by Ste Sharp
Drunk on the impending torture and the taste of Sorean flesh, Panzicosta caught a glimpse of another injured warrior cowering in a waste pile and looked up to see the broken shell of a mollusc soldier making its way up the city wall.
‘What is happening here?’ he yelled, seeing the first cell’s door hanging open. ‘Krotank?’
Pincers scratched at the doors as he stalked from cell to cell, finding only dead and paralysed soldiers. Had the injured soldiers overpowered Krotank and escaped? An unseen adaptation perhaps? Panzicosta puffed out moist air as his anger grew. He reached the main building and rushed into the darkness: all eyes and claws open.
‘Krotank?’ he hissed, as he pushed through to the back room where John Greene had been held captive. ‘Where is the human?’ He punched a hole through the door with his claw.
He scanned the room: the leg was on the wall but the human’s bags had gone. Anything else missing? The Lutamek box remained on the table, but the Sorean shields were missing. Panzicosta almost laughed: the shields were useless. Doctor Cynigar had isolated their weakness days ago and his blocking technology had been taken to the battlefield when Belsang left.
‘So now,’ General Panzicosta weighed up the likely scenarios of what had happened in his building: no signs of a struggle and no blood trail, ‘I will find who betrayed me.’
‘I can help you with that.’
Panzicosta swung round to see Krotank in the doorway, wearing his spiked battle armour. Panzicosta closed down his eyes pair by pair until only his fighting eyes remained open. This was the traitor? The throwback with his extra claw and scarred shell? The urge to inflict pain rose and shook the General’s body with hormones.
‘There’s a lot you could learn from your ancestors, Panzicosta.’ Krotank backed out of the doorway to the mud path outside. ‘Humility, patience… selflessness.’
‘Don’t give me that crap.’ Panzicosta sped forward to get his large body clear of the building. ‘Our species left that behind with you half-breeds centuries ago.’ He lunged forward to jab five of his sharpest pincers at Krotank, but each point was deflected. ‘You will die for betraying me.’
‘Perhaps,’ Krotank replied as they circled. ‘But in death there is life.’
‘I didn’t realise how much shit you talk.’ Panzicosta feigned an attack to the left then jumped in with a hammering smash to Krotank’s carapace. The spikes on the black armour bent but Krotank simply groaned and stabbed back with a razor claw, cutting a thin line down Panzicosta’s shoulder shell.
Panzicosta leapt back. ‘What happened to Millok?’ he asked, assuming Krotank had killed her.
‘You can find out for yourself.’ Krotank circled, unwilling to be drawn in to an attack.
‘Cryptic as well? Another thing I could learn from my ancestors?’
‘No, but you could learn to do things for yourself rather than relying on others,’ Krotank replied.
Panzicosta snorted. ‘I’ll take care of this problem myself, don’t you worry.’
He struck out with every appendage: hammering, slicing and spearing at the tenacious fighter. A warm feeling spread through his claws as a yellow light spread across Krotank, who seemed uninjured by the blows and cuts. ‘What is this?’ Panzicosta tried to pull back but was stuck.
‘Another lesson.’ Krotank sounded out of breath. ‘This time in concealment.’
The yellow light turned orange. Had Krotank hidden an adaptation? Panzicosta felt a pang of admiration for the old soldier as he was thrown back in a ball of flame and pain.
***
General Panzicosta opened an extra pair of eyes to make sense of the shapes in the poor light of the medical dome. His shell creaked as he walked and, as he passed an overturned metal table, he caught a glimpse of the brilliant yellow scars running across his carapace, glowing like a cracked egg containing fire. With slow precision, the large Brakari limped past empty mud craters and sulphur baths to a low table and picked through an array of open bottles. Each contained different quantities of liquid which varied in colour and viscosity. None were labelled but Panzicosta knew what he was looking for. He selected a jar of electric-blue water and threw the contents over his damaged shell, flinching as a hissing sound echoed around the low dome. The yellow fractures sealed, leaving the dark natural armour unblemished.
A noise from one of the shadowed alcoves made him turn. ‘Who’s there?’ Panzicosta expected Doctor Cynigar to float out of the darkness and deliver some poisonous remark.
‘General,’ a weak voice replied, ‘it is I…’
Panzicosta recognised the tones of the Draytor in its natural form. ‘You are injured?’ It was an odd prospect for a shape-shifter.
‘Yes.’ It was fighting for breath. ‘Millok and the human, they–’
‘I know they escaped.’ Panzicosta opened a set of his most sensitive eyes and focused on a quivering silhouette slumped in a hollow set in the dome’s thick walls. He sighed at the sight. He could have fun tearing this creature apart… so many unknown qualities and challenges.
‘I had them fooled,’ the Draytor continued, ‘but they had a Lutamek and–’
Panzicosta edged forward, looming over the injured creature, wondering how he could shackle such a gelatinous beast. ‘You know, there is nothing here that can heal you,’ he lied, sowing the seeds of torture.
‘I will heal in time,’ the Draytor responded with defiance. Panzicosta liked that. The stronger they were, the longer it took to break them, which prolonged the ecstasy. ‘What are your orders, General?’
‘My orders?’ It still believed it would live. ‘My orders are–’ a sharp jab spiked Panzicosta’s mind.
Panzicosta. The word echoed around his head.
The General closed all but one set of eyes and concentrated to reply. Yes, Dominus.
War is upon us. Why are you still in Abzicrutia?
Panzicosta fought to control his thoughts and reactions. Despite the distance, there was a chance Belsang could read every nuance of his psyche. I have been dealing with traitors, Dominus, he replied.
Who?
Krotank and Millok.
Millok? After all we have done for her? A pause. It’s no loss. The plan moves forward – the humans will meet us at the predestined destination.
General Panzicosta waited. What was it Belsang wanted? The usual, he suspected: a good soldier who followed orders and never questioned his authority.
He needed to reply. I will leave within the hour, Dominus.
Good. Have you seen Doctor Cynigar?
No, Panzicosta replied.
The Draytor? I cannot commune with it directly.
Panzicosta stared at the vulnerable creature before him. He couldn’t lie to his leader. This had to be another sacrifice for the Brakari cause.
It is here with me. Injured by the traitors. His shell slumped: he would have enjoyed a little pre-battle warm-up with the changeling.
Order it to round up the remaining Brak ari. It can use whatever shape necessary. I need an attack group to enter the battle at my signal.
I can lead the group, Dominus, Panzicosta replied, fighting to control his annoyance.
No. I need you here. Now.
Yes, Dominus, Panzicosta replied and waited. Was the conversation over? Belsang’s messages always began with a stabbing pain but didn’t end with any obvious sensation. Worried his thoughts were being read, he thought about war and about dusting off his spiked, thermantium armour, which had saved his shell countless times.
‘General?’ the squirming Draytor asked, ‘are you injured?’
Panzicosta realised how long he had been standing over the creature and intimidating it without muttering a word. ‘It’s time to move.’
‘Where?’ the Draytor asked.
Panzicosta ignored it and scuttled back to the table of bottles. He found a tall vial of green liquid, returned to the Draytor and threw it over its gelatinous body. The creature hissed and fizzed as the liquid took effect, causing conv
ulsions and growth spurts. It visibly grew before Panzicosta, who stepped back with a sneer.
‘Heal,’ Panzicosta growled. ‘Then you will fight to your death.’
***
‘Wait!’
Millok froze as John’s whisper cut through the crisp night air.
What had he seen that she couldn’t? His two eyes were limited to a tiny range of visual frequencies compared to her own numerous eyes, and when she scanned the land she saw no movement or body heat. Her antennae didn’t sense any telltale humidity changes either. Maybe it was a noise? His species’ evolutionary path had led to developing a high level of aural sensitivity. Prey tended to have sharper hearing.
John was huddled on the tree-bark sled behind her and caught her glance. ‘Go,’ he whispered, and Millok scuttled onwards through the tall grass, keeping her body low. The swish of the sled hid other sounds as she ran. The sound and the wide trail they left in their wake were two giveaways she needed to avoid. This was Brakari war territory and she was a traitor. Her shell pieces creaked as she remembered what had happened to the last suspected traitor.
‘We will find your army once we pass the crater lands,’ she’d told John before they set off. ‘But there is one battlefield you must see first.’
‘Why?’ John had asked.
‘You will understand when you see it.’
‘But Mihran’s message was clear.’ John’s voice had risen. ‘We have to meet my army at the location before sundown tomorrow or we will lose them.’
‘Don’t worry. It’s on the way there. It will be worth it.’ Even if it is a risk, Millok had thought.
Now they covered ground quickly despite the sled, which bumped and jolted across the long grass, and Millok recognised landmarks from the maps she had seen in Abzicrutia. Any intelligence she picked up before joining the human army would be crucial for the humans to accept her.
‘How much further?’ John asked.
‘Not far. We can rest soon.’
The ground levelled off and the valley beyond came into view.
‘What are they?’ John shouted and pointed to an irregular series of hummocks which filled one end of the shallow valley, near woodland.
‘Graves,’ Millok replied, and images of violence, fire and death flickered through her mind.
A serpentine river marked the other end of the valley but disappeared from view as Millok ran downhill to the white obelisk, where John rolled off the sled and propped himself up with his crutch to read the script.
‘Here the allied forces of the Ladrof and Scarpinelloss defeated the Brakari.’
Millok watched the young human and tried to read his emotions through his body language. He straightened a little then turned. ‘Who were the Ladrof and Scarpinelloss?’
‘It doesn’t matter who they were.’ Millok sensed a metallic tang in her mouth. She needed water. ‘They were victorious and left through the gates. It’s the land that is important.’
John hobbled in a small circle to take in the surroundings. ‘Why?’
‘Because this is where Belsang will lead your army, John. This is where he intends to destroy your species.’
‘How do you know?’ he asked.
‘I’ve seen the plans.’ Millok had never been part of the discussions but had heard Panzicosta’s grumbles and found discarded maps in his torture rooms.
‘But,’ John’s knee wobbled and he sat down, ‘how can your commander be sure we will come here?’
‘He has his methods,’ Millok replied and felt sorry for the poor tortured creature. ‘We have to go,’ she said, ‘I can’t tell if the Lutamek followed us, but we have left a clear trail.’
The Brakari army had war rituals and wouldn’t taint the battlefield until the day of war, but what if Belsang’s scouts were watching? Millok thought. John stared at her and she wondered if it was a look of tiredness or revulsion on his face as he dragged his body back onto the makeshift sled.
Off they went again, uphill and across the flat grassy plains, keeping to the low ridges. A thought came to Millok as she ran: what if the other humans were weak like John? He had spirit, but physically he was vulnerable. His vital organs were open to attack and severing his brain from his body would be easy. If all the human soldiers had the same weaknesses they were sure to lose to the Brakari army. Even the enslaved troops were tougher than these soft bipeds.
‘We need to head in that direction,’ John shouted, pointing to the left.
Millok adjusted her course accordingly. Apparently, John had been able to sense a beacon since hearing his commander’s message. It was a good sign the humans had a communications system but it was nothing compared with what Belsang was capable of. The humans had only been in this world for a number of days after all, so why should she expect more?
‘We should see them soon.’ John was sitting upright, eagerly scanning the horizon.
Millok slowed as they passed over a ridge and the land beyond opened up before them: a vast skyline and everything in between tinged brown. No landmarks. No signs of life or an army.
‘Are you sure this–’ Millok skidded to a halt and raised her fighting claws. Something had been close: she had felt the swish of grass. She raised her antennae and tasted moisture.
John rolled off his sled and pulled himself up with his crutch.
‘I heard him.’ John laughed.
‘Him?’ Millok scanned the nearest clumps of dry grass for signs of movement. ‘Can you see your army?’
‘No, but they’re here.’ John was still smiling.
A new scent came to Millok: a forest odour of leaves and earth.
John was next to her now. ‘It’s alright. Just stay still and don’t fight. I’ll vouch for you.’
What could he see that she couldn’t? Her spiracles gasped for air as she fought her instinct to run. What was that creaking sound? And why was the grass turning dark? Stay calm and trust him – you saved his life, Millok told herself, he will save yours.
Moving quicker than she could react, scores of green plant shoots leapt out from the swaying grass. Tendrils gripped her limbs and claws, rendering her immobile in a flash.
‘John?’ She had to control the urge to fight back.
‘It’s okay,’ he replied as a mass of bark and green leaves rolled up the hill, tearing strips out of the ground with spiked roots.
‘Hello, Mata, how are you?’ John said.
A rush of wind tore a line through the grass. ‘Althorn? Where are you?’
Millok watched a blur appear beside John and turn into a hooded human. ‘John! We thought we’d lost you. Did you receive Mihran’s message?’
‘Yes. I managed to escape and followed the beacon.’
‘What have they done to you?’ Althorn pointed at his knotted trouser leg and turned to Millok. ‘Is this creature responsible?’
‘No,’ John said. ‘There’s a lot to explain, but you can trust her.’ He turned to the huge ball of tree and grass. ‘Mata, please let her go – she is an ally.’
Althorn stared at Millok, who decided staying silent was her best option. ‘Are you sure? She’s one of them, isn’t she? A Brakari.’
‘Yes, but she helped me escape.’ John looked at her. ‘In fact, without her I doubt I’d still be alive.’
Althorn rubbed his bearded face. ‘I believe you, John, but we have to be safe.’ He turned. ‘Mata, hold her but don’t harm her. Let’s get back to Mihran.’
The vines gripping Millok lifted her into the air and carried her downhill. The grassland ahead was a continuous band of dry prairie. Had they built tunnels? Millok wondered. But as they descended further, a distorted region became apparent. Maybe the humans didn’t see it, but one pair of Millok’s eyes saw a dome-like structure. They walked through a brown mist and the human army was revealed. Millok prepared herself for a hostile welcome. Scores of soldiers, who had been eating or cleaning weapons, turned to stare at her. The army wasn’t large and the humans weren’t well equipped or individually
much bigger than John.
‘…and it’s a female, you say?’ A tall human in red clothing was talking to John.
‘Yes. Talk to her, but treat her well.’
The Commander walked to Millok and she remained calm. A pressure built in her head shell. Was he probing her neural pathways? It was a crude method but she opened up her recent memories to him.
‘How is it you could see our protective dome?’ he asked.
A crowd was growing around them. Millok knew she had to put on a show if she was to survive. ‘No introductions, Commander?’ she asked.
‘What need is there? You are Millok. And I am known as Mihran. You are an enemy soldier. Our captive. Answer my question.’
Millok tensed but felt the tendrils tighten: this plant was stronger than it looked. ‘I am a Brakari rebel. I have saved John Greene from certain death and I wish to join your army.’
‘How do we know you are not a spy?’ a short human in a brown uniform shouted.
‘He has read my memories. What did you see, Commander?’ Millok asked.
Mihran raised his chin. ‘Answer my question and I shall tell you.’
Millok had to give him something. Not everything at once or she would no longer be useful. ‘Your camouflage – the dome of dust surrounding your camp – uses a modulating frequency. Each time it shifts, the particles lose momentum for a split second. Brakari eyes spot this easily.’
Mihran whispered to a soldier, whose face was obscured by a reflective plate, and then returned his gaze. ‘And this battlefield you showed John, you fought there?’
‘Yes, I was present and I–’
Mihran turned and Millok focused on a blurred shape advancing on them. A human appeared next to him and she stayed silent.
‘What is it, Sakarbaal?’ Mihran asked. ‘What news?’
‘The Lutamek,’ – he flicked his head – ‘they’ve returned.’
***
‘It’s good to be back.’ John bit another strip of venison from the chunk Euryleia had handed him.