The Enhanced Series Box Set

by T. C. Edge

  222

  We descend the tree in the order we climbed it, Kervan first to reach the bottom as he swings down with an athletic grace in defiance of his years. Zander and I follow in quick succession, and by the time Rhoth has nervously planted his feet to firm floor, Kervan has already rushed off back to the gate to get an update on what’s happening, Zander going with him.

  I choose to stay and wait for Rhoth, coaxing him down with a healthy dose of supporting words and phrases. The kids who’d been teasing him, meanwhile, are now nowhere to be seen. In fact, the entire place appears to have cleared out, the alarm enough to have them running for cover up in the branches like monkeys warned of an incoming panther.

  By the time we join the others at the gate, word has already spread of exactly what’s going on. Kervan turns to his fellow tribal leader with a fierceness in his eyes that would wither many a man.

  “You led them to our door, Rhoth!” his voice clatters. “You foolish oaf!”

  Rhoth frowns and steps closer to the gate. It’s shut tight, but beyond, the shuffle of movement can be heard. He leans in to the thick wood, and sends his eyes through a crack. Then he steps back, and turns his eyes to the man operating the mechanism that controls it.

  “Let them in,” he shouts. “Open the gate.”

  The guard doesn’t follow his order. He looks instead to Kervan, who shakes his head.

  “No, Rhoth,” he says. “They have come for you, not us. We have no quarrel here…”

  “And you think they’ll care about that? Don’t be rash, Kervan. Let them in immediately.”

  The men engage in a quick stand-off. It doesn’t seem like any resolution is forthcoming.

  “What the hell’s going on?” I ask. “Who’s out there?!”

  In my mind, all I can think of is that the Stalkers have gathered to hunt us down, and that my grandfather has played us all for fools.

  “It’s the Bear-Skins,” says Zander. “Most likely they’re the ones who burned the church and they’ve tracked us all up here.” He turns to Kervan, his voice steady and calm. “Kervan, I advise that you open the gate and let the Fangs in. You have some guards, but they won’t be enough to defend you…”

  “Defend us?! Nonsense! We have no wish to war with the Bear-Skins. If you want to fight, do so outside our doors...”

  As he speaks, Rhoth marches straight over to the guard operating the gate, shoves him aside, and begins turning the wheel. A set of cogs and pulleys engage, and the gate begins to creak open, scraping on the rough terrain.

  “Rhoth!” shouts Kervan, rushing over and trying to wrestle the big man away.

  It’s no use. He’s like a child trying to overcome his father, his full strength doing little to slow the rotation of Rhoth’s powerful arm.

  In the end, it only needs a few circuits for the gate to part in the middle, widening enough for the Fangs to begin pouring through the gap. Above, I note the Rooster guards swinging from their sentry posts in the woods, rushing along high rope bridges and dropping down onto platforms along the perimeter wall. There are more than I expected, at least a dozen, and another dozen guards outfitted along the summit with their bows and arrows primed.

  Within about a minute, all of Rhoth’s hunters have gained access to the village, and Kervan has given up his quest to halt the flow.

  “Shut the gate! Now!” he calls as Rhoth steps away, and the man assigned that particular duty returns to his post. With a few more reverse rotations, the gate grinds shut and tightens, and several other guards step forward and begin working large planks into place for additional support, laying them down horizontally across the double doors.

  Kervan takes a breath and looks around nervously. Then he issues an order for a ‘code red’. Moments later, word is being spread through the village, and all able men are coming forward, armed with spears and pikes and the occasional bow.

  “You…stay here,” says Kervan, staring at Rhoth. “You and your men stay quiet.”

  Within the silence that follows, I hear the rustle of movement a little way from the wall. It’s loud enough to suggest that Bjorn has gathered quite a contingent.

  Along with several guards, armed with their bows and arrows, Kervan moves up the ramp to the left of the gate, heading for the platform that looks beyond the wall. Two men go with him, with another two heading up a ramp on the right and staying low and out of sight.

  All goes quiet. Kervan steps to the top of the wall and, with a quiver of fear within his voice, begins to speak.

  “Bjorn…what a…pleasant surprise,” he calls out. “What…what brings you to our humble little village?”

  The march of men outside the gate halts. I dart, silent as a snake, towards the wall and look through a little gap in the thick wood. The mighty leader of the Bear-Skins stands there, dressed in his bear pelts and wearing the head of the same growling beast atop his head. He stands like the tallest, most colossal mountain in the centre of an intimidating range, at least two dozen men standing on his left, and the same on his right, all of them dressed in much the same manner as him and clasping at long spears and axes and an assortment of other firearms.

  The gigantic tribesman arches his thick neck up and casts two black holes at his kindly counterpart.

  “Kervan,” his voice booms, shattering the mountain air and sending the trees shivering as flocks of birds flap away from their branches. “Where is Rhoth?”

  I look up at Kervan, who takes a second to answer. The delay is incriminating.

  “I…Rhoth? I…um…”

  “I know he came by this way, Kervan. His scent is everywhere. Open the gates, and we can talk like men.”

  Another delay. The silence is excruciating.

  “I’m happy enough talking here,” judders Kervan’s voice. “Rhoth…yes, he was here…but he left with his men.”

  “Why was he here?” asks Bjorn. I see a sliver of a smile creep up one side of his lips, almost fully concealed by thick strands of black hair.

  He’s playing with him. He knows he’s here. He knows…

  “Nothing important,” says Kervan. He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t. His mind appears to be drawing a blank, his ability to lie stifled by his nerves.

  And all I can think is he’s digging a hole. Bjorn is setting him up.

  “Nothing important? Well, I have very important business with Rhoth and his Fangs. Not so long ago, he disrespected me greatly. Him and this little girl-cub of his.” He sniffs the air, and suddenly his eyes look directly at the portion of wall I stand behind. I don’t move, frozen in place. He can’t see me, can he? “Do you know anything of this girl?”

  Kervan’s eyes twitch, glancing down at my position. It’s a flash, nothing more than instinct. Bjorn’s lip curls a little higher.

  “No…nothing,” says Kervan.

  The noise that follows from Bjorn’s cavern of a mouth is enough to stop an avalanche in its tracks. The world shakes on its foundations as a bellow erupts from his throat, spewing like a devastating volcano.

  “YOU’RE LYING TO ME!” he roars. “RHOTH IS WITH YOU NOW. THE GIRL IS WITH YOU NOW!”

  The force of his voice is enough to make the tall wooden walls shudder. The wind seems to pick up suddenly, and I take a half pace back, my body blown away. That latent anger and rage, suppressed within all Brutes, exists within him, uncontained. He lets it run free, wild and dangerous and enough to topple the resolve of the bravest of men.

  After the explosion of his words, the following silence is even deeper. Everything settles. No one speaks.

  I turn to look at Rhoth, whose brows have sunk so low they’re threatening to bury his eyes. My brother stands beside him, unperturbed. For him, this is just another day.

  Eventually, Bjorn speaks again. His voice has sunken, drawn back to a threatening growl.

  “If you had told me the truth from the start, I might have spared you,” he says. “If you had told me that Rhoth was here, that the girl was here, then I’
d have let you live. You didn’t, Kervan. You lied to me. You disrespected me. And now I have no choice but to destroy you all…”

  “No, Bjorn…please no. I’m sorry, I should have said…I should have…”

  Bjorn heaves up a gigantic arm, his splayed fingers suddenly crushing into a ball. It seems both a signal to shut Kervan up, which it does, and a symbol to show what he’s set to do to this village.

  Then, without turning, he begins to step back, and all his men do so with him. None twist or turn away. They all stare, walking backwards into the forest.

  “What the hell…” I whisper.

  Soon, they’ve all disappeared into the trees, leaving the world in silence. I turn back to Rhoth and my brother.

  “They left,” I say. “Why did they leave?”

  “They didn’t leave,” says Zander. He looks up to the sky, now starting to fade to black as the daylight is lured away to sleep. “He’s just waiting for it to get dark…”

  223

  For a little while, it seems that everyone is locked in place and quite unable to move. There seems to be an air of disbelief that any of this is happening, before Kervan finally uproots from the top of the wall, wanders half vacantly down the ramp, and works his way right in front of Rhoth.

  He lifts a spindly, trembling finger and presses it to the big Fang’s chest.

  “You…you brought this on us, Rhoth!” he says, his voice meandering between quivering fear and simmering rage. “We’re all going to die now…because of you!”

  Rhoth’s face decides not to show much sympathy, even if he’s feeling it. Now isn’t the time for such things. He reaches to Kervan’s finger and gently removes it.

  “I am sorry, Kervan,” he says. “I never expected this.”

  The old Rooster shakes his head wildly.

  “Sorry isn’t enough, Rhoth. You have to get rid of them. You have to!”

  With the light quickly fading, Rhoth nods.

  “We will,” he growls. “Don’t worry, old friend…we will. I suggest you take cover, I can take things from here.”

  Kervan recoils.

  “Take cover? This is my village, and these are my people. I will not cower with the women and children when there’s a beast at my door. I have some skill with the bow, Rhoth, as you are well aware.”

  I see the smile climb on Rhoth’s face.

  “It seems there’s some fire left in you yet. Your people are gifted archers. I suggest they go high and do what they’re best at. I will lead my Fangs beyond the wall and fight Bjorn head on. There’s no reason for your people to die and your village to burn.”

  The two men suddenly seem to be singing from the same sheet. Kervan begins nodding quickly, and Zander adds his voice.

  “We should go now, attack immediately,” he says. “Bjorn will be expecting us to hide behind these walls. We will use the element of surprise and catch him off-guard before it gets too dark.”

  Kervan looks like he’s about to protest, perhaps thinking Zander too young to know what he’s talking about. Rhoth intercedes before he can.

  “The boy, and the girl, are very gifted,” he tells the Rooster. “Bjorn has made a mistake coming here today.”

  “You are more than Hawks?” asks Kervan, looking to my brother and me.

  “Dashers and Mind-Manipulators too,” says Zander. “But Bjorn has powerful men of his own. The Bear-Skins are the most ferocious warriors I’ve encountered…”

  He stops short and looks at Rhoth, and the fifty Fangs hovering around us.

  “Erm, well equally ferocious,” he says, smiling awkwardly. “Did you count how many there were?”

  He looks to Kervan and then to me.

  “I thought about fifty,” I say. Kervan nods.

  “A fair fight then,” comes Rhoth’s voice, clawing up his throat. He looks around to his men. “Are you ready for war?!” he calls.

  The hunters lift their spears and old rusted firearms aloft, and a collective roar spreads right through the village. They begin banging their chests and baring their sharp teeth, their eyes going wild with the promise of blood and battle.

  “Well, I asked for the help of the Nameless in defeating my enemies…but I had hoped for more than just the two of you,” says Rhoth, a glint in his eye.

  My brother and I share a look.

  “It’s a start,” says Zander, his body beginning to brim and bristle. He’s similarly inclined as the rest of these hunters, the adrenaline surging, the promise of battle such a tantalising, invigorating thing.

  I suppose I can understand some of that. Right now, I feel like my veins are about to explode with the force of the blood flowing through them. I look from one face to the next and note that not a single one of them are going to take a backward step. Not the worst people to step into the breach with.

  “OK, let’s not delay,” says Rhoth. “Kervan…head for the trees with your archers. Offer cover up there, and please, be accurate with your shots old man. Signal us with your whistles. Help us spot any hidden enemies. We’ll do the rest on the ground.”

  His orders are taken on board and not questioned. He’s an experienced hunter, fighter, and commander, and this is his battleground. I look around the Fangs and note that not all of them have firearms, some clearly choosing to leave them back at the church and head this way with nothing but their hunting spears and knives. The Bear-Skins, as I’m well aware from our previous rendezvous, have guns as well as blades for long range and close quarter combat. And, like the Fangs, they’re used to battling among the trees.

  For me, this is all new. But then again, just about everything is these days.

  Zander shuffles up next to me as the Fangs get themselves in order, and the Roosters begin gliding up into the high branches, bows and arrow-filled quivers on their backs.

  “The Bear-Skins aren’t Con-Cops, and they’re not even City Guards either,” he says. “They can smell almost as well as Sniffers, hear almost as well as Bats, and see almost as well as us. Our speed will be an advantage, but not as much as against others you’ve faced. And they know how to fight in these conditions. Stay near me, Brie, and don’t underestimate them.”

  Ok, well that makes me feel a whole lot better…thanks Zander.

  Checking his pulse rifle, he leads me over to the gate, where the Fangs have gathered. Above, a signal is given for the gate to open up, and a guard begins heaving at the wheel. Wood creaks, breaking the silence, and a sweep of cold mountain air blasts through the opening.

  I stare out through the trees, and see no sign of our enemy. We move beyond the gate and walled village, and the gate shuts tight at our backs. Then, as the Roosters spread through the high canopy, we wait for their signal, creeping forward and using the larger trees for cover.

  With the Hawks among the Roosters’ ranks guiding our path, we move carefully but at speed, spreading out into a wide formation as the earth slopes downward. I move left with Zander, heading into a flanking position as the Fangs split into smaller units. Before too long, many have disappeared from my sight, the woods thickening like a soup the further from the village we go.

  Above, the whistles guide our path. The Fangs seem able to interpret them. Those that are longer and lower in pitch seem to mean ‘move forward’. Those that are shorter and sharper seem to mean ‘stop’. The tension builds the longer this goes on, until suddenly the shrillest whistle yet slices through the air, and all the Fangs I can still see come to an immediate halt.

  I peer through the darkening forest, searching for our prey. How such large men are able to stay concealed both surprises and frightens me. When I first encountered them, they sprung a trap and caught us off-guard, but that was in their woods. Here, the trees are taller, less tangled, more spaced out. And yet, they’re nowhere to be seen.

  A hush falls. I search without result. And then, suddenly, I hear the ping of an arrow loosing from a bow, and my Hawk-eyes catch sight of the dart cutting through the trees and disappearing behind a large trunk. As
it does, a grunt of pain sounds, and I see a large figure stagger into view.

  It’s all we need; a catalyst for the fight.

  Immediately, more arrows come flying from all angles, spitting from the foliage and peppering the forest floor. A second later, gunfire begins to chatter, that of old pistols and machine-guns onto their last legs, liable to break down or jam at any moment. The forest lights up, the growing dim suddenly given new life as barrels flash in the distance, and the trees around us begin to crack and spit with flying shards of bark.

  I drop behind the nearest tree as the Fangs do the same, none of them able to do anything but hide until the barrage ends. I hear Rhoth calling over the din: “Wait for the reload. On my signal…”

  One by one, the guns stop firing, and Rhoth’s bellowing voice fills the air. The Fangs step from behind their cover, guiding the sights of their weapons beyond the trees and firing as one. Zander and I do the same, both of us hiding behind the same tree, our pulse rifles sending blue flame at the distant boles. Many light up and catch fire, sending billowing smoke into the forest that further obscures our sight.

  Movement catches my eyes above as the Roosters displace, swinging from the smoky columns as gunfire begins cutting at the high branches where they lurk. They swing on vines or scuttle along rope bridges, hidden high in the canopy as the Bear-Skins lay waste to their soaring world.

  For a little while, we take our turns to send fresh volleys at our enemy, each with limited results. As they fire, we take cover, and when it’s our turn they do just the same. I see one Fang fall, caught beyond his tree as a fresh cluster of bullets came his way. I see a Rooster fall too, taking too long to set an arrow to his bow and paying the heaviest of prices. He slips from his perch and comes clattering to the floor, connecting with a horrible crunch of broken bones and battered flesh.

  I catch eyes with Kervan above, the shape of his lips suggesting he’s whistling. If he is, I can’t hear it, not above the noise of battle. But clearly his men can, the ten or so Roosters up in the branches moving out of sight once more and sending down arrows as they go. They seem to connect with a few of the Bear-Skins, several bodies now lying in heaps through the growing fog of smoke.