by CM Raymond
The rest of the cabinet cringed as she entered, except for Adrien who didn’t break eye contact once. “You’re late,” he said curtly. “You have kept me waiting.”
She walked across the room, her saunter as sexy as ever, but it didn’t make up for her disfigurement. “Had to repack the wounds,” she said. Her voice once smooth and alluring, now gravelly—as disfigured as her face. “Burns over ninety percent of your body is a real bitch, take my word for it.” She leveled her eyes on Adrien, her lips drawn up in a sneer.
Adrien sat. Doyle, Captain Dickerson, and Alexandra followed suit.
“Where is the engineer?” she asked, looking at the empty seat.
Elon was the only other person in the factory who had survived the fire after Adrien had left them behind in the airship. The chief engineer had made it out with less damage done than Alexandra. He wondered if they would have left him, gone to the other side or just fled the city. But their hunger for power was as strong as his, and they were placing their chips on the best bet on Irth.
“He’s going to be working around the clock, getting the airship up to spec. Our little test run showed us some areas for improvement.”
Dickerson snorted. “A quick walk through what used to be the Boulevard seems to indicate that the weapon was working just fine.”
“A start, Dickerson—” Adrien’s eyes cut to the newest member of the team, sending a chill up the man’s spine “—but taking out the Boulevard was like getting lucky in a whore house. We can brag about it all day, but it was the easiest thing a man could muster. I mean to rule, and I will not leave that to chance. Now, let’s get down to business. Let’s start with you, Dickerson.”
He looked down at his hands, which were balled into fists on the table. Adrien could see that they were trembling. Dickerson had a reputation as one of the best leaders in the Capitol Guard, having bested countless foes beyond the walls before being called back for duty, but he wasn’t immune to Adrien’s presence in the room.
“Yes, well, the Guard continues to grow. We have sent emissaries throughout the lowlands, offering higher wages than we have before for service. They’re strong men, many already trained in martial combat. It ain’t pretty out there.”
Adrien nodded. “As well as in here. Why don’t you tell us about that?”
“How do you mean?” Dickerson asked. His eyes remained glued on the table. He knew precisely what the Chancellor was getting at.
“I’d like you to tell us all about the little incursion we experienced at the hands of a few weak men.”
“Of course. Well,” Dickerson hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “we did have a small group of rebels breach the wall two nights ago. Apparently, they were looking for weapons.”
Adrien sat in silence staring at Dickerson. Finally, he said, “Looking?”
The Captain cleared his throat. “They made off with some magitech rifles. A few bags of them. Nothing much, really, considering the size of our force.”
Alexandra laughed. “Tell the truth, Dickerson. A couple of punks made it into the city under your watch. They broke into your armory. Next to your barracks. And… They kicked your ass in the process.”
He looked up at Alexandra and narrowed his eyes. He hated her, not because of the disfigurement of her body, but because of her lack of control. She was the opposite of the Capitol Guard. While they prided themselves on order and discipline, she lacked both.
“Sure. They got the drop on me. Nothing you all didn’t experience before I was called on to return to the city though, was it?”
Adrien slammed his open palm on the conference room table. All heads swiveled to face him. “That’s enough. No more excuses, not from any of you. Dickerson and I have already addressed his mishaps, and I promise you they won’t happen again, will they?” He looked at his Captain.
“No, sir. It certainly won’t.” His voice was filled with contempt.
“Good. Because if it does, it will be the last thing you do this side of the other world.” His eyes cut to Doyle, his assistant. “Do you have anything?”
Doyle flipped over a piece of parchment that had sat on the table in front of him for the entire meeting. He ran down the list with his index finger, passing on nearly every item. Finally, he said, “Sir, I’ve gone over the names from the last census and cross checked it with the bodies we pulled out of the rubble in the Boulevard, it seems as though they have plenty of people, wherever they have gone. Probably between two hundred or two fifty.”
Adrien scoffed. “A good number? Is that what you call it?”
“We need to take Ezekiel and his followers seriously. I recommend that we strike. Now and hard. Obliterate them while they’re still limping along.”
Adrien stared at Doyle, stroking his temple with the tip of his index finger. “Congratulations.”
Doyle’s brow furrowed. “On what?”
“Your promotion, apparently,” Adrien spat.
Doyle stammered. “What promotion?”
Adrien’s mouth spread into an evil smile. “Your promotion into the position of chief combat strategist, of course.”
“Sir?”
“He’s screwing with you, shit for brains,” Alexandra said with a gravelly laugh.
“Doyle, your job around here is to do all the little, mundane, simple shit that doesn’t deserve my time. It is not to suggest military maneuvering. You understand?”
Doyle’s face turned bright red. “Of course, sir.”
“Good. We have plenty of time to build an army and redevelop the technology on the airship. Let those bastards hunker down in the woods for a bit longer. It’s freezing out there, and before you know it, they’ll be hungry enough to crawl back to Arcadia and beg for mercy. Which we will give them—the mercy of a quick death. But we will not attack until we’re good and ready. We will reduce them to ash, and show Irth who is the true Patriarch.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It had been a week since Ezekiel and Gregory had returned from their trip to the Dark Forest, but for Hannah, it felt like an eternity.
They knew Adrien could strike at any moment, and every day that went by without a peep from Arcadia heightened the tension even more. Some days, Hannah just wished he’d get it over with. The waiting was now more likely to kill them than the cold.
She watched as Parker and Marcus worked with their crew of women from the Boulevard. Not only had their marksmanship improved, but they were learning how to move as a unit, take commands and execute them quickly.
Blast after blast connected with old pots and pieces of concrete, shattering them to bits, while the women pulling the trigger kept moving, making it hard for them to be targeted in return. Hannah was impressed by just how far they had come in such a short amount of time.
They weren’t the only ones.
The magic users, who she had entrusted to Amelia, were also developing in leaps and bounds. Granted, none of them would likely be able to take on Academy-trained Hunters in one-on-one magical combat, save maybe Roland or Eponine, but together, they would be enough to keep Adrien’s forces on their toes.
Their decision to start in foundational physical magic was paying off. They could create fireballs of moderate power, and most of the understudies could also put up shields that would at least thwart the attack of arrows and weaker magic.
Karl’s fighting men were also gaining ground, but not so quickly.
The men from the factory were filled with passion, and they were certainly strong. But their strength was not only in their arms and legs, but also in their stubborn nature. She smiled as she thought of Karl working with these hard-headed soldiers—it was a match made in heaven.
To win a war, it was more than just the ability to fight; they needed to know when to fight and who to fight, when to retreat and when to go on defense. They needed to be able to follow orders.
She could picture the rearick shouting at them with a face as red as Ezekiel’s eyes while he tried to get them to practice
the simplest military tactics. If they survived the training with their commander in arms, they might just be able to dish out some casualties on the open battlefield. It also didn’t help that they were still working with logs and branches.
We’re going to have to do something about that, she thought.
Her eyes cut from Marcus and Parker to the edge of the woods. There, Gregory sat in the grass with Laurel. She watched as he talked quickly, his hands dashing about as his lips moved. The girl looked up at him without blinking, a steady smile on her face, which often broke into sincere laughter. It seemed like Gregory was also gaining ground, though maybe not in the art of war.
Hannah crossed the open field and stood over the two of them. Gregory didn’t even notice her presence.
“You two playing house?” Hannah asked with a smirk.
Gregory and Laurel looked up, his face turning red. But the girl cocked her head to the side. “What’s a house? We don’t have those in the Forest.”
Hannah was taken aback. “Uh…”
Laurel’s deadpan face broke. “I’m just kidding. We’re still human after all. In fact, our homes are awesome, shaped and molded out of living trees. They put your old crumbly tower to shame.”
She was going to refute the girl, say the tower wasn’t their home, but then Hannah looked back at their tower—the remnant from the old world. She realized it was the closest thing to a real home she had ever had. And Laurel could clearly see that.
“We… we were just hatching a plan,” Gregory said with a cough.
“Uh, huh, that’s exactly what it looked like.” Hannah grinned at Laurel.
“Well, we were,” the girl said, shifting her weight, “until Gregory here took a break to tell me about the Winter Ball he took you to.”
Hannah couldn’t help but laugh. “More like the Ball I took him to… but that’s not really a memory I care to relive. Tell me about this plan.”
“Show her,” Gregory said excitedly.
Laurel stood, and the other two followed her lead. She turned toward the trees and held a single, steady finger up toward them. It floated around in simple patterns, unlike the complex movements of the physical magic users, as if painting a picture in the air.
Her eyes flashed green, and Hannah smiled wide as the trees closest to them started to move. The boughs lowest on the trunk reached toward the ground, and then, when she swiped her finger back and forth, they followed her commands.
“Neat trick,” Hannah said casually, though she was actually impressed. She had spent some time working on the natural arts, but clearly not enough. “It took me a damned day to make a tiny flower blossom, and I was exhausted afterward. I once got a single tree to move, but it was pretty stubborn about it.”
Laurel flicked her finger as if tapping an invisible wall, and the branches fell back into place. “That?” she asked. “It’s child’s play. Most druids could make a flower bloom before they learned to walk. And it’s not a trick.”
“Now, you sound like Zeke.”
The girl grinned. “Is that so bad?”
“Yes—” Hannah nodded “—very, very bad.”
Gregory explained some of their ideas. He was inspired by the entrance to the Dark Forest and figured they could do something similar with the woods around the tower. Although, they wouldn’t stop the forces completely, given enough time they would be able to at least slow any enemy advances. Laurel had been working at it a little each day. She said that herding trees was not something you could rush.
Gregory then started to tell Hannah about an idea he had that involved the River Wren, but was cut short as they heard someone approach.
They turned to see Parker coming down the hill. “How’s it coming?” he asked Gregory and Laurel, though his eyes were only on Hannah.
She could feel his gaze deep inside of her. Ever since Maddie gave her the grand inquisition about him, she couldn’t help considering what it would be like to one day truly be with him. Pushing it out of her mind, as she had become in the habit of doing, she cleared her throat. “This could be really interesting.”
Nodding, he said, “Yeah, that druid is pretty badass.” He still hadn’t looked at the other two. “I just came to discuss some plans with Gregory.”
“That druid is right over here,” Laurel said snapping her fingers. “Maybe we aren’t the ones playing house!”
Parker looked confused, and Hannah almost responded, but before she could, her words were interrupted by Ezekiel’s voice in her head.
Come quickly to the tower. We need you.
She tried to ask what was wrong, but got no response. She turned toward the tower and saw people were running in through the great front door.
“I have to go,” she mumbled as she turned and ran as fast as she could for the tower.
****
Hannah was nearly out of breath by the time she made it back to the tower. A noble woman was leaving as she approached.
Grabbing her arm, Hannah asked, “What is it?”
The noble woman spun to face Hannah, a look of confusion washed over her face.
“Are we being attacked?” she asked in response to the silence.
The woman’s eyes darted about. “Why, I don’t think so, dear. What would make you—”
Realizing the woman was clueless, Hannah muttered some words of thanks and pushed passed her and through the doors of the tower. She turned right down a short corridor, which spilled out into the great room.
Sal lay by the fire, taking in his afternoon nap, oblivious to the excitement all around him. Four others, not originals to the rebellion, stood with Ezekiel and Karl. Her rearick friend’s face beamed as she walked into the room. “Aye, lassie—glad yer finally here!”
Turning, Ezekiel gave her a nod.
Hannah ignored the newcomers. “No attack?” she shouted at Ezekiel, her heart still racing.
The old man laughed. “Of course not.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “The message you sent was laced with urgency.”
The wizard leaned on his staff. “Ah! When one’s party grows, it is indeed an urgent occasion. But not all urgent things are dangerous.”
Hannah thought of attacking with her words, but exhaled instead, trying to quell the passion in her gut. As her heart rate slowed, she looked back at their guests. Two of them, though unfamiliar to her, were clearly mystics, with their tall, slender builds, pristine robes, and the calm repose in their faces.
Ezekiel waved to the mystics. “These are Ida and Markell, they’ve come down from the temple to join us.”
They nodded to her, and she returned the gesture.
“And they’ve brought friends,” Ezekiel said pointing behind Hannah. She turned and nearly shouted when she saw the rearick.
“Mortimer?” she asked.
An old man standing nearly a foot shorter than her leaned on a cane made of twisted wood. She sometimes had trouble telling rearick apart—since they were all beards and attitude in her mind, but she knew Mortimer immediately. The two shared a special bond.
Months earlier, when Hadley had introduced her to the mystical arts, Mortimer was the first target of her practice. She had taken a stroll through his mind only minutes before the accident that would have likely killed the stout man if it weren’t for her daring rescue.
“Aye. It’s good to see you, Hannah.” His smile was broad and, though no rearick would ever admit to such a thing, his eyes were glassy. “Don’t think I ever got a chance to thank you properly fer saving me life.”
Karl put his hand on her shoulder and pointed her toward a younger rearick.
“Let me interrupt yer sentimental bullshit before that old assbag starts weeping like an Arcadian,” Karl said. “This is Garrett. He’s just old enough to fight and too stupid to know how to stay out of trouble.”
Hannah’s eyes narrowed, but then she recognized him as well. They fought side by side once against the remnant. “We’ve met, too.”
“It’s a
pleasure—again,” Garrett said, a cocky smile on his face. “And what this old man calls foolishness, I call bravery.”
The rearicks broke out again in laughter. Hannah smiled. “We’re going to need a measure of both to face Adrien and his forces. Is that why you’re here? Have you come to fight?”
Mortimer cleared his throat. “Sure are. But it shames me to say—” Mortimer’s face flushed pink “—that we’ve come too late. When we heard ‘bout yer fight in the city, Garrett here and me realized we should have come sooner. Forgive us.”
Ezekiel interjected. “You are here now, which is more than we can say of many in Irth who know that the times are desperate. Let us look to the future rather than wasting time on the past.”
Mortimer kicked a wooden crate at his feet with his good leg. His eyes danced as he looked back up at Hannah. “I brought ya a little gift, lass. Something to say thanks fer saving me arse back in the Heights… and as a note of apology fer being late to the party.”
He leaned over and pulled off the top, pulling out its contents and spreading it out on the floor with care. It was clothing of sorts, but metallic and made of numerous smaller plates.
“Is that armor?” Hannah asked.
“Aye. Made with the best materials we could dig out of the Heights. Made it myself.” He beamed with pride. “If what I hear about the way you fight is true, you might just need it,” he said with a wink.
She knelt and ran a hand over the surface of the metal. Her throat got tight. She couldn’t remember the last time she had received a true gift from someone. “It is amazing, Mortimer. I’ll wear it with pride.”
“Just don’t get yer blood and guts all over it,” Karl added. “Now, I figure with more than one rearick on the ground, we might just be able to whip that crew of lowlander shits into a true fighting force.”
“I’m glad you’re here—” her eyes cut to the mystics “—all of you.”
The mystics remained silent, but nodded in response. Their quiet presence brought her a sense of peace like she remembered from her days in the temple.
