Tiberio left the cabin to find Jip deeper in the camp.
“Do you really think the Arikar will help us?” he asked. Visp shrugged her shoulders.
“My people are a stubborn lot, so I cannot say for certain. We share a hatred for the Supreme and her Imperium, so the old adage of the enemy of my enemy is my friend may prove true.”
*
Lizella looked at Marcian and then at the others in the cabin. She couldn’t believe what they were asking her. How could she go to Arikar when her parents were still out there?
“I’ll take that as a no,” Visp said in the awkward silence that had followed Lizella’s diatribe.
Marcian nodded his head in understanding, secretly pleased that she would not be leaving his side after all.
“I’m afraid so,” Lizella replied firmly her arms crossed across her chest.
“A shame but not a game changer. Me and Tiberio will pack what we need for the journey. Once we reach our destination, I’ll send word. In the meantime, try not to get yourselves killed,” Visp said with a twinkle in her eye.
“Are you at risk of becoming a good person Visp?” Marcian teased. The faux anger on the Arikar’s face was quickly replaced with laughter.
“Not a chance, but if I can hurt the Supreme and her followers, I will take it with both hands and hold onto it tightly. Come, Tiberio, we’ve got a long journey to pack for.”
Visp and Tiberio said their goodbyes to Erin and Lizella before exiting the cabin. Erin walked over to the table and pointed to the map lying on its surface.
“Let’s hope Visp succeeds; our resources are growing scarcer by the day which is why we need to adapt our tactics. We can’t launch another operation like the one against Hestra, at least not until we’ve recovered our losses. Instead, we need to strike with precision.”
“You have something in mind?” Marcian asked.
“I do. We hit the railways. Supply trains transport supplies of food, medicines and weapons daily to the Imperium garrison stationed at Fort Desta to the northwest.”
“Fort Desta? Doesn’t that control most of the Northern Imperium?” asked Lizella. Troops from the fort would often travel through Fork or collect taxes on behalf of the ruling baron.
“It does. The garrison there is comprised of two thousand soldiers and a handful of Gifted tasked with defending the frontier against the mountain tribes. The railroad leading to the fort runs directly through the western edge of the Sojourn Forest. All we have to do is lie in wait for one of the supply trains and rob it.”
Marcian stroked his chin. It was a simple enough plan and ideally located for an easy strike.
“Sounds good. Get the troops ready; we move out in the morning.”
*
They had travelled throughout the night to reach the railway. The full moon had lit much of the way through the dark forest. It was an hour before sunrise, and the twenty Liberators were lying in wait in the treeline. Marcian lowered his spyglass before checking his pocket watch. At his side stirred Lizella, her golden hair falling into her eyes. They’d slept for a few hours in the hollow of a tree, using their thick blue overcoats as makeshift blankets. He smiled as her eyes fluttered open.
“Good morning,” he greeted. He tucked the watch back into his pocket and reached for the canteen of water placed close by. “Here,” he said handing it to her.
Lizella drank the cool liquid and splashed some on her face to clear the grogginess she felt.
“I could kill for a bath,” she moaned.
“We won’t be in the forest forever. Once we get the supplies from this train we can rearm and make a real push to take some territory,” he replied with conviction.
“Where do you have in mind?” she asked wiping her lips and rising. She put on her coat to protect against the early morning chill. Stood against the tree was her musket. She picked it up and slung it over her shoulder. On her belt, she attached the scabbards containing her rapier and dagger.
“Taking the north seems the most logical step. It’s sparsely populated and relatively undefended compared to other regions. The terrain also suits our fighting style, at least until we can grow in strength.”
Lizella regarded him for a moment. When she’d first met him, he’d been arrogant to the point of frustration, but now, after months at war, he appeared to have matured. The cockiness was still there, but it was more considered, more controlled. He was a man with a massive burden on his shoulders. Under his leadership, the Liberators had grown into a true fighting force. Every man and woman lost under his command weighed heavily, and at night he rarely slept peacefully.
“Do you think my parents are still alive?” she asked. Somewhere to the west was the ruins of Fork and her former home.
“We will find them Lizella. I promise. I have spies in every major city, and every single one of them has been told to seek out information on what happened to the people of Fork,” Marcian answered. Just as Lizella was about to reply, the sound of a train tooting its whistle reverberated through the trees. Marcian placed a gloved hand to the ground, and sure enough, a slight vibration went up his arm. The train was drawing closer. With a sharp whistle of his own Marcian gestured to his troops to get ready. Across the tracks, one of the blue-coated Liberators finished placing dynamite and set the fuse before scurrying back into cover.
Lizella settled into a crouch and placed the stock of her musket to her shoulder. She no longer felt fear when wielding the weapon. Instead, a calmness settled over her, a strange sort of focus. The weapon was already loaded, now all she had to do was wait. Marcian lay prone next to her his own pistol drawn and held at the ready. As the train rounded the bend, he winked at her making her smile. The train barrelled down along the tracks.
One carriage passed over the dynamite, then two then three. The Liberator who had set the bomb pushed down the detonator’s plunger. With a deafening boom, the fourth carriage exploded sending searing hot metal flying in all directions. The momentum of the locomotive sent the rear carriages careening into the ruined hulk of the fourth adding to the carnage. Smoke filled the forest and flames licked the foliage on the track’s banks.
Out of the wreckage stumbled several dazed Imperium soldiers who the Liberators gunned down without mercy. Meanwhile, at the front of the train, the locomotive had screeched to a halt. The first few surviving carriages began to discard dozens of troops. Soon the forest erupted in battle. Lizella took aim and fired bringing down what looked like an Imperium captain. The man screamed as he collapsed to the ground his white shirt stained with blood. Without hesitation, she set about reloading her musket. First the powder, then the rod to pack it in and finally the small round ball of lead. All around her the other Liberators had descended onto the ruined carriages and ransacked them. Marcian meanwhile had run to the locomotive his sabre reddened by the blood of his enemies. As quickly as it had begun the battle was over. The outnumbered and stunned Imperium soldiers threw down their weapons in surrender.
“Empty those carriages and take everything you can. Food and ammunition are a priority,” Marcian commanded.
Lizella emerged from the trees to join him.
“Well, that was easier than expected,” she said walking over to the body of the man she’d shot. Uttering a silent prayer, she knelt over the captain’s body and stripped the pistol from his belt. In his pockets was a small pouch of Suprims and a silver pocket watch. She opened it to find a small picture of the man holding hands with a smartly dressed woman. She stared at the smiling couple looking back at her. She had killed that woman’s husband. Was he a father too? A deep sense of remorse filled her.
“Sir, you might want to take a look at this,” shouted one of the Liberators snapping her out of her revelry. She gasped, forcing the horror of what she’d done deep down. Angrily she shook her head. Men like the captain had been at Fork, men like him had enslaved her parents. She looked up the tracks to where a group of Liberators had congregated; they were looking inside one of the still
intact carriages.
Taking a deep breath, she walked over to them. Marcian stood pale faced outside the carriage door. She brushed past him to look inside. There, chained to a thick metal pole embedded in the carriage ceiling were dozens of people. Every single one looked starved, diseased or worse. Dark ringed eyes looked back at her.
“Who are they?” she said softly before stepping carefully inside. In the dim light of the damaged carriage, she could see that many of the inhabitants were already dead. Those not deceased or too weak to move reached for her with skeletal hands. She stopped and knelt in front of one woman who looked at her with defiant eyes. On her rags that constituted as clothes was an emblem sewn onto the breast. It was a white square with one word stitched into it – ‘Hestra’.
*
Dusk was settling over the forest by the time the Liberators had finished looting the train. Every sack of grain and supply chest of food was loaded onto wagons and taken back to their camp. Just fifty survivors had been found lying chained amongst the dead bodies of their fellows. Fifty out of six carriages that had contained over a hundred men, women and children apiece.
Marcian had pulled each one from the horror until his body ached from exhaustion. He rubbed his eyes unable to shake the sickening guilt he felt.
A group of Liberators was helping a middle-aged woman onto the back of a cart. Unlike most of the other survivors, she still had a fire in her eyes. She stared at Marcian for a moment.
“They said they would help us. That you were the villains,” she croaked, her voice pained from a lack of water. Marcian walked over to her and took the flask from his belt. He held it to the woman’s lips who then proceeded to drink greedily. She gasped in relief and wiped the moisture from her lips.
“What happened?” he asked, his heart heavy.
“After you attacked Hestra and left us behind, the Imperium army arrived. We thought they’d kill us on the spot, but instead, they handed out food, water and blankets,” the woman said shaking her head.
“Of course, all the while they took pictures of their good deed. Once they were done, we were loaded onto carts and taken to a fort near the sea. We expected to be looked after, at least until we were fit enough to go back to work, but no. After a few days, a tall man wearing a smart suit arrived. He said that he had travelled from Olandis and was a minister from the Venerable Chamber. He said that it had been decided that due to our eagerness to flee the mines that we were still the Supremes servants, but for our attempt to escape we would serve another purpose. Then the soldiers dragged us outside, stripped us and put these rags on us. We herded like cattle onto a black ship and then a Gifted did something to us, put us to sleep I think,” the woman explained pointing to the white square stitched into the scratchy fabric of her rag.
“I don’t know far we were taken, but the next thing we remember was a bright light and screams. After that, I woke up on that train.”
Marcian’s hands knotted into fists as the woman spoke.
“I don’t know what they did to us, but I do know that there is far fewer of us now than before that light. On the train I overheard one of the soldiers laughing and joking with his colleagues. They said that we’d been rejected and to be sent the far north so that we could all be discarded away from any prying eyes.”
Marcian crouched so that he was eye level with the woman.
“I promise you we didn’t want to leave any of you at Hestra. And I promise that we will take vengeance for those murdered by the Imperium. You’re safe now.”
***
Chapter 9.
Olandis
The slave girl hurried through the warren of deserted back streets. She knew she shouldn’t be out after dark, but once again her master had forced her to stay late and past curfew. She shuddered at what the letch had made her do this time. She longed to flee the city and escape to the countryside, perhaps even join the Liberators and take up arms against the Imperium. Footsteps sounded from an alleyway to her right, and she cursed herself for daydreaming.
“Well, well, well what do we have here?” came a woman’s voice from behind her. The girl shook with fright as she turned. A woman wearing a long dark coat and a smart dress that reached her ankles blocked the street she’d just gone down. The girl’s heart sank further as other figures stepped out of the darkness. Two men, each wearing the cloaks of Seekers stood next to the woman whose gloved hands were clasped in front of her.
“Do you not know that a curfew is in effect girl?” the woman said with not a hint of kindness.
“P-please, my mistress kept me late. My home is not far I didn’t mean any ill will,” the slave girl stammered.
The woman smirked and shook her head.
“A slave should really know better than to blame their betters for their mistakes. You are out past curfew, which means that me and my colleagues here are obliged to punish you. Do you understand?” the woman said slowly as though she were addressing a simpleton.
The girl looked around desperate for a route of escape.
“We are Seekers girly; you cannot outrun us,” the woman mocked. She waved her two companions forward, and together they stalked toward the panicking slave. Cruel grins were on each of their faces, and the bigger of the two rolled his shoulders as he prepared to dish out the Venerable Chamber’s justice.
The slave girl screamed and tried to flee but, in a blur, the big man was on her and threw her violently to the ground.
“Please! Somebody help me!” she pleaded, as the men stood over her. The woman walked over to her and with a cruel giggle kicked the girl hard in the stomach. The girl screamed in pain, the sound only making her attackers laugh all the louder.
“Three Seekers picking on an unarmed and defenceless girl. How noble of the Venerable Chamber,” a voice boomed out of the darkness echoing off the surrounding buildings.
The Seekers stopped, eyes searching the area for the source of the interruption. Kasdar stepped out of the nearby alleyway his face hidden by the shadow cast by the tall wide-brimmed hat he wore. In his right hand was a walking cane that he twirled casually. The Seekers stopped their attack on the girl and faced him.
“So, the infamous Hat man. I thought you were just a myth told by failed Seekers,” the woman said with a sneer. The men took up positions either side of her. Now that the Seekers were distracted, the slave girl scrambled to her feet and fled for her life. The Seekers ignored her; they had a bigger prize before them.
“I see the bounty on my head is still only twenty thousand Suprims. Most disappointing, although after tonight I assure you that it will be raised,” Kasdar said with a chuckle.
The Seekers spread out around the small courtyard until each one flanked their prey. Kasdar held his cane out in front of him and gripped the top. With a smooth motion, the sword hidden within slid out of its sheath to glint in the moonlight. He settled into a fighting stance and waited.
“Which one of you wants to die first?” he said, his eyes fixed on the woman. With a battle cry, the man to his right made the first move. As he approached, he grew visibly in size betraying that his Gift was that of Anger. Kasdar waited until the last moment before ducking under the man’s fist. With a flick of his wrist, he slashed the sword across the Seeker’s chest sending blood spraying onto the paved floor below. He spun on his back foot to deliver a kick to the wounded man’s head sending him crashing to the ground in a pool of crimson. A fist connected with his side causing him to stumble sideways, almost causing him to lose his footing. The second Seeker rained blows upon him but judging from the power of them; his Gift was not the same as his comrade. Kasdar dove forward into a roll to avoid the attacks, but before he’d risen back to his feet, the man appeared behind him. The speed of the Seeker betrayed him as Gifted in Fear. Kasdar deflected the blows with his cane sword, but it was only a matter of time before one of the super-fast strikes found an opening. He leapt back into a flip, as he landed, he rotated his wrists to point the blade behind his back. As he landed,
a shudder ran up his arms. As he predicted the Seeker had used his Fear to dash behind him as before. Unfortunately for the Seeker, the predictable move had resulted in him being skewered on the end of Kasdar’s sword. A groan of pain came from behind him, quickly followed by the sound of the Seeker collapsing to the ground. Kasdar noticed that the woman hadn’t moved an inch. Instead, she stood watching with a look of bored interest on her face. A groan came from the Seeker gifted in Anger, and to Kasdar’s surprise, the man staggered back to his feet. A person Gifted in Anger was able to absorb far more damage than any other, even a sword slash across the chest it seemed. Kasdar quickly looked behind him. Using their powers so much was sure to draw the attention of other Seekers to the fight. If he didn’t act quickly, he’d soon be overwhelmed. It was in that moment of distraction that he discovered what Gift the woman possessed. A wave of nausea washed over him causing him to gag and stagger backwards. His eyes began to fill with moisture, and he struggled to breathe as his lungs suddenly filled with fluid. He gasped for air and desperately reached for the nearby wall to stay on his feet. The woman was a Master of Disgust, the Gift that enabled the user to manipulate the body’s immune system in often foul and horrendous ways. It also meant that they were immune to most diseases and impervious to all poisons and toxic fumes. Those with the power were rare, feared by all who opposed them.
“An impressive display of martial prowess but fancy footwork and swordplay are no match for me,” the woman laughed as she stood over Kasdar who was now vomiting into the gutter. “Pick him up. Let’s go claim that bounty,” she added cruelly.
The wounded Seeker reached down but just as his hands were about to wrap themselves about Kasdar’s prone form he froze.
Kasdar rolled spluttering onto his back to see a cloaked figure walk into the alley; a gloved handheld out before her. In the dim light, Rea’s red cloak looked black, but her face was unmistakable. Using Positivity on the Anger Seeker, she convinced him that it was, in fact, his female companion who was the threat.
The Temple of Arrival Page 7