The lone scout riding atop her mustardy skidded to a halt. She clambered off her mount, massaging some life into her tired legs. Her faithful zuum wandered over to a small spring that cascaded merrily out of the otherwise parched hills, and she patted its dusty flanks as means of thanks.
She had reached the top of one of the many hills that made up the Epian range, named after the famous explorer who had mapped much of northern Kanturk, as well as discovering and claiming the vast deposits of natural ores that provided most of the country’s wealth.
If North Kanturk coined the currency, then the fertile farmlands the hills encircled fed the people. For a full twenty miles around the capital, a huge quilt of golden fields and grazing pastures on which vast herds of cattle and sheep roamed dominated the landscape, with only the occasional tiny village disturbing the vast swathe of cultivation.
The scout’s dark clothing made for perfect cover in the forests which lay beyond the hills, but here on the exposed hilltop it picked her out as an easy target, as well as being uncomfortably hot to wear. She stayed low, wiping her brow and leaving a grimy mark from the dust, before peering through a pair of antique binoculars that hung around her neck. She smiled.
“Bingo.”
Her sharp eyes detected movement amidst the dense foliage. She spent a few minutes estimating the number of the force below here, finally reaching a figure of about thirteen hundred, moving north-east at a fast walking pace. If they moved quickly, they should be able to engage before nightfall – and most of her force was well-versed in forest warfare.
Pleased with her findings, she turned to leave. Her mustardy was gone. She swallowed hard, scanning the area in case she had wandered off, knowing that she wouldn’t. Sensing movement behind her, she slid her pair of Kris blades and turned to face her possible aggressor. Three seconds later she crashed to the ground, blood trickling from her eyes and ears. The sunlight caught the tip of a scythe’s blade…
---------
“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” thought Cormac for the thousandth time. He was riding in the middle of a convoy of elite warriors who were skilled in fighting with both weapons and monsters, the famous Blue Shields. They were in pursuit of the still unknown group that had attacked the stadium in Kanturk.
He shifted uncomfortably, this being the first time he had ridden on a zuum, and not finding the experience pleasant. Despite Captain Winters’ assurances that the pure zuum was the most docile beast he possessed, he still felt that he was only vaguely in control. Lisa rode to his side, looking as though she’d been born in the saddle. They’d spoken little, both too emotionally and physically drained to chat in their usual comfortable way. Cormac was still troubled by Lisa’s past links with Leon, who he didn’t fully trust yet, and she’d been evasive when he tried to talk with her about it.
“When the time’s right, I’ll tell you everything, ‘kay?” she’d said.
In short, Cormac felt uneasy and because of this, irritated – the mental equivalent of wearing itchy new clothes. Of course, he was wearing new clothes, and they did indeed itch – when he and Lisa had agreed to aid the force against the attackers, they’d both been given a standard uniform, which was a subtle blend of greens and yellows that made its wearer hard to spot in woods or plains, of which Kanturk was abundant. What they hadn’t been given was weapons, which vexed Lisa and relieved Cormac.
Cormac had been worried that there would be questions asked about their disappearance and absence from the stadium in the hours after the disaster, but as Leon had correctly predicted, the Governors of Kanturk had far more pressing issues at hand, and the fact that they were unhurt was enough information to them. It had been even easier to offer their help against the attackers, for many of the trainers present at the stadium were wounded, missing, or dead, and so they were willing to accept any help they could get. After they’d signed huge amounts of legal paraphernalia, of course.
They’d learnt of the full scale of the disaster soon after. More than five hundred had been killed, and about twice that were still unaccounted for, among them Mr. Ghubs and his assistant. Many of the missing were wealthy or powerful or both. Also missing were half of them competitors, and of those not taken, many family members had been abducted.
Including Lisa’s parents.
“Why hadn’t you told me before?” he’d asked, astonished.
“I wanted to make sure that you’d help us either way. You were under enough pressure as it was, what with this whole god-thing showing up, and I didn’t want to put anymore on you.” she’d replied softly.
“But…well…are you okay?”
“No, not really. But I’ve already done all the crying I’m going to, and at least I’m doing everything I can to try and get them back. There isn’t much else to do.”
However, not everyone had been happy with the youths’ participation, among them the Blue Shields’ leader, a Captain Felix Winters. A renowned fighter and commander, both hand-to-hand and with monsters – some claimed he was single-handedly responsible for the cessation of bandit activity in the Maighnad Pass north of Kanturk. He was a thin, sinewy man, and was a rancher that looked very similar to his monster, a noble hare, Nonpareil. His face was a wealth of scars, which he bore proudly, as one might tout a medal or trophy.
The pair’s inclusion had resulted in several hours of heated arguments behind closed doors (which gave them a chance to catch up on some much-needed sleep), after which Capt. Winters reluctantly seceded, albeit under a strict set of rules. This meant that they were to be kept separate from the rest of the soldiers, partially to keep them from getting in the way of formation changes and orders, but also to prevent them from falling foul of any group attacks, and to keep them free to use their monsters skills, for without them they would be all but helpless.
As far as Cormac could make out, this hadn’t changed the basic formation of the group noticeably.
The force was broadly divided into four groups. Leading the pack was the pixie division, whose high speed and manoeuvrability as well as flight made them the perfect psuedo-scouts, giving the force far greater vision than it otherwise would have – essential to avoid ambushes, especially in the heavily forested lands outside of the “wheat rings”, as they were called.
On either side of the inner group were the hare and garu legions. These were the shock troops, fast men and monsters that packed a powerful punch and could move fast enough to disrupt any tactics the foes could have. The troops were well-versed in their skills and few opposing forces could recover from such an early blitzkrieg.
Finally, the jells held the rear of the group. Flexible and tough, these troops were the backbone of the force, compensating for any weaknesses elsewhere, as well as defending against any sneak attacks from behind.
As for Cormac and Lisa, they were in the centre of the groups, protected by the lieutenants, the general, and two score hand-picked fighters. Each regiment had their own lieutenant, with Captain Winters in control of both the hare division and the overall group. To his credit, he’d deferred his personal feelings over the situation, and been if not welcoming then at least polite. He hadn’t spoken to them more then was absolutely necessary, for which Cormac was secretly glad.
On the other hand, Lieutenant Colin Reid, of the Jell division, had interrogated them exhaustively on the fighting style of the mysterious man they’d encountered in the stadium. Form their description of his manner and battle prowess (despite Tessa’s best efforts, Cobalt still hadn’t fully recovered from the devastating injuries inflicted by the joker) it was widely assumed that he was either the leader of the operation, or at least something more than a grunt.
They’d told him as much as they could, and the muscular, fervent young man had digested all of the information, thanking them profusely. Whenever they’d paused, they’d seen him practicing with Liadonel, his ripperslime. They learnt that he’d only recently been promoted to his rank, and was eager to prove himself at this level; for he wore his dull ochre armband of office at all times and kept his rugged blond-haired head high.
Lt. Susan Smyth, leader of the Garu brigade, had greeted them warmly but had otherwise been distant. She was second in command to Winters and a brilliant tactician and strategist. Behind her warm, friendly features lay a cunning and occasionally ruthless mind. She’d never been unable to find a weakness to exploit in a foe, whether one-on-one or in a pitched battle, with monsters or men. She’d spent much of the journey so far conversing with Winters, occasionally glancing back at the pair. Lisa theorized that she was planning the best use of them.
The fourth leader had already split from the group, and was charged to glean information on the force they were facing, for little was truly known. Lt. Alison Conway, leader of the Pixie forces, had left earlier that day, to keep track of them. Only Winters’ knew where she was.
They rode on for several hours, the landscape of gold and emerald fading to the dusty yellow and dull green of the higher hills. The sun slowly crossed the sky, the remnants of summer playing their final fanfare before giving way to the long autumn nights. The heat seemed to intensify as they travelled, until the air shimmered and Cormac was considering eschewing the protection he’d received from Leon in exchange for relief, however slight, from the searing temperatures. He felt the time slip by, lethargy settling on his limbs, until he neither knew nor cared where he was.
As they travelled through an especially rugged pass, Cormac found himself staring into the middle distance, mind blank, body listless, when a flicker in the corner of his eye grabbed his attention. He didn’t change his posture, but was now alert, searching with intent. Just as he was to dismiss the sight as minor heatstroke, he caught another movement. Now he was sure, and so was prepared for the flash of dark yellow as it darted among the scree.
“Captain...” he murmured.
“I see her, boy.” growled Winters. Despite the gruffness, he was secretly impressed. Few could spot Alison when she didn’t want to be seen.
“Very good, sir.” replied Alison, stepping forward. Cormac had been forewarned, but amazement still crossed his features as the young woman and her mustardy literally stepped out from the scenery. She’d made no conspicuous effort to hide, she simply faded into the foreground - what had been grit and dust and boulders suddenly rearranged into a fair young woman resting lightly on her monster, a faint smile on her face. It wasn’t the first time she and Winters had played this game.
“If I may speak to you in private, sir?” she said, stepping forward. The two stepped to one side and began an animated conversation. At one point Alison looked over her shoulder at Cormac, and much to his surprise and slight horror, winked.
“Did she just...?” he hissed to Lisa.
“Yes...” replied Lisa in a voice with a hint of claws. Cormac glanced at her. Was it just from exertion, or were her cheeks slightly redder than usual...?
“Uh, Lisa?”
“Sshh, he’s talking.”
“Alright, men, we’re going to continue on. The enemy is further ahead than we thought, so, it’ll be rapid marching until midnight, followed by a few hours rest and then continued pursuit. With luck, we’ll engage tomorrow evening.”
“What about numbers, sir?” asked Reid.
“Lt. Conway estimated about seven hundred.”
Lt. Reid raised an eyebrow. “That seems rather few, sir. Are you sure?”
“Are you questioning my scouting, Colin?” said Conway.
“All that I’m saying is that eye-witness reports from the stadium put the number considerably higher.”
“As I recall, there were other reports of highly suspicious nature. Frightened, panicking people are prone to seeing strange things. As you or any other experienced lieutenant should know.”
Cormac heard Lt. Smyth give out a sigh. Reid narrowed his eyes. “Hang on a second...”
“Alright, that’s enough!” interjected Winters, as a means of ending the conversation. “Come on, we’re moving out.”
Leon and Tessa watched the group go.
----------
And now it was evening. The setting sun threw a web of shadows across the forest floor. Cormac mused on how this setting would be perfect for Leon. The discord amongst all of the officers had meant that little had been spoken in the journey up until this point, and Lisa could sense Winters’ frustration, and told Cormac so.
“He is really not happy about us being here, y’know I’m pretty sure he blames us for that argument, even though it wasn’t our fault.” She whispered.
“That’s just displacement – something’s not gone right, he’s annoyed, and we’re handy targets. Besides, I’m not too happy about it, either.” Cormac growled.
“I know. I’m sorry. But I’m really glad you are. It’s great to know that even in all the madness that’s been going on, you’re still there…I really appreciate it.”
Cormac winced; relieved she couldn’t see his expression. He hoped that didn’t mean what he thought it meant…
He peered through the trees to distract himself, a quickly-descending gloom making it hard to see anything at all. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, as his sixth sense screamed a warning into the front of his mind. Something was very wrong...
He looked around wildly. He saw nothing unusual, the forest seeming utterly featureless. And that was the problem, there was absolutely nothing remarkable or interesting nearby. No forest was this plain. He knew, too late, the danger.
“Am-!”
The rest of the cry was swallowed up by a tremendous explosion that tore through the front of the group, Cormac watched in horror as half of the pixies were enveloped in searing orange flames, screams of pain and surprise cut off abruptly. The shock wave crashed into him, the leather harness biting into his fingers as he fought to remain on his mount.
From nowhere, hundreds of darkly clad soldiers boiled out from the trees, backed up by golems, durahans, and other artificial monsters. Winters bellowed orders above the screams and shouts and even after suffering such a grievous blow his troops responded with admirable bravery and skill.
Not that Cormac was in any position to do so, for his already nervy zuum had bolted after the explosion, and was now desperately trying to reign in the beast as it plunged headlong through the trees before he brained himself on a low branch. Finally, after the sounds of battle had long since faded, he calmed it enough to slow it to a gentle trot. Thenardi relinquished his grip on Cormac’s back, much to his master’s relief.
The light was swiftly leeching from the sky at this point, casting a net of shadows over the forest where Cormac now stood. The twilight closed in, reducing his vision to a dozen paces at best. He reached up and with an ease that might have surprised him had he been more attentive, snapped a thick, short branch off a tree.
“Thenardi, give us a little light.”
His mew obliged, a weak laser igniting the dry wood. Cormac lifted his impromptu torch above his head. To his untrained sight, he saw little of importance. Besides, he was needed back in the melee, no time to waste. Except…something wasn’t quite right…
The top of the torch was sheared off, extinguishing as it hit the ground. He’d already hit the ground rolling, hearing the horrible hissing sounds as more razor-discs sliced through the air. A brief reptilian scream followed by a frantic scrabbling announced the loss of his mount. Cormac stayed low, blinking, trying to regain his night vision the torch had dispelled. He pulled himself up into a half-crouch and tried to gather his thoughts.
The warning came too late. A final, decisive disc smashed into his chest. He hit the ground hard, and didn’t move.
------------------------------------------------- Feel free to insert an overused comment on early Christmas presents, if you wish. Feedback is appreciated and noted.