Deleted Scene: Settlers of Talrega, chapter 6
Patrolling from the sky had its perks. Even if they hadn’t already heard the news, any soldier worth his salt could figure out something was happening in Begnion. The convoys had been traveling for weeks, clustered on Daein’s narrow roads, crowds they had ever only seen in the cities. General Shiharam had shared his letter from Commander Lalomi as soon as it arrived—the coronation of a new apostle, Sanaki Kirsch Altina, thirty-seventh Empress of Begnion. Lalomi herself had retired; newly-appointed Commander Sigrun would be Apostle Sanaki’s personal guard, the youngest commander for the youngest person crowned.
Shiharam had not asked if anyone wanted to attend. Not even the Daein-born soldiers would be foolish enough to request it.
To the Fizzart platoon, it only meant their duties dwindled, at least until the ceremonies concluded. No self-respecting sub-human would try to hide with the droves of beorc surging toward the border, vying for a chance to glimpse the new apostle. The countryside buzzed with the news, with rumors and speculations—would King Daein attend the ceremonies? Wasn’t General Shiharam from Begnion, too? Would he return home? Shiharam, for his part, kept his head down, trained his soldiers, and avoided answering questions.Haar sat overlooking the border with Tabasa and Erich, in a cave that was miraculous wide enough to house their wyverns as well. If they ever felt like shirking their duties, that spot was the ideal location—it offered a sweeping view of Talega, with its fort tucked beside the floodgates in the distance; several villages could be seen along the main thoroughfare, now bustling with travelers. It sat close enough to the Begnion-Daein border to watch a new surge of travelers at the stone gate, to hear the faint bark of border patrol commanding a single-file, please.
“I’ll admit,” Erich said, “I’m a little curious.”
“I’m not that curious,” Haar replied.
“Commander Lalomi retiring,” Tabasa said, leaning back on his hands. “I never thought I would see the day.”
Haar had composed his own resignation letter, then heard General Lanvega’s voice in his head like he still sat across the table: Do not let those efforts go to waste. He’d watched the thick parchment go up in smoke instead, burning at the hearth where he’d later prepare his meal of seasoned meat and root vegetables. In its place General Shiharam had provided a new training schedule, filled with the mundane tasks of trainees—Armor maintenance. Ground sparring. Altitude training. And he’d done it, for lack of anything better to do.
Now, he sat on the ledge of a mountain, with Erich rummaging through a saddlebag and Tabasa in his new blind spot. Haar listened to his wyvern dozing behind them, hidden in the shadow of that cave with the others, where the people at the gates below couldn’t see them. They would see only three soldiers sitting along a ledge, additional border watch for all they knew.
Erich retrieved a loaf of brown bread from his bag, tearing off a piece for each of them.
“Have you heard from Sigrun recently?” Tabasa asked, tearing the crust off his bread.
Haar shook his head. “I’m surprised she wrote back at all. She must be busy now that she has a real job.”
Erich pitched a rock over the ledge, which flew in a smooth arc before disappearing into the trees. “And we don’t?”
Haar smirked. “I won’t answer that.”
They are in silence, the bread leftover from some days prior and difficult to chew. A boy in line at the border tried to stray from his father, arm extended while still clasping his hand. The boy looked up, spotting them immediately, then broke into a grin when Erich waved. The father didn’t notice, tugging the boy’s hand as he took one step closer to Begnion soil.
Tabasa looked skyward. “We should get back,” he said. “The rain is about to come.”
Haar pushed himself up to stand. “I’m not making that mistake again,” he muttered, turning toward his wyvern. “Let’s go, partner.”
General Shiharam was already in the eyrie when they returned, scrubbing mud from his wyvern’s flank. Either he’d stopped trying to hide the gold chain around his neck, or hadn’t noticed it escaped; it hung freely outside his collar, a dull clang against the breastplate as he stood upright to greet them.
“How are things at the border?” he asked, wiping soiled hands on a rag.
“Slow,” Erich replied. “How hard is it to check some travel papers?”
“They won’t be pleased once it begins to rain,” Tabasa added.
Shiharam shrugged. “Nothing to be done about that.”