The man who had admitted Aquint now led him into a dimly lit cavernous room, where there were quite a number of people lying about in various states of stupefaction on the floor. Aquint breathed through his mouth, but that only caused him to taste the foul human stench.
"We have blossoms of high quality, my friend." The man grinned, teeth appearing in the dimness. "The more you spend, the better they will be."
Aquint was looking around. The specimens on display here were quite poor. Many were huddling under blankets, presumably to block out any and all traces of light. Aquint studied the bodies. Some looked half-starved. When one was only interested in the procurement and ingestion of one's preferred narcotic, then luxuries like food probably became a low priority.
It was disgusting. But Aquint kept up his search, ignoring the man standing beside him. Finally he crossed toward a figure who was sitting cross-legged and bare-chested, head lolling.
"Where are you going?" the man said behind him, startled.
Aquint looked down on the sitting figure. It was a male, relatively young, though still too old to have been swept up by the Felk conscription. He had a reasonably healthy muscle tone, with enough flesh on his bones that he didn't appear too sickly.
Mostly though there was something about the planes and angles of his face. His cheekbones were sharp, and his bleary eyes had a vaguely sinister cast. He looked like he might be a rebel. He would fulfill the role nicely.
"I'll take him," Aquint said. "How much do you want?"
The man had caught up to him. "What...? But you wanted phato blossoms."
"I've changed my mind. I'll buy him instead. Here, take these. Is it enough?" Aquint stuffed notes into the man's hand.
"This isn't a brothel," the man said, summoning a faint righteous tone, even as he accepted Aquint's money. "But, perhaps two or three more bronze notes..."
Aquint handed them over. Then he reached down and hauled the sitting man up onto his feet. He moved bonelessly, head still lolling. Aquint started him back the way they had come, toward the front door.
"Just a moment," said the den's proprietor, hurrying after them. "I've changed my mind, too. He'll cost you an extra—yeeowchhh!"
Aquint had been expecting the shriek. Greed was a vile trait. Cat of course had crept in here ahead of Aquint, unseen in the dimness, and had watched out to make sure Aquint wasn't waylaid. If the proprietor had just let Aquint go without pressing him for more money, Cat wouldn't have had to jam that needle-shaped little knife he carried into the man's backside. The wound wouldn't be fatal, but it would allow Aquint to vacate the premises without any further bother.
Vacate he did, his arm around the addict's shoulders, propping him up and leading him onward on unsteady feet. Cat joined Aquint a moment later on the street, and they took the man back to their apartment.
The midday watch was approaching. He and Cat worked fast. They rustled up some decent clothing for the man. They groomed him until he looked relatively presentable. That was the easy part. All the while, the man remained only scarcely aware of his surroundings, eyes blinking in druggy stupor.
Aquint leaned close to him and said in a steady tranquil voice, "I am a member of the Broken Circle. I am a member of the Broken Circle. Say it. Say it back to me. I am a member of the Broken Circle. I am—"
Eventually, the man picked up the repetitious words and started to say them in a tiny mumble. Aquint persisted, saying the phrase clearly over and over again. The man followed suit, and the words became more distinct.
"I am a member of the Broken Circle," Aquint said. "I will say nothing else."
"I am a member of the Broken Circle. I will say nothing else." The man spoke it perfectly now, without a hint of slur.
They commandeered a wagon and horses and rode at a reckless speed toward the Registry. Their timing was close, very close. Jesile had already gathered his ten random victims.
Aquint led the man inside, Cat trailing. Aquint had bound the man's hands behind his back. When they reached Jesile, Aquint gave the man a hard shove, and he tumbled to the floor.
"Here," Aquint said. "Ask him who he is."
Colonel Jesile looked at Aquint, then at the man on the floor. "Who are you?" he finally asked.
"I am a member of the Broken Circle," the addict said. "I will say nothing else."
Jesile nodded. "That's good work, Aquint. I hope you'll believe me when I say I would much rather put this guilty man to death than harm any innocent citizen of this city."
Aquint made no reply. He turned and exited, Cat following, leaving behind the single innocent man who would unknowingly sacrifice himself for the sake of ten others.
DARDAS (3)
The fresh conscripts from Trael were being absorbed into the ranks. Soon, it would be time to get this army moving again. Two targets were within striking distance, the city-states of Grat and Ompellus Prime.
Weisel was standing over a table where a map was spread. He was gazing down intently, brow furrowed as he concentrated.
They are both good choices, he finally said. I'm having difficulty seeing how one might be better than the other to invade next.
Within the Felk nobleman's skull, Dardas stifled a mental sigh.
The capture of Trael was a decisive move. It has, effectively, opened up the entire south portion of this Isthmus.
Weisel nodded. I can see that.
Dardas wondered if Weisel actually did. Then he continued, Grat and Ompellus Prime lie to our west and east, respectively. They are of comparable size and population and could both most likely mount similar resistance to this army.
So, there is no logical choice? Weisel asked.
The man expected war to be a thing of simple logic, Dardas thought darkly. As if it were a puzzle or a riddle that could be unraveled with the application of a formula.
If the choices are equal, Dardas said, then it is wise to consider where either choice will lead. What happens after the conquest of Grat or Ompellus Prime?
Weisel studied the map harder. There was no one else inside the pavilion, and Weisel had given orders not to be disturbed. He apparently wanted this time to absorb a lesson in warfare from Dardas. Dardas, for his part, was complying, though it was taxing his patience.
He could bear it, however. The day couldn't last forever, and when night came, things would be different. Weisel was still evidently blissfully unaware that Dardas was taking full control of this body while the Felk general's consciousness slept at night.
If we take Grat first...
Yes? Dardas prompted.
Then we will face the Rijji Hills to the southwest of the city, Weisel went on, excited now.
And what would that mean? Dardas coaxed him along.
It's dangerous terrain, as far as moving an army through it. There are gullies and rivers, and no easy roads through. Whatever military Grat has could retreat into those hills. It would take a lot of effort to dislodge them.
So...? Dardas said.
"So we take Ompellus Prime," Weisel said, aloud now, "then move south, make a lateral move west, and swing up at Grat so that they have nowhere to retreat to!"
Well done, General Weisel.
Weisel was as happy as a child, and that was fitting, Dardas thought. Even a child could have figured out which city was their next sensible target.
There was more to it than cold appraisal, however, and this was something that Dardas knew he could never teach the Felk noble, even if he had been inclined to try. Weisel had no war instincts. Armies and terrains and weather conditions were fluid things, and one often had to make adjustments in mid-stride, so to speak. There wasn't always time for cool, rational analysis. Sometimes one had to act from the gut, trusting oneself that a particular maneuver was the right one to make.