by D N Meinster
Peransic pointed forward and screamed, "Now!"
Hundreds of demibeasts emerged from the mass of Ifta and took off toward the wall. The packs broke off, as some headed straight at it and others ran at it from the side. When they reached the base of the metal barriers, they began digging.
Dirt flew through the air as their paws displaced the earth in search of the very bottom of the walls. Neanthal himself had instructed that they be the ones to dig. Giving shovels to the plated would have been a much more laborious and cumbersome task.
Peransic's tongue hung out, and his arms drifted aimlessly at his side, while he waited for the demibeasts to finish. He was an incredibly patient being, lacking desires to rush in or immediately do what was required of him. He could wait as long as it took for the demibeasts, and then wait even longer for his forces to take the city. As long as the goal was eventually reached, and Neanthal was satisfied, then Peransic would feel himself worthy of continued existence.
They had arrived shortly after dawn, but the sun had risen mighty high when the demibeasts finally completed their task. The Bellish probably knew they were coming by now. It would not matter.
The demibeasts retreated from their recently-dug trenches, rejoining the rest of the Ifta in formation. Now it was time for the plated to march onward.
Peransic looked back at them. "You're next!"
The first row of the plated strutted toward the wall. Each held not a sword, but a dark gray cylinder. Within these cylinders was the powdery propellant that the Fauns had perfected over generations of war. Now it gave Neanthal the means to achieve what the Bellish would have never thought possible.
The plated dropped the cylinders into the trenches and then headed back to their positions.
"Your turn," Peransic barked.
The second row of plated lit their torches and walked forward. Some of them were not going to make it back. It didn't matter.
None of them hesitated when they arrived at the trenches. All of them held out their torches and awaited the final command.
Peransic gave them plenty of time to reach their marks alongside the wall. When he was confident they were in place, he cried out, "Drop them!"
The flares fell into the trenches and the plated rushed back to their comrades with an unusual zest. Peransic leered, as their desperation to cling to life amused him. They placed too much value on themselves. Only Neanthal mattered.
Moments later, the fires shot back up from the bowels of their troughs, erupting with a vigor unlike any Peransic had ever witnessed. For an instance, it appeared as if the metal ramparts had been replaced by a wall of flame. Half of the plated running to safety were consumed by it. Pieces of metal shot into the sky as the walls fractured amid the power of the explosion.
Bits of soldiers and earth rained down on the army; only the demibeasts seemed interested in the remnants of the explosion. The rest of the Ifta watched but showed no reaction.
A heavy black smoke remained, impeding their view of Cortex. How much damage had they done? Had all the walls fallen?
The surviving plated made their way back in line. Peransic saw only one glance in his direction, with eyes full of contempt. He ignored it, but only reiterated to himself that he could never fully trust the Ifta.
A rather strong gust of wind made evident the extent of the devastation. Most of the wall before them had been eradicated; its metal torn away leaving only charred remains standing. Cortex was now vulnerable.
Peransic swung his arm forward and the entire army moved on the city. The front lines scrambled to the trenches, building bridges from the metal scraps so that the rest of the army could cross. The demibeasts didn't bother waiting. They jumped over the ditches and swarmed the city. He hoped they didn't kill too many. That's not why they were here.
Most of the Ifta had overtaken Peransic. He was squished among the plated with their jagged-edged swords and heavy armor. A few demibeasts brushed against his legs as they rushed to catch up with their brethren. "Leave most of them alive!" Peransic reminded them. He grabbed the sickle off his leg as he walked over the makeshift bridge and into the city.
Beyond the smoke, the whole of Cortex was visible. It was unlike any place Peransic had seen in Ghumai or even the Bastion. There were structures as tall as castles all erected next to one another. These buildings were nearly uniform in their design but had enough unique markers to assert their distinction, be it their window shapes or shade of concrete. What purpose could they have if not for defense?
Layers of black wires were strung from the top of each, creating a porous black ceiling in this part of the city. Peransic was awed by their complexity but dumbstruck as to why they were there. When he finished ogling what was above, he took note of what was only feet away.
Carriages without any accompaniment were swerving through the streets. The Bellish may have lacked weaponry, but they had more defenses than were originally thought. These carriages plowed into the demibeasts at high speeds, crushing their metal bodies but killing the attacking creatures.
The plated struck back in equal measure. Their swords cut into the carriages, disabling their motion. Those that fled were left alive. The ones that tried to fight back were immediately impaled.
Peransic stepped out of the way of an incoming carriage. As it passed by, his sickle decapitated the one that was steering it. Nevertheless, the vehicle continued moving until it eventually crashed into the Ifta and ended up on its side.
Several plated charged into another carriage, tipping it over and then dragging the human who had led it from his place.
"Stay your weapons!" Peransic ordered them. He crept over and bent down to look the Bellish in the eye. "Where is your leader?" When he didn't receive an answer, his hand slid down onto his chain. "Where is your leader?"
The Bellish stared back but refused to say a word. Peransic responded by tying his chain around the human's neck and screaming for the man to answer. But he never did. He didn't even try as the chain got tighter and choked the life from him.
Peransic stood at full height. "Find me their leader," he told the nearest plated. "I know they have one."
The rest of Neanthal's army moved into the city, overturning their remaining carriages and disabling any attempt at a counterattack. Peransic passed by the injured demibeasts, who whined as they drifted towards death, and the crushed plated, whose armor could not withstand the metal vehicles the Bellish had created. He was unaffected by it all. There would be no attempt to save them or nurse them back to health. If they were injured or dying, then they had already failed their master. Why should they be rewarded?
Peransic marched with his army as they took over the streets and eventually made it out of the shadows of the massive structures. There was more to Cortex than the castle-sized buildings. Beyond them were rows of box-like houses. Their occupants surrendered without any violence. The carriages that sat outside many houses were immediately destroyed.
One of the plated approached Peransic and stood at attention. "What is it?"
"We found him," he replied, muffled by his helmet.
"Lead the way," Peransic said. He followed the plated as they navigated the narrow streets, most now blocked by overturned carriages and a few dead bodies. Many of the residents had been driven to the stoops of their homes and forced onto their knees. They all looked so hopeless as their new masters towered over them. None of them had considered that their precious wall could be taken down or that the once serene neighborhood could so easily be occupied.
The plated led Peransic through the doorframe of one of the homes and into a sparse foyer. Unlike the Emperor of the Fauns, the leader of the Bellish must not have placed any value on decadence or grandiosity. How could someone that lorded over these humans live in such simplicity?
When they made it into an adjacent room, Peransic focused on the man they had come to see. He was an unimpressive man, sitting at a teeny wooden table with his arms folded. There was not a single hair on his bulb
ous head, and the navy-blue outfit concealed any that may have grown elsewhere on his body.
"Are you the one that leads the Bellish?" Peransic asked.
"I'm Project Coordinator of Belliore. It's as close to a leader as you're going to find."
"Your name?" Peransic requested.
The Bellish leader hesitated. "I must admit I never believed our walls would come down. They have guarded our city for centuries."
Peransic moved his sickle in front of the man's face. "Name."
Their leader showed no fear. "I am Staut Mair. What have you come here for?"
"I've not come to tell you our plans. I've only come to make sure you'll be cooperative. Neanthal prefers to use the existing leadership structure, as it’s much simpler than establishing a new one. But we are willing to take alternative steps if necessary."
Staut's cold eyes studied Peransic. "I cannot ensure cooperation without elaboration."
"Well you won't get that," he replied, lowering the sickle.
"Then you won't get what you want either," Staut stated.
"It's not what I want. It's what Neanthal wants. And he will get it." Peransic slashed his sickle into Staut's face, opening the skin on his forehead. Blood dribbled down from the newly formed wound. "How many of these will it take before you agree to go along?"
"I will not respond to threats," Staut replied, ignoring the blood oozing down his face.
With another swift blow, Peransic tore Staut's sleeves and cut into his shoulder. "These aren't threats. I am trying to persuade you."
"You're failing."
Peransic whipped up his chain and slammed it into Staut's hand. "Who do you recommend to take your place when you are dead? Surely there must be an Assistant Project Coordinator?"
"No Bellish will comply with you."
"You are wrong. I am certain I will find a Bellish that values their life more than you." Peransic almost admired Staut's resistance to his tactics, but he couldn't waste the day torturing him. After a few more blows, he'd end this and move on to the next man in charge.
Staut raised his hand. "You have a point."
Peransic thrashed his chain into Staut's hand. Their leader finally let out a bellow.
"What is it you will need me to do?" Staut asked as he panted for air.
"Whatever Neanthal commands."
Staut rubbed at his wounds. Despite the pain he may have been in, his eyes never watered. "What will I get in return?"
"Your sword," Peransic requested of a nearby plated as he returned his sickle to his leg. When he handed it over, Peransic held it up for Staut to see. He pointed at the pyramid colliding with the broken heart near the blade's hilt. "This represents our master."
Peransic stepped outside and located a plated who carried an unlit torch. When he returned to Staut, the sword was so hot it was glowing.
For the first time, Staut appeared afraid.
"We call it Neanthal's Brand." Peransic ripped off Staut's sleeve and pressed the burning hilt onto his arm. Staut's screams could be heard by all of Cortex.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Multiple Captors
The orange cloak hid the entirety of the man beneath, except for his hands. They were not normal hands. There were five fingers, yes, but they were not of flesh. These hands were made of stone.
This Roamer did not need weapons. As Yveen's men attacked him with arrows and blades, he would hold up his hands and halt their blows. The metal clanged against the rock-hard appendages and the wooden arrows shattered. And when their defenses were lowered, the orange Roamer slammed his stone hands into his opponents' skulls. Those who did not flee were splayed unconscious on the ground, or worse.
Doren could only watch as Yveen's camp was overcome by chaos. He tugged at his bonds but they refused to give. His captors had tied them well. Better than they had tied the velizards. Flames had jumped from the campfires and spread across the field, frightening several velizards, who were able to pull free of their clamps and take off. Doren eyed them enviously.
Yveen had abandoned their conversation and joined in the fight. But as she neared the orange Roamer, another shifted into the camp. This one was wearing a yellow cloak and bearing a metal flail. Miniature spikes covered the ball attached to the rod by chains. It was intimidating enough, but the Roamer first swung it into the fire, setting the ball aflame.
"Let me help!" Doren shouted, but Yveen ignored him. She took hold of her mace and charged the Roamer that challenged her.
Yveen rolled to avoid a swing of the flaming ball but swiftly returned to her feet. She swung at the Roamer, but only managed to hit the yellow fabric. The mace embedded its spikes in the cloak, and when she pulled it free, the Roamer's hood fell, revealing her face. She was youthful, even pretty, in spite of her hardened stare. Her dark hair hung freely over her brown skin; only her ears were hidden now.
"Who are you and why are you attacking us?" Yveen demanded to know.
"If I wanted you to know who I was, why would I be wearing this?" The Roamer swung at Yveen's head, but she stopped the strike with her mace.
The chain of the flail wound around the mace, sticking the two together. Yveen and the Roamer pulled at them but they refused to budge. "This is embarrassing," Yveen joked before letting go of her weapon.
The Roamer stumbled back, and Yveen lunged at her. Both women went tumbling to the ground.
Yveen pinned the Roamer's arm so she couldn't take another swing. She wrapped her free hand around the unidentified woman's throat, tightening her grip with every second. "Are you sure you want to die nameless?"
The Roamer didn't even try to say anything in response. But her lips curled upward when she saw what was coming.
A black-cloaked elbow slammed into the back of Yveen's head. She crumpled onto the Roamer, who pushed her off almost immediately.
Slythe stretched out a hand, which the Roamer took hold of. "You've got to be more careful, M'dalla. I can't rescue you all the time."
M'dalla sneered at Slythe, before swirling her flail overhead and running to join the orange cloak in combat.
Slythe did not appear concerned with the rest of Yveen's gang. As soon as he spotted Doren, he headed right toward him.
Doren couldn't guess why Slythe was coming for him, but he doubted it was for a rescue. He and his friends stood in the way of the Roamers' ultimate goal. They were competing for the Keys. With Doren tied up, Slythe had an excellent chance to eliminate one of his adversaries. He could imagine the blades sliding down from Slythe's sleeves and decapitating him with ease. "No, no, no." He pulled vigorously at the ropes, but they remained unaffected.
Why was he here? Hadn't he vowed to go after Sarin first? Did his presence mean Sarin was dead? "Come on," Doren begged as the ropes burned his skin.
"Do you need some help with those?" Slythe asked as he stood over Doren.
Doren didn't respond. He was reluctant to say anything, lest it cause him to lose his head. But he did stop struggling amidst the knotted ties.
The swords slid down from Slythe's sleeves as Doren had expected. He held onto the elongated hilts as he swung down with the stunted blades.
It was a relief when they struck only that which bound Doren to the wooden pole. But Slythe did not cut any of his other bindings. Instead, he put away one sword, grabbed the rope shackling Doren's wrists with his free hand, and lifted him up. "You'll be coming with us."
"What? Why?" Doren tried to pull out of Slythe's grip, but his efforts were as fruitless as before.
"Lady Yveen had the right idea. A prince makes for a useful hostage." Slythe stuck his blade out so that the Faun that rushed at him impaled himself. Slythe slid the sword from his attacker and dragged Doren through the flames toward one of his fellow Roamers.
Doren didn't get it. "Why would you need me as a hostage?"
"Your friend will trade the Key for you," Slythe said simply. He spoke next to the orange cloak. "We can leave now, Zeniri. We have what we came for."
Doren did not appreciate being a bargaining chip for these people. None of them could see past his title. To them, he was a prince and could be used for their own means. His father had treated him much the same for most of his life. He was a prince and had specific duties to uphold. Eventually, King Halstrom might have begun to see him as an individual, but that took years of disagreements and arguments. He did not have time on his side when it came to Faun gangs and the Roamers. He would have to teach them sooner. But to begin the lesson, he first needed his shield.
"You were supposed to get Sarin!" Doren screamed as his eyes sought for bronze amidst the flame.
"There are more than three of us," Slythe responded as he blocked an incoming strike. "We can do two things at once."
Zeniri's stone fingers pierced the torso of their attacker. The Faun slumped and Zeniri removed his red-stained hand.
It was not so easy finding his weapon. Flames, velizards, and Fauns were running about, and he was moments away from being shifted to wherever Slythe wanted him. For him to stand a chance of breaking free, he needed Yveen's assistance. The gang leader stirred on the ground, still trying to wake from the battering.
"Aros won't trade you the Key," Doren said, trying to delay Slythe's departure. "Especially not for me. He kind of hates me now." He looked away, knowing that there was more truth to his statement than he would have liked.
Slythe looked at him, flames dancing in his eyes. The flash of a grin made Doren's skin go cold. "But the mage. She will do anything for you."
Doren tried to pull away again. This bastard was going to manipulate Rikki by holding him as a hostage? No way. Even if Rikki would be willing, he wouldn't allow it. She was not going to be ordered around again by old men with their own selfish goals. She had waited too long to break free to end up in that situation again.
Doren pulled and pulled, but the only reaction he got from Slythe was a scowl.
"M'dalla!" Slythe shouted. "Time to go!"
No, he couldn't let them leave yet. "Yveen!" Doren's screech rose above the madness that had enveloped them.
Yveen lifted her head. Her golden eye stared into his dark grays. She nodded, as if she knew exactly what he wanted, and lurched at a nearby blaze.