Sign of the Twelve

 

Tablo reader up chevron

Volley'd and Thunder'd

The cannons on the left flank volleyed twice in rapid succession, fire spitting forth from muzzles the size of buildings. Half a dozen reports shook the soldiers stationed around the great iron beasts. Colden Odemwingie was among those who hunkered in the muck alongside the cannons. His whole body tense with the urge to move – the urge to do something —— he followed the path of the half—dozen cannonballs through a pair of binoculars.

This battle couldn’t move fast enough. Colden and his squad – twelve grizzled veterans – camped here for a fortnight waiting for the right moment to attack the Senescare. His men were antsy, and with good reason. The higher—ups drove them double—time to this godsforsaken plain, forced them to dig trenches, and made them sit still while artillery dithered over where to place the thrice—damned cannons.

The whistling cannonballs struck the ground one after the other, each sending up clouds of dirt and enemy soldiers in equal measure. At last! Colden nodded once, and then turned to his squad. “Up and over, boys!” His men stood along with the rest of their grim-faced battalion; up and over the trench line they went, firing repeating rifles once they hit no man’s land.

The surprised Senescare troops didn’t stay that way for long. Colden hit the dirt quick as he could, allowing enemy gunfire to streak over his head. His squad dropped the instant he did; to a man they kept safe while others fell around them. He snapped his eyes shut as someone’s hot blood splattered in his face. He re-opened his eyes just as fast, wiped the crimson away, and cleared his rifle to retaliate.

“Take aim!” Colden perched his rifle on the ground. He picked his target through the scope – a dragoon in shining armor on horseback – and squeezed the trigger. The dragoon’s head exploded like a melon. Colden popped a second heavy cavalry soldier the same way. Around him other squads took the same tactic; keeping low to the ground so the Senscares couldn’t get a clear shot. Enemy bullets whizzed harmlessly over his squad’s heads as they cut down rows of soldiers. The blighters couldn’t seem to get clear shots.

Something screeched overhead and Colden’s heart leapt. The Aerials had made it at last, by the Twelve, and their vapor trails carved bright streaks through the leaden violet sky. The Sensecare fled under the sudden force of half a hundred aerial missiles dropped on their heads. Colden saw one of those ugly gray—green banners fall to the ground through his rifle scope; he fired one last round at the retreating enemies and made yet another standard—bearer drop to the dirt.

The Aerials chased the Senescare to the hill at the far end of the battlefield, dropping bombs one after the other, before veering off and zooming back to their forward positions. Colden switched to his binoculars, eschewing the cheers of his fellow soldiers. The Senescare never retreated so quickly. He scanned the valley they’d engaged the enemy in. Verdant emerald—green grass stood caked with crimson blood while the shattered bodies of men lay strewn about like children’s toys.

Colden couldn’t see a single thing to convince him the Senescare planned some sort of ambush. So he stood, and bid his men do the same. Together they trudged back to the trench line, where other soldiers cheered their victory over the hated enemy. Someone had tapped a cask of old Valti rum and was passing cups around. Colden noticed the expectant looks on his men’s faces.

“Go ahead,” he said. All but one joined the line to get a sip of grog. “Nothing for you, Kinde?”

Kinde shook his head, blonde-white hair showing under his helmet. “No, sir, captain. Rum dulls the senses too much.”

“Aye that it does.” Colden nodded. “Well then you can accompany me to command.”

Kinde saluted. He fell into step beside Colden. They walked in silence through the muck of the trenches, boots squelching in the muddy ground. “Begging your pardon, sir,” Kinde said after a while, “but you don’t seem convinced we routed those wobblies.”

“Very keen of you.” Colden was impressed. Kinde had paid attention when he paused before allowing them to rise. “The Senescare are not ones to retreat. Not ever, and not against a bombing run. I’m surprised they did today, and more shocked they didn’t have artillery to bring the Aerials down.”

“What are you going to tell the major?”

“Much the same, I imagine.” The command tent was a simple canvas affair with the crowned bear of the Artanish Royal House on the twin flags outside the entrance. Colden thought it rather silly to advertise their command tent like this, but he’d been shouted down about it before. So he kept his mouth shut now.

Two knights in gleaming armor guarded the entrance. They crossed their long—range repeaters, barrels twice the length of a regular gun, in front of him. “Name and business,” one said.

“Captain Colden Odemwingie, 14th Infantry, Wolf Squad,” Colden dashed off a salute. “I’d like to speak with Major Avinsen.” The guard who’d spoken nodded and entered the tent. Colden looked at the other guard while he waited. The man stared straight ahead, long—range gun at parade rest, and didn’t even look at him. Colden couldn’t imagine wearing a full suit of armor in this heat; especially not one that completely covered his head. Give him the plain infantry blues any day of the week.

“The major will see you,” the first guard said when he emerged from the tent. Colden nodded and walked past them, into the chaos of the command tent. Staffers ran from one end of the tent to the other, moving pins that marked various armed forces, relaying messages from one group of telegraphs to the other, and doing a host of other things that Colden didn’t care to think about.

Major Avinsen stood at the large strategy table near the back, a map splayed out before him. The white-haired major conversed with a pair of generals – most likely over some piece of tactics to deter the Senescare from encroaching into Artanish territory. Colden stood apart from the hubbub, Kinde close behind him. At length, one of the major’s runners got his attention and pointed to Colden. Avinsen excused himself from the discussion and approached.

“Captain Odemwingie, I understand you wanted to see me?” Avinsen’s eyes made it clear he was prepared for some fool nonsense. Given the tenuous relationship Colden sometimes had with his commanding officer, he wasn’t surprised.

“Aye, sir.” Colden hesitated. Damn it to the inferno. “The Senescare fled faster than normal under the barrage. I’ve never seen them scatter like that in the entire campaign.”

“Indeed,” Avinsen said, slowly. “Mekuria,” he called to one of his aides, a gaunt—faced young man. “Would you say the Senescare retreated more quickly than normal?”

Mekuria wore the dress greens of the command units, not the infantry blues. He probably got there because his parents were rich enough to buy a commission, Colden reflected with more than a little bitterness. The gaunt caramel-skinned man cleared his throat and spoke in the high tones of the noble-born, his cold gray eyes haughty. “They finally recognize our superior firepower,” he said. “I’d expect nothing less from those yellow-belied wobblies.”

“There, you see?” Avinsen’s tone brooked little argument. “Thank you for your concerns, captain, but they’re entirely unwarranted.” He turned away. “Now if you’ll return to your post, I would appreciate it most heartily.”

Colden clenched his jaw. He wanted to respond with something scathing about Roland’s parentage and Avinsen’s intellect, but that would probably do more harm than good. Instead, he saluted the major’s back, turned on his heel, and marched out. Kinde scrambled to keep up with him. Colden took long strides through the trenches, passing men celebrating their victory over the enemy. Fury and shame burned deep in his gut, turning his insides out like a butchered sow.

That damned popinjay of a major refused to listen to anything if it wasn’t spoon—fed to him by the generals or his precious toadies. Not even Ahwicyen the Reaper come up from below the ground could convince the fool otherwise. Colden knew, deep in his bones, that the Senescare had fled too fast and too far for them to not have another plan. And Ahwicyen take him down to the fiery pits if he wasn’t going to find out what it was.

“What’s your plan, captain?” Kinde’s question broke through Colden’s anger. He hadn’t even realized the other man was still at his elbow. Colden blinked at him for a moment.

“The Senescare are planning something vile,” Colden said, “and I aim to find out what.”

“Anything I can do, sir?”

“Find Asmund and Danny-boy, then meet me at the far west exit.” Colden nodded at Kinde’s salute. The young man ran off in search of his fellows. The Wolves were a hard—drinking lot, save their captain, but Asmund and Dan should be the least drunk among them. They were also the best at subterfuge and scouting work.

Colden took it easy walking to the western trenches; it wouldn’t do to clue too many of his fellows into the plan. Some men lounged about, sipping rum and smoking cigarillos. Colden noted a few games of cards and dice played on overturned supply crates. He waved to another officer or two along the way, until he reached the sentry at the western edge.

“Hail, Mamo,” he said to the young man at the top of the ladder, binoculars to his face. Mamo lowered his binoculars from tired brown eyes.

“Captain Odemwingie, sir,” Mamo said. “What’s brought you to the ass—end of the trench?”

“Had a thought. Wanted to check it out.”

“Dangerous things, thoughts.” Mamo grinned. He’d come from the same village as Colden – a few years younger than him, but the same one. “They can get a man in trouble, right enough.”

“That they can,” Colden shot him a crooked smile. The squelch of boots in the muck drew his attention. Kinde approached with Asmund and Danny—boy in tow; Asmund was still tucking his wiry black hair under his helmet and Danny fought with the strap on his glasses. Good. Now he could get started. Mamo looked at the other soldiers.

“Looks like more than a thought to me, Cole.” The nickname made Colden wince. Mamo knew he was up to something command didn’t know about; something that could quite possibly get them all in trouble.

“Jake, the wobblies fled tail between their legs after one bombing run. You don’t think that’s the least bit off—kilter for them?”

“I’ve not seen them do that before, but what about a sudden realization they’re on the losing side?”

Colden looked at him askance. “What wobbly have you met that thinks they’re not going to roll into the palace driving the defeated Artanish Army before them?”

“Fair point, sir.” Mamo took the quartet in. “But if anyone asks you conked me over the head to get past. I’m not taking the fall for you, even if you are from Eskidalr.” He climbed down the ladder and took a seat on the nearest crate.

“Good man. Thaio bless you and yours.” Colden turned to his men. “Look sharp, boys.” He clambered up the ladder and immediately ran, hunched over, to the nearest boulder for cover. If the Senescare had snipers stationed out here, he didn’t want to give them even a hint of a target. Kinde and the others soon joined him. Vultures wheeled in the air above the field of dead men, diving every so often to attempt to pull away some meat. Colden saw a troop of Artanish medics – the white star of Famyra on their uniforms – collecting dead soldiers.

Colden turned to his men. “The Senescare are up to something. I’m sure of it.”

“What makes you say, cap?” Asmund had his repeater at the ready. Colden gestured to the far—off hill.

“They retreated over that hill. That specific point was the place they ran to – why? The Senescare fight to almost the last man every single time we’ve engaged them. Why flee unless they’re planning something big?” Colden wasn’t as crazy as Avinsen made him out to be; otherwise his men wouldn’t nod their heads in agreement. Everyone had seen the wobblies make haste over the far hill, but he was clearly the only one asking questions about it.

“What’re your plans, sir?” Danny—boy pushed his spectacles up on his nose. “We going to find out what those buggers be playing at?”

“Aye, we are. But we can’t let anyone know where we’re going – excepting Jake back at the trench. This is an unapproved mission, lads, and I chose you because you’re my best. So turn ‘round for the trenches now if you want.” None of the three men moved. Colden allowed a crooked grin. “Good lads. Now follow me.”

Colden stepped from the boulder into a hunch—backed position. He could run faster this way, and his gear didn’t jingle near as much. He led his small team in that position from cover to cover, avoiding the medical teams still in the field. They dodged craters full of blood—soaked bodies, and leapt a handful of barbed—wire fences they’d set as traps for the wobblies.

Colden had to stop them a few times when they got too close to the medics for his comfort. His heart skipped a beat when he thought one medic saw them diving into a ditch. The soldier mustn’t have noticed them, however, because no general alarm went up. Dodging and diving across the field they went, like the wolves on their uniform patches. The sun was low in the western sky when they finally reached the hill at the other end of the valley.

It was a brief moment to march up the gently sloping hill; Colden glanced back down when he reached the top. The valley stretched out before him, gentle hills on both sides and a lazy river in the near distance. This place could almost be peaceful if there wasn’t a war on. A low ridge at the top of the hill afforded a perfect hiding spot, and he waved the others down beside him. Once they were situated, Colden whipped out his binoculars and bid his men do the same. Four sets of eyes scanning the scene would be sure to spot what’s what.

They didn’t need the binoculars to see the truth. Gray-green banners speckled the valley before them like cockroaches, each marking a hundred men or more. Colden could scarcely believe his eyes — the force they’d engaged was barely a quarter of the army arrayed below them. There was no way the Artanish forward garrison could hold against this many men. Sunlight glinted from the iron hides of tanks and armored troop carriers that formed the Senescare front line. This was a force meant to roll over any and all opposition; to hell with engaging the enemy.

“Cap,” Asmund tapped his shoulder. “Look to the sky.”

Colden trained his binoculars on the horizon. The cigar—shaped shadows rising out of the west could scarcely stand for anything except zeppelins. Colden counted ten, twenty, no fifty shadows getting into formation. He ducked under cover, and bid his men do the same. They looked at him, expectant, while Colden’s mind spun. He needed to warn Avinsen. Maybe there was a chance they could arrange some artillery, or scramble the Aerials so there was at least a fighting chance.

“Danny, do you still have the portable?” Colden held out his hand when the other man nodded. The portable aetheric communicator was the size of a book, but it was the best way to get word back to camp. Colden pulled the antennae out and slapped the button on the side. The tell—tale crackle of an open line blared. “Command, this is Captain Colden Odemwingie, Wolf Squad, code Xavier Tango Alpha 323. Do you read?”

The portable crackled, but no response came. Colden repeated the message. Dread grew like a stone in the pit of his stomach. The Artanish camp wasn’t visible from this vantage point. They’d done that on purpose to discourage easy spying. Colden scrambled back down the hill, repeating his call sign again and again. Static still crackled back at him. Colden became acutely aware of the frantic tone in his voice. He nearly flew down the hill to the plains within minutes, the others fast behind him. And then, at last, he saw the conflagration.

 

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

The Senescare Camp

The trenches were burning. Flames the size of ships leapt toward the heavens, fed by Senescare zeppelins hovering above the Artanish camp. Colden had been right – utterly and terrifyingly right – but he could scarce imagine the wobblies capable of this. Some Aerials tried to retaliate, but the zeppelins knocked the small fighter aircraft out of the sky easy as swatting a fly.

Colden stood gaping and barely able to move. A great horn blew on the other side of the hill. He ignored it, agog at the military might the wobblies turned against them. The Artanish didn’t stand a chance with their camp in flames. It took all three of Colden’s men to drag him behind a nearby boulder before the Senescare armor and infantry charged into view. The tanks puffed steam as they rolled forward, accompanied by the thudding booms of shot from their main cannons. The other fifty zeppelins filled the air above, sending trails of fire toward the few remaining Aerials that tried to fight back.

Colden’s ears rang from the din, and his head spun. Kinde shouted something at him, but he could only see the young man’s lips moving. Colden concentrated, willing the ringing away, and felt sudden warmth run through his body. It banished the fear and shock, and calmed his pounding heart to where he could actually think.

“Are you all right?” Kinde’s voice finally came through. Colden nodded. He cast around for Asmund and Danny, and found them watching the advancing Senescare with their guns out. Asmund looked like he was aiming at someone.

“Hold.” Colden grabbed the gun barrel. Asmund looked at him, incredulous at the response. “We’ll just get shot up if we attack them.”

“But Captain—”

“I know, lads. I want to make them pay too, but we’ve got to warn the rest of the army.” Colden stared hard at the flaming trenches. “No one thought the wobblies could do something like this.” Asmund nodded his agreement, but his face said otherwise. Colden wasn’t lying; he did want to make the Senescare pay for killing so many of his friends. The rest of Wolf Squad was dead in those fiery lakes, and he aimed to make someone pay for that.

They stayed behind the boulder until the moon rose. Colden offered a prayer to Suheit, lady of the moon, that they could sneak past the Senescare forces. Gunshots rang out at random now – the wobblies making sure all the Artanish men were well and truly dead. Silvery light bathed the battlefield, making it look like the dead were simply men asleep. Colden whipped out his binoculars and looked toward the still—burning trenches.

He scanned the flames, expecting … the gods only knew what. When he didn’t see any of the enemy forces move away from the flames, he gave the order to move out. They went single file, Colden in the lead with Asmund behind him and Danny and Kinde bringing up the rear. Kinde kept a weather eye behind them; getting away alive could be a difficult proposition if the Senescare caught sight of them. Colden pointed toward the hill. Asmund nodded and sent the gesture back to the others. Together they dodged from cover to cover back to the ridge they’d hidden behind earlier in the day. Colden stopped them at cover again.

“We need some transport,” he said. “And I suggest we split up.” He raised a hand to forestall any argument. “Everyone needs to hear what happened, and I can’t guarantee that we’ll all get through if we go together.”

“We could all die by not sticking,” Asmund grumbled. “I don’t like it, captain. Not one bit.”

“Noted, Asie. But how do you plan to get word back to central and to the forward posts the wobblies are going to attack?”

Asmund opened his mouth, and then frowned. “I still don’t like it.” At least he’d agreed there was no other way. That was a victory by itself.

“Danny, I want you and Kinde to get a horseless and head west toward Sheddlesborough. Asmund and I will take the east and Fort Dominion.” Colden saw nods all around, even though Asmund still wore his frown. “We’re the only ones who’ve seen this today. Let’s get the word out.”

Danny clapped a hand on Colden’s shoulder. “Still owe me a beer.”

“I’ll meet you at the Harpwood in a week.” Colden let the grin show. Trust Danny to wish him luck without saying it. Danny nodded, and then he and Kinde moved away down the hill toward the western edge of the Senescare camp. Colden took Asmund with him toward the east side. They crept slowly down the side of the hill, making sure that none of the sentries spied them. It was slow going to say the least — the wobblies seemed to have guards every three or four feet.

Colden caught sight of a woman armored in leather painted white and black. Her cloak was the most interesting part though; the black cloak was decorated with a phoenix — its red and gold wings outstretched toward her shoulders. The way she moved reminded him of the acrobats in the circus back home; an economy of motion that nevertheless made it clear she could strike at a moment’s notice. The way the men avoided her made it clear this woman was something special.

She could only be an Ayusin — one of the Imperator’s personal guards. Colden paused behind cover to watch her. Her pulled-back hair was midnight black, and shimmered in the torchlight like an onyx stone. When she turned around, Colden was transfixed. Her bearing marked her as a warrior, despite a face that looked more like a storybook princess. He wanted a closer look, but Asmund’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to the task at hand.

Asmund was looking at him askance, asking silently what in the hells he was playing at. Colden ignored the stare. He could scarce answer why the woman had entranced him. There was something important about her though, and Colden aimed to find out what it was soon. Eventually they reached a small fleet of horseless carriages designed for overland travel. The wheels were three times thicker than an urban model, and the black metal chassis looked like an overly large bullet. No matter though – there was just enough space for three people and gear in each one. Two fit perfectly with room to spare, but four would’ve been too tight of a squeeze.

Colden watched the motor pool guard carefully. The chestnut-skinned man paced back and forth along a very short pathway, his gas lantern swinging in the darkness. His bored slouch gave Colden hope; perhaps he could easily circumvent the guard and steal a carriage. Bored people weren’t the most attentive sort. The guard walked away, past a line of carriages. Colden motioned for Asmund to follow. The pair snuck out from behind the boulder and crept to the nearest vehicle.

The door was easy enough to open. Clearly the wobblies didn’t think anyone stupid enough to steal a horseless. Colden slipped his pack off and into the backseat, and then took Asmund’s. Asmund clambered over the driver’s side and into the passenger side. He kept his repeater pointed the direction the guard had come. Colden meanwhile strangled a snort when he found the keys tucked up under the sun-protector.

He shoved the keys in the ignition and turned. The steam engine turned over and roared to life. Colden thanked Thaio for modern engineering, shifted gears, and pressed his foot to the floor. Someone shouted way behind him. Asmund squeezed off a pair of shots as Colden steered them out onto the plains. Whoever fired at them responded in kind; clearly the motor-pool guard wasn’t happy about loaning them the carriage.

Colden drew his revolver and fired a few rounds without looking. No such thing as too many bullets to avoid. He turned back to their path ahead, flipped the headlamps on, and sped out onto the plains. The carriage bounded over the next hill before lights appeared in the rear-view. Colden swore. Trust the damned wobblies to get pursuit up and running fast. Bullets whizzed past them on either side; some even thudded against the carriage rear.

Thank the Twelve for poor aim and the bumpy Artanish countryside. The Senescare could barely shoot straight, let alone hit them with any reliability. Colden swung the wheel hard to the left, allowing Asmund to get a broadside shot at some of their pursuers. Six horseless carriages brimmed with shooters trying to make cheesecloth out of them. Colden whipped the wheel the other direction, eliciting a high whine from the steering column.

Asmund was pressed against the door mid turn. He righted himself soon enough though, and pulled himself up out of the window. He perched on the door and fired a few shots over their roof. Colden caught sight of the turn he wanted – into Cradle ravine — and yanked Asmund back into the carriage by his pant leg. “Hold on!” Colden whipped the wheel hard toward the ravine. They sailed between the rocky walls of the Cradle, barely squeezing into the rock-strewn gap.

Their pursuers weren’t so lucky. Twin explosions behind them marked a pair who missed the needle-narrow safe road. Colden checked in his rear-view; only a single set of lights was visible. Apparently the rest of them weren’t stupid enough to try the ravine. He grinned. This would get interesting for that stupid wobbly very quickly.

Colden hurtled around corners, barely missing rocky outcrops and the giant boulders that made the locals call this place Death’s Doorway. The best part though was the sandtraps that could suck a man or a carriage down in seconds. Colden knew the layout better than most anyone; he’d laid many a trap here for Senescare soldiers.

He checked the rear-view after speeding around yet another sandtrap. Huh. Still one pair of lights back there. “Persistent blighter,” he muttered. Asmund fired a few shots, but intermittently. The ravine walls were too inconstant to allow for a man leaning out a window all the time. Colden shifted the carriage into a higher gear and gunned the engine. The tiny automata inside the mechanism must be shoveling coal overtime now.

Steam poured from the stack on the roof as they sailed headlong through the twists and turns. The Senescare carriage kept right on their tail, never flagging, never hitting any of the traps. Colden was flabbergasted every time he looked in the mirror. How in the thirteen hells did this stinking wobbly manage it?

“I don’t think we’re shaking them, cap,” Asmund said after awhile. “Best be rid of them the old fashioned way.”

“Aye.” Colden whipped around two bends and gunned the engine on the next straightaway. A sudden heat filled his entire body, and they careened forward as though fired from a cannon. The carriage moved so fast that the other headlights fell away in the darkness. Colden felt the force of the journey in his very bones, while Asmund hung on for dear life in the passenger side. At the next widening of the path, Colden twisted the wheel hard to the left and stopped the carriage cold.

Asmund sprung from the carriage the instant it stopped and took up a post right at a boulder on the nearest rise. Colden raced followed him, both facing back the way they’d come. Their abandoned carriage sat in the middle of the open area, headlamps still on high and idling away. Together they waited in the moonlight for pursuit to appear. For a long moment, the chirps of crickets were the only thing Colden heard save the idling of their carriage. “Fire on my signal,” he said. Asmund nodded.

Their pursuer drove into view at a snail’s pace, their carriage chugging along. Whoever drove clearly didn’t trust the abandoned vehicle. Smart move, that. He’d expect a trap too if he suddenly found a horseless facing him with no apparent driver. Colden sighted through his scope, keeping an eye on the enemy carriage. It stopped about a hundred yards away from theirs. One person stepped out and walked over to the abandoned vehicle. They crossed into the headlamps, and Colden saw the red and white of an infantryman. He came to the driver’s window of the abandoned carriage.

The soldier must’ve said the carriage was empty, because another form got out — this time from the front — and walked over. The second man looked in the carriage too; he called back to the driver, who still hadn’t gotten out. One soldier walked into the middle of the field of headlamps, scratching his head. Colden resisted a snicker. The stupid wobbly couldn’t figure out where they’d gone.

“Man at car,” he said, taking aim at the one in the lamplight. A mere second later, he and Asmund fired at the same time. Asmund’s soldier fell screaming; Colden’s target dropped like a stone. The carriage driver gunned their engine and whipped the wheel around. Colden fired a round straight through the rear boiler. Steam gushed from the broken casing, slowing the carriage. He fired two more shots, both through the boiler. The carriage kept moving, but he saw the driver dive out. Good thing too — the carriage hurtled into ravine wall and burst into a fiery inferno.

Colden hustled to the ravine floor. The explosion was sure to notify anyone in the area of their presence. He just hoped Kinde and Danny snuck away without drawing too much attention themselves. Asmund was at his side in a moment. “Are we off, cap?”

“In half a moment.” The person that had dove from the carriage was stirring. Colden strode over, repeater ready. He stopped just shy of arm distance, barely within the light cast by the headlamps, and pointed the rifle at the person’s head. “Sit up real slowly like. I don’t want any funny business.”

His target groaned, and slowly made to push up. Something twigged in the back of Colden’s mind. Half a second later he dove clear of a thrown knife. He rolled and regained his feet just as his attacker leapt at him. Colden was knocked onto his back from the force of the blow. They struggled back and forth for the rifle — until Colden got his legs underneath and kicked. His assailant sailed off and struck the ground hard. He leapt to his feet, and struck his opponent in the head with his rifle butt.

“And stay down.” He looked around for Asmund … and saw him lying near the carriage with the knife sticking from his throat. “Thaio damn it.” Colden turned to his assailant. He couldn’t very well leave whoever it was behind. There was too much chance they could tell the wobblies where he was headed. And he couldn’t leave Asmund in the dirt like that. Name of the ever-loving Twelve — he had to take the wobbly along. This day was getting worse and worse by the second.

Colden walked back to his idling carriage. He dug two ropes out of his pack, and strode back over to the wobbly. So he could see better, Colden dragged the enemy soldier into the headlamps. He yanked off the soldier’s helmet and cursed. Might as well summon the Reaper now to take him away; his attacker was the Ayusin woman, and the Imperator was known to kill those who took members of his personal guard captive.

He bound her hand and foot, making sure to tighten her bonds so she couldn’t wriggle loose. While the unconscious woman lay in front of the horseless, Colden loaded Asmund’s body into the rear compartment. It was a tight fit with both sets of gear, but he made it work. And now to address his highly valuable, and highly dangerous, hostage. She was still out cold when he walked back over.

At least, that’s how she appeared. Colden walked a brief circuit around his captive. She breathed evenly, and it didn’t look like he’d caused any injuries. Her hair had come loose and fell over her face, making it difficult to see if she was really knocked out or merely playing at it. Colden poked her ribcage with his foot. She remained still. The lack of reaction was satisfactory enough, so he hefted her over his shoulder and loaded her into the carriage. Colden slipped into the driver’s seat, and looked at the Senescare woman.

Close-up, she appeared to be around his age. He resisted the urge to touch her hair. Something drew him to this particular woman, but he didn’t really have time to think about it now. He shifted the carriage into gear, turned it around, and got back on the road to Fort Dominion.

 

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Fort Dominion

 

The sun was just peeking over the clouds when they reached Fort Dominion, an ugly gargoyle of a fort that squatted atop the tallest hill outside the city of Rugerdun. Colden saw it from the hilltop on the other side of the city, which itself was no jewel of Artania. Regardless, Dominion was the army’s base in the eastern part of the country, and the nearest place to get in touch with central command in the capital.

He drove downhill toward the city, but turned left before the main gates so he didn’t have to worry about downtown traffic. Or for that matter questions from the city guards. Colden kept the patchwork city wall on his right; Rugerdun had seen more attacks over the centuries than the rest of Artania combined. That probably had to do with the Untamed Lands being just over the mountains less than ten miles distant.

His captive had been out cold the entire trip. Or at least … she’d made him believe she was. Colden didn’t really believe the Ayusin’s insensate state; everyone had heard the legends of her order – it made no sense for the truth to be any different. Colden kept his eyes on the road; someone long ago added traps to the rough gravel pathway to make it harder for an enemy army to dig in around the city.

It didn’t take long to reach the base of the hill Fort Dominion sat atop. Colden steered the horseless onto the sealed black road that lead up to the fort’s door. He tipped back ever so slightly on the gentle incline. The road winded its way slowly up the hill, affording him a view of Rugerdun every few minutes. From up here the city looked almost peaceful. Colden knew better though — a thousand years of attack had made the Rugerdunians hard and mistrusting. The Artanish army had a terrible time keeping the peace here – even the local constabulary was hard-pressed to keep crime down to anything less than full-bore.

The seamless slate door of Fort Dominion loomed large before them, imposing and fearsome like a terrible giant. Colden stopped the horseless next to a small speaker set on a low pole just in front of the gate. He leaned out of the carriage and struck a button. “This is Captain Colden Odemwingie, 14th Battalion, Wolf Squad, Authorization Xavier Tango Alpha 323, requesting entry.” Colden released the button. It took a few seconds, but a voice crackled back to him.

“Please stand back.”

With a hiss of steam, louder than any he’d ever heard, a crack opened in the fort’s door. It raced down the length of the slate tablet, neatly bisecting the stone. The screech of ancient gears came next, as the doors swung open just wide enough for a horseless to slip through. Colden shifted back into gear and drove forward. He entered the courtyard, and immediately noticed the pair of huge belt-fed repeaters trained on him. Two squads of men stood arrayed before him, repeaters aimed and ready.

Colden stayed where he was. He looked around for someone who might be in charge, and settled on an ochre-skinned man with a pair of blue chevrons on his chest. “Sergeant,” he said, “I’ve got an Ayusin here captive; I’d very much appreciate help in securing her.”

“Ragnar. Thorvald.” The sergeant barked. “Secure the captain’s prisoner.”

Two big men in combat browns stepped forward. They’d only just started to pull the woman out, when she jabbed her fingers into one’s throat. The Ayusin attacked the other, knocking him down with a well-placed kick to the head. Colden rolled from the carriage, while the rest of the soldiers scrambled to attack. The woman knocked three more soldiers down in rapid succession. Colden rushed her, but the woman flipped backward and kicked him in the chin. He flew back, head spinning.

Someone shot a repeater, and soon telltale double-booms filled the air. Colden sat up slowly, shaking his head. When his eyes cleared, he saw the Ayusin had her back to him. She held a private captive, a pistol to his head, and was saying something in her native tongue. Colden stood. He had a chance to knock her out, so long as she didn’t turn around. He hefted a nearby rock… and someone replied back in Senescare.

The Ayusin froze. So did everyone else in the courtyard. A white-haired man in a fine black suit, his skin the color of mahogany, stood at the top of the stairs into the main fort. He walked down slowly, still talking in the woman’s native tongue. The man paused at the base of the stairs, his hands held out and palms to the sky. The Ayusin’s attention was focused on the new arrival. Good. Colden crept closer to the woman, the rock still in his hands.

“Drop the weapon, Captain Odemwingie,” the black-suited man said. Colden hesitated. “Now, please. We want to show good faith to our guest, don’t we?”

Colden let the rock fall to the ground. It hit the dirt with a dull thud, drawing the woman’s attention for a moment. Their eyes met, allowing Colden to see the nervousness in her cerulean gaze. The private still in her arms squirmed a little. The nerves were gone, and she tightened her grip around the man’s neck. White-hair spoke again in Senescare, calmly, negotiating. The Ayusin replied, her tone harsh and commanding. Some of the other soldiers moved to form a circle. The Ayusin glanced at all of them, and then pressed the pistol a little harder into the private’s head.

White-hair took a step closer, his hands still raised. He spoke fast, and gestured around at the fort. Colden stayed still, watching the exchange. White-hair appeared to explain the Ayusin’s situation — that she couldn’t possibly imagine escaping from the fort. The woman’s reply made him blink. If Colden was right, then the Ayusin was prepared to die if she couldn’t escape. He couldn’t allow that to happen, even if she did happen to be his enemy. A sudden heat suffused Colden’s chest, like someone placing a bowl of soup above his heart. The Ayusin was talking again.

“….don’t care what lies you spew,” she said, “Rion will accept me into the afterlife should I die in battle.”

“That may be, but what does your death serve?” White-hair replied. “I can help you get home, but only if you help us. You know of the darkness that lives in your Imperator’s heart, Farzana. Is that really how you want to leave your nation?”

What in the name of Thaio was going on? Colden could understand them. He’d never learned a scrap of Senescare

“What do you know of my land?” Farzana spat. “Your kind call us barbarians and heathens. Why should I care of your thoughts?”

“Because I’ve seen the darkness your Imperator called up. It will destroy your beloved leader and your homeland with him. Do you want to see Senescare turned into a desolate wasteland where only monsters and demons roam? Or do you want to save the land you love?” White-hair extended one hand toward her. “Let that private go. Take my hand. Captain Odemwingie and I will help you; I swear it.”

“The one who took me captive?” She snorted. “He is a fool; I tricked him the entire way here.”

“I knew you weren’t asleep,” Colden said. The woman looked at him, eyes wide. So did the rest of the fort’s soldiers, still staring at them. Was he just speaking Senescare?

“If you do not choose soon, Farzana, the soldiers here will do it for you.” White-hair gestured around them. Colden looked about, and saw the fort’s battalion taking up arms. More than two dozen men stood arrayed on the walls, repeating rifles pointed directly at the Ayusin. The woman — Farzana — saw them too. Colden watched her closely. She didn’t appear to flinch, but there was a clear tension in her shoulders. Farzana stared at the white-haired man for a long time. The old man’s gaze didn’t waver an inch.

“Do I have your word?” she said at long last. White-hair nodded, still not breaking eye contact with her. “And what of yours, Odemwingie?” She turned and met Colden’s gaze.

“I swear on Thaio’s holy telescope.” Colden put a hand over his heart. “You’ll have what aid I can give.” Farzana nodded once, sharply, and then shoved her captive into the arms of a waiting soldier. She dropped the pistol into the dirt.

“Hold fire!” White-hair said, in Artanish, and raised one arm so everyone could see. “She’s coming peaceably.” Colden grabbed a rope and tied her arms before the other soldiers could do something stupid. Farzana blinked at his hands on her. Their eyes met again, and Colden felt that strange pull once more. “Captain Odemwingie,” white-hair said, “follow me please.”

The order allowed him to break eye contact with Farzana; he marched her forward up the stairs and into the main fort. The white-haired man led them into an anteroom off the main entry hallway. A giant map table dominated the center of the chamber, which was adorned with maps showing other parts of the world. On the table itself was placed an array of miniature figures — airships, tanks, infantry units, and flags denoting the Artanish and Senescare armies. Half a dozen people in gray uniforms moved between the map table and several desks set against the wall. A giant aetheric stood at one wall, communiques blaring through the speakers at regular intervals.

“There you are, Girma,” a man at the table said. He wore the three stars of a general on his shoulder. Colden snapped a salute, keeping one hand on Farzana’s bonds. The general’s eyes flicked to their captive. “And who’s this with you?”

“An Ayusin that our captain here,” Girma pointed to Colden, “brought in as a captive.”

“Ayusin, eh?” The general rubbed the stubble on his chin. “The Imperator won’t be happy about this. Guards; lock her downstairs.”

Two men with repeaters over their shoulders stepped forward. Girma stopped them with a raised hand. “With respect, General Gunther, I have given my word to Ayusin Istharee that I would ensure her safe return.”

“We can’t let her see our plans,” Gunther replied. “Stick the woman in an anteroom for now then boys, while Mr. Eystein and I discuss how best to approach this.” The two soldiers nodded. They reached for Farzana, but Colden pulled her away.

“Sir, if it’s all the same I’d like to secure the prisoner,” Colden said. Gunther waved a dismissive hand. One of the soldiers opened the door, allowing Colden to push Farzana through, while the second followed behind them. The procession moved down the bare hallway at a brisk walk; Farzana didn’t appear to look at her surroundings at all. Colden noted the low ceiling and sparse lanterns on the walls — the fort was clearly designed for defense and not much else. The soldiers soon led them to a blue oak door. Behind the door was a storeroom, chockfull of barrels and wooden crates. One soldier flipped the sole light on, while the other dragged a plain wooden chair into the room.

“Take a seat,” Colden said as he led Farzana to the chair. She dropped into the seat, storm clouds in her eyes. One of the soldiers helped Colden secure her to the chair.

She didn’t speak until he stood in front of her. “This is how Artanish keep their word?”

Colden bristled. “Would you treat me any different, were our positions changed?” She ignored the question, preferring instead to keep her glare up. “I’ll get you home, but only after we have a little talk you and I.”

Farzana scoffed. “Dirty scaffardi. Like I’d tell you anything.”

“You forget: I happen to be one of your only allies in this fort. If you want to get home — alive — you’ll cooperate.” With that, he turned to leave.

“This place isn’t safe,” she said, “nowhere is from the demons.”

“Demons?” Colden paused in the doorway. “What in the name of the Twelve are you talking about?”

“Creatures that stink of rotting corpses driven by flaming beasts from the depths of the underworld.” Farzana’s face was blank. “The Imperator will send them here to get me and raze this fort and send every last one of you stinking scaffardi screaming into the afterworld.”

“You’re insane.” Colden looked at the soldiers. “Don’t let anyone past except me.”

The two soldiers nodded in unison. One pulled the door closed and locked it from the outside. Thank Thaio that madwoman was locked inside. Demons from the underworld indeed. Colden scoffed. Everyone knew creatures like that were stories told to frighten children. He made his way back to the map room, where Girma and General Gunther huddled over a desk in the corner.

“Captain Colden Odemwingie, 14th Battalion, Wolf Squad, reporting sir.” Colden snapped a salute. Gunther replied in kind. “If it pleases you, I’d like to provide my report about the destruction of Forward Base Olemiko.”

“Olemiko’s destroyed?” Gunther frowned. “This is terrible news, captain. Tell what you know.”

Colden relayed his story, including the strange retreat and his warnings to Major Avinsen prior to the attack. Gunther’s frown grew more pronounced as the story progressed. His brow furrowed when Colden told of the massive swarm of tanks and airships the Senescare had at their disposal. The general bellowed coordinates, his mahogany face suffused with color, and a young ebony-skinned woman placed a bevy of markers on the giant map table due east of where Olemiko used to be.

“Are you certain of their heading, Odemwingie?” Gunther looked at Colden. “We need to send word back to Central Command so they can prepare.”

“Aye, sir, I am. They looked to be going east northeast, toward the Kisuni Hills outside Artan City.”

“Good. Erban, send the missive.” A young lieutenant saluted and took up a seat at one of the aetherics along the wall. He donned headphones and immediately started talking into one of the speakers. Colden watched the hive of activity. Thank Thaio he was able to get the message through — Asmund’s death wasn’t in vain after all. Asmund. Name of the Twelve … he’d left his comrade in the horseless.

“Sir,” Colden said, “One of my men died on the way here; his body’s stowed in the horseless I came in on.”

“We’ll see to his burial.” Gunther nodded. “You’ve done a fine thing here, Captain. We’ve got a fighting chance against those wobbly forces now.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Girma stared at the map. “Captain, did our guest mention anything about the undead? Demons risen from the depths of the Nine Hells?”

Colden blinked at the older man. How did he—? “She did, sir. I dismissed it as fantasy out of hand. Everyone knows demons are stories meant to frighten naughty children into behaving.”

“There are many things that ‘everyone knows,’ captain.” Girma looked up now; his dark eyes were intense with something … strange. Colden shook his head, the same sudden heat from before suffusing his chest. Something wasn’t right here, but he couldn’t quite figure out precisely what. A streak cut across the sky outside. Colden frowned, and the heat in his chest grew when he walked closer to the windows.

“What in the name of the Twelve is that?

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Dominion Falling

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...
~

You might like 's other books...