Johan flipped a sliver penny to the kid, who cupped it in both hands and scampered away laughing. Extending his elbow, Johan raised his eyebrows at Nerthus.
“Would the lady escort me to the ball?” he asked.
“Ugh, no more balls for me, thanks,” Nerthus groaned. “I've had my fill of them.”
Ryker and Toma sniggered behind them, and Nerthus turned, shooting them an icy glare that halted their laughter before walking towards the garrison. Johan looked at his men and they shrugged.
“What?” Ryker asked, his face innocent.
“It's not our fault if she leaves herself open like that, sir,” Toma said.
Johan tried to keep them in his stern gaze, but both of them were unable to hold the laughter at bay for more than a second. It was infectious, and Johan couldn't help but chuckle.
“Bastards,” he snickered as Toma and Ryker's laughter flared to a roar. Turning, he hurried after Nerthus into the garrison, finding everyone just inside the front gate facing the city, its portcullis damaged from the catapult attack. Garrey was there with some of his officers, speaking to Aleksander as well as a group of people in noble finery. One of the women, he realized, was Edda, Nerthus' partner. A larger man, who somehow reminded Johan of Leonid, was gesturing with his hands as he spoke.
“Yes,” the large man was saying to Garrey, “when we ran into Aleksander here there were three large catapults deployed in a park or what have you. Other deployments of engines were deeper into the city. We managed to destroy two such groups. However, one of the far larger siege engines had almost thirty-five men, not counting those mutants, guarding it. It was a strange sort of engine, of a kind I haven't seen before. I could feel it was radiating extreme cold, even disassembled and from a great distance.”
At the man's words, a murmur of unease rippled through the Bellkeep officers. Garrey turned to one of his officers, a battered looking man.
“Betwa? Could they have gotten the Rime Cannon out of the Mechwerks before you destroyed it?” he asked, and Johan noted the sudden fear in the man's voice.
“It's very possible, sir,” the knight replied, exhausted. “I'm not sure how long they were moving equipment out of there before we we toasted it. I'd take the wizard seriously.”
Garrey was silent for a handful of seconds before sighing. “If they just had the catapults, mangonels, and other usual stuff, we could have made our stand in the inner sanctum, force them to come get us. But if they have the Rime Cannon, no fortification is secure.” He quickly looked back at Egveny. “But it was disassembled when you saw it? You're certain?”
The Weaver nodded. “Some pieces were exposed on wagons, the others were still crated. But they were definitely moving it this way.”
“Then we still have a fighting chance to survive. Our only alternative to save what is left of the population is to get them out of here, away from Gustav's bulls-eye. “Gather up all the civilians from the shelters, and arm the ones sturdy enough to defend themselves. We're marching for the Copper Gate. Better this than no chance at all.” He turned to Alek and the others as the Bellkeep men went to work. “You have my thanks,” he said. “If not for you and your reports, we'd have been here like unwitting fools before they shattered the walls around us.”
“What is Rime Cannon?” asked an accented voice from behind Alek and Edda. As they turned, Johan saw that the voice belonged to a rather ravishing woman, wearing little more than leather undergarments beneath a Bellkeep riding coat. He also noticed that she, along with her companion, both had greenish skin. That was new.
“Something new the guilds had put together for us,” Garrey said. “Without getting into specifics, just know that it can flash freeze whatever it hits. Stone. Metal. Flesh. Kind of the ultimate siegebreaker. Just never thought it'd be turned on us, from within our own damned city.”
The two green people muttered to each other in a foreign tongue for a moment before the woman looked back at Garrey. “We will help fight, and get the peoples out of the city.” Her words were a statement, not a question.
“My, ah, thanks,” Garrey said before turning back to Johan. “Looks like we won't be parting company just yet. However at least now you'll be getting a grand escort out of here.”
“What is a little more vacation time here in lovely Bellkeep?” Johan shrugged, forcing his voice to sound light. But he felt a pang of despair within his gut. How much longer could he and his men keep going before one or all of them paid the price for his leadership? Garrey clapped him on the shoulder before going to speak with his own men. Before he could wallow in his own misery, Johan was joined by Alek, Edda, and the others.
“So things aren't looking all that good,” Alek said, his voice dour.
“Yeah, it's certainly looking that way,” Johan said, running a hand through his hair.
Edda and the weaver's eyes went wide as they suddenly caught sight of Nerthus standing behind Johan, and the three of them broke away and quickly began chattering to each other in hushed tones. Johan opened his mouth to speak when a strange, foul odor wafted past his nose. And, as he sniffed, Alek suddenly became bashful.
“Sorry, ah, about the smell.” he said. “Had an...issue with one of those piking monsters.” The bashfulness left his face, replaced with a rare seriousness. “This one talked, Joh. It ordered the monsters and the City Watch around. And it could use magic. Things are just descending farther and faster into the shit here.”
Johan blew out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, either due to stress or Alek's aroma. “Nothing is really surprising me here anymore,” he said. “Come on, let’s go tell the others.”
Ryker had to admit that he, and the other Outriders, seemed to take Johan's news relatively in stride. To a man they simply sighed, nodded, and began gathering up their gear. Johan seemed somewhat confident, but Ryker could all but feel the guilt eating away at his friend for dragging them into Bellkeep's chaos. Ryker found that he didn't blame Johan at all, to his own surprise. They had an opening to take down the biggest criminal mastermind on the continent, and they took it. Isn't that what the job was all about?
But still, Ryker had to concede that while it seemed that they had been making right call after right call, their actions had, in the end, led them to this godsforsaken city, and they were probably going to die horribly before they reached this Copper Gate. He sighed. He didn't get laid nearly enough for this gig.
A little away from the group, Ryker watched as Alek produced that silly gold necklace he had lifted from Kian's house in Coula and gave it to Edda. She smiled, almost as broadly as Alek, and kissed him deeply on the lips before letting him fix the clasp behind her neck. A pang of jealousy shot through Ryker. Not because he had any feelings for Edda, of course. But she was pretty damn attractive, and Ryker really missed the attention of women. At this rate, he thought, he'd be dead within two hours, all his charm lost to the women of the world. He spit on the ground, something he rarely did. Gods, he was suddenly pissed and terrified all at once. He couldn't tell which was the stronger feeling boiling within him.
“Perhaps there is something I can do to help,” the Voice broke in.
“Unless you have a pair of lace shackles and an open mind, I sorely doubt it,” Ryker thought bitterly.
“No need for crudeness,” the Voice admonished. “Your sexual frustrations are of little concern at the moment. No, I mean that perhaps I can aid you, and by extension myself, in a more meaningful way.”
Ryker froze in place, suspicion growing within him. And yet, hadn't whatever the Voice was aided him before? With rather effective results? He formed the image in his mind of himself sitting in a comfortable, upholstered chair placed before the Doorway in his mind. He crossed his mental arms and legs in a somewhat defensive posture. “Explain.”
The swirling patterns on the Door shifted color and transparency, in a manner than Ryker found almost soothing. Placating.
“I am no warrior spirit,” the Voice said. “But I do hav
e other talents. I can attempt to send out a beacon, call for aid. With your help.”
Ryker's imagined eyes narrowed. “You mean like a flare?”
“Oh, much more than that,” the Voice replied. “If you lend me greater strength, but for a moment, I can send a psychic call out into the world, and any with the strength and potency to aid us will hear it. If fortune favors us, they can arrive much swifter than the native defensive force.”
Ryker considered it. “Seems pretty thin,” he said.
“I'm on the last wisps of my strength,” the Voice said. “It is all I can truly offer.”
“Why didn't you mention we could do this before?”
“Our situation did not seem as hopeless before now, did it?” a note of admonishment still in the Voice. “And it is a hope, once more attempt at bringing us aid. I can't determine who will hear the call, nor can I guarantee if any who hear it will deign to help.”
“And you need me for this,” Ryker said, leaning forwards in his mental chair. “You can't do this without me lending you more strength.”
“Yes,” the Voice said, suddenly uncertain. “Not any sort of control, nor any means of gaining leverage within your mind. Simply a surge of your inner strength to enhance what limited power I have left. If it works, then we will have saved us all. If it fails, then our situation will hardly change, will it?”
Ryker considered his options and, sadly, found that he didn't have many. Forced death march through Monster City, possible possession by whatever spirit that had invaded his mind, or possible insanity followed by death via monster. He tried to maintain some semblance of confidence, but he suspected the Voice could see through it. Better to just get it all over with, he decided. Any option that had the slimmest hope of saving his friends was worth it.
“Fine,” he said. “What do you need from me?”
“Simply focus on my words,” the Voice said. “And as you do so, picture yourself lending me your strength. The power that drives you. I need but a portion, I can handle the rest.”
Ryker concentrated on the words, forced them to reverberate through his mind. And as he did so, he tried to feel himself lending strength to the spirit outside of him. At first, there was nothing. Just Ryker standing there in his own mind, with the growing suspicion that he was imagining things. Then with an abruptness that surprised him, he could feel the transfer begin to happen. It was as if he had a large portion of sand cupped in both of his hands, and a small trickle of it began to drain out from his interlocked fingers, into another pair of hands. Warm, familiar hands. As the transfer happened, a small wave of fear passed through Ryker. Like actually holding sand, once it started to slip through your fingers, it would be so easy to lose it all. What if he gave too much to the Phaedra? What if he died?
As if in answer, the warm, gentle hand-like sensation that Ryker had associated with the Phaedra spread over him, a pleasant feeling that halted the transfer between them.
“It's alright,” the Voice soothed, “that's enough.” Its voice was richer, more coherent than Ryker had ever heard. “Just a moment while I ready the call.”
“Why the preparation?” Ryker asked. “I thought it was just going to be a call for help?”
“Yes,” Phaedra said, “but nothing so simple as yelling out. I'm going to not only be sending a call for help, but I'll be including details as to what is happening here. It would do little good to us if aid came unprepared and found itself in the same position as us.”
“Makes sense,” Ryker agreed. He sat there in silence, waiting for something he didn't know to happen. As he waited, he took stock of himself. He didn't feel any different. Just quite a bit more tired than he had a few moments ago. The cost of lending strength, Ryker figured. But if it helped, even slightly, it would be worth it.
“Brace yourself,” Phaedra said, pulling Ryker from his introspection. “I'm unsure as to how people around you will receive the signal.”
Ryker was about to reply when a shrill, piercing sound cut through his mind. It didn't actually hurt him, but it did startle him. A handful of groans snapped Ryker out of his inner discussions and he looked around. Alek had a hand up to his head as if suffering through a headache. The mage that had come with Kinnese, Naria, was groaning audibly, holding her temples. Her attendants were doing the same. The fat Weaver that was with Nerthus and Edda likewise held his head in his hands.
“Whoa,” Ryker whispered, despite himself.
“There,” Phaedra said into his mind, its voice back to its usual faint self. “The call is out. All we can do is hope someone heard it.”
“Can't you tell?” Ryker asked.
“Can you tell when someone you can't see hears your voice?” Phaedra replied, its voice sarcastic. “Of course not. Nor do I have the means nor the power to receive a response.” The Voice suddenly sounded far weaker than Ryker had ever remembered. “I will need a few moments to...recover myself. I believe I overestimated my own reserves.”
Before Ryker could pursue the matter further, a shadow loomed over him. Looking up, he saw Johan standing before him, hand resting on his sword hilt.
“Come with me Rye,” Johan ordered. This was Commander Johan, Ryker saw, not childhood friend Johan.
“Yes sir,” Ryker replied, the response automatic. Rising to his feet, he followed his Commander as he walked across the small courtyard to where Kinnese was sitting with his small band of followers. An old man, one who Ryker had not seen in their previous encounter, was sitting a little away from the others, a sour expression on his face. When the old man looked up, he gave Ryker a look of such indifferent boredom that Ryker actually halted in place for a moment before hurrying after Johan.
“Watch that one,” Phaedra said, its voice weary and faint.
Ryker didn't respond, he merely followed his superior and halted just behind him, standing perfect posture, one hand on his hilt, the other straight at his side as if he were in the presence of a Praetorian. When he had to be official, Ryker could pull off parade stuff better than anyone. Kinnese and the others looked up at Johan, wariness in their eyes. Ryker quickly gave the other members a once-over, keeping his head straight. While Kinnese ignored him, the gray-haired woman and her ageless beauty regarded him coldly. The brunette woman, the mage, returned his gaze, a sudden odd expression on her face. But she closed her eyes and again rubbed her temples. Gods, even Kinnese had a small posse of attractive women around him. What was he doing wrong?
“Kinnese,” Johan said. “On your feet.”
The traitor waited only a second before complying, bringing himself up to his full height, one or two inches taller than Johan. “Is it execution time yet, Else?” Kinnese asked.
“Maybe it is,” Johan said. That earned an upraised eyebrow from Kinnese. Ryker did his best to maintain the stern, yet impassive visage of the second-in-command, but he almost started at his friend's words. “The city is falling, and our only immediate avenue of escape has been compromised. We have to march through the city to the nearest gate, escorting a few hundred civilians, seize the gate from the hostile creatures crawling around it, and hold it long enough to evacuate as many people as we can. And you're going to help us.”
Kinnese's face contorted itself, a mixture of emotions racing across it like waterbugs on a still pond. When he finally composed himself, his voice was just...tired. Ryker could relate.
“Why come to me?” Kinnese asked.
“If we are going to pull this off, we need your sword,” Johan said simply. He pointed at Pela and Naria. “We need her ferocity. And we need her magic.”
“And just why should I, should we, help you?” Kinnese asked weakly. Ryker could see, almost feel Johan bristle at Kinnese's words, even through his armor.
“If you're so far fallen that you can't think to help others,” Johan growled, “then you can take solace in the fact that you'll be helping yourselves. This is our only chance out of here.”
Kinnese was silent for a moment as he looked up at the mo
rning sky. “And after?” he asked.
“After. After this you come with us. To answer for your crimes.”
“Yeah,” Kinnese whispered after a moment. “Just promise me, give me your word that my colleagues can go free.”
“I don't care about them,” Johan all but spat. “After this, so long as you comply, your...accomplices can go wherever they may.”
Kinnese turned to the mage, who gave a small nod. He looked Johan in the eyes. “So be it,” he sighed. “We're at your disposal.”
“Good,” Johan said. “Gather up your gear and your people. We move out in five.” Before waiting for a response, Johan spun on his heel and marched back towards the garrison, with Ryker his shadow. Ryker waited until they were out of earshot before blowing out a breath.
“Goff's Throne, Joh!” he hissed. “You're going to trust them? With their weapons?!”
“Don't have a choice Rye,” Johan shrugged as he walked. “Can't spare anyone to keep eyes on them when the shit goes down. At least this way they'll draw some attention away from your pretty face. Now then, with that matter dealt with, I just have one more minor matter to attend to.” Johan trailed off as they stood before Garm and the Underking, now free of his bonds. The tall sifar glared at the Outriders around him as he rubbed at his wrists. Garm had not been kind to his former employer.
“We are still here I see,” the Underking grumbled. “I am unaccustomed to being in the presence of so many different incompetents. The sifar looked around the courtyard and saw Kinnese's group preparing. The sifar actually spit on the ground, and his voice grew more acidic. “Excellent. The entire cast of fools has been assembled.”
“It pleases me that you are amused,” Johan said. “Your biting wit aside, earlier you gave me your word that you will remain in my custody should we escape here alive. Will you honor it still?”
“I swore on my blood, did I not?” the Underking spat. “Though it is far more likely that both of us will be spilling our blood soon enough.”
Chasing Down Glory: The Outrider Legion: Book Two Page 42