Enora watched he sister depart in silence. She was hoping that Esaundra would have joined her today for her rounds. Enora’s hope was that little visits to places like Solace would eventually get her sister to mature, even if only a little bit. She never expected Esaundra to follow in her footsteps, but more than anything in the world, she wished for some stability for her younger sister. More often than not, Esaundra leaned heavily on Enora for support and care, allowing Enora to pull her out of the proverbial fire more times than either sister would care to admit.
Maybe there was some truth in Esaundra’s words. Sure, their lives deferred greatly, but both were happy in their own right. Enora kept Esaundra grounded and Esaundra reminded Enora to live a little at times. Clearing her head of such cares, Enora put on her warmest smile and prepared for Solace before the start of the harvest. Tonight, she would take a page from her sister’s book and live a little more vividly.
Enora just hoped that in the end, when it came to the stars and fate, that Esaundra was right.
CHAPTER 3
Calm and the Storm
With cruel hands, Lianna Navor was led through what now remained of Galvin, her home.
Only days before she was fighting the same old fight with Dayne. Today Dayne was dead, killed before her eyes along with many of those she called family or friend. She tried hard not to look at the aftermath, wishing desperately that her gift to place her mind elsewhere would come again and at least take her spirit away from reality. However, there would be no such mercy for Lianna. Like previous days, she would be forced to remember every moment of this portion of her life with unwanted, unending clarity.
Carved in Lianna‘s thoughts forever were Dayne’s last moments. As the town around her succumbed to oppressors, no doubt from the lands north, a monster forced her to watch Dayne’s demise. And it had been slow in coming. His killer hardly passed as a man. More of him was metal than anything. She remembered the cold clamp of his metal hand around her neck as she was forced to witness the death of the man vying for her affections. While Dayne’s neck crushed easily in the grip of the one Lianna would later come to know as Janzen, the northern warrior had made sure Dayne’s death was painfully slow and very public.
Janzen had held Lianna in his icy grip, tormenting her and reveling in it. She felt the stench of his breath, saw the yellow of his teeth and the bristles of his unkempt face. All the while Dayne cursed and screamed for her release. Every time he approached though, Janzen threw him down or swatted him away. Lianna knew that one good shot would have killed Dayne with such strength, but that was not Janzen's agenda. This torment had gone on for several minutes until Dayne was bloody and broken. With his last ounces of life, he made one final charge for Lianna’s rescue. It was then that Janzen had at last embraced him with death, clamping down on Dayne’s face and squeezing until there was nothing left in the man.
Janzen now carried Lianna to what used to be the town hall. As she was prodded along, her eyes could not help but be drawn to the carnage around her. Within 24 hours, the town Lianna knew was morphed into a military staging zone. She and the other survivors discovered, through bits and pieces of their conqueror’s conversation, that Galvin was the first of many acquisitions for conversion and “salvation.” Immediately those that survived were put to work. Her townsfolk were now slave labor, forced to work in hopes that they could survive another day. Of course, none of them would be prepared for the indoctrination to follow.
Pulled from their homes, every man, woman and child in Galvin endured harsh relocation. Resting on the outskirts of town now were crude encampments that were nothing more than clusters of cages. There was no cover from the elements, nor was there privacy or shelter in any but the simplest sense. Those that did not work as slaves remained in these camps. Those that came back from slave labor returned to them. Everyone learned that the only way to escape these cages was to profess allegiance to the nation of Thorne and renounce all blasphemous ways of their country; although the exact content of their blasphemy remained unclear. Only then would they find release to another camp and retrained into the image of their new home and allegiance.
Slow tears formed in Lianna’s eyes. She was surprised that she could still cry. The wells in her were not yet dry. Lianna would have gladly taken misery in the cages with her friends, but she held no choice in the affair. In her torment, in the hailstorm of the end of her way of life, Lianna inadvertently caught the eye of the commanding officer. Now confined to his quarters for his recreation, Lianna had come to know the spearhead and mastermind behind the campaign to take Vallance-General Nathaniel Reginald Cresul.
Janzen ushered Lianna past the guards at the door and into the hallway of the town hall. Sweat and smoke rushed her nostrils. Military equipment harshly replaced the once familiar comforts of the room. Around her soldiers did their duty, tasks that meant the destruction of her homeland. Many paid her no mind at all. Others stared at her and Janzen, understanding the role thrust upon the pretty young girl in tow. Her fate was an open book as Janzen prodded her on past all of this to one of the conference rooms where undoubtedly her torment would continue.
The room was smoke-laden, much like the hallways she had passed through. Nevertheless, the smoke here was sweeter and more refined somehow. She would find out later that it was a benefit of being an officer; you got better smokes than the run of the mill grunts. Thankfully to Lianna, the fumes were not as concentrated in this room. Apparently only one of the officers seated before her smoked. She took note of this before she was pushed into a corner.
Janzen eyed her viciously as he pointed at her. “Do us all a favor, sweetheart and don’t go running off somewhere. Know two things if you do. The first is I would find you and the second is you will not like it when I do. Are we clear?” She said nothing to this but nodded, which was enough to satisfy the madman for now.
As Lianna settled in the corner, Janzen seated himself near the head of the table. Getting comfortable in his chair, he scratched absently at his cheek and chin with his fingers. The sound the bristles made against his metallic hand was unsettling. However, he continued to do it, as if knowing the very act unsettled those around him. It was obvious to Lianna that Janzen was a man who lusted for discord and strife. If he could not find trouble, then Janzen was bound and determined to make sure that trouble had an ample opportunity to find him.
The addition of Janzen made seven soldiers in total seated with one more on his way. A young officer stood at attention in the back of the room. No one except Lianna paid him any mind. She however, paid all of them mind, had learned all their names quickly. All the chairs were now full, save for the empty, extravagant seat waiting patiently at the head of the table. From the approaching proud footsteps, Lianna knew that vacancy was about to be filled. If she had learned anything recently, it was that the commanding officer of this army loved his pageantry.
Slowly, the door opened, admitting the regal frame of General Nathaniel Reginald Cresul. Instantly, Lianna noticed his dominating presence of confidence and authority, registering equal part genius and lunatic. However, looking upon him, a stranger would never guess the mayhem beyond the reservoir of calm within those eyes. Whatever else he was, Cresul was careful to appear to be the perfect example of an officer of Thorne.
Cresul strode into the conference room. Carefully cut, military-style hair loomed over a false, easygoing smile and predatory features. He looked like a carefree soul that could eat you alive, raw, and smile as he did. The room quieted as he entered, for every feature of Cresul demanded attention, especially his carefully altered military uniform. He was a cross between commanding officer and self-proclaimed emperor. And as he neared his seat, everyone, including Janzen, rose to their feet in respect.
Meticulously, he unfastened his cape and seated himself casually as he checked his uniform for any blemishes. “Gentlemen! Let’s just blow past all the formalities and jump into the thick of it, shall we?” Cresul gazed at each soldier present as h
e continued. “We have begun our operation here in Vallance, starting with this little backwater hell hole. I will remind you that timing is now crucial. Every second counts, and I can assure you I didn’t spend the last five years of my life formulating this campaign to have the ball dropped at this juncture. Failure is not an option I will factor in, nor will I even fathom to contemplate it. And if I hear anything less than I want to hear I will have souls.” With that he tossed his cape upon the table before him. For a second his calm demeanor rippled as a breath of unchecked anger seeped from him, gone as suddenly as it had emerged.
Lianna shuddered now at the coldness in the room and the sick smile festering on Janzen’s face. It was obvious that Cresul was one of the few whom Janzen regarded with anything other than contempt. Lianna longed to let her mind do its trick, to carry her thoughts anywhere but with these men. Nevertheless, something in her told her to remain and not take her attention from the moment. Her instincts screamed at her that such a distraction could prove fatal if Cresul’s mood wasn’t just right.
Relaxing back in his lavish seat, Nathaniel Cresul once again returned to a state of calm, refined enjoyment. He motioned with his head toward his left. “Colonel Miller, I do believe you have a status report for me. Let’s hear it.”
Colonel Matthew Miller responded in quick military fashion. “Sir, all divisions are in position and ready for deployment ahead of schedule. Supplies are more than adequate, and the men hunger to test their training.” On the last note, Miller’s voice was slightly subdued.
For the moment, Cresul took note of Miller’s apparent apprehension but shelved it for the time being. Instead, he pointed to the man to Miller’s left. “And what news do you have for me, major? It is nice to see that you made it back after your harrowing research and adventure.”
The major was a thin, pale man, and it was obvious he did not relish war in the slightest. Lighting another dark cigarette, Gregory Winston took a long, slow drag before commenting as he exhaled. “Everything is as we could have hoped for and better. Reports indicate that the bulk of Vallance is now focused on the holiday they refer to as ‘The Grand Harvest.’ Initial Intel has cited that all major town leaders are now within the walls of their capital during the festive celebration,” he said indifferently.
“Splendid,” breathed Cresul, rubbing at his chin with his thumb and first two fingers. “How are the reports from our scouts within the region?”
Winston took another pull from his cigarette as he surveyed the papers. “Minor casualties have been reported, though all reports indicate that we've kept the element of surprise. My judgment would have to be that we still have them with their pants down.” Winston finished his sentence as he procured a small, brown cloth bag from his pocket. As he opened it, those around him could see a fine white powder within it.
Nathaniel Cresul turned his eyes upon Major Winston. “You will put that away, major, and you will do so this second. You are in this war of my ordering, and for that I allow you your little misgivings, but should I see anything other than your noxious cigarette smoke before my eyes again, your forced career here will be a hazy sea breeze compared to what I will have in store for you.” Major Winston said nothing as he looked away and complied. “You are a superb tactician and information specialist, Winston. However, you are far from indispensable. Do not take too many liberties with leniency.”
No one made any remarks to this at the table, as all of them knew the situation. Because of his superior memory retention, genius level acumen and extensive research of Vallance, Winston was hand-picked by General Cresul and drafted in the Thorne ranks. It was an honor and duty thrust upon him, and Winston never hid his distaste for it. For years now, he had researched the lands of Vallance. Many in Thorne considered him the foremost expert on the region. For this, Cresul allowed him to destroy himself with any drug of his choice, so long as he could carry out his duties. So far, neither military duty nor substance abuse collided, but everyone knew it was just a question of time.
From the end of the table came an audible snickering. Cresul turned his cold eyes toward the direction and was not surprised to see the laughter had come from Captain Jessie Murlen. Murlen was a chubby officer who had attained his rank thanks to politics rather than any talent on his part. With one look from Cresul his snickering stopped. To change the subject at hand, Murlen picked up the folder in front of him, looked at it for a moment and then smelled it. In fact, he pretty much smelled everything he could get his hands on.
Cresul nodded and looked beyond the table, thoughtful for a moment. “Colonel Miller, I want all divisions ready for deployment by nightfall. Tonight, we take the next step toward glory and absolute victory over our enemies.”
A large, bald headed and bearded brute carrying many scars nodded. His one remaining eye gleamed with cold calculation. His name was Captain Richard Nelson. “I’ve waited long, long days for this moment,” he said.
“The time is upon us,” added Miller.
“Let this be our country’s finest hour,” stated Colonel Frederick Hickson. Hickson, a career soldier, was known through many channels as a fanatical zealot. “We will bring glory and the name of Thorne to the darkness that has permeated this godless, misguided land.”
Colonel Miller snorted at this. “Since I am one of the few at the table you do not outrank, I will speak frankly, Hickson. Save your little rants for the propaganda machine, and the unsuspecting grunts who hang on your every word. I can assure you that everyone seated at this table knows why we are really here.”
Color formed in Hickson’s cheeks. “Nothing is more important than the honor and grandeur of Thorne. That symbol defines us, carries our nation into the future of our choosing. You would be wise to remember that.”
Colonel Miller was unmoved by Hickson’s glare or conviction. “Whatever makes you sleep better at night Hickson. This land is ripe with the resources and space that we greatly need. The smokescreen we send the young ones to get them to battle is one thing, but I think you’ve heard enough from the propaganda regime to start believing it yourself. If there were glory to be had, we would not have employed murderers and thieves or killed our own men to start such a war. Our mission is to win at any cost. And while I have every question about the tactics we employ, it is not my place to argue with our leader or our commanding officer. The ends will always justify the means, whether that justification makes sense or not. We’re here to do what we have to do and don’t need it sugar-coated with your false front of glory.”
Cresul smiled inwardly. In the very basic essence, he enjoyed the discord. Cresul knew good and well that the two colonels hated one another. Their philosophical views would not allow them to find much middle ground. And while such a difference in view and opinion could be detrimental to progress, Cresul knew that this instance was different.
When Cresul groomed special squads of military insurgents for the initial intrusion of Vallance, he made sure that all candidates were the best of the worst. He needed men who would do whatever it took to accomplish objectives, soldiers who would not turn from their mission. Cresul only utilized the highest grade of zealots, murderers and villains he could get his hands on. Miller had been Cresul’s strongest voice against the plan while Hickson ate it up with reckless abandon.
And so, Cresul’s balance had been achieved. The Thorne general rather enjoyed the dueling extremes. Miller would do his job, and his conscience would keep Hickson in check. Hickson’s blind obsession would occupy Miller, keeping him focused on the tasks at hand. Another superior calculation in a military campaign that would be long remembered through the ages.
Cresul put his thoughts back to the matters at hand. The time for his accolades would come soon enough. “Well you both offer valid points from opposite sides of the same coin of course, but what do you say we dispense with the endless bickering and get back on track? Quite frankly, I could give two flips about the reasons for being here. The fact of the matter is we are here, and we hav
e a job to do. And I fully intend to see the last five years of my life’s work bear only the fruit I expect.” His words were enough to quell the rising hostility between the two colonels, for the time being, at least.
“Victory will surely be ours, general. They are no-match for our strength. Of that I can be certain,” said Colonel Hickson. Obviously, the man couldn’t help himself.
Cresul leaned back again, putting his fingertips together before him. He still found it amusing to have his ass kissed by a colonel who hated his guts and longed for his job. He was about to comment when he was cut off.
“I would not be so sure if I were you,” said Miller.
Hickson practically scoffed. “Do you doubt the strength and abilities of our military now as well?”
Colonel Miller shook his head casually at this, indifferent to Hickson’s rancor. “No, but I feel it is you who are grossly underestimating our opposition.”
Hickson looked as if such a response was poison upon him. “Preposterous! They are not even on the same page in terms of military strategy or technology. Their so-called powers will fall before a well-placed laser blast.”
At this, Major Winston chuckled bitterly as he flicked his spent cigarette at Janzen. “You’re right about one thing at least. They are not on the same page as us. They carry a whole different rule book and dance to an entirely different tune,” said Winston, lighting up yet another smoke.
Colonel Miller leaned forward to make his point across the table to Colonel Hickson. “You would be wise not to underestimate the men and women of Vallance. Sure, we have the numbers, and we think our technology is far superior, but things are not always as they seem. Their soldiers are stronger and faster than our own. They outlive us by at least 80 years, can take more abuse than we can and heal faster. This gives them a longer span to retain useful and experienced soldiers, soldiers who easily outmatch the best military specimens we can procure.” He glanced at Winston. “What did I miss, major?”
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