by T. C. Edge
He begins stepping away, his guards creating a perimeter around him and forging an easy path for him to travel. I feel a thick finger prod into the middle of my back, pushing me along.
"Go on, girl, follow," grunts Bull, pressing me forward.
I stumble into a walk, forced to move by Kovas's side as we press on towards the worker's camp, separated a little from the main one occupied by the army. The sight of men and women in submission quickly come into view. Many seem in distress, cowering and shivering as soldiers stand around them, keeping them down.
Another group, however, are being led along in chains, all tied and bound. They look bedraggled and beaten, hauled along by a mighty Brute who leads them towards an empty carriage. He stops outside, and urges them in. A panic seems to spread among them as they try to break free, doing all they can to stay outside of the carriage. With a violent pull, the Brute hauls on their chains, dragging all dozen or so of them to the floor. He steps inside the carriage, pulling at the chains, hauling them all inside like a fisherman hauling a net.
"What the hell is this, Kovas?" I say. "What are you doing to those people..."
And then I see him. Right at the back. Old Ralph, the dying medic, feebly trying to resist as he's dragged unceremoniously through the door. A second later, the Brute steps back out and slams the door shut. Soldiers step in and bolt it shut, locking them in.
My eyes turn to the flaming carriages nearby. A strike of dread rips at my insides as I see a woman step over from one of them, her armour shimmering with a red and orange hue. Flames coil around her fingers, sparks flashing and crackling as she approaches the carriage with the slaves locked inside.
"You're burning them alive," I breathe out, turning my eyes to the Herald.
He looks on at the carriage ahead. Inside, calls and wails of desperate fear and panic begin to spread. "Treachery and betrayal are punishable by death," he says coldly. "These people withheld information, and actively aided in the escape of a number of their fellow slaves. No one leaves this camp without permission. This is what we do with traitors..."
His eyes turn to the Fire Elemental, standing outside of the carriage. The other soldiers step back to give her room. She holds a stern, austere countenance, her eyes narrow and intense, features thin and hawkish. She stares back at Herald Kovas with a dull, empty expression on her face.
"Please, Hestia," Kovas calls to her. "See them purified for their crimes."
She nods and turns to the carriage. Her arms are raised slowly. I sense conflict in her, yet no desire to subvert the order.
"Don't do this," I find myself saying, my voice rushing out to stop proceedings. "They don't deserve to die for that!"
Kovas holds up his hand, halting Hestia as the flames begin to build upon her palms. "You think betrayal is acceptable?" he asks me.
"Betrayal? What did they actually do? What, Kovas!"
"I told you, girl. They knew of the escape of a number of their brothers and sisters at the end of the battle this morning. They did nothing to stop them. They didn't inform any guards. They aided and abetted in the breaking of our sacred laws. They will suffer the appropriate consequences..."
"Appropriate?" I breathe, my face launching itself into a scowl. "You sick, repulsive little man! How is this appropriate!"
His smug smile is ripped from his face, his eyes lighting with a deadly flame of their own. He reaches quickly and grabs me by the throat, lifting me off my feet and up into the air. I reach up and grab at his wrist, his hand, trying to break free. His grip is like iron, his fingers slowly squeezing at my neck, stopping the air in its tracks.
"You speak to me like that again," he growls dangerously, "and I will rip your throat from your neck. Do you understand me?"
I stare at him, trying to breath. I begin nodding, but he continues to just hold me there, turning his eyes towards Hestia. And, still holding me aloft, he nods towards her. "Go ahead, Hestia," he says.
I blink, my eyes watering as she carries out the sentence, the fires gathering in her palms and then, in a burst, firing off towards the carriage. It is quickly set aflame, the screaming and wailing from inside quickly growing more manic in its delivery. The bloodcurdling cries of terror and pain will stay with me for some time.
With a detached and purposeful movement, Kovas lowers me back to the ground and releases his grip on my neck. I gasp, dropping straight to my knees, hauling the air in and out of my lungs in several long, rasping breaths. Through the sheen of water over my eyes I see the flames beginning to burgeon. Through the ringing in my ears I hear the howls of agony and horror ring out.
"You...you just brought me out here to show me this," I pant, my voice tight and hoarse, my body trembling as I look at the horrific sight ahead. "Why?"
"Why?" says Kovas. "Why, you ask." I look up to him, to those cold, hateful eyes. "Because you need to know," he says. "You need to know what happens to those who betray me."
The shrieking grows more intense. I turn my eyes away, grimacing against the sound.
"No. No, you watch."
My hair is gripped tight, my eyes forced back up. I can smell Kovas's breath in my nose, his voice whispering next to me.
"If you try to escape from this place. If you make an effort to get away while we're on the road, then you will be to blame for what happens next." He jerks my head left and right, from one side of the workers camp to the other. "There are hundreds more slaves here with us. Try to get away, and I'll kill every last one of them." He pulls my gaze up, towards him. His face is so near, every grim detail so clear. "That, child, will be on you. They will all burn because of you."
He stands up once more, releasing his grip on my hair. My scalp burns with a stinging pain, but I ignore it in the face of what lies before me. Of old Ralph, and a dozen others, being burned alive for a crime so very small.
I look, and I know now that the sickness I witnessed with Nestor wasn't localised to him alone. That there is a dreadful evil, a moral corruption, that festers among these people. And that, like Nestor, Kovas and whoever else looks at the world this way needs to be wiped out.
I calm myself and blink away the water in my eyes, clearing my vision as I stare ahead. It is not fear that boils in me, but a conviction to act.
To bide my time, and wait.
Let the flames die down, and serve my revenge ice cold.
10
Kira
The darkness swamps us as night closes in, the looming trees around us growing increasingly foreboding. With the clouds thickening above and blotting the celestial light, and the canopy growing increasingly heavy here within the woods, both Max and I find our vision affected.
The trail, however, remains clear enough, followed at pace for the last few hours. During that time, I have felt the presence of other creatures nearby; wolves, bears, the Shadows of the Outerlands, perhaps even the Skullers who were once seen here still remain, watching us from afar, their eyes, even without Hawk enhancements of our own, adapted to these particular conditions.
Little lights appear occasionally, dotted among the trees, the eyes of strange creatures, animals or man or a mixture of the two I don't immediately know, gazing upon us as we dash past. I feel no fear for them, and nor do I pay much mind. The creatures that dwell across these regions aren't of real threat to us so long as we remain alert, and so long as we see them coming. If not, and they spring on us without detection, then we might just find ourselves in trouble.
It is during the night that they come out, most of the beasts that roam these lands nocturnal, utilising the blanket of shade and shadow to carry out their grisly purpose. For Max, a man of calm disposition and towering fortitude, it is a new experience. Enough, perhaps, to set a slight twitch of concern to his expression as the trees continue to gather and coil, growing more twisted and sinister as the shadows of night descend.
He may be a seasoned warrior, but fighting in open combat is very different to an experience like this. Even the bravest of men can be un
settled by conditions in which they are unfamiliar.
The pervading darkness, however, eventually begins to ease up as we press through this thick patch of forest, the trees thinning once again and opening out into more open areas of land that undulate and rise around us, like great swells of the ocean locked in time. Thickets and groves littler the lands, with the sight of ruins appearing ahead. It looks to be an old town, and a fairly large once at that, the foundations of the buildings that once stood here doing enough to halt the tide of the trees and vegetation that would otherwise come to dominate the entire area.
Max continues to scan to ensure that we're on the right track. He performs a quick search and turns to me with a nod, appearing mildly happy - signalled by the slightly more relaxed frame of his expression - to have escaped the worst of the woods.
"They went through here," he confirms, nodding to the ruins as they spread to the distance. "Must have been moving at a good pace. Impressive for half-starved slaves."
"Necessity," I say. "It'll drive a person beyond what's usually possible."
"They can't keep it up for long," Max asserts. "Not at the speed they've been going. They'll have to stop and rest soon. I'd bet they're out there somewhere. Probably didn't want to stop in the woods."
"At least they got through the woods," I say, surprised by that fact. "Judging by the trail at least."
I sniff the air, that particular ability of mine becoming more effective again now that we're beyond the densest section of woodland. The lightest odours of sweat and perspiration are detected, drawn up in my mind's eye as a swirling fog, highlighting the trail for us to follow. I set my eyes right where it's most potent, the very same direction as the latest prints suggest.
I look ahead into the ruins. "They went this way," I confirm. "You might be right. There'll be plenty of decent spots to hide here."
"You can smell them now?" asks Max.
I nod. "Faintly. But yes. We're getting nearer."
"Good. And...the others?"
I narrow my eyes, and shake my head. Signs of the pursuing Olympian soldiers have grown sparse the last few miles. It's possible they gave up the hunt, unable to track them this far. I can't be sure on that.
"Nothing," I say. "Keep your eyes peeled, Max. I'll be using the sight more regularly."
We set back off, moving through the scattered trees under the heavy canopy of night, as I dial in my senses and narrow my focus. I turn, now, to my Sniffer senses most of all, stopping occasionally to prioritise my hearing should I be able to detect movement or voices nearby. Every so often, as I told Maximus, I stop completely, shut my eyes, and activate the sight, doing so in particular when we enter into a more built-up area, where the ancient brick buildings remain in better condition.
In certain places, they rise up a couple of levels still, the foundational structure of the buildings still standing, and often supported by the growth of vines and climbers and other such plant life around them, creating strange symbiotic forms of old, crumbling building and new, vegetative life.
Each time I stop and scan the interior, I find little within the vicinity nearby. I don't really expect to either, at least not when hunting for Jude and his band. No, when I get closer to them, I'll know it from the smell alone. In reality, it is the threat of the Olympian soldiers whom I grow most concerned about, fearing that, perhaps, they may have detected our presence and set a trap as we approach, lying in wait in some silent, hidden place.
We continue for a while with no reward. The scent of the slave band remains faint, struggling to grow stronger. I wonder if they have taken precautions to hide their smell somehow, washing in a river somewhere, or else rubbing themselves in natural scents and odours that would render them harder to perceive.
It wouldn't overly surprise me, given what Amber told me of her friend. Any natural leader, taking on the responsibility of helping others to safety, would be wise to take all necessary precautions to see them free. If he's smart, he'll have anticipated a chase by soldiers with highly advances senses. Doing all they can to evade such men would certainly involve making them less easy for Sniffers to detect.
And, seeing as they made it through the woods unscathed, he's obviously doing something right.
Another fifteen minutes pass without reward, as signs of the trail grow harder to find. With more stonework around, and scattered rubble from the ruins, the earth growths less welcoming of tracks and prints. Soon enough, Max's ability to aid me becomes redundant. He takes on the sole duty of watching our flanks as I focus more closely on my own unique skills.
The quiet spreads, broken only by the sound of birdcalls or insects buzzing and clicking around us. The occasional rustle of movement draws my eye, yet signals only the presence of rodents scratching around for a bug for dinner. Within the nearby trees, the glowing eyes of owls watch as we pass, swivelling on super flexible necks, before swooping on the nearby vermin to catch a kill for their young.
I flash my eyes on it but otherwise ignore it all. And in that super-heightened zone of concentration, I begin to draw in on our quarry.
The scent, so faint and weak until now, starts to grow that little bit stronger. Oh, they may have taken measures to limit such powers as mine, but there's only so much they can do to conceal the concoction of odours they trail. It isn't just sweat that I now detect, but the smell of leather from their boots, of damp from sodden clothes, of rot from their rags. They gather and grow stronger, guiding us forwards more quickly, until I begin to zero in on the hideout they've taken for the night.
Ahead, now, just a hundred metres or so, I can sense their presence. An old collection of buildings gives them shelter, bordered by a scattering of trees and vegetation. I see no light - oh, they're smart enough not to start a fire - but I can just about hear whispers now, coming to me on the lightest wisps of a breeze. Whispers of those still yet to catch some rest, of sentries, perhaps, tasked with staying up overnight to watch.
It wouldn't surprise me if Jude is one of them. The very man we have come to see.
Yet, as I prepare to step through the darkness towards them, I feel a tug at my arm from behind me. I turn and see Max's eyes shaping off to one side. I follow his gaze and there, collected in the shadows of another broken wall, see a small grouping of soldiers, numbering only four in number, preparing to move in.
One overly large, and three of regular size, they hold firearms aloft and grim smiles on their faces. It seems to me that their plan isn't going to be to capture them and bring them back, but execute them all where they lie.
"Looks like we got here just in time," Max whispers, drawing a knife from his belt.
I nod as he does so, and lift a smile of my own. "We'll keep this quiet," I say. "No need to alert the slaves."
"My thinking exactly," Max says, staring across the blackened space. His eyes dart left and right. "Let's flank them. They have no idea we're here. Come in behind and cut them down before they get too close. I'll hold them for you, Lady Kira. You do the rest."
I dip my head in agreement, and like shadows in the night, we rush of silently into the gloom.
Slipping through the darkness, we work quickly backwards and approach the enemy from the rear. The four soldiers ahead of us don't hear us, silent as ghosts as we are. Beyond them, the littering of ruins harbouring the slaves waits, only fifty or so metres away, its occupants sleeping, not knowing that their deaths are imminent.
Not anymore.
I exchange a look with Maximus, and with a few hand gestures, he knows what to do. He is a man of rare ability, with gifts to allow for a quick, easy, and silent kill. We creep forward a few more steps, closing the space, getting within range for Max to strike; the closer he is to his target, the more effective his telekinesis will be.
Fifteen metres now.
Twelve.
Ten.
My foot lands on a dry twig, caught across a hidden piece of rubble. It cracks under my weight, the sound like a thunder strike in the silence. The men
react, spinning around. They find two spectres behind them, blended in with the darkness, death come alive to take them.
Before they can lift their weapons to fire, and with expressions of shock painting their faces, Max takes a grip of them all, freezing all four soldiers with his telekinesis. One tries to scream out but his lips are drawn shut, the others hardly able to do more than struggle against the invisible force binding their arms and legs and gagging their tongues. I take my cue as soon as Max has them, speeding forwards with a knife in hand, flashing it across the nearest soldier, then the next, all but severing their heads from their necks with the speed of the strikes.
I'm onto the third in no time at all, hurrying towards him as Max's grip holds. I do to him as I did the others, not seeing the need to bring any variety to my mode of murder. His throat is cut clear through in a split second, spilling red blood into the darkness as Max relents his hold and he, like his two allies before him, drops dead to the floor.
The final soldier struggles a little harder, the Brute whose footprints has been so conspicuous before. His considerable strength isn't enough, however, to render him capable of escaping Max's hold. The Neoroman, in fact, appears to rather enjoy his floundering and futile squirming. He holds out his hand, fingers splayed, and begins drawing them tight into a fist. And, as though squeezing a voodoo doll, the great Brute's squirming begins to slow, his body constricting tighter as the great weight and pressure of the force around him closes in.
His face, already reddened, begins to brighten to a vibrant shade of pink, his eyes all but popping from his skull. I know Max's strengths and am quite sure he could crush the man if he wished it. It seems to me to be an unnecessarily cruel way to kill him, however, so I quickly end his suffering with a final knife to the neck, gushing his considerable collection of blood into the mud alongside the rest of his allies.