by Chele Cooke
“Oh, I’m sure,” he laughed. “Ever skinned a deer?”
“Uhh, no. I’m a medic, not a hunter. Can’t be that difficult though, I know the bits I can eat.”
“What about defending yourself against a bear? They’re pretty commonplace this far north, especially now the heat’s dying.”
Georgianna’s eyes widened and she shrank back a step, glancing into the tents. There was weaponry in there, she’d be able to take enough to keep herself safe. They also had those food packets, though the supplies had seriously dwindled with all the new arrivals.
“What you gonna do if you come across Adveni?” he asked. “You’re registered as E’Troke’s drysta. No doubt they’ll have alerts out on you in the hopes of getting to him.”
“Alright, Dhiren, I get your point,” she hissed. “Like I wasn’t feeling useless enough already.”
“Med, you’re hardly useless,” he shrugged.
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.”
The glare she threw at him only made him laugh, which in turn made her feel even worse. She couldn’t even worry Dhiren. What kind of good could she ever do fighting in a war?
“I’m not a soldier.”
“Ships for that,” he said. “We got enough soldiers. I’m pretty sure that colossal eyesore is filled to the brim with them. We don’t need more soldiers.”
“They’ll have medics too.” She rolled her eyes.
“True,” he agreed with a solemn nod. “But what they don’t have are little blonde things this band of merry idiots care about so much she convinces them to have a conscience every once in a while.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Dhiren shrugged and took a seat in the mouth of the tent, patting the space beside him. Georgianna crouched and slid in next to him.
“You think E'Troke would have broken into the compound if it wasn’t for you? Or that Marshall guy would have held off on killing Zanetti? They’re fighting a war, no matter who gets in the way. They will make the tactical decisions, the ones that get them the best advantage, even if it risks people dying.”
“Benefit outweighs risk. Yeah, Keiran said that once.”
“Exactly. You look at the personal risk and they need that.”
“Apparently they have you for that now,” she chuckled, glancing at him. The fact he’d said it meant that he looked at those sorts of things too.
“Oh, suns, no. I don’t care about these people enough to actually protect them from running headlong into disaster.”
She paused, watching him.
“Dhiren, has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit of an ass?”
He grinned.
“My point is, without people like you to listen to, these guys would either never act, or they’d act too quickly. You’re a balance.”
“I lied to them. They don’t trust me.”
“So we’re all here beside this lake by accident?”
Georgianna didn’t answer his knowing smile.
“My point is that you shouldn’t run away right now.”
“What if the Cahlven are worse than the Adveni?”
“Well, I dunno about you, but my life was already shit. Couldn’t get much worse.”
“We could all die, Dhiren. This war could destroy us.”
“I’d rather die fighting than live my life scared to take a risk.”
Before Georgianna could think of a response, the small ship detached from the larger again and started its descent towards the ground.
Dhiren got to his feet and held out a hand to help her up.
“Seems you missed your chance, Med.”
She scowled and got to her feet without taking his hand. There was no way she’d be able to get Nyah to help her and get away before the ship landed.
“Come on,” she sighed. “Let’s go see what’s going on.”
A crowd had gathered around the ship, nervously shuffling their feet and wringing their hands. The silver side of the vessel gleamed though there were no lights to be seen, and a low, pulsating whoosh revealed a crack in its side. Those closest hurried back a few steps as a door appeared. It was pushed out a few inches before it slid sideways.
Edtroka was the first to step forwards, bowing his head to clear the doorway. He jumped down from the ship, landing with a thud. He straightened up and stepped out of the way as thin steps slid down from the opening. Glancing around at the crowd, he crossed his arms over his chest, keeping his expression unreadable.
Georgianna pushed a few steps closer. Dhiren stayed just behind her.
Beck appeared next and, if she wasn’t mistaken, he looked a little queasy. The burn scars stood out clearly against his pale skin, especially under the odd light of the ship. He descended the steps with extra care and looked visibly relieved once he had both feet on solid ground. Georgianna bit back a gasp of surprise. Keiran followed Beck down the steps, an expression of grim determination on his face.
The woman who appeared behind them was slim and angular. She surveyed the surroundings from the entrance of the ship before taking slow, measured steps down the stairs. She didn’t descend further, but remained on the lowest step, her thin, brown hands clasped together in front of her. Her clothes covered her seamlessly from ankle to neck, fitting her straight form snugly. A long, red braid of hair swooped over one shoulder and lay over her breast. Lavender eyes that were too small for her face swept over the crowd and she unclasped her hands, opening them up to the people.
“Veniche of Os-Veruh,” she greeted in a measured, polite tone. “My name is Olless, emissary of the Cahlven. I pass you my greetings from the leaders of the Cahlven, who, like the rest of our race, have longed to return to our home planet.”
A rumble of uncertainty rippled through the crowd. A few people took cautious steps back. Georgianna reached behind her and felt fingers slide into hers. She glanced back and Alec gave her a small nod and smile.
“We have spoken with two of your race, Beck Casey and Keiran Zanetti, and with the Adveni, Edtroka Grystch. A decision has been reached.”
Edtroka nodded slowly, though he didn’t move his gaze from the patch of ground before his feet. Georgianna thought that Beck looked nervous, but he didn’t say anything.
“What decision?” someone shouted from the crowd. More voices joined them, demanding answers, questioning why they hadn’t been consulted in these so called “decisions”.
Olless did not look through the crowd to find the speakers. She stared over the heads of those before her, lavender eyes blinking as she patiently waited for silence.
“The race known as the Adveni broke the treaty made with the Cahlven, in which the planet known as Os-Veruh was to remain neutral and untouched ground,” Olless continued once silence settled. “With such an action, the Adveni have made a proclamation of war. The Cahlven will fight this war, and have pledged allegiance to the Veniche and all who stand with them.”
She glanced at Edtroka, an unreadable smile curling her thin lips.
“These men have claimed responsibility and leadership for those gathered here, and have also pledged their intention to stand alongside the Cahlven in this war.”
Alec growled, tightening his grasp on her fingers, and Georgianna didn’t have to look at him to know that he was staring at Keiran, who seemed to have turned pale at Olless’ words.
“Those who wish to leave are free to do so,” she said, her thin smile broadening to show a row of slim, pearly teeth. “And to those who choose to stay and fight…Welcome to the Cahlven army.”
- Damage Report
1. The First Colvohan
2. Fighting Talk
3. The Metal Map
4. Terms of Truce
5. The Absent Vote
6. Edtroka’s Choice
7. Contingency
8. Olless’ Order
9. Beyond the Shield
10. Divisions
11. The Countdown
12. Five-Man Fight
14. Bet and Bluff
15. Left to Lose
16. The Nsiqo
17. A Scream and a Song
18. Traitors
19. Family Reunion
20. Grey Sky Bleeding
21. Slave to Pain
22. Patched Up and Pulled Apart
23. A New Plan
24. Bitter Medicine
25. Army of Two
26. Taking Sides
27. From the Start
28. The Right Code
29. What War Is
30. Law and Lies
31. The Meeting
32. Colours and Cooperation
33. Something of His
34. The Dalsaia
35. Fight on Flights
36. The Mykahnol
37. Their War
38. Blood and Lightning
39. Through Rock and Mud
40. The Mark Left Behind
“It’s been scrubbed, Volsonne. They didn’t have time to mount a defence. The Cahlven troops wiped out everything.”
“Survivors?”
The Agrah commander shifted his weight from foot to foot. The man beside him had been a soldier for near on a quarter of a century, a commander for almost ten. Maarqyn knew that he knew how to stand and report. Meetings with the Volsonnar weren’t uncommon but they were at least usually invited to sit. Not today. Today, their Volsonnar was far too angry to invite them to relax in his expensive chairs and submit their reports over a drink.
“Some,” he admitted carefully. “About a hundred managed to escape. They sent the distress signal.”
“And it’s the same with each of our bases?”
“Yes, Volsonne. The reports came in within hours of each other. The Cahlven synchronised their attacks. We have survivors from each but the bases are wastelands. We will need new locations.”
The Volsonnar leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his greying hair. His eyes were as shrewd and sharp as they had been a dozen years past, as calculating as the first time he had announced they would return to Os-Veruh. More wrinkles had appeared and he didn’t move as well as he once did but his stature and presence were enough to command armies. Not that he’d actually stood a physical command for some time now.
He rounded on the commander, and those sharp eyes surveyed him, taking in each breath as if looking for something to give him away. He grasped his hands in his lap and raised a thin, dark eyebrow.
“And you, Maarqyn?” the Volsonnar asked, a sharp edge to his tongue. “Would you not like to gloat?”
A flicker of cracking resolve flashed across Maarqyn’s face. He longed to gloat. This had been a long time coming and he had said as such. He lifted his chin.
“No, Volsonne. Gloating is for victories and we have won none here.”
“I’m well aware of that, Commander,” the Volsonnar snapped.
He sat forwards and swiped a long, agile finger across his tsentyl. The device lit up. It was still recording, no doubt for him to go over later. Perhaps he would spot something in the things they had told him; a pattern nobody else had been intelligent enough to see. Maarqyn knew he would find no such pattern. There was only a clear goal and they all saw it: annihilation.
The tsentyl flashed through the screens; numbers and figures winked at them from across the desk.
“I want numbers, Tzanlomne. Figures of our losses by the end of the week.”
“Yes, Volsonne.”
Maarqyn squeezed his own fingers behind his back. The Volsonnar had been furious before they’d even stepped into the office and yet he had still not mentioned the one topic they knew he craved to raise. It was only natural, after all. The Adveni diminished the ties of blood as often as possible, but there was nothing to completely disregard the bond of parentage.
“And the encampment in the north. Where are we on that?”
Maarqyn gritted his teeth and held back a growl.
“My teams have a layout of the encampment but it is well protected. Nyrahby ships are performing frequent passes. So far nothing has gotten through their shield.”
“Agrah troops from the city have been dispatched, Volsonne,” Tzanlomne said. “With their numbers they will—”
“They will do nothing,” Maarqyn cut in. “It is a blessing that the Cahlven have not yet made an attack on the city. Troops from outlying areas are still being brought in. The disarray of the Agrah on this planet has held us back from formulating an offensive with enough strength to drive the Cahlven back. That is one of their Densaii ships stationed up there. The Agrah we had in the city will not be anywhere near enough to take it, even with the Nyrahby giving support.”
“Because your Tsevstakre would have done a better job, Guinnyr?”
The Volsonnar laughed. They both turned back to him as the cruel sound rang in their ears. Maarqyn kept his face impassive, holding back a grimace.
“You claim this delay in a single attack is a blessing, Maarqyn? When we have lost a few hundred thousand troops? Oh, by all means, call it a blessing that the Veniche have not been harmed.”
“Volsonne, you know that is not—”
“Be quiet, Maarqyn, I know it is not what you meant.”
Silence settled over them. Maarqyn wrung his hands behind his back, gritting his teeth and staring over the Volsonnar’s head. Even Tzanlomne seemed smart enough to keep his silence for the time it took their leader to swipe through the screens of reports they had sent him. The Cahlven numbers were limited to a single ship but that would change now that they had succeeded in destroying Adveni reserves. Once news of it got out, no doubt the number of Veniche fighting for the Cahlven would escalate as well. The Veniche were pathetic excuses for rats, running to whoever gave them the best protection. One thing was for certain: they could not count on the Veniche for anything more beneficial than refusing to take up arms against them. They could not be relied upon to join a fight against a new invader.
“I assume Ehnisque is scouting the encampment?” the Volsonnar asked, finally.
“Returned this morning with Uyan,” Maarqyn confirmed. “They were one of the first units sent up there.”
The Volsonnar gave them a distracted nod as he stared at the wall. The muscles in his jaw tightened and his dark eyes narrowed.
“And E’Troke?” he asked. “Tell me what has happened with my son.”
Maarqyn could see the beginning of a smirk from Tzanlomne. Of course the little idiot would find this amusing. The young Grystch had been under his command—his control—and he had defected. The Volsonnar’s own son had changed sides under his watch.
“There have been no sightings of E’Troke since the destruction of Lyndbury Compound, Volsonne. However, we have the footage from the salvaged cameras and reports from the guards on duty. He was a part of the attack alongside the Veniche.”
“There is no doubt?”
“You know that I questioned E’Troke’s allegiances for some time, but even I never truly believed he would do something like this.”
“That did not answer the question.”
Tzanlomne stood silent and smug and Maarqyn wanted to tear him into pieces for his amusement.
“There is no doubt. One of the Veniche who went in with him was his own drysta.”
“A drysta you wanted for yourself, Maarqyn. If my information is correct.”
“It is correct,” he said, straightening his back and holding his head high. “The girl had information on the escape of my own dreta. I wanted to question her, nothing more.”
“And now my son uses her to liberate a prison and, I assume, help organise the other damages to the city.”
“We can only make assumptions on his connection to the Belsa, Volsonne, but yes.”
The Volsonnar shoved back his chair and rose to his feet. He turned to look out of the window, his knuckles white as he grabbed the frame. His reflection was tight and focussed and his jaw moved with the grinding of his teeth.
&n
bsp; “I take on the mantle to continue our progression, to bring our people back to their homeland, and my own blood turns against me. He will not be the first if his betrayal is not met with retribution.”
“Volsonne?”
He turned around. The son had certainly inherited his father’s vicious glare. Maarqyn remembered the fierce and talented young man who had first joined his ranks, so desperate to prove himself against the name of his father.
“Your fear of lost loyalties led us to this problem. Had you reported your suspicions this could have been dealt with before it brought this storm down upon us.”
“I can only apologise, Volsonne.”
“You’ll need to do a lot more than that if you are to keep that title you command. You will rectify this quickly.”
The Volsonnar took his seat again and clasped his hands in his lap. He lifted his chin and took a steadying breath as he looked up at Maarqyn, though there was a knife’s edge hidden behind his teeth.
“I want his Nsiloq mounted on my wall,” he said. “Before his treachery—and your stupidity—cause me any more problems.”
It was the second time the Cahlven emissary, Olless, had walked out of the room without warning. She had already spoken twice to Edtroka about his anger and the language that accompanied it. When he continued to curse, calling her some vulgar Adtvenis name, she had walked out again, leaving them all waiting for her to return, and for Edtroka to calm down.
He was still swearing rapidly under his breath. Beck sat and watched, sighing, tapping his foot in an unsteady rhythm. His gaze roamed the walls and furniture as he crossed and uncrossed his arms. Keiran paced, running his fingers against the backs of the chairs. Georgianna watched him, leaning forwards onto her knees. If he felt her gaze, he didn’t show it.
It had been three weeks since Edtroka had led them in an attack against the Adveni, liberating prisoners from Lyndbury Compound and destroying some of the Adveni technology that was used against the Veniche. They had known they would need more people to fight to have any hope of driving the Adveni back, but it had taken a lot to convince Edtroka that removing the threats the Adveni held over them would give them what they needed. It had taken even longer for Beck and the other Belsa to agree to work with Edtroka.