by CM Raymond
“You won’t get me, dipshit. I’m Hannah from Arcadia. You’re nothing more than an ant beneath my boot.”
Her eyes blazed red as she slowly rose to her feet. She twisted her palms, turning them into fists.
“Wait,” he said. “What are you doing? Stop!”
She paused for a second, her closed fists held tightly in front of her. She looked upward, like she was thinking through a riddle. Finally, she shrugged. “No. I don’t think I will. Now, squeal like a pig.”
She pushed her hands forward, palms outward. At once, the vines erupted into bright blue flames.
His screams didn’t last for long before the vines dropped his lifeless body to the ground.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Who you calling a kid?” Laurel screamed as she lashed her rope at an attacker.
The flint at the end found his jugular. He gripped his throat, uselessly trying to keep his lifeblood inside his body. She spun and another was on her, too close for her rope blade. The woman swung a sloppy right at her, and Laurel pivoted a second too slow. The roundhouse grazed off her chin.
“You skeezy wench,” she said, rubbing the spot as she circled around the roamer.
“Gonna teach you how a grown woman fights. Too bad you’ll be too dead to use it,” the large woman laughed.
“Not sure what ‘too dead’ means, but bring it.”
The woman pulled a sword and lunged, missing to the left, and then lunged again. This time, Laurel stepped to the right and grabbed the woman’s arm. She pulled hard, letting the woman’s momentum carry her straight into Dardanus who finished her off with a flick of his bola.
“If that’s how a grown woman fights, then I’m happy to remain young.” Laurel bowed low. “Thank you for the assist, fine Baseeki.”
He grinned and gave an awkward bow in return.
“Shit! Look out.” Laurel pointed behind him.
Dardanus spun, finding no one there.
“You are so gullible!” Laurel yelled and raced back into battle.
Three of the roamers cut through the melee, their eyes on Laurel.
“Shit, buddy, I can’t take them all,” she said.
Without another word, Devin shot out of her cloak and hit the ground in a full sprint. Leaping, the squirrel hit the one in the middle in the groin, bending him in half before scurrying up his back, biting and scratching all the way. The man swatted at the fat squirrel, but she was way too fast.
“One down,” Laurel laughed. “Guess I have the two of you.”
The men looked at each other and grinned. A lifetime on the road had given them the opportunity to put plenty of notches on their belts. A girl with a squirrel wasn’t going to best them.
At once, they charged, short swords drawn.
Laurel grabbed a low-hanging limb. Her eyes flashed green, and the tree pulled her ten feet into the air as they passed under. She dropped with a shout, driving her dagger into the back of one of the men.
The other grabbed her by the cloak as she withdrew the knife. “Time to say goodnight, sweetheart,” he whispered into her ear.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Aysa cried as she plowed into him shoulder first.
Instinctually, the man dropped Laurel and spun to face his attacker. “Ah, the one-armed bandit. It’s not even fair.”
“You’re right,” Aysa replied. “This will be all too easy. I can tie my good arm behind my back if you think it will help.”
His grin disappeared, and he rushed her wildly.
Laurel watched in awe at the girl’s skill with her bola. She had seen the Baseeki take down targets from a distance, but up close they were just as deadly. Aysa held one half of the bola in her massive hand, and spun the other side in a criss crossing pattern in front of her.
The roamer lunged with his blade, but Aysa easily used the bola to knock it aside. Before he could respond, she cracked him alongside the jaw, sending him spinning.
Before he could right himself, she planted her huge foot in his chest and knocked him to the ground.
He struggled to stand. “You stupid—” But his insult was cut short as she whipped her bola toward him, smashing in his face with a direct hit.
“Impressive,” Laurel said as she watched the girl retrieve her weapon.
“I do all right. But that tree thing? What the hell?”
Laurel shrugged. “It’s all about who you know.”
****
Hannah fought off the remaining roamers by the side of a Baseeki warrior. He was good, and she couldn’t help but admire his moves.
She was about to compliment him on a particularly awesome throw with his bola when a quiet whistle flew past her. She watched as an arrow suddenly burst through the soft spot in the man’s stomach. Another took him in the leg.
“Get down,” Hannah screamed, shoving the warrior to the ground.
She waved her hand over him and created a small shield to ward off further attacks. Her eyes turned for the ridgeline. Her plan had worked well: the two-pronged attack kept the roamers off balance and prevented them from using their arrows effectively.
But someone had broken out of the fight and was acting like a sniper, raining down death from above. Arrows whistled around her. A near miss cruised past her ear, and a shrill cry called out behind her. One of Dardanus’s men took it in the throat.
Turning her attention back to the ridge, she saw the coward, crouched beside a pile of rocks. She blazed a fireball and launched it in his direction, more to draw his fire than anything. Drawing up her own shield, she sprinted uphill, driving toward the man. He fired arrow after arrow, each one deflecting or shattering against her magical shield.
The man’s eyes widened when she was a yard off. He dropped his bow and reached for his blade, but he was too late.
Hannah pulled her dagger from her belt. Driving her blade into his gut, she pulled the steel up toward the man’s heart. His mouth dropped open, as if he wanted to say some last words, but there was nothing.
She released his body, and wiped the knife on the fallen man’s leathers. “Thanks, Karl,” she said as she sheathed the dagger, before dropping to the ground nearly exhausted.
Hannah sat on the hill, watching the rest of the fight. She wanted to help, but there was no energy left in her legs. And besides, team Baseek had the fight locked down. She watched as a young, one-armed girl dropped the last warrior with a solid punch to the jaw.
She exhaled and let her head fall between her legs for a moment, thanking the Matriach and the Patriarch for a swift victory before dragging herself to her feet and descending the hill.
She could hear her new friends cheering as they stood victorious over the vanquished.
Bodies were strewn around the marauders camp. Nearly all of them the enemy. Hannah surveyed the situation and found that they had lost a third of their own forces in the battle. It was a lot, but far less than if they had run out bolas blazing.
One man, the guard she had covered with her shield, leaned against a rock, clutching the arrow in his gut. He paid little attention to the one in his leg. Dardanus crouched over him, holding the man’s hand.
“We’ll lose him,” he said, as Hannah approached.
“Like hell we will.” She passed the giant guard a grin. “We’ve got this. Pull the arrows out.”
She waved Laurel over as the man screamed in agony.
“How’s your energy?” Hannah asked the druid.
“Been better. Way better. And healing isn’t—”
Hannah held her hand up. “It’s going to need to be tonight. You’ve got the leg, I’ll get the um,” she glanced down at the wound on the man’s stomach, knowing the arrow pierced organs, “more complicated matters.”
They both focused what little energy they had left, and the man’s wounds began to heal over. Color returned to his face.
“What the hell?” Aysa whispered from behind them.
“Thank you,” he wheezed as he passed into unconsciousness. The hole in his stom
ach had closed, but Hannah knew he was far from truly healed. He would probably feel pain from that wound for the rest of his life.
Dardanus put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder and nodded his thanks.
“Still think we’re out to get you guys?” she asked, raising her brows.
He laughed. “If so, it’s strategy that goes way over my head.”
She eyed his tall frame. “I get the feeling that very little goes over your head.”
Before he could answer, a voice rang out. “I’ve got a live one over here!”
****
The world spun as Karl walked through the town. His more than gentle buzz had him wondering just how much he had to drink in the cell. He tried to do the math, but quit after he almost tripped on a stray rock. It didn’t much matter anyway. With Hannah out looking for the chief’s son, he was sure he’d be treated like a king, even if the king needed to be locked behind metal bars from time to time.
Karl had no problem with the girls playing hero—but if the chief wanted Karl to play the respectful diplomat, he chose the wrong rearick.
Come to think of it, most rearick made for piss poor diplomats.
The sun was setting as the guards led him down the road—if you could call it that. The route they took was more of a footpath, created by the habitual patterns of a simple people who thrived on the simple life.
In many ways, Baseek reminded him of the Heights. They were a people in a place who knew who they were and what they were about. Small town living bred loyalty—and a fierce desire to protect the homeland. Karl understood this—but he had also seen enough of the world to know that small communities developed their own blind spots.
It was that naïveté that Karl hoped to work to his advantage if the need arose.
Ducking through tight passages, they finally arrived at a small hut near the edge of the village. It was a simple building—certainly not the chief’s quarters—and Karl noticed it was the building situated furthest from the rest.
Odd choice for a meeting of the minds, Karl thought, sobering up slightly as they stepped inside.
The guards moved him through the doors with enough hospitality to show they meant no harm, and then set him on a chair in the middle of the room. One of the guards took lengths of rope and tied Karl’s arms down tight behind him.
“Hey? We really need this, lads?” he protested as they did their job in silence. “Scheisse, how am I supposed to drink like this?”
Ignoring him, the men left the hut, and Karl sat alone in silence, wishing he were back behind the bars with his friends, sipping on the ale. Although he wouldn’t say it to the man’s face, Parker was right. Something was very off. Within minutes, he had gone from living the sweet life under house arrest to being fastened to a chair in a hut that just happened to be out of earshot from any living being.
There wasn’t much time to dream of better times, because the door swung open. Karl watched as the woman, Vatan, entered the room, flanked by two guards. She was nearly as tall as them, with the strange proportions unique to the Baseeki
“You ain’t the chief,” Karl said.
She took two long steps toward him, hips swaying almost seductively—like a reed blowing in the wind. The men closed the door behind them, one standing on each side.
“Oh, poor Sef. He doesn’t have the stomach for the work that I do. Guess that’s why he keeps me around. Now, rearick, tell me who you really are—you and your friends—and we can just put you back in your little room with a bucket full of brew.” She smiled and waited for a response.
“There ain’t no more to tell, lass. Ya got it from Hannah last night, no need for me ta get into it again.”
Vatan took another step so she was standing nearly between his legs spread and tied to the chair. “You almost look like you’re telling the truth. Funny how one can become so good at lying, if they practice enough.” She reached her large hand toward him and ran a finger down his forehead. She followed the bridge of his nose to the tip before pulling it back and landing a fierce open palmed smack across his face. “Now, enough bullshit. Time to talk. I want to know who all of you are and how you acquired such fascinating powers.”
So much for vacation, he thought.
He grit his teeth and stared her in the eye. “You do know how to sweet talk a guy. Why don’t you unbind me? I’d be happy to show ya my powers.”
Taking a step back, Vatan wound up and landed a hook to Karl’s stomach. The blow rocked him, and for a moment he wondered if he would lose some of the ale in his stomach.
He sat up tall, a drunken smile on his face. “Is that it? You Baseeki may have large hands, but you’ve got limp wrists. It’s like takin’ a punch from a six-year-old. I tell ya what, why don’t we skip the ‘tell me everything’ bit and ya just let me outta here. Otherwise, this is gonna take all night. I ain’t the kind that cracks easy.”
“We’ll see,” Vatan said. Turning, she said to one of the guards, “You stay and work him over. Do whatever you need to make him break. We need more information, and we’re damn sure not going to get it by treating them like kings.”
The man approached, rubbing his hands together, a psychopath’s grin on his face.
Vatan moved for the door, the other guard followed. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “Oh, and Drake…”
“Ma’am?”
“Keep it below the neck. Not sure we want the honored guests walking around with signs of our little talk. It would only raise more questions.”
He affirmed her command and was slugging away with his long arms and massive fists at Karl’s midsection before the door was even closed. A sweat broke on the Baseeki’s brow, and he panted heavily. Stepping back, he asked, “Ready yet, you mountain prick?”
Karl breathed deeply and felt at least three of his ribs crunching on his left side. “It’s like I said, you ocean twats got limp wrists. When are we gonna get to the real fun? Ya punch like a child, and I imagine you got the mind of one, too. What’s yer play here?”
“Information. She needs it, I get it—from anyone.”
Shrugging the best he could while tied to the chair, Karl said, “Well, ya better get back to work then, cause I ain’t even close.”
Drake, the guard did just that. His eyes grew wild as he pounded on Karl’s chest and gut. Suddenly, he stopped. “Did you say something?” he gasped.
“Don’t think so. I may have been whistlin’ to myself. This whole thing’s a little borin’.”
The man glanced around the room, then raised a fist to go back to work. Two slugs and he stopped, looking around the room confused. “I swear I heard…”
He trailed off, turned, and left the hut, hunting for the source of the voices. Karl took the chance to visibly wince from the pain the man’s powerful upper body delivered. He’d refuse to show it to him though.
As Karl tried to gather himself, an image of Hadley appeared in front of him.
“Scheisse, man, that’s a good trick. You could have maybe started a little earlier, though.”
The hologram of his friend winked and then blinked back out of existence right before Drake returned.
“Must have been some damned kids.” He crossed the room again and stood over Karl. “Let’s be reasonable, shall we? Just give me some information about your friends and their powers. And that damned flying beast your girl brought with her. And I can get ya back to your drink.”
“I already told ya kid, there’s no big secret to uncover. My friends and I are just wandering do-gooders, trying to help. In fact, I bet they’re on their way back now with your Samet.”
Now that Karl knew Hadley was in the game, everything had changed. The mystics could get inside almost anyone’s head, chat them up. The most powerful could even place bits of information in the mind of another unguarded from their wiles. Although they were a long way from the cell, he thought maybe this was what Hadley was up to.
Drake raised his hand, then stopped and looked around the room again.
<
br /> “Probably yer conscience dickin’ with ya,” Karl said to the bewildered man.
“My what?”
“Ya know, like the better parts of ya sayin’ this ain’t right. That I’ve done nothin’ to deserve this,” Karl did his best to grin. “I always listen to mine. Kept me out of a world of shit a time or two before.”
The man stood and looked at the wall, as if he were listening. “There it goes again. A voice, but I can’t quite make it out.”
Karl couldn’t be certain, but he was pretty damned sure that Hadley was upstairs, dancing around in the kid’s mind, probably laying a suggestion or two along the way. He decided to play along.
“Aye, that’s definitely the conscience. I know it all too well. Listen, pal… let’s just think this through. What did I ever do to ya?”
“Huh?”
Karl laughed. “I mean, you’re here beatin’ the livin’ shit outta me, and I’d say there’s a bit of ya in the back of yer mind sayin’, ‘Drake, this makes no bloody sense.’ Am I right?”
“But Vatan said—”
“Who cares what Vatan said, or the chief said, or even what I’m sayin’? What does the inner Drake say? Do you wanna be doin’ this?”
“Damn. I guess... I guess I never really thought about it.”
“Aye,” Karl spouted. “We don’t so much when we’re young, like ya are now. I did some bad things too when I was yer age. It still haunts me at night—probably why I drink so much. Cause over time, ya learn to listen to the better angels. And it’s better if they’re happy with how ya lived.”
The man slowly nodded. “You think what I’m doing’s bad?”
“Well, it sure as shit ain’t saintly. But I’ll make a deal with ya. Ya take me back the cell, and we’ll call it even. No hard feelings. What do ya say?” Karl’s eyes looked down at the vines and then back at the guard.
“Hey, you’re not trying to pull one over one me, are you?”
Karl smiled as warmly as he could. “Come on. Rearick’s honor. I know ya don’t know my people from the fish in yer sea, but one thing a rearick never does is lie,” Karl lied.