Wandering Warrior: Judge - Chapter 26 (Patreon)

Chapter 26

The black marble halls of the Hunter’s Guild were nearly empty, an oddity for any day, but most especially for this time of year.  It should have been overflowing with members turning in kills, picking up missions, and ringing from the clash of steel echoing from the practice fields as new members were trained and tested.

As Gleason hurried to the west wing, where the Western Warden’s regional headquarters was located, he only saw the occasional member hurrying from one room or hallway to the next.  The sense of tension that permeated the area seemed to push down on them, causing hunched shoulders and furrowed brows.  Sharp increases in undead and beast activity had drained the Guild of every available hunter that had completed even the most basic levels of training.

Checking his reflection in a polished sheet of brass, he made sure his black hair was properly slicked back and his posture was straight, smoothing out any wrinkles in his white uniform.  Whip-cord thin and hard as iron, he knew his ice-chip blue eyes were properly intimidating, no matter the hint of gray creeping up his temples.  Succumbing to the pressures brought about by the current situation was a sign of weakness he refused to show.

The empty and boarded up east wing–where the Eastern Marshals used to keep a nominal presence–had been reopened, and plans were already underway to turn them into a small hospital for those few Wardens and Hunter’s Guild members that managed to make it back to civilization after suffering a wound in combat.  Gleason knew it was mostly a waste of time.  If someone was injured severely enough to be sent back to Greendown, there wasn’t much chance of them recovering.  The weak didn’t deserve the resources it would take anyway.  If they couldn’t handle putting down some beasts or undead, they didn’t belong in the Guild in the first place.

After announcing himself to the lone secretary wearing a black tabard, Gleason took a seat.  Commandant Beck always made visitors wait, no matter how important they thought they were.  Gleason understood why it was important that the Commandant reminded people of their place, but it didn’t make it any less boring.

The secretary, obviously an old and weak member of the Black, was a badly burned veteran of the Fire Brigade.  Gleason didn’t know why such a man would be allowed to still serve after being such an obvious failure.

One day, when he took the Commandant’s place, such oversight wouldn’t be ignored.  His flawless record and family connections already caused more than a few rumors about his impending promotion, but the Oracle hadn’t announced it yet.  As far as Gleason was concerned, it was only a matter of time until the Trinity awarded his dedication and devotion.  Patience was another weapon he had no problem using, and now that Captain Cross had gone missing he knew that more opportunities were on the horizon.

He distracted himself from his thoughts of conquest by casting Long Eye throughout the city.  Only the strongest of wizards could manage it, and most of those could manage to look over the shortest of distances.  It was something he did often, finding it to be a useful way in rooting out rule-breakers and dissidents, as well as a subtle display of his strength.  He was powerful enough that his spell could reach most of the city from the Guild Hall, which sat in the center of Greendown, as was proper.  The most powerful deserved the best position, and the Hunter’s Guild was only challenged in strength when both the Healer’s Guild and Alchemist’s Guild banded together.

Jotting down the location of a young woman who was skinning a brace of rabbits behind her small cottage–a flagrant violation of both the Tanner’s Guild and the Butcher’s Guild that he would pass on to an underling–was interrupted when the heavily engraved door opened with a quiet creak.  The secretary motioned for him to enter with a hairless hand.  “The Commandant will see you now.”

Swiftly sweeping into the room, Gleason was mildly surprised to see the old man he had come to see wasn’t alone.  He was still speaking with a member of the Blue, who was red-faced and spitting mad.

“Sir, we can’t just leave.  The northern camps will be wiped out in a matter of days!  All the able-bodied hunters are already working on trimming beast numbers, which only leaves my men to fill in the gaps.”  The Warden stabbed at the map spread out on the wide oak desk with the thick fingers of a practiced swordsman.  “If you would allow a small, well-armed group to travel southwest and find the Captain, we could–”

“That’s enough, Sergeant.  There will be no searches for the lost Captain Cross by your Wardens, and any that wish to stay when we pull back to the city will have to fend for themselves.”  Commandant Beck tapped another point on the map with a dull thud.  “Gather your men behind the walls, and begin preparations for a siege.  These orders come straight from the Oracle.  It’s clear that either the witches or the vampires are preparing for something big, and the Hunter’s Guild are the only ones allowed to fight what’s coming.”

“Yes sir, will do.”  The Sergeant saluted before he turned to leave, ignoring Gleason as he stomped past.  Gleason only snorted in amusement.  Members of the Blue were always so dramatic.  They didn’t understand the true threat to the Guilds came from people, not monsters.  Having to regroup behind the walls only proved how weak the Wardens had become in recent times.

“Commander Gleason, I’m glad you could make it here on such short notice.”  The Commandant stood to shake his hand.  It was clear the current troubles were making him lose sleep.  The white hair on his head was thinner than the last time Gleason had seen him, and the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than normal.  While he looked like a man barely in his sixties, Gleason knew the Commandant was close to a century in age.  Magic and a youth spent in battle had given Beck the figure of an old warrior still capable of lifting a spear, but time behind a desk had softened his midsection.  His grip was still firm enough that Gleason had to keep the wince off his face.  “I know you’re a busy man.”

“I’m never too busy to visit my Uncle.”  Gleason’s mother had died when he was young, so he didn’t know her side of the family well.  Of course, that certainly didn’t deter him from using the connections her blood provided.  “You should never hesitate to call if you need me, no matter the reason.”

“No matter the reason, you say?”  The old man let out a heavy sigh.  “Nephew, I’ve received more complaints about the Investigations Division in your six months of leadership than the last ten years combined.”  He sat back in his chair and opened a drawer, pulling out a hefty stack of papers and slapping them on the desk.  “This isn’t the first time we’ve talked about these things.  Excessive use of force, unnecessary investigations, torture, heavy-handed sentences for the accused, and even claims of planted evidence.”  He looked up at Gleason, his gaze carrying the weight of a wizard holding his rage in by only the barest of willpower.  “Explain to me why I shouldn’t relieve you of command right now.”

Gleason shook his head, reaching for the pile of papers.  “Uncle, let me handle these ‘complaints’ for you.  They are most certainly from dissenters and trouble-makers, looking to sow distrust amongst the Wardens.  I’m sure a quick investigation will prove–”

“I know exactly what it will prove, Commander Gleason.”  The Commandant pulled back the papers and dropped them back in his drawer.  Gleason couldn’t hold back the wince at the switch from ‘nephew’ to his rank and name.  “We have enough problems plaguing this region without members of my own leadership eroding the faith of the people in the Guild!”  He took a deep breath to calm down from his shout.  “No matter.  I have a task that someone with your… proclivities would excel at.  In fact, you were named specifically.”

“Uncle, while I understand you are frustrated at the moment, simply reading my reports would show you that everything I have accomplished in the last few months has been necessary to uphold the laws set forth–”  Gleason cut off when a snap of lightning flashed between the clenched fists of his uncle.  “Or, I’m sure whatever you have in mind would be better.”

“You will address me as Commandant.  While you might be the child of my sister, I’m disheartened to learn you are far more like your father than any of my blood.  How someone so powerful could be so unaware of reality, I will never know.”  Beck stood, leaning across the desk to loom over Gleason.  “Slapping you in irons and demoting you to a Private under the Blues is what you deserve.  It might even fix your perspective on things enough that you could be redeemed.”

Gleason felt a wave of indignation.  Hadn’t he followed every law to the letter?  Hadn’t he ensured the people of Greendown were keeping to their roles as outlined by each Guild Charter in the city?  Bending the occasional rule was fine for him to do, obviously, since he was entrusted to enforce them, but the common citizens all knew the consequences of not following the rules they were sworn to follow.  He opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it when he saw the Commandant reach down and pull out a slip of silvered paper from under the map on his desk.  There was only one place where silver paper came from, and it meant his plans were still working exactly as he thought.

“I received a dispatch straight from the Oracle.”  Beck held it out for Gleason to take.  “Not long ago, I handed Captain Cross an order just like this one.  He should have returned to the city by now, but he has gone missing.”  Beck rubbed his eyes with his thumbs, as if trying to push away a headache.  “Apparently, the Trinity thinks you will succeed where he failed.  In addition to what the Oracle has ordered, I want you to determine the fate of Captain Cross, and if possible return with him once your mission is complete.”

Gleason saluted the Commandant, his uncle’s earlier words of reproach already gone from his mind.  “I’ll gather my most trusted men and make preparations immediately, Commandant.”  He turned and left, not even waiting for his dismissal.  His mind burned with the orders of the Oracle as if they had been implanted there by the Trinity themselves.  In a way, they had been.  With a twist of his fingers, the slip of silvered paper burned to ash.  The words still floated in front of his eyes as he stormed out of the Guild Hall.

To: Commander Gleason of the White

Priority Level: Urgent-Immediate

Mission: Kill the Wandering Warrior and his accomplices.  Kill James Holden.