Diamond Bonds (36 page)

Jem rolls her eyes, wondering if she’s blind to whatever everyone sees in her partner.  The bartender chooses that moment to deliver Era’s bowl of stew, and he happily dives in without offering either lady a sampling.  With soup flying everywhere, she grins in satisfaction. ‘
Definitely not blind.
’

The pilot leans back and rubs her temples.  “Father’s going to have my head for this.”

Era swallows hard and wipes his mouth with his sleeve.  “I know how you feel.  Not sure I’ll have mine for much longer, either.”

*              *              *

Though the majority of the military’s prisoners are held outside the city, a small holding room in the barracks is used for military prisoners of special interest.  A guard stands and salutes Graff on his arrival, and the general marches to the only populated cell, finding his prisoner lying on the floor, his arm draped over his eyes.  “Okay, Ares.  It’s time to talk.”

He energetically sits and meets his interrogator expectantly.  “Talking is what I want to do, General!  What do you want to talk about?”

Graff crosses his arms in disgust.  “The most obvious questions are ‘how’ and ‘why’.  How do you know so much, and why have you given the information away?  If you’re planning to collect on this debt in the future-”

Ares cuts him off with an upheld hand.  “General, we’ve already discussed this.  I’m simply concerned about the growing Allerian threat.”

“I’m not buying that,” Graff mutters.  “Why not claim the weapon for yourself?  Don’t tell me you were above such a temptation.”

“To answer your question directly, I’m simply not capable of being a conductor.  Only those with
special
stature can lay claim to a runic.  You know: kings, princes, dukes.”  His expression turns sly as he adds, “Generals…”

The claim is surprising, but Graff is certain there must be a good reason for Ares not taking Di for himself.  “Then explain how you know all this.  You knew everything about the weapon: where to find it, what it looks like, how to use it…”

“Ah, already calling the weapon an ‘it’, are you, General?”  Ares stretches out and reclines against the back wall.  “I mean, you’re technically right.  She’s no more a girl than a rune that produces a small statue of a girl.”

“Quit dawdling and answer the question!”

“You’re so hot-headed, General,” he chides.  “If you must know, I merely inherited this knowledge.  My master before me devoted his life to it, only to make his most significant discoveries at the end of his days.  He left everything to me in hopes I would make good use of the information.”

“So who was this master of yours?” the general asks with disdain.

“He was a nobody,” Ares responds.  “A dropout of the Three Pillars Academy nearly sixty years ago.  While he was there he stumbled onto crucial information deep within the school’s vast archives.  He became so obsessed with his research that he couldn’t bear to spend any time on his studies, and he was expelled.”

“And you?  What’s your story?”

“You want to know about me?  I’m honored, General!” he exclaims.  “I’m also a nobody, someone who wouldn’t have known an air rune from a water rune.  I was desperate to learn a trade in the wake of the war’s end, and I happened to bump into him.  I was his apprentice until the day he died.”

The general finds himself frustrated that Ares has reasonable answers to his burning questions.  Besides that, none of it explains his ability to shake a tail and sneak around so effectively.

“So what’s your impression so far, General?” Ares asks, turning the conversation around.  “Do you like your new weapon?”

The general rubs the bridge of his nose.  “The weapon has strength, but its personality is a great weakness.  I intend to see how effectively I can erase its memories and persona, then maybe it will be-”

“Ah-ah, I wouldn’t do that, General.”

Graff raises an eyebrow.  “Oh?  And why should I leave the whiny brat as it is?”

Ares eagerly replies, “Free will is essential to a runic’s development, General!  You must give it the ability to make its own decisions.”

“Yes, I know that in the heat of battle, it can’t be relying on my commands to-”

“It goes far deeper than that, I’m afraid,” Ares interrupts, prompting an icy stare from the frustrated general.  “A runic is capable of tremendous growth, but that growth is directly tied to its personality and free will.  You have the power to squelch the personality if desired, but that will have a negative effect on its potential.”

“So you’re saying I need to leave the personality alone?” Graff asks, greatly aggravated by the prospect.

“Not at all.  You can do whatever you want with the personality,” Ares counters.  “Just don’t do it using commands.”

“So I need to harden it,” Graff mutters, turning toward the exit.

“Awwww, General, you’re going to leave me here?”

Graff glares at his prisoner.  “You’ll be freed later today, with high expectations that you’ll deliver the other weapons. 
High
expectations.”

“So why not let me out now?”

“Because I hate you,” he says, slamming the door as he exits.

*              *              *

“Well, if it isn’t General Graff,” the captain of the guard says with a salute as the officer enters the royal receiving room.  “What has you visiting His Majesty today?”

“The successful conclusion to a long and arduous mission,” he triumphantly declares.  “All things considered, I’m feeling quite young for the first time since the war.”

“Good!  It’d be a shame if you keeled over from old age before I did,” says Larimar as a small troop streams into the chamber.  Behind them walks Di, now dressed in a military uniform, alongside a military tailor.  The guard captain catches sight of the girl and shakes his head, mumbling something about recruits getting younger and younger.

The general applauds at the sight of his weapon.  “That uniform suits you, Diamond.”

Di frowns as she looks herself over.  The dark military uniform has been perfectly sized for her tiny frame, making her look and feel like a toy soldier.  Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she was even given a pair of small leather boots to wear.  The only missing element is the armored breastplate the soldiers wear, likely because it would weigh as much as her.

“The uniform is perfect,” Graff observes, “but I thought you would cut the hair short, Lairdly.”

A tall man dressed in civilian clothing salutes the general.  “Sorry, sir.  She refused to let me cut it off.”

The general raises an eyebrow.  “She refused?  I instructed you to make a soldier out of her, not ask her opinion.”

The man rubs his stomach tenderly.  “Girl has a mean punch.”

Graff waves him off.  “You’re dismissed, Lairdly.  Go back to whatever it is you do here.”  The unranked member of the military salutes and slinks back, grateful for the chance to make an exit.  The general looks down at Di condescendingly.  “You punched Lairdly?  That man isn’t worth the effort.”

Di puffs her cheeks.  “Nobody touches my hair.”

“Excellent, Diamond, you’ve finally started to embrace your role as a weapon,” he declares.

Mumbling, she asks, “What makes you think I could ever look like a soldier, anyway?”

“You will start looking and behaving like a soldier,” Graff calmly responds.  “That is the purpose of today’s exercise, after all.”

The small girl looks up with concern.  “Exercise?”

“Nothing to fret.”  He nods toward the throne room doors and asks, “Are you ready for your audience with His Majesty?”

Di stands at the entrance to the king’s audience chamber, studying the five seals inscribed into the large doors.  She takes a deep breath, trembling with anticipation.  Never in her life did she think she would have an audience with the king of Valvoren, and she finds herself excited despite her circumstances.  “Y-Yes,” she stutters as her legs continue to shake.

Graff impatiently stomps his foot.  “Diamond, you’re not a little girl from Canterin.  Ludicrous as it sounds, you’re now an elite soldier in this fine military machine.  You must act the part.”

Di nods, but her demeanor remains anxious.  Graff is annoyed by the display of weakness, and he’s reminded of Ares’ words about personality reconstruction.  Still, he wonders if a compromise would work for this situation.  He extends his palm and says, “Diamond, you will
not
be nervous in front of the king.”

His weapon’s hands glow, and the order takes effect immediately.  Di is stunned at how quickly the anxiety leaves her body.  She can’t even remember what she was nervous about.  Glancing at the back of her hands, she finds the glowing symbols fade without dropping the effect.

Graff motions to the guards, and they push the massive doors open for the two to enter, leaving Larimar’s contingent to decipher what they just witnessed.

Di is in awe of the grandeur of the throne room.  Everything is gigantic, from the ceiling height to the pillars extending along either side of the path leading to the two thrones.  Light runes shine brilliantly from the ceiling above, illuminating the massive chamber.  There are no windows, and as best Di can tell, there is no way in or out other than the entrance.  The hall was likely built to safeguard the king should the city come under assault.

King Haran and his queen sit on their respective thrones, each planted on the raised platform at the end of the hall and anxiously awaiting the arrival of their guests.  Two guards stand on either side of the throne, each bearing a long spear poised vertically.  Though Di’s audience is with the king, she finds herself unable to take her eyes off his radiant wife.  The queen has brilliantly blond hair tied up and back, and she wears a long white dress that only accentuates her already-pale skin.  A miniature version of her husband’s crown rests on her head, fashioned from gold and silver, and her smooth skin and slender frame exude a quiet elegance most fitting for a queen.  She smiles warmly at Di, though she’s confused by the young girl’s presence.

Perpendicular to the thrones are four ceremonial chairs, and Graff’s attention falls to the three individuals sitting in them: Meskel Reece, the foreign minister.  Crin Laffel, the science minister.  Fenger Nagel, finance minister.  The fourth chair sits empty, belonging to the general when not presenting.

Di gasps at the sight of a familiar face from her days at the Academy.  “Headmaster Laffel!?”

The elderly advisor adjusts his spectacles.  “You do look familiar.  How is it I know you, young lady?”

Knowing she has only met him a handful of times, Di says, “From the Academy!  I was-”

Graff clears his throat to silence Di, and he kneels before the throne.  “Your Majesty, it is an honor as always.”  Glancing up, he adds, “And I’m glad to see Her Majesty is also feeling well enough to join us.”

The king motions for him to stand.  “General Graff, congratulations on your mission’s success.  I’m looking forward to your demonstration.”

“As am I, my liege.  But first, an introduction.”  Graff motions to Di and announces, “This is Diamond.”  Di takes a bow, still fascinated by the magnificence of the pair.  Graff boasts, “She is the weapon we have been hunting.”

The king and queen glance at each other, and the ministers begin mumbling at the strange declaration.  “Explain yourself, General,” the king commands.

“This is no ordinary youngster,” he says. “Diamond is far more capable in combat than perhaps even my best commanders.  We have a top-notch warrior at our beck and call.”

With his audience baffled, Graff extends his arm.  “If you would have it, please allow me to give you a demonstration.”

“I think that would be wise,” the king says.

The small girl has started to become accustomed to receiving his orders, but she still cringes as Graff extends his palm, angling it so the king and queen can see the symbol glow in response.  “Diamond, I command you to perform a series of backflips to the entrance.”  The symbols on the girl’s hands illuminate as she executes the feat, keeping in perfect form all the way to the doors and finishing with grace.

“Come!” the general barks, again causing their hands to glow in tandem.  She runs back to him and stands at attention.

The audience continues to struggle to understand.  “Perhaps the mission wasn’t a success after all,” Reece scornfully suggests.

Even Haran loses patience.  “I don’t get it, General.  Is she part of a circus act?”

“I don’t understand it fully, myself,” Graff admits.  “However, it seems that any order I give her is executed without pause.  Mysteriously, the object we found deep underground bound her to my will.”  He extends his open palm to the king and queen, showing them the emblazoned symbol.  “This is the point of control by which she can be given any order.  She must obey my commands, regardless of her own desires.”

“What good is it to give orders to a child?” Laffel scoffs.  “I’m disappointed, General.  You claimed to discover a Third Kingdom treasure!”

“Allow me to give you the most effective demonstration I could devise,” Graff calmly says.  He claps his hands together loudly three times, and the throne room doors creak open.  Two soldiers lead six prisoners into the throne room.  Each is well-built, wearing only a pair of battered, cotton pants.  Graff motions toward the new arrivals and says, “These men are captured convicts.  Each one is a murderer.”