City in the Sky (25 page)

Like the rest of the Board's offices, the room was plain stone and undecorated. The chairs were solid wood, long-enduring but unadorned. The emphasis throughout the entire building had been function first, cost second and aesthetics last.

He had perhaps ten minutes to contemplate the room and why he was here before the Board arrived, all six members filing into the room without a word to Erik. Several of them, who he vaguely recalled meeting at various affairs, nodded to him as all six took their seats.

The man on the left-hand end of the table, the end the Aeradi reserved for the senior member of a group, finally spoke into the silence.

“You are Erik
septon
Tarverro, son of Karn
septi
Tarverro?” he asked, his voice firm but clear.

“Yes,” Erik answered, nodding as he eyed the man. They’d never met before, but the leader of the board looked oddly familiar. He was of only medium height, even for an Aeradi, and quite bulky. The bulk, however, appeared to only be partially fat, and the man had shoulders almost as broad as Erik's own.

“I am Akeis
sept
Dedria,” the Aeraid told him calmly. “These are my fellow members of the board,” he added, gesturing down the table, “Del
hept
Ormani, Jorg Ketrin, Hader
sept
Delts, Mekil
hept
Dorian and Deslir
sept
Jaras.”

Erik controlled his features at the last man's name, but couldn't help his gaze from flicking to him. The
septon
Jaras and he had met, and the meeting had been pleasant for neither of them. From the disgusted glare Deslir sent Erik's way, he seemed to agree with his clan patriarch's opinions.

“Your application was delivered to us, by proxy, three days ago,” Akeis continued. “Of course, assessment beyond the most minimal of the application was impossible while the
Cloudrunner
was out of port.” He paused, looking down at Erik.

Erik nodded wordlessly, acknowledging what the Board's head had said. That did partially explain the speed with which they'd apparently moved, though Erik wasn't entirely certain who the proxy had
been
.

“Those more complete investigations, including interviewing Captain Demond
sept
Rakeus and Lieutenant Joran Albiers, were carried out this morning,” Akeis told him. “Based on those interviews and other information we have gathered, this board has made its decision. Are you prepared to hear it?”

For a moment, Erik didn't say anything. He'd thought he was going to be given a chance to state his case, not just hear their decision. Finally, he managed to nod his assent.

“Very well,” Akeis said calmly. “The Board was highly impressed by your actions and the level of ability and dedication you showed over the course of the
Cloudrunner
's voyage. The circumstances were exceptional, and you performed exceptionally.”

Erik found himself holding his breath as the Board's head paused, and he was
sure
he saw a small smile flickering around the old Aeraid's lips.

“However, at this point in time,” Akeis continued, “there are no lieutenant’s commissions available in the militia battalions.”

A combination of disappointment and sheer incandescent rage flashed through Erik for an instant at those words, and he began to rise to his feet, intending to leave.

“Take your seat,
septon
Tarverro,” Del
hept
Ormani, the secondmost senior member of the Board, said quietly as Akeis stopped in shock.

Erik said nothing, merely completing his rise and glaring at the man who'd spoken. A long moment endured as he and Del locked gazes, and then the militia officer laughed aloud. “Take a seat Erik,” he repeated. “We're not done yet.”

Torn between anger at their flippancy and curiosity, Erik slowly sank back into his chair. When he was finally seated, Akeis shook his head at him and smiled. No – the man outright
grinned
at Erik.

“Since there are no junior commissions available,” he told Erik, taking up the thread of his speech, “we have no choice but to consider other methods of inducting such outstanding potential into our forces. It helps,” he added thoughtfully, “that your voyage aboard the
Cloudrunner
included more combat experience than many of our
Regular
officers ever see.”

“In two days,” Akeis told Erik, “Captain Deril
hept
Orian will be retiring from the militia battalions to accept a commission in the Regular Marines. Unfortunately, none of his lieutenants are sufficiently experienced to take over the company.

“You, however,
have
sufficient experience – specifically
combat
experience – to do so. Therefore, at the party in two days when Captain Deril retires, we will officially announce that command of Fire Company, Third Newport Militia, will be assumed by you,
Captain
Erik
septon
Tarverro.”

“Does that satisfactorily meet your application?” Akeis asked.

Erik stared at the man in silence. “You're serious,” he said flatly.

“Yes,” Del said for his superior. “We would prefer if you kept the news secret until we make the announcement, and you won't be
publicly
commissioned until then, but you are, as of this moment, officially a captain in the militia of the sky city of Newport.”

“Gods help you,” Akeis finished.

Erik was speechless. It was
far
more than he'd expected or even hoped for. Even as the elation began to catch up with him, he glanced once more to the right-hand end of the table, where Deslir
sept
Jaras sat.

The man's gaze on Erik had moved from disgusted to something far worse, and Erik was shaken to his core by the sheer and utter loathing in the man's gaze.

Erik arrived at Captain Orian's house several hours early, hoping to meet the man who he would be succeeding to command of Fire Company, Third Newport Militia. The house, located in one of the upper-middle-class districts of the city, was plain but well looked after. An open gate, through which Erik could hear talking and the clatter of furniture, suggested where the party would be held later.

He, however, approached the main door and knocked on it. After a minute or so, he raised his hand to knock again, only to have the door opened just before he did. A young Aeradi woman, perhaps three or four years older than him, stood in the door.

“Can I help you?” she asked. “We're rather busy at the moment, so I hope it's quick.”

“I'm Erik
septon
Tarverro, ma'am,” Erik said politely. “I'd like to speak to Captain Orian.”

The young woman's face instantly lit up in a smile. “Of course,
septon
,” she replied. “I'll inform my husband that you're here. Come in.”

Orian's wife led Erik firmly into the sitting area, where she directed him to a chair before sweeping out of the room. He stared after her for a moment, bemused by her seemingly boundless energy, and then turned his gaze to the room.

Like the house itself, the furniture in the sitting room was plain but well-kept. Two couches and a half-dozen chairs formed a semi-circle around a large fire, all decorated in a delicate mix of dark and pale green. The chairs, Erik soon realized, were almost sinfully comfortable despite their plain appearance, and he almost didn't want to rise from his when Captain Orian finally returned with his wife.

“Captain Tarverro!” he greeted Erik with a broad grin. “It's a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Likewise, Captain,” Erik replied, inclining his head in a slight bow. “I was hoping to speak with you about the company, before the transfer of command.”

“Of course,” Orian replied. He turned to his wife. “Leila dear, do you think you could take care of the arrangements for me? Captain Tarverro and I will likely be a while.”

Leila answered her husband with a dazzling smile that Erik found himself half wishing was directed at him, and swept out of the room with a confident air. Orian watched after her with a small smile on his face.

“You're a lucky man,” Erik said quietly.

“That I am,” Orian agreed and gestured back towards the chairs. “Please, Captain, have a seat.”

“Technically, I'm not a captain yet,” Erik replied, sinking into a chair as Orian did likewise.

The militia captain, who appeared to be the same age as his wife, shook away the concern. “You and I both know what is happening tonight. No need for games. I'm actually quite pleased that my company will be in good hands.”

Erik smiled weakly. “I'll admit to not being so certain of that myself,” he said quietly.

“Nonsense!” Orian replied firmly. “I'll admit I didn't expect you to be so... so...”

“Tall?” Erik prompted. It was the major mark of his mixed blood here, and draw most eyes and a lot of attention, both good and bad.

“Young, actually,” Orian confessed. “I received my militia captaincy quite young – I'm receiving a regular captaincy right now, when most career soldiers are either regular lieutenants or just getting militia captaincies – but you're, what? Twenty?”

“Twenty-one,” Erik replied. “I fear that it won't help with the men.”

Orian shook his head. “I know Albiers, Erik,” he said quietly. “If he made you a platoon commander on a seven week voyage, then I have little hesitancy giving my company to you. As for the men,” he shrugged, “two of Fire Company's lieutenants are
kep
to you. That should at least help defuse any seniority issues.”

Erik looked at his predecessor with surprise. “They are? I didn't know that.”

With a grin, the Aeraid nodded. “They didn't pick my company for you out of thin air, Captain Tarverro.”

“So I see,” Erik agreed. “What about the company do you feel I should know?”

The older man considered. “Well, all four of your platoon lieutenants are very junior. They're good, don't mistake me, but they're junior. The company command sergeant, however, is a twenty-year veteran of the wing-lancers, who works as a ship's marine commander in his day job. I believe you know Harmon
hept
Ikeras?”

For a moment, Erik simply looked at Orian, and then laughed. “I've been completely set up, haven't I?”

“I refuse to comment,” Orian said virtuously. “I know that there was some worry about bumping you up, especially given, well, that you're a half-blood. So they picked the company you'd have the least issues with.”

“And you?” Erik asked.

“I suspect His Majesty leaned on the Regulars for us,” Orion said quietly. “I don't object, and neither should you!” He stood and crossed to a sidebar and removed two glasses, half-filling them with a pale amber liquid.

He turned back to Erik and offered him one of the glasses. “Metian Brandy,” he explained. “Some of the best stuff you'll find on all of Cevran.” He raised his glass in a toast.

“To the captains of Fire Company, Third Newport, past, present and future.”

The two men spent another hour or so discussing the company before Leila returned to the room. “Your guests are arriving, gentlemen,” she told them. “You two should get out back and start greeting them.”

Despite three glasses of Orian's excellent brandy, Erik still managed to rise smoothly to his feet and bow slightly to his fellow captain's wife. “Thank you, my lady,” he replied.

Exchanging a nod with Orian, Erik followed the couple out to the garden at the back of the house. Only a handful of guests had arrived so far, including both Harmon
hept
Ikeras and the head of the Militia Commissions Board, Akeis
sept
Dedria.

Eight-foot tall hedges that towered over the Aeradi bound the edges of the garden. Erik himself could look across the entire space, over the heads of the guests, but he'd grown used to that in the company of his father's people.

Ikeras spotted the two captains as they entered and crossed to them. He saluted Orian, who returned the salute. “Captains,” he greeted them. “It's good to see you.”

“I see the rumor mill moves apace,” Orian said with a smile.

“In this case, the Board told me,” Ikeras replied. “I think they wanted me to prepare the officers and men for the change.”

“Understandable,” Erik replied. “It's good to see you too, Harmon.”

Orian glanced from Erik to the former wing-lancer. “I'll leave you two to catch up. I have other guests to speak to,” he told them, and then strode off, arm-in-arm with his wife.

“A good man,” Erik said quietly, watching Orian leave.

“He is that,” Ikeras agreed. “How was your voyage, Erik?”

“Like walking through the Fires,” Erik told him. “The Draconans seem to want my head, specifically.”