“Arm!” shouted the fist commander, and the air was briefly filled with the sound of scraping steel as hundreds of weapons were drawn.

  The thunderous thumping of heavy limbs pounding at the sandy ground threatened to drown out all else.

  “Shield wall!” Anzien shouted at the top of her lungs.

  The front lines of defenders stood in a low stance with their shields forward, and their arms interlinked.

  Anzien swallowed. If the line didn’t hold here, their stand would end.

  “Duplicaré!” shouted Thomes.

  The line of defenders began to distort and blur, vibrating unnaturally. The hairs on the back of Anzien’s neck stood on end, and she furrowed her brow, unsure what to expect.

  Thomes, what the hell are you doing?

  Without warning, the blurring exploded outward in a flash of light, sending a cloud of dust into the air. A breeze blew the dust away, revealing a new, additional line of defenders with arms linked and shields raised. Somehow, Thomes and his aureates had just doubled their first line of defense.

  Seconds later, the horde collided into them with the deafening crunch. The sounds of snarling, snapping jaws, and high pitched screams filled the air. The beasts had plowed through most of the newly conjured line, but they’d been slowed enough by it that the true defenders were able to hold them.

  Anzien released the breath she’d been holding. They’d survived the initial charge, but the battle had only just begun. A quick glance to the two nearest exit points revealed a plume of smoke before one defensive line, and steam rising from a pile of bestial bodies before the other. By some miracle, both had held.

  “Flank-strike formation!” Anzien shouted.

  The defenders unlinked their arms and began using their free sword-arms to stab over their shields into the beasts. The runners at their backs positioned themselves directly behind every third defender, placing a hand on their shoulder.

  “Strike!” she screamed.

  The defenders with runners behind them stepped back as the runners stepped aside. The beasts pressed forward past the line, clawing and gnashing at the shields of the retracting defenders. With the beast’s focus on the soldiers before them, the runners standing to the side easily sank their blades into their flanks. A beautiful chorus of high pitched yelps rang out as the runners executed their strikes. The few that broke through were quickly put down by the line of archers standing behind.

  After exactly three seconds, the defenders pushed their shields forward again, and the runners moved back into position—this time behind a different defender.

  The technique would only work once or twice against more intelligent opponents, but Anzien was counting on the fact that these were near-mindless creatures.

  “Strike!” she screamed again, and the maneuver was successfully repeated.

  Anzien glanced back at the ramp. She needed a clear assessment of the battle to figure out what would come next.

  “Maintain defensive strikes!” she called out to the fist commander, who acknowledged the order with a salute.

  She sprinted partway up the ramp, and turned. Her heart sank as she looked out over a vast sea of dark fur, teeth, and claws. They were packed near solid, filling every square foot of ground all the way out to the ridge. The harbinger rose like a dark tower from their center, striking down any windwalkers who ventured too close.

  Just then a massive sphere of transparent, rippling liquid began to coalesce in the air above Thomes and his aureates. They had all turned to face him, and looked to be somehow helping.

  Once it had grown to nearly the size of a house, the liquid mass launched out over the horde with startling speed. Judging by the trajectory, it would splash down directly onto the harbinger. The towering shadow’s blazing white eyes turned suddenly toward the attack. As the sphere grew closer, the harbinger simply lifted its blade-staff and waved it aside. The ball of liquid changed course, splashing down onto the wolf-beasts covering the field. A great plume of white fog exploded out from where the sphere landed. It dissipated seconds later, revealing a two-hundred foot diameter circle of white frost on the ground. Inside was a crystallized scene of frost-covered wolf-beasts, frozen mid-stride.

  Incredible, Anzien thought. If Graves had known the destructive capabilities of these kai-warriors, she’d never have let them slip away.

  The harbinger turned its full attention toward Thomes. It now knew the location of its most powerful adversary.

  It lifted its blade-staff, and began moving the tip in great circles overhead.

  Uh oh, Anzien thought. That can’t be good.

  “Aureates, defensive shield!” Thomes called out from below.

  Something’s not right, she thought, looking around.

  Her breath caught as she looked north toward the defensive formation holding the exit point there. Bruised and blackened clouds were swirling above it, forming into an upside-down funnel.

  “Thomes!” Anzien shouted, but it was too late.

  A massive column of black flame poured down from the funnel, encompassing the entire defensive line to the north, and everyone behind it.

  The attack was over as quickly as it had begun. All that remained of the two-hundred soldiers, and twenty aureates, was a charred and blackened circle on the ground.

  30

  Gunpoint

  Ryland’s boots echoed on the white floor of a sterile hallway, far beneath the streets of New Arcadia. Beside him strode a stern-faced field agent in midnight-black body armor. Every once in a while, the no-nonsense agent looked at Ryland out of the corner of his eye as they made their way deeper into the underground Ko’jin facility, heading toward command.

  Once Ryland and his team had reached the base, each of them had rushed off, determined to put their specific set of talents to use, further assisting with evacuation efforts. Ryland wondered if he’d ever see them again. Seamus certainly seemed like a kind soul—one he’d be glad to know. As for Tao, well, not running into him again wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world…Unless I was under attack, he thought, in which case Tao would become his new best friend. It was Tess he truly regretted leaving behind; more than anyone, really.

  Pretty sad when the closest people in your life are the ones you met a few days ago, he thought.

  The goodbye between them had been abrupt—she seemed to think it wouldn’t be their last. Ryland wasn’t so sure.

  After several twists and turns, followed by a long downward elevator ride, they came to a set of double doors, at the end of a familiar hallway with a light-blue floor. Two more agents in body armor stood before them, unmoving. Both appeared to be standard Ko’jin agents—clean cut and ready to leap into action. A shock-dart gun and telescopic baton rested at each of their hips.

  Ryland and his escort stood there a moment, until the agent turned to him expectantly.

  “Oh, right,” Ryland said. “Ryland Walcott, here to speak with the Delator.”

  The two agents standing guard looked at each other a moment, and the one on the right responded. “The Delator is indisposed. You’ll have to come back later.”

  Later, Ryland thought. As if there would be a later.

  “Please,” Ryland said. “He’ll want to speak with me. I have information critical to the mission.”

  The guard pursed his lips, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he considered. Fortunately, it would seem Ryland was now a bit of a celebrity. Hopefully that would lend some influence to his request.

  The guard turned to the side, pressing two fingers to his ear and speaking quietly. After a moment, he turned forward again, saying nothing.

  “Well?” Ryland asked.

  The guard didn’t answer him, but after a moment the door opened from the inside. The guards stepped aside, and Hatch rolled out before him. Deep lines creased his face, and his round spectacles magnified two worn, bloodshot eyes, with more than a few dark circles under each.

  Hatch’s expression was grim. “What is it, Ryland?” His tone insisted that this had better be important.

  “Can I speak with you?” Ryland asked. “Alone?”

  Hatch sighed. “This way,” he rolled forward. “And make it quick!”

  They turned a corner and Hatch gestured to a door with the word ‘Lavatory’ stenciled on it.

  Ryland opened the door and held it for Hatch. He smirked to himself. A state of the art underground facility, and we’re discussing the fate of humanity in a bathroom.

  The stalls were empty. They were alone.

  “Alright, now what is it?” Hatch asked.

  Ryland’s nerves grew jittery. Am I really going to do this?

  You don’t have a choice, he told himself.

  “Ryland!” Hatch snapped. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got—”

  Hatch’s eyes widened in surprise as Ryland drew a shockdart gun and pointed it at him.

  “What are you—”

  “Do not call for help, or I will shoot.”

  “Ryland,” Hatch said, his brows knitting together with concern. “We can talk this out. Tell me what’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry Hatch, I don’t have a choice.” Ryland said.

  “We always have a choice,” said Hatch.

  “You’re right, and I’ve made mine. The cube-shaped key in your armrest. Give it to me.”

  Hatch studied him a moment, then reluctantly pressed his thumb onto the arm of his wheelchair. A small cube rose up from it, and Hatch put his hand over it.

  “Don’t do this Ryland. This isn’t you. You have to fight him—”

  “The cube,” Ryland interrupted, pushing off the safety of the gun.

  Hatch sighed, and held it out in the palm of his hand.

  Ryland reached forward and took it with a shaky hand, keeping his gun trained on Hatch.

  “He’s going to kill you, you know,” said Hatch. “Once he’s gotten what he wants from you.”

  “Maybe,” said Ryland.

  “I never should have exposed you—”

  “I’ll also be needing your key-card.”

  “All of our locks are biometric...”

  “I saw you use a key-card on a door when biometrics failed,” said Ryland. “Give it to me.”

  Hatch’s jaw tensed, and he frowned. He opened a compartment at the side of his chair, pulled out a blue key-card with a red stripe through it, and held it out.

  Ryland took the key-card, looked at it a moment, and shook his head. “The one you used had three stripes.” He took the lower level card anyway, placing it into his pocket.

  Hatch’s lips turned down at the corners. He reached into another of his chair’s compartments, and removed the card with three stripes.

  Ryland took the card, and pocketed it. He glanced back, preparing to go. “You should leave New Arcadia. None of you have any idea what you’re up against. You cannot win.”

  Hatch’s expression grew hard. “I’ll not abandon my duty while I can still make a damn bit of difference. I’d hoped that might rub off on you. It appears it did not.”

  “Goodbye, Hatch,” Ryland backed out of the door and closed it. He held his shockdart gun to the keyhole, blew the lock, and bolted down the hallway.

  31

  Awakening

  Etahn shifted within the press of bodies. Never before had he seen so many attend a council meeting. Usually, these gatherings were dull affairs, with council members discussing supplies, sect numbers, and seasonal shifts. As it were, he and the crowd had been keenly attentive for hours as the council argued for the fate of their people.

  Etahn looked up toward the sky. The setting sun’s glow had faded and the air was beginning to cool, but he scarcely felt it due to the warm bodies surrounding him.

  “And why should we help them?” asked the stony council member. Councilman Dishon was clearly reluctant to fight, which had been surprising given his age. Usually it was young blood that ran hottest—at least that’s what his jida always said. “We were chosen to act as the council of the Sahra’ in order to protect our people, not to send them headlong into a battle they cannot win. This is not our fight!”

  A mumble of agreement resonated through the crowd.

  Dishon sat back down in his seat, which stood beside seven others on the broad stone platform, in the heart of Madina Basin. Its natural, towering stone walls and curving steel sandshields had protected the people within for centuries. Now, nearly all of them had gathered to hear the council’s decision.

  “You are wrong, Dishon,” Yudit countered, standing. She was a stout woman, but no less imposing than the largest of the men. “This has always been our fight. Our ancestors battled the Sharun—”

  “And look how that turned out,” Dishon interrupted.

  The crowd erupted with disconcerted conversation.

  “Council members will remain quiet while seated,” Avashi intoned loudly, in a husky voice that matched the elder’s gnarled body perfectly.

  “We are still here, are we not?” Yudit said, raising an eyebrow. “Any fight against the creatures of the faragh is our fight, or have you forgotten where we came from?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  Dishon stood, his face reddening, “I will not stand by and be insulted by this…jaban!”

  “Council members Dishon and Yudit! Be seated,” Avashi interrupted.

  Dishon paused, his teeth barred, and eventually sat in a huff.

  Yudit simply smoothed her skirts, and gracefully seated herself.

  Council member Rahim of the Safekeeper sect stood with his chest puffed out, and his chin tilted ever so slightly upward. “We have already been fighting,” he argued. “For centuries our safekeepers have kept the faragh at bay; protecting the outsiders without them even knowing it. At this very moment, our windwalkers risk their lives helping them. We must call them back, raise the sandshields and endure, as we always have.” He sat down, nodding to himself as calls of agreement rang out from the crowd.

  Etahn said nothing.

  Another council member stood. His hair was grayed and his face creased with dark lines, though he was far from feeble. The stonemelter sidi was covered with thick muscles from decades of swinging the forge hammer. Even Etahn, who paid little attention to council politics, knew of Eliaz Zahur’s reputation. The old sidi had been quiet until now, choosing to listen rather than speak. The crowd went entirely silent out of respect for him.

  “It would seem to me that we have two clear choices,” he said. “Either we go east and fight the zil kilab alongside the outsiders, or we flee to the northwest, into the great grass sea and beyond.”

  More murmurs ran through the crowd.

  A willowy woman with raven-black hair stood from her council seat and spoke, “Abandon Madina Basin?” she asked with incredulity. “These walls have kept us safe for centuries. What reason could there possibly be to leave?”

  “If this enemy is not defeated,” he said, “Where do you think the faragh armies will turn, once the outsiders are no more? If we do not join the fight, then we must either abandon our homes and flee, or perish.” The brawny elder sat without another word.

  The crowd conversed quietly, and Etahn could almost feel the tension as those around him considered the possibility of leaving their homes behind. To Etahn, the prospect wasn’t so terrible. Unlike the rest of his family, he’d always been curious about the outside world. Venturing too far from the basin had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion, but the things he’d seen were well worth it.

  “The hour grows late,” said Avashi, standing from his own chair at the side of the platform. He leaned heavily on a knotted cane. “Each council member has spoken—some, more than others,” he said sparing a quick glance at Dishon. “Is there anything more that the council would like to discuss before casting votes?”

  Dishon lifted a hand and was preparing to stand when Avashi cut him off. “Anything new that the council would like to add?”

  Dishon frowned, lowered his hand, and relaxed back into his seat.

  The other council members remained silent.

  “Very well,” said Avashi. “All those in favor of standing with the outsiders, raise your hand.”

  Council members Eliaz, Yarden, Shifra, and Yudit raised their hands.

  Split down the middle, Etahn thought, Unless someone abstains…

  “Those against?” Avashi asked.

  Dishon, Rahim, Karmiya, and Tamar raised their hands.

  A tie, then.

  Avashi breathed a heavy sigh. He had the look of a worn jaddati who’d just been asked to carry a burden that was far too heavy.

  “As dictated by Sahra’ law, I, Avashi Tzadik, eldest of the sect of mystics, will cast the deciding vote.”

  The crowd was deadly silent. Everything came down to this one choice. Either they would go to war, or they would leave the outsiders to their fate.

  Avashi looked out at the crowd.

  Etahn turned his head, looking back over the sea of people. Many appeared worried, but many also wore grim masks of determination.

  “I have decided, that we will remain—”

  Avashi stopped suddenly, interrupted by the distant cry of a young boy—or girl. It was difficult to tell.

  “Laqad ra’aytah! Laqad ra’aytah!”

  Many in the crowd, including Etahn, turned to find the source of the frantic voice.

  “Laqad astayqaz! He has awoken!”

  “Let him through!” A man’s voice shouted from behind.

  People were jostled aside as others made room for the voice’s owner. Eventually the disturbance made its way to the front, coming to a stop just before the platform. Etahn was close enough to see that a small clearing was made around a young boy, who couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old.

  Avashi looked down at the child, his bushy white eyebrows furrowed in concern, and annoyance. “This had better not be some kind of nakta,” he warned.

 

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