it back to Angkor and unravel its secrets for yourself.”

The chancellor rolled his eyes. “How am I to know, Captain? Once this job is done, I’ll have no part in it. The king has no reason to tell me how he intends to dispose of it.”

Bram wasn’t stupid. Anyone could have spotted the lie.

The chancellor yawned and gestured to the window, which now looked upon a darkened world. The sun had set, and night had fallen. “It’s late, Captain. I think we should end our conversation, for now. Just be ready first thing tomorrow morn when we arrive at our destination. I'll reveal more at that time.”

Virgil rose from his chair, but before he could leave, Bram dashed to block the exit. “What kind of fool do you take me for, Mister Garvey? Did you really think you could sneak a dangerous artifact aboard my ship without me knowing?”

The chancellor’s mood darkened, but Bram pressed harder. It was time to go on the offensive. “I find it curious that Richard would send a mid-level bureaucrat on this mission and not a more experienced wizard. I want to know the truth. Did Richard sanction this mission, or did you take it upon yourself?”

It was the only thing that made sense. The flimsy story, the tersely written orders, the lack of preparation … all seemed to indicate that Virgil had more interest in the sunstone than the king.

The chancellor scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous. You received the official letterhead, as did I.”

Bram inched closer. “Perhaps you sent the letterhead and forged the king’s seal, so you could deceive a Gnostic Knight into taking on a bunch of Gaian priests. Tell me: did you do it for political reasons, Mister Garvey? Did you think you could return to Angkor with a powerful artifact and garner the king’s attention?”

Virgil bared his teeth. “You’re imagining things.”

Bram came within an inch of the chancellor’s face, his voice heightened. “My men haven’t fought and lived through war to become gambits in your political game!”

Now it was Virgil’s turn to lean forward. His voice, a hiss. “This mission is not a game, Captain, and you’d best believe the king has sanctioned it. The sunstone is more important to his plans than you could possibly imagine!”

Bram smirked. “Aha! Then I suppose you will be taking the sunstone back to Angkor. How about you come clean about the rest, too, or so help me—”

“So help you, what?” Virgil stood tall. His gaze was penetrating. “Don’t make threats you can’t keep … Abraham. If you want to know just how important the sunstone is to King Richard, then listen closely: because he’d sacrifice you and every last one of your crew to get it. If I were you, I’d put some trust in the chain of command and carry out your mission without further insubordination.”

Bram’s patience was at an end. Virgil had crossed a line, and the Knight could no longer control his temper. “Piece of—”

He grabbed the chancellor’s cloak, ready to lift him off the ground and extract answers by force. Until … something stopped him dead in his tracks. Virgil’s eyes flared, and for a moment, Bram saw such profound fury and darkness that he weakened his grip immediately. He had never seen anything like it—never in his life! There was something about the chancellor that made him want to run.

Virgil shoved Bram aside and made for the door. Before storming out, he looked over his shoulder and tossed out one final remark. “Remember where you came from, Gnostic. You grew up a farmer, far from Angkor’s grace. If you don’t wizen up, you’ll end up far worse than where you started!”

The thinly veiled threat left Bram speechless. True, his anger had gotten the better of him, but he should have had nothing to fear from a lowly bureaucrat. Gnostic Knights laughed in the face of threats. Had Bram been any other Gnostic, he would have caught up with Virgil and punished his impudence, lest it tarnish his reputation.

Instead, he just stood there as Virgil stormed out, feeling the cold draft of the door as it nearly slammed in his face. He had no rebuke ready, just a feeling of listlessness, as if he had stared into the face of Death itself. Even more humiliating, the same rush of air blew out the night lamp, leaving the room in total darkness. There was nothing left, except the fear that his confrontation was merely an omen of something worse to come.