by CM Raymond
Four other women swung axes fit for a rearick, severing vines as thick as their arms. The vines were holding up a handful of mighty oaks, whose trunks had been all but chopped through earlier. The oaks creaked as their supporting vines were cut away, but they remained standing.
Come on old man, Parker begged as he held his breath.
The Arcadian troops froze, looking for the origin of Krystal’s shout.
“There!” one of them shouted, pointing in her direction.
Before the men could move, a mighty wind blew in from the direction of the tower. Parker held on for dear life as his own tree swayed in the gale, and the old oaks didn’t stand a chance. Their trunks cracked, and they fell in tandem with a mighty whoosh, landing in the middle of the soldiers and taking out scores of them.
“Thanks, Zeke,” Parker laughed as he watched men scramble out from the boughs of the oaks. The less experienced foot soldiers ran away from the tower.
“Hold your ground!” Curt shouted again and again from his saddle until the chaos subsided. He directed the magic users on horseback to move the fallen trees out of the way. As they worked, the remaining soldiers stood uneasily. Eyes darted everywhere as they looked for the enemy. Silence fell over the forest until the blue power of magitech blasters assaulted the troops from their right. Streaks of power cut through their numbers.
“Return fire!” Curt shouted, pointing his sword in the direction of the rebels’ magitech attack. The soldiers dropped to one knee, and raised their rifles to engage with the invisible enemy, hiding in the trees. But the rebel’s attack ended as quickly as it had begun.
“Let them go!” Curt screamed. “They want to divide us. We advance, just as the captain ordered. Be at the ready.”
Parker cursed as he watched them clear the trees and march on toward the tower. Their leader on horseback was smarter than they expected, but the rebels had more than one trick up their sleeves. From where he sat, he saw Hadley stand still as a statue. He could imagine the mystic’s eyes filming over in perfect white as he relayed the message about the advance, and then, Hadley disappeared.
“Damn, nice camouflage,” Parker muttered as he scrambled down the tree.
****
Hannah crouched on the edge of the River Wren, just east of the tower. Her hands would be freezing in the winter water if she weren’t so damned focused on the task at hand. Glancing over at Laurel, mimicking her position, Hannah noticed beads of sweat building up on her forehead. She let her eyes wander past the druid toward the wall of water that they were holding up with a magical dam.
The girl was impressive, and if a druid of only sixteen could have such an impact on the magical world, Hannah could only imagine what the rest of them were capable of.
“You holding up OK?”
The girl nodded without looking up. “OK. The river is responding well to my request,” the generally talkative girl answered curtly.
She had explained that she had done this once before as part of her training. Not only was she stopping the flow of the water, but on her request, the river itself was, in fact, gathering itself up further north, so as not to flood their region.
“Takes a lot of energy, huh?”
Laurel grimaced. “You know that feeling when you create and launch about ten ginormous fireballs?”
“Uh huh,” she responded without looking over.
“Take that feeling and multiply it by a thousand. This is kind of kicking my ass!”
Hannah laughed and then refocused her energy on coaxing the water into following their command. It was working, but she knew they couldn’t hold it forever. After a few more minutes, Ezekiel’s voice echoed in her mind.
How’s it going?
Hannah called back, Can’t really chat right now, Zeke. I don’t know how long the kid can hold this.
Good. The forest is doing its job. They’re already on the mark. Be ready, he said before she felt him leave her mind.
“It’s almost time.”
Laurel spoke through gritted teeth. “Good.”
Stealing a glance up at Laurel, Hannah asked, “I’m helping, right?”
“See all this water?”
“Yeah,” Hannah nodded.
Laurel stole a glance at her for the first time since her hands entered the river. “I imagine you’re holding back at least a gallon of it.”
Hannah laughed, and turned back toward the River Wren, leaving Laurel to concentrate.
****
Dickerson wasn’t one to allow any other soldier to take his glory, even if he deserved it. The thought of Curt being in command when the tower was overrun was unacceptable to the captain, so he kicked his heels into the horse’s side and trotted into the woods.
Following the path that was beaten down by their giant army, he rode into the place where the trees had done their damage.
“Whoa!” he grunted as he pulled back on the reins.
He kicked his leg over the steed and dismounted. Although he could ride and fight, Dickerson had always been more comfortable on foot. With the way the rebels fought, he figured the captain on horseback would be an easy target. Tying the reins to a tree with a simple overhand knot, he gave her a rub on the neck and proceeded on foot.
It took some work to scramble through the edges of the downed oaks, and from his vantage point, he could see body parts of the fallen soldiers. More than once, a faint moan drifted from beneath the thick limbs of the trees. There was no time for rescue, and a broken soldier meant nothing to him at the moment, so he continued on.
Passing a few more bodies, these singed with the power of magitech, he hastened to catch the group, cursing Ezekiel, Hannah, and their damned team of radicals as he went. He would make sure they suffered for this inconvenience.
By the time he caught the other men, the blaster fire started again. Everyone hit the ground at once, taking refuge behind whatever cover they could find. He grabbed a soldier by the cloak.
“Sir, we thought we lost you,” he said.
Dickerson narrowed his eyes and faked confidence. “To a group of imbecile slum dwellers and a few noble traitors, not a bloody chance.” He glanced around at the men cowering. “Where the hell is Curt?”
The man nodded in the direction that Dickerson was heading. The Captain gave him a nod and then glanced at the magitech rifle in his hand. “Lay down some cover fire for me.”
Sweat glistened on the soldier’s face, and Dickerson realized he wasn’t much more than a boy. War was war, and the pawns had their job, no matter how old.
He nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Thanks, kid. You’re doing good work here. Real good work. What’s your name?”
The soldier smiled. “Name’s Avery, sir.”
“All right, Avery. Cover my ass, and I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you when we get back to the city… Maybe even pay your tab at the Dragon’s Lair.”
The kid smiled more broadly, proud to be of assistance, and excited for the possibility to rise the ladder in the Capitol Guard.
“Go!” Dickerson yelled.
In tandem, the kid popped up shooting blue beams of power in the direction of their attackers, and the captain jumped to a crouch and hurried for the front of the line. A few steps in, and he heard the familiar tone of magitech power on flesh. He risked a look back at the dead body of the soldier whose name he had already forgotten.
Blasts sailed past his head as he sped toward the head of the group. Finding Curt, he rolled into place next to him behind a rock outcropping.
“Damn it, Curt, what the hell is going on here?” he shouted over the clamor.
His second in command tilted his head toward the captain. “They pop up every ten minutes or so. We exchange fire, and then they disappear. Not many casualties, but we’re not making much ground either. More of a pain in my ass than anything.”
Dickerson glanced over the boulders looking for the source of the fire. He counted ten, maybe fifteen spots in the trees where the shots
were coming from.
“Time to get this under control.” He motioned at the closest group of men with magitech, eight in total. “Men, for the sake of Arcadia, on my mark, I want you to rush those trees. Fire on them as you go. Got it?”
With fear in their eyes, the men nodded.
“Now!”
They leaped from their cover and ran for the trees, squeezing off round after round of power as their legs churned. Shots continued, but only a few landed, dropping half of the soldiers. And then, all went silent.
Dickerson stood. “Off your asses, Arcadians!”
At his command, the army of loyal soldiers stood, and it was still massive. He could see that Curt’s estimation was right. Some dead, but most of the force remained strong.
“Almost there, Curt,” he said over his shoulder to his second. He nodded to a break in the tree. In the gap, they could see the tower standing tall. “Not far now, and we can end this bullshit. Once we’re out of the woods, we will take away their advantage.”
Curt silently nodded. From what he had seen so far, the captain sorely underestimated the power of Ezekiel’s army. It would have been easy to circle around the forest to find an easier way in, but his commander's pride prevented it. He could only pray to the Matriarch and Patriarch that the rebels were already playing their best cards, but everything in him said not to bet on it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
After a ten-minute march, Dickerson halted the forces at the edge of what appeared to be an old river bed. Beyond it was a thin stand of trees that opened to the tower’s lawn.
“Made it,” he said to Curt.
The man was crouched at the empty bed, pushing his sword into the wet muck. They exchanged glances, both of them knowing something wasn’t right here.
“Why don’t I let you lead, Curt?” Dickerson said with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Sir?”
“Yeah. We have everything under control, and it’ll be good for you. Hell, we all know you’re going to have my job someday. Let’s get you out in front.” He nodded toward the tower. “Get your ass over there, spread the men out and secure the perimeter. I’ll be right on your heels.”
Curt nodded, though, he had just led the men through miles of rebel-infested forest while the captain cowered in the rear. “Pleased to have the opportunity, sir.”
He let out a whistle and led the men across the river.
Dickerson watched them go, his eyes also scanning the woods and the empty riverbed to the northwest. It was wide and thick—deep mud made the crossing slow. He goaded the men along as they passed, thanking them for their duty, and telling them to get ready to slay some rebel scum. After nearly a quarter of the troops were on the other side, Dickerson stepped into the line and held the rest up for a moment.
“You have done well, men.” He shouted so that most of the remainder could hear him. “Now, we take the tower!” The troops let up a roar. He lifted his hand, quieting them, a smile painted under his perfect mustache. “And remember, leave no one alive.”
He turned and stepped into the muddy riverbed.
The men filed in behind him, all of them cursing as they sunk nearly up to their knees. Although there was war still to be waged, all Dickerson could think of was the new boots he had just paid a big sack of coin for, and how they were being destroyed, step by muddy step. But his lament was interrupted by a roar that sounded like thunder.
Something’s not right here, he thought just as he looked to his right in time to see a ten-foot wall of water descend upon him and his men.
It crashed into them with the force of a hundred horses, and all went black.
****
Dickerson opened his eyes, as the rushing water swept his body to the south. He was wrapped up in arms and legs of other soldiers, and sticks and debris carried along by the river. Groping for whatever he could get his hands on, he dragged himself in the direction he could only guess was toward the surface. After what felt like a lifetime of struggle, he finally broke through. The water ran fast, and the choked screams of dozens filled his ears.
Desperately, Dickerson pulled on the water, doing whatever was necessary to make it to the other side. He ignored the cries for help all around him. They were his soldiers, but he was their leader—much more important in the equation of war… or at least that’s what he told himself.
With great effort, he barely made it to the river’s edge. Grabbing fistfuls of muck and roots, he pulled himself out of the water, flopping onto the bank, exhausted. A few others had also made it, but most of his men that were crossing got swept away, never to be heard from again.
After regaining his breath—and his composure—Dickerson stood and waved for the soldiers who had been able to pull themselves from the icy waters to follow him. He pushed them hard, marching back up river. Their bodies needed heat, and he needed revenge.
After a few hundred yards, he rejoined Curt who was directing the men left on the other side to find another way to cross. The river was swollen, and the crossing would be dangerous.
He turned to his captain. “What the hell was that?”
Dickerson grinned. “Never seen nature magic, have you? There is a druid among them. Those bastards ain’t much in hand-to-hand combat, but out in the forest, they can be a real pain in the ass.”
Curt’s eyes cut to the river that had just claimed nearly a hundred lives. “Tell me about it.”
“Enough talk. Let’s finish this, once and for all.”
No sooner than he spoke the words, the magitech blasts returned.
“Damn it all to hell!” Curt shouted as the head of the soldier to his right exploded, sending blood and brains all over him.
The captain and his second in command hit the ground.
“Those sons of bitches!” Dickerson shouted. “I’ve had enough of them. Curt, take a contingent and go after those assholes. Find them. Catch them. And then kill them… very slowly.”
Curt nodded. “Yes, sir!” He shouted commands to a few hundred men, and they began to walk in the direction the latest attack had come from. Once again, the rebels went silent as soon as Adrien’s men acted.
Once they were gone, and with them the magitech fire, Dickerson led the remaining men out into the open field, a hundred yards from the tower. He looked up, surveying what remained of the army. They had come in filled with confidence and vigor, but now, they looked broken and uncertain… not to mention dripping wet in the bitter cold. A stiff wind continued to blow over them, freezing them to the core.
Dickerson twisted the ends of his mustache and stood up straight, feigning confidence. He jacked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the tower and raised his voice. “There it is, the last obstacle to victory. All that stands between us and our commendations is a group of weakling peasants led by a stupid girl.”
A voice rang in his head as if he were imagining it. Think again, douche nugget!
The eyes of his men grew wide, and he spun to see a horde of nearly a hundred men, women, and children, rushing toward him screaming as if filled with the Madness. Leading the way was the young woman from the tressen. As she ran, her eyes glowed fire-red. Her left hand held a silver shortsword; her right was engulfed in fire. With three more steps, she launched the ball of flames. It hit the ground thirty feet from him, sending two of his men screaming.
Dickerson pulled his sword with one hand and his magitech rifle with the other. Spreading his feet wide, he grunted, “Shit, shit, attack!”
****
“Cease fire!” Parker yelled as he saw the contingent of Arcadian troops advance within fifty yards. “Now run!”
He shouldered his own magitech spear and sprinted through the thick underbrush up a hill into a stand of trees. They had finally managed to pull away a large portion of the army. He hoped it was enough to give Hannah and the rest a fighting chance.
Dropping to his stomach, he heard his war women follow suit. Breathing deeply, he tried with all he had to slow hi
s pounding heart. It was beating out of his chest, which did nothing for his shit aim. Truth be told, none of them could really shoot, but with a row of people armed with magitech, they could do some actual damage. More importantly, they were sowing confusion.
“Fire!” he screamed as he saw the first helmet come into sight.
Blue streams of magical power flew from their new location, taking out a soldier or two, but also keying the advancing horde into their location. Parker stopped firing and glanced over at his team. They were all drenched in sweat and breathing heavier than he was. They couldn’t keep this up for long without being overtaken by the more advanced Capitol Guard and whoever else was with them.
After a few seconds of exchanging fire, the enemy followed their same pattern. Fifty men, maybe more, jumped to their feet and blasted in every direction as they advance on his team.
“Run!” he shouted, as he sprung to his feet.
The ladies followed, running with their heads down through the trees. Krystal was right behind him. Ten yards through the woods, a scream tore through the trees. He and Krystal stopped, looking over their shoulders. Glenda, a teen from the Boulevard, had fallen. Parker took a step toward her before Krystal grabbed his arm.
“Get them the hell out of here,” she screamed in his ear. “I got this.”
“No,” Parker said, but she was already gone.
Wide-eyed, he watched Krystal blast her way toward the girl. He held his breath, waving the rest ahead of him. She was right. They needed him to lead if this crazy plan was going to work. But as he looked up, he realized Krystal needed him, too.
A blast struck her in the arm, and she spun in mid-air, hitting the ground with a groan.
Everything inside of Parker told him to run in the opposite direction, but loyalty and determination trumped his self-preservation. Leveling his weapon at the incoming men, he pulled the trigger again and again. By the time he got to his fallen friend, Glenda was on one knee, taking out Arcadian troops as if she were born with a rifle in her hand.
She dragged Krystal to her feet.
“Leave me,” she groaned.
