The Endless Knight: The Seekers Trilogy (The Watchers Series Book 6)

by T. C. Edge

  “More keep coming,” says General Proctor. “Efficient fighting forces are based on good organisation. These men and women are from all over the place, and many have no official military experience…”

  “We need to do the best we can with what we have, General,” says Drake. “Yes, it’s not ideal, but we need you and General Trent to form a working army, and we need it done quick.”

  “How quick?” enquires General Trent.

  “As quickly as you can manage,” says Drake. He looks over at Jackson and nods, gesturing for him to take over.

  “I have just gotten word from one of my spies who have successfully managed to infiltrate the enemy encampment,” starts my father. “The word is that they are planning to strike right at the heart of us, sending a full assault here at Fort Warden. We need to be ready for when the strike comes.”

  “How does your man know this?” asks General Proctor. “Why would such information be given to a captive?”

  “He isn’t a captive, General. He has managed to infiltrate their reserve forces, made up of men and women from across the regions who were unhappy with our government. He is a master infiltrator, and has convinced them of his worth with his soldiery skills. It’s taken him several days to get word to me, but he’s convinced that an attack is imminent.”

  “And what else does he say?” asks Markus. “Do we have numbers? What is the scene like over on the coast?”

  “Numbers are huge, well over ten thousand from what he can gauge. Yet many of these are reservists who, like our own Guardians, have little military experience. The Baron is having to deal with the same problems as we are, putting together an army from a number of disparate forces. We are not alone on that front.”

  “And regarding what’s happening at the coast?”

  “Mercator and Piscator are his staging area, as well as our own abandoned military bases along the coast. Between the two cities, huge camps have been set up for those defecting to the Baron, the poor souls who were given the option of silver or lead. They are being contained there for now.”

  “This seems a little rash,” says General Proctor. “Why would he come after us now with all he’s got?”

  “Because he knows we’re gathering our full strength,” announces Drake. “We are pulling together numbers to rival his, and he’ll be well aware by now that Link and Ajax are causing havoc to his forces in Lignum. His response will be to wipe us out in one stroke before we grow too strong.”

  I see some doubt behind the eyes of the two decorated Generals. Yet within the faces of Drake, and Jackson, I see resolve. I see the form of the plan we concocted only hours ago starting to take shape. Drake’s next words solidify that thought.

  “We cannot allow the Baron to strike at us again,” he says boldly. “We are getting onto the front foot, and we need to take advantage. I suggest that we gather our own force now, and do to him what he intends to do to us.”

  General Proctor’s face is a picture. His grizzled visage crinkles up like a piece of paper, and his face tells of someone who’ll take some selling on the idea.

  “Drake, that is madness,” he says when he’s finally able to find his words. “You want to send our army right into the hornet’s nest?! It sounds like you’ve lost your damn mind, man!”

  “I’ve lost nothing,” says Drake calmly. “A sudden siege now will derail all of the Baron’s plans. He’s had us on the back foot for months now. Finally, we’re subverting his expectations, doing things he doesn’t expect. We need to attack as soon as possible.”

  Another brief silence lays itself out in the room. And now I know what Drake was thinking when he spoke of a diversion…

  Send in the army. Divert the Baron’s attention. And in all the chaos, we can strike right at his heart.

  Once more, General Proctor speaks up, growing more irate by the minute.

  “You cannot seriously believe that a siege will work?!” he says. “Not with what we’re working with…”

  “We have little choice,” cuts in Drake. “We have it on good authority that the Baron, and the Cabal, are holed up in the area. If we strike now we can take them out in one, as they attempted to do to many of us on Eden. We need to be brave, General, at a time like this.”

  General Proctor’s face curls into a snarl at the veiled insult. As he prepares a retort, however, the more level-headed General Trent steps in.

  “Where exactly are they holed up, Drake?” he asks coolly.

  “In a research facility built into the cliffs between Piscator and Mercator. Theo has had a vision of the place. We need to act upon it before the enemy get wind that we know of their location.”

  At the mention of my name, all eyes swing down to me. I didn’t really want to be included in this debate. Instead, I’m forced to offer an explanation of what I’ve seen, although make sure to once more leave out any unnecessary details about AK1, merely referring to him as ‘one of the Seekers’.

  The idea of more clones being developed has some effect on General Trent, his face loosening to the idea. General Proctor, however, remains unconvinced.

  “So you’re basing all of this on the visions of a boy?” he asks.

  “A vision is a vision, General Proctor,” says Drake firmly. “It matters not who has it. Theo has proven himself essential to our cause many times already. I urge you to remember that before you open your mouth again.”

  I look fondly on my grandfather as he spits fire. It’s enough to force the old General into silence. Markus steps forward to act mediator, his presence always calming during such encounters.

  “OK, lets cool our tongues,” he says. “All concerns are valid, and General Proctor has some points. However, I have witnessed the wonderful things Watchers can do time and again, and I would trust Theo as much as any of them. The point here is that we have few cards to play. We don’t have a great deal of choice, ladies and gentlemen. An all out assault might be our only option.”

  More quietly now, General Proctor’s voice rises. It’s a growl, but a low one, his anger simmering but kept in check.

  “Then we retreat to Petram,” he says. “We give up the regions and return to our way of life. This side of the wall has always been drawing us into conflict. Forget the regions. Let them wither and die.”

  Now it’s other eyes I see flash with anger. Cyra’s. Ellie’s. Jackson’s. Even General Trent looks upon his military counterpart with a look of disdain. Athena’s scowl remains as it always is. Velia doesn’t quite know where to look.

  “I never figured you for a coward, General Proctor,” says Drake, looking upon the old war veteran with disappointment.

  “I’m not a coward!” counters the man, growing hysterical once more. “I am merely being a realist here. I will refuse to take my men to battle to see them all slaughtered. If this is your chosen path, you can do it without the Petram army….I won’t…”

  As his voice rises up, and his eyes begin to blare, the most static person in the room suddenly fires into action.

  With the speed of a sniping snake, Athena’s fist swipes across General Proctor’s face, sending him tumbling straight to the ground. His voice is wiped out and shut down immediately. His eyes roll for a second in their sockets before going blank.

  For a moment, everyone looks at Athena in amazement. Then, she merely growls: “I never liked him anyway.”

  “Athena…” starts General Trent, the only man in the room not smiling at the sight of the coward at our feet. “What are you doing…”

  “I’m sorry, General Trent,” she says. “But we have no time for such division here. He was talking mutiny, and we don’t take that lightly over in the Deadlands.”

  “But…his army…”

  “Are not loyal to him alone,” she says. “We have a ready made replacement right here who they’ll follow anywhere.”

  Her eyes stare at Markus, her dear friend.

  “I will lead them,” he says, standing tall and proud. “It’s been a while since I was a
t the head of such a force. I’ll be proud to go to war with you all again.”

  I feel a bustling energy begin to build in the room. Eyes shine bright. Faces stiffen with thoughts of grand battles and war. Old friends and allies look to each other, as they did so long ago, knowing that the final act is coming.

  And standing next to me, I feel Velia’s hand clasp to mine, her fingers gripping tight.

  Drake’s voice rises again, his eyes set on the hologram, on the huge concentration of red along the Eastern coast.

  “Then it’s decided,” his voice booms. “Gather your forces, every last person you can muster…and get them ready to march to war.”

  As the room disperses, I find myself saddling up to my father, catching a word in private.

  “Did you really hear from one of your men?” I ask, peering closely into his eyes, searching for the truth.

  “Of course,” he answers innocently.

  I continue to stare, and begin shaking my head.

  “You don’t have to lie to me, dad. I can see it in your face. None of your spies got inside, did they? You have no idea if the Baron’s marching on us or not…”

  His eyes dart left and right, a sure sign of shiftiness.

  “OK, Theo,” he says, keeping his voice low. “I have a man on the inside, that much is true. But he said nothing of any attack by the Baron’s army.”

  “Dad!”

  “Son, listen to me carefully. Drake and I came to this decision together, OK. We need to create a diversion so that we can get into the research facility and distract the Seekers. If we can do that, then we might have a chance, and we needed everyone on side.”

  “So you just lied?” I ask blankly.

  “It’s a white lie,” he retorts. “It’s quite possible that the Baron is going to attack anyway.”

  “Nice try,” I say. “And I guess you want me to keep this secret too?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” he says, patting me on the shoulder.

  I shake my head as he smiles and wanders off, not a minute to be wasted now as the army prepares to march on again.

  More lies. More secrets.

  Truth be told, I’m as fed up with those as I am this war.

  22

  The Drums of War

  The camp is brimming and broiling, the scorching sun a relentless tormentor that many here will be happy to escape. All over the place, bodies rush and gather, the many different forces and battalions organised with a haste hitherto unseen across these lands. There’s no time to lose, no time to waste. In only days we’ll be moving out again. Fort Warden has become nothing but a stop off point on the way to war.

  No one expected such a thing. As the hours pass following that fateful meeting in the command centre, word spreads around the base that we’ll be seeking war out, rather than waiting for it to come to us.

  I know that many will consider it a foolish choice, or not understand the purpose. Many others will take a little time to digest the thought of their impending death, but will rise up tall and unyielding when the time comes. Some, however, will lick their lips at the thought, desperate to seek revenge for the many losses they’ve suffered: friends and relatives, homes and towns, people and places they hold dear and will never forget.

  But whatever the people think, they will not turn away from this decision. They will not mutiny as General Proctor threatened to do. They will not run and hide. They will face their fears head on, knowing that this is our only chance of victory.

  The dissident General himself, however, will not be taking part. Kept to a cell in a lonely corner of the base, he’ll have to sit and wait for news of our victory or defeat. And should we win, he’ll have to face up to the consequences of his cowardice. Either way, his day is done.

  Across the base, I see the thousands of soldiers and wonder how many will come out alive. Little do they know we have no real chance of victory by strength of numbers alone. That the well fortified cities of Piscator and Mercator, lying in partial ruin after the attacks many weeks ago, cannot possibly be taken by the force we can muster.

  They will not know, and they cannot know, that their main role here is diversionary. That the only way of defeating the Baron is by taking out the top leaders of his Cabal, and eliminating the living superweapons he has at his disposal.

  I look upon them, and see bravery beyond compare. Unable to see bullets coming. Unable to sense an approaching explosion, or a wall of fire surging down an alley. Unable to do much but count on good fortune and luck as they charge down on the enemy. These men and women have no gifts like I do, and yet they’ll lay down their lives for the cause.

  I find it humbling to see them as they prepare for the final march. It reminds me that, while I’ll be facing death myself, so much may lie in my hands and those of the Watchers by my side.

  As that day passes and the next emerges, thoughts turns to Link and Ajax. Ellie, who’s been spending much of her time in the communications centre, comes to us with a brightness on her face that has been absent since they left.

  “I spoke with Link!” she says with glee. “They’ve been clearing the woods in Lignum, and have gathered a bit of a following…”

  “You mean soldiers?” asks Jackson.

  “Yes, soldiers and Guardians they’ve saved. They’ve been fighting alongside them, giving them support. I told him about the assault. He’s ready and waiting for orders.”

  “That’s awesome!” says Velia, in a rare show of excitement. “How many do they have?”

  “He didn’t say. It’s hardly an army, but every little helps.”

  “And did he say anything about the Seekers?” asks Jackson. “They haven’t encountered one have they?”

  “No, they haven’t,” says Ellie with a touch of relief. “Maybe the Baron doesn’t want to risk them against my boys!”

  “But there have been sightings,” adds Cyra. “A technician told me about one being seen in Agricola. And I had a vision of another up the Northern coast. It sounds like they’re dispersed.”

  “Then now’s the perfect time to attack!” says Velia. “Go right there while they’re not at home.”

  “We’re doing all we can to prepare the army,” says Jackson. “But I suspect that they’ll be back home as soon as they get wind that we’re on the warpath. They’ll have enough warning of that.”

  “Unless we go now?” says Velia, getting a bit ahead of herself. “Why don’t we strike now, all of us Watchers?”

  “Because it’s too risky,” counters Cyra in an attempt to calm her. “If we go, and then fail, then we miss our shot. We have one chance to create this diversion, to do this right. Don’t worry, honey, you’ll get your chance to fight soon.”

  I see Velia’s eyes bristling, desperate for action. The same are seen on most faces, a bubbling sense of anticipating growing by the hour. There’s a desperation, whether through fear or nerves or a burning desire to fight, to get things moving as quickly as possible. However one feels about going to battle, no one likes the wait.

  In many ways, that’s the worst part of all…

  Yet we cannot push things forward too much, and we cannot rush things. It’s not only organising the soldiers that’s important, but taking stock of what artillery and long range weaponry we have, mobile units that we can use to bombard the enemy from a distance.

  On top of that, battle plans need to be drawn up, strategies determined. There was never a plan for this, and when so many lives are at stake, it’s essential that we take the necessary time to establish a firm blueprint to follow.

  As the hours turn to days, and the base continues to morph and ready itself for war, further meetings are held by the top military commanders to devise a plan of attack. The worry, of course, is that the Baron will use innocents as a deterrent, a concern given credence by fresh information given by Jackson’s inside man.

  By his account, many civilians remain encamped in the cities, caught in the net by the Baron’s men. Launching an assault, therefo
re, will bring their lives into the balance, rather than giving us the opportunity to fight directly with the Baron’s mercenary army.

  Drake, as he often has, reiterates the point that innocent people will always be caught in the crossfire. That holding these people hostage cannot deter us from our course of action.

  It’s Markus who makes the point that our mere presence on the Baron’s doorstep might be sufficient to yield the results we’re after.

  Drake, however, counters that claim.

  “We need to engage them in battle,” he says. “In both cities, and right along the coast, we have to draw the attention of the enemy. The more chaos we can create, the easier it will be for us to infiltrate the research facility and strike at the Baron before he knows what’s coming.”

  I know that many of us don’t enjoy the idea of further innocent lives being lost to this senseless violence. But the simple fact remains that we have no choice, that the Baron has forced our hand, and that many more will be killed should we fail.

  It takes three full days for the army to be properly mobilised and organised. Three days of hectic activity as they’re kitted out with weapons and armour and ordered into units. Three days of planning and designing a battle plan that will have us come at them from all angles.

  The information leaked to us from Jackson’s inside man turns out to be more than useful. On top of that, the various spies we have around the area are ordered to get as close as possible to the enemy camps without detection, to feed back intelligence on the fortifications they have, and the possible weak points present along their lines.

  As the information is gathered, the holographic map within the command centre begins to grow more detailed. More red appears along the coast, the Baron’s strongholds given better shape as we learn of their set up and defensive capabilities. Ways into the research facility are considered closely, with various different plans being proposed.

  In the end, a straight line of attack through the camps appears to be the only option. With the coastline defended well from the North by way of the city of Mercator, and the South by way of Piscator, the middle ground, covering many miles, between the two seems to offer the best opportunity to enter without detection. There, it will be chaotic, with tens of thousands of refugees from across the regions gathered in large camps, just like we had down in the valleys below Petram.