by Terry Brooks
They went out of his private quarters and into the barracks hallway. Immediately he was in a different world. Soldiers were rushing everywhere, and shouts were echoing up and down the halls. Some stopped long enough to salute and then hurried on once more. Some didn’t even stop for that. He wondered where they were charging off to since no one seemed to know exactly what was going on. Someone must have given an order to mobilize. If the city was under attack, the high command would want the entire army on the walls and at the gates right away.
“Where’s Commander March?” he asked. Tinnen March was senior commander of the Federation army; his involvement in any decision making was unavoidable.
“At the west gates, where the enemy’s massed. Assessing the situation.” Wint didn’t sound happy. “I believe he’s considering his options.”
Keeton shook his head. “Which he will continue to do until the Prime Minister gives him his marching orders, but you didn’t hear me say that.”
“Things were better under Commander Arodian,” the other offered quietly. “At least he knew what he was doing.”
“Right up until he fell overboard during that ill-considered attack on Paranor. Another political decision resulting in another disaster. At least we got rid of Drust Chazhul, too.”
“Good point. Things are so much better now with Edinja Orle.”
Keeton glanced over and caught his second’s sly smile. They shared the same opinion when it came to their new Prime Minister. More competent than the old, but more dangerous and unpredictable, too. Keeton was fifth-generation military, Wint seventh. They neither liked nor trusted politicians—especially ones who interfered with army matters. Both Drust Chazhul and Edina Orle were guilty of that sort of infringement; apparently it was a troublesome characteristic of career politicians.
Keeton continued on through the barracks and out into the yard that led to the stacked hangars and the flits. First Response, the shock unit of the City Watch—of which he was commander—had its own designated squadron of flits, all heavily armed and armored, all two-man machines built for combat. One hundred men and women, all highly trained, all the best of the best, handpicked by Wint and himself to serve in an elite corps fashioned specifically to act as protectors of the city proper. The regular army answered to Tinnen March, and the warships to Sefita Rayne. They, in turn, answered to the Prime Minister of the Federation Coalition Council.
But he answered to no one but himself and those soldiers he commanded whenever there was a threat to the city.
He assumed the order remained undisturbed, enemy at the gates or not. Which meant Commander March would wait for him to appear with an assessment before he took action. Even if Edinja Orle tried to interfere, he would stall.
Keeton was a big, strong man with a full set of combat skills and a family history of military service so deeply infused in him that he had never even considered doing anything else with his life. He had applied early to the academy, been quickly accepted, and gone straight through school and training to the top of the Federation army command to assume this position. It had taken him less than a dozen years to demonstrate his competency and his commitment. The old Prime Minister had asked for him personally, had insisted he be given command of City Watch and First Response. If the city was attacked, he had said rather famously, he would prefer that the last person standing between him and death be Keeton.
High praise, but a testing of the old man’s judgment hadn’t been necessary until now. After the end of the war on the Prekkendorran, things had quieted down considerably in the Southland. Aside from skirmishes and small brush fires here and there, no threats had arisen until this past year when Drust Chazhul had been chosen Prime Minister and launched his personal crusade against the Druids and Paranor.
And now this new threat, whatever it was.
Wint had moved ahead, making his way toward their flit, giving it a quick inspection before climbing aboard and settling himself into the weapons compartment. While Keeton was big, Wint was huge, and he had trouble fitting himself into the tiny space. It was always something of a mystery to others that he managed to do so. But Wint had been his second for almost the whole of his time as City Watch commander, and the two knew each other well enough by now that they had no secrets. Keeton wondered sometimes where he would be if not for Wint keeping watch at his elbow, ready to talk him through every situation, willing to do what was needed to make sure no mistakes were made.
“Do we have a First Response team ready to go?”
“We do.” Wint was cranking back the straps on the rail slings. “Two, as a matter of fact. We can have them airborne in minutes.”
“Then let’s have a look, see if we need them.”
He opened the parse tubes on the two-man and moved the thrusters forward. The flit lifted away, power flowing down the sleek radian draws from the narrow light sheaths to the diapson crystals and out the exhaust of the parse tube. Keeton took the flit up several hundred feet and wheeled west. He glanced down at the city, saw the streets filled with mobs of people, and noted the damage already done to carts and wagons and storefronts. Soldiers from the Federation’s regular army had begun blocking off the streets, containing the masses so that they could be dispersed. Barricades shut off the government buildings and the avenues leading back to the west gates. Better if the citizenry were somewhere else, out of the way.
Nearing the west wall, he made a rough count of the number of soldiers gathered on the ramparts and directly inside the gates. Companies were forming up in the square fronting the gates, unit by unit coming together. Sentries on watch had not only closed the gates and thrown the heavy locks but also placed the huge crossbar in its twin seatings so that there could be no chance of a breach. It was as chaotic here as everywhere else, but with at least a semblance of military order as men rushed to join their units. Keeton guessed they had been rousted from all over the city, homes and barracks alike, and from the size of the companies few had been excused.
He took the two-man over the walls and out onto the flats, rising into the air lane just above the approach road and the watchtowers bordering it. Passing over the towers, he was surprised to discover that they were all still manned. Normally, the men and women stationed in those towers would have been brought in right away if an invading army threatened.
Which made him wonder why that hadn’t been done here and who exactly was attacking Arishaig.
Once past the last of the towers and out over the grasslands, he found the answer to the second question quickly enough. A huge army was massed all along the ridgeline that formed the extreme south end of the Prekkendorran Heights. But this wasn’t an army of the sort he or anyone else he knew had ever encountered, and he sensed immediately that it did not consist of either Elves or soldiers from Callahorn’s Border Cities. It was massive beyond anything he had ever seen—beyond anything he had even imagined possible, for that matter. It measured hundreds deep and was stretched three or four miles wide. There was no order to it, no recognizable formation, and there was no obvious indication of how it was being commanded. It was simply a huge collection of bodies of all shapes and sizes, all looks and behavior, pushed to the edge of the ridgeline and somehow held in place so that it advanced no farther.
“What army is that?” he heard Wint exclaim in shock.
He might have answered if he’d been given more time, but he was distracted by a flurry of winged forms rising from the masses directly toward his flit. Reacting instantly, he spun the craft away and raced down the edge of the invading army, escaping this fresh assault while still trying to make out something recognizable in the faces and bodies of its members.
“Those creatures aren’t anything we know,” Wint shouted from the weapons hold behind him. “Maybe they really are demons!”
Keeton didn’t believe that for a second, no matter what they looked like. There weren’t any demons in the Four Lands. Hadn’t been any in centuries, and even those were mostly rumors. This was something e
lse, but he didn’t know what.
And he didn’t have time to speculate on it now or even to try to sort through the different creatures he was looking at. The winged things were coming for them, closing the distance separating them more rapidly than should have been possible. A flit was fast and agile, and Keeton didn’t know of anything living that could keep up with it in the air.
He glanced back at them as he pushed the flit’s thrusters forward to gain speed. Were those women’s faces on those giant birds?
Then Wint used the rail slings, and several of the birds went down in a tangle of nets and metal weights.
Seconds later they were in the clear, heading back toward the watchtowers and the approach road. The winged creatures had broken off their attack, apparently satisfied simply with driving the flit away. On the ridgeline, the invaders howled and screamed, and Keeton felt a chill go down his spine in spite of himself.
“Have those sentries in the watchtowers evacuated as soon as we get back, Wint,” he shouted to his Second.
The other made a gesture of acquiescence, his eyes watching for fresh attackers, not persuaded that some sort of reprisal for their decision to come so close to the invaders wasn’t still possible.
Keeton sped toward Arishaig’s walls. He did not like how what he had just witnessed made him feel.
Edinja Orle had broken off her vigil on hearing of the approaching army and made her way to the walls above the west gate, where she had found and confronted Tinnen March.
Her words were laced with iron. “I want the army assembled and I want it ready to counterattack if the city is further threatened,” she snapped at him.
March nodded. “I have already ordered all soldiers to form up right here. We have placed units at all of the city gates and sent everyone not in the military to their homes to wait this out. If we are attacked, we will be ready.”
“Have you sent scouts to find out what these creatures are and where they come from?”
She had been seeking an answer to that question from everyone she encountered since arriving at the wall, but no one seemed to know. Not that it mattered. She knew. She had pretty much known from the moment she heard mention of the word demons. What Arling Elessedil and her Druid sister had been trying to prevent was already happening. It was inconceivable, but at the same time inescapable. The demons inside the Forbidding were breaking out, and for some unknown reason they had come to Arishaig.
Tinnen March was speaking. “We are waiting on Commander Keeton who is doing a flyover. Protocol dictates that First Response makes the initial determination in situations such as these. It won’t take long. He will be back soon.”
Situations such as these. What would you know about it? Edinja cocked her beautiful face as if studying an odd insect and smiled with pure malice. “Then we’ll wait, won’t we?”
She didn’t like Keeton. She had tried to win him over early, had invited him up to her rooms in an effort to show him the benefits of becoming an ally, and had worked hard at persuading him of her interest in him. But Keeton was cut from a different cloth than most. Military through and through, he was suspicious of politicians and their motives. He wasn’t stupid, but he was troublesome.
She turned and walked away from Tinnen March, unwilling to spend another moment with such an idiot. She doubted he could lace his own boots without help. How had such a man ever risen to his present rank? Drust Chazhul had made him commander of the army after dispensing with Lehan Arodian, and that was proof enough that he was a servile dupe. Of course, she had left him in command for the same reasons; no effort was needed to get him to comply with her wishes. Now with the city under attack, she regretted not appointing someone stronger. But it was too late. Changing horses at this point would only frighten people and irritate the members of the Coalition Council.
Her thoughts drifted momentarily to Arling Elessedil, wandering about somewhere in the city streets. Cinla might still be tracking her, but she doubted it. Given the size of the crowds, the big moor cat would have had to turn back. Cinla could make herself invisible in situations where she had space and time to move, but she didn’t have either today. Edinja experienced a fresh twinge of rage. This whole business was ruining her plans for tracking the girl and finding her sister. At least she could take some comfort from knowing she had placed her marker on Arling and could always find her at some point. Nor did she have to worry about the girl getting out of the city. All exits were shut down, and an attempt to flee at this point would be foolhardy.
Demons! She said the word in the cool silence of her mind, but the venom it aroused burned like fire.
The sound of a returning flit drew her attention, and she watched the two-man slide into view and settle onto the landing platform at the corner of the battlement. Tinnen March was already striding over, accompanied by his adjutants. She waited until she saw Keeton climb from the cockpit and then walked over to join them.
“… can’t be sure of the number,” Keeton was saying. He glanced over at her approach, but only for a second. “They’re stretched out along the ridgeline for miles.”
“But what are they, Commander?” she interrupted, moving close to him. “Can you tell us that?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what they are. They’re not human. They’re nothing of what we know in the Four Lands.”
“They are demons,” she said simply. “The Forbidding has broken down, and now those imprisoned are coming out. What are you going to do about it?”
He stared at her. “How do you know this?”
She gave him a sly smile. “I just do. Answer my question.”
“Commander March is senior officer.”
“I’m asking you. You are still commander of First Response, aren’t you?”
Keeton somehow managed to keep his face expressionless. “Right now, I am taking a squad of flits back out to bring in those soldiers still in the watchtowers.” He turned to March. “With your permission, of course, Commander?”
He didn’t need that permission, and they all knew it. He was simply making Tinnen March complicit in his plans. The commander was still staring at him speechlessly when he turned and hurried off.
Edinja watched him go without comment, her mind already working through the choices she would have when he returned. Without glancing at Tinnen March, she said, “Hadn’t you better get working on a plan for defense of the city, now that you know what we are up against?”
March and his adjutants moved quickly away.
Keeton caught up with Wint as he was speaking with another two-man pilot from First Response. “What have you found out about those soldiers in the watchtowers?” he asked his second.
The other shrugged. “March gave no order for their return, so they’re still out there. I have a transport and five flits standing by to go get them. Unless you want to let them try it on their own. They might have time for that. That army doesn’t seem in any hurry to do anything.”
“Maybe. But they were quick enough to send someone after us when we left the protection of the city walls. I don’t like the idea of those people trying to get back here on an open road. It’s two miles front to back, and that’s too far.”
“A transport then?”
Keeton shook his head. “Too cumbersome. Speed and maneuverability are important. Let’s use sleds. Hook them to the flits, fly them out, load them up, and make a run for it.”
Wint grinned. “Sleds, huh? Can I drive?”
The sleds were wooden platforms with rings and loops for tying down ropes and chains. The platforms rested on steel rails filed and sanded down until their surfaces were so hard and smooth, they could skim over rocks and hardpan and not shatter. Mostly, the sleds were used for quick supply transport rather than for conveying soldiers, but they would serve the latter purpose here just as well.
Wint was already ordering a team of First Response soldiers to the storage lockers to haul out four of the sleds to hook up to the flits. Keeton went to help, decid
ing to switch the rail slings in favor of fire launchers. Rail slings might not be enough against whatever was out there. The effort took less than twenty minutes, and when everything was ready he called pilots and weapons officers together.
“This is the plan. We have four flits with sleds to rescue the men and women in the twelve towers bracketing the approach road. We’ll start with the ones that are farthest away and work our way back. Fly out, swing around so we’re facing toward the city, land on the road, load everyone aboard, then pull for the city. When the soldiers in the towers closest to the city see what we’re about, they’ll come down to ground level right away and we’ll load them, too. They might even start out on their own.”
He paused. “The second and I will be in the last flit, flying interference against anything that gets too close.”
“It won’t be easy getting everyone aboard the sleds,” Wint said. “There are a lot of people in those towers.”
Keeton gave him a look and then directed it toward the others. “Everyone comes back. No one gets left behind.”
He beckoned them close. “No heroics. No unnecessary risks. We don’t know exactly what we are up against, and that’s part of what we’re going out there to discover. But let’s not make that discovery the hard way.”
They murmured their acquiescence. Eight soldiers—five men and three women. He knew them all. None of them had combat experience of the sort they were about to encounter. Nor had he. It was a definitive moment for all of them. Training and character would be tested. The Prime Minister and the military high command would be watching.
But he didn’t tell them that. They didn’t need to know any of it to do their jobs. They just needed to remember who they were and what they were about.
“Wint, assign the towers for each two-man and let’s fly.”
He broke the circle, and the eight members of the First Response team caught the Second’s quick orders and raced to board their vessels.
Atop the walls above the west gates, Edinja Orle was watching them. She saw Keeton speaking to his team, watched as he dispatched them to their flits and then boarded his own with his second. Quick and efficient, no hesitation, no delay. The flits powered up, then one by one they rose into the golden light of late afternoon. She squinted at the sky for a moment. It was a clear, cloudless day, but the sun was sinking fast over the western horizon, its rays lancing into the eyes of the fliers as they raced toward their targets. What must that be like, flying half blind at an unknown enemy?
