Flying the Storm

16.





Bedros

Elias sniffed deeply as he reached the top of the steps into the dim council hall. It smelled strongly of wood smoke. He could still hear the sounds of revelry outside in the town square; the party showed no signs of dying out. In fact, more and more people were drawn to it as the night grew deeper, overflowing the square and flooding the side streets with drunken, dancing bodies.

Now the dawn approached, and Elias had business to conduct.

Rearden and one of his marines, Maddox, had gone in a few moments earlier with their pistols drawn. No shots had been fired, so Elias had deemed it safe enough to climb the steps and cross the threshold into the stone building. There was no sense in risking his own neck when there was a pair of oafs to do it for him.

It was a rectangular building, probably a seat of local government for some time even before the war. The stonework looked very old in places, however, and Elias rather suspected that it had been at one time long ago a church, though its roof and upper story had been renovated in a different, rougher style since their evident wartime obliteration.


Inside the main hall was a circle of carved wooden chairs on the tiled floor. On the opposite side of this circle sat a hunched crow of a man, wearing grey wolf skins around his shoulders and a look of smouldering hatred on his face. The man had a henchman of his own, unarmed however, and standing by his side like a faithful dog.

Elias flicked his hand at Maddox, who pitched his gagged prisoner forwards into the middle of the circle. The tubby man whimpered slightly as he fell to his knees, his disgusting vest soaked with sweat and spotted with blood. He leaned forward, head bowed, his back heaving as he panted. His bound hands were clenched into fists. Defiance, wondered Elias idly, or simply pain?

“Say what you have come to say, westerner,” spoke the fur-clad man, “for if you intended to murder us, I think you would have done so.”

Elias adjusted his jacket cuffs, taking his time. “I heard your man’s speech,” he said, in Armenian. “It moved me. In fact, I believe it moved just about everyone listening. This is a bad thing.”

The councillor shifted in his seat, his eyes fixed on Elias. “How so?” he said.

“Oh, but you must see it yourself. You are not a foolish man, Azarian. This Tovmas character seeks to overthrow you.” Elias waited patiently for a reply. There was none. “Is it not obvious?”

The man waved dismissively. “You are mistaken,” he said. “Tovmas merely wished to rescue his daughter. He stole the fuel for it, yes, but why would he want to overthrow us?”

“Why indeed?” Elias looked meaningfully at the kneeling quartermaster.

The councillor leaned forward, speaking in hissed Armenian to the man, “What ideas does your foolish brother have, Bedros?”

Maddox came forward and cut the gag loose.

“Nothing, councillor Azarian! I swear it!”

“Now, that is not what he’s been telling us,” said Elias, motioning to Maddox once more. The big marine went forward, drawing a knife as he did. Bedros sensed what was coming.

“No! I will tell! Please!” he cried, twisting around to try and face the on comer. Elias halted Maddox.

“We’re listening,” he said.

“M-my brother. He says he wants Ashtarak to be strong. He says the other towns should follow us. He wants to reunite Armenia, but under Ashtarak’s rule.” The cowering quartermaster hung his head low.

“He means to bring war to our town,” said Azarian, leaning back in his chair, realisation on his face. “Why?”

“He thinks we seem weak to the other towns,” said Bedros. “He wants us to become a faction, to conquer the others and bring glory to Ashtarak. He does not think the council acts in Ashtarak’s best interests.”

“Tovmas is a fool!” shouted the councillor suddenly, spitting with rage. “We must keep war away from our people, not thrust them into it at a whim! He of all people should know that war is a terrible thing!”

Elias was trying not to smile. This was going to be easy. He just had to time his offer correctly.

“My brother does not see it that way. As a soldier for the union  , maybe he did. But now he can see that there is glory to be had. Glory he can only find as a leader. He wants it badly.”

“And you, Bedros, you agree with him?” demanded Azarian.

“No, councillor!” he cried, his eyes flickering. “I have tried talking sense into him. Tovmas, I said, this is madness. The people do not want war! But he said, Bedros, the people do want it. They only need to be shown.”

“The fool!” shouted Azarian. “And was this after his daughter was abducted?”

“No, sir, it was before. He has had these ideas for a long time. I did not think they would come to anything, but when Vika was taken... I think he saw opportunity. When he went to rescue those girls, he knew it would unite the town behind him.”

“Who else knows about this?”

“I think he told only Magar and myself.”

“Magar was killed in Baku. And the militiamen he had with him? What about them?” asked Azarian.

“I don’t think he will have told them. They will be loyal to him now, though, because he has given them glory. When he needs men, they will follow him, I’m sure.”

“Only half of them returned. That is not enough to topple the Council. We have a hundred more at our command.” He spoke strongly, but his eyes betrayed his fear.

“I don’t know, councillor,” said Bedros. “They may follow him because he appears strong.”

The room was silent for a time. Elias walked over to the ring of chairs, his footsteps echoing in the hall, and sat down. He chose his moment carefully.

“You know, I could help you with this problem, if you’d let me,” he said.

“How so?” asked the old councillor.

“I am here in the employ of the Gilgamesh,” said Elias, pausing to let it sink in. No doubt these people would have heard of it: everybody had, whether they’d actually seen it or not. “I have come to arrest the two western fugitives who appear to have made themselves at home in your town.”

“Why?”

“They murdered two marines in cold blood and shot down an aircraft, killing the pilot, a few days ago in Sevastopol.”

“I see.”

“These are dangerous men, councillor. I doubt you would want them to bring trouble to your town,” said Elias.

“Why should I hand them over?” asked the councillor.

“They are wanted for murder, councillor. It is not wise to stand in the way of the Gilgamesh’s wishes. I have a detachment of marines waiting just outside your town, ready to take the men by force if necessary. Whichever way you want to play, councillor, I will take those fugitives.”

The man said nothing, but glared at Elias. He did not like to be threatened.

“So,” continued Elias, “you can either help me, and the Gilgamesh will reward you for your service, or you can be uncooperative, in which case you and your town will suffer. I sincerely hope it does not come to that.”

Still Azarian was quiet, brooding on his chair.

“Councillor, this upstart, Tovmas, holds a tremendously valuable asset in the form of those westerners and their aircraft. With them at his command, he could project power across Armenia. You must know he will not hesitate to use it against you when the time comes.” Elias paused once more. “However, if you allow me to take the two pilots and their aircraft, Tovmas will have lost his most powerful weapon. He will not be able to stage his little coup.”

Elias could tell that Azarian had seen sense, however a little lubrication of the agreement couldn’t hurt.

“The Gilgamesh will grant your council indefinite trade rights. Your town, councillor, could benefit greatly from such a gift. But only if you help me.”

The old man’s glare had gone. Elias knew he had won.

“Very well,” said Azarian, slowly. “We have an accord.”

Elias smiled then, genuinely. It was a small victory, not exactly hard-fought, but it was satisfying nonetheless. Bending people to his will was so easy.

The old councillor turned to his henchman, murmuring an order. The henchman left the hall by a back door.

“He will gather the militia. We will begin a search for your fugitives.” The councillor stood up and proceeded towards the back door. “And keep your prisoner bound for now. We can’t have him warning his brother.”

Elias grinned, nodding to Maddox. The big marine went forward and heaved the quartermaster onto a chair, wrapping a new cord around his waist to hold him there.


It was all beautifully Shakespearean. The council conspired against its own hero just as the Senate had plotted against Caesar. Elias stood up from his chair and walked over to the bound quartermaster. The man was sobbing silently.

“Et tu, Bedros?” he said in the man’s ear, and laughed as he strode out of the hall.