Earthbound, p.14
Earthbound, page 14
After a short exchange with the host, Tehran handed her a keycard. “Your room is 212. I’m 211. Why don’t you go get cleaned up and rest? I’ll meet you back here after dinner. I want to ask around for Jai.”
“I’d argue, but I don’t have it in me,” she said apologetically. “A hot bath sounds amazing.”
Once he accompanied her to the room, he retraced his steps back out into the cluster. He had a good idea where to start looking. Taking the transport, he wound his way through the narrow side streets, inwardly marvelling at how anyone managed to maintain a sense of direction in the twisting maze. The double rising moons were his only beacon keeping him on course to the west side of the cluster.
A small, modest home sat tucked into the mountainside in a row with a dozen others. The only distinguishing feature was a rich green door, a traditional colour in Rikken. He knocked.
A squat man answered, the bushy eyebrows that dominated his round face lifting in surprise.
“Tehran!” He poked his head to the side to see around him. “Where’s Knox? Didn’t come with you this time?”
“Daedan.” Tehran gave him a tight smile. “No, he didn’t come.”
“Ah well, come in, come in, glad to see you all the same,” the man rambled as he led the way down a narrow hallway. “It’s been an age since I have seen someone from the old cluster.”
Tehran frowned, that wasn’t what he was hoping to hear. “You haven’t seen Jai in the past week?”
“Jai—is that Marken’s boy?”
Tehran nodded.
“No, I haven’t had anyone through this way in months. I think you and Knox heading to the Capital in the spring was my last visit.”
A snake of dread slid down Tehran’s back. There was no way Jai would fail to check in with Daedan. The Rikken-born man always had a welcome and information for anyone coming to or from the cluster.
“Can I offer you anything?” Daedan gestured to the kitchen ahead of him. “You’re welcome to help yourself to our supplies.”
“No, thank you,” Tehran declined. “I’m afraid I have some pressing business I’m hoping you can help with.”
“Ah.” Daedan arched a thick eyebrow. The action made it look like a large caterpillar had come to life on his forehead. “In that case,” he steered them down another hallway, “better come into my office.”
The office looked more like a chaotic version of the communication relay building he and Knox had visited in Rikken. Equipment and wires filled every last inch of wall space with little room for much else. A cluttered desk sat wedged against one wall. Daedan picked his way through the crowded room with surprising ease for a man of his girth. Tehran waited in the doorway until he spotted a clear chair tucked between a couple of crates.
“Rikken is in trouble,” he said as he lowered himself into the chair. Again, he was struck with the sense he was missing some large piece of the picture, and the gnawing gap irked him. He related the past weeks to the man.
Daedan sat slack jawed at the news. “Knox is dead?”
The blunt words ripped into his gut. “He is. Jai was to come see you and have a relay sent to the Order.”
The older man frowned. “Why not send a message to me? I would have forwarded anything you needed.”
Before Tehran could give an answer, the man tossed his hands in the air. “Of course. The communication grid is down out there, isn’t it? No one’s been getting messages in or out of the Reaches for weeks in some areas. Old equipment failing is the word on the street.”
“The Order knows communications have been out?”
“I’d assume so. All the chatter on the subject has come through official lines.”
Tehran’s brow creased in thought. “Emilia went through our system with a fine-toothed comb and couldn’t find anything wrong with the equipment. She thought something was amiss on the receiving end.”
Daedan puffed his cheeks. “That is odd. Emilia is competent. I trust her judgement on the matter.” He grew sober. “How’s she holding up?”
Tehran rubbed the back of his neck and took a long breath. “Not well. She lost the baby after Knox passed.”
Daedan clucked his tongue and laced his fingers together on the desk in front of him. “Terrible. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“She’s here with me.” The words fell from his mouth almost as a confession.
Daedan raised a beefy eyebrow at him.
“She’s here to petition for Knox to be added to the Hall of the Fallen. I couldn’t convince her otherwise.”
“Nor should you. She’ll walk through this how she must. As will we all.”
Tehran let out a breath, feeling some of the tension melt from his body. He leaned back in the chair. “Do you have access to Rook’s communication records? Jai was to send a message once he arrived here; maybe he went to someone else?”
“Not likely,” Daedan said slowly. “They have been cracking down on freelance relay communication. Anyone like me has been down at the council hall jumping through hoops trying to get the appropriate permits.” A flicker of annoyance crossed his usually jovial features.
“Trouble?” Tehran asked.
Daedan took an exaggerated breath. “It’s all a bunch of bureaucratic nonsense. No doubt to grab the extra fees they want to levy.”
“What spurred the change?”
“It’s the newly elected Council. He’s making sweeping changes, trying to make this a mini-Capital by the looks of things.”
In his agitation, he picked up a small circuit board and began working on it. “They threatened to confiscate all of my equipment if I didn’t go through the proper channels, and they are monitoring for rogue communications. I doubt I’ll have an operating permit anytime soon. I think they mean to push everything into the official channels.” He looked around at his equipment as if they were as dejected as he was at the delay.
“Would Jai be able to send a message to the Order through these other channels?”
Daedan pursed his lips in thought. “I suppose he could. It would’ve cost him a hefty sum, though.” He rubbed his chin absently. “I could probably creep through the outgoing comms and see what I can find.”
Tehran’s gut churned. It marked another innocuous looking detail that felt dangerously coincidental. The dismantling of basic infrastructure within the Reaches could be natural byproducts of circumstance, but for it to happen all at once set him on edge.
“And if you’re caught?”
Daedan’s brown eyes twinkled. “Well, worst comes to worst, I am working at the request of an Overseer.” He pulled a keyboard forward and tapped into it. A screen balanced precariously on top of several large boxes flickered to life. “Looks like the usual chatter on the primary channels. Nothing urgent. Let’s see if there is anything encrypted.” He mumbled to himself as his hands moved over the keyboard. “His name is not popping up.” He scanned for a moment more. “Well, here’s an odd little thing—a stalled message.”
“Stalled?”
“Usually, flagged by officials as suspicious for one reason or another.”
Tehran frowned. “Any way to see what it is?”
Daeden hummed. “Should be. It’s under a few encrypts; if I start poking around and opening files haphazardly, they will know.”
“Is there a way to keep your movements between us?”
“Well, of course, Overseer.” Daedan smiled, scratching at his cheek. “It will take a bit of time but shouldn’t be beyond my capabilities.
“Good. Anything in the past couple days heading to the Order, I want to hear about.”
“Will do. More than likely, Jai carried on to the Capital himself, after running into complications with the communications office.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Tehran said, standing. “I merely want to be thorough.”
“Of course, of course. Where are you staying?”
“Shale House.”
“Oh, ho! Enjoying the finer things, are we?”
Tehran gave an embarrassed shrug. “After days on the road, it looked as if Emilia could use a little comfort.”
The teasing left Daeden’s voice and turned contrite, “Good choice. If I find anything, I’ll send a message your way.”
“Come in person. I’d like to keep my presence here quiet until we know what’s happening with our communications.”
Daedan tapped his nose, caterpillar brows flexing. “Good idea.”
Raid
Knox
Knox peered through the mist. Days of waiting and preparation for this raid on Beryl all culminated tonight. The oblong moons, half-shadowed, remained hidden behind a thick bank of cloud cover, the only light emanating from the fires and torches of the Tumultian camp. Patrols spawned moving shadows that curled and twisted as they passed.
The teams were moving into position, and to their credit he couldn’t pick out a misplaced sound or flicker of motion. He swallowed a little easier. They were to hit targets based on priority: food and essentials first and then a craft to transport it all in. He scanned the clearing one last time.
Sky be with us. He sucked in a long breath and pulled on his strength. A flush of power flooded through him, lighting his nerve endings afire and he crouched to the ready. The doubled call of the small grey owl sounded.
Team One was ready. An answering hoot confirmed team Two. He waited in the following silence eyeing the patrolmen nearest him; they paid the sounds no attention. The soft warble of a night thrush sang. Team Three.
His hand tightened around the gnarled root. He’d been offered his choice of weapon but had opted for the club. The piece of wood felt comfortable in his hand. As nonsensical as it sounded, it felt like a gift from the Sky, and he wanted her blessing tonight.
The answering trill of a thrush returned. Team Four.
He glanced at the black of the night sky above him as the soft chirp of a cricket met his ear. Team Five had arrived. Power tingled through his limbs, the rush of potential aching in his cells, and he launched himself into the sky with a forceful jump.
The cool air stung his eyes and he blinked away the forming moisture, taking in the landscape at a glance. The enemy camp stretched wide, outlined by ember-lit cook fires and blazing torches. Rows of tents extended out from the cluster itself like long, tentacled fingers, tripling the size of Beryl. The tents represented a formidable invasion force even without accounting for the troops that had already moved into nearby clusters.
Knox shifted his focus back to the ground beneath him. Everything hinged on him being able to clear the way without sounding the alarm. Despite his bravado with the first Tumultian patrol he’d met, he couldn’t take on this army alone.
His feet hit the ground between two soldiers, and absorbed the shock by crouching low. With lightning speed, he swung the root into the back of the first man’s head. Not waiting for him to crumple, Knox spun to his stunned companion and took him in the jaw. Both men fell, their deaths silent but for the dull thud of wood against bone.
Adrenaline had his heart pounding in his ears as he paused. No shouts sounded. No alarms. Only the quiet murmur of voices at the next fire. He moved through the shadows until he could see the three men warming themselves, looking out into the night.
He hooked the club to his belt and stepped into the ring of light and greeted the group in Tumultian. The trio turned to his voice, surprised but not alarmed. A lilting phrase came back at him, and it took a moment to unravel the words. Am I their replacement? He was close enough; he didn’t bother trying to form an answer and instead stepped fully into the light.
Detached, he noted the expressions of the men change from ease to curiosity to concern. Before terror could fully form, they lay dead at his feet. From within the tree line, two figures emerged. Kryn, and a woman named Vennes.
“Good work, Overseer,” said Kryn in his thick brogue, as he rolled one of the patrolmen over and began unbuckling his armour chest plate. Vennes followed suit with the smallest of the three dead men.
“By the end of the night, I hope it will be,” Knox said, taking in the dead bodies around him, a sour taste creeping up his throat. Necessary deaths, but empty. “Let’s drag them into the brush.”
Kryn nodded as he fastened the stolen armour over his chest. Vennes pulled on a new pair of boots before joining his efforts to cover their tracks. Once finished, they slipped into Beryl. Vennes led the way, expertly navigating into the heart of the cluster. They ran across one patrol group and Knox made quick work of the surprised Tumultians.
The storehouse was an impressive structure on short but thick stilted legs. Heavy timber beams supported the floor. Every cluster gathered emergency rations, a percentage of a cluster’s crops as communal insurance. Any excess in the spring was sold off and the profits shared. This stockpile was a cluster’s lifeline, and Beryl’s storehouse was no different. Dovetailed logs locked together, forming impressive walls with reinforced doors barring the solitary entrance.
The enemy apparently valued the hoard as much as the citizens of Beryl. Six impressive looking guards stood in steel-faced resolve along an earthen ramp leading up to the doors. Knox motioned to Kryn and Vennes to hold before darting across a narrow street and into the shadow of the large building.
The rough wood of the piles pulled at the fabric of his top as he pressed flush with the wall, listening. The night remained still. The double hoot of an owl signalled Team Two was in position. As soon as the building was secured, they would come in to help transport the supplies out.
Reaching the front corner of the storehouse, Knox hazarded a quick look. The guards stood in a rough vee formation before the door. The two closest to the building were armed with the upgraded bolts he had faced with the patrol. He bit his cheek in thought. The bolt throwers were not quiet when discharged and if he drew fire, the whole camp would be on them.
He tucked the end of his club into his belt and crouched, searching the ground with his fingertips. He and Tehran used to hunt small game this way, but he had never had a reason to try it on an armoured man. Overseers were judges, not assassins. When a judge meted out punishment, you saw it coming. Tonight was different. He played the executioner, and death had to be dealt in silence.
Finding several suitably sized stones, he stood and eased away from the wall. Palming the rock, he eyed the guard holding the bolt farthest from him. With a pull on his power, he flicked his hand forward with supernatural speed.
The stone struck true and in the low light a spray of blood erupted from the guard’s throat. The man clutched at the wound with a muted gurgle and fell to his knees.
As Knox hoped, the others turned to their fallen comrade in confusion. In quick succession, he sent two more stones flying. The guard crouching next to the injured man collapsed sideways, a crimson stain at his temple. The others didn’t even notice as the other bolt-wielding guard fell forward, the final rock tearing through the top of his spine and out his windpipe.
Not waiting for the others to make sense of what was happening, he jumped into the clearing and let his club do its work. In less time than it had taken for him to manoeuvre into position all six guards lay dead. A thrill of satisfaction coursed through him.
The half-crushed face of the guard at his feet stared up accusingly at him with one unseeing eye, and satisfaction gave way to a twisting weight in his gut.
Kryn helped him move the bodies to the shadows while Vennes gave a quiet owl call. A few moments later, Syracuse and his partner Mardel emerged from the shadows. They too wore the armour from the patrols they’d removed, quietly taking up the guard positions before the storehouse. Kryn and Vennes disappeared inside, and Knox moved closer to Syracuse.
“Any trouble coming in?”
“None we didn’t expect.”
Knox nodded. The armour alone indicated they had left no loose ends.
Syracuse eyed the dark stains visible on the hard packed earth, a dark joy lighting his eyes. “Looks like you cleared the Tumultian skuttle with little trouble.”
Knox’s mouth pressed tight. Violence had forged these boys to men, and they reflected the same satisfaction he’d felt only moments earlier. It made him cringe. They need more than revenge to guide them. He needed to show them another way—like Solace had done for him.
“Not skuttle.” He gestured at the earth Syracuse was gloating over. “Men.” He emphasized the word and held the young man with a look. “They didn’t treat your cluster with such dignity. Don’t lower yourself by doing the same.”
Mardel scoffed. “What’s the difference? Dead is dead.”
Knox let his gaze flick to the other young man trying for all the world to look relaxed, but he could see a tremor in his hands and hear the waver in his voice.
“You’re right. There is no difference to the dead. The difference is in the cost to your soul. Don’t debase yourself by devaluing life.” It was a fine line to fight an invading force, while holding room for their humanity. The young men shuffled their feet but nodded at his words.
“Once they are ready inside, take Mardel and rendezvous with Teams Four and Five. If they have a craft, bring it to Position One,” he reminded Syracuse.
“You can count on us.”
Knox gave them both a tight smile. “I know I can. Stay alert. There may be patrols I have missed.”
“We won’t let any skutt—one—get by us,” Syracuse assured.
Knox noted the catch. “Good. I’ll meet you back at One.” A thought occurred to him, and he added, “If I’m not there before first light, don’t wait. Get those supplies back to the camp.” Syracuse stiffened and opened his mouth to argue. Knox put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m counting on you to keep the others on plan.”
The argument died unspoken. “Yes, Overseer.”
Knox gave a tight smile. “Thank you.” He turned to Mardel. “Alert the next team I am on my way.”
The sound of a thrush trilled in the night.
Knox met the next team a few streets over where the residences had been turned into barracks. Nearly as urgent as food stores, the refugees of Beryl needed essential supplies: clothing, blankets, cookware. Unfortunately, these items were not all stored in one place. This team was made up of three of the most fit from the group: two women who were a few years older than Syracuse and an older man. Elio had a willowy frame and moved with a fluid grace. A short woman, Boni, exuded strength. She reminded him of Tehran, her every movement sure and confident. The man, Herat, despite his years, was their best scout and knew the placement of enemy troops better than anyone.
“I’d argue, but I don’t have it in me,” she said apologetically. “A hot bath sounds amazing.”
Once he accompanied her to the room, he retraced his steps back out into the cluster. He had a good idea where to start looking. Taking the transport, he wound his way through the narrow side streets, inwardly marvelling at how anyone managed to maintain a sense of direction in the twisting maze. The double rising moons were his only beacon keeping him on course to the west side of the cluster.
A small, modest home sat tucked into the mountainside in a row with a dozen others. The only distinguishing feature was a rich green door, a traditional colour in Rikken. He knocked.
A squat man answered, the bushy eyebrows that dominated his round face lifting in surprise.
“Tehran!” He poked his head to the side to see around him. “Where’s Knox? Didn’t come with you this time?”
“Daedan.” Tehran gave him a tight smile. “No, he didn’t come.”
“Ah well, come in, come in, glad to see you all the same,” the man rambled as he led the way down a narrow hallway. “It’s been an age since I have seen someone from the old cluster.”
Tehran frowned, that wasn’t what he was hoping to hear. “You haven’t seen Jai in the past week?”
“Jai—is that Marken’s boy?”
Tehran nodded.
“No, I haven’t had anyone through this way in months. I think you and Knox heading to the Capital in the spring was my last visit.”
A snake of dread slid down Tehran’s back. There was no way Jai would fail to check in with Daedan. The Rikken-born man always had a welcome and information for anyone coming to or from the cluster.
“Can I offer you anything?” Daedan gestured to the kitchen ahead of him. “You’re welcome to help yourself to our supplies.”
“No, thank you,” Tehran declined. “I’m afraid I have some pressing business I’m hoping you can help with.”
“Ah.” Daedan arched a thick eyebrow. The action made it look like a large caterpillar had come to life on his forehead. “In that case,” he steered them down another hallway, “better come into my office.”
The office looked more like a chaotic version of the communication relay building he and Knox had visited in Rikken. Equipment and wires filled every last inch of wall space with little room for much else. A cluttered desk sat wedged against one wall. Daedan picked his way through the crowded room with surprising ease for a man of his girth. Tehran waited in the doorway until he spotted a clear chair tucked between a couple of crates.
“Rikken is in trouble,” he said as he lowered himself into the chair. Again, he was struck with the sense he was missing some large piece of the picture, and the gnawing gap irked him. He related the past weeks to the man.
Daedan sat slack jawed at the news. “Knox is dead?”
The blunt words ripped into his gut. “He is. Jai was to come see you and have a relay sent to the Order.”
The older man frowned. “Why not send a message to me? I would have forwarded anything you needed.”
Before Tehran could give an answer, the man tossed his hands in the air. “Of course. The communication grid is down out there, isn’t it? No one’s been getting messages in or out of the Reaches for weeks in some areas. Old equipment failing is the word on the street.”
“The Order knows communications have been out?”
“I’d assume so. All the chatter on the subject has come through official lines.”
Tehran’s brow creased in thought. “Emilia went through our system with a fine-toothed comb and couldn’t find anything wrong with the equipment. She thought something was amiss on the receiving end.”
Daedan puffed his cheeks. “That is odd. Emilia is competent. I trust her judgement on the matter.” He grew sober. “How’s she holding up?”
Tehran rubbed the back of his neck and took a long breath. “Not well. She lost the baby after Knox passed.”
Daedan clucked his tongue and laced his fingers together on the desk in front of him. “Terrible. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“She’s here with me.” The words fell from his mouth almost as a confession.
Daedan raised a beefy eyebrow at him.
“She’s here to petition for Knox to be added to the Hall of the Fallen. I couldn’t convince her otherwise.”
“Nor should you. She’ll walk through this how she must. As will we all.”
Tehran let out a breath, feeling some of the tension melt from his body. He leaned back in the chair. “Do you have access to Rook’s communication records? Jai was to send a message once he arrived here; maybe he went to someone else?”
“Not likely,” Daedan said slowly. “They have been cracking down on freelance relay communication. Anyone like me has been down at the council hall jumping through hoops trying to get the appropriate permits.” A flicker of annoyance crossed his usually jovial features.
“Trouble?” Tehran asked.
Daedan took an exaggerated breath. “It’s all a bunch of bureaucratic nonsense. No doubt to grab the extra fees they want to levy.”
“What spurred the change?”
“It’s the newly elected Council. He’s making sweeping changes, trying to make this a mini-Capital by the looks of things.”
In his agitation, he picked up a small circuit board and began working on it. “They threatened to confiscate all of my equipment if I didn’t go through the proper channels, and they are monitoring for rogue communications. I doubt I’ll have an operating permit anytime soon. I think they mean to push everything into the official channels.” He looked around at his equipment as if they were as dejected as he was at the delay.
“Would Jai be able to send a message to the Order through these other channels?”
Daedan pursed his lips in thought. “I suppose he could. It would’ve cost him a hefty sum, though.” He rubbed his chin absently. “I could probably creep through the outgoing comms and see what I can find.”
Tehran’s gut churned. It marked another innocuous looking detail that felt dangerously coincidental. The dismantling of basic infrastructure within the Reaches could be natural byproducts of circumstance, but for it to happen all at once set him on edge.
“And if you’re caught?”
Daedan’s brown eyes twinkled. “Well, worst comes to worst, I am working at the request of an Overseer.” He pulled a keyboard forward and tapped into it. A screen balanced precariously on top of several large boxes flickered to life. “Looks like the usual chatter on the primary channels. Nothing urgent. Let’s see if there is anything encrypted.” He mumbled to himself as his hands moved over the keyboard. “His name is not popping up.” He scanned for a moment more. “Well, here’s an odd little thing—a stalled message.”
“Stalled?”
“Usually, flagged by officials as suspicious for one reason or another.”
Tehran frowned. “Any way to see what it is?”
Daeden hummed. “Should be. It’s under a few encrypts; if I start poking around and opening files haphazardly, they will know.”
“Is there a way to keep your movements between us?”
“Well, of course, Overseer.” Daedan smiled, scratching at his cheek. “It will take a bit of time but shouldn’t be beyond my capabilities.
“Good. Anything in the past couple days heading to the Order, I want to hear about.”
“Will do. More than likely, Jai carried on to the Capital himself, after running into complications with the communications office.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Tehran said, standing. “I merely want to be thorough.”
“Of course, of course. Where are you staying?”
“Shale House.”
“Oh, ho! Enjoying the finer things, are we?”
Tehran gave an embarrassed shrug. “After days on the road, it looked as if Emilia could use a little comfort.”
The teasing left Daeden’s voice and turned contrite, “Good choice. If I find anything, I’ll send a message your way.”
“Come in person. I’d like to keep my presence here quiet until we know what’s happening with our communications.”
Daedan tapped his nose, caterpillar brows flexing. “Good idea.”
Raid
Knox
Knox peered through the mist. Days of waiting and preparation for this raid on Beryl all culminated tonight. The oblong moons, half-shadowed, remained hidden behind a thick bank of cloud cover, the only light emanating from the fires and torches of the Tumultian camp. Patrols spawned moving shadows that curled and twisted as they passed.
The teams were moving into position, and to their credit he couldn’t pick out a misplaced sound or flicker of motion. He swallowed a little easier. They were to hit targets based on priority: food and essentials first and then a craft to transport it all in. He scanned the clearing one last time.
Sky be with us. He sucked in a long breath and pulled on his strength. A flush of power flooded through him, lighting his nerve endings afire and he crouched to the ready. The doubled call of the small grey owl sounded.
Team One was ready. An answering hoot confirmed team Two. He waited in the following silence eyeing the patrolmen nearest him; they paid the sounds no attention. The soft warble of a night thrush sang. Team Three.
His hand tightened around the gnarled root. He’d been offered his choice of weapon but had opted for the club. The piece of wood felt comfortable in his hand. As nonsensical as it sounded, it felt like a gift from the Sky, and he wanted her blessing tonight.
The answering trill of a thrush returned. Team Four.
He glanced at the black of the night sky above him as the soft chirp of a cricket met his ear. Team Five had arrived. Power tingled through his limbs, the rush of potential aching in his cells, and he launched himself into the sky with a forceful jump.
The cool air stung his eyes and he blinked away the forming moisture, taking in the landscape at a glance. The enemy camp stretched wide, outlined by ember-lit cook fires and blazing torches. Rows of tents extended out from the cluster itself like long, tentacled fingers, tripling the size of Beryl. The tents represented a formidable invasion force even without accounting for the troops that had already moved into nearby clusters.
Knox shifted his focus back to the ground beneath him. Everything hinged on him being able to clear the way without sounding the alarm. Despite his bravado with the first Tumultian patrol he’d met, he couldn’t take on this army alone.
His feet hit the ground between two soldiers, and absorbed the shock by crouching low. With lightning speed, he swung the root into the back of the first man’s head. Not waiting for him to crumple, Knox spun to his stunned companion and took him in the jaw. Both men fell, their deaths silent but for the dull thud of wood against bone.
Adrenaline had his heart pounding in his ears as he paused. No shouts sounded. No alarms. Only the quiet murmur of voices at the next fire. He moved through the shadows until he could see the three men warming themselves, looking out into the night.
He hooked the club to his belt and stepped into the ring of light and greeted the group in Tumultian. The trio turned to his voice, surprised but not alarmed. A lilting phrase came back at him, and it took a moment to unravel the words. Am I their replacement? He was close enough; he didn’t bother trying to form an answer and instead stepped fully into the light.
Detached, he noted the expressions of the men change from ease to curiosity to concern. Before terror could fully form, they lay dead at his feet. From within the tree line, two figures emerged. Kryn, and a woman named Vennes.
“Good work, Overseer,” said Kryn in his thick brogue, as he rolled one of the patrolmen over and began unbuckling his armour chest plate. Vennes followed suit with the smallest of the three dead men.
“By the end of the night, I hope it will be,” Knox said, taking in the dead bodies around him, a sour taste creeping up his throat. Necessary deaths, but empty. “Let’s drag them into the brush.”
Kryn nodded as he fastened the stolen armour over his chest. Vennes pulled on a new pair of boots before joining his efforts to cover their tracks. Once finished, they slipped into Beryl. Vennes led the way, expertly navigating into the heart of the cluster. They ran across one patrol group and Knox made quick work of the surprised Tumultians.
The storehouse was an impressive structure on short but thick stilted legs. Heavy timber beams supported the floor. Every cluster gathered emergency rations, a percentage of a cluster’s crops as communal insurance. Any excess in the spring was sold off and the profits shared. This stockpile was a cluster’s lifeline, and Beryl’s storehouse was no different. Dovetailed logs locked together, forming impressive walls with reinforced doors barring the solitary entrance.
The enemy apparently valued the hoard as much as the citizens of Beryl. Six impressive looking guards stood in steel-faced resolve along an earthen ramp leading up to the doors. Knox motioned to Kryn and Vennes to hold before darting across a narrow street and into the shadow of the large building.
The rough wood of the piles pulled at the fabric of his top as he pressed flush with the wall, listening. The night remained still. The double hoot of an owl signalled Team Two was in position. As soon as the building was secured, they would come in to help transport the supplies out.
Reaching the front corner of the storehouse, Knox hazarded a quick look. The guards stood in a rough vee formation before the door. The two closest to the building were armed with the upgraded bolts he had faced with the patrol. He bit his cheek in thought. The bolt throwers were not quiet when discharged and if he drew fire, the whole camp would be on them.
He tucked the end of his club into his belt and crouched, searching the ground with his fingertips. He and Tehran used to hunt small game this way, but he had never had a reason to try it on an armoured man. Overseers were judges, not assassins. When a judge meted out punishment, you saw it coming. Tonight was different. He played the executioner, and death had to be dealt in silence.
Finding several suitably sized stones, he stood and eased away from the wall. Palming the rock, he eyed the guard holding the bolt farthest from him. With a pull on his power, he flicked his hand forward with supernatural speed.
The stone struck true and in the low light a spray of blood erupted from the guard’s throat. The man clutched at the wound with a muted gurgle and fell to his knees.
As Knox hoped, the others turned to their fallen comrade in confusion. In quick succession, he sent two more stones flying. The guard crouching next to the injured man collapsed sideways, a crimson stain at his temple. The others didn’t even notice as the other bolt-wielding guard fell forward, the final rock tearing through the top of his spine and out his windpipe.
Not waiting for the others to make sense of what was happening, he jumped into the clearing and let his club do its work. In less time than it had taken for him to manoeuvre into position all six guards lay dead. A thrill of satisfaction coursed through him.
The half-crushed face of the guard at his feet stared up accusingly at him with one unseeing eye, and satisfaction gave way to a twisting weight in his gut.
Kryn helped him move the bodies to the shadows while Vennes gave a quiet owl call. A few moments later, Syracuse and his partner Mardel emerged from the shadows. They too wore the armour from the patrols they’d removed, quietly taking up the guard positions before the storehouse. Kryn and Vennes disappeared inside, and Knox moved closer to Syracuse.
“Any trouble coming in?”
“None we didn’t expect.”
Knox nodded. The armour alone indicated they had left no loose ends.
Syracuse eyed the dark stains visible on the hard packed earth, a dark joy lighting his eyes. “Looks like you cleared the Tumultian skuttle with little trouble.”
Knox’s mouth pressed tight. Violence had forged these boys to men, and they reflected the same satisfaction he’d felt only moments earlier. It made him cringe. They need more than revenge to guide them. He needed to show them another way—like Solace had done for him.
“Not skuttle.” He gestured at the earth Syracuse was gloating over. “Men.” He emphasized the word and held the young man with a look. “They didn’t treat your cluster with such dignity. Don’t lower yourself by doing the same.”
Mardel scoffed. “What’s the difference? Dead is dead.”
Knox let his gaze flick to the other young man trying for all the world to look relaxed, but he could see a tremor in his hands and hear the waver in his voice.
“You’re right. There is no difference to the dead. The difference is in the cost to your soul. Don’t debase yourself by devaluing life.” It was a fine line to fight an invading force, while holding room for their humanity. The young men shuffled their feet but nodded at his words.
“Once they are ready inside, take Mardel and rendezvous with Teams Four and Five. If they have a craft, bring it to Position One,” he reminded Syracuse.
“You can count on us.”
Knox gave them both a tight smile. “I know I can. Stay alert. There may be patrols I have missed.”
“We won’t let any skutt—one—get by us,” Syracuse assured.
Knox noted the catch. “Good. I’ll meet you back at One.” A thought occurred to him, and he added, “If I’m not there before first light, don’t wait. Get those supplies back to the camp.” Syracuse stiffened and opened his mouth to argue. Knox put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m counting on you to keep the others on plan.”
The argument died unspoken. “Yes, Overseer.”
Knox gave a tight smile. “Thank you.” He turned to Mardel. “Alert the next team I am on my way.”
The sound of a thrush trilled in the night.
Knox met the next team a few streets over where the residences had been turned into barracks. Nearly as urgent as food stores, the refugees of Beryl needed essential supplies: clothing, blankets, cookware. Unfortunately, these items were not all stored in one place. This team was made up of three of the most fit from the group: two women who were a few years older than Syracuse and an older man. Elio had a willowy frame and moved with a fluid grace. A short woman, Boni, exuded strength. She reminded him of Tehran, her every movement sure and confident. The man, Herat, despite his years, was their best scout and knew the placement of enemy troops better than anyone.
