She would need the scope of her rifle to make out the finer details, but Chari was able to discern enough to keep pace with the conversation. “It is damage caused by the clash between Rousow, Renivar, and Kwarla.”
Poe nodded. “From what we see, I suspect they were only here for moments. I know not who held the losing hand in that instant, but that reckless damage has scarred the mountainside for centuries.”
Scars? she asked herself. Since when is he so concerned with scars? The one on the back of her leg had been inflicted without a single thought.
“Why do you pretend?” she asked.
“Pretend at what?”
“Compassion,” she replied. “To be compassionate. To care. You didn’t care before, save for honor and power. There is no profit to be had in feigning so now.”
Poe’s just looked at her, stone-faced.
“Do you do it so we’ll think better of you?” she implored. “If you have risen above us, there is no need for you to care. Or do you aspire to be some benevolent god, even while striving to kill another who thinks himself the same?”
“I do not claim either,” he said at last. “That Taryl Renivar must be removed from his post has not changed, nor have my aspirations toward the nobility of such an act. What I have gained is not benevolence, but perspective: these structures around him will not vanish with his fall. It is necessary to bear that in mind, to find the best resolution for the inevitable aftermath.”
Chari didn’t believe there was any authenticity in Poe’s words. He had been too ruthless, too single-minded in the past to suddenly change now. She turned her back to him and returned to her rifle. She would have been content to leave it on the ground, but she saw something that warranted a closer look.
Through the scope, she saw a half-dozen Reahv’li soldiers, doubtless on patrol. Her companions were out gathering supplies or scouting ahead, and there was a danger they could run afoul of them. Her finger slid near the trigger; she still had to adjust for the wind and rain.
“It might be better to kill them all,” she said to Poe.
There was a disturbing silence.
“What has changed you so, Chariska?”
The question did not distract her from her task. She had fought for her life, seen war, been forced to return home from it. A great many people on TseTsu might be better off dead, but the dictates of her society painted such action as unethical. At least their teachings could not spread.
“Tell me, Guardian … what do you think Saint Renivar’s worshippers will do when he is gone?” She took her first shot, but the mark was off. One of the Reahv’li fell, wounded, and the others crowded around to protect and tend their comrade. This is better. She returned to Poe. “Do you think they will simply accept the outcome you have forced upon them?”
“I don’t expect them to,” Poe replied. “But the reality will assert itself.”
“You’re certain? Let us call this what it is: Taryl Renivar has founded a religion in worship of him. Even if the Living God is no longer living, that faith will not die. Prophets will surface, promising a second coming. Should his followers remain on Terrias, we’ll have given them a global stronghold, for we already know they possess the means to reach other worlds. If all are forcibly returned to their homelands, his influence shall find its roots in our descendants.”
Chari took a deep breath, and accounted for the conditions. She could hear the electricity crackle, smell the burning as the bullet was propelled from her rifle. The chamber by her forehand heated up, converting the surplus scrap inside into ammunition even as her second shot connected and a Reahv’li soldier fell.
“It is still a solution misguided and twisted,” Poe replied. “Even at my worst, I was not so craven that I would slaughter an entire population en masse.”
“You possessed neither the power, nor the pretense,” she countered. “Now you have both.”
As Chari felt the warmth of another shot fired, she appreciated why the Reahv’li rarely employed firearms: it put distance between predator and prey. It made killing easy.
“Renivar’s worshippers deny themselves both these things,” Chari told Poe. “Instead, they entrust it all to their Living God, who shall enact a greater holocaust than either of us might imagine.”
“What you propose is hideous … yet elegant.” Poe’s concession came only begrudgingly, and it was not a promise of action.
It’s psychotic, Chari reminded herself. She held no illusions about the nobility of what she was suggesting, only knew that it was necessary. Once, Poe would have understood, but she had misjudged him, and she no longer recognized the man she’d seen by the windows of den Vier Manor, handsome and solitary. She couldn’t believe she’d ever considered using him. He felt disgustingly naïve.
* * *
Long before she ever saw the cascade of blue light falling on Borudust Castle, Shea had expected to contribute nothing to the cause. She had limited confidence in her skill as a soldier, and in that, she was not wrong. When the bullets had hailed from above, Trynan countrymen at her side, she was not among those charging bravely forward. She’d cowered and run.
But bravery would not win the war they now fought, nor would bullet or blade. Deception was their most finely honed edge, and while Flynn spread lies to innocent travelers and throughout small towns to throw their pursuers off their scent, it was Shea who’d helped them hide whenever someone got too close. It was she who kept their nerves calm even while wanting to scream inside.
No bloody cannons, she reminded herself. ’Least there’s no bloody cannons.
No matter what barriers their enemies had erected, they had broken through. Half the Reahv’li were in their wake, still searching futilely for their god’s intended assassin. Those who were ahead were scouting the expansive perimeter of an unwalled city of tents, spread too thin to pose an immediate threat, but still too numerous, considering the distance that remained.
When she returned from reconnaissance, Shea was craving a cigarette. She’d resisted the urge to light one up in recent days, ever since the rain stopped; their enemy was close, and the smoke could give them away.
“How’re things looking?”
Flynn waited for her answer, and she paused before giving it. Since that night on Cordom, she’d been keeping some distance, regarding him as more her commanding officer than dear companion. She still wanted to speak with him more familiarly, but it was better this way.
“Not good. Terrain’s erratic, so patrol’s erratic. We manage to slip in, still be hell to avoid. Bright spot, none near. Time to plan ’fore they come ’round again.”
They were crouching in a hovel made of the remnants of an old stone wall. It commanded a poor view of the land, but it was the nearest safe space before the final stretch, and one that the Reahv’li had satisfied themselves as being unoccupied before advancing to the next sector.
“Still say we should just rush the place,” Jean suggested. “This damn close? Only a dozen miles, give or take.”
“After what happened on our way to Thoris?” Zaja asked. “No. Just … no.”
“Wouldn’t be that bad,” came the reply. “I mean, it’s just one army.”
Protocol had taught Shea to wait in silence, at attention. But this wasn’t her army, and her comrades weren’t soldiers. They were unorganized and undisciplined, and however much importance Shea placed on Flynn as leader, he held that rank only tenuously.
“Maybe not rush in,” Shea suggested cautiously, seeing his apparent dismissal of Jean’s proposal. “But ambushes? Lie in wait, strike, move, re—”
“That would leave bodies, and bodies would create a trail,” Poe interrupted. “On better terrain, perhaps. But here, there would be no means to hide them.”
“Practiced hiding bodies, mate?” Shea teased. The look Poe shot caused her to promptly step back.
Poe
turned to Zaja and Jean. “There is no means around?”
Zaja shook her head. “Yeribelt completely encircles Borudust Castle, so I’m guessing the Reahv’li are covering everything encompassing it. From what I remember, the terrain is pretty much the same in every direction.”
“However we’re to get through, we can’t let the Reahv’li chase us,” Flynn said. “A few we can handle, but if we’re running…”
“We’ll tire out before we reach Yeribelt,” Chari finished. “I know. I’ve been pondering the same.”
“Any ideas?” he asked her.
“None you’ll favor,” Chari said as she stood up, rifle held firmly in both hands. “There is no passage through undisturbed. What we need now is not some clever avenue, but a simple diversion to draw the Reahv’li from your path.”
Your? Shea immediately knew what Chari was proposing.
“I won’t have it,” Flynn told her firmly. “We’re not dividing—”
“Should … actually.” Shea spoke softly, but still garnered attention. “Sound plan. Draws notice from core unit.”
“There’s a formation nearby that will serve as a sniper’s perch,” Chari explained. “For the breadth of this valley, I can only cover the outer rim, but it may make all the difference if you are quiet and quick.”
Flynn seemed pained, and shook his head as though struggling with the idea. “We’ve made it this far together…”
“As six,” Chari pointed out. “Those in our path number in the thousands, and we’ve not the familiarity with the terrain to make a difference.” She smiled and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Have faith. I’ve become a capable markswoman under your tutelage.”
Despite her assurances, Flynn wouldn’t look Chari in the eye. Shea understood why; it was tantamount to sending her to her death.
“There is a flaw in your plan,” said Poe.
“And that is?” Chari asked.
“It does not utilize me.”
“Bloody point’s to get you there,” Shea countered. “Not cut to kill a god myself.”
“And I will meet my destiny soon,” Poe replied. He spoke to Chari. “Take your perch. The valley, the Reahv’li, and their wrath—those are mine. When I have drawn them beyond range, or if our nemeses draw near, abandon it and trail our comrades.” Before any objections could be made, Poe turned to his other allies. “However earthly this husk may seem, a god is shelled within it. My skills are waxed, my senses are heightened, and unlike my foes, I shall never tire.”
“They’re an army.” Zaja’s protestation was worried and weak.
“And I’ve no intent to fight them all. I shall draw them, and slay only those who prove difficult. And I’ll run.”
Flynn hadn’t objected, but he hadn’t spoken in support either. From the look on his face, Shea knew this wasn’t sitting well with him. He had done so much to keep his friends protected and whole, and on the cusp of this last act, he could guarantee neither.
“Might live if we do it,” Shea told him. “Likely die if we don’t.” She raised her hand. “Second the motion.”
One by one, the others followed her lead. Despite that, she never felt confident in casting the vote. Drawing enemy fire greatly increased her chances for survival, and it was self-preservation—not tactical prowess—that compelled her support. Flynn never raised his hand, only nodding reluctantly. Whether it was meant in agreement or as an admission of defeat, she couldn’t say.
“Chari, support Poe as long as you can,” he told her, then addressed Poe himself. “Soldiers of the Reahv’li helped murder Yetinau Gruent. They may be out there now, though I doubt they’re prepared. Don’t give them the chance.”
Precious little time was spent furthering the details of the plan, for they had little to spare. There were many fissures within the terrain that were likely being scrutinized by the Reahv’li, but they provided much needed cover and would be a necessary risk.
At key intervals, Jean would provide a localized tremor to inform to inform Poe of their progress, as well as rattle the Reahv’li. A meeting place was established as well—a dilapidated hut Jean and Zaja had used before.
When there was nothing left to say, when Chari and Poe gave their farewells and set down their respective paths, Zaja tried to lighten the mood.
“Rain’s gone, at least.”
“Pity that,” Shea replied. The rainfall had kept their waterskins filled and washed any evidence of their passing away. Were it here now, it could provide much needed cover.
As they waited to hear the sound of that first, fateful gunshot, Shea approached Flynn, huddled away from the others and staring at the ground.
“Be alright, both,” she assured him.
“If we’re not just delaying the inevitable.”
She stood up, and looked outward. It wasn’t hard to see what he meant—the Reahv’li were scattered now, but if they converged on Borudust Castle…
“No way out, this goes bad,” she concluded.
“Even if it doesn’t… Before we left TseTsu, I thought there was a chance we might come out nearby, that we might be able to strike and slip out in the confusion.” Flynn clenched his fists in frustration. “Not going to happen. Poe may will himself away, but he won’t suddenly find the talent to open a path and take us with.”
Shea’s stomach fluttered. Death at the hands of angry zealots was not how she’d imagined going. She forced her eyes shut, fought to calm her escalating breath before fear could creep in. She hadn’t truly escaped war, but if she died, at least this might be one worth dying for.
“They know?” she asked, gesturing toward Jean and Zaja.
“I think we’ve all figured it out in our own ways,” Flynn said as he got to his feet.
“Mostly avoided thinking about it,” she replied.
The signal did not come right away. Shea waited, crouched like a runner prepared to rise into a sprint. The sound of Chari’s rifle reverberated like distant thunder, and it might have gone unnoticed if not for the faint, anguished wail that followed.
“Should we—?” Zaja started to ask.
“Give us a minute,” Shea replied patiently. “Too soon, plan’s buggered.”
Shea’s breath was ragged before she took a single step. A telescope would have been welcome, but she had to track the movements of the enemy by squinting and hoping for the best. But they were moving, slowly and uncertainly at first, and increasingly so with each crack of thunder that followed.
It might not be the right time. She could never truly be sure, except to trust her gut, for that was all that had kept her alive thus far. Shea didn’t give a command; just a single, sharp gesture before hurrying onward, quickly and quietly.
* * *
Another shot rent the air. The sound of bullet puncturing flesh, tearing through muscle, and lodging in bone reached Poe all at once. The soldier who trailed him tumbled—dying, but not dead—and another halted to tend him.
He knew he couldn’t count on this support for much longer, and Chari’s finesse at such range impressed him. Keeping the Reahv’li on his trail without allowing them to overwhelm him had been a delicate balance, and Poe knew he would soon have only himself to count on.
As he pressed through the reeds, he found a shallow river running toward Yeribelt, and followed it.
“They think themselves silent,” he murmured to himself. Poe didn’t change his pace, allowing his pursuers to find their respective positions.
Then, at once, they revealed themselves, leaping for the muddy waters, thinking they’d caught their quarry unaware. Poe’s blades emerged through mortal instinct, though these foes no longer needed to be feared. Awareness had not escaped him—if anything, Guardian Poe was more in tune than ever before.
Even while the Angel Edge and Dark Sword emerged from their respective sheaths and Poe shifted his stance, he w
atched the blade of a polearm arc toward him, and raised his right-hand sword to deflect, watching as the air itself moved aside when two strikes converged, before plunging his left blade through his assailant’s heart.
Time had changed. Motions he’d once executed from pure reflex could now be analyzed and adjusted based on the circumstances. Poe’s foes were at grave disadvantage, and he dislodged his blade without effort and pivoted on his back foot, slashing horizontally and opening another’s throat before her comrades could even register the first death.
“He won’t die so easily!” one cried to his comrades as he tried to stab Poe. “Do whatever you have to—”
Poe pivoted left, batting the crier’s weapon aside with the Edge before dragging the Dark Sword across his belly. But he was distracted—puzzled, actually. Had he heard his foe correctly? The man had choked on his own blood before he could even begin his battle cry, yet the words reverberated in Poe’s skull. With them came a growing sense of displacement, one that revealed to Poe the moments that would have come before his unnatural interference denied the original outcome.
It was a disgrace to call what followed ‘a battle.’ One by one, his foes were cut down—Dark Sword plunged through the shoulder blades, Angel Edge severing limbs with clean strokes. In the distance, footsteps hurried down the river, reinforcements closing in like a raging, ceaseless flood.
And Poe stood in the water, concerned for none but himself. His violet cloak had darkened with the blood of his enemies, but his body was not tired. His muscles did not ache and his breathing, as if it were even needed, remained steady.
Awakening from his trance, Poe heard the labored breath of a survivor, bowled over when his comrades fell and mercilessly spared of Poe’s blades. The man rose from the water, filth hanging from his body and fearful determination in his eyes. He gripped the better half of a broken spear and tried to run Poe through, and for a moment, Poe considered allowing it.
Killers, Traitors, & Runaways Page 42
