The next day, I composed a long letter on military stationery to The Council of Twelve's High Count Gylo Typp. I addressed the problem of crossan slaughter and the cruel mental punishment exacted on the new recruits by having their crossans forcibly separated from them the moment they were ushered into the camp.  While I wasn't privy to knowing specifically, how the training officers conveyed the information to the recruits that they no longer owned their crossans, I was sure the signal moment of disclosure came with the return of their saddles and gear to them in their barracks.

I had to conclude it was designed to shock them into immediate compliance with the strict military rule.

I went on to explain from a more personal perspective that Klasco Braanz had gifted me, and three new enlistees, crossans, saddles and gear at no small expense.  He did this because he was so moved by the patriotic fervor exhibited by the three and how much they were willing to sacrifice for Kabeez.  I suspected I was gifted a crossan for being his brother.  We all grew quite attached to our crossans, I explained, and I was certain Gylo understood their dismay in having to leave their crossans and walk to their barracks.  Of course, the guard exempted me from the rule after he read my papers and allowed me to ride into the camp and to Commander Djar's quarters on Rain Spirit's back.

I, of course, refused this exemption.

The simple solution, I offered, was to include a "note of explanation" to the enlistment papers so each recruit would be forewarned.

I assured the High Count of my belief that the practices of the camp, especially the slaughter of the crossans and subsequent use of the meat, had never been brought to his attention or he would have stopped it immediately.

I implored him to right the matter expeditiously before one more innocent crossan was slaughtered to tickle the palate of the elite and feed the greed of the brokers of immorality.
   
I signed, sealed, and addressed the letter and gave it to the courier who assured me it would be delivered the following day.  His words were, "…in one waking."

After seven wakings I had not received an answer.

Already, scores of new recruits had arrived.  I had to make sure that Commander Djars had made good on his word that the practice had been discontinued.  All that I experienced over those seven wakings led me to believe he had given the order to the trainers.

It was about a mile and a half to the gymnasium where I was daily tutored on Far Northern Province geography.  I chose to “walk it” at a medium-fast clip, to allow me an extra measure of conditioning.  During one of those constitutionals I came upon two trainers, whom I recognized by their red hats; while they saluted it was without the crispness reserved for a superior officer they respected.

This was an intuitive judgment, but I would soon be affirming it.
   
"Tell me, Commander Djars, what was the response you got from the trainers?"

He was pouring us a drink and with the question he gave me a puzzled sidelong glance.  "What response would you expect there to be, General?  They were given orders.  They obeyed them.  They are adapting."

I took my drink from his hand.  "I see.  And, over the last seven days (I purposely chose days, and watched for his reaction.) how many recruits have arrived for training?"

He didn't question the use of days instead of wakings.  He went to his desk and ran his finger down a column on a paper there.  "Twenty-three.  Seventeen with crossans."

"And, where are those seventeen crossans?"

"They are corralled near the battle steeds, General, while we are awaiting word from the Council of Twelve as to how we are to get them home to the recruits' families.  It may be costly.  It is already an extra drain on our reserves for feeding them."

"But, it's an honorable expense."

"And, may I ask what the Council's decision was about the notes attached to the enlistment letters?"

"It will be done, Commander, because it is the right thing to do."

He took a sip and he smiled.  "No answer yet, eh, General Doctrex?  You don't suppose that the Council has—you know—developed a taste for crossan flesh?"

I downed what was left of my drink and waited for the burning to spread from my throat to my chest.  But, I managed to keep my eyes trained on his and my jaw firm.  "I think, Commander Djars, it would be best to say I didn't quite understand your words."  I smiled.  "Would you care to repeat them?"

He reached for my empty glass and returned them both to the bar.  "How have your studies been going, General?  I understand, though I've never been there, that the topography of the Far Northern Province can be treacherous, and, inasmuch as they are in their dark cycle it is icy and difficult for the soldier to endure."
 
"It's what I'm learning."

"And, yet you choose to lead some five-hundred men there.  I admire you for that, General."  He did not seem entirely insincere.  "You know," he continued, "about three hundred of those men have been training rigorously for over a quardo' D."  I made the quick translation to over a year.

"They've been training for over a year, Commander Djars?"

He referred again to the sheet on his desk.  "Only about a hundred men are currently being trained as recruits.  They have been here less than a quardo' Fi."
 
And, the three that I came with, and I, have been here a little over a week.

"Yes, eight wakings."

"I'm sure there's a point somewhere in there that's struggling to express itself, Commander.  Please tell me what it is."

He smiled at what I said.  "I haven't gotten there yet, General Doctrex.  If you'll permit me, in two fi quardo …"

Not quardo' Fi, which was a month, but two fi quardo, with fi quardo being a week.  So, two weeks.  I was getting better at this.  The computation was quick and I didn't lose the context of his sentence.

"… you will be graduating all the fighting men and readying them for the march."

"Tempus Fugit, eh Commander?"

"What?"

So much for pappering Latin.  "Time Flies.  So, we'll be graduating them in two weeks?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"A suggestion from a tired, old camp commander who's staying behind?”

I nodded but couldn't conceal my confusion.

"Align yourself with the more experienced soldiers.  They will be better prepared and better conditioned.  And, most of them higher ranked than the lesser experienced.  Also," he said, "they will be quite sensitive to any perceived, um, what would you say … favoritism?"

I thanked him for sharing his suggestion, and left.
   
Ten wakings after my initial post had gone, the courier arrived with two letters for me: one from the High Count which was simply return-addressed Gylo Typp but was sent to me with the full title of General Doctrex.  The second letter was from Klasco Braanz.  The return address was his home and he also used my full title as the addressee.

I opened Gylo Typp's letter first.  The order of opening was fortunate because—looking back at it later—had I opened Klasco's first, I might have left the other letter unopened.  
I smoothed the letter on my desk and bent over it, reading:
 
My dear Doctrex:
 
I hope this letter finds you well and adapting propitiously—other than the case in point—to military life.

Your assumption was correct.  I had no inkling that anything so horrible and immoral was taking place at the camp.  It is unacceptable and Commander Djars has been notified that the practice will desist at once.  [The last two words were underscored twice and I noticed a hole his pen had made at the end of the final underscore.]  "Furthermore, Doctrex, I assure you that we will make every effort to discover who first authorized such a despicable practice.  He will be duly and summarily punished.

As far as the practice of having crossans, trained for battle, and provided to each recruit, I'm sure you understand the importance of this.  This uniformity is so critical to the success of our mission that I would hope you also would choose not to take Rain Spirit into battle.  All four crossans (assuming you see the importance of my words above) will be boarded and well cared for at Kabeezan expense until your return. I suppose that someone with your insight into human behavior ...

… My eyes locked on the words, your insight into human behavior, and I could not immediately go on.  Something was nudging me, urging me to connect but with what?  A person involved with human behavior would be a psychologist or psychiatrist.  With that thought, an image flashed into my mind of world-weary man, perched behind a large, polished desk, chin resting on the balled fist of his right hand, whose arm extended out of the sleeve of a dark blue suit.  The fingers of the other hand drummed a beat on the desktop.  An expensive watch gleamed on the wrist of that arm.  He was staring across the desk at someone—I assumed someone—shrouded in shadow, and I was no longer looking at the image of this man, but rather looking out from his own eyes.

The moment I realized the incongruity of this, both images, both points of view, vanished and I was staring again down at the letter.

…with your insight into human behavior you will no doubt expect that there might be subtle (and perhaps not so subtle) repercussions as a result of being a part of this crackdown.  Make no doubt about it, word of your "confrontation" with Commander Djars has already filtered down to the people who are instrumental in making sure that nefarious practice runs smoothly.  As I said, we will find out who is responsible, but in the meantime it might be prudent to be diligent.

Let me say, in closing, how happy I am in knowing we made the right decision in choosing you.  Wishing you continued and ultimate success, I remain

Yours truly,

Gylo.
   
It might be prudent to be diligent.  Yes, I had strong feelings that I had not heard the last of this.  The source of income at least to a few people locally was suddenly and completely cut off.  Who knew how far and wide the practice went.  How many other camps between here and the Far Northern Provence were steeped in this evil greed and power?  It will definitely be prudent to be diligent!

I remembered the second letter, written by Klasco.  I picked it up and studied how it was addressed.  While the name and address were neatly penned, there was a kind of restless hurriedness to the script.  I didn't know why that should be unsettling, but for some reason it was.

I lifted the flap and withdrew the letter, flattening it on the desk.
 

• Doctrex:  The name Axtilla gave to the man who woke up on the shoure of an alien land without memory or identity.
• Axtilla:  The young lady who discovered the ailing man on the shore, brought him to health and then held him captive, certain he is Pondria.
• Glnot Rhuether:  According to Axtilla, the name of the dark entity who is destined to empower the lodging [the Trining] on their plane.
• Klasco Braanz: Husband to Metra and father to Sarisa and Klea.
• Metra Braanz: Wife to Klasco and mother to Sarisa and Klea
• Sarisa Braanz: Klasco's and Metra's youngest daughter.
• Klea Braanz: Klasco's and Metra's eldest daughter
• Giln Profue: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl.
• Sheleck Profue: One of the three who helped Doctrex & Klasco in the Tavern Brawl & was stabbed.
• Zurn: Intellectually challenged, Giln and Sheleck are watching out for him.
• Crossans: They are similar to horses, but broader in the chest and sloping down to smaller haunches than horses.
• Trining: 1) According to The Book of Kyre it is “a sudden, easy and complete translation of authority.”  2) A code word used by the enemies in the Far Northern Province marking the beginning of the all-out assault by Glnot Rhuether on the other provinces.
• Papper: In the provinces, the ability of one language being automatically translated into another so there is no reason for one to learn a foreign language.
• Commander Djars:  Commander of Camp Kabeez.  Doctrex’s nemesis while there.
• Gylo Typp: High Count of The Council of Twelve.