Resist

by Derek Belfield

  “There does need to be a more fortified entrance to the room. I would suggest making a set of tunnels that goes to various places within the city, but only one entrance that leads to this actual chamber. The Commandery, the hatchery, and the command center all need to be the most secure they can be. I want the heart of the Scourge to be buried so far underground that the enemy can’t find it.”

  Bastion studied their surroundings like he was a tailor calculating the fit of a particularly tricky piece of clothing. Neither Slate nor Serena interrupted him while he was thinking.

  “I think I can do what you’re asking,” Bastion coughed out. “It isn’t that expensive to remove dirt to create the tunnels you want.” He looked over at Slate and raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming you want a warren of passages that would confuse the average occupant.”

  Slate smiled evilly. “Yes, and I want the walls to be made of a substance that would prevent magical or godly sight.” He imagined a place where thousands of enemies could enter and simply disappear while the Scourge ran amok in the tunnels. His people were best when they could use their abundance of natural weaponry to assault their enemies up close and personal.

  Bastion stroked his beard, lost in thought. “The cost will go up,” he noted.

  “Do we have enough?” Slate asked him, and he knew there was an opportunity cost with these tunnels. If he purchased these but didn’t reinforce the defenses of Bastion, then it would likely be penetrated in the siege. Slate thought it was an acceptable trade. The defenses could always be upgraded in the future, but if the Scourge were to lose, Slate wanted them to be able to go to ground and pop out where the Collective least expected them. There was a historical precedent. The Collective was much stronger than the Scourge at the moment, but there were ways to even the score. This was a strategy that had been used in Vietnam to great effect against the better equipped American military. It wasn’t pure physical resistance either. Vietnam had been a true sapping of the American will to fight. Some called it a victory, and those that called it a loss. At the very least, it was a quagmire that cost time, money, and human capital.

  Bastion nodded slowly at Slate’s question. “Just barely, my King, but you would be eschewing other forms of conventional defense on the eve of a siege. Many of the citizens in Bastion may die.”

  “I know,” Slate replied, and he did. However, he was utilitarian. The citizens of Bastion might die or be conquered by the Vallyr, but the Scourge would survive. He knew that Lucidus herself would approve of the maneuver. After all, she had hidden her followers in a forest on the slim chance that she could rise back to power. Slate wasn’t aware of all the circumstances surrounding the decision, and he doubted many from Woodhaven did. However, he knew that he needed to structure the defense in such a way that he could hold out as long as it took to defeat the Collective.

  Bastion held up both hands with his fingers splayed wide. “Then, behold!” He shouted, voice rasping with age and experience.

  Slate rolled his eyes at the drama. Bastion didn’t possess a corporeal form, so it wasn’t necessary. Shortly after, he thought that the ground began to rattle and shake. Both Slate and Serena spread their stance to keep their balance. Dust poured down from the ceiling in plumes all over the chamber, and a piercing grinding sound broke the peaceful quiet. The noise was loud enough that both members of the Scourge clapped their palms against their ears.

  When Bastion dropped his arms, the shaking stopped like he had just directed an orchestra. Slate dropped his hands and stood straight. He studied the wall in front of him. The once blank canvas had been carved similarly to the entrance to the Commandery. Instead of a carving of Lucidus, Slate was surprised to see a sculpture of himself. He was at the head of a table and staring down at something important. Arrayed around him were elven versions of his Firsts. Slate studied their faces carefully. It was strange to see them without the reptilian visage he had come to know. Matek and Fidem, in particular, had never been an elf. Their faces were finely boned with high cheekbones and pointed ears. Slate had expected carvings of dragons, but it seemed Bastion had other things in mind.

  “I’m assuming this is it,” Slate said dryly to the old man.

  “Yes, my King. The collection of individuals around a planning table should have been your first indication.”

  Slate sighed heavily, “whatever, Bastion, open the damned door.”

  “Happily, my liege,” Bastion said in a tone that didn’t convey a modicum of happiness.

  Once again, the sound of stone sliding against stone reverberated through the chamber. Once the door had retracted into the roof, Slate strode forward, eager to discover the new room. After he had entered, he made a slow turn to take in the entirety of the room. It was relatively small, even smaller than the Commandery. The majority of the room was taken up by what looked to be a map table made from a giant slab of celestial marble. It illuminated the small space with the glowing striations embedded in its surface. Looking around, Slate noticed the room was lit by wall sconces containing the blue-white fire that was something of a signature to their deity. Besides the large table, there wasn’t much. Stone benches and desks lined the two sides of the room, and the third side held a series of Scourge-sized beds embedded into the walls like the nooks of a crypt. It wasn’t quite the positive atmosphere that Slate had imagined.

  Slate walked closer to the massive stone slab and noticed that his first observation wasn’t wholly right. The table had a finger length depression that took up the entire perfect square with only a thing thumb width border surrounding it. The whole depression was filled with quartz-like pieces of sand. Slate noticed that there was an indentation on the side facing the entrance that looked like it fit the city management token. Unable to resist, he slotted the symbol into its home.

  He leaped back as the quartz sand rushed upward with a sound like spilled grain from a sack. It formed an intricately detailed recreation of the city. Slate easily recognized Bastion because he had flown over the town frequently. He drew closer again so that he could study the new toy. The tactical implications of the table started running through his mind.

  I wonder if I can see more than just the city. It’s useful but not as helpful as it could be if it could show me something else.

  Slate gestured with a hand as if he were touching one of the smart devices from his old world. The sand responded by spinning in the direction that he had gestured. Slate grinned and began to use both hands to manipulate the terrain model. He found that he could zoom out of the city and use the map to identify any territory he or one of the Scourge had traveled to previously.

  I need to see how accurate this map is. With another movement, he moved the model toward the city of Koral. Studying the city from above, he found that the northern wall had fallen, and the chain in the harbor had been lowered, but otherwise, there was no other damage to the city. From this, he surmised that the map was updated as the Scourge saw it.

  So it’s not perfect, but it’s a damn sight better than what we’ve got, he noted in his mind.

  “That’s amazing,” Serena said in an awed voice. Her exclamation caused Slate to glance up, startled. He had completely forgotten that she was even there in his interest in the map. Now that he had come back to reality, he knew he needed to focus on the necessary information. He brought the terrain model back to Bastion and then slowly zoomed out until he could see the presence of both divisions of his forces. The grains of sand shone with colorless light as they indicated the various position of the Scourge. One dot to the west of the city was rapidly closing in on the city. Slate used his fingers to make a spreading motion and zoomed in on the figure. He smiled and looked over at Serena.

  She’s on her way, he said through the Scourgemind.

  Serena drew alongside him and linked one arm around his waist. Yes, she is, she replied with a dimpled smile. We’ll need her in the coming battle.

  Slate nodded without saying anything. A change in color in the sand caught h
is attention. As Shale was flying over the scenery, he saw violet-colored figures in the model. Shale broke off and skirted around a massive formation of Collective troops while the rest of her forces continued. The Scourge was moving far faster than their enemies. From what Slate could tell, at an average pace, the Collective army was just under a week away. They hadn’t even reached the halfway point between Ithicus and Bastion.

  Shale continued flying on the edges of the army, and Slate was intimidated by the size of their army.

  Well, that’s not good, Serena said, giving voice to Slate’s concerns.

  No, it isn’t, he replied with his face grave.

  Slate sat upon the roof of the palace long after the sun had set, and Serena had decided to go to bed for the evening. The air was cold enough that every exhale created a small white cloud, but the chill of winter didn’t touch his flesh. His new body regulated its temperature even better than before. He had found that his dragon transformation was even more resistant to the elements. The only part that had sensation was his snout and small portions of his talons. The weather wasn’t why he found himself on the roof. He took a deep breath and allowed the nighttime scents to wash over him. Like always, he enjoyed the crisp and clean smell of the night. It soothed his troubled heart as he searched the sky for his returning Queen.

  He felt her through the Scourgemind before he saw her. Welcome home, my Queen, he told her like a lover’s kiss. He felt a spike of joy through their bond, but he felt her close her mind off from him. Puzzled, he waited for her to meet him on top of the palace. Despite the muted connection, he could feel her like knowing the direction of the sun when one’s eyes were closed. She exuded a radiance that he could almost feel on his skin.

  It wasn’t much longer before he heard the distinctive sound of a dragon’s wings displacing the air. He spotted her a few moments after hearing her. Her camouflage had been active until she was just over him, and then she pulled it away like a bridal shroud. Her silver scales absorbed and reflected the light of the moon as she descended onto the roof. As Slate observed her, he was shocked to see that one of her limbs had been horribly mutilated. It looked like it had been cut off around the mid-forearm.

  When she transformed smoothly into her elven form and stepped upon the top of the palace with no more difficulty than stepping off the step of a carriage, Slate saw that her arm remained damaged. He stood up and drew close to her protectively.

  What happened, he asked her as he held the limb in two hands and studied it with meticulous care.

  She smiled, and her perfect teeth shone like pearls in the darkness. Nothing that time won’t heal, my King. Besides, her tone turned savage, I paid them back in blood many times over for my lost limb and my lost children.

  Slate met her eyes. He had sensed that she had lost a significant percentage of her forces when he saw them on the terrain model down below. He hadn’t said anything to Serena. He hadn’t been sure, and he didn’t want to spread fear among the ranks of the Scourge. The Scourgemind was a double-edged sword in that regard. Slate and Shale’s feelings were transmitted to the rest of the Scourge within their range. Even when they closed their thoughts, it didn’t stop certain emotions from leaking through the bond.

  Slate studied his Queen physically and through the Scourgemind. Finally, he brought her close and clasped his arms around her. He didn’t understand why—he hated emotional displays such as this—but he felt that they had lost something meaningful with the death of the Scourge. He flitted through her memories and mourned each one in his way. He inscribed every name upon his heart as he promised to himself and his Queen that he would destroy any Vallyr who would dare assault the city of Bastion.

  Once they had finished, Slate and Shale retired to the bedroom they shared. Neither said it to the other, but they had not enjoyed being apart. Slate was the bedrock that girded the Scourge, and Shale and Serena were the instruments of his will upon the world. When they arrived at their room shrouded in darkness, they entered and found Serena fast asleep. It felt natural that they would find her there waiting for them. With a mumble, she moved over and made room for them. The three fell asleep in a tangle of bodies that felt like home.

  CHAPTER 28: THE BEASTMASTER'S SURPRISE

  SLATE WOKE THE next morning and found himself alone in the bed. The annoyance of always being the last one to rise struck again. He rolled over in the massive bed until he placed his feet on the ground.

  “Good morning, my King.” A rough voice said, followed by a rattling series of coughs.

  “Oh, fuck!” Slate yelped as he made a sound that should have only been reserved for small puppies and fainting housewives from old TV shows.

  “What the fuck, Bastion?!” He exclaimed to calm his raging heartbeat.

  Bastion, who had appeared at the foot of his bed, tilted his head quizzically. “What ever could you mean, my King?” He raised an eyebrow, “I sensed that you had finally awoken, and I thought that you would be interested in what your companions are up to. The Queen and your Paramour are out among the city, and the other Firsts arrived early this morning with their forces.”

  Slate groaned and held both hands up to his head. He had the suspicion that Bastion was maliciously targeting him.

  “Bastion, what did I do to piss you off?”

  “Piss me off, my King?” The avatar’s tone was anything but innocent despite his blatant attempt to the contrary. “Why, my King, I am merely a city management system crafted by the all-knowing and all-seeing Lord of Light, Lucidus. I do not have feelings of which you could piss on—or whatever that delightful idiom means.” Bastion’s tone was droll, and it confirmed Slate’s suspicion.

  “Alright, Bastion. If you did have feelings, what would they have been annoyed by?” He questioned. He didn’t see why Bastion wanted to play these games so early in the morning, but the avatar was more useful than the tactics he employed. Everything he did was for the good of the Scourge, even if it came at Slate’s annoyance. Bastion sneezed and then wiped the disgusting slime dangling from his nose, on a patched and dirty sleeve.

  “Well,” he began, “If I did have feelings and I were annoyed, it would be because the King of the Scourge spent a massive amount of resources on his pet project and thereby neglected to consider the defenses of Bastion as a whole. I would probably be furious that the enemy is more powerful than even I could have imagined, and they’re right on our doorstep. Meanwhile, the King lies in bed instead of seeing the artisans in the city and witnessing what kind of improvements could be incorporated into our defenses so that we don’t die a miserable death.” By the end of the avatar’s tirade, he was shouting.

  Slate had never heard the avatar upset and he considered that he had perhaps made a mistake. He searched his thoughts for the conclusions he had made and the data he had used to come to them.

  No, he decided. It was the right thing to do. Bastion isn’t omniscient, nor is he blessed with perfect knowledge. Sometimes, you have to make decisions that people don’t necessarily agree with.

  “Okay.” He said aloud. “There are some things that you would like me to see within the city.” He met Bastion’s eyes as he stood up and moved about the room.

  “You should know that I have a plan for the battle. I can’t predict the future, but I think the Scourge will make it through this assault.”

  “That may well be, my King,” Bastion replied, ice in his voice. “However, no matter how good your plan is, the city is going to suffer.”

  Slate got dressed in the padded tunic he had taken to wearing over a small undershirt. His last set of armor had been lost when he transformed and subsequently flew back to Bastion, but thankfully there had been a set waiting for him. He didn’t want to wear armor in the first place, but his brush with death had made him feel reconsider his mortality. He mulled over the avatar’s words as he equipped the various armor that had been made for him before he had last left the city.

  “Yes, the city might suffer,” he paused, consid
ering his words. “Yet, the Scourge will live. As elegant and perfect as the city is, it’s merely a collection of stone animated by a spirit.” Slate gave the spirit a knowing glance. “You might be afraid, but my first loyalty is to the Scourge, and not to the city. Lucidus understands that cities come and go, but ideas live on forever.” He studied the clasps of the braces that he was securing to his forearm.

  “Otherwise,” he continued. “How could Lucidus come back from essentially the dead and choose me as her champion?”

  Bastion made a series of noises that Slate couldn’t discern. Finally, he sighed. “I’m old.” He said simply and Slate looked up at the tone of his voice. This was the real personality hidden under the unapproachable exterior. “I do not want to sleep again. When the Vallyr was in charge of the city, I existed, but I was bound in a place removed from space and time.” The elderly man’s eyes looked far away. “I was there for an eternity and just for a moment.” He glanced up and met Slate’s eyes.

  “I was created by the Lord of Light, long ago, to aid her followers in the first Immortal War.” He gestured around him, “everything around you is just a reincarnation of the power we once held in this realm. Now, as then, it is at risk of disappearing, and I am at risk of being consigned to the void once more.” Bastion coughed, and the sound was more experimental than in any effort to clear phlegm from the lungs.

  “It is strange to be in the living world once more. You mortals have so many ailments and problems. You’re weak, imperfect, and frail. Yet, you live when I do not. I would like to live, but barring that, I would merely ask to keep existing. Can you promise me that, Scourge King?”

  Slate sighed. He had finished dressing but was a slave to the uncomfortable moment. “No, Bastion, I cannot. I’m going to risk it all. If I’m lucky, Bastion will be even stronger than before the Vallyr attack, but if I’m not… I’ve at least ensured that the Scourge will survive, and that’s why the Lord of Light picked me over everyone else.”