by T. C. Edge
Thankfully, so far, they haven't managed to fire any further. It seems that the outer limits of the city are also the limits of their range. Moving forward, they appear to realise, will put themselves into range of our own defensive guns. Only by destroying them from a distance will they be able to advance. And that isn't easy, seeing as they don't know exactly where our defensive guns are situated, hidden behind the walls as they are.
It seems to be a strategy based on pot luck, firing recklessly until they hit their target, like a giant game of battleships. What it does tell us, however, is that they are willing to bed in here, weaken us before making a full assault.
They will likely know that our population has been reduced by our recent conflicts, and that we'll have begun our evacuation behind the walls of Inner Haven. And getting through those...well, it won't be easy. After the Cure managed to breach us with such ease, we have focussed a great deal of attention in bolstering our defences, and making the inner walls, in particular, much more robust.
I let Marcus lead as we continue to glide through the darkness, centring my mind back on our task. Already, we have moved around the camp, circling behind it as much as possible, in order to identify just where they may be keeping Rhoth and the others. Whether we can get them out will, really, depend largely on luck. If their prisons and detention cells are kept in the middle of the camp, then we have no chance at all.
We can only hope that it's situated in a quieter location. And with the night in its deepest, darkest phase, we have to expect that the vast majority of their forces are currently sleeping, leaving us with only the sentries and lookouts to deal with.
We begin rounding a small hill, working up the grassy plains as they shimmer with dew, moving towards a pocket of trees ahead. This area used to be denser, I know, the woodland more continuous as it peppered the rolling hills and plains that mark out this stretch of the lands outside of the city. Now, however, many of the trees have been uprooted, most of them having disappeared entirely. Only a few remain, smaller ones turned over on their sides, primarily those too small to provide proper cover.
And that, I know, is why the enemy have done it. To clear the lands of obstacles, make sure any approaching enemy cannot move in unseen. It's a smart tactic, I have to admit. These people clearly have no compunction with ripping up the lands as they go, reshaping them to their own designs.
Marcus stops, gesturing for me to do the same. Ahead, the faintest of lights glitters, seeming to come from beneath the ground. He turns to me, his brown eyes keen, evidently enjoying the game.
"Sentry post," he whispers quietly.
I frown and look again, peeking my eyes through the remaining trees.
"I don't see anything," I say.
"It's a dugout," he says. "It's below the ground."
I tense for a second, and tighten my posture. "Well good spot then," I say, lowering my voice even further. "They might have Bats and Sniffers around. We need to be careful to avoid detection."
"Are you saying I smell?" he asks.
I stare at him blankly. "Shut up," I say. "And from here on out, we communicate with my telepathy, OK? Our armour should help hide our scent. Keep your footsteps light..."
He nods along. "I know, I know. This isn't my first time, Brie."
"Oh. Right. Then, what do you suggest?"
His eyes switch to the left and right, moving and scanning at tremendous pace. He moves his body a little as well, doing so with his Dasher speed, to get a full look at what lies through the trees beyond.
"I can't see any other sentry post nearby," he says. "They'll be too far off to hear or see us. If we get past this one, we'll have a clear run to the camp itself. We can take stock there and work out our next move. Sound good?"
"No, not at all," I say. "But it's the best we've got, I guess."
"That's the spirit. Now, we're going to have to work fast here," he says. "I'm thinking we get as close as possible, and then go rush them. Jump down into the dugout and take them down. You can then, you know, do your mental thing. Take them under your command, or whatever the hell you do. It's a foolproof plan. What do you think?"
"Aside from the fact that we have no idea how many soldiers they have there?" I say.
He shrugs. "Can't be more than a few."
"Why?"
"Because," he says. Then he stops.
"Because. That's your answer?"
He grins. "Yep. Now, are we doing this or what?"
I shake my head as I look at him, exasperated. "How are you still alive, being this reckless?" I sigh. "I mean, how?"
"Because I'm fast as lightning and skilled as Apollo himself. Or, I don't know, maybe I'm just stupid. Either way, it's served me well so far."
I let out a slow groan of exhaustion, suddenly yearning for my bed.
"Right then," he goes on, "let's creep a little further in, and then make our move. Follow my lead, OK? When I go, you go. And, if it all goes wrong, we'll spin around and head the other way. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?"
"Er...right," I say, struggling to keep up with his rampant enthusiasm.
The man was truly born for this, I think. He doesn't seem to have any fear at all...
Leading us, we press on, moving so silently and yet at speed, staying low to the ground as we zip between the remaining trees. Though much of the wood has been uprooted and removed, enough cover remains to give us a chance to stay hidden, zipping from one spot to the next as we press as close as we can towards the enemy dugout.
We reach the edge of the remaining thicket, no further cover ahead. There, the gentle plains roll along, the dugout fashioned towards the top of a light hillock, giving an excellent view down from that position. We check again to the left and right, using the full extent of our Hawk powers to guide our eyes through the darkness, searching for any possible sentry points we might have missed.
With a glance at one another, we confirm that there's nothing here that we can see.
The target ahead is no more than fifty metres away now, distance enough for them to react if we're not at our absolute quickest. Marcus looks at me again, our telepathic connection clearer, still, with eye contact, that without.
There's no scope for delays or hesitation, he says in my head. I'm going to count down in my head, and then we go. Straight for the dugout. We drop right in and take them out before they can give off any warning. OK?
I nod my agreement. It's kinda nice having someone this assertive by my side. It makes things a whole lot easier for me, allowing me to just focus on my own task.
In my head, I can hear him beginning to count.
Five.
An energy begins to spring from him, his body 'powering up' to ensure he can move off the mark at full pace, without needed to pick up speed. It's akin to spinning the tyres of a car before setting off down the track, something that I have learned to do as well.
Four.
I begin doing the same, centring my focus on my Dasher speed. My body begins to hum and tingle, ready to shoot off right after him.
Three.
My internal heat begins to rise. I can feel my blood starting to pump harder, my muscles beginning to burn.
Two.
The very air around Marcus's body seems to radiate heat, like the air that lies upon the desert floor, distorted and blurred.
One.
As the word springs into my head, so Marcus shoots off from behind the tree, almost blowing me backwards with the pace and ferocity of his movement. I follow, a mere split second later, but it's enough to give him a head start. Already, as I round the side of the tree and set off across the plains, he's halfway there, nearing the dugout. I follow right behind in his slipstream, staggered by his top speed and acceleration, rushing to catch up as he reaches the dugout and disappears inside.
It's hardly a thousandth of a second later that I join him, but he's already got half of the job done. I see two soldiers already on the floor, another two coming under Marcus's lethal at
tention. I follow him in and he begins grappling with one of the remaining soldiers, just now catching up with our sudden presence.
The fourth I take. I'm not going to let him have all the fun.
As the soldier steps forward to help his ally, I reach out and grab his shoulder. He turns to me on instinct, and I duck low, coming up from beneath him with a howitzer of a right hook. It connects with the bottom of his jaw, veritably shaking the insides of his head. I see his eyes immediately roll backwards as his body follows, collapsing to the earth in a heap.
By the time I look up, ready to help Marcus, his third victim has already been seen to. He looks at me and smiles. "Nice of you to join us," he says, stepping over his latest victim. "Thought I'd lost you back there. How did my dirt taste?"
"Ha ha. Very funny," I say, rolling my eyes. "I'd have beaten you too if I'd gone first."
"Yeah, sure," he says, grinning. His eyes drop to the downed soldiers. "Right," he says, "you gonna do your thing then?"
I nod. "Make sure no one comes near while I work," I say. "Keep watch. See if you can work out where the prison is."
"Fine," he says. "But," he kicks one of the soldiers lightly, "I'm guessing this lot will know."
"Oh, yeah. Of course."
I set about my work, kneeling down beside each soldier in turn, turning them over and opening their eyes. No, it's not necessary to have eye contact, but it certainly speeds the process, the connection always stronger and easier to maintain when looking through those windows into the mind.
My search, first of all, has me quickly drawing up a full map of the base. All it takes is for these soldiers to have wandered through it, and I'll have a complete picture in my mind. If one has only seen part of it, then another might well have seen another part. Together, I'm able to forge a fairly comprehensive understanding of exactly what lies where behind their lines.
I'm also able to learn a little more about the army itself. Within moments only, I know that their forces number roughly five thousand, and that their losses last night during our ambush were quite extensive, several hundred of their best soldiers falling to our raids and attacks. I feel a huge wave of vindication flow through me at that, given I'd argued for that course of action with such passion.
I learn more, seeking information about their leaders - the so called Heralds of War - though am unable to garner too much detail. Everything appears a little bit blurred, as though they have already had someone place traps and wrong turns in their heads, providing some 'mental security' should a telepath, like me, try to get in. It's highly sophisticated, and makes me wonder just what I can trust. It could well be that certain pieces of information have been purposefully placed in their minds to divert us, should this circumstance take place.
After a few moments of work, I draw back, though not before removing all traces of my excavations, and setting orders for them to remain on guard, just as they were, though without any knowledge of this fight, or our presence here.
"I've made it so that they won't remember a thing," I say. "If we come back this way, they'll be blinded to us. It's as though we'll be ghosts."
"That's...ridiculous," says Marcus. "You can do that?"
"Sure. I didn't used to be able to. I...I have help now," I say.
He frowns. "Help? Like, from Secretary Burns?"
I shake my head, thinking of Zander, always in there supporting me, helping me when I need him. "Not exactly," I say, my expression telling him he won't get a proper answer.
He nods, pursing his lips. "So? What else did you find out? You know where the cells are?"
"I have the camp layout," I say. "They have a lot of mental security, but I trust some of the information at least."
"How come? And, honestly, I'm not even going to ask what you mean by 'mental security'. You telepathic types freak me out. I'm more of a 'what you see is what you get' type of guy."
"I can tell," I say dryly. "And I trust it because it's brand new. I reckon all their soldiers will have spent time with a telepath, making sure their minds are closed off to most mental intrusions, and filled with false information and diversions. You know, in case they're captured."
"And the new stuff?"
"New memories, new information. They won't have had it suppressed or hidden yet. And in terms of the camp, well, it makes sense with what we've already seen."
"OK, I'll take that. So where are the cells?"
I smile. "Close," I say. "They're on the edge of the main camp - there are two, one for the main army, and one for the workers - just down there past the shields. Security isn't that heavy," I say. "It seems no one is expected to be able to sneak past the sentries."
"Guess they didn't expect us, right?"
"Right," I grin, suddenly enjoying myself. There's something infectious about the way Marcus goes about things, the energy and sense of abandon he takes with him to the fight. I guess it must be rubbing off on me.
"And these shields?" he goes on. He nods in the direction behind the dugout and down the hill, the plains sloping towards the enemy camp, nestled in among the valley.
I step over and take a look, peering through the darkness. It's a few hundred metres away, the shields I saw in the minds of the enemy at our feet, now appearing before my eyes for real. Lit with a fuzzy blue light, the shield is made of energy, partitioned into dozens of sections all linked together by large metal rods and pillars dug into the ground. Some 'gated' sections can be deactivated by command modules operated by soldiers behind the shield. Without them, we'll have no chance of getting through.
"I'll deal with them," I say, looking out towards the blue, shimmering wall of light. My eyes work further across the camp. In the distance, between the larger hill, I see a part of the huge wall, spreading off into the distance. I shake my head. "Amazing," I whisper.
"It's something, isn't it," says Marcus. "To erect a camp as substantial as this in, what, less than a day? I've gotta say, I'm impressed."
I nod, slowly, still staring down at the camp. My eyes gradually turn, refusing to relent in my hatred for these people, for what they do and represent, no matter their ingenuity.
"They're weakened after last night," I say quietly, looking on, scanning for movement. "We got some of their better fighters."
"Well that's...good," says Marcus.
I frown, suddenly pensive. "There was concern in their heads," I say. "I could feel it, clear as day."
"Fear," Marcus tells me. "I'm not surprised after what we did to them."
I begin shaking my head. "No, it wasn't fear. At least," I say, gesturing to the ground, "not with these soldiers. They were more concerned by their army in general. I...I don't think they're very experienced."
I turn to Marcus. He looks surprised. To be perfectly honest, so am I.
"That Herald who fought Ares," I go on. "I think he's dead."
"Perses," says Marcus, remembering the name.
I nod. "He was their leader," I say. "Their mightiest warrior. And he's gone." I look again to the camp. "They're worried about what we can do. They've underestimated us, and now they're paying the price..."
Marcus steps to my side. "Well let's make sure we don't repay the compliment," he says, his tone serious. "They still have a much bigger army than we do. And they still have many powerful warriors. We know that much at least." He turns to me, grabbing my shoulder. "Now come on," he finishes. "Let's get down there and get your friends."
I nod, escaping my brief reverie, and follow as he leads us on.
15
Kira
The port town of Ostia sits on the coast, about twenty miles from the city of Neorome.
Used as both a military and commercial port, as well as a popular trading post in the region, it's rarely a quiet place, mostly buzzing with a hustle and bustle as traders, merchants, sellers and buyers alike mingle and barter, and soldiers patrol the area, keeping order when things get rough.
I remember my first time here, arriving from Dom's ship after being
taken from New Haven, called simply Haven at the time. I had, at that time only a year or so ago, hardly any knowledge at all of the outside world. Haven was, as far as I knew, the centre of it all, the beginning and end, the only remaining light in the darkness brought on by the fall, hundreds of years before.
I realise now how foolish I'd been, how foolish we all were, to believe such lies. Director Cromwell pulled the wool over all of our eyes, using his devious tricks to keep us locked in, and the rest of the world locked out. Now, the borders have opened up, and so has the world. It is a startlingly varied place, still highly populated in places, and dark and grim in others.
A world once connected, then stripped apart, is beginning to make ties once more. This alliance between New Haven and Neorome was meant to be the start of it. It grates on me more than I can express just how betrayed I feel right now by this place I've come to adopt as my home.
Ahead, down one of the many long jetties, I see Merk chatting with a number of other sailors, catching up on the latest news, garnering all he can about upcoming conditions at sea. The journey, which I've done many times now, takes at least three or four days to complete, depending on the weather, with another one or two overland to reach New Haven after reaching the coast.
I know that, whatever I do, I'm going to have to endure a terrible wait. There's no way yet to speed our passage across the sea. And while out there, no way to contact my friends.
I may turn up to find the city in ruins, my people killed or scattered to the wind. I might find my friends dead, Brie, my budding sister, President Orlando, my old leader with the Nameless, others whom I've grown close to as I've learned to open myself up, forge stronger bonds than I did before.
When I returned from Neorome for the first time, not knowing how the civil conflict had done, and nothing at all of the coming of the Cure, I was in exactly the same boat. I returned expecting to find a ruin, only to see that my people had prevailed, against all the odds, and were just starting to put themselves back together.
