by T. C. Edge
He holds my gaze longer than he usually would. So shy at his core, he’s been set loose by the promise of blood, buoyed by the life of the envoy he’s just taken. And even now, I see the spray of crimson across his clothes from the messenger’s neck, war paint for the battle to come.
“And you?” he says. “When will your revenge come? For your father, Maxwell, and your mother, Elisa…”
His words cause a sharp jump in my heart-rate, recalling my parents’ names. And as he utters them, I notice Zander nearby, standing with Rhoth, listening as the big man speaks.
I turn back to West, who stares at me, awaiting a response.
“One day,” I say. “But this is your night, West. Mine will come…”
“It will,” he says confidently. “We will all have our moment.”
He heaves in a breath, seeming older and larger than ever before, and from the corner of my eyes I see Zander marching back over.
“Rhoth needs you, West,” he says to the young Fang.
West drops a final smile for me before slipping away, leaving me alone with Zander. He looks at me curiously for a moment, before opening his mouth.
“Rhoth is about ready to go. We will go with him at first. He knows the way better than I do, and it’s better to go a little slower and save our energy, than waste it and get lost along the path.”
“Makes sense,” I say.
“I’ll keep trying Beckett as we go. By now they’re sure to be in position.” He looks to the sky. “It’s getting on. No time to waste.”
Before he can move off, I draw him back with a query that’s been bubbling up in my mind.
“You said the envoy has a telepathic link with someone in the main army,” I say. “How did you tap into that? I didn’t know that was possible…”
His face takes on an expression of marginal guilt. The realisation doesn’t take long to dawn in my mind.
“You…lied?” I whisper, frowning. “There was no link?”
He peers about.
“I said what I needed to say, Brie,” he tells me. “We can’t risk Rhoth staying here. It’s too dangerous for the Fangs, and you know how belligerent he is. They’d either be destroyed, or assimilated into the Cure’s army. I did what I had to do to stop that from happening.”
“I see…”
“You don’t agree?” he questions.
“I, um…no, I do agree, actually. I think you’re right. You had to do it.”
He smiles, seeming surprised.
“Good. Then you really are learning. And you really are changing. Not long ago, you’d have reprimanded me for such a thing.”
I shrug.
“Yep. That girl’s dead, though. You did the right thing, brother. You’ve probably just saved the entire village, and got the hunters to fight alongside us rather than against us. Just…probably best to keep that one from Rhoth, right?”
We glance at the big man, delivering a rousing speech to his assembled warriors.
“Yeah, I’d say that’s probably a good idea,” he chuckles.
And moving towards the group, we prepare to set off towards the west.
8
The light in the woods is beginning to fade.
Under the canopy above, the onset of darkness always comes early, the foliage drowning the forest floor below in a deepening gloom. My eyes can penetrate it easily enough, but though the Fangs have no such ocular augmentations, they’re capable of operating here within the low light with a surprising ease and skill.
As forest dwellers, the varying states of darkness are common to them, and their eyes have adjusted accordingly. I’ve seen it all before, and know that, though they are technically Unenhanced, life here in the woods has given them somewhat superhuman senses. They are, in some respects, all hybrids here, with the ability to see, hear, and smell far better than most.
They are fleet of foot too, scurrying quickly through the brush and with a silence that is highly impressive. As we go, I’m almost forced to dial up my Dasher powers, such is the speed with which they travel.
All senses remain alert. With the light fading, and dusk quickly approaching, the beasts of the wild will begin to stake their claim. Eyes search and ears listen, and nostrils continue to pick out the scents given off by their woodland enemies. But with such a force, few beasts will be likely to attack, and the Shadows that lurk in the trees and areas of swamp will no doubt choose to stay away.
But while Rhoth and his hunters are adept at searching for danger, they are also quite skilled at luring it in. As I jog alongside him and Zander at the head of the party, he reveals to me a lure, bait that he uses when hunting to try to draw the beasts of the wild to him to be caught.
He reaches into his pocket and hands me a small flask. I set about opening it up but his hand clamps down and stops me.
“No no, not here, girl.”
“What is it?”
“A special potion,” he says. “Made from the bodies of the beasts here in the woods. Certain creatures find it impossible to ignore.”
“You use it for traps?”
“Yes, we do. And tonight, perhaps it will come in handy…”
We press on, several miles still to travel before we reach the end of the wood. It begins to grow less tangled as we go, the canopy less dense and the trees more spaced out, similar to how they began to disperse up in the hills to the base of the northern mountains. It’s less foreboding than the stifling jungle the Bear-Skins live in, the place I like to call the ‘Cursed Woods’. Perhaps it’s the influence of the Fangs in these parts, the forest seeming to mimic their friendlier demeanour rather than the oppressive woods that went rather well with Bjorn and his brutal troop.
I wonder just what’s happening with them. Bjorn and fifty of his men were killed, yes, but surely his tribe is similar in size to the Fangs. It’s quite possible that they have hundreds of people living towards the north of Haven too. Maybe the Cure even sent an envoy their way as well?
It’s certainly possible, though I suspect that their interest in the Fangs lay more in Rhoth’s tribes’ position here in the west. If they’re to pass this way, better to gain the support of the local tribe, especially if they have information that could be useful in sieging the city.
I certainly doubt they expected things to go this way. The envoy was clearly a highly gifted Mind-Manipulator, and capable of influencing even a mind as strong and resolute as Rhoth’s. They probably assume he’s currently on board, their two hundred or so soldiers set to pour forward and find the Fangs a willing ally in the fight against Haven, the great oppressors.
They won’t find that, of course, but will instead be met by a local tribe unintimidated by this incoming horde. And frankly, the fact that Zander was lying about the telepathic link will turn out to be a good thing in more ways than one.
Yes, the Fangs’ hunters are useful in swelling our ranks. Yes, it’s good that the rest will be taken care of in Haven. But beyond that, the fact that the envoy didn’t warn of the Fangs’ refusal to join is a very good thing indeed. They might otherwise have known full well that they were stepping towards a forest filled with waiting enemies. Now, our ambush may just do its job.
Maybe…
Zander continues to attempt contact with Beckett, growing increasingly frustrated the longer he goes without a full update. All he seems to manage on the radio is static and broken words, the link distorted and impossible to decipher. The only good sign is that, from the few words we do hear, Beckett’s voice comes down the line.
He is, therefore, alive. I’d begun to grow worried that we’d missed the party.
Only when Rhoth joins the conversation does he offer some solution. Or, I should say, some reason as to what might be causing the problem.
“You don’t come this way often, do you boy?” he asks Zander.
“Never,” says my brother. “Not this far.”
“Then you won’t know that there’s an old base around here. It has a radio tower of some kind. It might be scramblin
g your signal.”
Zander breathes out a sigh of relief.
“Ah, OK…that makes sense. Good. I thought it might be something worse. Where is this tower?”
“Towards the northern edge of the forest near the base of the mountains. There are lots of ruins of the old world there. I think it was a military base of some sort. We have found weapons there in the past.”
“Oh right, so that’s where you got your rifles and handguns?” I ask.
The big man nods.
“Some of them, yes. Perhaps, with us being such close allies now, however, we will get some more of your fancy rifles,” he says, admiring the pulse rifle he took off Zander weeks ago. “This thing makes a man twice as capable. I would like some more for my hunters.”
“There’s plenty to spare in the city,” I say. “I’ve literally seen them just lying around in the streets. So many people have died…they don’t need them anymore.”
Rhoth nods sombrely.
“Your big city is in pain. It is such a shame, all this war. We Fangs prefer peace if we can have it.”
“So do we, Rhoth,” says Zander. “That’s what we’re fighting for.”
“Yes. And now we fight together again. Are you ready, boy?” he asks, looking at my brother’s shoulder, padded and bandaged beneath his gear. “Your wounds have healed?”
“Healing,” corrects Zander. “I should be asking you that, Rhoth. You were worse than me after your clash with Bjorn. Speaking of which, we brought medicine for you…”
“Ah, not needed. Just more scars to add to the many others. Superficial wounds, my boy. And the pain…I like to use the pain. Keeps me alert.”
“Well, the offer’s there. Let’s just try to avoid adding any scars tonight, how about that?”
“I agree! Now tell me more of who is awaiting us?”
“Um, about fifty Nameless,” says Zander. “And…fifty Stalkers.”
“Ah yes, you and your Savant enemy are now working together against a common threat. It’s like us, really. We joined to help you against old Director Cromwell…and now he joins us too. I wonder,” he chuckles, “whether this army called the Cure will be the next to join our fight against some other menace!”
He laughs heartily to himself, another of Rhoth’s jokes that he thoroughly enjoys, even if no one else does.
“I’m sure this is the last alliance,” says Zander placidly. “With Cromwell, it’s temporary. I trust that our pact, our friendship, will be more enduring?”
“I hope so, boy,” says Rhoth, his laughter dying away. “The Fangs and the Nameless are friends as far as I am concerned. And so are we,” he adds, looking at my brother, and then to me.
We both smile back.
“Now, on we rush,” gallops Rhoth’s voice. “I wish to see how these Stalkers fight!”
The speed picks up once more, the light fading quickly now and the moon beginning to glow. With a few more attempts, Zander picks up some extra morsels of information from Beckett, the sparse offerings signalling his position just south of the river that flows from the high passes, cutting diagonally across the plains.
Zander knows enough to be aware of just where that is, the woods bottlenecking somewhat around the waterway, with several larger, hilly areas filled with rocky outcrops littering it on either side. It is, according to Rhoth, the most obvious entry point into the woods from the grasslands, and has plenty of excellent vantage points for lookouts as well as areas where traps can quite easily be laid.
With Beckett’s precise location now known, we learn also that the enemy are still yet to arrive. The information is broken, but I think I hear Beckett say something along the lines of, “They’ll be here in under an hour.”
Zander confirms that that sounds about right, and Rhoth, knowing the woods so well, informs us that we’ll be there in good time to get set and lay some traps of our own.
No further words are shared or spoken between us. We clatter forward as quickly as we can, the hundred hunters at our backs hurdling roots and dodging bushes, the clinking of fangs and claws on necklaces joining the rushing feet to set a strange soundtrack to our trip.
Each minute counts now, and everyone knows it. And soon we’re reaching the old ruins of a long dead town, now gobbled up by the forest, the foundations of buildings and old walls joining the trees and shrubbery. We slow, and from the ruins dark figures appear, silhouettes of men and women, of soldiers, on edge and ready to pounce.
“Hold your fire,” I hear a voice calling out, as if weapons were preparing to unleash their fury.
Then, from behind an old wall, Beckett rushes forward, looking upon our assembly with a surgical eye.
“Zander, you’re here,” he says, emerging from the gloom. “What’s been going on with your radio?”
“Rhoth says it’s an old radio tower north of here. There’s a military base or something…”
“Ah, I see, well that explains a lot.” He turns to Rhoth. “Good to have you with us, Rhoth. I see you’ve brought some friends with you…”
“All who can fight have come,” growls the big Fang. “We seek revenge on these people who come to kill us.”
“Revenge?”
“Long story,” says Zander. “All you need to know is we have about a hundred Fangs here, and the rest of them are heading to Haven. There was an envoy in their village trying to get them onside. He, um, failed.”
“Good to hear it,” grunts Beckett approvingly. “You’re a loyal man, Rhoth. But we have plenty of hybrids to deal with the coming threat.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” says Zander. “I got into the envoy’s head before he died. Cromwell hasn’t been lying to us, Beckett. This army call themselves the Cure. They’re barbarians, tearing through the western lands and gathering warriors to their cause. They are no rabble. They will be no pushover. The two hundred sent ahead are going to be much tougher than we thought.”
“Hmmmm, ill news,” says Beckett pensively. “Any details on what sorts of hybrids are coming?”
“None I’m afraid,” says Zander. “Just that we’re in for a rough night. Where are Colonel Hatcher and the Stalkers?”
Beckett bends his neck off to the left and the other end of the clearing. The woods are peppered not with old ruins there, but rocks and craggy outcrops, places of cover from which to fight.
“He’s set up over there. He’s to cover the left flank, us the right. We have set some traps ahead and have Hawks in place to give warning of incoming danger. Rhoth, you know these lands better than we do,” says Beckett, giving the big Fang the sort of respect he craves. “Do you see any weak points in our line of defence?”
Rhoth considers it for a time, searching left and right.
“You’re well covered here in the ruins, and to the left among the rocks,” he says. “My Fangs can take position in ambush spots. We are used to hunting, and know how to stay silent and unseen. We will work in pods and snatch as many lives as we can.”
“OK. Take positions. But retreat if you’re under heavy attack. I know you’re fine hunters, but some warriors you won’t be able to contend with.”
It’s the sort of thing that I suspect might insult Rhoth, but he merely nods and takes it on board. Because, though Rhoth is a proud man and great warrior, he and his Fangs do have their limitations. They will be no match for the more powerful hybrids.
“We’ll help where we can,” he says. “I have some traps of my own I’d like to set. We have bait that will lure creatures here. They will cause…distraction, if not more.”
Beckett nods.
“Good. I trust you to know just what you’re doing, Rhoth. We don’t want any beasts distracting us now do we?”
“Not to worry, Beckett. I’ll set the bait on the edge of the forest. If the beasts come, they’ll cause problems for the Cure. They may give away their position, or break apart. There’s no harm in the attempt.”
“Right, do what you need, and do it quick. We have little time before the enemy arr
ive. Oh, and Rhoth, keep an eye out for our traps. They’re mainly down the centre, designed to bottleneck the incoming soldiers. Go left and right to avoid them.”
Rhoth nods and hurries off with the Fangs, West to his side. Beckett turns to Zander and me.
“It’s good to have you two here,” he says. “Take position within the ruins. Our traps, as I say, are right ahead.” He points out the area between the ruins and the rocks, the entry point into the woods from the grasslands beyond. “There are explosive tripwires and mobile gun placements that will trigger when we set them off. We’re going to try to funnel as many men down this passage as we can, set off the guns, and then shoot them up like fish in a barrel.”
“Right, good plan,” whispers Zander. “We need to cut down their numbers as fast as we can and level the playing field. Are the Stalkers all on board with this?”
“You know what they’re like. They’ll follow any order perfectly. Colonel Hatcher and I came up with this together. He’s not so bad, considering…”
“OK, good. Let’s hope they’re as ferocious with this enemy as they’ve been with us. Nice to have them on our side for a change.”
“Hmmm, shame it’s come to this,” grumbles Beckett. “But, they’ll prove useful tonight I’m sure.”
And, in the days to come…I hope.
With the night falling, and the odd cloud passing over the moon above, we move into position and wait.
Another day, another battle.
Another chance to die.
9
The silence that pervades the forest is deep and long. Hidden within the ruins of an ancient brick building, with my brother alongside me and Beckett not far away, I wait with a growing tension in my bones for the enemy to arrive.
The Fangs are so quiet and quick in their movements that they quickly set their bait and retreat to ambush positions, moving into trees or hiding in small recesses in the dirt, taking positions to the flanks to catch out anyone who might veer off track when the battle begins.
Though the radio signal between my brother and Beckett was disrupted, the communicator used between Beckett and Colonel Hatcher appears in good working order. It seems that the Stalker scouts ahead are feeding the Colonel information, and he is then passing it onto Beckett. The devices they’re using are built into their helmets, allowing easily communication in the field within a limited range.
