Rise by Mark S. Moore

Author:Mark S. Moore
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mark S. Moore

***

Eastport, Riccha

Benedict Cromwell scowled at the report before him. A series of disappointments had followed his initial success in wresting control of the capital from that incompetent Varrow. The most recent disappointment being the loss of James Taylor, one of the former captain’s associates. He didn’t particularly care about the young man—he suspected he had been used as a pawn by Captain Varrow—but it reflected poorly on his still-fragile hold on the city that he had let one of the rats escape.

Cromwell had claimed a dingy office near the docks for his headquarters. Dust coated almost every inch of the small room, except for the areas he occupied. His desk was immaculate, as were his bookshelves. A small liquor cabinet however, was covered in grime, as were several chairs opposite his desk. The last person to sit opposite his desk had been Captain Varrow.

Near the open doorway, a nervous man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He had originally served under the previous captain, recently deceased, but now worked as a messenger for Cromwell. Cromwell noticed the man casually rubbing his neck as though he were sizing himself for a noose.

“You brought me bad news.”

“S-sir?”

It wasn’t an accusation, just a matter of fact. Cromwell’s face was blank when he spoke, but his offhand comment had elicited nervous tremors in the scout.

It was not uncommon for messengers and scouts to be nervous wrecks in his presence. Cromwell possessed a calm, but terrifying, presence. With Captain Varrow, he had assumed a stone-face as he had ordered the man’s execution. He’d ignored the other man’s shameful pleading, bargaining, and crying. His indifference to Varrow’s wailing set the tone for his leadership early on.

As they learned that Cromwell was not easy to read, his new subordinates teetered on the edge of a knife whenever they dealt with him— which was exactly how he wanted it. He needed them to fear him. His plans required excellence and loyalty from those who served him. His predecessor had embodied a command that favored sycophants; Cromwell wanted results.

“Our target is still missing and expected to be fleeing west?” Cromwell asked, glancing down at the report.

“Yes, sir. The hunting party lost his trail, he—”

“Quiet.” Cromwell cut the man off mid-sentence. “What of our missive to Khorra? Have we received word?”

“No, sir. They should have received it quite some time ago, but they have not answered your request one way or another yet.”

The missive that Cromwell was referring to was a formal request he’d sent following his first week in Eastport. He’d wanted to chase down and cull the rebels who’d evacuated in the night, but, come to find out, it wasn’t that simple. He needed approval from the department of foreign affairs in Khorra. The rebels were still colonial citizens of the empire, and as such, were entitled to certain rights that he couldn’t ignore.

If circumstances led to active combat between the rebels and a direct representative of Khorra such as Cromwell, such would be considered an act of war.

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