22 Calay, Military District

After picking over a roast mutton dinner inside Calay's military headquarters, Mateo continued the discussion with Guard-Marshalls Obertas and Vorannen. They all had the same orders from Anjine, and they would talk long into the night, until they found a way to expose the infiltrators.

Mateo laid out the problem. “Any of our soldiers might be a ra'vir, especially the young trainees. If we don't root them out, they could betray us at any time. They know our ways. They hide among us. They are indistinguishable from any true Tierran. Where do they come from? How do we identify them?” He looked at the other two men. “The task seems impossible.”

Vorannen shifted in his chair. “As a first step, we should make note of every single Tierran soldier returning from the Ishalem battle. Take their names and keep them in barracks separate from the other soldiers.”

Obertas looked offended. “Those fighters risked their lives for Tierra! They almost died at Ishalem. It's preposterous to suspect them.”

Vorannen shook his head. “I don't. Any real traitors would have turned on us in the fight when they had the chance. All the ra'virs were killed on the battlefield. Therefore, anyone returning from the battle is almost certainly not a ra'vir. We begin with them, a pool of fighters we know to be true.”

Obertas picked a particularly stringy piece of meat from his teeth and flicked it to the side of his plate. “We'll have to interrogate everyone else, make them swear on the Book of Aiden.”

Mateo set aside his plate, no longer hungry. “And what would stop them from lying? They are already pretending to be something they are not.”

“Well… we could insist that parents accompany their sons to the recruitment stations, prove that they aren't infiltrators from Uraba,” Vorannen suggested.

Obertas disagreed. “Many of our recruits are young men who have run away from home to join the army. Just because they cannot show us their parents doesn't mean they are traitors.”

Vorannen's shoulders slumped. “And we can't condemn all orphans. Thanks to the raiders, we have plenty of children without fathers or mothers—and they have more reason to fight the Curlies than most do.”

“And yet some of them are ra'virs—a dozen of whom just caused the greatest defeat the Aidenist army has ever experienced.” Mateo's brow furrowed as he puzzled through the possibilities. “Poor kidnapped Tierran children who've been manipulated and confused by Urecari captors. After all these years, and so many of them, how is it possible that not one of the ra'virs has seen through the lies and come back to Aidenism? Do they not remember their old lives?”

“The Teacher must have a deathly hold on them,” Vorannen said. “You saw how the few survivors reacted during interrogation.”

Obertas lowered his voice, leaned closer to Mateo. “What would your father have done in such a situation?”

“I don't know, Obertas. He never faced anything like this.”

Marshall Obertas now performed the same job that Ereo Bornan had held for many years, charged with the protection of King Korastine. Mateo's father had been killed in the line of duty, and Korastine had raised Mateo in the castle alongside Anjine, almost as a surrogate son.

Since he'd taken Ereo's old job three years ago, Obertas occasionally joined Mateo for meals, wanting to hear stories of his predecessor. “I wear the same uniform as your father,” he had said. “It would be honorable to carry on that grand tradition.”

So Mateo had told him all the stories he remembered, though he had only vague recollections because he'd been so young when the former guard captain died. Not content with sketchy details, Marshall Obertas had delved into the castle archives and brought dusty tomes to Mateo, so the two of them could spend days poring over records. Like miners searching for gems, they dug out entries and reports that Ereo had written himself, as well as other references to what the brave captain had done (when he was too embarrassed to write them objectively). Together, Mateo and Obertas had gotten to know Ereo Bornan much better.

But those old stories did not help them now.

The royal guard-marshall rested his elbows on the plank table as he shifted the discussion. “Suspicions are causing as much damage as the ra'virs themselves. I've seen great unrest in the royal guard barracks. Fights have broken out, two knifings.”

Vorannen picked up a hard roll. “My city guard says the same thing. Neighbors are reporting neighbors. They dislike anyone with strange speech or different ways. One woodcarver with a Soeland accent was turned in because someone thought he ‘sounded Urecari.'”

Mateo wrestled with frustration. “Our society is tearing itself apart. The damned Curlies don't even need to have spies among us anymore—we're doing it to ourselves.” He had to find a solution, for Anjine, for Tierra.

“And yet there are spies,” Vorannen growled.

One of the blue-uniformed city guardsmen burst through the door to the military headquarters building. “Sirs, there's been another attack at the shipyards!”

Their long-cold meal forgotten, the three men grabbed cloaks and hurried from the building into the chill spring night. Shouting city guards ran through the street, carrying torches or lanterns and heading toward the docks south of the castle.

Mateo felt a leaden weight in his stomach. The Arkship had burned just prior to its departure, and now the new Dyscovera was almost ready to sail. He had ordered extra guards posted and kept the docks brightly lit throughout the night, but what if he had underestimated the ra'virs? He increased his pace, breathing cold air into his lungs until his throat burned.

To his great relief, though, he saw that the glorious three-masted carrack remained tied up in her slip, and extra guards stood on the gangplank, swords drawn and ready for battle.

The commotion, however, came from the other side of the narrow bay. Crews scurried around two smaller merchant ships, shouting for buckets, pumps, and carpenters; men scrambled down ladders into the holds. The ships were foundering, tilted at odd angles, riding low in the water.

After crossing the bridge to reach the crippled ships, Vorannen demanded a report from a guard. “Ra'virs again, sirs. Empty merchant ships aren't as closely guarded, I suppose, so the little cockroaches went into the water, swam below the waterline, and used augers to drill holes in the hulls. The holds are already flooded and the ships are sinking—can't patch them in time. A damned mess!”

Mateo turned his back on the wallowing merchant ships and pointed to the large exploration vessel. “Double the guards over at the Dyscovera! Inspect and inventory all supplies already loaded aboard to be sure no one has poisoned the rations or turned snakes loose belowdeck.”

He felt anger pounding within him and knew he had to speak with Anjine—and King Korastine—as soon as possible. “We have to launch the ship without further delay. The only way to protect Dyscovera from another ra'vir attack is to get her safely out at sea.”