The King's Challenge #288 and #289

TKC 288 and 289

I need to find Enris and my father and, to that end, I say to Gennerin, “Where would they hide something no one is to find?”

“I have no idea,” he mutters. “Usually important guests are in the Officers’ Quarters, but I doubt they will keep you father there.”

As I suspected. “I need a quiet place to reach out to Enris.”

“I know where. What do we do with Leffandir?”

“She comes with us,” I state. “We need to end it in every way, including whatever happened between her and Enris.”

Commander Gennerin proceeds to bark orders. Soldiers enter the flyer to secure the pilot, the main host retreats to other duties, and the crews return to their work stations. Again I place my hand on the Commander’s arm and he leads us away. Damin, still holding the Glonu Empress in his grip, follows. She makes no sound and Damin remains expressionless. I am concerned; I feel Damin has something huge on his mind, but no opportunity has presented for him to act on it.

The corridors beyond the hangar are inundated with soldiers and various other crews, and we are forced to weave through. Many soldiers salute Gennerin, to his irritation. I hear him muttering about wearing a mask when he walks the corridors. I am slightly amused, for it proves to me that Gennerin is no stranger to fame either. He is a kindred spirit; he understands. I like him more and more. I hope my trust will not prove misplaced, for it will hurt. This man has the potential of not only becoming an advisor, but also a friend.

At an elevator, he punches in a code and the metal door whisks open. We enter into silence. The door closes.

“Thank the stars,” he breathes out. “What must a man do for some silence?”

Damin snorts. “Become a farmer.”

Gennerin chuckles. “I intend to when I retire.”

“When will that be?” Damin gives him a speculative look.

“If I survive this campaign, I am handing my command in. This is my final war,” Gennerin murmurs.

I believe him; he sounds exhausted. “I do hope you will not become a stranger in your retirement.”

He bows his head. “My Lady, you honour me.”

I snort much as Damin did. “Stop that. We are beyond the Lady nonsense. My name is Iniri.”

He grins at me. “And I am Athol.”

Yes, I like him more and more. Damin does as well, for he sends me a wink and a grin. Leffandir huffs.

The elevator opens onto a quiet corridor. “Officer territory,” Gennerin murmurs as he leads the way.

At a nondescript door, we halt. Again Gennerin does the honours, and we pass into a darkened space. It smells sterile and unused.

“Lights,” he says.

The cabin fills with muted glows. It is a small sitting area and beyond is another dark space. All is in white and silver, but for a framed image on the wall, the only colour. It is a likeness of Gennerin and a lovely woman, her hair fiery red. This is the Commander’s suite.

“My wife,” he tells us and is clearly proud of her, for love is evident in his tone.

“What glorious hair,” Damin murmurs.

Clearly that pleases our Ilfin war leader even more, for he grins ear to ear. “Indeed.” Clearing his throat, he gestures. “Please sit. It has been some while since I have been in here, smells a bit off. A moment.” He approaches a console to jab at buttons, and immediately fresher air circulates. “Better.”

We sit. The time to strategize is upon us.