Van Kolmen 1 Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Wentler tapped at his knee impatiently in the dimly lit antechamber.  The wooden chair beneath him squeaked with each movement, and for a moment he thought he might fall through.  The thick glass windows on either flank of the room let little light in through their grime caked portals.  This building had once been the feasting hall of the last Pumsan chief.  After the Pumsa were annexed into the state, Gorran high command appropriated the holdout as the local headquarters for operations on the northern border.  Each of the cardinal borders had a major headquarters from which all operations could be organized and correspondence could be kept with central command, and the north had lacked such a stronghold until that point.  The hall had seen better days for sure, under the care of its predecessors.  The Gorran administrators had little regard for upkeep of the rustic lodging, and the austere nature of the north made it difficult to supply adequate cleaning staff.


The captain’s summons to headquarters had been abrupt, and demanded his immediate audience.  The details of the letter itself were as scant as the dusky room he sat in.  He imagined the only topic of the meeting could be a reassignment, a promotion of sorts to move him away from the monotony of the frontier.  He had done nothing to warrant remediation.  Wentler tugged at his pepper-streaked sideburns.  At least, he believed he had done nothing wrong.


The doors to the meeting room burst open and out strode a giant of a man clad in the gray of the First Guard.  His booted feet clicked to a halt and faced the captain, who had jumped to his feet at the disturbance.  The First Guard were one of the only units allowed facial hair, as high command believed it gave them a more intimidating appearance.  Indeed, the bushy beard spilling over his tight golden collar gave him the countenance of a grizzly restrained only by the many medals and pins of his tight gray uniform.  Though his heavy saber sat sheathed at his hip, Wentler felt that this man could easily squash out his life with his massive, squared hands.


“Captain Wentler.”  Thunder spilled from the bear’s maw.  “You will be seen now.”


Wentler nodded, trying not to betray his nerves while following behind the guard into the main chamber.  As he approached the long table, turned horizontally to seat the entire board, he scanned the room.  Burnished wooden pews on either end of the room sat empty, though he imagined they were typically filled in the event of a full court.  The vaulted ceiling, with dozens of torch-holders now vacated, was lit only by the meager glow of a small glass chandelier.  A single painting took up the bulk of the back wall.  A recent addition, it showed each of the eight high chiefs kneeling to King Talber the Conqueror.  Of course, the portrait was more symbolic than anything; this was not a real historical event.  The tribes had surrendered one by one over the course of several decades, with the Varma fighting until the bitter end.


Stopping before the singled out seat in front of the board table, the guard stepped aside and let Wentler stand unobscured before his superiors.  From left to right sat a bored looking major acting as an aide to Colonel Halwin beside him, in the center an adjutant general, General Malgrum, and to the right of him two green lieutenants acting as scribes.  Though his duties now found him situated behind a desk, General Malgrum was a battle-hardened veteran of the three-wolf insurrection led by the Varma, Scavola, and Bartiu tribes over a decade prior.  That bloody war cost the Gorran military greatly, and marked the shift in Gorran policy from diplomatic annexation of the high tribes to total conquest of any resisting localities.  His successes in the conflict had led Captain Malgrum on the fast track to promotion, though a grievous leg wound had left him unfit for combat.  The scar from a stray arrow during that same conflict still flared red underneath his bushy gray brows.  His flint eyes gazed at Wentler dispassionately.


“Captain Wentler, reporting as ordered General.”  The captain offered a brisk salute.


“Take your seat.”  Malgrum nodded.  His square jaw sat at a slightly canted angle, setting his face in a constant frown.  He produced from beneath the table a thin piece of parchment, which he unrolled for himself and the colonel beside him to read.  After reading over the document, he spoke in a gruff tone.  “Do you know what this is, captain?”


“No, general, I am afraid not.”  Wentler glanced nervously at the paper then back at the stern man before him.


“Odd, you sent it to Colonel Halwin only two weeks ago.  Are messages of these nature so trivial for you to be forgotten within a fortnight?”  Malgrum raised his eyes to Wentler.


The captain stared at the paper, realization setting in.  It was the letter he wrote to headquarters notifying command of van Kolmen’s demotion.  He had not expected this to be the topic of his summons.  “His demotion was well-deserved, and well within my rights to administer, general.  His continual insubor-”


“Stop.”  Malgrum raised a thick finger.  “I did not request a justification.  I am more than capable of reading the scribble you have here.”  The general waved the piece of paper.  His eyes scanned it again, and his frown deepened.  “You are gone.  Lieutenant van Kolmen is indisposed.  Who is in charge of Fort Starkmal, at present?”


“That would be Lieutenant Jaqus, general.”


Colonel Halwin scoffed at this, the first acknowledgement of Wentler’s presence he had given since the captain entered the room.  His thin lips twisted into a smirk.  “Of course he is.”


“You know of Lieutenant Jaqus, colonel?”  Malgrum turned to face Halwin.


“Indeed.  The young firebrand comes from a family cousin to the good captain’s.  He is the one that led the disastrous Gray-Raven assault last spring.  I am surprised to hear he still retains a commission, quite frankly.”  Halwin raised his wispy eyebrows in amusement.


“That set back operations from Starkmal by six months.  We lost over a third of fourteenth company.”  Malgrum refocused his attention on the captain.  “Are you sure you penned in the right name on this document?  Perhaps you are mistaken, captain.”


Wentler recalled the incident with shame.  It was he that had ordered Jaqus’ excursion into the Gray-Raven’s territory.  Intelligence had suggested they fielded around fifty warriors, but several of the scouting parties had not returned.  Despite this, Wentler believed his initial scout report and sent in the fourteenth to squelch the savages.  When Jaqus encountered a force twice his own, he refused to back down and disappoint his commander.  His entire company eventually routed, beyond his control, and nearly left him behind enemy lines.  “I.. erm.  No, general, I have the right name.  Lieutenant Jaqus merely suffered from a lack of positive intelligence, it was of little fault to him.”


“A lack of intelligence, indeed.”  Halwin snorted.  “That van Kolmen fellow, though.  I read his report after receiving your disaster of a letter.  He has never lost ground in a military engagement, and his company has suffered less casualties than any other unit on the northern frontier.  You penned the wrong name indeed.”


As Wentler stuttered a reply, General Malgrum spoke once again.  “This is not the only reason we have summoned you, and so we are moving on.”  The general stowed away Wentler’s letter before continuing.  “Your progress at Starkmal has stagnated, costing the northern frontier considerably in wasted time and resources. Besides which, your term there is long overdue.  You are being reassigned.”


Wentler breathed a sigh of relief.  He had spent nearly four years stationed in that bloody iceberg, itching to move on to greener pastures.  Sitting up straighter in his chair, he spoke up.  “Where to, general?  I will gladly serve Gorra wherever she may need me.”


Malgrum grunted.  “She needs you in the eastern sector, as adjutant to Captain Turman of Fort Kransler.  You will retain the rank of captain, though this is ordinarily a junior position.”


The captain’s heart sank.  He was being relegated to the position of a mere secretary.  Not only that, but in the eastern sector where the greatest threat was an overzealous ocean breeze. “General, with all due respect, I am more than fit for combat.  I believe my talents would be better utilized in a command position.”


“High command, and your battle reports, disagree with you Wentler.  Be happy I am not taking your bars along with your post.  Believe me I would, if it were not expressly stated in your reassignment that you are to keep your blood-earned title.”  Malgrum waggled his finger at the disheartened captain.  “If you’re lucky, Captain Turman will let you chase smugglers in the straits.  Don’t push it.”


The blood rushed to Wentler’s head.  He could not believe the nerve of Malgrum.  The old cripple, insinuating his rank was only a result of his heritage and not the many years of service he had given to Gorra.  As a last ditch attempt to save face, he raised his voice.  “At the very least, let me pick my successor.  Lieutenant Jaqus is more than familiar with the workings of Fort Starkmal and is an excellent candidate for garrison commander.  In truth, as he is the only remaining officer there, I believe him to be the only real option.”


Colonel Halwin broke his stony demeanor with a belly of laughter.  “Oh, Wentler.  That matter has already been decided.  You may say it was even the reason for your reassignment.  We are finished with you.  Take your leave, a carriage is waiting for you outside.”  He waved away the disgruntled captain.


Wentler rose with a bow and pushed his way past his chair angrily.  The indignity of it all ate at him like a scorching tapeworm nestled in his bowels.  To throw him off into the sea forts as a lowly scribe, and then revoke his right as commander to choose his own successor?  It was unseemly for a man of his status.  Well, this would not be the last they heard from him or the Wentler name.  He would find a way to retake command in the east, and wrestle his way to the top of high command.  It would all be worth the while, to see the look on Halwin’s stuck-up birdy face.  As he walked outside, the captain found the carriage waiting for him as promised.  A servant opened the side door for him and reached for his sword as he did so.


“Watch your hands, pissant!”  Wentler snarled.


“I am under orders to return this to the headquarters armory, apologies sir.”  The servant replied, yanking the blade from its scabbard.  Wentler moved to strike him, but the appearance of two First Guard stopped him in his tracks.  The hairy man from earlier accompanied by an equally tall, yet clean-shaven man with murder in his eyes.  Wentler wordlessly undid the sheathe from his belt and tossed it at the boy.  The driver whipped the reins and sent the carriage lurching forward.  Wentler’s jaw still hung open as the carriage bounded out of the stony gates.