《Otherworld Squad》


 Ch.1: Roads and Revalations

    Squadleader Luke ¡®Alterfate¡¯ Ploughman


    Alterfate and his unit had been walking - for three hours by his count - the sea of sand-strewn plains, rocky hills and sparse weathered plant-life had continued without end. Every hill they climbed, every corner turned, gave them no clue as to where on earth they were. But now they had stopped. Stopped because of a snaking line of flattened earth that lay across their path.


    ¡°It¡¯s a road.¡± His lieutenant Riptide stated with a mixture of confusion and relief.


    ¡°It is a road.¡± Agreed Alterfate, frowning at the compacted surface.


    ¡°Well that proves we¡¯re not alone out here. Look at it, see how the compaction of the soil is deeper away from the middle? Wheeled vehicles come along here.¡± Whim added as he crouched down next to the pathway.


    ¡°A farmer¡¯s track then? I still say this is Arizona.¡± Pavejack asked.


    ¡°It can¡¯t be America, we¡¯ve been walking for hours and there¡¯s not a single McDonald¡¯s in sight.¡± Whim responded dryly. ¡°Seriously though, our radios would be picking up something if we were in the States.¡±


    ¡°Then where the hell do you think we are?¡± The young American snapped back defensively.


    Whim turned back to the road and studied it in silence for a few seconds.


    ¡°My best guesses are North Africa, Australia or Argentina. Narrows it down a lot, huh? Plenty of dry scrubland in the world.¡± He chuckled.


    ¡°Look at the wheel-lines, they¡¯re too narrow for modern tires. Plus I don¡¯t see any treadmarks in the ruts. I think there might be carts or wagons making these.¡± Riptide moved the discussion forward before Pavejack could answer back.


    ¡°Well that helps clear things up. We¡¯re somewhere between the invention of the wheel and the heat death of the universe. Either way it proves we¡¯re not alone out here, that¡¯s good enough for me. Now, one or both of these directions the road is following leads to civilisation, food, beds, and hopefully some answers. Let¡¯s get up this hill and see if we can spot anything more concrete.¡± Alter spoke with authority and began to move.


    He crossed the road and began to pick his way up the side of the hill the road was skirting. A long dead collection of streams had cut shallow sided valleys into the sloping rock. One by one his friends turned soldiers followed him up along the closest ridge. They were two thirds of the way up before one of them spoke up.


    ¡°Hold up, do you guys see that dust rising out there? I think something is coming along the road.¡± Boats called out.


    All of them turned their gazes back down towards the bottom of the hill, then along as they traced the line of the road as it hugged the start of the incline. Sure enough, something was causing a small cloud of dust to rise in the distance, and it was steadily moving closer.


    ¡°Get eyes on that, marksman!¡± Alter shouted to Boats.


    ¡°On it boss.¡± Boats called back with his eye already in scope.


    ¡®Please be a car, please be a car.¡¯ Thought Alter as he fished a pair of rangefinders from a chest pouch.


    ¡°It¡¯s a horse!¡± Boats shouted.


    ¡°Is it being ridden?¡± Riptide asked quickly.


    ¡°Yeah, by someone in blue, that''s all I can make out for now.¡±


    Alter brought lenses to eye and searched the distance before eventually finding his target. Sure enough a dark brown horse was charging along the road, ridden by a humanoid figure seemingly dressed in all blue.


    ¡°Well look at this guy!¡± Shouts Pavejack excitedly.


    ¡°Nice getup, he looks fancy as hell.¡± Boozehound agreed.


    ¡°Fancy? The guy¡¯s wearing a cape! He¡¯s beyond fancy! He¡¯s dapper as fuck!¡± Boats laughed.


    ¡°I hate to burst your bubble lads but do you see a problem here? Who on god¡¯s green earth wears clothes like that where we come from?¡± Alter snapped, eyes unwavering as he tried to take in every possible detail about the approaching rider.


    ¡°Yeah ¡­ yeah he has a sword.¡± Boats added, an uncertain edge overwhelming his previous elation.


    ¡°Shit, I think we might be in fantasy land boys.¡± Riptide spoke coolly as he digested this new revelation.


    ¡°Maybe it''s a historical re-enactment?¡± Asked Pavejack weakly.


    Alter groaned to himself as the troubling idea swept over him. It was enough for all of them to have magically teleported into this dust bowl, he didn¡¯t want to believe that they were off the map entirely.


    ¡°Hey there¡¯s someone in front of the blue-guy, looks like another person.¡± Called Boozehound.


    ¡°Hold on. Yeah you¡¯re right, there''s a girl sitting in front of him. ¡®Least I think it''s a girl.¡± Boats answered


    They were closer now, Alter could get a better look. The rider in blue was a young man, not yet in his twenties by his estimate. He was wearing some kind of uniform, all sapphire blues and white, embedded with unknown crests and sigils, small lints of sunlight hinted at jewels being embedded in the fabric. The boy seemed frantic as he spurred his horse onward, his eyes darting from forward to down at his passenger to back over his shoulder at regular intervals. The girl was smaller than him and looked to be younger by a couple of years. She sat unmoving across his lap with her head nestled against his shoulder, her eyes were closed.


    ¡°Where do you suppose he¡¯s off to in such a hurry?¡± He mused.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but he seems pretty frantic.¡± Riptide replied with a voice that would normally accompany a heavy shrug.


    ¡°Got another dust cloud coming into view, bigger this time.¡± Boats reported from higher up the ridge having clambered upward for a better view.


    ¡°Pursuers?¡± Asked Boozehound.


    ¡°Would explain why he keeps looking over his shoulder, I guess. Keep an eye on it and let me know once they¡¯re in view.¡± Alter supposed.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°Aye, boss¡± The marksman responded.


    Time passed in silence as they watched the figures grow in size, after a small eternity Boats spoke again.


    ¡°Second dust cloud is coming into view now. Looks like a good sized group of horsemen moving together. They look like ¡­ ahh god, I don¡¯t even have to speculate, they¡¯re a bunch of level three bandits.¡±


    ¡°Wait seriously?¡± Riptide asked, a hint of bemused disbelief in his voice.


    ¡°Aye. I¡¯m looking at twelve of them, all adult males, all wearing mismatched leathers, furs, and bits of dull metal armour. I see melee weapons drawn, swords and spears, a couple of bows on backs. They¡¯re all ugly bastards, hell, half of them have their mouths hanging open.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t automatically make them the bad guys, you know.¡±


    ¡°I dunno, they look pretty bad to me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just saying we have no idea who these people are, Blue Boy down there might be a rightly hated dictator, or a sadistic kidnapper.¡± Riptide¡¯s speech grinds to a halt as he tries to think of another elaborate descriptor in his third language.


    ¡°Or he could be an innocent kid fleeing for his life.¡±


    Another awkward silence passed through the group before Whim spoke in a resigned tone.


    ¡°Alright. Movie set, that¡¯s my last realistic option.¡±


    ¡°No camera crew, no radio chatter. I ¡­ I think Riptide is right, shit.¡± Boozeman conceded, his parisian purr straining to avoid sounding broken.


    Alter tried to ignore this latest discussion. The girl was wounded, he could see that now, no wonder the lad kept glancing down at her wide eyed. The blood on her dress seemed localised to her right side just above the hip and didn¡¯t appear to have spread too far.


    ¡®Boozehound should be able to patch her up.¡¯ He thought to himself as a plan began to form in his head. If they truly were in some ¡®Otherworld¡¯ then he¡¯d deal with that later.


    ¡°I appreciate the fact that we don¡¯t know either party, but let¡¯s face one reality we can understand, we¡¯re going to have to pick a side eventually. We¡¯re soldiers now, after all. I¡¯d rather side with the party that looks like they own a nice mansion over the one that owns one square metre of piss-soaked soil and some dirty rags.¡± Alter cut off any further discussion before an argument could start.


    ¡°Well they¡¯re not going to slow down for us to finish this particular debate. What¡¯s the plan Alter?¡± Whim answered calmly.


    Alter closed his eyes and took a couple of seconds to breathe. Well, they¡¯d set out to find an ¡®Objective¡¯ and this seemed as good an option as any.


    ¡°Gentlemen, we are officially getting involved, number up. Two, take Three, Seven, and Eight down to the side of the road, set up for an ambush and try to persuade our runner to stop and pull into the valley behind us. Everyone else stays on the ridge here and keeps low. Four, keep an eye on that hill and let me know if any more dust starts popping up.¡±


    A chorus of acknowledgements met his instructions as Riptide, Boozeman, Whim and the so-far silent Vangroover quickly picked their way down the slope behind the ridgeline from the approaching horse. A couple of metres away Pavejack and the also silent Walross, his machine gun team, began to set up for combat with practised ease, skills honed over months of ¡­ playing a video game.


    Alter was momentarily struck by the sudden realisation that even though he and his friends had never served in any military capacity, they intrinsically knew what to do and how to handle themselves. He looked down at the familiar shape of his rifle, a weapon he had been using in a virtual world for years. He¡¯d never held a real gun. Hell, his parents had refused to buy toy ones when he was young. Its weight, the shape of the grips in his hands, the feeling of the stock pressed to his shoulder should be completely foreign to him. But he felt at ease with its presence, he knew exactly how to prepare the weapon to fire, the location of each lever and catch, how much pressure he would need to exert to pull the trigger. A surreal cache of knowledge which was suddenly about to be useful.


    With an ominously calculated click his support gunner was primed and ready. Pavejack settled down on his stomach and aimed downrange while his assistant placed a heavy backpack on the ground and withdrew a fresh box of ammunition.


    ¡°This is crazy, man. Hey, is anyone else kinda freaking out about the fact that they¡¯re not freaking out?¡± Pavejack asked.


    No one answered his question but Alter was in silent agreement, his heart rate was surprisingly normal and his hands showed no signs of shaking. He shook his head, now wasn¡¯t the time for pondering their collective subconscious behaviours.


    ¡°We¡¯re all set up down here. I¡¯ve got a couple of signal glowsticks ready to try and usher Blue into the valley. Here¡¯s hoping it doesn¡¯t freak him out, or the horse.¡± Riptide reported over the radio from the bottom of the hill.


    ¡°Understood.¡± Alter stared down at the road, gears turning in his brain. ¡°Alright, does everyone see those two trees on the far side of the road? That¡¯s the trigger to open up on these ¡®bandits¡¯. Keep those safety¡¯s on until Blue has crossed our line.¡±


    The thunder of hooves of dirt began to clamour in the men¡¯s ears, seconds ticked by in tense expectation. Suddenly, Alter¡¯s eyes widened as a red flare of light pulsed twice in the corners of his vision before fading away again, he thumbed his radio.


    ¡°What the fuck? Did anyone else get the ¡®combat alert¡¯ from the game?¡± He called out quickly, the red pulse was used to indicate when a player¡¯s avatar was within detection range of hostile forces and nine times out of ten was the herald for a firefight.


    ¡°I think we all got it, the bandits just crossed the two hundred metre line, that must¡¯ve triggered it.¡± Boats¡¯ voice crackled in his ear.


    ¡°Two hundred metres? That¡¯s pretty generous. Heck, I call that broken.¡± Pavejack laughed.


    ¡°You do realise that means we¡¯ve got in-game mechanics affecting us in reality?¡±


    ¡°Ramifications later, fields of fire now!¡± Alter shouted as he tried to keep his squad focused on their objective. Yet another question to add to the ever-growing pile.


    ¡°I¡¯m waving my sticks around, I think our boy¡¯s noticed, he¡¯s slowing down a little.¡± Riptide radioed up.


    The boy in the blue uniform sped past the two trees and out of Alter¡¯s line of sight. A moment later he heard Riptide''s voice shouting from the side of the road.


    ¡°ETA thirty seconds on those bandits.¡± Boats reported.


    ¡°We¡¯re good! I think he understood me, he¡¯s pulled into the valley!¡± Riptide responded a moment later.


    ¡°Excellent work, Two. Team, you are weapons live. I want sights on the men only, try to avoid hitting the horses if you can. Four, countdown.¡± Alter brought his eye to his scope and flicked his rifle¡¯s safety to off before resting his finger on the side of his trigger-guard.


    ¡°Twenty seconds, rough.¡± Boats began.


    Alter took a deep breath and began searching for his first target. His mind reached for anything remotely zen-like as he prepared to end lives.


    ¡°Fifteen.¡±


    There they were. Boats was right, they were an ugly bunch. Alter trained his crosshair on the second rider knowing full well everyone else was targeting the leader. Being an enemy made you a corpse. Being the first enemy made you an unrecognisable corpse.


    ¡°Ten.¡±


    Exhale.


    ¡°Five.¡±


    Inhale, finger on the trigger proper.


    ¡°Chatter!¡± Came the shout as the laughing men reached the trees. And suddenly the sound of horses was swallowed by the gunfire.


    Alter wasn¡¯t sure what surprised him more: The fact that he hadn¡¯t had to consciously pull the trigger, or just how insanely loud real guns were. His ears screamed and rang as the engagement continued, he fired three shots at his first man before shifting his focus. Four targets were engaged by him personally, all four were dropped in short order.


    One by one their guns fell silent as Alter lowered his rifle and surveyed the scene below him. Two now riderless horses continued their blind charge down the road and out of sight. Three more were fleeing into the wilderness, one of which still carrying its lifeless rider. The rest lay dead or dying amidst the dust on the road, the men lay sprawled and broken with them. There was a shifting motion as one of the horses struggled to move, its violent shrieks pierced even the ringing in Alter¡¯s ears. A sharp crack came from somewhere above him and the horse fell silent. Shakily, Alter reached for his radio.


    ¡°Clear?¡± He asked, his voice seemed barely above a whisper.


    ¡°Clear.¡± Was the dulled response, he didn¡¯t know whose voice it was.


    A single thought permeated and ricocheted through his mind: ¡®What the hell am I doing?¡¯

 Ch1.5: Events Preluding

    Five Hours Previous


    Luke leaned back in his chair, satisfied with a job well done as the jubilant sounds of his teammates whooped and cackled through his headset. Finally, they''d managed to complete the Cantabria Mansion Siege on Impossible difficulty. Months of planning, trial and error, and ¡®aggressive internal-diplomacy¡¯ had all come to fruition on a glorious wednesday evening. They were among the elite now, the community held this challenge in the highest regard, this triumph would put their little group on the proverbial map.


    He took a wistful glance over to the alarmclock across the room, it flashed 22:37 in defiance at his hopeful gaze. There would be no more gaming tonight, it was a work day tomorrow after all.


    The sound of gunfire brought his attention back to the screen as one of his friends sprayed bullets indiscriminately around the room their characters were standing in. Another pulled the pin on a grenade and held it in his hand for the full five seconds, the explosion launched him across the room before he stood up again with the post-game invincibility finishing the mission gave them. A moment later the screen began to fade to black and the sounds faded. Luke waited patiently for the after action report screen to appear but nothing happened, the darkness maintained its pixel empire. Odd, he thought.


    ¡°Anyone else stuck in the void?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Yep.¡± Riptide responded. ¡°No one expected us to beat this, even the game is hurting itself in confusion.¡±


    Luke folded his arms and waited. A small realisation made him look around, the room was slightly darker then he was used to, was the lightbulb going?


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m going to bed, my eyes are being weird.¡± Whim¡¯s tired drawl crystalised his issue, perhaps he should get some sleep as well. Statistics could wait until the morning.


    ¡°Yeah my eyes are being weird too, it¡¯s like I¡¯ve lost the corners.¡± Riptide answered, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.


    Well this he didn¡¯t like. Luke¡¯s eyes flicked back to the still dark screen and he froze. There, in the corners of his vision, an inky blackness was swimming into view. Luke closed his eyes and shook his head a couple of times but when he opened them again it was still there. He felt his heart rate increase as his brain struggled to make sense of what was happening, the pools in the corners reached out and grew to form a thick black border.


    ¡°Guys my eyesight¡¯s fucked what¡¯s going on?¡± Pavejack¡¯s voice cut in, the teenager was panicking.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know but I sure as hell don¡¯t like it!¡± Boats shouted as the sound of him jumping up and knocking his chair over jumbled the airwaves.


    Luke¡¯s eyes widened as much as they could in a vain attempt to gather more light as the darkness pressed in closer. His hands gripped the arms of his chair as he began hyperventilating.


    ¡°Am I dy-¡± He began before the darkness suddenly rushed into the centre and he felt sound and sensation melt away into eerie silence.


    Time passed in its favourite manner, agonisingly slowly. Luke was aware that he was alive, he could feel his body moving at his command but he couldn¡¯t be certain in the disorienting black. Gravity was ¡­ present. He knew that it was affecting him but no matter how hard he focused he could never quite grasp a sense of up or down.


    The sensation of his eyelids sliding across his eyes without effect was unnerving to say the least. Nevertheless it was proving a useful anchor against the storm of panic and anxiety waging a silent war inside his stomach. All the while, blink to blink, time passed.


    His breath caught in his mouth as he noticed a slight change. There was a smudge on the horizon, the faintest mote of light fighting its way into vision. For now it was weak, but it seemed to be growing stronger all the time. Luke hadn¡¯t been this excited to see grey in the distance since one torturously hot family holiday to the Isle of Crete when he was twelve years old. He stared dumbstruck as the grey lightened, he could feel that his arms were stretching towards it but now he could actually see them. Colour rushed towards him in a chaotic wave, he saw shape, texture, greys blues and yellows danced and melded into each other in hypnotic patterns.


    Luke stared for as long as he could but the brightness quickly became too much to bear. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into the crook of his elbow. A rushing sensation overwhelmed him before sensation returned to his body in a flash. He could feel sunlight on his skin and a light breeze tickled his cheek. The soft crunch of gravel underfoot greeted his first nervous step, giving him the confidence to finally look around.


    He found himself standing underneath a wide blue sky studded by small wispy white clouds. The sunlight was strong despite its low position in the sky but whether that meant morning or evening he couldn¡¯t tell. The ground was a mixture of pale grey gravel and dusty brown soil, sparse hills littered the horizon and hardy plants ranging from grass tufts to head-high shrubs dotted the landscape. Slowly, Luke became aware of a heavy weight in his arms and on his shoulders.


    He looked down and almost swore. A sleek yet heavy rifle sat comfortably in his hands. He was wearing a grey and tan striped camouflage uniform complete with twin dark orange bands across the top of the sleeves. A heavy backpack with the same pattern covered his back and his chest was criss-crossed with straps and pouches. A moment of realisation struck him, this was the exact equipment load he had been using in the game.


    A startled noise nearby made him jerk his head up from his torso. Seven other identically dressed men stood in a loose circle with him, faces he vaguely recognised stared at each other and their new surroundings. Each was equipped similarly to him with some occasional differences. One by one they turned to face the centre of the group and awkward silence reigned.


    Then the shouting started, from which nothing particularly valuable could ever be gained.

 Ch.2: Aftermath

    Alter blinked slowly as he recovered, adrenalin buzzed and surged through his body as he processed his team¡¯s actions. He swallowed a lump of shock from his throat, leadership was needed.


    ¡°Bloody good work boys. Two and three, see to our new friends, I¡¯ll join you in a moment. I need a couple of brave volunteers to inspect those bodies.¡± He radioed as he stood up.


    ¡°Me and Eight will go take a look.¡± Whim responded, he sounded strangely eager as two figures on either side of the road stalked their way into vision with rifles up and ready.


    Immediate business sorted, he turned his eyes to his nearby friends and did not like what he saw. Walross had fallen onto his backside and had one hand covering his eyes, his lips were moving in a steady flow of speech. As Alter moved closer he could hear him speaking softly to himself in german. He couldn¡¯t understand the language but he could recognise the word ¡®God¡¯ being spoken often. He knew Walross was not a religious man but Alter understood and sympathised with the desire for some form of forgiveness, particularly after what they had done.


    Alter didn¡¯t want to interrupt the man right now so he moved on. Pavejack was motionless, his eye still in the machine gun¡¯s scope but at least his finger was off the trigger, Alter was pleased to see the safety catch was set to ¡®on¡¯.


    ¡°How¡¯re you doing, Five?¡± He asked as he crouched down next to him.


    ¡°I tried man.¡± Pavejack began, his voice tight, pupils unmoving. ¡°I tried not to hit the horses but they were so close together, the angle, the elevation.¡± He rambled.


    ¡°Hey, hey, you did your best. I know that five out of twelve doesn¡¯t sound great but honestly for your first real engagement I think you did damn well.¡± Alter tried to sound soothing but he wasn¡¯t sure it was having an effect.


    ¡°If you say so.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯re you looking at?¡±


    ¡°The killbox. When I squint through the scope everything looks sort of ¡­ pixelated. It¡¯s helping, I think.¡±


    Alter sighed internally, he needed to get the teenager¡¯s eyes away from the scene. He stood up and poked Pavejack¡¯s calf with the tip of his boot, making him blink and turn towards the squad leader.


    ¡°Alright, we need some better security around here. Why don¡¯t you move across to the other side of this valley and watch the road there? Make sure no one''s sneaking up behind us.¡± He suggested with a smile.


    Pavejack rushed to his feet and stammered an apology before moving off. Alter watched him go in silence, the lad talked a big game but he was vulnerable to implied criticism. A carefully worded suggestion which, while innocently made, was enough to get him chastised and moving. Anyway, that should be enough to keep him grounded for now, Alter turned his attention back to the German.


    Walross had stopped talking to himself and seemed to have regained most of his composure though his face was still grim. His eyes scanned the horizon in slow sweeping arcs as he spoke.


    ¡°Is this what we¡¯re going to do? Slaughter people?¡± He asked.


    ¡°No.¡± Alter answered quickly. ¡° ¡­ I hope not.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not killers, Luke.¡±


    The cold emphasis the man put on his real name triggered a chill to race through Alter¡¯s body. It stung, he found himself fighting the urge to make a frustrated comment.


    ¡°I know, but right now we¡¯re flying blind so we need to play to whatever strengths we have. Besides, would you have just let those men catch them?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s abusing hindsight and you know it.¡± Walross responded testily before sighing. ¡°But no, I suppose I wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I cannot prove to you that it was the right thing to do, not yet anyway. But I want you to know that I didn¡¯t do this lightly.¡± Alter continued.


    Walross levered himself upward with a grunt and turned to him.


    ¡°We trust you, Alter, I don¡¯t mean to sound like I¡¯m undermining you. I guess I¡¯m worried that everyone else seems to be adjusting so much faster than me.¡±


    ¡°Is that a problem?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t belong here, man. But some of the guys, Riptide, Whim ¡­ they¡¯re going to start forgetting that, like it''s all some fun holiday. I don¡¯t want you following suit and leading us off on some murderous power fantasy shit.¡± Walross looked him directly in the eyes.


    Alter found himself lost for words, his mouth unhinged to reply but all he could manage was a nod. The idea of carving a bloody path through the land had never once crossed his mind but there was a buried nugget of truth in Walross¡¯ warning. He could well imagine how easily they could slip into a vicious routine, particularly with how otherworldly and ¡®appart¡¯ this place seemed.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got it in the back of my mind, and I¡¯m not some closet psychopath warmonger.¡±


    ¡°I know you aren¡¯t. Still, something to keep in mind mmm? Adam looked pretty shaken, I¡¯m going to give him some company, the kid¡¯s too nervy to vent to you.¡±


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Waross shouldered his rifle, clapped Alter on the shoulder and moved past him to follow Pavejack to the opposite ridgeline. Alter watched him go in silent contemplation for a few moments. Despite all the power the technology they wielded allowed them, he couldn¡¯t help but notice how small he felt. Small and human. Well, standing here alone would solve nothing. He began picking his way back down the slope, eyes seeking the riders they had saved.


    The horse had come to a halt a short distance into the valley and stood panting, head bobbing in different directions as its hooves shifted to find better purchase on the loose rock of the valley floor. The boy in blue was still mounted, Alter was heartened to see him in quiet conversation with Riptide and Boozehound, communication and therefore negotiation would be possible. His eyebrows raised slightly as the boy began reaching for the sword at his side, but any fears were quickly relieved as Boozehound gently stepped forward and with the boy¡¯s help lifted the wounded girl from the horse. Riptide looked up at him and gave a tentative thumbs up which Alter reciprocated. The boy dismounted his steed with an expensive sounding jingle before moving to join Boozehound and the girl, cradling her head while the Frenchman inspected the wound.


    ¡°How¡¯s it looking, Three?¡± Alter asked as he approached.


    ¡°She¡¯s been poisoned, nasty stuff but it hasn¡¯t done too much damage yet. She¡¯s got a cut on her hip, a thrown dagger with a toxic coating. Nothing I can¡¯t handle.¡± Boozehound answered as he began disinfecting and cleaning the wound.


    The girl shifted and groaned slightly as he worked but her eyes did not open, the sweat on her brow formed thick beads that ran down her neck. The medic reached into his kitbag and pulled out a pair of small objects, placing one on the floor and holding the other up to the light.


    ¡°This is a jolt injector. There¡¯s a small needle on the end here, see? In a moment I¡¯m going to jab it into her shoulder, there will be a little bit of pain but it''s going to help stabilise her and wake her up, alright?¡± He spoke in a slow and soothing voice to the clearly agitated boy who nodded.


    ¡°Once I¡¯ve done that, we¡¯re going to wait for her to open her eyes. When that¡¯s happened she¡¯ll need to drink this.¡± He put the injector down and held up a small bottle. ¡°This is called Universal Correctant, an antidote, you open the top like so. She needs to drink it slowly, all of it. Problem is it tastes like shi- ... it tastes pretty bad.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯ll save her, she¡¯ll make a full recovery?¡± They boy spoke earnestly.


    Alter took a moment to take in the notes of his voice. Strained yes, but well toned with a musical quality. There was an accent present but he couldn¡¯t quite place it yet there were familiar notes and mannerisms to be heard. He was well spoken, that''s for sure, the vocals matched the costume quite nicely. Alter couldn¡¯t help but squint slightly as he looked at the clothes, miniature gems and other reflective materials shined throughout the ensemble and caught the light. His face was surprisingly well maintained, even immaculate, especially considering he¡¯d been charging through badlands for his life not five minutes ago. Eighteen was the age Alter settled on, he¡¯d have to stop referring to him as ¡®Boy¡¯. She looked closer to sixteen, were they family? They didn¡¯t seem to have any familial features in common.


    There was a quiet coughing noise as the girl began to stir, Boozehound immediately moved to give the bottle to the young man.


    ¡°Here, you should be the one to do this. We wouldn¡¯t want her to wake up surrounded by strangers, we¡¯ll give you some space.¡± He pressed the bottle into his hand and backed away, signalling Alter and Riptide to follow him.


    The three men stepped away as she continued to recover, the man had tears in his eyes as he fiddled to open the bottle, his hushed voice soothing as he encouraged her to open her eyes. Once they were far enough away Boozehound turned.


    ¡°Well, never thought I¡¯d be treating people for real. Good thing this stuff seems to be working.¡±


    ¡°Nice work Marcus. I saw him reach for the sword as I came down, was it a close run thing?¡± Alter asked.


    ¡°Nah, he was just a little nervous about us approaching. He softened up as soon as he realised we were going to help the girl, sure cares for her a lot.¡± Riptide crossed his arms as he watched the scene playing out behind them.


    ¡°Feels good to have helped someone instead of ending them.¡± Boozehound nodded to himself, a satisfied smile crossing his face.


    ¡°You get any clues as to what kind of people they are?¡± Inquired Alter.


    ¡°Rich, but not the pampered softboy type rich. Kid¡¯s got some edge to him, no fear in those eyes.¡± Booze answered.


    ¡°He sounds French.¡± Riptide quipped.


    ¡°Bull. He sounds like a drunk Swede doing an impression. Minus the actual drunkenness.¡± Booze shot back.


    ¡°Whatever. Hey Alter, what¡¯s our play here?¡± Riptide dismissed the retort with a question.


    Alter watched the two teenagers for a moment, the girl was fully awake now. She took a couple of sips of the medicine before coughing and pulling a disgusted face.


    ¡°I think we¡¯ve hit the jackpot with those two, or as near as makes no difference.¡± He began as he turned back to the two other members of his command team. ¡°They¡¯re clearly rich, maybe even nobility, I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll have plenty of resources at their disposal. We¡¯ve saved their lives once, likely hers twice, I say let¡¯s keep that favour train rolling. We offer them our services, help them with whatever problems they¡¯ve got. Build up as much goodwill from them as we can before we run dry.¡± He continued as the other men reacted in confusion.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Riptide frowned.


    Alter pointed to his weapons.


    ¡°We¡¯re on a usefulness timer, in case you¡¯ve forgotten. General purpose rifle, thirty shots per mag. One nearly half-used, six in reserve. Standard issue pistol sidearm, twelve shots per. One mag loaded, three in reserve. Squadleader¡¯s throwables, one frag, one smoke, one flash. Last resort combat knife. Once those are used up, that¡¯s it. I¡¯m nothing more than a man out of time with no real usable skills and a knife. How about you?¡±


    The pair shuffled awkwardly as he spoke, eyes shifting around in search of an answer.


    ¡°That''s a fair point. But¡­¡± Riptide trailed off.


    ¡°We attach ourselves to them for long enough to get some solid intelligence, then we reconvene and plan our next move. There¡¯s got to be a person we can talk to, or a library we can scour, something to tell us what the hell happened to us.¡±


    ¡°So we stick to them like glue and hope they can get us all that?¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    ¡°Putain. It makes a weird sort of sense. Besides, I want to make sure the girl recovers properly.¡± Boozehound grumbled.


    ¡°Alright, I guess. Just be careful okay?¡± Riptide relented.


    Alter nodded to the pair and turned back to the locals, it was time for some proper introductions.


    Now how the hell was he going to introduce himself?

 Ch.3: Negotiations Ongoing

    Alter had a few moments to collect himself before the pair were ready to talk to him. In that time he needed to sort a few things out in his head. First question, what were they? Soldiers certainly, that was one illusion he dared not run the risk of breaking. He couldn¡¯t tie themselves to any one nation, he didn¡¯t know if the countries he knew existed here. Anyway, his boys came from a variety of places and their accents reflected that fact. No, claiming to be an official military unit was out of the question. Mercenaries then? It fit their profile, and it would make sense for them to be both multinational and available for hire. However, Alter didn¡¯t know how mercenaries would be viewed, particularly by suspected nobility who might turn their noses up at such designations. Private Military Contractors? Labelling themselves as a PMC might be too ¡®modern¡¯, anyway the thought of calling himself a member of such a company didn¡¯t sit well with him given real world events. Freelancers? That worked, Alter hoped it would translate.


    Next question, who were they? Who was he? For better or worse he was the leader of the group and if he conducted himself in that manner then it would be expected that he¡¯d have a rank to match. Captain would work nicely. Most of his men referred to each other by their usernames, even in this new reality, so he¡¯d keep the ¡®Alterfate¡¯ name for now. In terms of organisational name, their group had been under the banner of ¡®RGS¡¯, an old clan tag which has been around so long that its founding members have drifted away and most of its current members have no memory of what it actually means. Officially, the acronym stood for ¡®Risk-takers Gaming Series¡¯. Alter, along with Riptide, had been around long enough to know that it had started out as the ¡®Republic of Glue Sniffers¡¯ ¡­ He was not about to revive that title.


    Alright, he was Captain Alterfate of the freelance company known as ¡®RGS¡¯. His unit had been travelling through the area when they had spotted their flight from the bandits and decided to intervene. He needed to impress upon them the fact that he¡¯d saved their lives and find some way to bring up the idea of officially taking them on. If they were to start asking questions then he couldn¡¯t say where they were from, going, or where they had been. He was willing to admit that he wasn¡¯t using his real name for the sake of security, but only if they pushed him on that topic. He couldn¡¯t explain their equipment, at least not in any detail. The corners of his mouth tightened in frustration as he ran through his mental checklist, this all sounded suspicious as hell, he wouldn¡¯t buy it. Nevertheless, being suspect was better than sounding insane and he sure wasn¡¯t going to claim that they had all been simultaneously struck with amnesia.


    The teenagers rose slowly, the boy supporting the girl as she made tentative efforts to rise. Eyes of concern met eyes of discomfort for a couple of tender seconds before both slowly turned towards him.


    The Boy in the Blue Uniform


    The plan had fallen apart, they had frantically tried to rearrange each piece into a more cohesive form but once again the structure had collapsed. Now he found himself surrounded by discorded pieces scattered to the floor, only this time there was blood mixed among the wreckage.


    His heart thrashed against the prison of his chest as he watched Lucille¡¯s eyes slowly open, that strange ¡®Jolt¡¯ needle she¡¯d been given seemed to be working. He took a ragged breath as she began to stir, his eyes tore themselves away from her face and settled on the tiny bottle clutched in his trembling hand. Such a strange design, so simple yet elaborate. The glass, if it truly was glass, was stained to near black. A white label attached to the side listed dozens of complex words he¡¯d never seen before in a rainbow of coloured inks making letters printed smaller than any book he¡¯d read. A faint cough brought his attention back, she was awake! He twisted the odd grey lid of the bottle and brought it towards her mouth. He knew he shouldn¡¯t blindly trust these men in their unknown uniforms, but he¡¯d seen the riderless horse thunder past them and the man who had dressed Lucille¡¯s wound had done so with genuine concern on his face.


    Too late for doubts now though, he had to help her. Lucille accepted the blue liquid flowing from the bottle before she wretched and coughed against his chest. Fortunately it seemed that she had managed to drink it all, the colour that had completely disappeared from her face was beginning to gently reappear. He breathing, whilst still laboured, was noticeably steadier now. He clasped her hand in his and felt for the pulse of her heartbeat, his shoulders sagged in relief at the sensation of a steady thrum at his fingertips. She was going to be alright, this bitter day wasn¡¯t totally surrendered to disaster.


    ¡°Oliver?¡± She whispered as she regained her strength.


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m here.¡± He answered softly, as with great care he lifted her into a sitting position.


    ¡°Where are we?¡± Lucille¡¯s head slowly swivelled as she took in her surroundings.


    ¡°We¡¯re still in the Adderbites, but we¡¯re not being chased any more.¡±


    ¡°Who are they?¡± She was looking at the three men who stood murmuring to each other a dozen metres away.


    ¡°Soldiers, I think. They took care of those raiders who were after us and gave you medicine too, it¡¯s why you''re awake now.¡± He explained.


    ¡°But there shouldn¡¯t be any soldiers out here.¡±


    ¡°I know. There¡¯s a lot that I don¡¯t understand about them, but they could¡¯ve just watched as we went by. I think we can trust them not to hurt us.¡±


    At that moment the three strangers finished their quiet conversation. The third man who had arrived from up the hill turned to look at them, his brow furrowed in thought. He seemed to be struggling with whatever he was occupied with, probably what to do with them both. Lucille shifted against him as she tried to stand.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Help me up, would you?¡± She asked, the familiar steel in her voice gave him no real alternative.


    With his support she stood and took a couple of small ginger steps before nodding to herself. Oliver was amazed at her recovery rate, what had he fed her? Another couple of minutes of this progress and it would be like she was never in pain. The crunch of gravel brought his attention back to their saviours and Oliver moved to meet them, eyes seeking clues as to their identity.


    He decided to work from the ground up. Thick laced boots made of a coarse looking fabric coloured to match the ground. Trousers made of a similar material with a varied palette of colour again matching their surroundings. Their waists were covered by pouches and small scabbards holding various objects, Oliver recognised the knife sheaths but the rest were mysteries. The chests were again covered in the same material, and again they were concealed with pouches seemingly woven into the fabric. Oliver could see hard points and sharp lines poking from beneath the surface, so these men were in fact wearing a type of armour, albeit of style he¡¯d never encountered before. He could see no markings, crests or sigils, however two of the men were somewhat embellished. The man who had shouted to them on the road had single dark orange stripes around his sleeves, the one now facing him had two. Did that make them leaders? Their heads were partially obscured by ground coloured helmets with straps tight under their chins, all of them had strangely shaped objects attached to their right ears. However, it was what their thick gloved hands held that gave him the greatest reason to pause, enigmatic black metal constructions. They were weapons, they had to be, but he just couldn¡¯t see how they would work. Then there was the question of those awful sounds he had heard, were these devices responsible for that?


    Lucille moved up and stood beside him as the third man stepped up, slinging his black device across his shoulder with a leather looking strap. He briefly fiddled with the strap under his chin, releasing the central clasp before removing the helmet and tucking it under his arm. Oliver looked closely at his face, he was older than him by at least ten years, his brown hair was cut short matching the neatly trimmed reddish beard. Chestnut eyes gazed at them steadily for a moment before he spoke.


    ¡°Apologies for the delayed greeting Sir, Madame. My name is Captain Alterfate, at your service. You¡¯re both quite lucky to be alive.¡± He offered a small smile.


    Oliver returned with a well trained smile of his own. This ¡®Captain Alterfate¡¯ at least knew a proper greeting, although Oliver was fairly certain that wasn¡¯t his real name. The accent was difficult but he swore that he had heard it somewhere before.


    ¡°Thank you, Captain. And give my thanks to your healer too.¡± He replied simply, wanting to get a little more out of this man before mentioning his own name.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to pass it on.¡± Alter nodded before turning to Lucille. ¡°How are you feeling Ma¡¯am?¡±


    ¡°Lady.¡± Lucille corrected ¡°And I am feeling much relieved.¡±


    Oliver was worried that her terseness might offend the Captain, but he seemed to be taking it well in his stride.


    ¡°As you wish, Lady.¡± He offered a short bow. ¡°Might I ask why you were being pursued?¡±


    Oliver pursed his lips, the moment was fast approaching where he would have to decide to trust these people. He felt a quiet squeeze of his hand as Lucille leaned in and nodded. Well, that was that decision made.


    ¡°We were travelling westward towards Piranette when we came under attack from those raiders. We tried to fight them off but there were too many, our escorts gave their lives to buy us the time we needed to escape. We fled on horseback but as you saw it wasn¡¯t going to be enough.¡± Oliver explained.


    The Captain looked relieved as the story was recanted.


    ¡°What will you do now?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Try and make it out of the Badlands. There¡¯s a borderpost a few hours'' ride along the road from here.¡±


    ¡°What of your escort?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s too risky for us to return, I only pray that their bodies are not desecrated. We had a carriage with us but I¡¯m fairly certain I saw a raider throw a torch into it as we escaped. It¡¯ll be a pile of cinders by now.¡±


    Oliver felt the sting of his own words as they left his lips. They were his responsibility, loyally following his orders as he chose to take the most dangerous road. He would need to compensate their families, letters and parcels he dreaded to write. Silence had taken a hold of the conversation, but to his surprise it was Lucille who broke the quiet with a loud inhale.


    ¡°Chloe!¡± She gasped, hands moving to cover her mouth, her eyes widening in shock.


    Chloe was her handmaid and child companion, the two had been together for as long as Oliver could remember. How could they have forgotten that she was riding the carriage with them?


    ¡°Someone dear to you?¡± Captain Alterfate asked, his face turning serious and businesslike.


    ¡°My maid.¡± Lucille answered before turning to Oliver ¡°We have to go back!¡±


    ¡°My lady, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s-¡± He began, staggered by her sudden shout.


    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving her to those beasts!¡± She pulled away and glared at him.


    Oliver let his arms hang at his sides. She wasn¡¯t going to let this go, he knew her too well. But this was too dangerous for them to go back alone. He looked over at the Captain and for a split second saw something strange flash across his face. Triumph? Satisfaction? Whatever it was it had been quickly hidden.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to impose, Captain. Would you be able to help us?¡± He asked as he searched the man¡¯s face for any other mask-slips.


    ¡°We stand ready to assist.¡± He responded confidently.


    Oliver consented and held out his hand for the other man to shake.


    ¡°Then we are in your debt. However, before we talk any further, there¡¯s something I need to confirm.¡± He said.


    ¡°What do you need to know?¡± Alter asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice as he shook his hand


    ¡°Just look into


    my eyes for a moment.¡± Oliver responded. He reached for the fire within him and wished for the power to burn away doubt.


    Captain Luke ¡®Alterfate¡¯ Ploughman


    Alter did not like what he was seeing. Not one bit.


    ¡®His eyes are glowing. Why are his eyes glowing? That is some magic bullshit and I am in no way ready for this.¡¯

 Ch.4: All Figured Out

    Oliver, The Boy in the Blue Uniform


    The flame in his chest flickered and surged as he called upon its power. His grip was clumsy from inexperience but with a little exertion he began to shape and channel power into purpose, directing it at the man holding his hand. The colours of the world distorted into icy blue hues as the cool burning sensation overtook him. Turning his attention inward he took a mental step forward, arms reaching outward. A moment later he began to sense what he wanted as fleeting hints of the man¡¯s emotions began to tickle the border of his senses.


    Confusion and uncertainty dominated the strange soldier¡¯s thoughts. Oliver recognised these as being easy products of witnessing the flame for the first time and pushed past them, surface level thought could teach him little of intent. There, a quiet determination and feeling of responsibility was mixed in with the flooding doubt. He sensed silent confidence and a hint of pride watching from the depths. However most importantly there was no feeling of malice, nor was there naive over-eagerness or vicious zeal. Satisfied that the man harboured no treacherous intent Oliver pulled away from the flame, allowing the world to settle back into its natural state.


    ¡°That must have been quite a shock, are you alright?¡± He asked as he released the man¡¯s hand.


    Alter¡¯s face was pale as he pulled his hand away, his eyes had widened to dinner plates and his eyelids flashed and flapped across them like fish struggling on land.


    ¡°Whh-¡± He began. ¡°What was that? The hell did you do?¡± His voice seemed caught between a surprised shout and a fearful whisper.


    Oliver frowned slightly at the reaction. Tales of the Soulkindlers and their powers were popular across the entire continent, every child grew up hearing stories of the flame. He did not like to advertise his abilities, however on the rare occasions he felt it prudent to show them off the initial shock was quickly replaced by bubbling excitement from those that witnessed it. This man was not from around here, and from the visible confusion on the faces of the other two nearby neither were they. But they had to be local, why else would they be travelling this remote path?


    ¡°I admit that I didn¡¯t immediately trust your intentions. However, having examined your emotions I think we can discount the possibility that you''re planning to betray us. Though I must admit to having more questions, if I may?¡± Oliver motioned for calm as he continued.


    ¡°Oh. Right. Sure, ask away.¡± Alter swallowed and relaxed his shoulders but was not able to hide his guarded expression.


    ¡°Why are you out here?¡±


    ¡°We are travelling in search of fresh work.¡±


    ¡°What sort of work?¡±


    ¡°Hmmm. Protection mostly, both property and people. We¡¯re also adept at hostage rescue, point assault and infiltration, reconnaissance, assass-¡± Alter halted his speech and glanced off to the side.


    ¡°Which direction were you heading?¡± Oliver began to grill him for details.


    ¡°West.¡± Was the answer.


    ¡°Where were you based before this?¡±


    ¡°I ¡­ I cannot immediately tell you that.¡±


    ¡°I see. Final question for now, why are you so happy to help us? After all, we¡¯ve promised no reward.¡±


    ¡°Because it''s the right thing to do.¡± Alter¡¯s previous answers had been delayed and uncertain but this last statement was both instant and delivered with gravitas.


    ¡°I believe you, and I won¡¯t press any further.¡± Oliver spoke quickly to avoid any possible confrontation. ¡°We should get going soon, but I¡¯d like a private talk with my companion here before we depart.¡±


    Alter nodded smartly and motioned back towards the road.


    ¡°Not a problem, I need to gather my men for a briefing anyway. Join us on the road when you¡¯re ready.¡± He raised one hand to his head in some kind of salute and moved off.


    Oliver watched him depart with curiosity as the captain motioned the others to join him, the pair quickly falling into step on either side and speaking in quiet whispers.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± Lucille asked as she sidled up alongside him, her expression a similar mask of puzzlement.


    ¡°There¡¯s something about the captain. The voice, the face, the mannerisms, the obviously fake name. The fact that he seems to lack common knowledge, the caginess about where he¡¯s been. Not to mention the clothes and whatever they¡¯re all carrying, add that to the strange medicine and the banging noises when they dealt with the raiders. Who are these people?¡± Oliver rubbed the back of his neck and groaned.


    ¡°I think this ¡®Alterfate¡¯ is a Vaurker.¡± Lucille put simply.


    Oliver looked at her in surprise for a moment before returning his gaze to the retreating figures. Of course, that would explain the accent, and the hair. Oliver had met Vaurkers in the past when he had accompanied his father to diplomatic functions and the resemblance, while not striking, was certainly there. Vaurkal was a small and isolated nation far to the southwest, its people maintained a secretive guise and treated outsiders with suspicion. That could explain why he was so surprised at his use of the flame, and why he didn¡¯t want to speak about their movements. Another detail crossed his mind and he shook his head.


    ¡°Hold on, it does make sense that the Captain is from Vaurkal, but I¡¯m pretty sure his healer is from Solfin.¡±


    Vaurkal and Solfin were neighbouring nations who had been at each other¡¯s throats for more than a century. Trapped together on the Porret Peninsula by a much larger nation, the two populations would sooner rip their own throats out than be seen speaking to each other. If it wasn¡¯t for the Empire of the Fourth Calling¡¯s hungry glances at their homes then they would¡¯ve wiped each other out long ago.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Both countries keep their militaries close at hand in case the other comes calling. Are they outcasts, do you think?¡± Lucille added.


    ¡°Thrown out for consorting with the enemy? That would¡¯ve got them executed, not kicked out. Not unless they fled before they could be discovered.¡±


    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t be able to run overland, the Empire¡¯s eyes watch too closely. It makes more sense for them to go by water around The Butcher Cape. I¡¯d like to know how they ended up on the east coast of Rillestia.¡±


    The eastern coast of their nation was sparsely populated due to the unusable extent of the Adderbite Badlands, however there were a small number of trading ports scattered along the lonely coastline for ships to resupply in or seek shelter from the powerful storms that ravaged this stretch of water during the summer months. The two of them and their entourage had been visiting one of those minor ports on their own business and were now returning to Rillestia proper.


    ¡°Well if they were travelling as freeblades then I suppose they could¡¯ve had a contract protecting a merchant vessel. Perhaps the captain decided to get rid of them back in Breakdune.¡±


    ¡°And now they¡¯re wandering inland trying to find something to do.¡± Surmised Lucille with a smile.


    The pair grinned at each other for a moment, satisfied with their detective skills.


    ¡°I think we can make good use of them, at least until we make it back to your family''s lands.¡± Oliver spoke cheerfully as he moved back towards the horse and hauled himself onto its back.


    ¡°I suppose we can. I wonder why they got kicked out? They seem too professional to be slackers.¡± Lucille answered as she accepted his hand, using quick, fluid movements up onto the horse and into her traditional position in front of him.


    ¡°They probably cost too much, you know how merchants are. I doubt they even knew they were being abandoned until they saw sails fading over the horizon.¡±


    ¡°Here¡¯s hoping they¡¯re as good as you think they are.¡± Lucille shuddered as she looked up at the sun crawling across the sky.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a good feeling.¡± Oliver put a protective arm around her as he encouraged the horse into a trot.


    The past few weeks had been grim for him, he may well have fallen into despair if it wasn¡¯t for Lucille¡¯s love and support. Their sudden trip to Breakdune had borne some fruit, but that small harvest was burning inside the carriage right now. Even so, Oliver felt the uplifting sensation of hope under his wings. He found himself looking forward to teasing more information about Vaurkal from this ¡®Alterfate¡¯ character; he''d always been curious about the wider world.


    Captain Luke ¡®Alterfate¡¯ Ploughman


    Alter looked at the gathered faces surrounding him at the side of the dusty road. He had explained the situation as best he could, the squad had agreed with his logic and accepted the identities he¡¯d started crafting for them. He couldn¡¯t help but feel like the wheels had somewhat fallen off the moment he had described the magic nonsense he¡¯d just been subjected to.


    ¡°You¡¯re insane. You have to be.¡± Walross looked him dead in the eyes as he spoke.


    ¡°Yeah, man. We all know there¡¯s no such thing as magic.¡± Pavejack agreed.


    ¡°No, no. Me and Booze saw it too. The guy¡¯s eyes lit up like those blue lightsabers and there was this weird static-y, crackling sensation in the air.¡± Riptide backed up his squad leader''s explanation as Boozehound nodded solemnly.


    ¡°It felt like he was looking into my bloody soul. I felt like an opened book, wouldn¡¯t surprise me if he now knows all my embarrassing memories from six years old upward. I don¡¯t know what he was looking for, or what he saw, but he seemed to trust me more afterward. Said he knew I wasn¡¯t about to stab him in the back.¡±


    The men spent a few moments in quiet contemplation before Whim looked up at the sky with a slow exhale.


    ¡°Welp. There goes the time travel theory. I suppose we can cross off post-apocalyptic societal regression too.¡±


    ¡°Maybe this is Warhammer.¡± Boats wondered.


    ¡°Maybe you should shut up.¡± Was the quick reply.


    ¡°¡®Maybe¡¯ isn¡¯t going to help us figure out what¡¯s happening, stow it. Like I just told you, we¡¯re attaching ourselves to Sir Oliver over there and, god willing, he¡¯s going to make sure you have something resembling a bed tonight. So, best behaviour and watch your tongues, alright? It was a flippant comment but Boats touches on a good point. I know you guys enjoy a good ¡®For the Emperor!¡¯ shout as much as the next man, but we don¡¯t know if there are any actual emperors kicking around out here that we do not want to associate ourselves with. You get me?¡± Alter looked at his friends in turn as he spoke, emphasising every point he made with poignant jabs of his finger.


    ¡°Yes King.¡± Pavejack responded with a cheeky grin.


    ¡°What did I just fucking say?¡± Alter snapped back with mock anger as he fought down a smile of his own.


    ¡°Alright. Don¡¯t say anything stupid, don¡¯t out the fact that we have no fucking clue what¡¯s going on. Follow orders from Mr Blueberry. Do we know what our next move is?¡± Boats asked.


    ¡°It sounds like we¡¯re heading down the road in the direction they came from to search for this carriage they had to abandon. We¡¯ve reason to suspect that it¡¯ll be burned out or still burning when we get there, and there may well be more hostiles at the scene. Our main objective is this Chloe person, I don¡¯t know who she is but she seems important, the lady thinks those bandits will¡¯ve kept her alive for now. We take a nice quiet walk over there, secure the site and see if we can¡¯t pick up a trail or find a body. That¡¯s all we need to worry about for now.¡± He finished as the sound of trotting hooves moved up behind him.


    ¡°Are you all ready to move, Captain?¡± Oliver called.


    ¡°Ready to go at your order, sir.¡± Alter answered smartly before looking along the road. ¡°What do you want to do about these bodies in the road?¡±


    ¡°Leave them, it¡¯ll take too long to clear the path, they¡¯re someone else¡¯s problem.¡±


    ¡°What about the horses that survived the ambush?¡± Alter continued.


    Oliver looked at the trio of horses standing awkwardly fifty metres off the road with their saddles still attached and the lone dead rider still frozen in place. Then he looked at the bodies of the horses ahead of them and shook his head.


    ¡°Look closely, see how apparent their rib cages are? And those bare patches in their coats? Those poor animals are diseased, half-starved and dehydrated. A couple of days of freedom is the best thing we can give them now.¡± His voice was sad but determined.


    ¡°No further questions then. Alright gentlemen, double column either side of the road, let''s make tracks.¡± Alter called and his friends fell into a standard patrol formation.


    Alter tried to ignore the faces of the slain as they picked their way past the dead, instead glancing up at the horse walking alongside him. Oliver¡¯s eyes were focussed on the girl sitting in front of him, who in turn scanned the horizon with concerned eyes. Satisfied, he turned back to the rest of his formation. Other than some muttering and shy steps everyone made it through the bodies without incident. Alter couldn¡¯t help but feel better for walking along a road, something he could recognise. As to what he was walking towards, well, he¡¯d deal with that when he got to it.

 Ch.5: A Smell of Burning

    The road had been mercifully quiet as the squad moved through the early afternoon sunshine. The rocky outcroppings continued to provide occasional shady reprieves from the sun¡¯s ire as they weaved around their steep contours. Alter couldn¡¯t help but notice that despite all his gear he wasn¡¯t sweating as much as he should be. An hour earlier he would¡¯ve remarked on this apparent phenomena to the others, but with their new companions alongside him he thought better of adding any further mysteries. As for Oliver and the lady, whom he now knew to be called Lucille, there had been some cautious attempts at conversation over the first twenty minutes of the journey. However, Alter¡¯s insistence on dodging any particular questions had eventually extinguished Oliver¡¯s attempts to gain further information about them. Lucille had been notably impatient but seemed to relax a little as time passed, her frequent questioning of their speed reduced to furtive looks.


    As for the rest of the squad they had been surprisingly professional given the situation. Well drilled habits had kicked in not long after they had set out, eyes scoured all directions frequently as even Alter found himself scanning the skyline for aerial contacts every few minutes. He sincerely doubted that they¡¯d have to deal with hostile fliers but you never knew, dragon equivalents wouldn¡¯t entirely surprise him, stupid as that made him feel. Both columns had managed to maintain their five metre spacing, again it felt a little irrelevant, he doubted IEDs existed here but nevertheless it was good to see. The only thing Alter truly worried about was an ambush, there were plenty of places to hide among the ridges and peaks of the outcrops as they had earlier proven. Alter ground his teeth quietly as he walked, the fact that Oliver had used some sort of magical power on him and then acted suspicious of how shocked Alter had been was disconcerting. If magic was common and expected in this place then lord knows what nasty surprises awaited them around the corner. In pure technological terms his boys were nigh on unstoppable, but against the prospect of arcane fuckery Alter felt decidedly vulnerable. There¡¯s a reason the Jedi are bloody scary when you think about it.


    ¡°Smoke ahead.¡± Reported Riptide from the head of the group.


    Alter dragged himself out of his internal monologue and looked around. They had entered an S-like bend in the road between a pair of gently sloping outcroppings, finding themselves roughly in the middle of the formation. Ahead and off to their left, just poking out above the nearest ridgeline, a thin plume of black smoke reached skyward like a solitary middle-finger to the world.


    ¡°Are we close to where your carriage was attacked?¡± Alter asked as he looked up at the mounted couple.


    ¡°I was in a blind panic when we came through here but I think so.¡± Oliver responded as he observed his surroundings.


    ¡°Alright, let''s get up on this high ground. Three, stay here with Sir Oliver and Lady Lucille.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m coming too.¡± Oliver snapped as he made to leave.


    Alter fought the urge to groan, he couldn¡¯t go against the young man¡¯s wishes but if there was about to be an engagement then he wanted him as far away as possible. Although now that he thought about it, having someone who could identify anything or anyone from a distance was an acceptable tradeoff. If they did run into contact, well, a little shock and awe couldn¡¯t hurt in cementing their capabilities in Oliver¡¯s brain. Not waiting for an answer, the teen levered himself off the horse and followed Alter off the road. The pair breathed deeply as they struggled against the loose gravel and scree of the hill, arriving just behind the other men who settled on the ridge in a loose line. Together they poked their heads over the top and surveyed the scene before them.


    The road ran almost straight away from the twin hills into a wide, flat area of finer grained soil and sparse vegetation. From their elevated position Alter could make out faint bands of coloured ground that meshed together in a manner resembling a dried river delta. Sure enough, the smoke was emitting from a wooden carriage still burning a couple of hundred metres down the road. It was a classic carriage design, a tall wooden box with elaborate suspension and four large spoked wheels. Three of the wheels had succumbed to the flames but one still stood defiantly on its corner. Dark red fire flickered within the windows of the carriage proper and ran along the driver¡¯s bench. He saw neither horse nor corpse, but what he did see was a small number of figures moving around the site and he quickly brought his rangefinders out again. It didn¡¯t take long to categorise them.


    ¡°More bandits hanging around, I count three.¡± He murmured into his radio to keep Boozehound in the loop.


    ¡°How can you be sure?¡± Asked Oliver who had crouched down next to him.


    ¡°They¡¯re dressed in the same get-up as your pursuers. If your escorts had survived, I doubt they¡¯d be hanging about like this. I range them at two-twenty, let''s keep this nice and clean. Spread out a bit.¡±


    Alter continued to observe as his unit began shifting wider apart along the ridge. One bandit stood a handful of paces from the carriage and seemed content to watch the flames. The second was sitting at the side of the road looking towards the hills but had not reacted to any of their movements. The third was rummaging through a cluster of waist-high shrubs and seemed completely engrossed in his tasks. He¡¯d put all three in their mid to late twenties, all looked badly malnourished. Alter tried not to take in any details about their faces as best he could.


    ¡°Alright. Two and Four takes the one by the road. Five and six, the carriage watcher is yours. Seven and Eight you¡¯re on the amateur botanist. Weapons live, report when ready.¡±


    One by one his squad confirmed their readiness and Alter turned to his confused companion.


    ¡°You may want to cover your ears, sir. This is going to be loud.¡± Alter told him flatly, he considered sighting a target himself but decided that it might be a bit too much for him.


    Oliver looked at him like a confused dog but followed the instruction. Satisfied that he was suitably prepared, Alter reached for the radio.


    ¡°Shoot.¡±


    The bark and crack of weapons fire echoed around the hill as the unit engaged, Alter counted no more than three rounds per person as each target slumped downward and fell still. Oliver¡¯s eyes screwed shut at the ferocity of the noise but he managed to open them again once the sound had subsided.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°What was that?¡± He shouted, unaware of the volume he had risen to.


    ¡°The same as what you heard earlier, you''re just a bit closer this time. We typically wear earplugs to help deaden the sound but I don¡¯t have a spare set.¡±


    ¡°And those ¡­ things ¡­ you carry, they made all that noise?¡±


    ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    ¡°What on earth are they?¡±


    Alter paused to consider the question, he¡¯d have to relent a little bit here. How to explain.


    ¡°They¡¯re called guns. Think of them like a distant cousin to the bow and arrow.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Oliver¡¯s mouth hung slightly open as he tried to process what he¡¯d just heard.


    ¡°Best not to worry about that right now, we have other things to do.¡± Alter smiled apologetically and hoped he¡¯d drop the question.


    ¡°I ¡­ I see.¡± Oliver turned back to the carriage. ¡°Did your men kill them all?¡±


    ¡°I see no movement, if they¡¯re not dead then they¡¯re unconscious and will have died by the time we get down there.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t think to keep one alive? Unless you have an expert tracker with you, how else are we going to follow them if they took Chloe alive?¡±


    That was a damn good point, Alter kicked himself for not thinking about that. He¡¯d been so dead set on eliminating any threats that he¡¯d completely forgotten about any next steps.


    ¡°New contact! There was another bandit behind the carriage, he¡¯s running!¡± Shouted Pavejack.


    Alter hurriedly looked through his rangefinders again and managed to locate the fleeing form who had unwittingly left the only cover available to them. An idea began forming in his mind as he slowly reached for the radio.


    ¡°Marksman?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Boss?¡± Boats responded smartly.


    ¡°You got eyes on that runner?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s got legs.¡±


    ¡°He does indeed.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re working quite well aren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°They seem to be doing a pretty good job aye.¡±


    ¡°Put a stop to that would you? We want to have a nice chat with the bloke.¡±


    Silence fell for a couple of seconds before the sharp crack of Boats¡¯ rifle rang out and the tiny form of the retreating bandit collapsed downward.


    ¡°It appears he¡¯s fallen over, boss. The dangers of reckless sprinting on loose ground.¡±


    ¡°Was the hit clean?¡±


    ¡°As clean as I could make it, should¡¯ve impacted just above the left knee.¡±


    ¡°Well, we should be good neighbours and see if he¡¯s ok. Four, stay up here and keep watch, the rest of you come on.¡± Alter rose to his feet and began picking his way down the opposite slope towards the carriage. His attempts to ignore the disappointed look Walross was giving him were proving ineffective and another pang of guilt hit him, he¡¯d worry about that later though.


    Soon he was stalking across flat ground and the smell of woodsmoke filled his nostrils. Alter was satisfied with the size of the bloodpool beneath the first man, he didn¡¯t need checking. The second bandit had remained conscious long enough to curl into the foetal position but hadn¡¯t lasted much longer, again no further actions required. The third was being propped up by the plants he was searching, Alter wasn¡¯t certain but he thought he saw a hand twitch. Quietly, he pulled his pistol from its holster, checked the magazine, aimed, flicked the safety off and fired one shot into the bandit¡¯s torso before safely returning the sidearm to its home at his hip. The bandit hadn¡¯t reacted to the impact so he was likely already gone, but better safe than sorry.


    Alter indicated for half of the squad to investigate the carriage before leading the others and Oliver towards the wounded runner whose pained grunts were just becoming audible over the fire. He was trying to crawl away but wasn¡¯t having much luck.


    ¡°Fuck me!¡± Whim suddenly shouted and Alter whipped his head around to see him quickly backing away from the burning transport.


    ¡°You all good?¡± Riptide called over the radio.


    ¡°Yeah, just a shock. So it turns out there are a handful of naked bodies all burnt up in the carriage. I¡¯m guessing those are the escorts, they must¡¯ve stripped them and threw them in.¡± He answered slowly as he put his hands on his knees and took a couple of deep breaths.


    ¡°Sick bastards.¡± Walross muttered with grit in his voice.


    ¡°I now know what roast human smells like and I hate that fact ¡­ so much!¡± Whim complained.


    Alter didn¡¯t blame him for the outburst, he probably would¡¯ve done the same thing. Step by careful step he closed the distance to the lone survivor. Surprisingly, it was Oliver that stepped forward and turned to him.


    ¡°Leave this to me.¡± He spoke, the faintest hint of luminous blue pulsed in the depths of his eyes.


    Alter could think of nothing to do but nod at this instruction and allowed the youth to take the lead. In a fluid motion Oliver drew a short dagger from behind the cloak and used his foot to flip the bandit over onto his back. The man¡¯s eyes were glazing over quickly but he still had enough in him to turn his gaze upward toward them, and let out a pained cackle.


    ¡°Fancy boy. Found some friends eh? Too late for the others, all burned up.¡± he wheezed.


    Alter hated this man¡¯s voice, it sounded like rust. Rust and dumb arrogance, even in the face of death.


    ¡°The girl in the carriage. What happened to her?¡± Oliver responded with a steel voice, he crouched down and rested the dagger on the bandit¡¯s rib cage, allowing the point to dig into the flesh above his heart.


    ¡°Ahhhahaha. The mousey one? No saving her, fancy boy. She belongs to Murgo now.¡± Again the ragged laughter taunted their ears, Oliver did not flinch.


    ¡°You will tell me where they took her.¡± He spoke again and there was a faint flash.


    Alter couldn¡¯t see his eyes, but there was a pale blue reflection on the side of his nose and the bandit¡¯s eyes glittered cyan. Moments passed in treacle-like tension. In a sudden blur of movement the bandit began to spasm and convulse, his mouth opened and a strange gurgling screech pierced the air that made Alter take a half step backward. The spasms stopped and he fell still, eyes looking blindly at the sun. Oliver let out a slow breath and stood up. Alter and the others looked at him nervously as he turned, his eyes returning to their default state.


    ¡°She¡¯s not too far, we need to move.¡± Was all he said before setting off across the plain towards distant hills.


    The assembled men glanced at each other, Alter shrugged and signalled the rest to catch up before falling into step behind Oliver. He had officially lost control of the situation.

 Ch.6: Its The Fort That Counts

    One by one the men fell into step behind Oliver as he strode across the extinct delta. Confused and uncertain glances were shared between them as they digested his recent display of power. Without looking around, Oliver began to speak.


    ¡°There¡¯s an old fort they¡¯ve reconditioned on the other side of those hills, all wooden structures that have sat abandoned for years. They¡¯ve done enough to plug the holes in the walls but that¡¯s about it, it should be simple enough to breach.¡±


    ¡°Any clue as to how many are in there?¡± Alter asked quietly.


    ¡°Hard to say.¡± Oliver tapped the side of his head in thought ¡°I think we¡¯ve dealt with half their number, maybe a little less.¡±


    ¡°How long do we have to get her out?¡±


    ¡°Nightfall. Anyone they take gets locked up in a cage, then the evening rolls in and the drink starts flowing. Once their boss decides it¡¯s time to have some fun ¡­ well.¡± He trailed off awkwardly.


    ¡°Then we make sure to get her out before then.¡±


    Oliver slowed to a stop and turned to face them all, a mixture of tension and confusion battled for control of his expression.


    ¡°You¡¯re all taking this very well. I just killed a man with a mythological power and absorbed his knowledge.¡± He spoke plainly but his eyes were searching.


    ¡°It¡¯s ¡­¡± Alter began as he shuffled his feet uncomfortably, momentarily unable to meet his gaze ¡°It¡¯s a concept we¡¯re not completely oblivious to. Anyway, without what you did back there we may not have found out where they took this girl. Were you expecting us to hate you for that?¡± He looked back up.


    Now it was Oliver''s turn to break eye contact.


    ¡°A little. I mean, it scares me and I¡¯m the one using it. When my father taught me about this power he made sure to drill into my skull the fact that using it would cause people to abandon me in disgust. I suppose I never stopped to think about it.¡± He admitted.


    ¡°Would you have done that to me when you did your whole ¡®intentions check¡¯ thing and didn¡¯t like what you''d found?¡± Alter followed up.


    ¡°I just wanted to thank you for not running away the moment you saw it.¡± Oliver spoke quickly, avoiding the question as his eyes darted from person to person.


    Alter looked at the young man and pondered his words. The lad was powerful to say the least, but the way he¡¯d turned and admitted his fears to them so quickly made him come across as nervous and inexperienced. Yet he had shown little to no hesitation when dealing with the dying bandit, Alter couldn¡¯t help but wonder what kind of life he¡¯d led up to this point.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just say we¡¯re made of sterner stuff.¡± He shrugged.


    Those who had kept pace, Riptide, Pavejack and Vangroover all nodded and murmured their agreement. Whim, still desperately sniffing anything remotely scented, Walross and Boats were steadily catching up and would be with them in a matter of seconds. Boozehound could be seen in the distance walking alongside the horse carrying Lady Lucille.


    ¡°I need you to do me a favour.¡± Oliver spoke softly.


    ¡°What do you need?¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t tell Lucille what I just did. The bandit gave up the information of his own free will before succumbing to the injury. Understood? I don¡¯t want her worrying about me more than she already is.¡±


    ¡°Is there a specific reason for that? Does this power of yours have repercussions when you ¡­ erm ¡­ extract information?¡± Alter asked.


    ¡°In a manner of speaking. I¡¯m only absorbing the relevant memories. However an inevitable part of them, a slither of the essence of their being is always included. In a small way that man is still alive within me, sustained by my consciousness. Tonight when I fall asleep my power shall expel that slither, it¡¯ll give me a few nightmares to force my way through as he disappears but that¡¯s about it.¡± Oliver explained sheepishly.


    Alter found himself unable to do anything but laugh and shake his head, it all sounded so ridiculous yet he believed it completely.


    ¡°What would happen if you absorbed too many memories? Would you get possessed and become someone else?¡± Asked Riptide in a sudden wave of enthusiasm as his previously grim expression melted into a boyish grin.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, maybe?¡± Oliver seemed taken aback by the question and shuddered as he considered the implications.


    Alter looked across at his lieutenant and gave him his best ¡®try to act professional¡¯ look. Riptide had already opened his mouth to ask another question when he noticed Alter¡¯s hint and, despite his curious nature, managed to close it again. Alter nodded and resolved to continue the conversation as the second part of his squad joined the circle.


    ¡°So. We¡¯re looking at a wooden fortification, likely in a state of disrepair. There¡¯s roughly the same number of bandits remaining, give or take ten percent. They¡¯ll probably have a guard or two at the main entrance but judging from their discipline so far I doubt they¡¯d have much more. We¡¯ve got a minimum of four hours of solid daylight to work with, likely more, that should be plenty of time to scout and observe. Am I missing anything?¡±


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡± Oliver nodded.


    ¡°Alright, we let the horse catch up and then we move... Was sticking twigs up your nose really necessary?¡± Alter asked, having noticed Whim¡¯s latest smell removal attempt.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Was the emphatic reply.


    Alter glowered at the man as he found himself unable to reprimand his behaviour. He¡¯d done nothing particularly wrong and, to be fair, if Alter had smelt when Whim had then he¡¯d likely be doing something similar. He just wished his new coping mechanism didn¡¯t have to look so silly. Finally, the horse plodded its way up to the group and Boozehound gave him a subtle thumbs up.


    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± Oliver called up to Lucille.


    ¡°Much recovered, thank you. What have you learned?¡± She replied airily as she maintained her regal composure.


    ¡°Chloe is still alive but she¡¯s been taken back to their lair. It¡¯s not too far away, we¡¯ll get her back.¡±


    Lucille¡¯s noble and proper manner cracked at the news and her shoulders sagged in relief.


    ¡°Thank Sirrithae¡¯s mercy. Alright then, where is she?¡± Her shoulders straightened again as she gently spurred the horse forward, head swivelling for some clue.


    Oliver turned to the distant rocks and pointed toward them and slightly to the right.


    ¡°Do you see that hill with the twin bands of dark rock? We should be able to see them from atop there.¡± He called.


    ¡°Then what are we waiting for, let¡¯s go!¡± Laughed Lucille as she urged the horse into a canter.


    Alter and his unit watched in bemusement as the horse ran towards the far ridge with Oliver racing to catch up.


    ¡°I like these two.¡± Riptide declared once a safe distance had been established.


    ¡°Me too.¡± Pavejack agreed ¡°But man, Oliver¡¯s power kinda freaks me out, you know what I mean?¡±


    ¡°Well then, don¡¯t piss him off. I¡¯m interested in what Lucille just said, ¡®Sirrithae¡¯s Mercy¡¯. It sounds like some sort of local deity. That could be worth looking into later, if we get the chance.¡± Alter thought aloud.


    ¡°You think some sort of god did this?¡± Whim asked, his voice caught between light-hearted and concerned.


    ¡°I¡¯m not ruling it out, especially seeing as we¡¯ve got magic nonsense popping up. But it still doesn¡¯t explain why we arrived here with our in-game loadouts, and the odd game mechanic we¡¯ve run into.¡±


    ¡°What then? We head to the local church and pray really hard?¡± Boats asked with a hint of disbelief.


    ¡°Again, I¡¯m not ruling it out. Come on, we need to catch up.¡±


    The eight men fell into comfortable silence as they quickly made their way across the scattered gravel and ancient substrate of the delta. By the time they caught up to their new employers the ground was beginning its steadily incline toward the rocky heights and the sun had continued its lumbering march across the sky into what Alter could best guess as mid afternoon. Hunger panged at the outskirts of his mind as he focussed on simply putting one foot in front of the other. It had certainly been a long time since he had covered this much distance but his body was coping well, much to his relief. He¡¯d need a refill of water soon, hopefully this fort would have a clean supply.


    One by one, puff by wheeze, they all made it to the top of the hill. Again, Alter found himself poking his head over a ridgeline and looking down toward an unaware enemy. There was indeed a fort nestled inside the opposite valley. The rock itself was much more sheer on this side and it formed a cliff-lined bowl with the valley floor reachable only via a narrow pass off to their right. Not the most defensible position but bloody well hidden, you could search the badlands for months and never find this place. The fort itself matched Oliver¡¯s description, ramshackle. He could see that this square construction would have been much sturdier back when it was first built. Carved stone foundations sunk into the dusty ground formed the bottom metre of the wall, with dry and thickly knotted wooden palisades reaching upward for a further three. From Alter¡¯s viewpoint it was apparent where fresh timber had been inserted from the change in colour and the shards of old broken wood scattered across the nearby floor. Frustratingly however, these patchwork repairs seemed sturdy enough, no gaps or weaknesses could be spotted from this distance. Turning his attention to the fort¡¯s interior he could count the rooves of tents scattered throughout, there was no uniformity to their size or colour. One was much larger than the others and was placed at the cluster¡¯s centre, Alter didn¡¯t want to assume the obvious but he was happy to conclude that it must belong to the leader. There was no obvious entry point visible at the moment but a noticeable line of flattened earth leading away from the fort to the pass told him where it must be. A rough wooden watchtower had been put together close to the assumed entrance, Alter could see one guard leaning lazily against one of the corner posts, their eyes were trained on the pass and they didn¡¯t seem to be scanning the wider area. There was no movement from inside the fort, which wasn¡¯t particularly surprising; this group had been greatly reduced in numbers, not that they realised it yet.


    ¡°Can anyone see a way down?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Nothing nearby, we may have to use the main track.¡± Riptide answered and pointed towards the pass.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got climbing ropes, remember.¡± Boats murmured as he fished bright green cords from his backpack.


    Alter clearly remembered telling him that having ropes in his kit wasn¡¯t necessary for the Cantabria Mansion but he was glad to see he¡¯d been ignored. Boats¡¯ love for finding weird corners to wedge himself in was an unstoppable force as far as he was concerned.


    ¡°Do you know where this cage is?¡± He asked Oliver.


    ¡°Outside Murgo¡¯s tent. I can¡¯t see it from here.¡± He answered with frustration.


    ¡°What can you tell me about this Murgo character?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a nasty piece of work, but probably not the brightest. Worst thing though is that he¡¯s an ¡®Unlimited¡¯.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Alter snapped, worried that another reality defying ¡®simple fact of life around here¡¯ was about to punch him in the face.


    Oliver looked back at him with a surprised expression which only served to deepen his concern.


    ¡°You know, those powerhouses that are double the size of the average man, stronger than bears, etcetera. Every nation snaps them up for their militaries. You must have met a few.¡±


    Alter turned back to the fort and swore, what other surprises was he going to be smacked with today? He hoped bullets would work on this ¡®Unlimited¡¯ man. But if that failed then an anti-tank rocket makes quite the impression.


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s search along the ridge and try to find a hidden point to rope down. We¡¯ll circle around behind the fort and try to find a nice gap to squeeze through. Failing that we go loud through the front door and take them all out before they realise what¡¯s happening.¡± He ordered and his squad broke off in opposite directions.


    Alter kept one eye on the camp as they moved, and hoped beyond hope that these bastards didn¡¯t feel like starting the party off early.

 Ch.7: Method of Entry

    Abseiling was not Alter¡¯s favourite activity. It wasn¡¯t that he was afraid of heights, he could stand on cliff edges and stare downward all day. It was the feeling of being suspended that didn¡¯t sit well with him, he craved the sensation of solidity. The blessed seconds where his feet touched the cliff and his legs flexed gave him small spikes of relief as he made his steady progress towards the valley floor.


    The plan was simple enough, they had found a suitable crevice around the rear of the fort with enough room to abseil down while still providing enough shelter from any curious eyes. Alter and the majority of the squad would make their way down and cross the open ground to the base of the wall. He would¡¯ve again preferred to keep Oliver away from any danger but the man had again insisted and there was sound logic in having a recognisable face should they encounter this Chloe person. Boats would remain up top in order to keep watch on the main entrance, provide supporting fire if needed, and ensure the safety of Lady Lucille who would not be accompanying the main force. The horse would also be staying, there was no point in trying to winch the poor animal down. That plus a couple of quick, searching questions was all it took to establish the fact that it had very little knowledge of rope safety procedures. Once they had all made it they would work their way around the exterior looking for any exploitable gaps. Should nothing present itself then it was a case of shock, awe and the front door.


    The first step of the plan was now appropriately in full swing. As the third man, Alter was keen not to hold things up and with great relief his boots struck the grit of the floor. There was only enough room for two people to remain hidden at a time by the cliff¡¯s bottom, Alter turned as he unclipped himself to see Whim pressed against the rock with his rifle raised as Vangroover scuttled across to the fort¡¯s foundations.


    ¡°Enjoy the trip?¡± Whim asked breezily as his eyes scanned the wall.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve broken anything. I was worried your weight might have weakened the rope.¡± Alter teased as he signalled the clifftop to send the next man down.


    ¡°Ha. Did I ever tell you that you have a wonderful sense of humour?¡±


    ¡°Nah, I figured it out myself.¡±


    ¡°Well that certainly shows. There¡¯s been no visible movement from down here, I can¡¯t help but worry though, did Boats have to pick neon green rope? It''s not exactly subtle.¡±


    ¡°Well the colour was a non-factor in the game, you can¡¯t exactly blame him for not foreseeing this.¡±


    Alter looked up again as the rope began to quiver anew, he couldn¡¯t see the face of who was descending but the machine gun strapped across the figure¡¯s back was enough to identify them as Pavejack. The extra weight of the firearm combined with the boundless energy of youth was causing him to travel at considerable speed.


    ¡°Pavejack¡¯s rocketing down. You ready to move?¡± Alter asked.


    ¡°Good to go.¡±


    He waited until Pavejack was three jumps from the bottom before readying his weapon and tapping Whim on the shoulder. With fluid movements he assumed the second man¡¯s position as they burst from cover to run to the wall. The fort was again indifferent to their movements and a breath later there was a thud as Pavejack landed behind him.


    ¡°Oh my ankles didn¡¯t like that.¡± He muttered to himself as he fiddled with the rope.


    ¡°You need to watch your speed.¡± Alter answered dryly.


    ¡°Yeah well you¡¯re not the one carrying the LMG. Oliver is supposed to be coming down next.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Riptide finished his little training lecture?¡±


    ¡°He was just launching into the differences between rope materials and the pros and cons of their weave patterns as I left.¡± Pavejack chuckled.


    Alter groaned. Riptide was a great person and a brilliant friend but he could be frustratingly clumsy in social situations, particularly when it came to meeting new people. He would go through multiple phases of oversharing and awkward silence that interchanged like the tide before finally settling into a comfortable medium.


    ¡°Swap with me.¡± He ordered and the two changed places.


    Alter looked up and spotted the blue of Oliver¡¯s clothes making unsteady progress over the lip of the cliff. Step by extremely nervy step he began to scramble his way towards them, legs thrashing and arms instinctively flashing out to catch the warm stone. Alter had never seen a drunk spider but he imagined this is what they would look like, minus a couple of limbs. However by the halfway point he seemed to have gained some confidence and the rest of the journey was much smoother. With another pat on the back he dispatched Pavejack to the wall and cleared as much room as he could for Oliver¡¯s landing, the thud he made upon his arrival was certainly wince-worthy.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°That didn¡¯t sound great, are you alright?¡± Alter asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± Oliver responded through gritted teeth and teenage obstinance.


    Alter shook his head before signalling up to Boozehound¡¯s head poking over the cliff to wait a minute before coming down.


    ¡°Take a moment to recover, we¡¯re not racing here.¡± He continued as he helped uncouple his new boss from the rope.


    ¡°Urgh, you sound like Sir Dannolin.¡± Oliver grumbled as he shook off the impact.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°One of my escorts. He taught me swordsmanship for many years, he ¡­¡± He tailed off as his face darkened.


    ¡°This man must¡¯ve been one of the bodies in the burning carriage.¡± Alter thought.


    ¡°He was always so bloody patient. Even though I was so determined to learn, to improve. I always wanted to best him one day. Now ...¡± Again his voice petered out.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear, we¡¯ll avenge him soon eh?¡±


    ¡°That we will.¡± Oliver¡¯s voice darkened at the thought.


    ¡°Right then, now that you''re all fired up, ready to do some running?¡± Alter asked as Boozehound began his much steadier descent.


    Oliver nodded and drew his sword with a bright scraping sound. Alter¡¯s eyebrows raised and he considered the possibility that he may be a touch too fired up. The pair watched the fort in silence for a moment as they waited for the Frenchman to close the distance.


    ¡°Ready? Remember to keep low and mind your footsteps. Go now.¡±


    Oliver sped out of the gap, his gait was a little laboured but he was moving well despite the circumstances. Nevertheless it was a relief that he was so willing to follow orders despite his proverbial rank being higher than Alter¡¯s. Another much softer thud came from behind him.


    ¡°Ahh, it¡¯s like being back in Le Massif Central.¡± Boozehound spoke wistfully as he unclipped himself.


    ¡°Oh yeah? Which part?¡± Alter asked.


    ¡°Marcenat. I have family there.¡±


    ¡°The name means nothing to me I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    ¡°Ehh, not surprising.


    ¡°Is this a ¡®dumb foreigner¡¯ moment?¡±


    ¡°Who knows? Wol¡¯ is on his way down, ready?¡± Boozehound asked as he moved in behind him.


    ¡°Set.¡± Alter answered firmly and readied himself to move.


    He felt the contact on his shoulder and was moving before the hand was removed. It took roughly twenty seconds to cross the open ground, every step was punctuated by a unique feeling of exposure despite the miniscule chance of being spotted. Never had the sensation of being shadowed felt so welcome. He slotted in behind Whim and raised his rifle to the top of the wall, listening intently. Silence.


    The seconds turned to minutes as the remaining members of the squad worked their way into the stack. Alter went from man to man making sure all their radios were set to their earpieces only, satisfied that no noise would be made he pressed a button on his own radio to send a signal blip back to Boats.


    ¡°No movement from the fort and the sentry still has his eyes away from your position. Move up.¡± Boats responded.


    Single file the unit moved along back towards their original position, stopping every handful of paces to scan the palisade for structural weaknesses and to listen for unknown movement. No sounds reached their ears and no reasonable entry points were found as they rounded the corner. The south side proved equally barren of opportunity but they did begin to register signs of life within. The quiet knickering of horses and the rhythmic thud of wood being cut muffled their movements as they approached the southeast corner. Once again Alter sent out a blip.


    ¡°Still clear, no reaction.¡± The Marksman reported.


    There was no point trying to force an entrance when they were so close to the entryway, and the palisade had proven well constructed enough to require the use of an explosive charge. Alter was not willing to use such a valuable resource in this way. He gave an exaggerated nod to Walross who in turn tapped Vangroover, the point man, on the shoulder twice. His Eight hurriedly stepped around the corner and took a few careful steps away from the cover of the wall. Reconnaissance complete he returned and gave Alter a thumbs up followed by a shake of the head. The fort¡¯s gateway was open, but the sentry in the tower couldn¡¯t be engaged from their position. Alter sent out two blips and waved his hand to order the unit to keep moving.


    ¡°Ready to engage. On your signal.¡±


    Alter had to focus on his breathing as they crept along the west wall towards the gate, long steady breaths to match the pace, eyes open and focused on the way ahead. They would use a standard entry method; there was no need for anything too fancy. When Boats knocked the sentry out they would move through the door and immediately split into two teams lead by Riptide and himself. One team moves across the doorway and covers the right side to the centre, the other wraps around to the left and covers the rest of the interior. Once they were all inside they would take a knee and engage any targets that came to investigate, nice and simple. They were one gun short but you never knew, a sword might come in useful.


    Finally they made it to within a couple of paces of the gate. Alter crept up to the head of the column and began to gently poke his head around the corner. The immediate area behind the entrance was clear, that was all he needed to risk knowing and he ducked back. He raised an arm and twisted his wrist as if turning an invisible key, a series of clicks came from behind him as safety switches were disengaged in response. One by one his teammates sent a single blip across the radio to signal their final readiness. Alter flicked his safety off and sent another pair of blips. The distant crack of Boat¡¯s rifle cut the air and there was a surprised gasp from somewhere above and behind him. A shout was raised from around the corner as he burst forward, finger already squeezing the trigger. The sudden noise of gunfire split the peaceful afternoon like thunder, and the bullet casings fell like rain.

 Ch.8: Unlimited

    Alter had experienced the soul-shattering vibration of standing under a thin bridge as a freight train passed overhead. That sensation was being thoroughly outclassed by his own heart. His eyes were stretched as wide as sails as he scanned the blood-spattered tents in desperate sweeps. His finger drummed the side of the trigger guard in nervous anticipation for the next confused face to poke out from the canvas sea. The horses were panicking in their rough stalls and the sound mixed with his heartbeat like a dirty cocktail at a student pre-drinks. Eighteen bodies lay before them in varying states of shock, half of that number had come stumbling into the line of fire without realising they were under attack. They¡¯d wisened up now though, at least enough to not walk into the meat grinder. Reports of hushed voices came down the line along with peering eyes that vanished before any weapons could be brought to bear. Alter was tempted to give a ten second indiscriminate fire order to clear some space but he considered that a waste of ammunition. Plus they knew there was at least one hostage in here, in hindsight the fact he had fired near blindly as he moved in was a poor move.


    A rasping sound to his immediate right shifted his attention but it was only Oliver slowly sheathing his sword with a look of dejection and wonder in equal measure. Alter found himself smiling despite the circumstances, the poor lad probably felt quite inadequate next to his squad. Admittedly he hadn¡¯t wanted to see so much action this early and Wolross¡¯ warning about getting carried away still rang in the back of his mind. Nevertheless he appreciated the multiple chances they had been given to cement their status as a potent fighting force. Past Oliver on the far side of their line Riptide suddenly adjusted his aim and fired off two shots into a gap between the rows of tents.


    ¡°Target down.¡± He reported a moment later.


    Nineteen bodies now. Alter estimated a total of sixteen tents minus the much larger pavilion in the centre. Knock a couple of those off for storage and he was looking at roughly fourteen sleeping areas, maybe housing four adults at a push. That put the possible maximum population between fifty and sixty but there was no way this group would be able to secure enough food and fresh water to sustain that number. Their body count was already well into the thirties at this point. Ten left, tops. Time to move up.


    ¡°Alright. We¡¯ve used up the element of surprise, we need to tie this up before the remainder can make a proper plan. Here¡¯s ¨C¡± Alter¡¯s voice cut off as a strange guttural roar of challenge was emitted from the pavilion.


    Over the tops of the closest tents he could see the canvas shift as one of the entry flaps was flung wide open. Even from Alter¡¯s angle he could just make out the top of a bald scalp bobbing its way steadily toward them. The ground thudded with deliberately heavy footfalls, it would¡¯ve been intimidating were it not for the invention of the gun. It would seem that Murgo¡¯s minions hadn¡¯t properly conveyed the dangers of moving in the open as the ¡®Unlimited¡¯ paced into view like a furious bull. Alter had to agree with the gravity of the title, the man was immense. Standing easily over ten feet tall on tree trunk sized legs, arms bulging with raw muscle held a pair of iron cleavers with blades the size of car windshields. He was topless, revealing a chest with more contours than the surrounding hills. His face was oddly child-like, scrunched together in the centre as if it hadn¡¯t got the memo for how far it was supposed to grow. That was enough forehead space for an entire advertising campaign, the man could stand in Times Square and make a few million an hour just by existing. His eyes seemed trapped in a permanent gunslinger¡¯s frown as he regarded the arrayed men before him. Behind the man Alter could see three more men of a much more manageable size, was that all the forces they had left? They had been doing better than he¡¯d initially thought.


    Murgo stopped once he had cleared the tents and raised one of the cleavers to point at the squad. His chest swelled, his shoulders rocked backward and his mouth opened in preparation for another bellow but he didn¡¯t get the chance. Whim, who had taken position in the centre of their formation and therefore had the best shot, took full advantage of Murgo¡¯s misunderstanding and planted a bullet into the man¡¯s forehead. The giant figure reeled backward but did not fall. The pointing hand dropped its cleaver and flew up to his face as a pained shout stuttered its way from his lips. Another shot, Vangroover this time, lanced out and hit Murgo in the chest, an impact that would pierce the heart of a lesser man. The bullet seemed to make little impact, while he twisted in response there was no real sign of serious damage.


    ¡°Resilient bastard.¡± Alter remarked to Oliver.


    ¡°I will deal with him. Keep him occupied until I¡¯m ready.¡± Oliver ordered as he re-drew his sword and stared at the blade intently.


    Alter shrugged, it looked like he was going to see another one of his ¡®tricks¡¯.


    ¡°Keep the beast on the backfoot but don¡¯t spend too much of your ammunition, call your shots. What happened to the last of the minions?¡± He called.


    ¡°They broke the moment this slab took the first hit. My shots.¡± Boozehound answered and fired another pair of bullets into the unlimited.


    Alter frowned, it looked like they would have to hunt the remaining bandits down in close quarters. A shimmering blue light again drew his attention as Oliver¡¯s sword blade began to burn with a flickering ethereal flame that matched the hue of his glowing eyes. Satisfied, the man began stalking forward with vision locked on his target. The squad still fired an odd round but soon enough the men were too close together. Murgo slowly recovered from the wounds that dotted his body but it was too late for him to mount an attack. Oliver¡¯s blade slid into a gap between his ribs and icy fire raced across his body in spider web patterns. Murgo¡¯s mouth opened but the only sound that emerged was a strange whistling akin to a boiling kettle. Alter noted with unease the same blue glow highlighting the back of his throat. With another smooth motion Oliver withdrew the blade and quickly stepped to the side, allowing Murgo¡¯s body to plummet forward and send dust clouds spiralling in all directions as he hit the floor.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Unlimited¡¯s have ribs that flare out like arrowheads in order to deflect blows away from their organs, you need to hit them at the right upward angle. Also their skulls are too thick to be pierced by ordinary means.¡± Oliver called out to the stunned onlookers.


    ¡°Noted. Are you alright?¡± Alter responded as he moved up to the body.


    ¡°It takes a bit of a toll in terms of fatigue but that won¡¯t hit me until later, worry not.¡±


    Even standing a metre away from Murgo¡¯s shoulder he could smell the heavy musk of alcohol in the air. The man stank of enough cheap beer to fill a swimming pool, no wonder he¡¯d stumbled into the fray late. It likely explained his inability to speak too, he¡¯d had hangovers like that.


    ¡°What a monster.¡± He commented  as the rest of the squad moved up alongside him.


    ¡°Oh I''ve seen much bigger.¡±


    ¡°Well isn¡¯t that just terrifying.¡±


    ¡°Movement.¡± Reported Pavejack and the rustle of shifting canvas called their attention over to the side.


    One of the bandits slowly emerged from a tent pushing a small teenage girl with short brown hair in front of him with a dagger at her throat and a blindfold across her eyes.


    ¡°Nobody moves! Or I¡¯ll slit her!¡± He snarled at them as he edged further out.


    ¡°Give him a path and wait for an angle.¡± Alter ordered as he made a show of lowering his rifle and moving out of the way, laying one hand on his radio.


    One by one the squad fanned out, giving the bandit a clear line towards the gate. With a savage grin he ushered the girl forward and began steering her around Murgo¡¯s body.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. Nice and easy.¡± He chuckled as he made steady progress.


    His mistake was inevitable, in a moment of frustration at Oliver being too close he moved the dagger away from Chloe¡¯s throat in order to shoo him away. Once his arm had extended far enough Alter sent a blip and Vangroover, who had positioned himself out of the bandit¡¯s line of sight, fired a single shot through his cranium. The bandit collapsed sideways and the dagger clattered across the floor.


    ¡°Dumbass.¡± Riptide smirked.


    ¡°Stay sharp. I want three-sixty degree security, there¡¯s still at least two more in here somewhere.¡± Alter snapped.


    Taunting was a prelude to gloating. Gloating was a gateway to complacency. Complacency had no home in his plans and he wasn¡¯t about to let his boys sink to that level. He spun on his heel and pointed his rifle at the nearest tent flap as Oliver gingerly stepped towards the girl.


    ¡°Chloe? It¡¯s me, Oliver.¡± He spoke softly.


    ¡°Lord Masserlind? What are you doing here?¡± Chloe responded between bouts of hyperventilation.


    ¡°You know your mistress would never forgive me if I left you out here. Did they hurt you anywhere?¡±


    ¡°No. They were a little rough but they didn¡¯t do anything.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m relieved to hear it. I¡¯m going to undo the blindfold okay? You¡¯re going to see some nastiness but you don¡¯t have to worry.¡±


    Chloe nodded mutely as Oliver began fiddling with the knot. Alter spoke up as he worked.


    ¡°How do you want to proceed? We could pull out now but there¡¯s still more bandits hiding in here. There could also be some useful supplies stashed in some of these tents.¡±


    ¡°Oh we¡¯re not letting any of them get away with this.¡± Oliver¡¯s voice was still quiet but had taken a much darker tone. ¡°For now I¡¯m going to get Chloe out of here, can I leave you to finish up?¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡±


    The pair slowly made their way back through the gate and out of view. Once that happened Alter spoke.


    ¡°Here¡¯s how this is going to work. Three, you stay here with me and examine the body, verify Oliver¡¯s physiology lesson. If we ever run into another one of these thugs then I want to know exactly where to hit them. Everyone else, pair off and start searching the tents, be bloody careful. We know there aren¡¯t any other friendlies inside so you¡¯re good to blindfire if you feel the need. Move now.¡±


    The others nodded and split into a pair and a trio as they began their hunt. Boozehound knelt down beside Murgo¡¯s corpse and began rummaging through his medical bag as Alter stood protectively over him. Surgical knife located the medic began digging into the side of the unlimited¡¯s ribcage.


    ¡°Oliver wasn¡¯t lying, the ribs are different from regular humans. They''re much wider, as close as they can be to becoming one solid plate without sacrificing the necessary movement for breathing.¡± He reported in a matter of fact tone.


    ¡°That¡¯s one fact proven. Did the first round penetrate the skull?¡±


    Boozehound shifted his focus and rocked the head over to get a better look and unleashed a vicious string of what Alter could only assume were french swear words. The language of love was not always an accurate descriptor.


    ¡°Pardon me. I just caught a glimpse of the inside of his mouth and now I want to throw up. Safe to say dentistry isn¡¯t a priority in this place. Ermm, the skull is cracked but the bullet didn¡¯t make it through. I¡¯d need to do a proper autopsy to learn more and, well, that¡¯s not happening anytime soon.¡±


    His speech was halted as a flurry of gunfire came from the far side of one of the rows of tents. A moment later Walross started shouting into the radio in a panic.


    ¡°We were ambushed! Simon is down! I repeat Simon is down! Marcus, get the hell over here now!¡±


    The two men stared at each other in dumb horror. Then they started sprinting.

 Ch.9: An Agreement

    Alter and Boozehound didn¡¯t have far to go before they rushed onto the scene. Whim was lying on the floor next to the door flap of one of the slightly larger supply tents at the far corner of the right hand row. The bodies of both unaccounted for bandits that had been seen following Murgo were splayed out nearby with blood draining from their expired bodies. Walross knelt over Whim¡¯s unconscious form and was in the process of removing the rifleman¡¯s helmet. Pavejack was standing nearby doing his best to cover all angles, his wide eyes desperately flicking between the silent tents. Alter slid to a halt a couple of metres before he would¡¯ve crashed into Walross, spinning on his heel he raised his rifle to cover the direction they had arrived from and reached for the radio.


    ¡°Two, cease your search and fall back to the gate. Hold security there until we¡¯re ready to pull out. Both known hostiles are down but I¡¯m not risking any further ambushes. No one else is getting hurt today, understood?¡± He ordered.


    ¡°Affirm.¡± Riptide responded quickly.


    ¡°Any movement, Four?¡±


    ¡°Scope is clear. Oliver and the girl are waiting just outside the fort.¡± Boats reported in a worried voice.


    ¡°Alright. What happened, Six?¡±


    ¡°We were clearing the tents on left hand side, I had just stepped into the one opposite us when these two fuckers burst out behind me. One of them managed to catch Simon in the side of the head with that club on the floor over there. He was out like a light, but his helmet seems to have taken the worst of the blow.¡± Walross explained grimly.


    ¡°Bastards actually did something smart. What about the tent they came out of?¡±


    ¡°Looks like they use it for storage. There are piles of boxes, crates and barrels inside, it would¡¯ve given them plenty of places to hide. My guess is they realised we were checking too carefully for them to get away with that plan so they went with the next best thing.¡± Pavejack answered.


    ¡°Three. Assessment?¡±


    Boozehound clucked his tongue as he examined the wound and began rummaging in his medical bag.


    ¡°Six is pretty much correct, blunt force trauma to the side of the skull. Fortunately it looks worse than it is, the skull itself was shielding by the helmet. He¡¯ll have one hell of a lump, there could also be some fractures but I don¡¯t have the ability to tell. His jaw is a mess but I don¡¯t think it''s broken. It could be dislocated though. Mmmm ¡­ hang on one moment.¡±


    There were a series of suspiciously damp sounding noises as Boozehound fiddled with Whim¡¯s loose jaw, followed by a muted pop.


    ¡°Well, that went better than I thought. My assessment is that he¡¯ll be fine other than some discomfort for the next few days. I need a couple of minutes to disinfect and dress the wound, then I can jolt him and we can get moving.¡± Boozehound continued.


    Alter breathed a heavy sigh of relief at the news that Whim¡¯s life was not in danger. Still, it did not stop him from silently reprimanding himself for his lax decision making. Too quickly he had fallen into video game routine, too quickly he had forgotten the potential consequences of his orders. He needed to do better.


    ¡°Eight and I are back at the gate, nothing moving. I¡¯m looking at three more horses tied up nearby, they look in just as bad condition as the ones from our first contact. Permission to set them loose?¡± Riptide called over the radio, bringing Alter out of his introspection.


    ¡°Granted.¡± He replied, they weren¡¯t going to take the animals with them and he was damned if they were just going to leave them here tied up and starving.


    ¡°Are we going to keep sweeping the place?¡± Pavejack asked from behind him.


    ¡°No, like I told Two I¡¯m not risking anyone else.¡± Alter paused in thought for a moment. ¡°Actually, scratch that. We need to secure our immediate area, the two of us are going to check out the supply tent they were hiding in. Six, take over security.¡±


    ¡°Got it.¡±


    The two men paced carefully into the tent and paused to listen. Other than the sound of their own breathing and Boozehound¡¯s quiet efficiency there was nothing out of the ordinary. A quick hand signal and they moved further, ensuring that every nook, cranny and opened box had a gun barrel stuffed into it at least once. Satisfied that no bandits were about to pop out and shank anyone, Alter relaxed and started rummaging through the crates in the hopes of finding something useful. The majority of the boxes contained dry foodstuffs, he wasn¡¯t entirely sure what he was looking at most of the time but he was fairly sure that various unprocessed cereal grains made up the bulk. Had they been using this stuff to feed the horses? Other boxes contained flour of various colours and consistencies, with the remainder housing concrete-hard biscuits and rapidly decaying root vegetables.


    ¡°Nothing of real use over here, how about you?¡± He asked.


    ¡°All the barrels are filled with water, which makes sense. I wouldn¡¯t trust it though.¡± Pavejack answered.


    ¡°We could always find a way to boil it but I agree. How¡¯s your canteen looking?¡±


    ¡°Full enough to last the day and maybe half of tomorrow. Oh hey! Sebastian what happened to you?¡± The other man reached into one of the barrels and pulled the limp form of a crustacean from the water.


    ¡°A crab? Weird.¡± Alter remarked.


    ¡°And more than one. All dead though. Maybe we¡¯re near the ocean?¡±


    ¡°We could well be. How else would a group of bandits wind up with them?¡±


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The conversation was halted by the sudden sound of Whim spluttering back into consciousness like a car on a chilly winter''s morning. Alter turned back and poked his head out to see Boozehound gently raising him into a sitting position.


    ¡°Easy, easy. Try not to talk right now, just give me a nod so that I know you understand what I¡¯m saying.¡± The medic spoke softly.


    Whim took a couple of seconds to let his still glazed-over eyes recover and regain focus before he nodded gingerly.


    ¡°Do you know what your name is?¡±


    Another nod.


    ¡°And mine?¡±


    Boozehound rattled off a dozen simple questions which were all met with nods as Whim continued to gain confidence.


    ¡°What happened?¡± He asked, speech slightly slurred as his hand massaged his recently pummelled jawline.


    ¡°You got your clocks cleaned. Don¡¯t worry you¡¯re going to be fine. Honestly I consider the fact that you can¡¯t speak easily to be an improvement.¡±


    ¡°Hey fuck you.¡± Whim threw a soft jab at the frenchman¡¯s ribs and tried to fight down a smile. ¡°And thanks.¡± He added sheepishly.


    ¡°Just doing my job eh? Let¡¯s get you up. Take my arm, I don¡¯t know how good your balance is going to be right now.¡±


    As one the pair slowly rose, sure enough Whim immediately clutched the other man¡¯s shoulder as he took a shaky step. He shook his head.


    ¡°Dammit, it feels like I¡¯m at sea. Was the sun always so ¡­ angry?¡± He looked up, squinting heavily.


    ¡°All common side effects.¡±


    Alter watched them make meandering but steady progress in the direction of the gate. Stepping out of the tent fully he looked around trying to observe the fort with fresh eyes. Eventually he relented and signalled Pavejack and Walross to follow him after the others. They could spend the rest of the day searching through this place in the hopes of finding a clue to what happened but what were the chances really? These people weren¡¯t exactly scholars. Nor were they particularly alive to be asked questions.


    Stepping back into the still enclosed but much wider area of the basin they reunited with Oliver and Chloe. The girl, Alter placed her at around fifteen, awkwardly thanked them for rescuing her while hiding behind the young lord¡¯s back. A brief conversation concluded that there was no further business to be conducted here and Alter radioed up to Boats and Lucille to collect the climbing gear and meet up with the main party when they could. It was slow progress across the basin but Whim was becoming more confident with every passing minute and soon enough he was walking unassisted. Alter found himself looking backwards toward the fort, his mind still lingering on the water they had left behind. He voiced his thoughts to Oliver but he reassured him that water was not as scarce as the dry land made it out to be. Alter decided not to pursue the topic further and the group fell into comfortable silence.


    Finally they made it into the shade of the rocky passage. Alter was no geologist but the swirling patterns of the rosy pink rock had a strange, hypnotic comfort to them. ¡®Strata Therapy¡¯. It had a nice ring to it. Five minutes later they re-emerged into the late afternoon sun and were immediately greeted by Lucille running towards them at full speed and flinging herself into Chloe¡¯s arms. The sobbing pair fell to their knees in relieved embrace as the rest looked on with surprised smiles. Boats jogged up a moment later with the horse in tow.


    ¡°What happened to you?¡± He asked the lop-faced Whim.


    ¡°I joined a club. Literally.¡±


    ¡°You look ¡­ suitably asymmetrical.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    Conversations took off in a number of different directions as the tension of the last few hours began to melt away. Soon enough Alter was called over by Oliver for a separate discussion.


    ¡°I cannot thank you enough for the actions of both you and your unit today.¡± He began.


    ¡°Think nothing of it, we were just doing what was right.¡± Alter responded on reflex.


    ¡°Oh but I do. Now, in regards to what happens next, I was hoping we could talk business.¡±


    Alter¡¯s breath caught in his throat, this was the moment where their efforts could pay off, or the moment they were left in the proverbial cold. He nodded at Oliver to continue.


    ¡°I would like to hire your unit on a more official and permanent basis. I will afford you food and lodging, in return you will use your skills and might to further my cause.¡± Oliver looked at him expectantly.


    ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±


    ¡°As you may have figured out from what Chloe said earlier, my proper name is Oliver Masserlind. I am the second son of Duke Bertrand Masserlind, Lord of Grenveine and Cereloss. You have encountered me in the middle of a struggle. You see, my father is ill, and will not last much longer. My older brother has fled our territories and left word that I should inherit the title.¡± Oliver paused for breath.


    This was heavier stuff than Alter had originally bargained for. He had every intention of taking up the offer, he just hoped he wasn¡¯t getting everyone in over their heads.


    ¡°However there is a problem. My uncle. He has declared that I am too young and inexperienced to govern such a large territory and has put forward the motion that he should act as the temporary head until I am considered able. This is, of course, a ploy. He will never surrender my father¡¯s seat should he come to sit upon it.¡±


    Alter could start to see where this was going but he held his tongue.


    ¡°I have resisted his efforts so far but he wields great influence amongst the nobles of the realm. Piece by piece I am being picked apart, soon I will not be able to stand against him. Were it not for Lucille¡¯s family this whole business would already be over, but even their patience has limits. I need more allies, I need you.¡± Oliver finished, his eyes searched Alter¡¯s face hopefully.


    ¡°I understand. Very well, your cause is ours.¡± Alter held out his hand for him to shake.


    Oliver took it gleefully and the bargain was struck. Eager to give the good news, Oliver made his way back to the group to inform Lucille of their new agreement. Alter stood watching the rest for a while, mulling over what he¡¯d just done.


    Suddenly he froze as strangely familiar text began to appear in the centre of his vision. Bold white characters with black outlines in a stark font, it scrawled across his eyes no matter which way he looked. Lines appeared letter by letter like a typewriter.


    MISSION STATUS // 8Hkio4374¡±@dfEE0 / UNDEFINED / ONGOING


    CURRENT LOCATION // 4453 1638 / Adderbite Badlands / Eastern Rillestia


    SQUAD STATUS //


    SL / 1.Alterfate / OK


    SL2 / 2.Riptide / OK


    Mdc / 3.Boozehound / OK


    Mks / 4.YaLikeBoats? / OK


    MG / 5.Pavejack / OK


    MGA / 6.WalrossDE / OK


    Rfl (AT) / 7.Whimsical Bastard / Wounded (Light)


    Rfl (AT) / 8.Vangroover / OK


    NEW OBJECTIVE ADDED //


    -Secure the Masserlind Succession


    RESUPPLY // APPROVED / LIMITED / 00:00


    Alter gazed mutely at the words he saw before him.


    ¡°Huh.¡± Was the best he could manage.

 Ch.10: White Text on the World

    MISSION STATUS // 8Hkio4374¡±@dfEE0 / UNDEFINED / ONGOING


    CURRENT LOCATION // 4453 1638 / Adderbite Badlands / Eastern Rillestia


    SQUAD STATUS //


    SL / 1.Alterfate / OK


    SL2 / 2.Riptide / OK


    Mdc / 3.Boozehound / OK


    Mks / 4.YaLikeBoats? / OK


    MG / 5.Pavejack / OK


    MGA / 6.WalrossDE / OK


    Rfl (AT) / 7.Whimsical Bastard / Wounded (Light)


    Rfl (AT) / 8.Vangroover / OK


    NEW OBJECTIVE ADDED //


    -Secure the Masserlind Succession


    RESUPPLY // APPROVED / LIMITED / 00:00


    Alter wasn¡¯t sure whether this simplified things or made this situation a whole lot more complicated. What he was sure of, however, was that the nice flat rock next to him looked like a lovely place to sit and process for a moment. To his surprise and relief the general mood and conversation within the rest of the group had not faltered. Oliver, Lucille and Chloe were smiling and laughing along with Whim and Pavejack. They seemed unaware of what had just happened. He wasn''t alone though, Riptide and Boozehound were awkwardly sidling over. Alter could just make out the softly glowing white glint in their eyes that told him they were looking at the same text. They joined him at his rock and for a moment all were silent.


    ¡°So. This is something, eh?¡± Riptide spoke quietly as he eyed the others.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got that right.¡± Alter answered slowly.


    ¡°Strange that we seem to be the only ones that can see this.¡± Boozehound added.


    ¡°Well, we¡¯re the command team aren¡¯t we? It¡¯s a surprise that not everyone has got some sort of message but honestly I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a bad thing right now.¡±


    ¡°You think we should keep this secret?¡±


    ¡°No, no. I simply figured that there would be a lot more shouting if everyone could see this. I don¡¯t want to scare our new patrons, you know?¡±


    ¡°You sealed the deal?¡± Riptide¡¯s eyebrows raised.


    ¡°Just now. I¡¯m assuming it''s what triggered the objective update.¡±


    ¡°Are they about what we expected?¡±


    ¡°Oh Oliver¡¯s the real deal. The only problem is that from what I understand he¡¯s on much shakier ground than we would like.¡± Alter explained.


    Boozehound stepped over and sat down on the rock next to him and let out a slow breath. Alter would¡¯ve continued but he could see the man was gathering his thoughts in order to pose a question.


    ¡°So. Does this mean that we¡¯re here specifically to help Oliver? As in, were we transported here for this expressed purpose?¡± The Frenchman asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. If we were then you¡¯d think that we would¡¯ve been given an objective the moment we set eyes on him. My suspicion is that this is more dynamic. There¡¯s a system at play here and it mimics the game in order to keep us comfortable and moving. There was no set objective when we touched down but now that we¡¯ve picked a path the system is encouraging us to follow it.¡± Alter allowed his stream of consciousness to run rampant for a while.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been thinking huh? Sure I agree we¡¯re not on rails here but come on, this has to be the game.¡± Riptide smiled.


    ¡°Does this feel like a game to you? The sun on your face, the burn in your legs. The blood on your hands. You reckon Simon over there thinks this is a game?¡± Alter look up at him steadily.


    ¡°You know I don¡¯t mean it like that.¡± Riptide broke their shared gaze.


    ¡°Come on you two.¡± Boozehound chided.


    ¡°Sorry. Let¡¯s go over what we¡¯re looking at here. I think we can discount the first line, it doesn¡¯t tell us anything solid, fun as it is to discuss hidden meanings. The odd character string interests me I suppose, it looks like a world seed from an RPG.¡± Alter frowned as he focused on the floating words.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°That was my first thought too, although Warforce uses letter-only seeds for initial AI spawn locations, everything after that is reactive.¡± Riptide followed up.


    ¡°Line two then. I¡¯d say our location qualifies as being badlands so I¡¯m happy to call this accurate for now. Eastern Rillestia must be the country we¡¯re in but we can¡¯t do much with that intel. That number must be some sort of grid reference, if it''s calculated to eight digits then someone or something has this land measured to the tee. Not to doubt the locals but I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll have that level of cartography yet and I¡¯m not aware of the Ordnance Survey covering the multiverse in any real detail. Anything I¡¯m missing?¡±


    ¡°Nothing to add.¡±


    ¡°The squad is the squad, we know Whim¡¯s been battered but I guess this confirms he¡¯s not hiding anything more serious. Skipping the objective description for now, what do you think about this resupply?¡± He asked.


    Riptide fiddled with one of his chest pouches and withdrew an ammo magazine. With curiosity he studied the object for a moment before shrugging and placing it back inside.


    ¡°My first thought was that the zeros signified a timer which had immediately expired but my empty magazine is in fact still empty so I don¡¯t think that¡¯s right. My other guess is that the zeroes mean midnight. Resource-wise the only things we¡¯ve expended so far are bullets and water so ¡®Limited¡¯ might just be determined by how little we¡¯ve used.¡±


    ¡°I mean hey, bullets, food and water are all we really need. I¡¯m not going to rely on the idea but if midnight rolls around and we do indeed have our ammo mysteriously replenished then that¡¯s huge. We¡¯d no longer be on as much of a ¡®usefulness timer¡¯.¡± Alter replied.


    ¡°I¡¯m just hoping my medicine gets included. I¡¯d hate to have to treat a patient with a jar of leeches and rosemary. We wait for tonight then, how many of us will be able to sleep, do you think?¡± Boozehound asked.


    ¡°I know I won¡¯t be able to.¡±


    ¡°Me neither.¡±


    The conversation lapsed into contemplative silence as the three men sat next to each other on the sun-warmed stone. As time passed the text began to fade, soon enough their vision was clear and unimpeded once again. Alter couldn¡¯t help but look around but no words reappeared as his eyes scoured every angle his sockets could provide. He noted that the main group¡¯s conversation had also petered out so he stood and rejoined them, making the suggestion that they should start making some headway. Having secured their equal parts enthusiastic and reluctant agreement, Alter looked out across the dry flats and spotted the wisp of smoke signifying the burning carriage. It made for as good a landmark as any, with a quick hand signal and an encouraging word he set off.


    The carriage had been reduced to a smouldering heap by the time they made it back. At Whim¡¯s desperate insistence they kept a wide berth in an attempt to avoid the smell, though Alter couldn¡¯t help but steal glances toward the wreckage. That morbidly curious, dread motivated part of a person¡¯s brain kept trying to spot the outline of human features within the wreckage. He shook his head and focused on the road as they turned onto its worn surface. Time passed comfortably but for some mild foot ache. Once again they took a wide route around the bodies still strewn across the road from their initial ambush. Large birds had begun to flock to the carcasses, vulture-like in appearance but with strange serrated beaks and deep, almost bubbling voices. They cawed and gargled at each other as they squabbled over prime positions to attack the horses, their unknown debates slowed as the party walked by but they didn¡¯t seem aggressive towards them. Alter supposed it was a good thing that nature¡¯s cleaners had arrived to deal with the corpses. Then he shuddered and tried not to think about the sensation of being cut open.


    ¡°Will we make it out of the Badlands today?¡± He asked Oliver as a means to distract his roving thoughts.


    ¡°No, we¡¯ve lost too much time. It¡¯s not too much of a problem though, these hills have a number of hidden springs that still well up from rivers deep underground. We¡¯re looking for a species of tree that grows slightly larger than the ones we¡¯ve been passing. There¡¯s also a hardy type of moss that can grow on the rocks around the spring; it adds a dusty green colour to the hills harbouring such a water source.¡± Oliver explained from atop the horse.


    ¡°Will there be a food supply?¡± Alter followed up.


    ¡°That¡¯s a very good question. I suppose we could¡¯ve stopped to collect some horse meat or shoot some of those flaybeaks but I wouldn¡¯t want to risk eating the things. I¡¯m told the moss can be boiled down to make a sort of soup. It sounded lovely from the description.¡± Oliver¡¯s voice dripped with sarcasm and Alter offered a small prayer to whoever might be watching that his pack contained some sort of food ration.


    The sun had begun its awkward flirting with the horizon before a small stand of the trees Oliver had described was spotted. Shadows long and cool clawed at their ankles as they once again took to the slopes of one of the many ridgelines they¡¯d spent the day weaving through. Small patches of olive-green lichens marked their path until they found a shallow pool a handful of square metres wide. Alter was not an experienced camper, the one episode of a Bear Grylls show he¡¯d watched was set in the jungle and didn¡¯t particularly apply to their situation. Oddly and fortunately it was Lucille who immediately began issuing orders with easy confidence and military precision. A three man party was dispatched to gather wood from the trees that had signposted the campsite, Alter quickly found himself tasked with gathering clumps of the lichen for a small pot that had been produced from one of the horses saddlebags. He¡¯d learned that the horse was named ¡®Pinecone¡¯. He¡¯d also learned that Pinecone did not like him, and that his boot did little to protect his toes from a horse¡¯s full weight.


    The shades of night drew in but were chased away by the warm and vibrant tones of a fire. It seemed that Alter¡¯s prayers had been answered as basic but filling MREs had been discovered at the bottom of each of their packs, along with a compact bedroll and travel pillow. The lichen soup was ¡­ well ¡­ nourishing? Unique certainly, not unpleasant but he¡¯d hesitate to order it at a restaurant no matter how fancy the bread roll side looked. They had made small talk around the fire as they¡¯d eaten but nothing of any importance had been discussed. Alter had toyed with the idea of bringing up the objective update but he¡¯d remained silent on the matter. Just because the vision had appeared didn¡¯t necessarily mean anything, not without concrete proof. Riptide had set his spent magazine down on a stone near the fire, it remained stoically empty for now but there were a couple of hours before midnight arrived. His friends were only just accepting and adjusting to this new place, he hated the idea of feeding them false hope. Oliver had cautioned them on the possibility of more bandits in the area that would check these pools for weary travellers and that a watch would be needed. Alter had immediately secured the first watch. Sleep would not come easily tonight.


    Heck, it might not come at all.

 Ch.11: Campfires and Existential Dread

    The glimmer of firelight danced across the surface of the pool as Alter crouched and peered intently at his reflection. The face staring back at him was his own, there was no doubt. But something was off, little differences a stranger or loose acquaintance could never hope to notice. With a curious finger he poked and prodded at the contours of his features. The little patch of skin on the underside of his jaw which, for some reason, his beard had always refused to tread was now equally coated in the small back and amber hairs. His right eyelid had always been slightly less open, now it perfectly matched his left. Any skin blemishes had disappeared, even the dark patches under his eyes were gone. It was him, but altered. Idealised. Combine that with the fact that his physique had been improved a dozen times over and Alter couldn¡¯t help but wonder how much of the true ¡®him¡¯ remained. He felt like an artist¡¯s rendition of himself, and this artist was not above using a little Photoshop.


    He tore his eyes away from the reflection. Narcissus would not claim him tonight, novel as the idea might be. Most of the group had bedded down for the night around the fire, though there were still some quiet conversations being held and a couple of people were still up and moving. The slight form of Chloe could be seen rummaging through one of Pinecone¡¯s saddlebags for some unknown purpose. Riptide had been making his rounds for the last thirty minutes, holding quiet discussions with each of the squad members as he got a feeling for how everyone was doing. Alter was sure he¡¯d hear all about that soon enough, along with having to field his own suite of questions.


    Treading carefully to avoid disturbing anyone, Alter moved away from the rough camp and found himself a suitable rock to act as a chair for a while. This time his eyes strayed upward and he quickly found himself drowning in the vast canvas of the night sky. He had spent almost his entire life in suburban europe, the constant light pollution had always hidden the majority of the sky¡¯s beauty. Here though, in this strange new world there was no such blockage. It was like stepping into a sci-fi movie backdrop. Stars immeasurable twinkled and glinted through a veil of pale white galactic tendrils. The sight left him both speechless and feeling incredibly small, you could spend an entire year staring and still spot new points of light hidden within the cosmos. A curious thought surfaced and he oriented himself to look northward, searching the sky again. If this was the same world he¡¯d woken up on this morning then certain features would still exist. The north star should be fairly easy to spot and sure enough a noticeably brighter light was present. Then again, he couldn¡¯t call himself confident on this topic. His knowledge of the stars and constellations was limited to playing the Muppet Treasure Island point and click adventure game back when he was six. That knowledge was long lost, the only one he could remember was Orion¡¯s belt and that was only because it was three stars in a row. The sky was bloody packed with three stars in a row.


    ¡°Having fun?¡± Riptide asked as he wandered into sight.


    ¡°Just a little stargazing. It¡¯s ¡­ pretty amazing. Existentially terrifying when you think about it, but in a beautiful way.¡± Alter sighed.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take your word for it. Looking at it just makes my head hurt.¡±


    ¡°Well then don¡¯t hurt yourself on my account. I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re here to grill me on my mental health?¡±


    ¡°In a moment. We should probably go through everyone else first.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough. By the numbers then, let¡¯s hear it.¡±


    ¡°As a whole I don¡¯t think the group is doing too badly. The fact that we bumped into Oliver and Lucille, plus the way that they¡¯ve been able to give us some direction has been a great help. Imagine how they¡¯d be feeling if we¡¯d just spent the whole day wandering around seeing no one.¡±


    ¡°I dread to think, there would¡¯ve been fist fights by dinnertime. Let¡¯s not waste energy on that though, how¡¯s Booze doing?¡±


    ¡°Pretty well, I¡¯d certainly say he¡¯s one of the most stable right now. I mean, he¡¯s sort of living a dream in a way. Yes he¡¯s away from his family but he gets to be a proper medic and he¡¯s relishing the challenge. He¡¯d mentioned in passing that he applied to medical school a few years back but hadn¡¯t managed to pass the entrance examinations, the info in his head¡¯s still good though. I don¡¯t want to imply that it was a good thing that Lucille was injured, but having a patient to look after, successfully I might add, has really boosted his confidence.¡±


    Alter nodded at the assessment. Marcus was certainly one of their calmer heads, marry that to a strong sense of responsibility and you¡¯ve got one valuable team member.


    ¡°Boats is doing alright, I think. He¡¯s keeping his cards close to his chest but that¡¯s nothing new. He sees this as his job, and he¡¯ll do his job. So long as we can keep making progress and avoid any stupid mistakes we won¡¯t hear any dissent from him.¡±


    Alter¡¯s real world knowledge of the Scotsman was limited at best in that he knew four things. He lives in Dundee, he likes boats, his real name is Kevin and he hates using it. Alter had known him for five years and he¡¯d never been comfortable with other people saying his name or asking him about his life. He hoped that maybe now they had all met each other Boats would become comfortable enough around them to open up a little more. However, that would take time and Alter wasn¡¯t going to try and force him into anything he didn¡¯t want to do.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Pavejack is a bit skittish but he¡¯s putting on a brave face. We both know the brash visage he puts up cracks easily and some events from today have left him jittery but I don¡¯t think we need to be immediately concerned. That said, tonight¡¯s going to be hard on him. I don¡¯t think the fact that he¡¯s not going to wake up in his own bedroom has properly settled in yet.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep an eye on him. I think Chloe seems to be helping inadvertently though, doesn¡¯t he have a sister her age?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, Lauren¡¯s her name I think. He¡¯s been in big brother protection mode ever since we busted her out. I suppose I¡¯m more worried about him because of the age difference, he¡¯s just a college kid you know? He hasn¡¯t seen much of the wider world.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll pull through, Peter¡¯s already taken him under his wing.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of Peter, he says that he¡¯s fine. He isn¡¯t. The man is on so much edge that I could use his breath as a razor.¡± Riptide shifted uncomfortably, eyes straying back to the fire as if to check he wasn¡¯t being overheard.


    ¡°Well he did witness one of his close friends get a surprise introduction to the wooden postal service.¡± Alter remarked dryly. ¡°He was worried that we¡¯re going to end up on a powertrip and forget about making it home. Given how much combat we¡¯ve seen on day one, I¡¯m not surprised he¡¯s pent up.¡±


    ¡°What do we do then?¡±


    ¡°Other than not getting carried away? We keep a clear sense of direction, work on our objectives whenever they appear and do our best to get everyone home. He¡¯ll see that we¡¯re on the right track.¡±


    ¡°You still haven¡¯t told everyone about the objective update you know.¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow. I¡¯ll tell them tomorrow, it¡¯ll give them some good news to wake up with.¡±


    ¡°Right. Moving on, Whim is doing alright despite his injury. I mean that¡¯s not a surprise, I could nuke the man¡¯s toaster and he¡¯d still have a stupid grin on his face. It¡¯s all one big adventure for him, I¡¯ll wager he¡¯ll be bragging about the lump in the morning.¡±


    Alter smiled, if he had to pick one person who could keep a sunny disposition through a life changing event it would be Whim.


    ¡°Finally there¡¯s Vangroover. Harry. I feel sorry for the guy really, we¡¯ve known him for what, two weeks? He¡¯s keeping it together well but the guy¡¯s practically among strangers. I don¡¯t know enough about him to make more of a judgement than that.¡±


    ¡°He seems to have a good head on his shoulders. Hopefully he¡¯ll feel confident enough to speak a little more soon.¡±


    ¡°And that just leaves you.¡± Riptide moved across and sat next to him. ¡°How¡¯re you doing man? This has been a lot for you to take on.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate the concern. Honestly, I¡¯m holding together pretty well.¡± Alter smiled.


    ¡°For how long though? I know you Luke, you get anxious when you don¡¯t have the answers. We¡¯ve both seen how quickly you can start spiralling if you¡¯re left alone with those kinds of thoughts.¡± Riptide¡¯s voice was gentle but concerned.


    Alter conceded that his friend¡¯s words held an unfortunate truth. There had been times over the last decade where he had struggled with his mental health, particularly during periods of uncertainty.


    ¡°It¡¯s weird. I think the fact that I¡¯ve got so few answers is actually keeping me grounded. There¡¯s too much to think about for me to actually stop and think, does that make sense?¡±


    ¡°Sure, so long as this isn¡¯t some weird deflection.¡± Riptide shrugged.


    ¡°Mate. I¡¯m alright.¡± Alter insisted.


    ¡°Then I¡¯m not going to chase it further. Just don¡¯t be afraid to talk, alright? I know your love of self-burdening.¡±


    ¡°And what about you?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Riptide paused to consider for a moment. ¡°I¡¯m doing great, amazing even! This is the best I¡¯ve felt for years.¡± He grinned.


    Alter wasn¡¯t surprised by this response. Riptide had been suffering in the real world, there was no getting around that. He¡¯d been hospitalised for over a month during the peak of the covid pandemic and never truly recovered. Long Covid was the diagnosis, and it had sawn his friend¡¯s life in half. He didn¡¯t have the energy anymore, hell there were some days where he couldn¡¯t make it out the door. Fortunately he could work from home but as the months went by everyone could see the strain it was putting on him. His parents had helped for a while but after a couple of weeks that goodwill had dwindled to almost nothing. He was alone.


    ¡°Look at me, I¡¯m back to my old self. I can run again, I can climb again. It¡¯s like a whole new life and I get to spend it doing cool military shit with my best friends. This ¡­ this is as close to heaven as I¡¯m ever going to get.¡± He admitted with exhilaration.


    ¡°Hugo.¡± Alter murmured, taken aback by the sudden confession.


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that name. Please. I don¡¯t want to be him anymore. I don¡¯t want to go back to that shitty flat and shitty family. I don¡¯t want to feel weak again.¡± Riptide¡¯s voice quietened at the mention of his old life, his eyes looking at Alter pleadingly.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I was just a little surprised.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s ok.¡±


    The two men sat in silence for a while. Alter was mature enough to know that his friend wasn¡¯t angry at him, but the quiet was a little unnerving.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m going to get some sleep. Enjoy your watch, oh fearless leader.¡± Riptide gave him a dramatic bow and began walking towards the fire.


    ¡°Fine, leave me to my fate, why don¡¯t you.¡± Alter chuckled and settled in for his vigil.


    At least the stars would keep him company.

 Ch.12: A Souls Final Moments

    Two lonely hours had passed by his count when the noises started to unnerve him. The wind was behaving inappropriately for what was supposed to be a calm desert night. It had started at the trembling periphery of his senses, breezes whistling through the stoney landscape turned to soft and urgent whispers in some forgotten song. Fleeting, unrecognisable syllables prickled Alter¡¯s ears, promising dark vows and ancient regrets if only he would understand them. Despite this temptation he remained unswayed by the invisible intrigues of the forsaken. His Lovecraftian Horseshit detector was going off and, in this unknown world of magic and mystery, he wasn¡¯t about to start dancing in the pale moonlight with any ghosts of yore. Not even the ones with fancy hats.


    The scene shifted, the soundscape pivoted away from voices to the gentle lapping of waves along the shore. The soft creak of shifting wood was punctuated by the cries of wheeling gulls, somewhere in distant aethers a bell started its steady chime. He could taste salt upon his lips, but that had to be his imagination. Then the whispers returned in a sudden surge, collapsing and condensing into one coherent presence. A muttering, rasping voice complained and bemoaned an unfair life. It spoke with a certain sinister slyness, schemes both slothful and slippery. Alter felt a wave of bristling reproach and malicious negligence wash over him, the lost feelings of a man who hated the world, and was convinced the world hated him in return. Then their tone shifted in both emotion and intensity. It began pleading, begging for forgiveness from some absolute and uncaring authority. Desperation began to peak as the campfire began to waver and sputter as if caught in a non-existent gale. Then silence. Peace. Broken only by the crackle of the flames as the fire settled back into its gentle rhythm.


    With a pained gasp, Oliver lunged upright on his bedroll. His breathing was ragged, his skin deathly pale and his eyes were wide and disoriented. Alter grunted to himself in realisation, the man had mentioned that a portion of the soul belonging to the bandit he¡¯d interrogated would be ¡®expelled¡¯ during the night. He had neglected to inform him that this process would breach into the waking world. Well, he was asleep at the time so he could hardly blame him for that. Alter was simply glad that this moment of insanity at least had a reasonable explanation. He couldn¡¯t help but chuckle at that thought. How did a man¡¯s soul being sucked from his body for interrogation purposes and later being expelled as part of a dream causing tangible supernatural events earn the label of ¡®reasonable explanation¡¯? It was fascinating how quickly the human brain could move the goalposts for what it considered acceptable perceived reality.


    Gingerly, Oliver levered himself up and onto his feet and began taking careful steps towards Alter¡¯s rocky seat.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I will ever be able to get used to the dreams.¡± He admitted as he sat down heavily next to him.


    ¡°It was certainly an eerie sight, even from over here.¡± Alter agreed as he offered the man his water flask.


    Oliver took the offer gratefully and took three deep swallows before returning it with a noticeably shaky wrist.


    ¡°You saw some of the effects?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Mostly just sounds. A lot of whispering, some ambient ocean noise, I can¡¯t imagine what it was like for you.¡±


    ¡°Intense. He was a ¡­ difficult man. His life was full of spite and poor decisions.¡± Oliver sighed, shivering as his recovery continued.


    ¡°You saw more than you bargained for then?¡± Alter asked, sensing that he needed to keep him talking in order to help him regain his composure.


    ¡°He was a fool, a blind fool. He was pressed into service on a privateer vessel out of the Brokenfang Coast having gone broke in the casinos of Holferay. He spent three years under the whip, but all it did was make him determined to work less. Then he gets into an argument with a superior about the supposed affection of a ¡­ ¡®Lady of the Docks¡¯. He¡¯s promptly thrown overboard and by sheer chance washes up alive on the coast east of here. Shortly afterward he falls in line with the gang that attacked us and you know the rest.¡± Oliver explained, his eyes half closed as the memories of the fool continued to linger.


    ¡°A hard life.¡± Alter nodded. He didn¡¯t want to call what he was feeling a pang of sympathy, rather a sober acknowledgement of the universe¡¯s lack of care.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°It didn¡¯t have to be. All this could¡¯ve been avoided if he¡¯d kept his damned mouth shut when that bastard Lorfield walked through the door. He brought all of this on himself.¡± Oliver spat.


    ¡°Easy, you¡¯re living his life a little too much there.¡± Alter warned.


    ¡°Ah, you''re right. Sorry. It¡¯s hard to differentiate between my memories and his right now.¡±


    ¡°Think nothing of it. As a means of steering this conversation away from that particular nastiness, I was just admiring the stars tonight. It¡¯s truly amazing how much the cosmos has to offer if you only take the time to look.¡± Alter turned his eyes upward.


    ¡°Kalaton¡¯s Tears shine this night.¡± Oliver intoned quietly.


    ¡°Kalaton¡¯s Tears?¡± Alter asked, his interest piqued by the possibility of gaining fresh information.


    ¡°You don¡¯t follow The Four Entwined in your nation?¡± Oliver asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.


    ¡°It¡¯s something I¡¯ve never really had time to study.¡± Alter responded quickly in an attempt to avoid the question.


    ¡°The Four Entwined are the creators. Gods, I suppose you could say. Sirrithae, she who moves throughout. Kalaton, he who gazes beyond. Nerrothyll, she who rests within. Mullisvar, they who wait below. Together they created this world and even to this day they strive to maintain the delicate balance within it. By their grace we walk through their creation, you can figure out the rest I¡¯m sure.¡± Oliver¡¯s voice was conversational and sounded much more at ease.


    Alter pondered for a moment. From Oliver¡¯s reaction, the knowledge and, by extension, worship of these creator figures was to be expected. A single unified religion was a good sign in his opinion, it solidified the possibility that these powers may well exist in this world. Their existence would certainly help explain Oliver¡¯s powers. Plus, the question of how he and the others had been transported here could easily be explained by divine intervention. This demanded further investigation.


    ¡°Why are the stars called Kalaton¡¯s Tears? If you don¡¯t mind me asking.¡± He spoke tentatively, aware that the question might raise further suspicion.


    ¡°As I mentioned, Kalaton is known as ¡®He Who Watches Beyond¡¯. He is the creator of the sky and father to all life, but despite that he is forever cursed to never set foot upon his shared construction. It is said that Kalaton wept in both awe at the beauty of the untouched world and in grief at his separation from it. In that moment, his left eye became the sun, and every tear that fell and touched the soil spawned the plants and animals. Us. Whereas his right eye became the moon, and its tears landed in the sky to become the stars. One star for every species of life in the world. To this day, Kalaton watches over us, his loving gaze enveloping us both day and night.¡± Oliver spoke without judgement of the question, eyes oriented upward as if to punctuate his words.


    ¡°Seems like a nice bloke.¡± Alter murmured.


    ¡°I¡¯ve always found him a little unnerving.¡± Oliver admitted. ¡°The thought of being watched all the time, even if it''s by a divine being who can never reach you, has never sat well with me. I once spent a whole week hiding in my room as a child because I thought he was going to come down and eat me.¡± He laughed.


    ¡°And your ¡®Soulkindler¡¯ powers, are they associated with The Four?¡±


    ¡°Yes, though not with Kalaton. I am said to be blessed by Nerrothyll, she who rests within. The Soulgranter, without her we would be like mere beasts. Thoughts, emotions, destinies and powers like mine are all her domain. She is nurturing but wild and independant, some might even call her irresponsible as she plants the seeds of evil just as readily as good.¡± Oliver held a closed hand to his breast and closed his eyes, lips offering a silent prayer.


    Through the corner of his eye, Alter could see faint blue light glowing through the gaps between Oliver¡¯s fingers. The powers of Nerrothyll were powerful indeed but he got the sense that she wasn¡¯t the one to have brought them here. Kalaton was a more likely bet all things considered. The fact that, allegedly, he couldn¡¯t impact the world directly lends a little weight to the idea of sending them for a purpose. But their arrival felt too mundane, too random for some kind of divine intervention.


    It was still too soon to start drawing conclusions on this topic and Alter was rapidly feeling the tiredness of the day seeping into his body. Oliver was more than happy to take the next watch alone but Alter disagreed, he would be much happier if someone with the combat alert ping was awake and ready. With a gentle shake of his shoulder he woke Boats from his slumber before seeking out his own bedroll. Shutting his eyes, Alter sought the comfortable emptiness of sleep. He wasn¡¯t sure when it came from him but the next aware moment featured the orange glint of dawn sunshine and the sight of Riptide¡¯s manic smile as he waved a full magazine in his face.


    ¡°Jackpot.¡± He reported happily.


    Jackpot indeed.

 Ch.13: The Road Less Stalked

    The jackpot call had turned out to be a little early but all things considered it was still worthy of the title. Their spent ammunition had been returned to them across the board, even their food and water supplies were replenished. The only stock still missing was in Boozehound¡¯s medical bag, the spent jolts and empty correctant bottle remained defiant in their spentness. If Alter had to guess then he would include the AT launchers and grenades in that non-replenishing category but he would be a fool to test that theory. Food, water and bullets. Everything a good little soldier needs.The universe was not being subtle today.


    His briefing of those who didn¡¯t see yesterday¡¯s message could be put off no longer, not with everyone asking why their ammo pouches were suspiciously full. He¡¯d led them all away from the camp for a short distance and had spent the last few minutes explaining the whats and whys.


    ¡°I understand your logic for not telling us right away but come on man, we have the right to these things.¡± Boats spoke in a firm but even tone.


    ¡°I know. Like I said, I just ¡­ I didn¡¯t want to give anyone false hope I ¡­ shit I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m sorry, I thought it was for the best at the time.¡± Alter threw his arms out in surrender, dropping the wise leader act.


    The murmurs and quiet assurances told Alter that he had been forgiven, for now at least.


    ¡°Hey. What do you suppose time is doing? Y¡¯know back home.¡± Pavejack asked with uncertainty.


    The group shifted uncomfortably at the thought before Alter spoke.


    ¡°Well, I suppose the best case scenario is that everythings on pause. Frozen until one day we find our way back and the world starts moving again. Worst case scenario I¡¯d say is that time is acting normally. We¡¯ve disappeared into thin air, it''s a brand new day and the missing person calls are going out. Third option is we¡¯re all in comas, that¡¯ll give the doctors something to scratch their heads over. Maybe we''ll become an obscure reference case for a medical drama one day. Final option, hmmm. Would you say the worst case would be us disappearing and everyone realising we were gone, or everyone forgetting we ever existed in the first place?¡±


    ¡°Oh god don¡¯t say that!¡± Pavejack moaned as he buried his head in his hands.


    ¡°Maybe the first one still? I mean, at least our loved ones wouldn¡¯t be hurt if we can¡¯t make it back.¡± Whim mused.


    ¡°Enough. Stop scaring people with this useless speculation.¡± Walross spat as he wrapped a protective arm around the distraught American¡¯s shoulders.


    Alter felt a prickle of reproach at the venom in his voice but quickly smothered the urge to snap back. It had been ill-considered of him to answer with dark humour to Pavejack¡¯s obvious anxiety.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s another of the many reasons why we need to find a way back as soon as possible.¡± He offered.


    ¡°And we¡¯re all in agreement that completing this objective is the best way of doing that?¡± Whim asked, his eyes moving from person to person.


    A chorus of agreements and nodding heads met the question. Alter let out a quiet sigh of relief, despite a few wobbles his friends still had their heads screwed on. The conversation meandered along the lines of how many objectives there may be, and how difficult they may become.


    ¡°Well the message said our mission is just to secure the succession, right? It doesn¡¯t make any mention of who in the family the system favours here. To play devil¡¯s advocate, we could end this dispute right here, right now.¡± Boats tapped the side of his rifle poignantly.


    ¡°True.¡± Alter responded uneasily, the thought of undertaking such an action caused his stomach to twist.


    ¡°You¡¯re not seriously suggesting that?¡± Whim sounded disgusted.


    ¡°Absolute emergency plan only.¡± Boats replied defensively.


    ¡°Alright enough. Let''s not get into a shouting match about assassinating someone who''s potentially within earshot. I appreciate the pragmatism Boats but I¡¯m not going to compromise morals here. We know whose side we¡¯re on. Now, I spoke to Oliver earlier and he reckons we¡¯ll be out of the badlands by mid afternoon today, apparently there¡¯s a border town nearby so hopefully we can sleep in proper beds tonight. The territory we¡¯ll be in is owned by Lady Lucille¡¯s family so there shouldn¡¯t be any issues finding a place to stay. From there we should be able to hire carriages to take us to whatever comes next. Any questions?¡±


    ¡°Just point me in the direction of civilization, I never want to see rough gravel ever again.¡± Whim laughed.


    ¡°What are we supposed to call Oliver now we know he¡¯s nobility, and that he¡¯s our boss for now?¡± Walross asked.


    ¡°Duke or Sir Masserlind when we¡¯re in public but I doubt he¡¯ll stand on ceremony out here.¡± Alter replied.


    ¡°Officially we¡¯re mercenaries now, how are we supposed to act once we reach this town?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll tell us once we¡¯re closer. I guess just be professional and somewhat brash?¡±


    Alter spent a couple of minutes answering more mundane questions before the group headed back to pack up camp. Lady Lucille and Chloe were given the horse to ride and the squad organised itself into a patrol column. Once again they began trudging along the dusty, disused highway as it wove between the rocky hills. As they travelled, Alter began noticing signs of change in the local flora. The hardy grasses and withered shrubs were becoming more plentiful and slightly more vibrant. Green was less of a suggestion and was quickly becoming dresscode. Leaves that you could confidently call leaves began to appear. He even saw a rabbit. They were once again walking in the shadow of the latest hill when a sudden call brought him out of his biological ponderings.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    ¡°Pulse!¡± Vangroover reported from the head of the column, indicating that he¡¯d just received the enemy proximity warning and causing everyone to stop in their tracks.


    ¡°Pulse.¡± Echoed Pavejack a second later, he was a couple of metres behind him, the hostile was drawing closer.


    ¡°Spread out! We need to triangulate this!¡± Alter barked as Boozehound, the third man in the line, reported that he too had crossed the invisible boundary.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± Lucille asked as the remaining squad members hurried off the road at various angles.


    ¡°Likely trouble ahead ma¡¯am, we¡¯ll deal with it. Pulse.¡± Alter replied as the corners of his vision flashed bright red.


    He turned to look at the people behind him who had arranged themselves into a loose semicircle. One by one and right to left they held up their arms to indicate their own pulses. The timing gaps between members were too small for the unknowns to be approaching at a steep angle.


    ¡°Alright. Hostiles approaching from our eleven o¡¯clock, one hundred eighty metres out, walking pace. It looks like the road is curving round towards them, they¡¯re likely following it.¡±


    ¡°Is there anything I can do?¡± Oliver asked.


    ¡°Nothing as of yet sir, I recommend you stay with the horse for now. On that note, Three and Eight pull security here while the rest of us move up. You know the drill people, highground is king. Start climbing.¡±


    Alter thought he was becoming quite adept at scrambling up rough hillsides. That notion was quickly dispelled however as more then once he lost his footing on the loose shale, forcing him to drive a knee into the ground to prevent himself from tipping over backwards. Coming to a halt just before they crested the top the men readied weapons. On a quick hand signal from Alter they took the last step and brought barrels to bear on the opposite side.


    Nothing. No bloodthirsty marauders or rogue militia. No fantasy monster on the prowl, not even a rabbit tortoise charging across the plain. Just more agonising acres of scrubland and the road cutting its way toward the distant promise of greener pastures. Alter felt his jaw tighten as he hurriedly scanned the landscape, the system was many things but not faulty. Someone or something was nearby. Had his estimate been off? Glancing back down the slope he could see no signs of alarm from the rest of the party. Worried that perhaps the unknown had had the same idea, Alter switched his attention to the hilltop they had claimed. A separate ridgeline ran away at an angle from them to their direct south which could hide their movements. He ordered his machine gun team to watch that avenue of approach before turning back to the main vista.


    ¡°Anything?¡± He asked Boats.


    ¡°Nowt, scope is clear. I¡¯ve swept all the vegetation thick enough for someone to hide behind, no dice.¡± Boats murmured back.


    ¡°The hell is going on here?¡±


    ¡°Maybe we scared them away?¡± Asked Riptide.


    ¡°We wouldn¡¯t have got the pulse if they were unwilling to attack us. We¡¯re in fantasyland remember, start thinking outside the box.¡±


    Boats began rummaging through his backpack and pulled out a fairly bulky scope. Out of the corner of his eye Alter watched as he began fiddling with the device until the lens of the scope lit up with contrasting monotone blotches. A battery powered thermal optic, the marksman was full of surprises. With steady motions Boats held it up like a telescope and began surveying the area before suddenly pausing. His eyes widened as they flicked away from the lens to the point he was watching and back again.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be taking the piss. I¡¯m looking at three large humanoids on thermals moving slowly along the road but ¡­¡± He gestured towards the seemingly unoccupied pathway.


    As one, Alter and Riptide leaned their heads in to try and get a view of what Boats was looking at. Sure enough, a trio of eerie, slight forms were silhouetted white on black as they stalked forwards. Alter put them at two metres tall, their long wiry torsos hunched forward with spindly questing arms outstretched. Their faces were featureless but that was the nature of the scope¡¯s image, more interesting was the hair. The top of each one¡¯s head was covered in thick, softly waving cilia that moved like a sea anemone caught in slow motion. Their legs were equally long and thin, the knees were reverse jointed giving them an avian appearance. Not to mention the talons.


    ¡°Fucking nobody told me Medusa was a bloody flamingo.¡± Alter muttered through gritted teeth.


    ¡°They¡¯re big Wolverine fans too.¡± Boats pointed to the screen.


    The lead creature had come to a halt, its body shifting from side to side as it scanned its immediate surroundings. Three retractable claws that had been hidden away extended from each hand with razor sharp purpose.


    ¡°Those things have got to be twenty centimetres long at least.¡± Riptide breathed as it concealed its claws and resumed the ponderous march.


    ¡°It''s like they¡¯re moving underwater. Fragile they may look but there¡¯s a fair chunk of compact muscle on show, I reckon they¡¯ve got one hell of a sprint speed. What¡¯re you thinking, boss?¡± boats asked.


    ¡°Like hell I¡¯m going to order an engagement against targets we physically cannot see. If they¡¯re impervious to visible light then god knows what else they could be immune to. They don¡¯t seem to have noticed our presence despite the fact that we haven¡¯t exactly been subtle up here, I say let them pass.¡± Alter replied after a moment''s consideration.


    ¡°They¡¯re doing a pretty good job of following the road so they can¡¯t be blind. Even if we have plenty of time to get the horse out of their path we don¡¯t have the luxury to cover its tracks, let alone remove the smell. If those things have but one good sense then we¡¯re rumbled either way.¡± Riptide cautioned.


    Alter let out a slow exhale, his lieutenant was right.


    ¡°Then we need to take these things out before they can pull any shenanigans. Ideas?¡±


    ¡°Blanket fire? If we hose them down from a distance with a full squad then they shouldn¡¯t have time to react.¡± Boats suggested.


    ¡°Hmmm, risky. Most of us will be firing blind, even if we use a landmark we could easily miss one of them.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re pretty close together, a well placed frag could take them all out at once.¡± Riptide offered.


    ¡°Better. Whim, you have a grenade launcher squirrelled away, right?¡±


    The rifleman had been watching the scope from over their shoulders perked up and quickly produced a compact launcher, unfolded the stock and flicked the sight up. Digging into a chest pouch he produced a drinks can sized white cylinder, twisted its middle section until it clicked and then fed it into the launcher.


    ¡°Fragmentation round primed and ready. Where do you want it?¡± He asked with boyish glee.


    A large serving of distance calculations and a small argument later the men decided on a splash zone. As the creatures which they had loosely decided to name ¡®Medusids¡¯ approached Riptide gave a short countdown. The human timer hit zero and a dull thunk followed by an ominous whistle was emitted as the round was sent spinning through the air. Alter¡¯s eyes were glued to the scope as it impacted with a sharp barking explosion, causing a thick cloud of dust to erupt upward. The creatures reacted in pain to the shards of metal slamming into their bodies. As one they curled up into foetal positions and simply vanished from view.


    ¡°That was easy.¡± Boats remarked.


    Alter frowned as he continued to study the infrared picture. It couldn¡¯t have been that easy.

 Ch.14: A Fresh Landscape

    Step by uneasy step the squad made their way down the slope towards where the Medusids had curled up and disappeared. It was a struggle for Alter as he split his attention between keeping his footing as he descended, making sure his rifle was trained on the creature¡¯s last known location, and keeping an eye on the thermal scope Boats was carrying next to him. Fortunately, the picture remained blessedly clear. However Alter couldn¡¯t help but wish the proximity warning they received was accompanied by some sort of ¡®All Clear¡¯ message once the combat was resolved. Still, you can¡¯t have everything, and it was much better than blindly stumbling into a greek-mythologically accurate cassowary.


    As they reached flat ground they organised themselves into a chevron formation and proceeded carefully towards their target. Alter felt a strange pull on his body as he edged closer to the impact zone. It was as if he had stepped into an invisible river, some unknown current tugged at his body with quiet insistence. His initial surprise was quickly overtaken by curiosity as he began to explore the limits of this new discovery. With some probing and meandering he was able to roughly determine that the spaces within two metres of each Medusid¡¯s last positions were being influenced by a weak gravitational field. There was a certain magnetic property to the centre of these zones that strongly repelled his attempts at investigation. Like trying to push two magnets of the same polarity together, a beach ball sized sphere one metre above the ground stubbornly refused him entry. Ironic, that this force which was so desperate to pull him in was simultaneously resolute in keeping him at arm''s reach.


    ¡°What are we thinking?¡± He asked as he stepped backwards away from the gravity well he¡¯d been studying.


    ¡°That weird shit is weird? We just killed a bunch of invisible cryptids, what are we supposed to think?¡± Riptide moved to stand next to him and crossed his arms as he surveyed the scene.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m wondering if these creatures are actually dead or not. Maybe they¡¯re in some sort of stasis?¡± Alter worried.


    ¡°You reckon they¡¯ll just pop back into existence in a couple of hours? You saw what happened to them. Besides, we don¡¯t have time to hang around here all day on the off chance they do.¡±


    ¡°I know, do you suppose we should put a couple of rounds through the middle of each of the spheres? Just to be safe.¡± He insisted.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea. It wouldn¡¯t surprise me if the forces at play in there slingshotted the bullets right back at us. Although it would be funny.¡±


    ¡°Hey, check this out.¡± Walross called from the opposite side of the road.


    The pair moved to join him as he crouched down and used a pointed finger to indicate a patch of ground by their feet.


    ¡°Do you notice how the dirt here is slightly disturbed and a shade darker? There¡¯s blood here, or at least some equivalent of blood. Again, completely invisible.¡± He explained.


    Walross stood up and raised one foot before bringing it down heavily in the centre of the pool. There was no splash as his boot impacted the ground but Alter felt something liquid hit one of his legs, and as he looked down he could see that the fabric of his boots was speckled with small moist blotches as the unseen blood was absorbed.


    ¡°Now cast your eyes over a wider area. If you look closely, you can see there are similar pools and splatter marks all over the place. That¡¯s a lot of blood to lose, even if you''re a large creature. That frag round did more than enough damage, we shouldn¡¯t need to worry.¡± He concluded.


    ¡°Yeah, now that I know what I¡¯m looking for I can see that this place is pretty gorey. I vote we move on, these things are dead, forcefields or no.¡± Boats joined the conversation.


    Alter was still uncertain but was clearly outvoted. With a shrug he radioed for Boozehound and Vangroover to bring Oliver and the others up to them. A minute later they emerged from around the hillside, his squad members had their weapons levelled and ready but they quickly lowered them when they saw the relaxed stances of the others. An anxious looking Oliver was less easily reassured however and he demanded a full explanation of what had just happened. Alter did his best to summarise exactly what it was they had engaged but this did little to settle the man down.


    ¡°You¡¯re absolutely certain you¡¯ve slain these monstrosities?¡± He asked.


    ¡°As certain as I can be.¡± Alter lied.


    ¡°How on earth were you able to spot them? Actually never mind that, how did you all know they were here in the first place?¡± Oliver¡¯s voice began to stray toward the shouting side of volume.


    Alter sighed internally and turned his gaze towards his gathered friends. Their looks were passive, sympathetic even, but Alter could spot their silent enjoyment of his discomfort. Well, there was no skirting the issue now, deeper explanations would have to be given. So Alter began his careful explanation of the hostile proximity warning. Oliver looked like he was about to ask more questions but Lucille was the first to speak.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°It looks as if you too are blessed by Nerrothyll! To have met so many Soulkindlers out in this wasteland is a great fortune. Have you always possessed this power?¡± She clapped her hands together enthusiastically.


    ¡°We have only gained this power recently ma¡¯am.¡± Alter responded.


    ¡°So you automatically receive a warning every time an enemy approaches you?¡± Oliver asked.


    ¡°In a manner of speaking, but it''s not that cut and dry. For example we received no warning when we attacked the bandits watching your burning carriage. Additionally, we only received the warning at the fort once we had already burst through the gateway and opened fire. I think our enemies have to be ready and able for this ability to trigger. If they¡¯re not expecting a fight, we get nothing.¡±


    ¡°This power is not infallible then, you could wander into a den of snakes and be completely unaware of the danger so long as they too are not expecting you.¡± Oliver mused.


    ¡°I suppose so, yes.¡±


    ¡°And what of your weapons?¡± He pivoted, perhaps sensing the fact that no further information was forthcoming.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing magical about them, it¡¯s all pure technology. These devices are unique to us, you won¡¯t find anything like them anywhere in the world. Well, not to this standard anyway. Think of them as highly advanced bows for now, we can get into technicalities at a later date should you so wish.¡± Alter tried to keep his face serene but he could feel his body tensing up as he awaited the coming response.


    ¡°I¡¯m never quite sure what you''re going to say next, but I believe you. We can discuss your powers in greater detail once we¡¯re back in my home territory. As for these beasts you have told us about, I have no idea what they could have been. But I know of books that hold records of such things. We can investigate that too, later.¡± Oliver moved on.


    Alter was surprised that he was not on the receiving end of an intense grilling, but he was not about to complain. The label of Soulkindler should be useful in the short term but there were some longer term issues that could arise. He didn¡¯t know if this religion had a dedicated clergy, or strict rules its ¡®blessed¡¯ were made to abide by. What if there was an inquisition equivalent here? Alter shook his head violently in an effort to stop his brain from charging off on a panicked tangent. There would be time for discovery later, for now there was walking to do.


    With many a nervous glance over their shoulders, the squad resumed its progress westward. Boats continued to flick the thermal scope on and off, checking the rear until they passed the two hundred metre line. Once crossed, he reported the scope had consumed a full quarter of its battery life before stowing it away again. As they tramped ever onward the landscape continued its slow change around them. As the midday sun reached its zenith, Alter couldn¡¯t help but feel as if its strength had waned somewhat. The ground reflected this feeling as the plantlife grew increasingly verdant and plentiful. Gone was the bare rock of the badlands, this area resembled something of a savannah type environment. For the first time in what seemed like a small eternity the bright notes of birdsong met his ears.


    The road too began to change as they made further headway and the first signs of civilization began to appear. Lengths of wooden fencing that had fallen into disuse lined their path, marker stones painted white appeared at regular intervals, and at one point a small herd of goats could be seen browsing the low branches of trees a short distance off the path. Small side tracks began to flow into the road like tributary streams joining a river, as each one passed the road became more obviously used. Hoofprints and cart wheel tracks turned the once smooth surface into a choppy sea of ridges and divots. Basic agriculture began to permeate the landscape, scattered fields of semi-wild looking cereal crops that could be happily left alone appeared first. By the time mid afternoon rolled in these fields had expanded significantly and more recognisable crops such as wheat and barley stood in close ranks. Clusters of rough but well made looking wooden huts and cottages began to spring up nearby, farmers and day labourers could be seen moving to and fro like ants. Alter expected some of these people to speak to their group, but although they were certainly noticed the local population kept its distance. Although whether this caution was due to the presence of strangers or apparent nobility he wasn¡¯t sure.


    Finally, as the shadows of the trees began their evening inroads across the ground, the welcome sight of a walled town appeared in the distance. The road had once again evolved from dusty track to churned farm lane to the now well trodden cobbles of a trade road. They were still surrounded by fields however the recognisable shapes of industry could be seen scattered throughout the golden waves. A trio of windmills stood sentinel on a small hilltop off to the side, their canvas sail rotating steadily in the late afternoon breeze. Idyllic was the word that sprang to mind. It was as if they had stepped into one of those forgotten landscape paintings you spent five to ten seconds gazing at in a gallery before moving on to that portrait with the funny face. The stone of the walls was a steely grey, strong, stark and defiant against the soft colours of nature. A gate stood open before them with wooden portcullis raised. A pair of men in a mixture of leather and chainmail, spears in hand, snapped quickly to attention as the group approached. Alter had been concerned about how they would enter the town but he need not have worried. This was the land owned by Lucille¡¯s family after all, and it seemed the guard held a healthy respect for their custodians. They passed the guardsmen and walked through the cool shade of the wall into a bustling scene as the passageway opened out into a market square. Brightly coloured stalls vied for attention as their tenders shouted and hawked their wares. Fruits and vegetables were the mainstay, but more specialist products were on offer throughout. Leatherworkers and toolsmiths had overtaken one corner, a young lady with bright blonde hair waved brilliantly coloured flower bunches above her head, from somewhere in the centre the smell of cooked meat wafted into their nostrils. Collectively, the squad¡¯s shoulders sagged in relief.


    They¡¯d made it.


    Now what?

 Ch.15: Welcomes Warm

    So as it turns out, having a local celebrity show up in a public place on horseback and surrounded by strangely dressed figures attracts attention. More and more curious heads turned towards them with every passing second. It was only a matter of time before the first joyful shouts could be heard echoing through the crowd like ripples on a pond. As the first individuals began taking nervous but hopeful steps towards the group, Lucille recomposed her face into a warm smile and dismounted the horse. She stepped forward to meet the townsfolk with all the smooth motions and polite speech of a practised politician. She knew the spokesman¡¯s game and she played it well. With a subtle hand gesture she beckoned the others to follow her as she manoeuvred from local to local in a graceful conversational dance. Constantly making slow progress through the mounting crowd without them realising her desire for an end to their greetings. Calls of ¡®Young Lady Auserre¡® were the most frequent but Alter saw more than one individual offer a deeper bow and refer to her as a ¡®Priestess of the Flow¡¯. Curious, she had made no mention of being a ranked clergyman, though she had been quick to praise one of the four local deities on multiple occasions. He wanted to know more but it probably wasn¡¯t the best idea to be heard asking what that meant in public. As they ambled through the growing throng of well-wishers Riptide murmured to Alter and Oliver.


    ¡°I¡¯m actually surprised how well looked after these people appear. They look healthy, there seems to be plenty of food available, even their clothes are made to a pretty decent level. When you called this place a border town I wasn¡¯t expecting such a high apparent quality of life.¡± He sounded genuinely impressed.


    ¡°That¡¯s the work of Lucille¡¯s family, their reputation is tied to the treatment of their people. There¡¯s a reason these lands are not under the control of a duke, the Counts of Auserre have throughout the ages been able to maintain this high standard. In return, the people work hard and produce goods that are shipped all across Rillestia. It is a matter of great pride for all parties involved.¡± Oliver¡¯s voice swelled with admiration.


    ¡°I hear you.¡± Riptide smiled as his eyes roved the competing market stalls.


    ¡°There must be a lot of people clamouring to move here then?¡± Alter asked.


    ¡°True.¡± Oliver conceded. ¡°However the movement of people into these lands is highly controlled. This lifestyle has produced a strong local identity, and no small amount of wariness. These days you need to be related to someone already living out here or a highly skilled craftsman in order to be allowed residence. Plus there will always be some scepticism about life in the outer territories from those living in Rillestia¡¯s heartlands.¡±


    ¡°What would¡¯ve happened at the gate if Lucille wasn¡¯t with us?¡±


    ¡°Well we would¡¯ve been questioned certainly, anyone coming out of the Badlands is going to be met with suspicion. But my reputation is high enough to avoid any real unpleasantness.¡± Oliver answered with slow care.


    Alter turned his attention back to his surroundings, it seemed that this rural ideal had some troublesome rumblings under the surface. Isolationism shall always be an unfortunate byproduct of success, no matter your position on the world or in its social strata. Eventually they managed to make their way through the market and into the relative calm of the town¡¯s main street. A well maintained cobblestone thoroughfare wide enough for three horse drawn vehicles to pass each other simultaneously. Rudimentary lampposts were dotted along either side, metal poles topped with wood burning braziers, each loaded with enough fresh kindling to provide plenty of light through the approaching evening hours. As they walked Oliver pointed out a slightly larger, more grand and established property poking out over the rooftops toward the town¡¯s centre.


    ¡°We¡¯re making our way to the Marshal¡¯s estate, the de facto ruler of this place. He¡¯s a retired knight the Count trusted enough to give him the reins of this area. He¡¯s a grumpy old goat who''s going to act annoyed to see us but he¡¯ll drop the facade once we tell him what happened. The man was Countess Auserre¡¯s guardian knight for many years, a little guilt will set him straight.¡± He explained.


    Alter frowned, he found the sudden leap from fighting off adoring locals to the emotional manipulation of a retiree to be slightly unnerving.


    ¡°The problem, however, will be you and your men. The marshal is quite dismissive of mercenaries and their like. Years of fighting bandits and other vagabonds has given him a skewed view of outsiders. You might not receive the warmest of welcomes.¡± Oliver warned.


    ¡°Are we in any danger?¡± Alter queried, hand subconsciously reaching for the rifle slung over his shoulder.


    ¡°Not at all. Just ¡­ don¡¯t expect him to prepare rooms for you. Or feed you.¡±


    Alter relaxed, grumpy old men he could manage. A flurry of movement from the marshal¡¯s home signified their arrival. Two smartly dressed men smoothly opened a set of dark wood double doors with practised ease. From the shaded entryway stepped a tall and immaculately uniformed man. Alter would put him in his mid sixties, his hair was short and greying, his face wrinkled and sun weathered. His mouth hidden behind a moustache that could only be described as ¡®powerful¡¯. His uniform married the intricacy of Olivers minus the armoured pieces with the gentle green of Lucille¡¯s dress. His hands were clasped firmly behind his back as he walked with precise and measured strides. He was the absolute picture of a gentleman, all he needed was a top hat and a jaunty musical number. His eye lit up upon spotting Lucille.


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    ¡°I am honoured to see you again, Lady Lucille.¡± His voice was prim, proper, and possessing enough rich layers to make a cake buffet shake in envy.


    The man bowed with a flourish. The high collar of his shirt had been hiding his neck, but from this angle Alter could see a long, ugly scar running across the left side of his neck. This man¡¯s life had been spared by a fortuitous glancing blow. It was no small wonder he had retired from active service.


    ¡°Hello Uncle Vaulter!¡± Lucille called out, her tone sweetening to match.


    ¡°What has brought you all the way to Crestvigil?¡± Vaulter asked, eyes turning to the rest of the individuals assembled before his door.


    ¡°Actually, we¡¯re returning. Oliver and I had business to attend to in Breakdune.¡±


    ¡°Unescorted?¡± Vaulter¡¯s eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead at a speed worthy of any space mission.


    There was a moment of silence as Lucille took a deep intake of breath.


    ¡°We had escorts, Uncle. They died protecting us. Raiders attacked our carriage as we made our way back through the Adderbites.¡± She told him, allowing a hint of fear to crack her calm demeanour.


    Alter had no doubt that any fear she had held was long defeated by her relentless nature. Nevertheless, this sudden bombshell was enough to cause Vaulter to freeze in place as he processed the heavy sentence.


    ¡°Hhh ¡­ How did you escape?¡± His voice wavered in shock.


    ¡°Fate. Luck. Mystery. Call it whatever you will.¡± Lucille turned and indicated the squad. ¡°Were it not for Captain Alterfate and his men here, we would¡¯ve been hunted down and slain with the rest of the knights.¡±


    ¡°Mercenaries?¡± He asked, turning his attention to them.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Vaulter murmured softly.


    The Marshal¡¯s eyes moved across them slowly. Glacially. Cold ice-like calculations mixed with sparkling distrust and topped off with a dash of arrogance. A nice little cocktail of paranoia, Alter would¡¯ve offered him a tiny umbrella but everyone knows umbrellas are a conspiracy. It was clear that the man didn¡¯t like the look of them, though Alter did have to admit they looked unconventional enough to warrant such scrutiny.


    ¡°Well my dear, you and Sir Oliver must come inside, I¡¯ll send word to your father immediately. As for your men, well. I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡± His clipped tone had regained its footing as he spun on his heel and strode back into the property.


    Lucille and Oliver shared a knowing look as she moved to follow him inside, beckoning Chloe to follow. Oliver turned to the unit, a small smile creeping onto his face.


    ¡°Well how about that, he doesn¡¯t hate you. You might even be invited inside at some point!¡± He beamed.


    ¡°Do we just hang about in the street until then?¡± Boozehound asked.


    Oliver opened his mouth to answer but one of the doormen interrupted by appearing behind him and whispering a few words in his ear before retreating. Oliver¡¯s smile expanded.


    ¡°No need, you¡¯ve been allowed inside already. Come on, mind your muddy boots now.¡± He laughed as he moved into the building.


    The men looked at each other and shrugged before walking in. Soon they were surrounded by fine wooden furniture and plush carpets of deep, wine red. Pictures and tapestries dotted the walls with scenes of hunting and fishing, portraits and landscapes with subjects ranging from doll-like children to windswept crags. The voices of Lucille and Vaulter could be heard emanating from a partially closed door but Alter was unable to determine the words spoken as they were led past. The corridor they were guided down took a couple of turns before they were ushered through an open door and into a spacious room at the back of the house. The rear wall was nearly completely given over to large windows that allowed the evening light to stream across the room. A large wooden table dominated the centre of the room made from dark polished wood similar to that of the front door. Its sides were thick with cupboards, drawers and cubby holes with not a chair in sight. The side walls were given over to heavy bookcases filled with thick, titleless tomes bound in dark green leather. The near wall was once again covered by portraits with titles detailing them as former marshals of the town. Alter paused as he studied the text, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that the written language was readable.


    ¡°Perfect.¡± Oliver clapped his hands together and started rummaging through the table¡¯s many storage compartments.


    ¡°Are you looking for something specific?¡± Whim asked.


    Oliver made a non committal noise as he continued his search before cackling triumphantly and placing a collection of rolled up parchments on the table. The squad gathered around as he slowly unfurled the largest roll. Borders and contours, names and coats of arms, cities and nations. A proper map, now this was something Alter could get behind. For now only two maps were revealed. One detailed the Kingdom of Rillestia, the other the continent at large. Meios. The map titled itself as the world, so this was for all intents and purposes a pangea situation. The continent itself could be split into two main landmasses of equal size, connected to each other but seeming to seek separation like a cell undergoing mitosis with a northwest - southeast pinch point. Leaning down again Oliver retrieved a narrow stick and used it to indicate a section of the map on the northeast section of Meios.


    ¡°Right then. You are here.¡± Oliver began.

 Ch.16: The Call of Cartography

    All things considered, Alter was quite satisfied with the current state of this world. The maps were well established, and despite some ongoing border disputes and sabre-rattling the international lines were clearly drawn. From how Oliver had described it the continent of Meios was a size more akin to Europe rather than a vast terrestrial sprawl like Africa or Asia. The young lord¡¯s lecture had lasted for some time, and had been set to continue at a pace were it not for a servant¡¯s interruption. He had been called to the study to join Vaulter and Lucille¡¯s conversation and he was keen to be involved in that discussion. For now, the squad was alone.


    Alter leaned over the table, his fingers splayed across its rich wooden surface. The Meios map was fascinating but his attention was, for now, focused on the more local scale. Rillestia appeared to be your standard late-medieval feudal nation. The king, his name still unknown, held absolute authority over his subjects, however the majority of the land was under the control of a network of dukes and counts. The Rillestia map was divided into these duchies. Three provinces in the centre of the nation formed the heartlands with the capital city located squarely in the middle; these were the King''s personal land holdings. Seven larger provinces ringed the heartlands, radiating out like a dartboard. Each province was labelled with the name of each ruling family along with their coat of arms. The Masserlind Dukedom held two of these provinces, and were the only family to hold more than one. Grenveine and Cereloss were found to the north and northeast, flowing into their current location of Auserre as the dedicated eastern province. The other names and their symbology meant nothing to them yet, but he was sure they would come into contact with these factions at some point should they continue this partnership.


    ¡°It¡¯s a small detail but I notice that Oliver¡¯s family is the only one that doesn¡¯t share their name with the land they own. There¡¯s no province of Masserlind.¡± Observed Walross.


    ¡°It¡¯s probably nothing important but you never know. I¡¯ll add it to the list of things to ask.¡± Alter responded distractedly.


    ¡°Make sure you¡¯ve got ¡®Why does your family have two provinces?¡¯ in there. If we¡¯re going to be dealing with noble squabbles and all the chaos that can trigger then you can guarantee that information will be relevant.¡± Added Boats.


    ¡°Fair enough. Anyone else spot anything interesting on here?¡± Alter asked.


    ¡°I keep looking at the date in the corner to see how old this map is but the number means nothing to me. Anyone got an idea what ¡®Two-Twenty F.T.C¡¯ means? Besides the number, of course.¡± Whim tapped the edge of the paper.


    ¡°The only thing I can get from that is that, presuming the measurement is in years, something important enough to reset the calendar happened a couple of centuries ago. But let''s be real, that tells us zip.¡± Riptide answered.


    ¡°It tells us that nothing of equal or greater importance has occurred for a few hundred years. But I agree, it''s nothing to base anything off of.¡±


    Alter shifted the maps around gently, making sure the corner of the Rillestia map with the date was hidden beneath the other.


    ¡°Bigger picture in mind, I think we¡¯ve lucked out a little. I do appreciate a corner start area.¡± He continued.


    There were four mapped nations on the northwest section of Meios. Three kingdoms, including Rillestia, were roughly circular and again radiated from a central point. A fourth kingdom snaked its way along the southwestern edge of the section, monopolising the bridge between the continent¡¯s halves. Rillestia occupied the majority of the eastern coast and half of the north. Yet interestingly, the continent map showed different borders to the country one.


    ¡°Here¡¯s an interesting difference. The Meios map claims this entire mountain range that dominates the northern coastline as part of Rillestia. However the national map makes no mention of it.¡±


    ¡°Them appearing as Rillestian territory could just be a formality. Remote mountains are difficult enough to settle even in our modern world. It wouldn¡¯t surprise me if there¡¯s no one out there at all.¡± Boozehound replied.


    ¡°The Sundered Peaks eh? They sound lovely.¡± Pavejack smiled sarcastically.


    ¡°It¡¯s certainly very fantasy sounding.¡± Alter agreed. ¡°Well we¡¯ve already encountered a giant human and some invisible monstrosities. Perhaps there are even other humanoid races kicking about out there?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure whether I find that idea exciting or terrifying, that¡¯s a geo-socio-political rabbit hole I¡¯d rather not have to tangle with.¡±


    ¡°Here, here. Moving on then.¡±


    The southern mass of Meios was noticeably larger, although the size difference was not enough to merit a split. Alter would¡¯ve snapped a hand off for a good map of the tectonic plates but his inner geologist would have to go hungry. Unlike the north, the coastline here was much more jagged. Peninsulas, bays and fjords ridged the page. Most of the land was taken up by a nation called The Empire of the Fourth Calling. Quite the mouthful. True to its empirical nature a number of dashed lines in red ink criss-crossed its territory, the former borders of nations already subsumed. A handful of much smaller countries clung to the edges, squeezed onto the peninsulas or into other corners. Again, one nation cut off the border between north and south landmasses, small markings of crossed swords and castles indicated not all had been well and peaceful in the region at the time of the map¡¯s creation.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Half of Oliver¡¯s lecture had been concerned with this empire¡¯s escapades of the past few decades. The diplomacy of the local kingdoms had been friendly for a handful of generations, the greatest threat to this harmony was the Fourth Calling¡¯s influence being channeled toward the destabilisation of that peace. He believed that his uncle¡¯s grab for power was partially influenced by their agents. Subsequently, once the immediate family dispute was resolved, and should the unit choose to remain, the Empire would be their most likely adversary. That was a problem for another day though. Alter was more than happy to simply have a reasonable lay of the land.


    The conversation lulled as the sound of approaching footsteps cut short any conversation. Alter felt a knot of concern take root, the house staff had been fastidious in their ignoring them so far. Was this about to be the quiet yet insistent request to leave? Fortunately his apprehension was misplaced as Oliver slipped through the doorway.


    ¡°Been keeping yourselves out of trouble?¡± He asked as he stepped back over to the table.


    ¡°All quiet here. How was the meeting?¡± Alter asked, sensing the man¡¯s earlier enthusiasm had waned.


    ¡°Well, would you like the good news first? Or the bad news?¡±


    ¡°Give us the good first.¡±


    ¡°Marshal Vaulter has already dispatched a bird to the Count¡¯s estate updating them of our arrival, status, and requesting fresh carriages. Normally it would take a couple of days for anyone to make it out this far, however there is one key exception. Lucille. The moment her father and brothers hear she¡¯s been attacked there will be a mobilisation large enough to convince the locals we¡¯re being invaded. Her family is notoriously protective, much to her frustration at times. I¡¯d wager they¡¯ll arrive by tomorrow evening at the latest.¡±


    ¡°And the bad?¡±


    ¡°The bad comes in two halves. The first is that this is going to cause a bit of a rift between our houses. Our escort was made up of knights from Masserlind only. In Count Auserre¡¯s eyes, not only did they prove inadequate as escorts, they also allowed his precious daughter to be injured. That¡¯s the more palatable of the options, if her brother Victor is one to receive the message then you might be called to my defense a little sooner than anticipated.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯d go that far?¡± Riptide¡¯s eyebrows shot up.


    ¡°It wouldn''t be the first time. One time he knocked me out for bringing her home from an outing ten minutes late. Joking aside, Lucille should be able to calm him down before he can do too much damage.¡± Oliver smiled sheepishly and rubbed the side of his jaw.


    Alter shook his head in bemused disbelief and silently thanked his family for being so boringly stable.


    ¡°The second piece of bad news surrounds your more immediate situation. As I mentioned, the Marshal holds an incredibly dim view of mercenaries such as yourselves. He has, very politely, forbidden Lucille from leaving the house without the proper protection of a knight troop. He has also made it clear that you are not welcome to stay beyond the next hour or so. We¡¯ll have to find you accommodation elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°We were anticipating that already, do you think it¡¯ll be a challenge?¡±


    ¡°Not hugely, there¡¯s plenty of accommodation available here. The quality should be reasonable enough, so long as you don¡¯t mind a bit of noise.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll manage. I had a couple of questions regarding the maps, if you don¡¯t mind?¡±


    Oliver smiled in relief at the men¡¯s acceptance of their treatment and beckoned for Alter to continue.


    ¡°How long ago was this map made?¡± He pointed to the parchment whose date had been hidden.


    ¡°Both of the maps are three years old now. You can see the date in the top corner here.¡± Oliver shifted the maps to reveal the date again.


    Alter breathed a small sigh of relief at having gotten away with asking what year it was. Two twenty three F.T.C. Now to subtly find out what that acronym meant.


    ¡°What does F.T.C stand for, again?¡± Pavejack asked before he could compose a more elegant approach.


    ¡°From Third Calling.¡± Oliver answered slowly, visibly thrown by the sudden question.


    Alter winced at the suspicious tone of their employer¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Is this related to The Four?¡± He followed up, hoping to distract Oliver from whatever train of thought was forming in his skull.


    ¡°Indeed. The First Calling was when the first prophets of The Four began to preach their existence to the scattered peoples of the world. The Second Calling saw the word spread to all corners of Meios, and The Third was the establishment of the temples and the religious structures we adhere to to this day.¡± He explained, a hint of his former eagerness reemerging like the sun peeking through clouds.


    ¡°Then where does The Empire of the Fourth Calling fit in?¡± Riptide asked.


    ¡°Ahh. The leadership of the Empire believes the Fourth Calling to be the unification of Meios under the banner of one holy nation. Their banner. Of course, no one else was willing to submit to their mandate, and their temples are the only ones to preach that specific doctrine. As far as everyone else is concerned, they won¡¯t submit unless The Four themselves give clear support to the Empire¡¯s cause. A century later and not much has changed, so the emperor has settled for military conquest disguised as ¡®sanctified liberation¡¯.¡± A strong dash of distaste coloured Oliver¡¯s voice grim.


    Any further discussion was again cut short at the sharp sound of booted footsteps approaching at speed. Marshall Vaulter strode through the door like he owned the place. Though to be fair, he did. A quick sweep of the room with his winter eyes was all he needed to spot his target. Not Oliver though, his gaze settled squarely on Alter.


    ¡°You are the leader of these mercenaries, correct?¡± He asked tersely.


    ¡°That I am, Marshal.¡± Alter responded smartly, reputation preservation mode engaging.


    ¡°Come with me to my training field, now. We shall see if you are skilled enough to remain at Lord Masserlind¡¯s side.¡± His voice was a commanding growl and gave no chance for question or rebuttal.


    Vaulter immediately turned and stalked away from the room, head turning slightly as he moved to give him an expectant look. Alter gave Oliver an imploring look, but the young man could do nothing but shrug apologetically. Heartbeat steadily accelerating, Alter followed the Marshal from the room, out of a rear door and into a sandy yard area field with training dummies and wooden weapons of war.


    Things were about to get complicated.

 Ch.17: The Riverfield

    The Dreadnought Effect is an interesting little concept that covers one of the many pitfalls of technological innovation in a military setting. It traces back to the British Royal Navy at the turn of the twentieth century and the superpower stranglehold it held over the seas. At the time navies were composed of numerous ship types, with each one filling a specific role in a specific niche. Specialisation was king, and Britain had more ships, more crews and more expertise to the point that no other nation could truly hope to compete. HMS Dreadnought was a new type of vessel, an evolution, set to be the crown jewel of British naval dominance and further cement its rule over the waves. But therein lay the problem, she could do everything. She was too good. Too powerful. The moment Dreadnought hit the water she had rendered nearly all older ships obsolete. Britain''s dominance vanished, their advantages reset along with the playing field. All another nation had to do was build their own version of her and they too could be a superpower.


    Alter was only too aware of the sheer power of the Dreadnought he was carrying across his shoulder. Granted, there was no immediate threat of triggering a technological revolution. By his estimation this society was a good couple of centuries away from having the means to produce their own firearms. But ideas have a nasty habit of sticking around, once inspiration has taken root it is nigh impossible to remove.


    The evening sun over Crestvigil was devoid of the oppressive heat that had drilled into his eyes in the Badlands. But now, in this moment, that celestial ball of light and smugness taunted him. It lounged on the horizon like some roman emperor, indulging in his discomfort. The gentle sway of the green-laden trees across the rooftops was transformed from beckoning serenity to the eager clamour of spectators at the colosseum. He was the lone gladiator in this pit of expectation, and he was to be fed to a lion disguised as an old man¡¯s cynicism. From the moment they had stepped outside Vaulter had dropped the polite act. He loomed over him with a look of disdain, lip curling into a dog-like snarl.


    ¡°Draw your weapon.¡± he ordered.


    Alter grimaced and unslung the rifle. As much as he wanted to not comply, he had to admit that antagonising the man would not be the best idea.


    ¡°Lady Lucille had made mention of the strange armaments you carry. What exactly am I looking at?¡± Vaulter asked.


    There was a subtle change in the man¡¯s tone. Curiosity was beginning to bubble to the surface. After all, this was a career soldier talking. No matter how stuck in his ways the Marshal was, the chance to see something different was a worthy use of his time. Alter relaxed a little at this crack in the facade, he could work with this.


    Over the next ten minutes Alter found himself explaining the various facets and mechanics of his personal arsenal. Vaulter was bristly throughout but he was no longer giving off a murderous aura. At first he had been quite incredulous, particularly when it came to the rifle¡¯s power and rate of fire. Nevertheless as the minutes ticked by he became more receptive to Alter¡¯s claims. At the Marshal¡¯s insistence Alter fired a couple of rounds through an old metal breastplate that had been attached to a wooden dummy. He winced as the crack echoed and bounced around the buildings, sure enough a small crowd of curious guards and their eager trainees were gathering around the outskirts of the training grounds. Perhaps sensing the unwantedness of the attention and the need to prevent any unnecessary rumours, Vaulter called a halt to the demonstration.


    ¡°I can see that you are both confident and well equipped. While I admit to holding a great distaste for your kind, you carry yourself well.¡± He spoke quietly, spine stiffening.


    ¡°Thank you?¡± Alter wasn¡¯t entirely sure how to respond. It certainly felt like he was still being insulted but he appreciated the effort Vaulter was making to overcome his prejudice.


    Vaulter nodded and immediately took off at a march back inside the house. Seeing that their interest would be fed no longer, the impromptu audience began to disperse once more. For a moment Alter was left alone on the sandy ground, pondering his life choices. With a fatigued sigh he began scouring the floor around him and retrieved the pair of spent bullet casings. He vaguely considered poking around the shot dummy to gather the projectiles but silently dismissed that possibility. At least the sun wasn¡¯t bothering him anymore.


    ¡°Are you just going to stand around out there all day then?¡± Whim called out to him having managed to figure out how window latches work.


    Alter pulled a face at the laughing man and made his way back to the map room. The rest of his squad had, for the most part, retired to the chairs around the outskirts of the room, with only Riptide and Boozehound still examining the maps. A small smattering of polite but intensely sarcastic applause met his arrival. He offered his sternest glower and turned to where Oliver was deep in conversation with one of the servants. Upon noticing his arrival Oliver quickly thanked the man and moved to address the room.


    ¡°The staff have managed to secure you all accommodation at one of the coaching inns back down the road we walked along. It¡¯s called The Riverfield, I¡¯m told it''s one of the nicer establishments the more well-off traders bunk their staff and guards in. You¡¯ll also be fed and watered on the house.¡± He explained.


    ¡°That sounds like it will suit us well enough. I¡¯m assuming you¡¯ll be staying here?¡± Alter asked.


    Oliver nodded. ¡°Belonging to nobility has its perks after all.¡±


    ¡°Then I don¡¯t see much point in hanging around here for too much longer, how are we feeling?¡± Alter turned to the rest of the squad.


    ¡°We¡¯re just looking for fun at this point. I agree, we should get squared away.¡± Riptide turned and signalled everyone else to get up.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°Very well then, we¡¯ll reconvene here tomorrow. Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll keep on working on Vaulter this evening. Although it seems that you¡¯ve already managed to crack his shell in a couple of places.¡± Oliver smiled knowingly as the squad filed out of the room. Alter saluted and followed the others back through the building and into the street, the door closed softly behind him the moment he stepped through.


    The cool of the evening air was a soft delight to the senses. A light breeze caressed their cheeks as they walked and the comfortable drone of crickets and grasshoppers melded with the sighing of the leaves. A dozen cooking smells wafted across the street from homes and businesses abuzz with life. Laughter and conversation swelled through the open doorways and windows they passed. The Riverfield sat apart from the other buildings on the main street, a sizable yard area wrapped around the structure on three sides. Stables filled with various horse breeds and storage barns for wagon and carriage intermingled around the far edges. The building itself was impressive despite its rustic appearance. Standing three storeys high, delicate and warm woodwork coupled with a steep sloping roof and brightly coloured window boxes gave it an alpine chalet look. Stepping gingerly through the open door Alter found himself looking into a large, open room filled with long rows of tables and benches. Twenty or more patrons were sitting huddled in various groups around the space in clothes ranging from farmhands to merchants, he could even see a pair of off duty guards playing some sort of game in the corner. The far end of the room was taken by a long bar, however it had no stools arrayed before it. A trio of serving staff scuttled across the floor carrying wooden mugs and flagons along with plates of steaming food. One of these staff members, a young woman with brown hair done in a single, simple braid, noticed their arrival and intercepted them.


    It seemed that they were indeed expected, much to Alter¡¯s relief, and they were quickly ushered through the room and up a wide flight of stairs built into one of the bar¡¯s sides. Up to the top floor and along a wooden corridor to the far end where a pair of rooms sat ready, four beds per. Having seen them safely to their berths and informing them that food would be ready for them downstairs when they wanted it, the woman offered a slight bow and retreated back to the stairs. For now they were alone as they split into two groups and claimed the various beds.


    ¡°It¡¯s very ¡®level one Dungeons and Dragons campaign¡¯.¡± Pavejack remarked as he sat heavily on the bed, causing the thin mattress to stand up at both ends like a reverse lifting bridge.


    ¡°If you say so.¡± Alter humoured him as he poked at his own sleeping arrangement.


    The sheets seemed clean enough and lifting the mattress didn¡¯t reveal any hidden seething masses of bugs ready to chew his toes off tonight. The blanket was a bit thin and scratchy and had the odd hole but would do a job. His feet were going to stick out the end but that was a problem they were all going to face. Each of the beds were provided with some storage in the form of a wooden foot locker with a simple metal catch. Alter was no expert of furniture craft but even he could tell these things would last about five seconds under a crowbar¡¯s leverage. He quickly called the rest of the squad into the room.


    ¡°Let¡¯s talk about security.¡± He began. ¡°Like hell I¡¯m leaving our arsenal unwatched this evening. We pile up all our gear in here and make sure someone is awake and alert in this room at all times. That includes primary weapons and throwables, though I won¡¯t object to you keeping your side arms to hand.¡±


    ¡°Who''s staying up here?¡± Riptide asked.


    ¡°I need a volunteer from the audience, preferably someone who isn¡¯t hungry.¡± Alter looked at the assembled men.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got one. I could use a quiet moment.¡± Walross nodded.


    ¡°One of us will be up to relieve you when we can. How does the door look?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s got a basic lock, the key is already in there. Looks flimsy though.¡± Boats answered as he studied the doorway.


    ¡°That should still be enough to stop curious eyes. I¡¯m sure you all noticed how many of those we had on us downstairs.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s not get paranoid. We¡¯re the new exhibit at the zoo, of course we¡¯re going to get that sort of attention.¡± Whim cautioned.


    Alter couldn¡¯t quite shake the image of a rough yet lovable lockpicking street urchin unsuspectingly charging down the road with a live grenade in hand as weapons and backpacks were stowed with varying levels of care across the bedroom. With the easily forgotten promise to Walross that he would soon be relieved, the men tramped back down to the main floor and secured themselves seating near one of the quieter corners.


    Soon enough, plates of hot, mostly identifiable food were placed before them, accompanied by large tankards of frothing liquid which they could only assume to be some sort of alcohol.


    ¡°How is it?¡± Alter asked Riptide, the first man to sample the drink.


    ¡°Ermm. Rustic? Survivable? Safer than water at least. I think.¡± He coughed.


    Good natured laughter followed his discomfort, and as everyone slowly found the courage to dig in they quickly discovered it wasn¡¯t so bad. The food itself was surprisingly well cooked. Alter couldn¡¯t immediately identify the meat, his best guess was lamb but its texture was subtly off. Vegetables, the local speciality, made up most of the plate. Carrots and potatoes piled on top of each other battled for attention with vibrant green beans and radishes glazed in a sweet sauce. A small earthenware bowl held some sort of wheatmeal mixed with corn and peas. The local beer was serviceable and possessed some unknown strength. The group¡¯s tongues were quickly loosened and quiet but comfortable conversation punctuated the meal with pleasure.


    As the plates were cleared and fresh tankards provided, Riptide leaned over to Alter and whispered.


    ¡°You were right. We¡¯re being watched. There¡¯s a group of six armed men a few tables down that¡¯ve been staring at us much too intently.¡±


    Alter didn¡¯t turn to return the strangers¡¯ gazes, instead nodding slowly and taking another drink.


    ¡°Keep a half eye on them for now, they might¡¯ve recognised us as Oliver and Lucille¡¯s escorts. They look rough?¡± He spoke in a relaxed voice as the rest of the group slowly leaned in and focussed.


    ¡°There¡¯s a certain highwayman vibe to them.¡± Riptide picked at a splinter in the table.


    ¡°I doubt they¡¯ll make trouble here then. Try to memorise their faces as best you can, we may end up with some company tomorrow.¡± Alter chugged the last of his drink and stood up.


    The world shifted gently under his feet as he picked his way towards the stairs. His hand strayed onto the banister as he ascended unsteadily. The steady sound of boots was following him, he knew his friends well enough to recognise their footfalls. This was not one of them. Having reached the top Alter quickly turned the corner into the corridor and pressed his back to the wall. Fingertips lingered on the sidearm holster at his hip as the footsteps drew closer. It was time to offer a polite greeting.

 Ch.18: Social Lubricant

    It struck Alter as he listened to the approaching footfalls that he really should have stolen a glance at the men who had been watching them. Now here he was preparing to ambush a pair of feet that could belong to anyone. Strange world. Had the footsteps become faster and more urgent sounding since he rounded the corner? Or was that just him. Either way it was too late to bail out now. The individual who promptly appeared at the top of the stairs was certainly no waitress. Riptide¡¯s assessment seemed to track; this figure was absolutely in possession of a roguish flair. His clothes were made of dark leather with a red tinge akin to autumn leaves. Alter was no expert when it came to leatherwork but he could recognise the deftness of a master craftsman when he saw it. Across the man''s back lay a dark fabric cloak complete with hood, it reached around his shoulders and was fastened at his breast by a silver clasp shaped like a howling wolf. A thick belt made of the same leather housed a number of knives and other survival tools. He had no major armaments that Alter could see, but who knew what the cloak could be hiding. His face was scarred and weathered, with short black hair and a beard that slalomed along his jaw like a shoreline with a cross-current. His grey eyes spoke of the eerie stillness of yesterday¡¯s battlefields and the harsh calls of carrion birds. A grim face, hardened to the world.


    The man took the surprise of nearly bumping into Alter well, other than his eyes widening and a stuttering half-step he barely reacted as he moved past. Alter¡¯s eyes slid along after him, tracking the path of the back of his head but never making direct contact. He did not flinch nor slow down but instead continued for a short distance before smoothly producing a room key from a pocket and vanishing through one of the many doorways. A soft thud and a metallic click quickly followed. Alter found himself alone, his hand still idly toying with his pistol holster and the growing sense that he was, indeed, getting a little paranoid. Why had he been so immediately convinced the man had wished him harm? He would¡¯ve received the warning pulse if he had genuinely intended to attack. With a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment he forced himself to move his hand away from his sidearm and take a slow breath. Nothing good would come from treating people like this.


    A low groan escaped his lips as he allowed his legs to carry him down to their rooms, using his shoulder to push the door open. Walross was sat cross legged in the centre of the floor, surrounded by metal parts and mechanical apparatus. He had found a cloth rag from somewhere and was busy polishing what Alter realised was a detached rifle barrel.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were a gun maintenance guru.¡± He remarked as he closed the door behind him.


    ¡°I¡¯m not. I just felt the need to do something with my hands.¡± Walross answered without looking up.


    ¡°We¡¯ve only had these for a couple of days, surely they don¡¯t need work already?¡± Alter crossed to his bed and slowly sank down onto it.


    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised. We were in the Badlands for a day and a half, that¡¯s more than enough time for the dirt to worm its way inside. Grime is insidious, I¡¯m not going to let it jam my weapon at a crucial moment.¡± The German punctuated his statements with harsh, rapid movements as he cleaned. It looked like he was removing the accursed grime by throttling it away. Seemingly satisfied with his now sparklingly clean and thoroughly strangled barrel, he set it down on the floor and cast his eyes about for his next victim.


    ¡°It¡¯s strange.¡± He continued ¡°I¡¯ve never seen the inside of a rifle, or any firearm for that matter. But when I broke it apart, I found that I knew each piece. Even with them all scattered about like this, even though I know none of their names, I can tell which goes where and how they all move and work together.¡±


    Alter found himself leaning forward as Walross spoke, brow furrowing as he too studied the various objects. Yes, he could see it too. That bit with the dangly section next to his right foot slots into the rail-y looking bit by his left calf. It was like a jigsaw puzzle he had never seen but somehow knew inside out.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t get any less disconcerting, does it?¡± He muttered and rubbed the back of his neck.


    ¡°No. It doesn¡¯t.¡± Agreed Walross and the two men sat in relative silence.


    Seemingly satisfied with his work, Walross reassembled his weapon in a blur of motion. A quick check over with a couple of test trigger pulls and he nodded in satisfaction.


    ¡°Well, I should see about getting something to eat.¡± He levered himself upright with a grunt.


    ¡°I¡¯d do that. Oh, I forgot to mention we had some suspicious men measuring us up down there. I don¡¯t think they intend any harm but just keep an eye open, alright?¡±


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°Got it.¡± Walross strode quickly from the room, the sound of his steps quickly faded from audible range.


    Alter was considering following suit and cleaning his own weapons when the sound of urgent footsteps and the door opening interrupted his thoughts. Walross stuck his head through the doorway.


    ¡°You might want to see this.¡± His voice was firm and left no room for argument.


    Alter felt his stomach drop as he hurriedly stood up and left the room, pausing briefly to lock the door behind him. With trepidation he moved to join Walross at the top of the stairs and looked down. Much to his relief the rest of the squad were still sitting around the table, drinks in hands and pistols out of sight. The strange thing, however, was that the six men he¡¯d left behind had now become eleven. Sat interspersed between his friends were the same dark leather, cloak wearing individuals that had been boring holes in the back of his skull all evening. Now they were drinking, talking and laughing together. There was even a dice game taking place.


    ¡°Oh.¡± Alter managed, the knot in his chest fading.


    ¡°Alcohol, my friend. There is no finer social lubricant.¡± Walross smiled.


    ¡°So I see.¡±


    ¡°We should probably make sure no one is doing anything too stupid.¡±


    Alter nodded and the pair scurried downward. Soon the buzz of conversation came dangerously close to drowning out his own thoughts with the room now edging towards being at full capacity. He spotted the fact that Riptide and Boozehound were sitting together with their backs turned to him, seemingly deep in conversation with one of the mysterious men on the outskirts of the group. With some small amount of satisfaction, he stole up behind them and slammed a hand onto each of their shoulders and leaned in between them.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on boys?¡± He asked, keeping his tone light but his eyes blazing.


    ¡°Ahh, perfect timing, Captain!¡± Riptide recovered quickly but Alter could hear the slight slur to his speech.


    ¡°Sir, allow me to introduce Huntmaster Raymond Garrosman of the Silver Pack. Huntmaster, this is Captain Alterfate of the RGS Freelance Company.¡± Boozehound announced names and titles with a suitable level of theatre and drunken enthusiasm.


    Alter looked at the man sitting across from them. This was not the individual who had followed him upstairs, but he bore incredibly similar markings. His hair was a faded red, his eyes a warm brown. He placed his mostly empty mug on the table and extended a hand which, with a nod from Boozehound, Alter reciprocated and shook.


    ¡°A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Alterfate. Your lieutenants speak quite highly of you.¡± The Huntmaster had to raise his voice above the din but Alter could detect rich, friendly tones through the background noise.


    ¡°The pleasure is mine, Huntmaster. What has brought you to us this evening?¡± Alter matched his tone as best he could, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.


    ¡°I was just explaining that very thing. We are bounty hunters, specialising in the removal of organised criminal organisations. My men and I had accepted a contract for the heads of an Unlimited known as Murgo and his lackeys. But someone beat us to them.¡± His smile remained. A predator¡¯s smile.


    Alter¡¯s eyebrows raised in surprise but he lowered them soon after. They had not been subtle in their movements while travelling here, it wouldn¡¯t require an expert tracker to follow them this far. There was no real point in denying their involvement.


    ¡°Six men against forty odd? You play a risky numbers game, unless you have other men elsewhere tonight.¡± Alter kept his eyes on the man as Vangroover silently appeared and traded his chair for the room key. The Canadian didn¡¯t drink, and was likely more than happy to get some quiet time.


    ¡°Indeed. But my men and I are hardened veterans, we were prepared for weeks of ambushes and careful engagements to whittle them down before a decisive blow. We had information on their hideout but when we went to recon the old fort it was empty. Except for the corpses, of course.¡±


    ¡°What can I say, we prefer to travel light.¡±


    ¡°Might I ask why you decided to target them? They weren¡¯t exactly out in the open.¡± Raymond¡¯s head tilted slightly to the side in genuine curiosity.


    ¡°They had managed to kidnap a person important to our employer. We couldn¡¯t just let them get away with it.¡± Alter kept his voice casual and tried not to ponder the fact that he was talking about people he¡¯d killed.


    ¡°The burnt out carriage, and the dead horsemen. More of your work?¡± He pressed.


    Alter simply nodded, eyes flicking to the rest of the group. Whim and Pavejack were busy teaching three of the Silver Pack members how to play liar''s dice. A classic, he approved.


    ¡°I must ask though, sheerly out of professional curiosity. How did you kill those men? The wounds we found on their bodies are unusual, especially Murgo himself. Miniature piercing marks that seem minor but leave devastating internal damage. Murgo was coated in them, plus a large stab wound through his ribcage that seemed to have been cauterised nearly instantly from the lack of blood. How did you manage that?¡± Raymond¡¯s eyes glimmered, his gaze intent.


    ¡°That¡¯s a trade secret I¡¯m afraid.¡± Alter smiled and relaxed into his seat and the Huntmaster relented with a wave of his hand.


    ¡°I understand. Anyway, you have inadvertently saved both me and my men a lot of time and blood. We may not have received the full bounty but I was able to secure a sum of the payment. Perhaps I could supply you with another round of drinks, as a celebration of our meeting and of the knowledge that there¡¯s one less bastard in the world.¡± He offered, smile widening, a small coin purse appearing with a satisfying jingle.


    Alter knew he shouldn''t accept this offer so easily but he quite liked that idea. After all, when in Rome do as the Romans do.


    ¡°That sounds lovely.¡±

 Ch.19: The Ceiling Is Mocking Me

    ¡°Wood ceiling. Good ceiling. Ceiling wood. Ceiling good. Good wood ceiling. Would good ceiling? Good ceiling would if good ceiling could. Wood ceiling should if wood ceiling good. Ceiling. See Ling. Who is this Ling bloke anyway? ¡­ I am going insane. What time is it? I hate this.¡± Words tumbled into his semi-conscious mind like cars speeding down a highway on a foggy night.


    Alter lay on his bed, eyes roving across the wooden planks above him. The world shifted and spun like a turntable and his addled brain was the record. It would certainly explain the needle-like, screeching headache that pierced his skull as his senses revolved. Every inch of his body felt off, fuzzy. His fingers would respond to his desires but they felt an ocean¡¯s indescribable distance away. Drunkenness was truly a curse on man. Yet the bitter wonderfulness of its touch was unfathomably sweet, temptation would always win in the end. As such, Alter had always been particularly wary of drink. It, in his opinion, was a battle of attrition that could never be won. Alcohol was the sandpaper that wore down the soul, and right now he was being worn like a rug.


    In his current state Alter could not entirely remember the evening¡¯s events in any great detail. The squad and him had been plied with multiple rounds of beer by the grateful members of the Silver Pack. With their mouths sufficiently loosened, the squad was more than happy to recount the story of the last few days. Under the careful, more sober eye of Alter and his lieutenants the potentially compromising details were sidestepped well enough that none of their new friends felt the need to ask any awkward questions. Talk had then turned to tactics and methodology but by that point too much had been drunk for anyone to construct a coherent explanation. What had happened afterward was a simple blur, at some point he¡¯d returned to the room and he had all his limbs intact. Good enough.


    With a low groan Alter turned his head to look across the room and waited out the unpleasant second for his brain to slosh after it. The sleeping forms of his friends lumbered into focus, Pavejack and Walross were out cold but Boats seemed to be in a similarly uncomfortable, conscious position. The Scotsman sat on the end of his bed, his form silhouetted by the gleaming moonlight that poured through the open window. Seemingly aware that he was under observation, Boats turned towards him, the corners of his mouth twisting upward in an expression of equal parts sympathy and amusement.


    ¡°Let me guess, you¡¯ve had worse?¡± He spoke softly with a chuckle.


    ¡°I¡¯ve certainly had better.¡± Alter muttered as he levered himself upright, head whirling like a shaken snow globe.


    ¡°I told you shouldn¡¯t enter shot contests with drinkers that are clearly out of your league.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Alter looked at the man dumbfounded. He had no recollection of this.


    ¡°That Huntmaster of theirs challenged you, remember? First to five, the local spirit delicacy. Some sort of pear and radish liqueur. Smelled awful.¡± Boats revelled in the delivery of this sudden news.


    Alter¡¯s eyes sank to the floor as he pondered this new fact in silence for a handful of seconds.


    ¡°Did I win?¡± He asked, looking up again as he swung his legs over the side of the bed to sit up properly


    ¡°You drank half the first shot, wretched, accused the barman of poisoning you and then stumbled off to bed without another word. No sir you lost.¡± Boats¡¯ torso contorted in silent laughter.


    ¡°Did I bet anything?¡± Alter pressed in mounting horror.


    ¡°I think so.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± His face began to whiten at the possibilities.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know I was too busy laughing.¡±


    ¡°Oh god.¡± Alter slumped forward with enough force to nearly throw himself off the bed.


    ¡°You were drunk, boss. So were they. They¡¯re not going to hold you to anything.¡± Boats reassured him


    ¡°How brilliantly smart of me. How are you doing? You seemed to be putting them away earlier.¡± Alter shifted from side to side testily, it seemed that being upright was helping.


    ¡°Ha. I¡¯m no weak southerner.¡± Pride filled the man¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Spare me the Braveheart nonsense. We both know that high alcohol tolerance is a symptom not a cause.¡±


    Boats looked ready to turn the conversation into an argument but the soft flicker of warm firelight began to illuminate the window frame and the men¡¯s attention was diverted.


    ¡°It¡¯s been at least an hour since the street lights burnt out, there shouldn¡¯t be any need to re-light them. Someone taking a late night stroll?¡± Alter asked.


    ¡°Changing of the guard perhaps. Someone in uniform is coming along the road with a torch. At speed, fella¡¯s charging.¡± Boats brow furrowed as the light began to spill into the room.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    This was far too much curiosity for Alter¡¯s queasiness to suppress. With great effort he stood and made the perilous four step journey across to the window. There was indeed a lone figure of a guardsman hurrying left to right along the main street.


    ¡°He came from the direction of the main gate. I recognise the fact that this could be completely normal but something doesn¡¯t sit right with me.¡± Boats continued.


    Alter agreed, there was a certain ominous feeling in the still night air. The torch light faded as the guard moved away but soon enough more torches began to appear. First other individuals, then small groups began to hurry in both directions. The two men glanced at each other concerned as the urgency of the guard grew. Soon enough Marshal Vaulter made an appearance, dressed in a long robe with a sleep-dishevelled mess of a hairstyle. He stopped to speak to a group of guards in front of the Riverfield, as they spoke more figures appeared wearing increasingly fancy outfits. Alter strained to overhear what was being said but his head was still too clouded. Fortunately, Boats was under no such wicked condition.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to make out exactly what they¡¯re talking about but it sounds like there¡¯s trouble at the gate. Something is attacking it? Something ¡­ something invisible to the naked eye.¡± They looked at each other.


    ¡°Shit those things weren¡¯t dead.¡± Alter hissed.


    ¡°And now they¡¯ve followed us. Ach what have we done?¡± Snarled Boats.


    Alter turned his attention back to the assembled soldiers below, having reached some unknown critical mass they were now making a beeline toward the beleaguered gate. He couldn¡¯t help but notice the lack of panic on display, surely this merited greater concern? Either way, he wasn¡¯t about to let his squad¡¯s lack of diligence get anyone hurt.


    ¡°Grab that thermal scope, Marksman. Let¡¯s get down there.¡± Alter spun from the window and moved back to his chosen corner, reaching for his rifle.


    ¡°Are you able to use that thing in your state?¡± Boats asked as he fiddled with his backpack.


    Alter swore inwardly and instead reached for his chest rig. One of the larger pouches was his Personal Aid Kit. Inside, among the bandages and gauss, was a small vial of universal correctant. He hadn¡¯t wanted to consume it without good reason but a drunk man aiming a gun was a terrible defensive strategy. With a frustrated growl he twisted the lid and downed the brackish liquid, in an instant he felt the mental mist lift and the world slotted neatly back into place.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± A third voice joined the conversation as Walross sat up in his bed, his eyes widening as he saw what the two men were doing.


    ¡°Is your head in the game?¡± Alter asked as he picked up his rifle.


    ¡°I¡¯m good to move.¡± Walross responded emphatically as he stood up.


    ¡°Then grab your weapon and follow us. I¡¯ll brief you on the way.¡±


    The three strode from the room, taking just enough care not to wake up the other lodgers of the Riverfield. The main room was still dimly lit, the fireplace along one of the sidewalls clung to defiant life and a pair of candles twinkled on the bar. There was no sign of any staff, though someone would be on duty somewhere. There was however one patron of the establishment who had not quite made it back to their room, instead finding themselves lying face down on the stairs, snoring quietly in a puddle of spilled booze. The front door was mercifully unlocked and the men slipped out into the street. Alter explained the supposed situation as they moved, Walross was incredulous at first but soon agreed that it was better to be safe than sorry.


    Soon enough they came upon the unfolding scene. The gate was closed, its portcullis defiant in its barring of the way. Numerous torches and braziers cast orange and yellow light across the now empty market square. Before them, a semi-circle of guards stood watching the gate, talking uneasily amongst themselves. At their centre stood Vaulter, accompanied by three figures in green robes and hoods with unknown symbology emblazoned across their backs. Their conversation was interrupted by a strange scraping screech, and the faint flicker of sparks shone briefly from the portcullis. As the men approached, Boats flicked the thermal scope back on and pointed it forward but the crowd left them unable to determine if it really was the Medusids from their previous engagement. The sound of the scope¡¯s activation was loud enough to catch the Marshal¡¯s ear and he turned to them.


    ¡°What has brought you here, Captain? Rest assured we are in control of the situation.¡± His voice was tired and annoyed but Alter sensed they weren''t the cause of his irritation.


    ¡°My men and I overheard you mention an invisible foe. We have ways of assisting, if you will permit us.¡± Alter offered but Vaulter seemed unimpressed.


    ¡°There will be no need. This is not the first time an Unrepentant has come knocking on my door. We are quite adept at dealing with them.¡± He turned away and signalled to the cloaked figures.


    With curiosity, Alter moved forward to join the guards as the mystery men stepped forward. The one in the centre carried a large silver bowl while the two flanking them bore short spears of the same material. Another shower of sparks flew from the portcullis and Boats quickly caught up and raised the scope. Sure enough, the lanky form of a Medusid was slashing away at the reinforced wooden barrier. But something was wrong, it looked unsteady, its blows almost sent it reeling back a step. More than hurt, it seemed barely able to stand. Alter¡¯s mind scoured his memories, one of the three Medusids had been slightly behind the others when the grenade exploded in front of them. It must¡¯ve been sheltered enough from the fragmentation to survive, then that meant the gravity spheres were a protective mechanism and not a side effect of expiry. Perhaps the other two had succumbed to their wounds en route.


    Another flash of light, different this time, snapped him back to the present. The silver bowl was filled with ghostly jade flame that roared and flared. The figure raised it on high, allowing its light to flood the gateway. The twisted, dogged silhouette of the Unrepentant came into view as a shadowy form raging at the portcullis. With reverence, the other two raised their spears, bathing their tips in the flame. The spears ignited and with smooth motions they pulled their arms back and hurled them towards the creature. The spears flew hungrily, almost as if guided by some unseen hand and struck home. The Unrepentant let out a pained howl, its form dissipating, transforming from shadow to black smoke. There was one last desperate swipe, then it was gone.


    ¡°Foul creature. Become dust.¡± Vaulter spat and turned away.


    There was a smattering of triumphant cheers and relieved laughter from the assembled men, but soon enough the majority had begun to move away and return to their posts or beds. The sense of the show being over was strangely overwhelming to Alter as he stared at the point the Unrepentant had vacated. New questions, mistakes, revelations, it was all a bit much. He dreaded what tomorrow might bring. But tomorrow couldn¡¯t come soon enough.

 Ch.20: The Unrepentant

    Morning had arrived in Crestvigil. Dawn spread colour across the sky where pure white clouds roamed the air like sheep. Alter¡¯s eyes fluttered open to the sound of distant chatter and the crowing of a nearby cockerel. The strain of yesterday evening¡¯s revelry was now a distant memory thanks to the universal correctant. As he struggled with the fact that light existed and didn¡¯t seem to like him very much, he turned his head to see the other three beds vacated. He wasn¡¯t alone though; Boozehound was perched on the window sill engaged in the ancient sport of people-watching. A stoneware mug sat comfortably in his hands emitting a small plume of steam.


    ¡°Morning.¡± Alter said as he rose.


    ¡°Good morning to you, too. Sounds like you¡¯ve had an interesting night.¡± Boozehound responded without looking away from the window.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been told all about it have you?¡±


    ¡°To think that one of those things would chase us all the way here. We need to be more careful. Not that we could¡¯ve known what it was capable of.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s certainly a good lesson to have learned here, imagine how much worse it would¡¯ve been if we were still in the wilderness.¡±


    ¡°True enough. You know, from how Oliver had described it you¡¯d think that Soul Kindlers were a once-in-a-lifetime sight. Now it almost sounds like there¡¯s at least a couple in every town. Blue flames, green flames, it¡¯s a real world of pyromaniacs we¡¯ve found ourselves in.¡± Boozehound mused.


    ¡°Calm down with the assumptions there, by every town you mean the one town we¡¯ve seen so far. It¡¯s a border settlement, they need the extra security. Besides, the people from last night looked more like priests than anything else, they could be a separate thing.¡± Alter moved to stand next to him, glancing out to the street below. As he expanded his senses, the smell of the brew in Boozehound''s hands took firm hold of his attention.


    ¡°What¡¯ve you got there?¡± He asked, curious of this strange new smell.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Tastes good though, and I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s got caffeine.¡± Boozehound looked down at the mug affectionately.


    ¡°How can you tell?¡±


    ¡°I actually feel alive for once.¡± His voice was a cocktail of triumph and whimsy.


    ¡°Addict.¡± Alter teased.


    ¡°Ah ah. Proper term, please.¡± Boozehound flipped to his best schoolmaster voice and waggled a lone finger at him.


    ¡°Frenchman.¡± Was the sheepish correction.


    ¡°Merci.¡± The finger was retracted and the hand returned to the warmth of the mug.


    Alter made the spot decision that spying on the local populace wasn¡¯t a career move he was looking to make right now and was best left to the professionals. As far as he was concerned there were much more important objectives to complete, such as food and making sure none of his friends had perished due to alcohol poisoning. He slipped from the room, the buzz of life swelling as he made his way along the corridor.


    The main floor of the Riverfield was busy, not to the extent of last night but they were certainly in the flow of the morning rush. A number of locals had appeared, loading themselves up with hearty breakfasts in preparation for the heavy days¡¯ work ahead. They sat cheek to jowl with the much less bright-eyed lodgers of the establishment who had not yet recovered from yesterday''s indulgences. The rest of the squad were sat at the same table which they once again shared with members of the Silver Pack, Alter noted that there were more heads resting on the table then up and alert. Breakfast was provided after a brief wait, proving similar fare to last night. Eggs, pork sausage, root vegetables and freshly baked bread. Not quite the breakfast of champions but they¡¯d certainly made the round of sixteen. Accompanying this spread was his own mug of the deep red liquid Boozehound had been so enamoured with. Like so many of the things in this world the taste was unique. Hints of blackberry and beetroot collided on the tongue, evolving into an earthy, almost mud-like flavour with a strong aftertaste of caramel. It was a surprisingly agreeable combination so long as you kept your sips frugal and interspersed with the food. The Frenchman was correct, there was absolutely caffeine in this. Caffeine and something else, some other chemical that hit his system and perked him up considerably. As minutes went by his awareness heightened and the colours of the world became two shades too bright and vibrant to be natural. Everything seemed so ¡­ nice. Alter didn¡¯t trust this development, after all he was British, things weren¡¯t allowed to be nice and anything that claimed to be was to be met with a heavy dose of suspicion. He left the mug half full.


    Not five seconds after Alter had swallowed the final mouthful of his meal he spotted the familiar form of one of the Marshal¡¯s manservants picking their way towards them. With upright curtness and a profound sense of discomfort at his surroundings, he informed Alter that they were expected at the Marshal¡¯s residence before beating a swift retreat. There was no point in keeping anyone waiting, with a few swift under-the-table kicks and a shaken shoulder he roused the squad and set them to packing. Ten minutes later they tumbled out of the Riverfield and into the busy, sun strewn streets.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Upon their arrival at the Marshal¡¯s estate they were quickly ushered through the door and down the same corridor, however their destination was not the map room. They were instead shown into a stately dining room with a long lavish table stretching nearly the full length of the space. With chairs added to both ends the room could comfortably seat a party of thirty two, however there were only two people already present. Oliver and Lucille sat opposite each other at the far right end of the table, a pair of immaculately decorated glasses with a matching decanter of crystal clear water was the only thing between them. Oliver waved them over and invited them to sit.


    ¡°Vaulter wanted to attend but business has sent him elsewhere. Nevertheless, he has asked me to tell you that he¡¯s still thankful for your presence last night, and that he appreciates the fact that you felt the need to protect Crestivigil despite only being visitors here. How did you manage that? I¡¯ve barely had to sweet talk him at all!¡± Oliver laughed, his manner seemed much more at ease now that he¡¯d spent a night in relative safety and comfort.


    ¡°You can go a long way with a professional manner and a fortunate coincidence or two.¡± Alter shrugged as he took the seat next to him. The conversation paused as the squad found their seats. Once the scraping sound of wooden chair legs being dragged subsided, Lucille produced a leather-clad book from her lap.


    ¡°I¡¯ve done a little research into the creatures you encountered on the road yesterday. From how Vaulter described it this morning it seems one of them made it to the town gates. Correct?¡± She asked poignantly.


    Alter looked around, fearing the presence of one of the servants would result in the Marshal learning that they had led the Unrepentant straight to him. Satisfied that he was not about to reveal anything incriminating, he nodded.


    ¡°He mentioned something about it being an ¡®Unrepentant¡¯. From what we could tell it was one of the three we encountered having survived with heavy wounds.¡±


    ¡°I thought so.¡± Lucille smiled in satisfaction, opening the book to a specific page and passing it over to him.


    Alter examined the beast profiled across the two pages displayed for him. The silhouette matched what they had seen pretty well, minus a couple of details. The long wiry legs, the vicious claws and the wavy tentacle-esque hair were more than enough to identify it. Seeing the curiosity in the eyes of those who couldn¡¯t read the book, Alter began to read aloud, skipping details they already knew.


    ¡°The Pathstalker is an Unrepentant of medium level threat. It is often discovered on the outskirts of society, in the aftermath of major battles or significant natural disasters. It holds a severe loathing for humans, hunting and chasing any who cross its path across great distances and time scales. While typically encountered solo, groups of up to twelve Pathstalkers have been recorded in various locations. As with all Unrepentant, Pathstalkers are invisible to the human eye. However, their silhouettes can be revealed under the light of Sirrithae. Folklore in some regions also states that cats are capable of detecting their presence. It is believed that Pathstalkers are formed from the betrayed, the unholy, and the liar.¡± He intoned, eyebrows rising and falling as he read like a conductor before an orchestra.


    ¡°Quite the resume. Hey, how many different types of these Unrepentant things are there?¡± Riptide asked.


    ¡°Twenty plus.¡± Alter answered as he flipped through the other pages, taking in sketches of creatures that came in all sorts of weird, wonderful and terrifying shapes and sizes.


    ¡°What even are they?¡± Pavejack interjected, his face caught between fear and wanderlust.


    ¡°An unfortunate byproduct of death.¡± Oliver replied grimly, eyes burning holes in the surface of the table. However, Lucille was not satisfied with such a short answer.


    ¡°They are lessons to the living, on the virtues of being a good person. When a person dies, their soul has to stand before Mullisvar, also known as ¡®They who wait below¡¯. Now, Mullisvar is different to the others of the Four, as they have no set form. You could call them an amalgamation of all the souls that have passed before you, we refer to them as a ¡®chorus¡¯. When you stand before Mullisvar, you are in fact standing before the soul of those that knew you in life. Your loved ones, your enemies, everyone. There you are judged on your actions and words. On promises made, kept or broken. If the chorus finds you good then you are allowed to pass peacefully into the afterlife, whatever that may entail. Should you be found wanting though, you will be asked to plead forgiveness, to repent.¡± She explained in a rush before finally pausing to breathe.


    ¡°So the Unrepentant are people that their Chorus found wanting, but refused to plead?¡± Whim prompted.


    ¡°Exactly. They are then rejected, transformed into one of the monsters detailed in that book before being cast back into the world, a twisted shadow of their former selves.¡± Lucille nodded.


    ¡°But why? It all seems so extreme.¡± Walross frowned.


    ¡°That is the great question of ¡®They who wait below¡¯. The souls that judge are all good, they all begged forgiveness and were granted solace. They don¡¯t understand why an individual would refuse their mercy. They see this punishment as a warning to the living, not comprehending that there will always be bad people. All they do is further hurt the people they left behind.¡± Oliver¡¯s face tightened, traces of anger cracking his usual mask.


    Lucille reached out and gently took one of his hands, concern played across her expression. Alter too found himself reaching out to lay a hand on the young man¡¯s shoulder. Between his father¡¯s illness, his brother¡¯s disappearance and his uncle''s ongoing powergrab, talk of this god of the afterlife was a terribly sore spot for him right now. A change of topic was required. Fortunately, he did not have to think of one himself as one of the doors opened and a servant stuck his head through the door.


    ¡°Begging your pardon my lady, my lord. A large column of knights in the Auserre colours has been reported approaching the town.¡± He beamed.


    ¡°So soon? They must have been travelling all night.¡± Oliver snapped out of his darkening mood.


    ¡°Did they see who was at the head of the column?¡± Lucille asked, her smile wide.


    ¡°A large man with black hair appeared to be leading, madame.¡±


    ¡°Victor!¡± Lucille laughed.


    ¡°Victor.¡± Oliver repeated quietly, his face rapidly turning ashen. ¡°I may need to go into hiding.¡±

 Ch.21: Brotherly Whirlwind

    At the news of Lucille¡¯s brother Victor¡¯s imminent arrival the house erupted into activity. Domestic staff hustled and bustled, producing tables and chairs from various hidden corners and carting them outside into the training yard. The kitchen was well and truly raided and a modest mountain of food was arranged in a buffet style. A small storage shed was opened from which temporary hitching posts, water troughs and feed bags were made ready. Enough water was drawn from the nearby well to put out a house fire. Everything was being cleaned with a fervor and desperation to the point that standing still for too long could easily result in a feather duster to the face. Alter couldn¡¯t help but feel a pang of guilt as he watched the to-ing and fro-ing around him, but he knew he¡¯d only get in the way. Besides, it would be some time before the vacuum cleaner appeared, and the dishwashers in this historical period were strictly acoustic.


    Oliver was flipping between nervous panic and mute surrender faster than a pancake in a washing machine. Were it not for Lucille¡¯s reassuring presence, he may have made a bolt for the nearby hills by now. Strange, that a man who Alter had witnessed kill a wounded man for information, who had casually walked up to a man-mountain hybrid and stabbed them through the heart, should be rendered so fraught with worry by a visit from his in-law-to-be. Strange but very human. But as Alter continued to watch the staff attend their tasks he couldn¡¯t help but notice a certain relaxed quality to their work. The food was immaculate but it was presented haphazardly in a jumble of courses, with no sign of crockery nor cutlery being provided. The cleaning appeared precise and thorough but there were a number of dusty piles hidden in corners and behind conveniently placed pieces of furniture. It was a facade. This blooming realisation only served to further pique his curiosity as he gazed out of the window. Was this an official visitation or merely an official casual glance?


    The thunder of hooves drew his attention road-ward as, to a mixture of relief and disappointment, Vaulter and three members of the town guard brought their mounts to a sliding halt. The Marshal was off his horse the moment it became feasible and was already inside the building before anyone could muster a greeting. Flicking his vision to the open internal door, Alter caught a glimpse of the man striding past, his shirt already half undone. A change of costume was in order it seemed. Moments later the distant peel of a bell could be heard through the late morning air.


    ¡°They¡¯re approaching the gate.¡± Lucille said as she rose from her chair.


    ¡°The Marshal¡¯s cut it close, hasn¡¯t he?¡± Riptide commented as he followed suit.


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t far. Apparently the Unrepentant had carved a bloody path through a sheep pen on the way to the town last night. He was out haggling compensation costs with the farmer, doubtless he had to make a good offer in order to get back in time.¡± Oliver explained as a way of distracting himself.


    ¡°We should get ready to present ourselves.¡± Lucille brought the conversation back on track as she made her way towards the door. ¡°Seeing me in good health will go a long way to calming Victor down.¡± She added with a smile.


    ¡°What about us?¡± Alter asked as he fell into step with Oliver.


    ¡°Stick close.¡± Oliver replied tensely. ¡°But keep a couple of steps behind me, with your lieutenants another step behind you. The rest of your squad should find somewhere further back. It¡¯s all a status thing, you see. It¡¯s a bit of a waste of time if you ask me but my preferences don¡¯t apply here.¡± He rambled as they made their way out of the back door and into the sunny training yard.


    Alter glanced backward and got enough understanding nods to satisfy him. Between the arrayed tables, horse provisions, assembled staff and gathering ranks of guard there wasn¡¯t much room however the squad was able to find a suitably shaded place to loiter. Lucille and Oliver stood together at the front, keeping as close as they could get while maintaining a respectful distance. Alter took his place a meter behind and to the right of Oliver, with a fidgeting Riptide and sober Boozehound behind him. Vaulter appeared a handful of seconds later, having mostly changed into a more official looking uniform complete with the greens and symbology necessary to identify him as a servant of Auserre. With the last of the buttons fastened he moved to mirror Alter¡¯s position to Lucille¡¯s rear left. The bell changed its pattern from a steady knell to sets of three quick notes which caused a rise in anticipation among those assembled. Alter guessed that meant the column had entered Crestvigil. Soon enough a much deeper, more numerous rumble of hooves could be heard.


    In a sudden flurry of noise and motion horses spilled into the yard at speed. It took every ounce of Alter¡¯s nerve to prevent him from taking a hesitant step backward at the sensory onslaught taking place before him. The majority of the horsemen were similar in their appearance. Identical suits of polished silver armor covered them, augmented with sections of green identifying fabric. Their heads were uncovered but full helms could be seen dangling from their saddles. Their hair was cut uniformly short, Alter could see an array of ages ranging from late teens to early forties. They looked tired, Oliver¡¯s comment about travelling all night appeared to carry weight. At the rear of the column came an ornate carriage pulled by four black horses, fortunately the driver had had the good sense to slow down beforehand and managed not to crash into the equine scrum.


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    ¡°Lucille!¡± One of the knights in noticeably grander armor bellowed as he leapt from his mount and charged forward.


    ¡°Brother!¡± Lucille called in kind and stepped forward to be swept up in a close hug.


    This man who Alter assumed must be Victor looked to be in his late twenties, with short curly black hair and a large frame that must top out at at least six foot five.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Victor asked fervently as he held Lucille at arms length, examining her frame as if to make sure she hadn¡¯t lost a limb.


    ¡°I¡¯m perfectly healthy, as you can clearly see.¡± Lucille reassured him firmly but that did not stop Victor from shaking his head and turning back to another slightly fancier knight.


    ¡°Get Samuel out here.¡± He ordered.


    ¡°Oh, Victor! You didn¡¯t drag poor Samuel all the way out here, did you?¡± Lucille asked, her face aghast.


    ¡°The report said you had been hurt, we need to make sure.¡± Victor¡¯s voice was firm as one of the knights knocked on the carriage door. Lucille attempted to protest but she was roundly ignored.


    A moment later the carriage door opened and a wizened old man in a basic grey robe tottered out, nearly tumbling onto the floor were it not for the catching arms of the knight who had summoned him. He looked stiff, sleep deprived and profoundly uncomfortable. However once his feet were properly reunited with terra firma he immediately bee-lined to his duties. Lucille was modestly poked and prodded as the ancient doctor asked several dozen questions in a quivering voice while Victor hovered nervously behind him. Seemingly satisfied with his initial investigation Samuel nodded and began making his way ponderously back to the carriage. Lucille let out a surprised squawk as Victor bundled her up in his arms and began following the doctor, the slight form of Chloe scurrying behind. With a deft movement Victor pitched his sister into the carriage before stepping inside and closing the door behind him. For a surreal moment quiet ruled the scene but for the puffing and blowing of the horses. At a hand signal from the knight Victor had turned to, the others led their mounts to the water troughs, the grateful beasts stooping to drink their much needed fill. Oliver and Vaulter stood to rigid attention, glancing from side to side Alter hazarded a guess that the storm was far from over.


    As if to punctuate his thought the carriage door flew open once more and Victor reemerged. There was fire in his eyes, wild fury that scanned the crowd like a tiger who had been the victim of one too many embarrassing practical jokes.


    ¡°You!¡± He roared as he spotted Oliver and began closing the distance, his gauntleted fist reaching back as if to strike. ¡°How could you allow this to happen?! How could you drag my poor sister into such a dangerous place?! How pathetic are the knights of Masserlind that they should be defeated by a bunch of petty sand-addled brigands!¡± The tirade flowed like an apoplectic waterfall but the accompanying blow never arrived.


    Alter could not see Oliver¡¯s face from his position, but he hadn¡¯t melted into an ashamed puddle or had his head been chopped off, so he guessed he was handling it well enough.


    ¡°I have had enough of this charade, you have proven yourself unworthy of my dear sister¡¯s hand a dozen times over!¡± Victor continued, the personification of a storm. ¡°It¡¯s over, do you hear me?! I hereby declare this engagement annulled! Auserre will never support you ever again! You. Are. On. Your. Own.¡± Victor growled directly into Oliver¡¯s face before spinning on his heel. ¡°Are the horses ready?¡± He called.


    ¡°Sir.¡± The knight lieutenant saluted.


    ¡°Good, we¡¯re leaving. Keep up the good work Sir Vaulter.¡± Victor launched himself back onto his horse and immediately powered it back towards the road.


    With hungry looks at the untouched food the knights began to follow him out of the yard, followed by the rumbling carriage. Alter blew out a slow and steady breath as he processed what had just happened. Strangely it was Vaulter that broke the stillness first as he stepped forward and patted Oliver on the back.


    ¡°Well survived, my lord.¡± He whispered reassuringly with hints of relief and pride. ¡°Let¡¯s get this all cleared away.¡± He clapped twice.


    The servants again burst into life, packing away tables and whisking the plates back to the kitchens. They must have known the knights would be leaving almost as soon as they¡¯d arrived.


    ¡°Did that go well?¡± Alter asked as he sidled up beside Oliver.


    ¡°Well enough.¡± Oliver sighed as he allowed his shoulders to slump. ¡°This is probably the twentieth time our engagement has been ¡®cancelled¡¯ by Victor¡¯s outbursts. Don¡¯t worry about it too much.¡± He sounded as if he was talking to himself more than Alter.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t even get to say goodbye.¡± Alter murmured as he shepherded him back into the house.


    ¡°We expected this. Don¡¯t worry, she¡¯ll be back with us soon enough. It¡¯s not in her nature to stay cooped up in their estate.¡± Oliver allowed himself a wistful smile.


    ¡°As you say.¡± Alter responded lightly, not wanting to pursue the matter further. ¡°What now?¡±


    ¡°Vaulter had the foresight to arrange separate transport for us to take us to the border with my territory. They¡¯re not riding like lunatics so they won¡¯t arrive until later. All going well, we¡¯ll be at our destination in three days. Come, I¡¯ll show you the route.¡± Oliver regained some pep for his step and led the way back to the map room.


    Soon enough Alter and the rest of his bewildered squad would find themselves on the road again. At least they¡¯d get somewhere to sit this time.

 Ch.22: Damp Departure

    The afternoon had arrived with little fanfare as the quiet, comfortable routines of the Crestvigil townsfolk provided a gentle background of noise and movement. Low and scattered clouds had begun their slow intrusion from the north. Their colours slowly shifting, bank by bank, towards the dull grey of showers. These increasingly frequent patches of shade did little to dampen Alter¡¯s spirits, in fact being from the UK made them seem quite homely as he meandered through the winding streets. The sudden arrival and subsequent departure of the Auserre knighthood had sent waves of puzzled excitement rippling through the local population, rumours were well and truly abuzz in the yard work chatter and doorway gossip. Fortunately, none of the theories included neither him nor his friends, as such the speculation was a source of light amusement. The public¡¯s collective imagination can always be relied upon for free entertainment no matter what world you found yourself in.


    As Alter walked, the plan for their imminent journey played over in his mind. It would take two full days to travel by carriage to the border between the lands of Auserre and Masserlind. Their final destination was the city of Jestriff, which roughly translated to ¡®Snowline¡¯ in some abandoned tongue. Situated in the northern province of Grenveine, it had begun life as a border fortress which eventually swelled into a city of pale grey stone and dark blue slate roofs. Ordinarily, their journey would see them cut diagonally through Auserre and straight into the capital province. However, Oliver was quick to inform him that Victor, in his anger, would have left orders to deny them passage deeper into his family''s territory. As such their only option was to head straight north towards the other Masserlind owned province of Cereloss. A much wilder and unkept stretch of land as Oliver told it, thick with pine forests and placid lakes. The foreseen problem was that Cereloss was under the firm control of Oliver¡¯s power-grabbing uncle, and that there would be multiple opportunities for bandits and ruffians under the man¡¯s thumb to interfere. So, two days of relative peace, then muzzles trained on wood lines the rest of the way. Five days of travel in total. Here¡¯s hoping the packed provisions would be good.


    The aftermath of Victor¡¯s immediate departure had provided the squad with an unexpected boon. Lunch had been magnificent. All concerns that Alter had held in regards to this new world¡¯s catering ability had been blown out of the water. Though he had to admit they skewed a little too heavily towards the salad side of things. Also the local cheese could use a bit more work. Minor criticisms though, easily offset by the rest of the spread. The meal had been punctuated by Vaulter who, having demolished half a bottle of wine, had proceeded to launch into a colourful menagerie of heroic tales from his youth. Alter had tried to follow the stories to the best of his abilities but had quickly found himself bogged down in an unwinnable battle against missing context. Late mediaeval combat doctrine seemed rife with error and egregious personal misjudgements to his more modern standpoint. However, this was all being presented to him through the biassed and tipsy focal point of the Marshal, he could forgive the scattergun narrative. Once the meal had concluded Vaulter was quick to return to his duties and had disappeared. There were still some hours before their transport was due to arrive, Oliver had urged them all to use the time wisely. If they were to be cooped up for a full working week then Alter was going to stretch his legs as much as possible. A gentle wander through the streets before the weather turned was his occupation of choice.


    His path had led him to the far side of Crestvigil where a subtle change in architecture made him pause. The structures here were older, more established. But instead of the appreciation of history Alter felt a certain sense of unease. These were tired, hardened buildings with windows that regarded him with distrust and doors unquestionably closed in silent disdain. Even the people walking along the weathered cobbles of the street seemed distant in comparison to the eager patter of the market side residents.


    ¡°You look as if you have half the weight of the world on your shoulders.¡± A voice spoke out from over his shoulder, familiar but not well known enough for Alter to immediately recall its owner.


    Alter quickly twisted his torso around and offered a polite smile to the pair of men approaching him. ¡°Good afternoon to you too Huntmaster, Mister Pendle. I was just pondering why this corner of Crestvigil feels so cold.¡±


    Huntmaster Raymond returned the gesture as he moved to stand next to him, his lieutenant, Pendle, whom Alter had almost pulled a gun on at the top of the Riverfield¡¯s stairwell nodded politely but remained silent.


    ¡°This is ¡®Bitter Street¡¯.¡± Raymond explained. ¡°The family homes of those who have been here the longest, seen the most change, and secretly wish half of the good folk of this town would go back to wherever they came from.¡± He scowled.


    ¡°Ahh.¡± Alter murmured as he scanned his surroundings with fresh eyes. ¡°Then how about you? You¡¯re just as much an outsider to these people as I.¡± He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.


    ¡°Business, unfortunately. Seeing as our previous contract ended prematurely thanks to a certain someone, we¡¯ve decided to pick up some extra work before moving on. One of the families squirrelled away in here have had a pair of houseworkers abscond with a sack of valuables. They¡¯ve put out a bounty for their return, the two of us are off to get some more details.¡± Raymond explained quietly, keen to prevent the sparse passersby from overhearing and starting any rumours.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Will you have to go far to find them?¡± Alter dropped his voice to match the conspiratory tone.


    Raymond shook his head. ¡°In these types of situations, the thieves never travel too far. They¡¯re farmer¡¯s or dayworker¡¯s daughters from the outlying hamlets who travel here in search of better wages and a better life. Home is the first place they¡¯ll run to.¡±


    ¡°And if they are indeed where you think they are, what will you do then?¡± Alter¡¯s voice darkened; he was certainly not a fan of where this was going.


    To his credit, Raymond took his more threatening stance well. ¡°Then we ask them to return what was stolen without causing anyone any pain. These families don¡¯t care about their arrest or any punishments, they just want their oh so precious heirlooms back. I¡¯m not going to go marching into a lonely farmstead, sword drawn and ready to end some poor girl¡¯s life.¡± He chuckled.


    Alter tried to relax the knot of hardened muscle that had formed in his chest and sighed. ¡°Apologies, Raymond. I made a snap judgement against you for a moment there.¡±


    ¡°No need to be concerned, when you¡¯re in this line of work you get used to the assumptions.¡± He offered Alter a reassuring smile.


    ¡°I understand. Out of curiosity, where will you go after this? I imagine there¡¯s meagre pickings in such well protected territory.¡± Alter asked as a means to change the topic.


    ¡°I figure we¡¯ll try our luck up in Grenveine for a spell. After all, it''s not every day you get a chance to be formally introduced to a nobleman, let alone one of the dukes.¡± Raymond beamed, a mischievous twinkle passing across his eyes.


    Alter was struck with the sudden realisation that he might have made a promise he both couldn¡¯t remember and likely couldn¡¯t keep. ¡°Ermm.¡± He managed.


    ¡°Well either way, I¡¯d better not keep my prospective client waiting. Doubtless we shall be stuck there for hours listening to some old would-be patriarch tell us all about how they would¡¯ve surely been elevated nobility by now were it not for some rival family down the street. Until we meet again!¡± Raymond surged into motion, hurrying further along the street with a jaunty wave. Pendle offered a nod and a quick grunt before striding after him.


    Alter stood mutely in the centre of the street, watching the two men disappear around a conveniently placed corner. With a huff he pushed the frustrated thoughts from the forefront of his mind and raised his face to the sky as the first raindrops began to fill the air. Another decision made, another chance at making a mistake. Uncertainty continued to nibble at the exposed corners of his mind, he felt like an athlete competing in a sport whose rules he didn¡¯t know. The damp impact of water hitting his eyeballs made him shake his head and return to the present, this isolated shower would be heavier than he¡¯d thought. Surrendering to the fact that wetness was inevitable, he slowly turned around and commenced his steady trudging back to the Marshal¡¯s house.


    By the time he made it back he had absorbed enough water to be denied entry, the health of the carpets far outweighing that of his own. Instead, he made his way around the outside of the building and sought shelter under the short porch of the attached stable. Next to Pinecone. Who still didn¡¯t like him. After what seemed like an eternity of blowing water droplets off the bottom of his nose and avoiding Pinecone¡¯s insistent headbutting, the clouds decided he¡¯d suffered enough and moved on. Alter was no fool though, he could see the next shower eagerly awaiting his departure from his choice of cover. The infernal horse would get to keep his new punching bag for a while longer.


    Nothing lasts forever, the band of rain abated just as the now familiar rumble of an approaching carriage pricked his ears. As the much more modest constructs clattered into the yard the house¡¯s rear door opened and the rest of the squad filed out looking smug in their dryness. Riptide marched over, lugging Alter¡¯s equipment with him before depositing it in a pile at his feet and giving him his best motherly ¡®and where have you been?¡¯ expression. Alter rolled his eyes and picked up his gear. Vaulter and Oliver followed the others out of the house, the pair enraptured in quiet conversation.


    ¡°These carriages are fitted for six occupants each, so we¡¯ll at least have a little space left over for the bulkier weapons.¡± Riptide told him as he petted Pinecone¡¯s neck easily.


    ¡°More than that. I want one of us up with the drivers in shifts, especially once we¡¯re approaching the border.¡± Alter glared at the now placid and content equine demon.


    ¡°Understood.¡± Riptide answered flatly.


    ¡°Captain, you and your lieutenants are riding with me!¡± Oliver called as he climbed into the lead carriage.


    ¡°Those are our marching orders, I suppose.¡± Alter commented.


    ¡°SItting orders, more like. I¡¯ll ride up top first.¡± Riptide ambled off and clambered up to sit on the driver¡¯s bench.


    Alter chuckled to himself before following Oliver¡¯s lead, sitting opposite the young lord with an audible squelch. Much to his disappointment he spotted a stable hand leading Pinecone out of the stable and attaching him to the rear carriage. Boozehound levered himself up and closed the door behind him, seconds later the sound of the driver¡¯s whip cracked and the carriage groaned into motion. Vaulter stood alone in the yard, hand placed across his breast in salute. The three men sat quietly as they moved through the town and out the same gate they had arrived at. It was a long way to Jestriff. The heavy silence told Alter that they all knew it wouldn¡¯t be simple.

 Ch.23: Blood on Bark

    ¡®Monotonous¡¯ is a word often spoken but rarely ever known by those inclined to use it to refer to their day to day lives. Its syllables carry a certain cavernous dread, echoes reflecting the emptiness of consciousness. Deep down, Alter knew he was only scratching the surface of the greyest concept. But after three days cooped up in a small, uncomfortable, juddering wooden box, he was becoming all too familiar with its endless lack of charm. As the hours ticked glacially by, he found himself casting his mind adrift on a sea of his own thoughts. Daydreams that could last for short eternities, only to be shattered by the sudden jolts of the carriage hitting a rut or a stone in the road. There were glorious moments when Alter could completely forget this insane situation he was in. Closely followed by the intense sourness of realisation that this was in fact no strange fantasy. Bittersweet boredom to the rhythmic drumming of hooves, rattling wheels and the creaking protests of wood.


    The carriages Vaulter had whistled up were not too bad, comfort-wise. The seats were old but the padding had not yet turned to the fabric equivalent of slatestone. More importantly, the suspension had actually worked to a degree. Oliver had spoken enthusiastically about his territories during the remainder of the first day, however his desire for conversation had gradually petered out through the next morning. By afternoon he had turned to quiet contemplation, chin resting on a hand and eyes watching the world drift by. Their progress north through the lands of Auserre had proven uneventful as they passed through villages and fields, separated by rolling hills of sun-bathed green. Unfortunately, nothing good nor bearable lasts forever. A small walled fortification, little more than a watch tower with aspirations and an attached village marked the border with Cereloss. Sadly, this was as far as the Marshal¡¯s men would go, the squad having to transfer their gear into a fresh pair of local carriages for the second leg of their journey. Offers of accommodation were given but Oliver refused, later telling Alter and his team that eyes loyal to his uncle would have immediately reported their arrival. Their new transportation was best described as ¡®minimalist¡¯, ¡®spartan¡¯ and ¡®how is this thing still in one piece?¡¯. Alter would not go so far as to accuse these arrangements as wilful negligence, but it was clear Oliver¡¯s status was not a priority in these parts. Nevertheless the coachmen were respectful enough, minded their manners and gave off a sense of relaxed competence. Their horses were a little ragged and wild-eyed but they took to their jobs with enthusiasm and speed. A fact which really emphasised the spine-blending lack of suspension. As such the regular breaks they took to allow the horses a moment''s rest became equally important to the passengers as well.


    That evening their caravan of two pulled into a well established camping area where a quartet of trading wagons, built in the classic old western style, had already set themselves up. The trader and his hires proved pleasant company, but it was ill news of the path ahead they carried. The road was approaching an area of woodlands with a confirmed bandit presence, deserted soldiers from the trader¡¯s description. This band had stalked their convoy for a couple of hours but had not made any offensive moves. A blessing he put down to the number of men he¡¯d hired and the mundane nature of the goods he was carrying. However, a pair of carriages with no armed outriders would present a most tempting target. Under these circumstances, it was advised that they should return to the border outpost and await additional travellers to form a group with. However, the squad¡¯s hostility pulse would provide plentiful warning, combined with Oliver¡¯s reluctance to turn around meant they would be pressing on.


    Having discussed strategy with the squad and clambering into the carriage, Alter had been left nursing a grumbling sense of inevitability. A feeling which was only compounded as they arrived at and entered the forewarned woodland. Not too long after the first trees had disappeared behind them, the promised red borders in his vision flashed and the carriages were ordered to halt. From the way the pulse had rippled through the squad members it was clear the hostile contact was ahead as the crow flies. But that still left a one-eighty-degree field of possibility with no immediate way of narrowing it down. Alter also figured that if these were the bandits then this contact was more than likely a scout, leaving them no clue as to the proximity of the main force. It was already decided that firing their weapons around the carriages was too risky. The horses would be undoubtedly spooked by the sudden and violent noise of gunfire, the possibility of one or both carriages crashing or lurching forwards into an ambush was to be completely avoided. For now the squad dismounted, forming a double column on either side of the road and ordering the carriage to follow behind them. Once Alter had counted a hundred paces he gave the signal to swap formations, as one the two halves of the squad slipped into the opposite treelines.


    Once again, the strategy was simple enough. The two fireteams would move in parallel ahead of the carriages, sweeping the forest as they moved. Both sides had three men in a battle line with a rough five metre spread, their eyes forward with the man furthest out watching the flank. Finally, the fourth man would bring up the rear to ensure the line hadn¡¯t inadvertently crossed a hostile¡¯s position, preventing any unfortunate backstabs. The woodland itself wasn¡¯t so thick as to hinder their progress. But the thick trunks, combined with dense shrubs and stands of chest-high ferns provided ample places to lie in wait. Alter had positioned himself as the centre man in their line, with Whim near the road, Vangroover deeper in and Boozehound shadowing their movements. His nerves rattled as he counted one-fifty paces, eyes flicking from tree to bush, ears desperately searching for some clue, even his nose scoured the air for any lingering scent out of place. Were this the Badlands then they would¡¯ve made contact by now, with a near insurmountable advantage. But this was a mess of poor sightlines, making the playing field excruciatingly equal. He was also painfully aware of their lack of camouflage, their uniforms were coloured for dry stones, sand and grit, and had not magically transformed into woodland patterns. While they did not stand out like sore thumbs, there would be no option to hide in plain sight.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    The pace slowed to a crawl as they continued, slaloming between trees and other plants. More than once a pair of blips over the radio, the signal for possible contact, caused them to stop and wait for minutes at a time before the single blip of ¡®clear¡¯ was given. Those moments of silent stillness felt like years, the gentle rustle of wind in the leaves akin to the hushed, expectant whispers of a theatre audience. Finally, tensely, they hit the two hundred metre mark. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Whim freeze and reach for his radio. Three blips, confirmed contact. He came to a halt and dropped to one knee in response, eyes widening as he scanned the forest ahead, finding nothing.


    ¡°Fifteen metres, front, fern stand. Unnatural movement of the foliage, and I think I see a leg.¡± Whim reported with a whisper.


    Alter could make out the edges of the ferns he was looking at but a cluster of young trees hid the majority from his sight. Once again his mind raced, questions and doubts battling for his attention.


    ¡°Am I starting the party?¡± Whim asked, rifle sighted and ready.


    With a slow exhale and closed eyelids, Alter offered a small prayer. A prayer to God, to his family, to Sirrithae, Nerothyll, Kalaton, even Mullisvar. To anyone that might be listening that he wasn¡¯t about to get either himself or his friends killed. Then he opened his eyes and decided.


    ¡°Affirmative. Once the shot goes out, squad will advance twenty paces fast, secure the ground and engage any arriving contacts. Seven, on your go.¡± He ordered, readying himself for the movement and the noise.


    The click of the safety being removed felt twice as loud as normal. The pair of shots that followed were closer to three. As one the frontline surged forward, Alter kept his muzzle trained on the ferns but his eyes focussed further beyond down the narrow alleyways of vision. Five paces. Ten. A face popped out of the ferns, confused and blood spattered. Alter gave him no time to shout as he squeezed the trigger, the man having unfortunately appeared in the centre of his sights. Fifteen paces, no more immediate contact. Twenty, Alter found himself without tree cover but a waist-high fallen log was enough to crouch behind. He rested his barrel on the wood and took a moment to reset himself. It was like paintballing. Only much more aggressive.


    ¡°Squad hold position.¡± He barked. ¡°Seven, report?¡±


    ¡°Two contacts down in the ferns. Male, adult. Leather armour with dull metal chest plates. Sword, board and bow on both. Injuries final, moving up.¡± Whim crashed out of the ferns and took up his own position behind a withered ash.


    ¡°Right side has contact.¡± Pavejack called from the other side of the road, his report punctuated by a heavy burst from his LMG.


    Bandits on both sides of the road, this complicated matters but it was something they had prepared for. Alter could see no hostels moving on their side, and from their lack of action nor had his Seven or Eight.


    ¡°Heavy contact, ten plus.¡± Riptide followed up as the sound of gunfire intensified to Alter¡¯s side, diverting his attention to the road.


    Perhaps the two they had taken out were indeed scouts, with the main force waiting on the other side. It made sense that the bandits would pick a single angle of attack, there was no threat of crossfire leading to friendly casualties.


    ¡°Keep me updated, Two.¡± He growled as he tore his focus back to the frustratingly placid woods in front of him.


    ¡°Holding firm. Contacts going to ground.¡± Riptide answered.


    Alter nodded to himself, his team would wait another thirty or so seconds. Should no further contacts appear ahead of them then they would advance and turn their guns across the road to complete an L-shaped engagement, denying the enemy their newly taken cover. It was an anxious wait, knowing the life or death situation his friends were in. Eventually he could sit still no longer, and he made to vault over his cover and move up. In immediate response, a strange whistling sound from close by made him instinctively duck back behind the log, then another and another. The whipping sound of branches being suddenly bent and a dull thud emanating from a tree behind him told all he needed to know. For the first time since arriving in this world. For the first time in his life. He was under fire.

 Ch.24: Forest Firefight

    Throughout his life Alter had occasionally given thought to how he would act in a life or death situation such as a firefight. Would he be able to keep it together? Would he simply break and run? Would some bizarre battle-haze descend on him as the song of violence took over? It was a fun little mental exercise that he could use to whittle away five or so minutes of a dull wait. Now though, as he watched the vibrations of the arrow¡¯s wooden shaft dissipate into the bark of the tree, his first subconscious act was to laugh. A strange, jittering, adrenaline-laced chuckle bubbled from his throat. His mind regarded the situation with mirth. Detached bemusement. It all seemed so impossible, like a dream. Like a game. He leaned back against the log, trying to imagine the feeling of the impact had the arrow hit him, mentally tracking the way pain would bloom through his body. But he couldn¡¯t. He found himself unable to comprehend the sensation of being hit, it was just too alien. This realisation served to crack this sudden spell he was under. His lack of understanding scared him, and laughter was the only way he could think to show it.


    Strangely enough, it was curiosity that threw Alter back into the reality of things. His head turned to the side, brain fully intending to chat to Boozehound about what had just happened with the intent to make some sort of joke and maybe see if he was experiencing anything similar. But Boozehound was well and truly in the moment, eye in scope as he edged slowly out from his tree of choice. With his face set into a grim mask of concentration he pulled the trigger, letting loose a short burst that was met by a pained grunt somewhere beyond him. Hit scored he snapped back into cover, attention switching to the opposite direction as he began his slow, creeping progress once more. Alter blinked once, twice, and the bubble burst. He swore at himself and struggled into a better position, checking his surroundings for signs of his team members. Whim was crouched snugly behind the same ash, his attention divided between suppressing the soldiers on their side of the road and making sure the other team¡¯s flank was secure. Beyond his medic, Vangroover had managed to secure a prime firing position amidst the exposed roots at the end of the log. Satisfied that his friends were unharmed, Alter swung his weapon up and into place before poking his torso up and out of cover.


    From the number of arrows that had been launched at him he knew that there was a minimum of three targets in his line of fire. Minus one to that number as he saw an outstretched arm poking out from a bullet marked tree and partially submerged in the leaf litter of the forest floor. More barks of fire from his left caused splinters to fly from another tree trunk beyond the arm, indicating the position of another man. Returning his rifle to its resting place on top of the log, Alter trained his sights to the right side of the under fire trunk in order to catch anyone popping out before continuing to scan his environment. His vigilance quickly bore fruit as a twang, a thud and a fizz saw an arrow streak out from another tree further to his right. The shot sent Vangroover scrambling for better cover as it clattered and ricocheted among the roots he was nestled in. Alter let out a snarl as he glared at the offending cover, the unknown man had chosen his position well. The thickness of the wood meant that neither he, Whim or Boozehound could engage or even suppress him from their angles. To make matters worse, the arrangement and tangle of the roots meant that Vangroover could not easily bring his weapon to bear without dangerously exposing himself. They would have to move up in order to ferret the bowman out, it was that or break into their explosives supply. It was close range for a grenade though, fragmentation doesn¡¯t discriminate. Suddenly, the firefight on the other side of the road intensified.


    ¡°Two, report.¡± He asked quickly.


    ¡°Situation stable.¡± Riptide responded once the sound had returned to a steadier beat. ¡°We just took care of a five man charge, they won¡¯t be trying that again. We¡¯ve got the firepower to force them to keep their heads down now, don¡¯t worry about us.¡±


    Alter nodded, it was indeed about time they uprooted this particular obstacle.


    ¡°Seven.¡± He called to Whim and waited for the man to pull back into cover and look at him before miming pulling the pin from a grenade and pointing at the right-hand target. Once Whim had signalled his understanding he swapped his attention back, adding his own fire to the consistent thud of bullet impacts keeping their foes in place. With a controlled, underhand toss Whim sent the familiar silhouette of a fragmentation grenade sailing through the air to land with a dull thump just beyond the tree. Perfectly placed. The two men shared an almost sadistic grin as they took shelter from the oncoming explosion, there would be no getting away from this even if the man knew what had just landed behind him. The grenade went off with more of an aggressive pop than a bang, like a car tire bursting at high speed accompanied by the crackle of metal shards carpeting the surroundings. As for the man himself, a short shriek signalled a successful deployment. A moment later a voice called out from the other marked position.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Meryk? Shay?¡± The voice was horse and fearful, hoping beyond hope to hear a response but knowing that there would be none.


    Once more the savage smile tugged at the corners of Alter¡¯s face, the enemy was distracted and alone, mopping up would not prove difficult. He waved his friends forward and vaulted the log. Slowly, measuredly the four men closed on their target with predatory precision. One by one they fired shots into the tree, allowing no breathing room, no window to retaliate. In a panicked blur of motion the last man broke cover, attempting to flee deeper into the woods. His metres covered didn¡¯t hit double digits as fire from two different angles sent him crumpling to the floor.


    Alter slowed to a halt and cocked his head to one side, listening as his eyes scanned the trees. The gunfire from the other team had slowed to a near crawl, instead it was the short, sharp intakes of breath that caught his attention. Realising he was standing next to the grenade¡¯s splash zone he turned and examined its lethal accomplishments, allowing his more cold and unemotional side take over. The man was still alive, for now, but the damage had been done a dozen times over. Shrapnel does not seek to flatter, merely make its mark. He lay slumped against the splintered bark of the tree, leaning heavily to one side. His left thigh was a bloody mess, the leg twitching limply in rhythm with his ragged breathing. The metal breastplate had managed to hold firm but for a sizable ripped gouge on its upper right quadrant. One of the larger pieces of shrapnel must¡¯ve carried enough force to pierce through, tearing past the ribcage and scrambling the lung. His left arm had gone the same way as his leg and hung limply at his side, the other was working overtime to stop him from toppling over. His face was a red mess, one eye was gone, the other darted frantically from side to side, glassy and unfocussed. Alter considered apologising as he raised his rifle, but his fingers disagreed and the unknown bandit was subsequently released from his pain.


    Left side secured, Alter positioned Vangroover to watch their rears before joining Boozehound and Whim in swapping their attention to what was happening across the road. The lightning assessment was ¡®not much¡¯. He could see a number of bodies strewn across the floor, and amongst the trees further in he caught glimpses of Riptide and Walross making their own steady progress forwards. The three men began to move up as well, bounding from cover to cover as they sought to compromise the hiding places of any remaining contacts. For a moment Alter thought that there were none left, but soon afterwards he spotted movement. Two bandits were sheltered behind a large oak, heads together in quiet and urgent conversation. Their weapons were still in hand but lowered, their body language was that of defeat. Were they about to cut and run? Were they planning to surrender? Alter pondered the idea of taking prisoners as he watched their discussion.


    There was a heart in mouth moment as Boats prowled into view, his attention focussed on a fern patch in the opposite direction of the two surviving bandits. Alter¡¯s finger tightened on the trigger as the two men moved, but instead of attempting to subdue the marksman they threw their weapons to the ground and raised their empty hands out to their sides. Somewhat taken aback by the sudden noise and movement, Boats very nearly turned his rifle on them but was able to catch himself before opening fire. A pair of awkward seconds later the rest of the second team appeared and shepherded the surrendered men out into the middle of the road.


    ¡°Three, get back to the carriages and bring them up here, quick as you can. I suspect Oliver will want a little chat with these highwaymen.¡± Alter ordered as he stepped into the road, sending Boozehound scuttling back the way they had come.


    The bandits seemed to know the situation well, unprompted they had dropped their remaining gear into a rough pile and sat cross-legged in the road with hand planted to the backs of their heads. They kept silent with their eyes glued to the ground as the carriages began to slowly approach with Boozehound jogging alongside. Once the horses had been brought to a halt Oliver threw open one of the doors and leapt to the ground, hurrying up to them.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± He asked, regarding each of the squad in turn.


    ¡°There are no injuries to report.¡± Alter reported smartly having already inspected the gathered men. ¡°We engaged a unit of eighteen men, sixteen have been eliminated with the remaining two surrendered over there. I figured you might have questions for them.¡±


    ¡°Damn right I do.¡± Oliver muttered as he regarded the bandits darkly. ¡°But I doubt I¡¯ll get much out of them. Did you see anyone that could¡¯ve been their leader?¡±


    ¡°Not on our side.¡± Alter frowned ¡°Two?¡±


    ¡°The man that led the attempted charge was wearing more armour than the rest, it looked like it was higher quality too. I¡¯ll check the body, see if he has any clues.¡± Riptide hurried back into the trees.


    ¡°Now then.¡± Oliver stalked forward, spitting the syllables like venom as blue sparks began to dance in his eyes. ¡°Let''s have a nice chat, shall we?¡±.

 Ch.25: Pillars

    ¡°Is it just me, or does Oliver have a bit of the ¡®ole bloodlust in him?¡± Whim asked quietly as he sidled over to Alter and Boozehound.


    ¡°It¡¯s understandable, the lad¡¯s got a lot of anger and frustration brewing. Combine that with the pressure and expectation he must be feeling and, well, he¡¯s going to need to let off a hell of a lot of steam. Or sparks, in his case.¡± Alter murmured in response, tilting his head gently to the side as he watched the scene playing out before him.


    The post combat clean-up had been minimal, Alter had stationed half the unit around the perimeter to make sure no bothersome stragglers fancied getting a shot off in revenge. The two soldiers turned bandits had been separated, now sitting ten metres apart with lengths of bandage covering their eyes. Oliver paced between them like a hungry wolf, eyes blazing as he leant down, hissing questions through gritted teeth. This tactic of bouncing between the pair, asking each the same question and allowing answers to only be spoken in whispers seemed to be working nicely. Their body language was becoming increasingly tense as Oliver stoked their paranoia, playing them against each other as they strived to hear the hushed answers. However, as the questions continued Alter could see that Oliver was becoming increasingly frustrated. He had already suspected that their prisoners would know little of the rhyme and reason of their actions. It appeared that there would be no need to update this hypothesis.


    ¡°What do you think the end of this is going to be?¡± Boozehound asked, his brow furrowed.


    ¡°Depends on the severity of local law, I guess. Looking at him I don¡¯t think Oliver¡¯s in the mood for leniency.¡± Alter¡¯s voice darkened.


    ¡°Putting a heavily wounded enemy out of their misery in the middle of a fight I can do. But I¡¯m not becoming anyone¡¯s executioner today or any other day.¡± Boozehound retorted with a snort.


    ¡°You think he¡¯d give us that order?¡± Whim asked, voice pitching up in surprise.


    ¡°Nobody¡¯s going to force you to perform such a gruesome task.¡± Alter reassured him.


    Finally, Oliver relented and stomped his way over to the three men, his expression expertly fusing disgust with careful consideration. His mouth opened to speak but some internal process caused him to hold his tongue. Instead, he turned to glare at the bandits, hands balled into fists which he pressed into his hips as if crushing his frustration against his pelvis. An awkward silence settled over the scene, and for the first time since leaving the carriage Alter was able to hear the distant twittering of birds.


    ¡°Well?¡± He asked the back of Oliver¡¯s head.


    The young man kept his silence for a moment longer before slowly turning to face them. The anger had been smothered for now, he looked tired.


    ¡°We let them go. I¡¯m not willing to waste time dragging them to the next guard post, nor am I going to slaughter unarmed men for no good reason. They¡¯ve more than learned their lesson after what they¡¯ve just been through.¡±


    Alter nodded, pleased that no further blood would be spilled. ¡°Do we allow them to recover their weapons?¡±


    Oliver clenched the muscles in his left cheek as he pondered the idea. ¡°Ideally not, but there won¡¯t be any stopping them from returning to collect their equipment later. Even if we confiscate everything here, they¡¯ve doubtless got a camp somewhere nearby with plenty of supplies. We give them the gift of life and send them on their way, in the opposite direction to us. They¡¯ll know better than to try anything like this again.¡± He concluded. ¡°Of course, there¡¯s more. I¡¯ll tell you about it later.¡± Decision made he made his way back to the prisoners and began giving them their marching orders.


    Alter, Boozehound and Whim shrugged at each other as Riptide came crashing out of the bushes on the opposite side of the road with a small bundle clutched triumphantly in one hand. His excitement faded to puzzlement as he saw Oliver levering one of the men up and allowing him to begin the slow trudge eastward back down the road. Alter held up a hand to forestall any questions before giving the order to collapse the perimeter and remount the carriages. Once it had become apparent that the bandits were complying and had passed a set distance then the horses were nudged into motion and the travel resumed. Riptide was keen to deliver his findings, showing off a stack of torn cloth patches each marked with a coat of arms Alter wasn¡¯t familiar with. He¡¯d also recovered a small pouch of glittering golden coinage and a scrap of paper dotted with the indecipherable squiggles of a doctor¡¯s paralysis demon. Oliver took each of the articles in turn, carefully considering their implications before setting them down and fixing the rest of the carriage occupants with an even gaze.


    ¡°The men that we encountered were indeed deserters, which should come as no surprise. From what they told me, and from the patches their sergeant was holding on to, they were originally from ¡­¡± He paused as he remembered no one in his present company would know what the name he was about to utter meant. ¡°One of the dukedoms on the western edge of Rillestia. Such groups are not unheard of, the duke in question maintains a large standing army and is known for his cruel and ruthless attitude towards the soldier in his employ.¡± He explained, embarrassed to be bad-mouthing a fellow noble.


    ¡°Surely if they were escaping then they would flee the country? Why would they risk crossing territory which might capture them and send them back?¡± Riptide asked.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°That¡¯s where the second part comes in.¡± Oliver acknowledged the question with a nod ¡°According to those we captured, they were offered a deal which their leader accepted on their behalf. They were to travel to Cereloss, to these very woods, in order to attack and harass travellers and cause panic under the guise of an ¡®anti-smuggling operation¡¯. They were paid in advance.¡± Olver paused, jingling the coin pouch ¡°and had been promised pardons and a choice of futures once six months of banditry had passed. From what they told me, they were halfway through week two. The paper you found is a military cypher, I don¡¯t know it off the top of my head but there are log books at my house, we¡¯ll crack it. Though I severely doubt it¡¯ll contain anything overly incriminating.¡±


    ¡°Someone is sponsoring and commanding highwaymen?¡± Boozehound queried. ¡°Would I be correct in assuming?¡± He led and Oliver nodded once more.


    ¡°This move is squarely within my uncle¡¯s playbook. Nor is it the first time such bands have been ¡®employed¡¯. There could well be a dozen of these groups spread through my territory, carving paths of merry chaos as they go.¡± Oliver growled.


    ¡°You¡¯ve not managed to gain proof?¡± Alter asked.


    ¡°Not yet. He¡¯s been too clever so far, but he¡¯ll slip up eventually.¡±


    ¡°Why not depose you directly? It sounds like he has more than enough manpower.¡±


    ¡°Because then he¡¯d bring the rest of the nation down on top of himself.¡± Oliver sighed and turned to look out of the window with a hint of melancholy. ¡°The crown would not stand for such a thing.¡±


    ¡°Then why don¡¯t you take your case to this king of yours?¡± Boozehound pressed.


    ¡°Allow me to explain. We have a monarch, yes, but as I¡¯ve mentioned before the provinces are largely autonomous. So long as the controlling noble upholds the three key pillars, his highness is happy to leave well enough alone.¡± Oliver began. ¡°The first pillar is Loyalty. Nobles swear fealty to the crown and vow to never take up arms against or attempt to harm, undermine or debase their monarch. Second, Unity. Nobles shall not attempt to usurp another noble, nor shall they sabotage their leadership in such a way as to render the nation weak to an invader. Thirdly, Excellence. A noble shall do their utmost to maintain their territory, to defend and nurture it, and to ensure its people are healthy and protected.¡± He stopped to breathe, taking a moment to admire the treetops gliding by.


    ¡°My uncle cannot attack me with soldiers, as that would break the second pillar and cause the king to attack him in turn. So, he must use more insidious tactics. He is targeting my third pillar, my ¡®Excellence¡¯. By promoting turmoil, sowing discontent and compromising my productivity, he will be able to call my ability to govern into question. Once the situation has gone on long enough, and he has gathered enough support, the case will be presented to the crown that I am unfit for purpose. If the case is successful, and it will be, should it make it that far, I will be relieved of my duties and more than likely declared exile.¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯s still breaking this ¡®second pillar¡¯ with his actions. It''s a huge risk.¡± Alter exclaimed.


    ¡°One that he believes is worth taking. One that he has worked more than half his life in order to rig in his favour.¡± Oliver sighed. ¡°It¡¯ll take more than one piece of evidence to cut through the proverbial fog he has cast over his actions. But with your help, we¡¯ll find what we need.¡± There was a steeliness to his voice that inspired confidence in the hearts of the men who sat with him, even if for a moment.


    The hostile proximity pulse would send the squad back into the treeline twice more before the forest gave out. Both times no solid contact was established, with Oliver suggesting wild animals powerful enough to be dangerous but smart enough to know to avoid humans. After the multiple nerve-jangling nature walks Alter was more than happy to return to the monotony. Midway through the next day they crossed the border from Cereloss to Grenveine and the mood improved. So did their means of transportation as the barebones carriages were exchanged for ones that were much more comfortable. Time flew as it often does as they wound their way through hills and fields. The air became noticeably more frigid as they made steady progress northward, the patches of woodland that cluster on hilltops skewing further and further towards the evergreen species. The sky which had shown picturesque views of deep blue and pure white clouds was steadily replaced with a thick, smothering, lead grey blanket that promised rain but never seemed to deliver.


    Alter was taking a turn sitting alongside the driver when they surmounted the final hill of their journey. Before them stood the stone walls and slate roofs of Jestriff, capital of Grenveine and seat of the Masserlind family. Alter had seen many an artistic depiction of a fantasy mediaeval city; he had wondered, even hoped, that Jestriff would prove suitably ridiculous in terms of architecture. However, his dreams of physics-breaking high fantasy buildings were immediately dashed. This place was well grounded in reality, the rectangle was once again proven master of shapes. A gatehouse stood proud in the centre of the nearest wall, with two towers flanking it and large flapping banners with the Masserlind coat of arms draped across them. In front of the gatehouse a flat, wide area had been converted to some sort of marketplace that bustled with activity.


    ¡°Stop here for a moment!¡± Oliver called from inside the carriage.


    The party pulled over to the side of the road and the group emerged, moving to stand and gaze down to the city in the distance.


    ¡°Welcome to Jestriff, gentlemen.¡± Oliver began. ¡°The jewel of the north. Last bastion of civilization before the frozen wilds and vicious peaks and so on and so forth. Get used to this view, you¡¯ll be seeing it a lot.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s pretty.¡± Pavejack said, a hint of excitement in his voice.


    ¡°Yes, a pretty big headache.¡± Oliver laughed dryly. ¡°You¡¯ll see what I mean once we get a little closer, come on.¡± He turned back and remounted the carriage.


    Alter pondered his closing remark as the horses resumed their canter, trying to suss out what the headache he was referring to could be. He didn¡¯t have to wait long to get his answer, the swarm of activity that had been akin to an ant¡¯s nest from the hill turned to a hodgepodge of rickety tents and milling people. People in rags. People that would stare glumly, hopelessly at the passing carriages.


    This was no gatefront market.


    This was a refugee camp.

 Ch.26: Those in Unknown Limbo

    Alter subconsciously tightened his grip on the stock of his rifle as the carriage hit the deep, sludge-like mud at the edge of this unexpected canvas purgatory. It was the reaction of the downtrodden people that had worried him the most during the approach, but upon arriving it was the smell that placed him in a stranglehold. His body convulsed as he reacted to this sudden assault on his senses, his nose burned as his stomach lurched and churned. His one free hand shot up towards his face, trying its best to block any orifice exposed to the reeking wall of festering sewage. Ominous, sickening pools of stagnant and off-coloured water sat smugly in the tracks and divots of the road. The driver sitting next to him reacted in a more controlled manner, although his displeasure was still plain.


    ¡°Don¡¯t open your mouth¡± The man advised through gritted teeth, barely cracking his lips open. ¡°Or you¡¯ll be tasting this midden heap with every mouthful of food for the next week. Breathe through your nose, slow and shallow, it won¡¯t be so bad once we make it through the gate.¡±


    Alter tried his best to follow the driver¡¯s tutelage and eventually began to adjust as his brain started ignoring his sense of smell. His eyes roved the scene in a bid to keep himself occupied, examining the uneasy residents with desperate curiosity. Initially, Alter anticipated a variety of people. However, as he looked across the field of tents he realised a couple of skews in the age demographics. First, a significant percentage of the individuals were young adults, primarily male. If these were refugees fleeing conflict then surely the number of young men would be lower. Second, the noticeable lack of the elderly which fed into his previous observation. If there was in fact no conflict and this was the result of some natural disaster then why were there no people of retirement age? There were children present, sitting outside tents or charging between them in small groups, however Alter could see no teenagers. Men and young families, minus a couple of outliers. Curious. Although he would readily admit to reading too much into it if challenged.


    Their pace had slowed as the horses slogged their way through the earthen soup. As predicted, a number of curious faces began to congregate at the side of the road. Alter worried that they would quickly find their path blocked and he¡¯d have to start fielding some awkward questions as to his identity and the contents of the carriage. Fortunately, no one appeared to have the confidence to place themselves ahead of them. A number of callouts and timid questions were thrown their way but these were concerning the possibility of food and whether there was any news from other settlements. Now able to get a closer look as he played the gruff guard, Alter could see that while their living conditions were squalid, they did not appear to be starving. Sure enough, as they progressed onward an open clearing with a ragged collection of long wooden tables and benches was serving as a canteen of sorts. It was heartening to see that they were being provided for, even if the meals were meagre.


    The gateway had attracted a small crowd, their attention focussed on the six guards who stood defensively in front of the closed iron portcullis. These armoured individuals wore similar fare to the guards in Crestvigil, but the metal of their gear was darker. Starker and utilitarian, more ¡®active military¡¯ than ¡®fantasy watchmen¡¯. Sashes of blue fabric were wrapped across their torsos, the same shade and hue of Oliver¡¯s cloak. The men noticed the carriages approaching and a pair of them muscled their way through the crowd, signalling the driver to come to a halt. The first guard stopped short of the horses and planted his hooked polearm in the ground, glaring up at Alter and the driver through the slots in his helmet. His compatriot continued his advance and sidled up to the carriage door. He raised a gauntleted fist to wrap on the wooden frame but the door was opened from the inside before he could make contact. An arm belonging to Oliver quickly slipped out of the door and held out what looked like a small metallic sigil. The guard appeared taken aback by this display and his demeanour changed from languid indifference to panicked professionalism. With a sharp, crisp clank he snapped to attention, pounding the raised fist into his breastplate with a short bow. His partner too dropped his aggressive facade and awkwardly followed suit, seemingly unsure as to what was happening but not wanting to get in trouble for lack of decorum. A quick string of quiet words were exchanged out of Alter¡¯s earshot and the guard turned and looked upward at the wall, lifting his polearm and waving it in a circular motion. A few seconds later there was a rumble and a clatter as the portcullis began to rise, the guards quickly retreating to their fellows in order to prevent some of the more determined commoners from attempting to slip past their cordon. The crowd parted reluctantly as the carriages shuddered back into motion, suspicious, venomous eyes leered at them as they moved through. The question of why Oliver was happy to travel in such plain transportation had popped into Alter¡¯s head multiple times over the previous days and now he had his answer. They would¡¯ve been mobbed had they shown up in a carriage of similar gaudiness to what Victor Auserre had arrived with, and not, Alter suspected, in the friendly way.


    Finally they were through and Alter¡¯s respiratory system was spared the rigours of inhaling filth. For now, the interior of Jestriff matched its outward face as near featureless stone buildings crowded the many streets that branched off the semi-circular area of the inner gate.


    ¡°This is the poorer part of the city.¡± The driver explained as if sensing Alter¡¯s train of thought. ¡°It gets prettier once you''re further in. More lively, too. The rabble outside has got those living near the walls nervous.¡±


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Why are there so many people out there?¡± Alter asked, taken aback by the driver¡¯s sudden desire for conversation.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know, not my job.¡± The man shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t live here. Plague maybe? I hear things are pretty nasty down south.¡± He offered before shrinking back into his seat, signalling an end to friendly communication.


    Alter frowned as he pondered the implication of what the man had said. Could those people be escaping some sort of epidemic? It could go some way as to explaining the lack of older people if they were the ones to suffer the worst symptoms. However, Alter couldn¡¯t help but doubt this possible explanation. Society wasn¡¯t much more advanced than thirteen hundreds Europe but if there was a plague afoot then surely some disease screening would be in place. Also, the fact that Oliver had made no mention of such a thing caused him to conclude that pestilence was not the cause.


    True to the driver¡¯s prediction, life began to appear as they set off down the widest road. There wasn¡¯t the same sunny hustle and bustle of Crestvigil but the clamour of locals talking and traders hawking certainly helped ease the growing apprehension that their arrival would be somehow unwelcome. Ten minutes of street appreciation later they arrived in a large square with an intricate mosaic floor too large and details to be understood at ground level. The carriages pulled up to a large four storey building adorned with the Masserlind coat of arms.


    ¡°Jestriff City Administration. Your stop.¡± The driver announced with all the fanfare of a scheduled roadworks announcement.


    ¡°Much obliged.¡± Alter responded as he clambered down.


    The door again opened suddenly, Oliver disembarked with a spring in his step and deep breath of much fresher air. He was closely followed by the more subdued and nauseated forms of Riptide and Boozehound who shifted the backpacks out of the cabin. A few moments later the second carriage disgorged its occupants in turn and the men gathered around their lordly employer as the carriages rattled away.


    ¡°Right. This is the City Hall, I need to go in there and find out what''s been happening while I¡¯ve been away. We also need to get you registered as a force under Masserlind¡¯s employ. There will probably be a bit of a rush of desperate clerks when they realise I¡¯ve returned. Try not to get separated, and please try to prevent me from drowning in paperwork.¡± He winked and turned towards the door, his demeanour shifting to a ruler¡¯s confidence as the entrance was opened from the inside at his approach.


    Oliver swept through and immediately began calling out names and instructions. From around the large reception area of the hall a half dozen bespectacled staff members surged into life at the young lord¡¯s order. A fine set of dark wooden double doors were flung open at the far end of the room and a wiry haired, monocle wearing, business suit inhabiting force of bureaucratic nature charged towards Oliver with a frightening burst of acceleration.


    ¡°Thank the Four that you have returned, Master Oliver! There is so much to do!¡± It shouted as it bore down on them.


    ¡°Calm down, Howard. It¡¯s good to see you too.¡± Oliver began, holding out an arm in an attempt to settle the onrushing man.


    ¡°Yes, yes.¡± Howard cut him off. ¡°Come with me to the main office at once, let¡¯s not waste time.¡± He grabbed the outstretched arm with both hands and immediately began pulling Oliver back towards the doors he had just blown through.


    Alter shared amused glances with the rest of the squad as OIiver was manhandled from the room, his eyes looking back to them pleadingly as a formation of officials closed ranks and scurried after them.


    ¡°The price of power.¡± Pavejack snickered.


    ¡°Poor bloke, I hope he survives.¡± Whim grinned.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t he literally just tell us not to get separated.¡± Riptide chastised despite smiling wider than the pair of them combined.


    The men jogged after the departing procession into a warren of tile-floored hallways not unlike the Marshal¡¯s residence. Oliver was whisked up two flights of stairs as Howard briefed him on the issues, comings and goings at a speed that would make most aircraft jealous. Another ornate set of doors were mercilessly cast aside revealing a spacious office complete with enough comfortable furniture to sit a hundred people. Oliver was parked behind a snooker table sized desk and the prophesied paperwork began to flow like floodwater. The squad found themselves lurking in one of the quieter, more out of the way corners as they waited for some type of instructions to be given. After what seemed like an hour, Oliver was finally able to explain who they were and what they needed to do. Howard looked across the room at them and with a flick of his wrist a junior clerk was summoned to deal with them.


    The younger man shepherded them through a small door off to one side which led into a small antechamber with a solitary table before disappearing. A couple of silent minutes later he reappeared and placed a number of neatly organised forms, a quill and a small pot of ink on the table. Alter, having been identified as the leader, was instructed to fill in the forms and sign the contract. The clerk disappeared again and they were left to their own devices. Alter began reading through the forms and felt his teeth begin to clench.


    ¡°Boys.¡± He began, tapping one of the pages where names and other personal details would become immortalised in ink. ¡°It¡¯s time to make a decision. Who are we?¡±

 Ch.27: Paperwork Can Smell Fear

    A silence somewhere between awkward and contemplative settled across the room at Alter¡¯s statement. It wasn¡¯t just the names that gave them cause to consider. There were sections for birthplaces and family lineage. Training schools and previous combat experiences. Former employers and lasting affiliations. Payment expectations, upkeep and expenditures. A rogues gallery of pitfalls and headaches. The more they tried to answer, the more obvious their lack of knowledge would become. There would be a lot left blank.


    ¡°Well then, where do we start?¡± Riptide asked with an uncertain smile.


    ¡°At the beginning.¡± Alter responded, his voice monotone. ¡°Individual names. Anyone have any strong opinions on how we should handle this?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s obvious, isn¡¯t it? We write our real names.¡± Walross stated emphatically.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it dangerous for us to use our real names?¡± Pavejack asked tentatively. ¡°Like, wouldn''t there be consequences?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean? What consequences?¡± Walross interrupted incredulously. ¡°What are they going to do with your name? Ask your boss for a personal reference? Call the police? Summon the United States ambassador? Petition the United Nations for an armed intervention? This world and ours are completely separate, our names mean nothing to them. Why should we fear what cannot be used against us in any meaningful way?¡±


    ¡°Because we are surrounded by humans.¡± Whim responded, surprisingly calm given the strength of Walross¡¯ outburst. ¡°People fear what they don¡¯t understand. If we start using our real names, and for whatever reason they don¡¯t quite fit, then suddenly we¡¯re different. Outsiders. Our gear already separates us enough, we shouldn¡¯t drive the wedge further in.¡±


    ¡°And the names we¡¯re currently using fit in better, do they?¡± The German shot back icily.


    ¡°That¡¯s not¨C¡± Whim began but quickly faded back to silence.


    ¡°Calling each other by our usernames made sense to begin with. But surely this is the point where we separate ourselves from this fiction.¡± Walross¡¯ tone became more pleading. ¡°I am not some unthinking, unfeeling avatar. I am me, I am here, I am alive. Why should I have to pretend to be someone else?¡±


    Noone had an immediate response, but just as Alter opened his mouth to admit he had a point, Riptide muttered a few words under his breath in a language he didn¡¯t understand.


    ¡°Englisch, feigling.¡± Walross hissed as his head turned towards the whisper¡¯s source.


    ¡°You only say that because you¡¯re happy!¡± Riptide snarled as met the other man''s gaze, unflinching. ¡°You¡¯ve got a good life back there. You¡¯ve got a home, savings, a loving partner. Hope! What about the rest of us, huh? What about me?¡±


    ¡°So, you¡¯re just going to run away? Abandon who you are to play soldier? Pathetic.¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Alter interrupted. ¡°Do you think these walls are soundproof? How would the clerk react if he walked back in to hear that? Now, hand me that paper.¡±


    ¡°Tsch.¡± Riptide turned his head and glared at the corner of the room. With stiff movements Walross slid the controversial form across the table to Alter before folding his arms and giving him an expectant look. With six pairs of eyes upon him, Alter took a moment to compose himself, his eyes straying to the glass of the window and his faint reflection staring back at him.


    ¡°I understand where you¡¯re coming from, Peter. Despite all that has happened I am still myself; my thoughts and opinions have not been replaced by some ¡®other me¡¯. However, when I look at my face in a reflection and when I glance at my body, I know that I have changed. We have all changed. So, while I refuse to abandon the man I was before, I also choose to acknowledge the man that I¡¯ve become. Do you see what I mean?¡± He spoke softly, encouragingly.


    Walross relented with a slight relaxation of his shoulders and Riptide¡¯s head began a slow track back towards the centre of the room. With careful, delicate strokes Alter dipping the quill in ink and making his mark. Luke ¡®Alterfate¡¯ Ploughman.


    ¡°My username is now just as much a part of me as any other. All we have met in this world know us by them, respect that.¡± He finished coolly and slid the paper back across.


    Walross stared down at the form for a few ponderous seconds before following suit. Peter ¡®Walross¡¯ Behrens. More followed, Simon ¡®Whim¡¯ Foreman, Adam ¡®Pavejack¡¯ Lambert, Marcus ¡®Boozehound¡¯ Etuin. There was no sound but for the scratching of the nib. Kevin ¡®Boats¡¯ Kilne, Harry ¡®Vangroover¡¯ Simpson. Eventually, with great reluctance, Hugo ¡®Riptide¡¯ de Neve was added, and the list was complete.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Alter said sincerely. ¡°Now, let¡¯s get the rest of this sorted out with a few less fireworks, eh?¡±


    His quiet plea was taken onboard fairly well and no further arguments were sparked as they discussed how to fill the remaining spaces. The greatest debate was their families, more specifically the issue of their non-existence in the world of Meios. The first lie, then, was to list themselves as all orphans. Their parents and places of birth unknown. As for training and experience then much of the details could be adapted from the game. Warforce¡¯s tutorial level, ¡®The Slugbox¡¯, was redesignated as a hidden training camp so secretive that even the squad wasn¡¯t allowed to know its location. Previous combat experience was also adapted from the game¡¯s mission roster. They had already introduced themselves as Freeblades so the employers and affiliations sections were left at ¡®None¡¯. If pushed, they¡¯d just say that they were not permitted to talk about their previous undertakings as per contracts signed. Finally, the financial side was left blank. Alter was not about to take a stab in the dark when it came to the by-the-week operating costs of a high-tech mercenary company in fantasy land.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°This story is about as waterproof as the Titanic.¡± Whim chuckled as they reviewed what they had written. ¡°I feel like we¡¯re going to start a ¡®shadow organisation controlling the world¡¯ conspiracy. But what else are we supposed to do?¡±


    ¡°Then we lean into that mystery, we¡¯ll cross that bridge when we get to it.¡± Alter responded as the door opened and the clerk reemerged.


    With reverence, the man retrieved the ink-laden sheets of paper and, one by one, placed them delicately on a drying rack positioned to catch as much of the sunlight as possible. He made no mention nor pulled any faces at what was written and what was missing. For now, it seemed, they would not be questioned on their answers. The clerk uttered a soft word and ushered them back into the main office where the situation appeared to have stabilised somewhat. There was still a mountain of work requiring attention but Oliver¡¯s input seemed less crucial and he had enough breathing room to give them his time.


    ¡°You don¡¯t realise how important a lord¡¯s signature is for governance until you disappear for a week or two.¡± He remarked jovially as he flexed his fingers on his writing hand.


    ¡°You¡¯re surprisingly chipper.¡± Alter commented as he moved up to stand in front of the ostentatiously, horrifyingly, necessarily large desk.


    ¡°Allow me this moment.¡± Oliver replied with mock reproach, closing his eyes for a moment. ¡°I suppose I owe you an explanation as to what you saw on our way in?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d be nice.¡±


    ¡°Well, you''re a smart man. What do you think is the cause? Don¡¯t worry, the men in this room are loyal.¡± Oliver¡¯s eyes reopened, curious and attentive.


    Alter weighed his words before frowning. ¡°I think this is another one of your uncle¡¯s tricks.¡± He put it simply.


    ¡°Go on.¡± Oliver encouraged, leaning forward slightly.


    ¡°If he¡¯s working to destabilise the region, which simultaneously calls your leadership into question, then a refugee crisis would go a long way toward achieving his goals.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re close, but you''re wandering down the wrong path.¡± Oliver held up a hand to forestall Alter¡¯s train of thought. ¡°Those poor souls you saw outside the gate are immigrants. Salt of the earth workers drawn in by the lies of my uncle and his friends. ¡®Come to Jestriff¡¯ the rumours say, ¡®there are jobs and homes aplenty¡¯.¡±


    ¡°How heartless.¡± Walross blurted out.


    ¡°Indeed.¡± Oliver nodded. ¡°When the hopeful travellers began to arrive en masse they soon realised that there were never any jobs, nor did we have the room to shelter them all. We¡¯ve been working hard to quash the rumours as they arise, and while we have managed to slow the flow, every day more people arrive.¡±


    ¡°Will you send them away?¡± Alter asked.


    ¡°Certainly not, they¡¯ve come here searching for a new life, and a new life they will get. They are my people now. Homes will be built, work will be found. But even that is proving difficult, my uncle does not intend for the solution to come easily. His lackeys put pressure on businesses not to hire new arrivals, building supplies are ¡®lost¡¯ or redirected. All throughout the city and the camp they work to sow unrest, turning my people against each other.¡±


    ¡°Then the hostility we saw at the gate?¡±


    ¡°The result of rabble rousers and bad faith actors, paid to fan the flames of anger and frustration. Hunting down and dealing with these agents will, incidentally, be one of the first tasks I shall assign you to, once you''re all settled.¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡± Alter responded evenly, that sounded an awful lot like counter terrorism, and that was not in his wheelhouse. But perhaps he would surprise himself.


    ¡°Well anyway, enough of that for now. I shall be chained to my desk for some time but you need not join me. One of the staff here will escort you across the city to my estate and show you to your lodgings. Osprey Hall has stood empty for some time, it will be good to see it occupied again. I¡¯ll see you this evening.¡± Oliver waved them away and with a sigh turned his attention to the next avalanche-risk of paperwork.


    Eager to remove as many bodies from the office as possible, they were soon whisked back through the building and out into the square. From there they were led west through wide streets lined with elegantly maintained evergreen trees with thickly needled branches that curled upward like ferns. The Masserlind Estate protruded from the western wall like a grand, aristocratic tumour, complete with its own high walls and well-guarded gatehouse. The interior was a stunning collection of sumptuous buildings and elegantly maintained formal gardens that would put the likes of Versailles to shame. Through this wonderland of gravel paths and water features they were escorted, until they arrived at one of the back corners. There, partially hidden by a row of the same trees they had seen in the streets, stood an impressive two storey building. Waiting to greet them was a head high white marble boulder carved with the words ¡®Osprey Hall¡¯. Alter paused to appreciate the rosy coloured stone walls, however something about its construction made him stop entirely.


    ¡°Nice looking pad.¡± Riptide remarked happily, unaware of his friend¡¯s halt.


    ¡°Rip.¡± Alter murmured as the other members of the squad joined him in his concerned vigil.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Look at this building.¡± Alter prompted. Riptide scanned the stones, confused before his jaw slackened in realisation.


    ¡°I know this place.¡± He uttered.


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the Cantabria Mansion.¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    Well, at least they already knew the floorplan.

 Ch.28: Physical Bricks, Digital Mortar

    The Cantabria Mansion was the classic example of what happens when an old building meets a young man with way too much money to know what to do with. Beautiful stonemasonry, a rich and fascinating history, all scarred and pock-marked with unnecessary tech convenience. The grounds and its long driveway were infected with automatic gates, heat sensing cameras, hidden microphones and enough sprinkler systems to make a golf course jealous. While the interior floor plan had been faithfully maintained, its myriad rooms were stripped out and violently re-modelled into a gadget lover''s paradise, all white surfaces and sharp angles. Hyper modernism, they called it. Hyper hideous in Alter¡¯s humble opinion. It even had a state-of-the-art panic room where its multi-millionaire ex-footballer owner could safely gorge himself on the drug mountain that had caused the heavily armed and armoured narco militia to storm the estate in the first place. Charming bloke, really. He had some brilliant voice lines if you pepper sprayed him enough.


    Fortunately, Osprey Hall had not yet fallen foul of the modern world¡¯s dirty money and ¡®baking supplies¡¯. Much like Vaulter¡¯s home back in Crestvigil, Alter couldn¡¯t help but feel somewhat out of place as they were shown into the well maintained and beautifully decorated entrance hall. He became suddenly aware of how muddy his boots might be and kept glancing behind him to make sure he wasn¡¯t leaving a filthy trail. Examining the furnishings as they progressed he noted a variety of display weapons affixed to the walls and, spaced out on either side, suits of shining ceremonial armour stood in permanent alertness. This is, or was, a military building in his estimation. Waiting for them at the far end of the hall were a pair of smartly dressed women, standing to attention and garbed in the stereotypical black and white dresses and aprons of the nineteenth century maid. With an awkward mumble the man who had led them here shyly introduced them as Tabitha and Morgan, caretakers and custodians of the entire building and charged with ensuring that their needs were met.


    Tabitha was certainly eye-catching, a picturesque face with summer-sky blue eyes and a shock of vibrant canary yellow hair pulled into twin ponytails large enough at the base to hide footballs in. Sunny hair for an even sunnier disposition. Alter got the feeling that he¡¯d find himself socially exhausted after a mere five minute conversation. Morgan on the other hand was the archetypal stern, matronly worker. A hard but not unkind expression framed by straight black hair cut squarely at chin level and small, round glasses straight from the librarian section made the Paris skyline creep into the corners of Alter¡¯s vision. All she needed was the blue and white striped jumper and a nice, fresh baguette for the look to be complete. By the time she opened her mouth to introduce herself it was much too late, in Alter¡¯s mind she was already irreversibly French. To the point where he was mildly disappointed when her voice was not accompanied by soft accordion music. Alter attempted to study their speech and tones as they gave their welcomes to the squad in an effort to gauge their feelings towards them. While they had not yet suffered under the mercenary tagline, these ladies may not appreciate such rough individuals moving into their immaculately maintained workspace. However, Tabitha¡¯s introductions were genuine and enthusiastic, and while Morgan was more reserved, she still gave no hostile impression.


    The clerk, apparently suffering from late teenage hormones, was no longer capable of remaining in a pretty girl''s presence and through a heavy stammer managed to excuse himself. The squad awkwardly watched him retreat before turning back to their new chaperones.


    ¡°Well then!¡± Tabitha spoke brightly, clapping her hands together ¡°Let me show you around!¡± She waved them all to follow her as she took off down a side corridor.


    Osprey Hall was a U-shaped building, with the primary living and working spaces situated within the front facing side. Back when it was the Cantabria Mansion, the east wing contained the bedrooms whereas the west wing had been converted into a spacious garage, a private gym, home cinema and ¡®baked goods appreciation zone¡¯. Here though, both wings were completely given over to sleeping quarters. Ten reasonably sized comfortable bedrooms plus two larger ones for senior staff per wing for a total of twenty-four beds. The centre of the U, which had been dug out in favour of a pool in Warforce, was once again given over to the sandy floor of a training ground. Wooden armoured dummies and arrow targets lined opposite ends with scattered racks of edgeless swords, spears and other members of war¡¯s menagerie of tools. The rest of the building was rounded out with sitting rooms, a dining hall complete with attached kitchen, studies, offices and a briefing room. The final stop of the tour was a large door of reddish wood, carved with great detail to show a bird of prey standing triumphant over a defeated serpent-like creature.


    ¡°This is the one room you are not allowed to enter! Only the knight commander of the Order of the Osprey may step through the threshold! Even I don¡¯t know what¡¯s in there!¡± Tabitha told them with excitement, somehow managing to shout despite her whispering tone.


    Alter stared at the door with poorly contained curiosity, mind sparking and racing at the myriad possibilities as to what could be contained within. This was fantasyland after all, magic was very much on the table. If this was the headquarters of a knightly order then perhaps a mind-bendingly fancy sword or two.


    ¡°If you aren¡¯t allowed in then who looks after what¡¯s in there?¡± Pavejack asked, seemingly spellbound by the door¡¯s mystique.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Well ¡­¡± Tabitha paused before pouting. ¡°Fine, Morgan is allowed in there, but she¡¯s not going to tell you what¡¯s inside!¡± She waggled a firm finger at him.


    ¡°It is nothing exciting, I assure you.¡± A purring voice came from behind them.


    Alter jumped at the sound and the sudden realisation that Morgan was standing half an arm span away having made absolutely no noise during her approach. Her passive mask cracked into a smile at his surprise and Alter found himself mirroring the expression. These two were already proving quite the double act, things would certainly be interesting with them around.


    ¡°Then why won¡¯t you let me take a peek!¡± Tabitha turned to her compatriot, shaking her fists in mock rage.


    ¡°Enough, Tabitha. Don¡¯t you have work to do?¡± Morgan asked a leading question.


    Tabitha¡¯s eyes widened as she inhaled sharply ¡°Oh! Right, I nearly forgot!¡± She took off at impressive speed, her hair streaming out behind her like flags in a gale.


    ¡°Now then, I¡¯m sure you have questions. I cannot answer everything, but please feel free to ask away.¡± Morgan bowed, her face settling back into professional stoniness.


    ¡°If this is the home of the Osprey Knights, why are their rooms being given to us? What happened to them?¡± Alter asked.


    ¡°The order was disbanded a year ago, its members reassigned across the lands controlled by the Masserlind family.¡± Morgan replied after taking a moment to consider her answer. The maid knew more than she let on, but Alter was not going to start pressing her for more details. Given the situation that Oliver found himself in, a valuable asset suddenly disappearing was not a huge surprise.


    ¡°As for why the rooms have been given to you, I do not know.¡± Morgan continued. ¡°But Master Oliver clearly holds great faith in you if he has granted you the hall¡¯s use.¡±


    ¡°Do you agree with his judgement?¡± Boozehound followed up.


    Morgan was again silent for a telling moment. ¡°I trust his judgement.¡± She put it simply.


    ¡°Is it just the two of you that work here?¡± Riptide asked, keen to change the subject.


    ¡°For now, yes. Though more staff may be assigned here in the coming days, should it prove necessary.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of floor space for just the pair of you.¡± Walross mused.


    ¡°Well, there was no one living here up until now. But rest assured, we are very good at our jobs. Of course, you won¡¯t start making a mess of the place, will you?¡± The question was loaded with enough weight to crack the hall¡¯s foundations.


    ¡°Of course we won¡¯t.¡± Walross answered quickly as he averted his eyes from Morgan¡¯s stare.


    After establishing that there were no further questions to be offered, the maid excused herself cooly and disappeared towards one of the gently spiralling staircases located in the squared corners of the U. Alter looked at his friends and shepherded them over to the east wing in order to establish sleeping arrangements. There were too many of them to keep to a single floor, so the squad was split in half up and down, with Alter and Riptide taking the two larger rooms. There was a little good-natured grumbling at their pulling rank but once Alter reminded them of who would be bearing the blame for any future mistakes they quickly dropped the subject. He had selected the top floor, as was his right as leader. If he was going to go to bed then there would be stairs involved somewhere, it felt unnatural otherwise. The room had windows looking out over three sides of the wing, although two of them quickly turned into the detail lacking grey of the city walls. A good sized double bed took up most of the right-hand wall, with a pair of sofas separated by a low table, a proper table and four chairs, and a large free-standing wardrobe filling space through the middle of the room. An unlit but well supplied fireplace took up the left-hand wall, with a pair of comfortable armchairs sat ready to bask in its warmth. Alter sank into one of them with a sigh, taking a moment to revel in the comfort of luxury upholstery before closing his eyes and taking stock of their situation.


    Now that they had a semi-permanent base of operations, Alter was not about to keep lugging his pack and rifle around with him everywhere. An armoury would be needed, one secure enough to be left unattended for extended periods of time. Much like when they were staying at the Riverfield, he feared a curious and greedy character pocketing something dangerous. Getting access to such a facility would take time, effort and more than a little social finesse. For now, each bedroom featured a large reinforced trunk with a keyed lock. Those would have to suffice as weapons storage until something better could be arranged. He¡¯d also like a more secluded area for weapons practice, but given the fact that their knowledge of firearms handling had been seemingly hardwired into the brains when they arrived then their skills could well be permanent. One thing he was certainly interested in training the squad in was melee combat. There could well be a moment where they didn¡¯t have guns to hand, and if he was going to be forced to pick up a sword then he was going to know how to use it. He¡¯d have to ask Oliver to find them a tutor, someone who wouldn¡¯t laugh at them and keep their mouth shut. Horse riding was also on the agenda. Unless all the horses in Jestriff were like Pinecone, the equine lord of torture. Alter shuddered at the thought.


    His mental check-listing and mounting dread were interrupted by the tinkling of a bell coming from somewhere in the corridor. He opened the door to see no one, but as he stuck his head out the glorious smell of cooking tickled his nostrils. With a content sigh he made sure his gear was safely locked up before making his way down to the dining room, determined to put his concerns aside for now.


    Food. Food would help.

 Ch.29: Food for Theory

    The dining room at Osprey Hall certainly maintained the grand feeling felt throughout the rest of the property. Its high ceiling spanned both storeys and was segmented into quarters, with each one painted in a different scene. Scenes of hunting, of battle and of what Alter would best guess as chivalric dedication. He¡¯d need a solid hour and a spare mattress to take all the details in. As for the walls, one was almost entirely given over to long, thin windows. Parts of which had been stained red, green and blue which served to bathe the space in pools of plentiful and multicoloured sunlight. Opposite, the inner wall was almost completely covered in hung shields in a range of styles and a rainbow of paints. Kite and Heater shields mainly, with a scattering of smaller round shields and bucklers filling the gaps. In the centre of the display, a triangle of three impractically thick metal tower shields took pride of place, bigger than any door. The Osprey Knights must have counted a few Unlimited within their number in the past if those were anything other than display pieces. While the colours and designs varied wildly in style and complexity, each featured the same bird of prey they had seen on the unopened door. Of the other two walls, one was covered in flags and standards bearing the Osprey and Masserlind iconography, primarily in silver but with a generous smattering of the now familiar blue of the ruling family. The other led to the kitchen, a large portion had been opened up to show Tabitha bustling about with determined and high-strung culinary purpose.


    Tables coated the floor, each laying claim to six high-backed chairs which were in dire need of a little less ornamentation and a little more padding. One by one, the squad filed into the room and found seats spread out over three of the tables. Large bowls of bubbling stew appeared before each man as they sat, sided by fresh brown bread still warm from the oven. Venison was the meat of the day, rich and fragrant, and more than enough to fill his stomach. Combine that with the vegetables, the bread and the thick broth of the stew then he was about ready to enter hibernation.


    ¡°You know, I could get used to this.¡± Whim slouched back in his chair happily, eyes half closed in drowsy satisfaction.


    ¡°It certainly beats microwave cuisine, or that stale gutter-sludge you¡¯re so fond of.¡± Riptide jibed, his voice similarly languid.


    ¡°That¡¯s the beauty of the British kebab shop. The worse the ingredients, the better the result.¡± Whim laughed.


    ¡°Only because you¡¯re always blackout drunk.¡±


    ¡°Amen, there¡¯s no finer tradition. Hey, Alter, what¡¯s the plan?¡± Whim¡¯s attention turned, causing the other conversations taking place across the room to quieten as if some spell had been cast.


    Alter took a quick glance around the room, primarily to make sure everyone was paying attention but also to assure himself that Morgan hadn¡¯t appeared behind him again. Tabitha was too busy fighting the used cooking pot monstrosity of her own creation to do any meaningful snooping.


    ¡°For now, consolidation. We have our niche, and quite the luxurious foothold it is, but now we need to prove beyond doubt that we can fill it. I¡¯m not sure whether Oliver will give us some time to acclimatise or whether we¡¯ll be put straight to task but I suspect the latter. Over the next few days we¡¯re going to learn as much as we can about this place. The city, the people, the culture, whatever information we can get our hands on. From what Oliver told us back at city hall our first job is going to be helping him clean house. I like this plan, it¡¯ll help us figure out the dynamics of this place and build our local reputation.¡± Alter paused and reached for his cup of water, draining its contents in three deep swallows.


    ¡°Once our foundations here are nice and solid, we start asking questions. Build and utilise authority. We figure out which doors we need to get through in order to get what we need, then we either knock, or kick them open. I admit, home already feels a long way away. But I believe that we have all the tools we need to start plotting a course back.¡±


    ¡°Do you trust this objective system to have our best interests at heart? I¡¯m all for having a direction to follow but we don¡¯t know what¡¯s at the end of that particular road. Who¡¯s to say it won¡¯t just keep spitting out fresh instructions every time we achieve what¡¯s been asked of us?¡± Walross asked, punctuating his thinking with sharp raps of his fork against the table.


    ¡°Then we suck it up and keep searching. Trust or no, it''s still our clearest path. That said, finding more information about how this system is working and who might be behind it is one of my top priorities once we have the freedom to investigate.¡±


    ¡°I have the beginnings of a theory, I¡¯d want to do some more research before committing to anything though.¡± Boozehound offered, his speech slow and uncertain as if fearing mockery.


    ¡°Go ahead.¡± Alter encouraged.


    ¡°It concerns the Four Entwined, or more specifically their ¡®blessings¡¯. We know that Oliver is a blessed by Nerrothyll, right? That¡¯s what gives him those fancy fire and mind probing abilities. From what the three of you that saw the Unrepentant die at the gates of Crestvigil have told us then the people that dealt with it were blessed by Sirrithae.¡± The man paused, eyes flicking left and right. ¡°I think we might be in a similar situation.¡±


    ¡°Wait. You think we¡¯re in the same ballpark as them?¡± Riptide asked with a raised eyebrow.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m not feeling particularly blessed right now.¡± Walross¡¯ voice strayed towards a growl.


    ¡°Hear me out. I spent a good chunk of time talking to Lucille about these gods of theirs. More specifically Kalaton, he who watches beyond. Their religion states that he¡¯s not permitted to interact with this world, the details of as to why are debated but that¡¯s not important. I suspect, and bear in mind this is a huge reach, that we¡¯re his ¡®blessed¡¯.¡±


    ¡°I certainly agree with you on the huge reach part but keep going.¡± Alter found himself creeping forward in his chair.


    ¡°According to Lucille, Kalaton has no true representatives in the world because he is so separate. But we are not from this world, and the abilities we¡¯ve demonstrated are nothing like what¡¯ve been seen before. I think Mr Sun-for-an-eye up there has found one hell of a celestial loophole. I¡¯ve no clue how but he managed to pluck us out of our world, drop us where we needed to be dropped, and now he¡¯s shepherding us around for some purpose. There are only a small number of temples and shrines dedicated to Kalaton, but he is still worshipped on a day-to-day basis by many. Because he is always watching, he has become synonymous with duty, with diligence, and with justice. What¡¯s the first thing we do when we arrive? Save innocent lives. What¡¯s our first official job? Put an end to a dangerous power-grab. It¡¯s right up his alley. Also, each of the Four has a colour used to represent them. Kalaton has orange, and take a look as to what colour signifies us.¡± Boozehound pointed to the dark tangerine bands and symbols across their uniforms before sitting back in his chair, eyes closed. ¡°There, I said it. Call me crazy if you want, whatever.¡±


    There were no immediate accusations of insanity from the listening men. Alter stretched his fingers out against the surface of the table and studied his fingernails, mind digesting what he had just heard.


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of coincidence buried in this theory. But strangely, I don¡¯t hate the idea.¡± He admitted.


    ¡°It¡¯d be nice to think someone is in control.¡± Pavejack agreed, his head turning to look out the window hopefully.


    ¡°How would we go about confirming or rejecting this idea?¡± Riptide asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Find a local shrine to Kalaton and see if anything resonates within us?¡± Boozehound shrugged.


    The conversation lulled as Tabitha emerged from the kitchen and began whisking away empty bowls and plates. One of the doors leading into the main hallway opened and Morgan stepped through silently, gliding across the carpet with steps so soft the hem of her dress barely shifted.


    ¡°You¡¯re pardon, Captain. The lord has requested your presence over at the main building. Are you able to accompany me now?¡± She asked expectantly.


    ¡°Absolutely. Did he mention needing anyone else to be present?¡± Alter asked as he rose from his seat.


    ¡°He did not specify.¡± Morgan responded cooly but made no effort to prevent him from bringing company.


    Alter nodded for Riptide and Boozehound to accompany him and the quartet made their way from the room. The sun had fully disappeared behind the city walls as they exited Osprey Hall, the sky was awash with the myriad colours of sunset and the air was heavy with the perfumes of a century of flowers. Even at this hour, the small legion of gardeners could still be seen plying their trade across rows of neatly trimmed hedges and seas of floral colour. The main building at the centre of the estate was considerably larger in scope, with an additional floor, ample attic space, a pair of towers at opposite corners and a fourth side to form a complete square. The men were shown through one of many side doors, not as non-descript as a servant¡¯s entrance but certainly one not used by important guests. Through the door Morgan transferred them to the stiff company and piercing gaze of a nameless butler before disappearing back the way they¡¯d come. With a polite flourish they were once again ushered through the luxuries of nobility into a small but lavish private dining room where Oliver sat eating. He had shed his cumbersome cloak and jacket, instead settling for a much more comfortable and light silk shirt and trousers. His previously immaculate hair was messy, his eyes bore the tired markings of a man who works far too hard. Even now pieces of paper were interspersed between the plates arrayed before him. It was a solid ten seconds before he realised he had company.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re here, I¡¯m so sorry umm.¡± He began, frantically piling the papers up to one side. ¡°Have you eaten?¡± Oliver asked, one hand stretching towards a silver bell on the table.


    ¡°We have, don¡¯t worry about us.¡± Alter reassured him as he tried not to laugh at how un-lordly he seemed at this moment.


    ¡°Right. You¡¯ve already settled into Osprey Hall. Tell me, what do you think of the place?¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s going to give me unrealistic dining and sleeping standards for the rest of my life. It¡¯ll serve us incredibly well, thank you.¡±


    ¡°Excellent, I¡¯m glad. Do you mind if I?..¡± His voice trailed off and his eyes returned hungrily to the meal laid out before him as his stomach rumbled poignantly.


    ¡°Not at all.¡±


    Silence but for the noise of devouring held sway for a couple of minutes as Oliver finished his food. With a content and weary sigh he let the silver cutlery clatter onto the plate and again turned his attention to them.


    ¡°Will you be able to start tomorrow morning?¡± He asked.


    The men glanced at each other. ¡°We¡¯d need someone to show us around but yes.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Oliver¡¯s tone shifted drastically. ¡°There was an ¡­ ¡®incident¡¯, shortly after we made it through the gate. A dozen men from the immigrant camp produced improvised weapons and attempted to force their way through at the exact moment a representative from the capital was trying to leave. There was bloodshed, the departing Crown Inspector saw it all. Another success in my dear Uncle¡¯s battleplan.¡± His hands tightened into fists.


    ¡°How bad?¡±


    ¡°Two immigrants dead, with a further five plus two guards wounded. I cannot afford to wait any longer, Captain. I¡¯m pressing you into service at first light. Be ready.¡±


    Alter nodded. ¡°We¡¯ll be ready.¡±

 Ch.30: Mud and Misfortune

    Time felt like it moved differently within the dirt-crusted confines of the immigrant camp. It did not move faster, for the sun¡¯s progress across the sky was mercilessly ponderous. It did not move slower, for the minutes ticked by with the sharp certainty of looming consequence. Yet the feeling remained that time was not itself. Skewed. Like trying to drive a car with a damaged steering column. This sorry place was filled with people whose lives had been lurched violently to the side before being deposited into a literal and metaphorical ditch.


    The plan that Oliver and the command team had put together was simple enough. They would take advantage of the squad¡¯s lack of local knowledge and mannerisms in order to join the ranks of the weary and, hopefully, be approached by the disguised troublemakers. This tactic had already been attempted a couple of times by the local authorities, however the infiltrating agents had quickly been discovered and called out. The commanders would blame their voices, their posture, or the way they so keenly pried into the feelings of those around them for their immediate discovery. But it didn¡¯t take much of a leap of logic to determine that those men had been marked from the moment they stepped out of the barracks door.


    Six of the eight squad members had been selected for the groundwork, with Boats and Pavejack taking up concealed positions on the city wall in order to keep overwatch and track any identified targets. As the late morning saw their briefing concluded, the ground team donned the ragged and muck-stained clothes of weatherbeaten travellers. The process of this transformation was profoundly uncomfortable, at least the smell being emitted by their new wardrobes would help prepare them for the squalid camp conditions. Once suitably dirtied up they were provided with a rickety handcart, loaded with tools and necessities, and shown to a hidden doorway that blended near seamlessly into the wall. From there they cut a long loop back around to the south before rejoining the road and plodding into the camp in time to catch a late lunch. Watery porridge with exciting ¡®mystery lumps¡¯ and bread sliced so thinly it might as well have been 2D. Glorious.


    Alter fought the urge to take a deep breath as he unfolded himself from the wooden bench, adding his bowl and spoon to the intimidating pile at the end of the table. With a gentle nod to his friends sitting nearby he gave the order to disperse before striking out towards the ever present crowd near the gate. As he struggled his way forward the cover story he¡¯d been given played over in his mind. He was Aster Cuttersson, the name was deliberately similar in order to minimise the impact of any conversational slip-ups. A logging crew leader who, like so many others, had led his team across the country in the hopes of a better life. He and his boys had spent more than three weeks on the road only to discover the treacherous nature of that false hope just as the shadow of the walls of Jestriff passed over them. He was confused, frustrated, and wanting answers to the myriad questions that had bubbled up within him since their arrival.


    ¡°Eyes on One, tracking.¡± Boats¡¯ voice crackled softly in his ear. His earpiece had been concealed beneath the earflaps of a thick woollen hat and an equally prickly scarf. As if scratching an itch, a questing finger sent a blip over the radio as confirmation.


    He made no move to interact with the people he passed, instead choosing to sweep his eyes across the huddled groups. From their hushed conversations and depressed expressions he could assume these individuals were not being targeted. The gate-blocking crowd, however, was another matter entirely. The air was thick with indignation and repressed rage, taut and strained voices cut across the murmuring din, demanding answers and concessions. To come sauntering up to this unmerry band and start asking questions would result in near guaranteed suspicion. Instead, Alter stopped a few paces behind the group before folding his arms and listening intently to their protestations. Like picking out the individual instruments in a song, he homed in on the different voices one by one, noting tones and patterns. As expected, the majority could be discounted for now. It wasn¡¯t until a ripple of expectant murmuring caused by the sound of the portcullis beginning to shift that a pair of urging tones caught his attention.


    Two men, separated by about ten metres but shifting apart, were quietly spreading rumours from cluster to cluster. The exact wording was too faint for him to pick up, but the changes in the men and women they spoke to were clear. Anger began to seep through the cracks. Hostility wrapped its invisible fingers around the throats of the most desperate. The crowd had been keeping a small but reasonable distance from the six guards at the gate but now inroads were being made into that gap. Alter lost the voices and one of the men amongst the rising volume so he instead began to shift around the rear to keep the second possible rouser in sight. A middle aged man with long, straggly brown hair and a beard with patches of grey. The portcullis continued to rise, passing the customary head-high stopping point of a guard change which only caused the crowd to grow more incessant. Finally, it ground to a halt and the familiar shape of a horse-drawn wagon began to emerge, flanked by additional guards moving on either side in close escort. There was a wave of apprehension that quickly passed through the assembled people at the sight of the extra men, the memory of yesterday¡¯s skirmish still fresh in their minds.


    ¡°Look at that. See how desperate they are to keep us out in the cold? It¡¯s only a matter of time before these bastards start driving us out into the wilderness. Will your family survive the winter? They would reduce us to animals!¡± The man he¡¯d been following questioned, looking to capitalise on that germinating seed of fear.


    Alter let his mouth contort, his satisfied smile twisting into a sneer as he eyed the approaching guards. The wagon emerged fully from the gate, causing an unexpected pause as the crowd registered its contents. Food, blankets and freshly made clothes were piled up inside.


    ¡°Extra rations and clothing have been generously donated by the Lord Oliver Masserlind! These supplies shall be given to the elderly and infirm as a priority, with more promised in the coming days! Please stand aside!¡± One of the escorting guards called out, holding out an open hand as a placating gesture.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Alter raised an eyebrow, Oliver sure worked fast. The crowd¡¯s animosity began to rapidly dwindle as the wagon continued its advance, parting them like the pages of a book. Seemingly frustrated, the brown haired man scowled as the mood lifted and a solid half of the people began following the cart back into the camp. He stalked over to a small group of men that had been more receptive to his earlier rage-mongering, beckoning them into a huddle that prevented any further eavesdropping. As he contemplated how close he could get before they might notice, the radio sprung to life again. A pair of quick blips signalled that Riptide was needing attention.


    ¡°Eyes on Two.¡± Pavejack responded. ¡°I see three tents, first grey, second brown, third open-door.¡±


    Another two blips.


    ¡°Brown tent to your front-right. Place of interest?¡±


    A single confirming blip.


    ¡°Marked.¡±


    The radio fell silent again. It was good to hear that his friends were making some progress too. Alter¡¯s attention had been divided as he listened to the conversation, as he focused on the movement around him he was surprised to see the huddle had broken up and that the majority of its members were coming right towards him. At the lead was the brown haired man and, much to Alter¡¯s dismay, he was looking right at him.


    ¡°I¡¯d be careful showing that around the guards, friend.¡± The man spoke, nodding towards Alter¡¯s waistline. ¡°I¡¯ve seen men dragged inside and beaten bloody for less.¡±


    On reflex Alter looked down to see that the man was pointing out the woodcutter¡¯s hatchet slung casually through a belt loop. Being of similar size, weight, and position to his usual pistol holster, he had completely forgotten its existence.


    ¡°They¡¯d do that for this thing?¡± Alter asked, keeping his voice cautious and allowing his hand to rest protectively atop its dark iron head.


    The aggravator nodded. ¡°They make out that they¡¯re lookin¡¯ out for us but in reality ¡­ well ¡­ you¡¯ll see if you hang around here long enough.¡±


    Alter allowed his worried look to grow in strength as he glanced back towards the camp. ¡°This a new thing they¡¯re doing then?¡± He nodded towards the wagon.


    ¡°A peace offering to keep us complacent, it won¡¯t last.¡± The man responded grimly before looking him straight in the eye. ¡°You''re a little fresh-faced, aren¡¯t ya? When did you roll up?¡± There was scrutiny in his voice, but no hint of accusation as of yet.


    ¡°Got here just after midday. Brought my boys up all the way from Cannazelt, hoping things would be easier here.¡± Alter gave an exasperated shrug and hoped no further questions would be asked about the place name he¡¯d been told to mention.


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of folks from your way here already. That Duke of yours sounds like a right bastard.¡±


    ¡°Well, he was a rotten, merciless taskmaster but at least he kept a roof over your head.¡± Alter growled.


    ¡°We¡¯ll get what we need, brother. Even if we have to force our way through. Keep your eyes open, eh?¡± The aggravator smiled and resumed his progress toward the camp, his eager compatriots in tow. Alter again mimed scratching his phantom itch and signalled his observer.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got eyes on the four men you were just talking to. Got something?¡± Boats asked in his ear.


    Alter sent another blip to confirm.


    ¡°I see one with blonde hair, one with brown, one with a red hat and one with no hair.¡±


    Two blips.


    ¡°Marked. Want me to stick to you or keep following the person of interest?¡±


    Alter signalled him to follow the aggravator. He spent another ten minutes moving amidst the greatly reduced crowd but could find no further evidence of trouble makers. Having exhausted this option, he meandered his way back into the camp and made for the place they had left the handcart. Walross and Vangroover stood idle guard next to their borrowed belongings, talking quietly and keeping wary eyes on the passing immigrants.


    ¡°Any news?¡± Alter asked as he joined them, leaning nonchalantly against a protesting wheel.


    ¡°A few things.¡± Walross nodded. ¡°The two of us took a wander over to the daywork tables and we think we can confirm that they¡¯re being targeted.¡±


    The Daywork tables were an initiative Oliver had set up before leaving for the Adderbites. Workers from the camp could volunteer to do a day''s work at participating businesses in the city, with the hope being that these prospective employers would agree to take on those that signed up. However, a series of suspicious acts of sabotage had caused many of the city¡¯s industries to abandon the project. This had led to long, and frequently angry, queues for the chance of work and a foothold across the wall.


    ¡°Also.¡± Walross leaned in. ¡°Rip¡¯ and the rest stumbled upon something nasty. A weapons shipment, enough to outfit a dozen men. I¡¯m sure you heard him report it over the radio, they¡¯ve set up a watch around it for now. Do you reckon we¡¯ve got enough to call it a day?¡± His discomfort was plain to see. Even Vangroover¡¯s normally passive expression had been swapped for something profoundly miserable.


    ¡°Not just yet. If what Oliver told us is true then these rabble-rousers are getting into and out of the city without causing suspicion. I want to get an idea of how they¡¯re doing it first.¡±


    Walross made a face but gave no further protest. At that moment, the quiet mood within the camp was broken by shrieking and shouting from nearby. The men glanced at each other as fearful figures scurried away from the noise just as curious faces edged closer.


    ¡°I suppose we should go and see what that¡¯s all about. Are you happy to stay here, Six?¡± Alter asked.


    ¡°Sure.¡± Walross shrugged.


    ¡°Alright then. Eight, come with me. Let''s hope it¡¯s not another micro-uprising.¡±

 Ch.31: Boxing for Blankets

    Desperation is a nasty state to end up in. But as the pair made it to the scene of the disturbance it was plain to see that, inevitably, the unwanted cousin of opportunity had taken hold of a small number of individuals. With the prospect of many more rough nights ahead, compounded by the shadow of winter creeping through the rotting back-alleys of the human psyche, wool was akin to gold. So often those with the highest need fall prey to those with the greatest want.


    The supply wagon had pulled into the centre of the camp, the pulling horse had been detached and was standing nearby, its manner nervous. The poor beast¡¯s eyes were wide, ears flicking to and fro with uncertainty as it tapped the floor with an anxious foreleg.  All efforts to distribute the cargo had halted. The guard leader who had announced their intentions at the gate stood on the driver¡¯s bench, lungs bellowing as he tried to take control of the situation. The rest of the guards had taken a defensive posture around the wagon bed in order to prevent a frenzy of grabbing hands. From their viewpoint at the edge of the clearing they could see four pockets of disturbance, with a further handful of potential flashpoints spread throughout the area. Three of the main disturbances were high tension shouting matches, primarily groups of men but with a small number of women weighing in. However, the fourth off to their left side had advanced into a free-for-all slugging match. All over a pile of food which, unbeknownst to the brawlers, had been nearly halved in size by stealthier opportunists that slipped out from gaps in the tents.


    ¡°Never thought I¡¯d get a front row seat to World War Turnips.¡± Alter commented dryly to his companion, his arms folding across each other as his brow furrowed.


    ¡°It¡¯s a sorry thing.¡± Vangroover agreed softly, his voice barely audible above the din. The two took a hurried step back as a teenaged boy charged past with a purloined bread loaf nestled snugly in his arms like a rugby ball. Alter shook his head.


    ¡°They should¡¯ve anticipated this, six men was nowhere near enough to keep control.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. But in many ways such a show of force could prove counterproductive.¡± Vangroover cautioned.


    Alter nodded, recalling the antagonistic points the man at the gate had used. ¡°Still though, it would be good to see them take a more proactive approach to keeping the peace. Our opponents will be able to make a fine meal of this fighting.¡±


    ¡°I think they might already be doing that.¡± Vangroover took a couple of paces forward, eyes squinting across the space as another one of the arguments descended into a whirlwind of thrown fists.


    ¡°Talk to me.¡± Alter moved up alongside him, unsure as to what the other man had spotted.


    ¡°Look at the guards, specifically the pair on the left side of the wagon.¡± He pointed.


    Alter focussed his attention on the indicated individuals. The guards had their eyes firmly trained on the fighting, but their body languages varied greatly. The closer guard leaned casually against the shaft of his spear, eyes sparkling as he chuckled and cheered as another man crumpled into the churned earth of the melee. His compatriot was silent and rigid, face grim, eyes steely and hawk-like. His lips parted into a snarl of disgust, even from this distance Alter could see the white-knuckle grip that threatened to break the wooden handle of his spear.


    ¡°That¡¯s ¡­ concerning. You think they¡¯re plants?¡±


    ¡°Not necessarily. Both of them are showing fairly common responses to what they¡¯re seeing. When you¡¯re in a position of, erm, self-perceived social superiority¡­¡± Vangroover paused, pulling an uncomfortable face at his own words before continuing. ¡°...and you¡¯re made to watch the less fortunate fighting over scraps like animals. There are some that find themselves unable to distinguish between the person and the animal. It¡¯s doubly true for soldiers.¡±


    ¡°Case in point, those two?¡± Alter asked, curious as to both his friend¡¯s sudden talkativeness and choice of subject.


    ¡°Some men cannot comprehend how people can live and act like this, and their subconscious response is hatred. Others cannot help but laugh, perceiving it through the lens of a show, or a sport. We¡¯ve all been guilty of that, from time to time. Almost every human in the world takes some secret pleasure in the suffering of others.¡±


    ¡°Is this something you¡¯ve seen a lot of?¡±


    Vangroover was silent for a long moment. ¡°Yes.¡± His answer was simple and cold.


    ¡°So, then.¡± Alter reasoned aloud. ¡°You¡¯re saying that these supply handouts could be used to further drive the wedge between the immigrants and the city, even without aggravator interference?¡±


    ¡°In a long-winded way, that¡¯s right.¡±


    ¡°Would you happen to have a solution in mind?¡±


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Not immediately.¡± Vangroover admitted.


    ¡°Fair enough, it¡¯s certainly something we can mention to Oliver later.¡±


    Alter watched as the ruckus began to die down. One by one, the losers of the various brawls were levered up, bloody and bruised, to be carried away by family and friends. Presently the guard leader saw fit to resume giving the supplies out and the scene, while still cautious, relaxed into gratefulness at the extra provisions. The show was over. He instead found himself pondering another little mystery that had just revealed itself. From the moment they had arrived in the world of Meios to now, the amount of time he¡¯d known Vangroover had increased by over thirty percent. He knew next to nothing about him other than his nationality, the last few minutes had been the most they¡¯d ever spoken outside of in-game chatter. The Canadian¡¯s ease of transition to their new life had been notably smooth, as was his weapon handling. Now, with this sudden speech, the man felt much more ¡®military¡¯ than Alter had previously suspected.


    ¡°I get the feeling you have more experience with the armed forces then you originally let on, would you be alright to talk about it?¡± He asked gingerly, already knowing the answer.


    ¡°It¡¯s not something I like to talk about. I¡¯m sorry.¡± Vangroover replied quickly as his neck buried itself within the confines of his shoulders. A most sore subject.


    Alter opened his mouth to apologise but was interrupted by the radio crackling into life. Boats reported that the aggravator from earlier, having spent a good amount of time in deep discussion with various groups, had made his way over to the daywork tables. He nodded as he blipped a confirmation, the tables had already been identified as one of the most likely infil-exfil points. If the agents were calling it a day then there likely wasn¡¯t much more to be gathered here, the two men began picking their way towards the tables.


    Situated on the outskirts of the camp, close to the city wall, the daywork tables were a collection of said furniture arranged in a semi-circle. Clerks from the administration manned a small number of these tables, equipped with long parchment lists of hopeful names and thick leather bags that jingled with glorious promise. According to Oliver, morning was by far the busiest time but even at this late afternoon hour there were a handful of queues and chattering groups hovering between the watching guards. Sure enough, the brown-haired man stood with a group of nine others a short distance from where they had arrived. Their manner was loose but with a secretive, conspiratory feeling of exclusion prevented others from getting too close. Alter and Vangroover moved away, placing another group in between them yet still keeping the secretive band in eyesight. Presently, one of the clerks stood up and cleared his throat with a flourish.


    ¡°Attention candidates! The Last Flourish is seeking cleaners and maintenance staff for tonight! This job will last until morning! There are ten slots available, experienced workers only please!¡± He called.


    Like a flock of seagulls descending on an unsuspecting toddler with an ice cream cone, the ten-man group surged up to the table and within seconds the clerk called that all slots had been filled. The few enterprising individuals that had taken an interest never had the time to make it to the back of the queue and were left to stomp back to their positions shaking their heads in frustration.


    ¡°Fools.¡± Muttered a bitter voice from nearby and Alter turned to see a middle-aged man with a moustache wide enough to give an albatross cause for concern. From the look of his clothes, he would¡¯ve once been a fairly well-off man. From the look of his clothes, that life was long behind him.


    ¡°What was all that about?¡± Alter asked as he moved to stand next to him. The man regarded him with suspicion for a moment before harrumphing and shoving dirty hands into dirtier pockets.


    ¡°Every day that place advertises for the same number of workers for the same job, and every day that group of men sign up instantly. Surely they must realise that the Flourish is just taking advantage of them for cheap labour. Those asses have no intention of employing any of us, why give them what they want so readily?¡± He raged, eyes boring spiteful holes into their unknowing skulls.


    ¡°Hope is a powerful drug.¡± Alter shrugged as he watched the men be collected by a pair of guards to then be led towards the gate.


    ¡°Well, it leaves more promising opportunities for the rest of us, I suppose.¡± He stroked his moustache. ¡°If you¡¯re looking for work then you might be in luck. There¡¯s an animal market that employs night watchmen every few days, tonight should be one of them. It¡¯s quite pleasant really, once you get used to it.¡± His gaze turned to a currently empty table wistfully.


    ¡°Here¡¯s hoping. Best of luck to you, sir.¡± Alter smiled before moving back to his original position.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s confirmed how they¡¯re getting in and out. What do you want to do?¡± Vangroover asked.


    ¡°We call it a day here, we¡¯ve learned enough.¡± Alter fiddled with his shirt, nestling his face into a shoulder before talking into the hidden radio. ¡°Squad, gather at the cart and prepare to return. Four, send the exfil request.¡±


    ¡°Affirm.¡± Boats answered as a number of blips from the other men on the ground confirmed the order.


    Ten minutes of relative peace passed, with the man he¡¯d just spoken to making infrequent and awkward attempts at conversation that never made it past five sentences. Finally, a new clerk appeared and took one of the empty tables, after a couple of minutes of fiddling he too stood.


    ¡°Maresham Sawmill requires a trained logging and timber-working crew for a rush order! This will take multiple days! Highly experienced men only!¡± He shouted.


    That was his cue, Alter strolled across to the table and gave the code phrase identifying him as the fake job¡¯s intended recipient. The clerk nodded and immediately closed the order, much to the dismay of the line that had formed. Alter received more than one dirty look as he left to rejoin the others, he¡¯d expected a word from the moustached man but strangely he was nowhere to be seen.


    With great relief the men wheeled the cart through the camp and were escorted back through the gate. There was still some pantomiming to do but they were all just glad to be away from the smell. Alter looked ahead to their next steps with grim anticipation, it seemed there would be some close quarters room clearing in their near future.

 Ch.32: The Known House

    Upon their return to Osprey Hall the squad had only one real priority and that was bathing. It was a fortunate thing that the plumbing standards in Jestriff were up to snuff. Proper, if a little basic, porcelain baths and toilets marked a great improvement over the wooden-seated hole in the ground and the communal puddle. It took some time for enough hot water to be drawn for the six returning men but soon enough all were clean again and the air was thick with fresh, floral scents. At Alter¡¯s request upon their return, messages had been sent to both the main house and city hall. As the squad reconvened in the Hall¡¯s briefing room they were joined by Oliver who was eager to hear their report. A few minutes later they were also joined by Howard, the leading administrator that had taken the young lord to task the other day, he carried with him a number of rolled up parchments in his arms.


    ¡°Thank you both for coming so quickly. Let me bring you up to speed.¡± Alter began.


    The two men listened silently as their findings were presented, their faces a mixture of curiosity bleeding into resigned contemplation. The confirmed report of the antagonizer''s main infiltration route yielded no expressions of great surprise. In fact, at the mention of their exit destination Oliver snorted and shook his head.


    ¡°The Last Flourish, of course.¡± He chuckled grimly with a slight shake of his head.


    ¡°There¡¯s a story here.¡± Riptide perked up as he looked at the lord expectantly.


    ¡°How to explain. The Last Flourish is what is referred to as a ¡®Known House¡¯, every city in the nation has at least one. Think of it as a place where less egregious illegal activities can be undertaken or enjoyed without the guard kicking up too much of a fuss. A necessary evil.¡±


    ¡°Why are they allowed to operate?¡± Alter asked.


    ¡°Because they¡¯re inevitable. When you gather such a large amount of people together in one place there is guaranteed to be a criminal underbelly formed. A Known House allows the city to provide a place for the inclined to indulge within a controlled environment. Drinking, gambling, drugs, the works.¡± Oliver began.


    ¡°That just sounds like a seedy pub with extra steps.¡± Whim snorted.


    ¡°A fair point.¡± Oliver agreed, forestalling Alter¡¯s hushing. ¡°Other than being an outlet, the owners of the House are carefully selected for their strong code and strict boundaries. They make sure no overly destructive substances enter circulation, that the more abhorrent crimes don¡¯t become reality, and that rival syndicates from out of town can¡¯t set up shop. I like to think of it as hiring a gardener. We provide the lawn space, they keep the grass cut and tidy, and we work together to get rid of any malicious weeds that try to take root. It¡¯s by no means a perfect system, but it¡¯s much better than leaving the garden unchecked.¡±


    ¡°I see why you¡¯re not surprised this place is involved then.¡± Alter commented, the possible logistics of such an establishment made his head spin.


    ¡°Actually, I am a little surprised. It¡¯s so ¡­ unsubtle. To the point that it feels too obvious. My Uncle¡¯s men are much more comfortable than I thought.¡± Oliver admitted, one hand reaching up to idly scratch at his chin.


    ¡°It saves us the pain of having to sniff out a more discrete safehouse. We¡¯ll have to organise a meeting with the Foreman to determine his loyalties.¡± Howard spoke with a grimace.


    ¡°No need, he¡¯s picked his side, and given the way the wind has been blowing up until now it was a prudent choice. There will come a time when we have a nice sit-down chat with the man once this whole mess has been sorted out.¡± Oliver promised.


    ¡°Should we add this ¡®Foreman¡¯ to our list of opponents?¡± Alter asked.


    Oliver pondered the question for a moment. ¡°I don¡¯t think so, no. The man may twist and bend to pressure like the world¡¯s most stubborn reed but he won¡¯t completely break no matter how hard my uncle digs his claws in. He won¡¯t do anything directly damaging to us, using the Flourish as a base is likely the most he¡¯d allow. Still though, that doesn¡¯t rule out giving him a gentle reminder, does it?¡± He smiled.


    ¡°Very well. Moving on, Two, tell us about these weapons you caught sight of.¡± Alter matched his expression before shifting the conversation onward.


    ¡°Three, Seven and I had been following a pair of suspicious individuals whose conversations we¡¯d been listening in on at the canteen. After a short walk they stopped at a large tent a short distance off the main road. They spent five minutes inside before leaving with another man, fortunately they forgot to leave the door flap down so the interior was visible. Inside the tent was a young man and half a dozen large wooden crates. We watched as he opened one of the crates before retrieving, inspecting and replacing ten short swords, he then moved on to another crate which contained some type of short halberd. All of them looked new, unfortunately the lad realised he was visible and quickly released the flap.¡± Riptide reported.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    His words were met with silence by the wider room, broken only by the faint clatter of kitchen preparations from the floor below. It was Howard that was the first to speak, his voice slow and clear.


    ¡°Were you able to determine where these weapons were being moved to? Or any other details?¡± He asked.


    Riptide shook his head apologetically. ¡°The men we were following were alert to their surroundings once they left the canteen. We couldn¡¯t risk getting close enough to overhear them, I''m afraid. The only other detail I saw was that the crates had a picture of a green lion stencilled to their sides.¡±


    Howard turned to Oliver. ¡°My Lord, the report we received from Breakdune. Do you think?¡± He asked with trepidation, but Oliver¡¯s worried face painted a seemingly bleaker picture.


    ¡°Even if the shipment we caught wind of was able to make ideal time it still couldn¡¯t have arrived here by now. This is another one. An unknown, earlier one.¡± Oliver sighed and rubbed his eyes. ¡°Gods I wish those shipping manifests I¡¯d managed to get copies of hadn¡¯t burnt up in the carriage.¡±


    ¡°Did you report the tent¡¯s location to the Watch Lieutenant?¡± Alter asked his tracking team.


    ¡°I did.¡± Pavejack nodded. ¡°He promised to get it looked at this evening but I don¡¯t know if I believed him.¡±


    ¡°Which one?¡± Oliver snapped back into the conversation sharply. ¡°What was his name?¡±


    ¡°Sturgill.¡±


    ¡°Then you were right not to believe him, he¡¯s one my uncle¡¯s cursed tree stumps that I can¡¯t seem to uproot.¡±


    ¡°Then why was he designated to assist us?¡± Alter asked, frowning.


    Oliver gave him a defeated smile. ¡°He wasn¡¯t. The Watch Captain is married to my uncle''s second daughter, and both of them enjoy fiddling with assignments. It''s a safe assumption that no inspection will take place, in fact I suspect those crates have already made it through the gate. Frustrating, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    It was indeed. Alter bit his tongue, knowing full well that any questions regarding how this captain was still in office would yield no satisfactory response. Subdued conversation continued for a while longer before he decided to reassert control over proceedings.


    ¡°Is it reasonable to assume that these weapons will be moved to the Last Flourish?¡± He asked.


    Howard, his arms crossed, drummed his fingers against his forearm. ¡°It¡¯s certainly a strong possibility, but even if they¡¯re keeping their arsenal somewhere else then it¡¯s likely someone in there will know where that is.¡±


    ¡°Then it sounds like we¡¯re busting in there and knocking some heads together?¡± Alter turned to Oliver who nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make a surprise inspection at the gatehouse late this evening. If I can confirm that those crates have indeed passed through then yes, I want you scouring that building tonight.¡± The thought of taking a proactive step forward seemed to buoy his spirits.


    ¡°Serious question. Why us? Surely there are forces available more suited to this role?¡± Walross spoke up.


    ¡°Because we¡¯re the only ones who Oliver can trust not to immediately tip them off.¡± Riptide answered, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips at Walross¡¯ discomfort.


    ¡°Also, we¡¯re the only ones they won¡¯t see coming.¡± Alter cut off any brewing arguments and motioned to Howard who spilled his clutched parchments onto a nearby table.


    ¡°These building plans are more than fifty years old, the best I could manage at such short notice.¡± He began. ¡°They will not be accurate, the Flourish has seen many renovations over the years, but the general structure should still be the same.¡±


    So began a lengthy discussion and introduction to the wonderful world of architect¡¯s drawings. The Last Flourish was a three-storey end of terrace building, rectangular in shape but would be considered square after a heavy meal. Grounds to the rear of the building contained a sizable stable, paddock and carriage park. The front of the building was mostly given over to large, smoke-stained windows complimented by boxes packed with enough flowers to make you forget its more dubious purpose. The ground floor was mostly taken up by the bar, rounded out with a generous kitchen and waiting rooms for the servants and drivers of its wealthier patrons. The first floor was nearly all private rooms, the real meat of its subtler pastimes. Two staircases, one large spiral at the front and a small service set at the rear linked it to the entrance. The top floor was members only, with the front-facing third of the space taken up by a sumptuous terrace. Other than that, more rooms, more corners to hide in. Finally, an extensive basement stretched under the rear grounds and, if more recent reports were to be believed, had seen multiple extensions in nearly all directions. It too had multiple staircases, from both the kitchen and the stable.


    The Last Flourish was a full storey taller than its neighbour, as such rooftop access would be impossible without a little climbing. After Oliver pointed out that the Flourish always has two sets of eyes stationed on the terrace that idea was dropped. They would be working ground up then, two teams of four. Simultaneous entries from the front and kitchen doors would hopefully cause enough confusion to make the late-night staff and patrons easy to control. From there it got more complicated, everyone was in agreement that this was too much for them to handle alone. Therefore, a team of Oliver¡¯s most trusted guards would follow them in without being briefed, with on-the-spot orders to contain anyone already caught and to ensure the stairwells were kept secure. Ground floor secured, the two teams would go room to room on the first floor, again followed by guard teams to escort any further caught individuals downstairs. Repeat the process for the top floor and the basement and it would be job done. Hopefully without firing a bullet.


    Plan concluded, Oliver and Howard went their separate ways leaving the squad alone to hash out more precise arrangements. Alter gazed wistfully out of the window, watching the fading daylight paint the sky a comfortable orange as firelight took the leading role. What he would give for a decent set of night vision goggles and a conveniently unguarded powerswitch. Unfortunately for him these people hadn¡¯t invented electricity yet.


    How very inconsiderate of them.

 Ch.33: A Swift Half or a Swift End

    It was not the most glamorous of alleyways to lurk in. The fact that it was uncomfortably dark was to be expected, fair enough, he accepted that. Strangely, it was the dripping that was getting to him, becoming akin to nails on a chalkboard as he peered out into the street. Rain clouds had been blown across Jestriff through the early evening, leaving the city glistening with shallow puddles and a million droplets across myriad window panes. It made for a peaceful and pleasant late evening stroll but now the leaky guttering apparent throughout had worn through this picturesque veneer. Once their guide, a Houseguard Sergeant by the name of Winslow, had deposited them at their shadowy destination then they were left to sit, ponder, and be driven mad by the ghost of the rain.


    As anticipated, Oliver¡¯s investigation had borne the foreseen fruit. A trade caravan had passed by the immigrant camp a couple of hours previous. One of the wagons in the line had stopped, citing a loose wheel, grinding to a halt around the corner from the weapons tent. Its contents were listed as luxury goods bound for the Last Flourish, and its cargo load mysteriously doubled during the repair. With all required inspections having already been made, and all questions faithfully answered before the wagon even made it to the gate, it was let straight through. With the operation green-lit, the squad had squeezed back into their arrival uniforms, still dirt encrusted from their week on the road. In order to blend in a little better, Morgan was able to produce eight dark grey cloaks that served to disguise the shapes of their weapons. No hoods though, there would be no jedi cosplaying today.


    The level of foot traffic had dropped significantly over the last twenty minutes. They had no direct view of the Last Flourish, however the alleyway intersected quite neatly with the side road that led to the rear of the building and its accompanying stables. Team One, consisting of himself, Boats, Pavejack and Walross, would use the front door. A pair of senior city clerks with matching innocent vices had been willingly employed to make a late visit to their favourite destination, with instructions to keep the doormen and upstairs watchers distracted while the team crossed the open space. Their carriages would deposit them at the front door before moving to the rear, allowing Team Two, their hidden passengers, close access to the back door. It wouldn¡¯t be long before they arrived, never mind a knife you could cut through the tension with a balloon animal.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking.¡± Pavejack spoke up somewhere behind him.


    ¡°Ooh careful, don¡¯t hurt yourself.¡± Alter quipped, anxious humour temporarily controlling his tongue.


    ¡°Are these people going to realise what¡¯s actually happening when we bust in there? None of them will have seen a gun before. How¡¯re we going to scare them into submission when all they¡¯ll see is a group of strangely dressed lunatics with some weird metal pipes?¡± Pavejack questioned.


    Alter hummed to himself; it was a fair point.


    ¡°The first man that talks back gets folded, easy. Hard to play the big man when the walls are freshly painted.¡± Boats¡¯ voice was deadpan but there was not a single hint of sarcasm to be found in his quietly confident rumble.


    ¡°Why is blood, violence and death always your first suggestion?¡± Walross shot back, the increasingly familiar crackle of disgust was plain to hear.


    ¡°Settle down.¡± Alter ordered before the argument could truly begin. ¡°Anyone inside that building is to be considered a possible key witness and are to be harmed as a last resort only. If it looks like the patrons are about to draw steel then we can murder a conveniently placed vase or perhaps a bottle or two. Just remember that we want the upstairs to be as blissfully unaware as possible, so gunshots are never your first option. Clear?¡±


    ¡°Crystal.¡± Boats¡¯ responded coolly.


    ¡°Excellent. Alright, be ready to move.¡± Alter readied himself as twin carriages wheeled into view, turning away to head into the rear yard. ¡°How¡¯s our backup looking?¡±


    Walross took a couple of steps backwards deeper into the alley and peered around a corner. ¡°Still briefing. They look almost good to go, though.¡±


    Hidden around said corner in a forgotten square, the chosen members of Oliver¡¯s Houseguard had been assembled and were only now learning why they¡¯d been dragged from their rooms. Their leader, Winslow, was an experienced swordsman in his early thirties. His head was close shaven, black hairs so short they were more akin to a shadow. His face was unfortunately divided by a vicious, jagged scar that made him look so unapologetically villainous that it forced you to think that he must be ironically good. When asked whether he was reliable enough to be involved in the build-up, Oliver had explained that it was impossible that he might¡¯ve turned against them. If his uncle had made him an offer then he would¡¯ve immediately marched into the young lord¡¯s office to see if he would give a more lucrative counter-offer.


    Raised voices emanating from the street prompted Alter to give the order to begin. In close formation they moved into the lamplight, their footfalls punctuated by the splashing of water trapped between the cobblestones. The Last Flourish stood before them; its appearance was exactly as described. He glanced upward, sure enough a pair of young men leaned casually against the balustrade of the terrace, their attention ensnared by the scene playing out below them. It seemed that the clerks had taken to their given role with much unexpected enthusiasm and gusto. Their method of choice being to engage in a full-scale shouting match from the moment they exited their transportation. The point of contention had started with a disagreement on what to do about the immigration camp. However, as the team advanced it degraded into a boxing match punctuated by semi-coherent bellowing concerning Clerk A¡¯s wine addiction versus Clerk B¡¯s bedroom activities. Or lack thereof. Alter wasn¡¯t sure, it was hard to keep up with the rather fluid narrative. Either way it was quite the scene and the bouncers agreed, moving away from their posts in order to break up the fighting men.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    There was neither challenge nor contest as Alter pushed open the first set of double doors. A small, square coatroom greeted them, with an identical pair of doors at the opposite end and two walls covered in expensive looking outdoor clothing. The team paused as the exterior doors softly closed without a sound, with a quick nod they pulled their rifles out from under their cloaks.


    ¡°I feel like I should be making a COD reference.¡± Pavejack whispered as he struggled to bring his machine gun up in the tight space.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t.¡± Alter whispered in return, knowing full well what the teenager was referring to.


    All weapons ready, the second set of doors were pushed open and the men stepped through into perfumed air, plush carpets and spotlessly polished woodwork. The lion¡¯s share of the ground floor was given over to large, high-backed armchairs that rose from the blue carpet sea like volcanic islands. It being late in the day, only a handful of these fireside thrones were occupied by suitably smug looking men sporting enough jewellery to completely shut down security at a medium-sized airport. Weaving between the seating, trays in hand, were a trio of young women with strikingly good looks, wearing outfits that would be borderline scandalous to the local man but in the team¡¯s more modern eyes it was typical Saturday night out-on-the-town attire. A couple of people looked their way but, much to Alter¡¯s appreciation, their curiosity was powerless before the temptation of their cups. It was the lone barman that kept his attention on them as they moved further into the room, one eyebrow raised and wearing the most ¡®who are these jokers?¡¯ expression he¡¯d ever seen. They weren¡¯t being immediately identified as a threat. Excellent. He motioned Pavejack and Walross to take positions near the ornate spiral staircase off to one side before sidling up to the bar.


    ¡°Welcome to the Last Flourish, gentlemen. How can I help you tonight?¡± The barman asked slowly, measuring them. He was keeping both hands palm-down on the bar top but one of them was slowly and deliberately inching backward.


    ¡°We were just hoping to get a few drinks before turning in for the night.¡± Alter lied reassuringly.


    ¡°Have you ever visited our establishment before?¡± The barman asked, smiling testily. The creeping hand was now fully out of sight behind the bar.


    ¡°I can¡¯t say we have.¡± Alter admitted as he matched the man¡¯s expression.


    ¡°Then I should tell you that¨C¡± The barman was cut short by a muffled scream of surprise that emanated from behind the door beyond him. His head whirled around as his body tensed. More noises, that of raised voices and clattering, smashing plates could be heard getting closer. He began to reach for a pull cord that ran up the back wall and disappeared into the ceiling.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t try that.¡± Alter warned, guessing its purpose was to warn the upper floors to trouble. The barman¡¯s head spun back to be greeted by the barrel of Alter¡¯s rifle. ¡°This weapon is unknown to you, but make no mistake it will end your life before you can utter one singular syllable. Don¡¯t. Move.¡± He growled.


    Before any further threats could be made, the kitchen¡¯s serving door burst open as a half dozen cooking staff were bundled through by Riptide and Boozehound. There was a moment of surreal silence as the patrons and waitresses turned, mouths agape at what they were seeing.


    ¡°Rear secure, boss. Seven and Eight have the back stairs on lockdown.¡± Riptide called over jovially as he poked his charges into a corner.


    Finally, one of the whiskey-laden drinkers regained enough composure to find his voice. ¡°What the blazes is going on here!?¡± He shouted.


    This sudden exclamation was the catalyst needed to break the spell and spur the room into sudden and violent action. Chairs were toppled backwards as a handful of patrons sprang to their feet, two of the young women shrieked and retreated towards another corner while the third pulled a long, slim knife from a concealed sheath and advanced towards Riptide. The barman too pulled his own blade and threw himself forwards, hurdling the bar and swinging wildly at Alter¡¯s head. Alter stumbled backward with a curse and flicked his safety catch to off. Somewhere above them, the incessant chiming of a bell caused the sound of heavy, urgent footsteps to thud audible paths in various directions. The resounding bark of a gunshot from behind him split the air and the barman lurched backwards, blood spurting from his shoulder as the short sword that had been concealed behind the bar clattered to the floor. A quick burst of shots from the LMG caused another man with a sword drawn to tumble limply down the spiral stairs. The knife-wielding woman stabbed at Riptide with a flurry of well-rehearsed strikes, causing the Belgian to block frantically with the side of his rifle before Boozehound sprung forward and drove the butt of his own weapon into her temple. She toppled downward, unconscious. More screaming. One of the patrons sprinted past the chaos only to be knocked out by the front doors flying open as the bouncers charged into the room, weapons ready. More shots from the back of the building sang a deadly hymn. Moving, shrieking, swinging, crying, clattering, sprinting, falling, flying.


    Madness had well and truly descended within the Last Flourish.

 Ch.34: Introduction via Brawl

    Well, so much for a calm and measured approach. Deciding that it was safe enough to assume the Barman was no longer an immediate threat, Alter spun to face the three men who had come charging into the room. The three bouncers were dressed for the outdoors, long colourless jackets disguised most of their large frames allowing weapons to be concealed with ease. In this case, said weapons were thick wooden cudgels with lengths of dark leather strapping wrapped around the lower half. Their confused and frantic expressions were quickly exchanged for those of fury and grim purpose. Their eyes spoke gleefully of the broken bones they would soon conjure into existence via the time-honoured tradition of blunt force trauma. There would be no talking them down, the shouting of the patrons and the sight of their injured or expired colleagues had put paid to that idea. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.


    The first bouncer was a giant of a man, standing at a minimum six foot five and carrying enough bulk to give a rhinoceros a run for its money. The sheer momentum of his arrival was carrying him towards the point where Pavejack stood covering the stairs. From the look on his face Alter could tell he was intending to use that gargantuan kinetic energy to send his friend crashing into the banister with enough force to shatter his ribcage against the solid wood and unforgiving metal of his LMG. With his gunner¡¯s attention focused solely on the stairs, it was apparent he wouldn¡¯t spot the danger until it was too late. Alter sighted the man¡¯s near-side leg as he tracked his progress across the room and squeezed the trigger twice. The first shot barely skimmed the front of the bouncer¡¯s left calf, but if he felt any pain or discomfort then he made no show of it. Thankfully, the second bullet struck true, burying itself into the thick muscle of his thigh. The impact threw his trajectory off slightly but after a pair of limping, stumbling strides he was soon back to making dangerous progress with renewed determination. Adrenaline. Hell of a drug.


    Alter¡¯s attention was forced away from the bull-rushing figure as the second bouncer, perhaps recognising the threat he was posing, sought to close the distance. Fortunately, Walross was able to step in to prevent the oncoming impact. The man had not yet taken any offensive actions, having previously been content to watch his partner¡¯s back, shooting disapproving looks at his squad mates for their quick resorting to combat. This did not mean the man was incapable of such acts though, especially when it came to Pavejack. As the oldest member of the group, Walross would sometimes joke that the age difference between them would occasionally cause his parental protective instincts to kick in. Today was no exception, the German moved to stand squarely in the bouncer¡¯s path and, upon receiving no response to his halt order beyond a wordless snarl, let fly with a five-round burst into the centre of his chest. The impact of his body hitting the floor was enough to send tangible vibrations across the room.


    His falling signalled a clear shift in the tones and attitudes of the remaining locals. The second bouncer had a flash of realisation that an identical weapon to the one that had just put down his friend was pointed squarely at him. Not wanting to take Alter up on the offer of a free demonstration of the latest in exit-wound technology, he dropped his cudgel and backed away with open hands stretched out to either side. The third bouncer had not shared in his compatriot¡¯s eagerness to break skulls and had lingered skittishly by the door. Now that their defeat was all but confirmed, he spun on his heel and made to escape but quickly found himself frozen in place, his passage blocked as the exterior doors opened. While he lacked the bulk of the bouncer, Winslow certainly matched him for presence as he pushed his way into the Last Flourish at the head of his guard cohort. With a sharp bark he ordered his entourage to secure the space, sending guards in all directions to gather the shaken patrons and wounded employees.


    ¡°This is not what I was hoping to see.¡± He muttered to Alter as he moved deeper into the room, planting his hands on his hips as he surveyed the carnage.


    ¡°Yeah, well they attacked us before we got a chance to explain the situation.¡± Alter grumbled with more than a hint of defensiveness. It was their first time ever holding up a legally ambiguous criminal enterprise, they deserved a break.


    ¡°Well, we can¡¯t change what''s already been done. Do we proceed as planned?¡± Winslow relented, his eyes continuing to rove the scene.


    Alter nodded. ¡°We do. There was a hefty amount of movement upstairs when things first went south, but few people attempted to come down here. Did you see much movement from the outside?¡± He asked before signalling Riptide to check up on Whim and Vangroover at the back stairwell.


    ¡°There were a handful of men on the terrace looking for a way to climb down when we first broke cover, they fled back inside once they spotted us. I¡¯ve got men stationed all around the outside of the building with eyes and bows on the windows. Our targets of interest are still here. Except one.¡± Winslow turned to face him as the injured and deceased were moved out of the room.


    ¡°Care to explain?¡± Alter tilted his head slightly.


    ¡°The Foreman will have his own escape route. He¡¯s the type to flee at the first sign of trouble, and I¡¯ve bumped into the man enough times to know he will have gone alone.¡± Winslow frowned in disapproval.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Lord Oliver has his own plans for him, we can let him slip through the net for now. As for who we¡¯ve already secured.¡± Alter examined their current haul of scared individuals. ¡°The customers can be interviewed and released. As for the staff, they need to be taken for questioning.¡±


    ¡°We can handle that.¡± Winslow nodded before turning to issue instructions. A moment later Riptide reappeared through the kitchen door with an apple in hand.


    ¡°Seven and Eight are all good.¡± He reported through a mouthful of fruit. ¡°There are two hostiles down on the staircase and a bunch of knives stuck in the floor. Whim says someone threw them at them before running away when they shot back.¡± He swallowed. ¡°We goin¡¯ up?¡±


    ¡°Momentarily.¡± Alter leaned in and lowered his voice. ¡°Listen, this got out of hand way too quickly. These were just the local winos and front of house staff, and look at the trouble they caused. I wager the more experienced and troublesome characters are all upstairs, they know we¡¯re coming and they¡¯ve had plenty of time to turtle up. I know they don¡¯t have firearms but I want you to be treating every door like there¡¯s a shotgun waiting behind it. Clear?¡±


    ¡°Sure, sure. Caution, Siege gameplay ahead.¡± Riptide took another bite. ¡°Anything else?¡±


    ¡°Just one thing. I know you¡¯re only looking after your health but getting your five-a-day can wait, can¡¯t it? We need to prove our professionalism here, and we¡¯re already off to a shaky start. Two minutes.¡± Alter swatted the apple away from Riptide¡¯s mouth.


    His lieutenant grumbled as he stalked away, the remains of the apple deposited in a half-full glass on the bar top. Alter shook his head as he watched him leave before rejoining his team at the foot of the stairs. Such nonchalant behaviour would surely be mentioned in their allies¡¯ reports. Having finished directing his own forces, Winslow moved to join them with a group of six guards in tow, stating that some recognisable faces could help encourage some of the upstairs brigade to surrender peacefully. Alter was happy to accept the offer, and soon enough the timer ticked to zero.


    ¡°Moving up.¡± He reported into the radio and mounted the first step.


    The staircase spiralled gently to the left to pass above the bar. Alter hugged the right-side banister as he moved, his rifle following the arc of the opposite railing as he progressed. Every three steps he paused and listened, attempting to tease out any clues that could point to a waiting foe. Immediately behind him came Boats who kept his weapon trained high, followed by Pavejack and Walross who kept low and ready to cover any emerging odd angles. Eventually, the first floor rounded the corner, revealing a lobby area with plus looking red fabric sofas and elegant side tables interspersed with neatly trimmed indoor shrubs. A pair of corridors provided passage deeper into the building while the stairs continued their winding ascent. There was no one in sight, the only oddity being a pair of dropped glasses slowly staining the carpet halfway along the lobby floor. With a quick hand signal the four-man team moved to secure the lobby. Alter and Boats nestled themselves among the furniture and pointed their guns down the space. Pavejack set up his LMG at the top of the stairs with a line of fire down the closer corridor with Walross moving a short distance further up the staircase to cover that approach.


    ¡°Team Two has arrived on the first floor. We¡¯ve emerged in a small room used for furniture storage. Single door, holding position until further.¡± Riptide reported over the radio.


    ¡°Standby.¡± Alter responded quietly and looked over to Winslow as he squeezed past Pavejack¡¯s position. ¡°We need to encourage anyone willing to surrender to come out peacefully before I start knocking down doors. Suggestions?¡±


    Winslow nodded before stepping out into the lobby, straightening his back and taking a deep breath.


    ¡°Hear me! This is Sergeant Winslow of the House Guard! Under the orders of Lord Oliver Masserlind, Duke of Grenveine and Cereloss, we have been authorised to raid this premises! You are hereby ordered to stand down and surrender yourself to our custody, by my word and honour all who come peacefully shall remain unharmed! Resist, and you will be subdued with what force we deem necessary to protect ourselves!¡± He roared, sending flecks of spittle flying from his mouth.


    Once they had all finished wincing from the sudden noise, an uneasy silence fell upon the scene broken only by each individual¡¯s heart beating in their own ears. Ten seconds passed and there was movement. A door halfway down the near corridor crept open, a pair of frantically waving hands poked out from the room. A young man in well-made but poorly kept clothes stepped anxiously into view, a moment later he was joined by a similarly aged and dressed man who still clung to a half-finished bottle of wine. Together they sheepishly scuttled towards them to be gathered up and shepherded downstairs by a pair of guards. Even though they passed a few metres away, Alter was still able to smell the alcohol on their breaths.


    Again, they waited, hoping that the sound of the two drunks exiting would encourage others to do the same. Much to their disappointment though, the remaining doors stayed closed.


    ¡°Anything on your end, Two?¡± Alter asked over the radio.


    ¡°Nothing major.¡± Riptide whispered back. ¡°But we heard movement and voices through one of the walls. A bunch of guards are here to guard the stairs now, want us to move up?¡±


    ¡°Give them another couple of minutes, then you''re cleared to move.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡±


    Alter settled back down as time passed. Nothing, not a peep. Disappointed, he ordered his team to gather and began to creep towards the first closed door. If these men wanted to play whack-a-mole then he had one hell of a mallet for them.

 Ch.35: Room to Room

    From their examination of the building plans, plus some more up-to-date input from Winslow, Alter had a pretty good idea of the current floorplan. The newly secured lobby area stretched across the front of the building, with the two corridors linking together towards the rear to form a U-shape. The rooms on the outside of the U were small, private meeting chambers with a row of supply rooms at the rear which contained the back stairs. The windowless centre had been split into two larger rooms. The first, which opened up onto the lobby through a pair of ornate double doors, was the casino. The second was a larger private room for parties and the like. Four rooms on each flank, three to the rear with one already secured, and two in the centre with multiple points of entry. A minimum of twelve doors to be pushed through, all of which were closed save for the one the two drunk youths had left ajar during their retreat. Conditions acceptable. The two teams would work towards each other to completely clear one flank, leaving teams of Houseguards to cover any blind spots that could be used by devious patrons for any Scooby-Doo level room-swapping sneakiness. Then they¡¯d sweep through the centre simultaneously before polishing off the opposite flank and heading for the top floor. According to Winslow, none of the doors in the first floor could be locked, so they wouldn¡¯t have to worry about hard-breaching and all the warning that gives. Both teams had a half dozen flashbangs between them should they face prepared opposition. They also held similar amounts of smoke grenades but were without any means to see through the cloud beyond Boats¡¯ coveted thermal scope and its rapidly draining battery. Using one would be a second-to-last resort before hosing the room down with highly aggressive lead raindrops.


    Gently, gingerly, Alter leant on the doorframe of the first room and softly put his ear to the door as the rest of the team readied themselves around him. Unlocked it may be but that didn¡¯t mean it would divulge its secrets easily; the wood yielded no sounds. He looked across the doorway to Boats who nodded and crept his questing fingers onto the door handle. After a series of mirrored nods to confirm all were ready, Alter held up three fingers. Then two. One. His free hand flashed back to his foregrip as the door was flung open. As one, Alter and Boats surged into the room, fingers on triggers and muzzles sweeping all four corners of the newly revealed space. There was no shout of alarm nor clatter of hastily knocked over furniture. As the two men paused on either side of the doorway with Pavejack moving to block the exit, the room remained perfectly still. A pair of candles mounted on wall brackets on either side of the room cast dim light across the space. A pair of lavish sofas faced each other across a low table in the centre of the room, flanked by a pair of armchairs similar to what had been seen downstairs. The terms ¡®pristine¡¯ and ¡®unused¡¯ sprung to mind, the table was devoid of bottles or glasses, the cushions on the sofas were straight and exact. The air seemed unnaturally clear of the thick scents that clogged the rest of the building. Alter and Boats continued their steady progress along the walls, keeping their weapons trained on the few hiding places the room offered. No one, and with a quick duck down to check the underneath of the furniture Alter was happy to call it empty.


    ¡°Clear.¡± He called softly and turned for the door, thumbing his radio. ¡°Team One has no contact in the first room, moving on.¡±


    ¡°Team Two here, two suspects in hand. Staff, unarmed and cooperative. We¡¯re handing them off now before moving to the next room.¡± Riptide reported over the radio.


    One by one they exited the space, quietly closing the door behind them. The next door was the opened one, causing warm firelight to spill into the corridor. They would be exposed on the approach to anyone hugging the corridor-side wall, a fact that was only compounded by the small door to one of the central chambers that sat opposite. There was no question as to whether the room was occupied or not, a frequent, low droning sound was punctuated by intermittent muttering.


    ¡°Odd time for a snooze.¡± Boats whispered as they peered inside.


    The interior matched the previous chamber almost one-to-one. The difference lay in the carnage. One of the armchairs appeared to be making a bid for freedom, the other lay toppled on its side. The table was both a mess with glassware and awash with spilled drink. Cushions littered the floor like toadstools on a forgotten forest floor. Sticking out from the sofa facing away from the door was a pair of boots, complete with an attached set of hairy legs. The snoring continued unabated as the team prowled into the room, revealing a portly middle-aged man sound asleep clutching a two-thirds finished bottle of liquor. The clothes suggested ¡®wealthy merchant¡¯, likely harmless, but thoroughness was the word of the day. Having confirmed Sleeping Boozey as the sole occupant, Walross waved a pair of guards to come and haul the man to safety and, likely, a boat-load of paracetamol. Three rooms down, steady work made for steady progress. Once again, they resumed careful progress down the corridor.


    ¡°Drop it! Drop it right now!¡± The men winced as Whim¡¯s shrill, snarling voice pierced the air from around the corner. His outburst was immediately followed by a pair of gunshots. ¡°Fucking Dumbass! You, don¡¯t fucking move! Stay on the goddamned floor!¡±


    ¡°Team One, hold position, cover your angles.¡± Alter quickly ordered, sinking one knee into the plush carpet. If anything was going to set these hold-outs into motion, it was that kind of outburst. The three other men settled into similar positions as quieter, less violent noises continued to emerge.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Well, they¡¯re getting all the action.¡± Pavejack complained.


    ¡°Good for them.¡± Walross responded bluntly, his poignant words enough to silence any further comment.


    ¡°Team Two here. One armed hostile down, two further contacts disarmed and cooperating.¡± Even through the disruptive medium of the radio, they could tell how hard Riptide¡¯s jaw was clenched. ¡°And will continue to do so, if they want to remain unharmed.¡± He continued, his words clearly meant for their new captives.


    Pavejack appeared to pick up on something as they waited, cocking his head to one side with eyes closed. A moment later he held out a hand, mimed a speaking mouth and pointed towards the centre wall. That was inconvenient but expected, they¡¯d need to keep an extra gun trained on the possible angles of attack. Presently, sounds of a scuffle filled the air as the other team marched their captives towards the stairs.


    ¡°Get your hands off me, you slushpisser! Wait till Sixblade hears off this. Hey, you got family, huh? You got children back home? Nice and tucked up in bed? He¡¯ll snatch them for this, you hear me? Carve them up into tiny pieces and hang them for all to see in Rosehip Square!¡± An unknown voice shouted from the same direction.


    Alter frowned, someone had found their nerve a little too late in the day. ¡®Sixblade¡¯ was a new name, one certainly worth remembering for later. Given the severity of the promised retaliation, he doubted this individual was associated with the Known House, but perhaps the shouting man had been bigging them up in the hopes of intimidating them into letting him go. A moment later Team Two, having now cleared all the rooms along the back wall, appeared around the corner. All looked healthy and alert, with Whim sporting a number of red spots across his face and uniform. Riptide quickly crossed the distance between them and leaned in to whisper.


    ¡°Eloquent guy, eh? All things considered this is going pretty well. I¡¯m guessing you want to hit these two rooms simultaneously.¡± He asked.


    ¡°Correct. We¡¯ve heard hushed voices in the party room, I need you to keep an additional pair of eyes on your rear when you breach.¡± Alter responded.


    Riptide nodded and made his way back to his team. The last pair of doors were situated much closer together, tucked into the corner as if in secret conspiracy. Reunited, the squad took up defensive positions, with Pavejack and Walross covering one direction complimented by Boozehound and Whim facing the other. There was only enough space for a dividing wall between the doors, making stacking up on either side impossible for both teams at once. A couple of quick positional adjustments later and they were ready. As one the doors opened and the teams poured in.


    The room was occupied, the men had prepared for their arrival. Alter stumbled as he encountered the shin-high table that had been placed before the door, hurriedly climbing on top of it as Boats pushed in from behind. His high ground didn¡¯t last long as a blur of movement racing towards him caused Alter to instinctually hurl himself deeper into the room in order to avoid the oncoming weapon. Two men stood ready, leaping up from their impromptu barricade. A young, well-muscled man swung a wide bladed sword through the empty air where Alter¡¯s midriff had just vacated. He felt something in his shoulder wrench uncomfortably as he made impact with the floor. Desperately, he rolled to face his attacker, struggling to raise his rifle from an awkward prone position.


    ¡°Stand down or get put down!¡± Boats roared as he brought his own weapon to bear.


    However, his entry-buddy was unable to make good on his threat as the second man swung a similar sword, causing him to duck down and shift his attention. With highly limited movement options, the Scotsman charged forwards, driving his body into the second attacker in an attempt to barge him to the floor. The wrestling pair sank downwards behind one of the sofas, disappearing from view. Alter was lucky, his diving plunge had fortuitously placed an armchair between him and his attacker, his luck was then doubled by the fact that the man seemed unsure as to whether to continue his assault or aid his friend. This indecision bought valuable seconds, for both Walross to appear in the doorway with rifle primed and for Alter to have a moment of realisation. He knew this man; he was one of the agitators.


    ¡°We need this one alive!¡± He shouted but it was too late. Walross had already squeezed the trigger, causing the man to pirouette and collapse as thin red spurts of blood lashed across the floor.


    With an angry snarl Alter pushed himself to his feet and dashed towards where Boats and the other man struggled. His buddy had managed his momentum well and had gained the upper hand. He had the youth pinned between his legs and was busy raining blows into both sides of his skull.


    ¡°Enough, Four. He¡¯s out cold.¡± Alter grabbed the Marksman¡¯s shoulder and forced him away.


    Looking down, Alter found that he recognised this man as well. Another agitator, this situation wasn¡¯t a complete wash. Movement at the door drew his attention as Riptide and Vangroover pushed past Walross.


    ¡°You all good?¡± His lieutenant asked hurriedly, concern plastered across his face.


    Alter rubbed his impacted shoulder testily, his mouth tightening in response to its pained protests. ¡°I¡¯ll live.¡± He tried to raise his rifle before shaking his head, he was able to aim but he was too cumbersome. ¡°I¡¯m combat effective but I won¡¯t have the swing speed for first entry, corridor duty for me from this point on.¡±


    Riptide nodded and the squad began to leave the room. Alter found himself shaking his head, bloody hell they were barely a quarter of the way done.

 Ch.36: Door to Door

    It didn¡¯t feel right to be facing the opposite direction when there was yet another door to be opened. However, pragmatism had forced him to the rear after his sudden evasive dive. His right shoulder ached and throbbed as he tested the limits of its mobility. Being a perennial left-hander, his ability to hold the weight of his rifle and squeeze the trigger wasn¡¯t compromised. But his right hand was forced to keep the loosest hold possible on the foregrip in order to take minimal weight, mitigating the waves of pain that rippled across his shoulder and into his neck. His precision aim was also compromised, the adjustments needed for accurate fire were possible under duress but Alter would have to twist his entire torso to reduce further aggravation. It wouldn¡¯t surprise him if he had been reduced to his sidearm by the time they made it to the top floor.


    It was fair to say that his current position facing back along the corridor from where they¡¯d begun their clearance operation felt a little obsolete. The fact that, should he raise his weapon, his sights would be filled by their allies holding the stairwell was certainly awkward to consider. Winslow and his Houseguard regarded the squad with both curiosity, concern, and the slightest hint of bemusement. Doubtless their tactics and equipment must seem quite alien, though whether they perceived this unknown method as a help or hindrance, Alter could not tell, their expressions were disguised behind their helmets. The bare-headed Winslow, however, wore his opinion as if it were heraldry. He stood front and centre, arms folded, eyes narrow as they swept across his surroundings like CCTV cameras. The faintest glimmer of white teeth betrayed the fact that his lips were a hair''s breadth away from curling into a doglike snarl. He emitted an aura that said he was ready to rip a man in half, Alter would happily bet half his life savings that the man volunteered at the local orphanage every other day.


    As for the rest of the squad, Alter had relinquished leadership of the fireteam to Walross for the time being. With the prospect of both teams breaching into a pair of much larger rooms, one which having known occupiers, the use of flashbangs had been approved. Behind him, the men from both teams settled into position with the only exception being Whim who was charged with guarding the corridor in the opposite direction. Both Riptide and Walross slowly fished the forest green painted grenades from their chest pouches while Boats and Vangroover placed hands on handles. Riptide began a silent countdown and with fluid, practised motions pins were pulled, both doors were cracked open, and the tiny payloads were underarm tossed through the gaps before they closed again. Three seconds of silent yet eager anticipation hung in the air, followed by hollow, crackling bangs and a strange fizzing sound. A trio of resounding heartbeats later the entrances were thrown open amidst the surprised, pained shouts from the unwitting occupants as both teams raced into the casino and party chambers.


    Shouting and cursing immediately mixed with the roar of Riptide barking orders to surrender in the further room. However, there was precious little to go on from the casino other than a soft call of ¡®Hands¡¯ from Walross the moment after he entered. Curiously, it sounded more like a question than an instruction. His moment of puzzlement was shattered by a gunshot and the clattering of feet.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got runners at the far door!¡± Riptide shouted from inside.


    Alter immediately echoed the information, causing Winslow to perk up and order his men to ready their weapons. A tap on his shoulder from Pavejack signalled him to move into the casino and he responded, momentarily forgetting the pain as he swung into the room. He took a pair of sideways steps once through and paused to take in the scene.


    The casino was many things one would expect from such a designation. It was ornate, it was lavish, gaudy, opulent, maximalist, an assault on good interior design sensibilities. The works. All the walls were covered in a layer of thick, dark purple drapes laced with golden pattern work. He wasn¡¯t sure how they¡¯d managed it but his feet sank even deeper into the carpet than before. The tabletops of the various games on offer appeared to be solid marble, ripples of dark green and black studded by small gleaming dots that twinkled like starlight. The ceiling was dominated by a pair of large, ornate chandeliers whose tens of candles gleamed against their polished brass frames. Every chair a throne, every cup a grail, every dream a fairytale. He hated it.


    ¡°Sir? Can you hear me?¡± Walross asked gently, drawing Alter¡¯s eyes to the room¡¯s formerly only occupier.


    A grey-haired man, short and slight, sat with shoulders slumped forward at one of the card-strewn tables. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, as if he were waiting politely for the next round to begin. Or for the next bus, if that was the case then it was running pretty late. Slowly, with great awkwardness the old man shifted his head towards Walross. Eyes that would¡¯ve once been brilliant sapphire lenses were clearly clouded with age. His mouth moved, a voice so soft and quiet crept into their eardrums like a thief in the night.


    ¡°Ahma win¡¯n?¡± Was the most accurate interpretation Alter could manage.


    Seemingly taken aback by the question, Walross stepped forwards and examined the playing surface. ¡°I ¡­ don¡¯t think so, sir.¡± He turned to the man, putting on his best, most comforting smile. ¡°Come on now, we need to get you out of here.¡±


    With gentle coaxing and levering, he got the man out of his chair and began steering him back towards where they¡¯d entered from. The old gambler stared up at him all the way, a gaze somewhere between lost puppy and confused infant.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Ma Win¡¯n?¡± He kept asking, or was he making a demand, it was impossible to tell.


    ¡°This is why I could never stand these places.¡± Walross remarked to Alter as he guided the man through the door, Alter murmured a wordless agreement, the poor soul should never have been allowed near a punter¡¯s perch.


    ¡°These cards are certainly different.¡± Pavejack remarked from a nearby table, picking up one and presenting it with a flourish. ¡°I summon! Weird looking yellow duck on a toadstool! ... Of fours!¡±


    Alter fought the urge to smile and roll his eyes, instead fixing the young man with a glare. ¡°And is the duck going to help us clear the rest of this building?¡± He asked coldly.


    Pavejack flushed red in embarrassment and hurriedly deposited the four of smug-looking ducks back on the table. It seemed the casino was well soundproofed but through the open door Alter could hear that the sounds of conflict had transferred from the party room to the lobby. Walross and the gambler stood a couple of paces beyond the threshold, the former wearing a heavy scowl as he observed the stairwell. Poking his head out, Alter could see Winslow forcing a small group of unknown men down the stairs at sword point.


    ¡°Bastards.¡± Walross growled.


    ¡°Wherm¡¯ win¡¯n?¡± The gambler insisted, tugging at the German¡¯s sleeve in frantic slow-motion.


    ¡°I don¡¯t¨C¡± Walross snapped, his voice climbing in volume before he caught himself and sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t know, sir. Look, I¡¯m going to leave you with the guard here, okay? He¡¯ll make sure you get home safely.¡± He cooed placatively as the angry protests of the unknown men faded and a member of the Houseguard stepped forward and took the old boy¡¯s arm before leading him away.


    Relieved of their burden, they stepped back into the casino to see Boats moving towards them from the opposite side.


    ¡°Looks like the blokes that made a break for it picked up a few extras from the remaining rooms, there¡¯s a couple of open doors out there.¡± He jabbed his thumb back in the direction he¡¯d come from.


    ¡°That makes our lives easier.¡± Alter smiled thinly. ¡°Seven, status of Team Two?¡± He called out.


    ¡°Three in custody.¡± Whim responded from outside. ¡°They¡¯re resisting removal, though. We¡¯re waiting on the guard to be freed up for collection.


    ¡°Noted, Team One is moving on.¡±


    Clearing the remaining space on the first floor was blessedly simple. The four remaining chambers were all empty, their occupants taking their chance in the miniature stampede that Winslow¡¯s men immediately put paid to. As for Team Two, one of their latest captives was another of the agitators, bringing their total of high value individuals to two, not counting the one Walross had gunned down earlier. For the sake of his peace of mind, Alter ordered the floor swept again, an instruction which was quickly completed with no result beyond some good-natured grumbling. As they reconvened at the stairwell, Winslow popped his head up between the bannisters and reported that there was a group of men attempting to scale down the outside of the building that demanded his attention. Once the squad had recovered from his inadvertent murderous jack-in-the-box announcement, they began their slow upward progress to the top floor.


    The spiral between the upper floors was different from the lower. Its individual steps were shallower and more frequent, the angle of spiral sharper. They moved in something akin to a combat shuffle, forming a combined shape of a hairy caterpillar if its hair was made of gun. Alter¡¯s shoulder was doing a little better, feeling a little stronger. He no longer worried about the possibility of being a liability in a firefight but he still took a place near the back of their formation, allowing him to keep his weapon low. All was smooth as they climbed, there was no ambush forthcoming. Their progress was halted, however, at the top of the stairs.


    ¡°Starting to get real tired of these things.¡± Riptide murmured from the front as he came to a halt, eyes roving something hidden around the corner in disapproval.


    It was another door, blunt and imposing. Heavy. Featureless. The kind of door that makes a weak-willed person walk away without even knocking. A swift push on its staunchly defiant surface once they had re-organised themselves yielded the expected result of it being locked. There was no visible keyhole, no ¡®ring bell for service¡¯ sign, not even a conveniently placed not-so-secret secret lever. Many a puzzled look was passed between them as they scrutinised the latest obstacle.


    ¡°The way I see it, we¡¯ve got two options.¡± Boozehound piped up. ¡°Either we go outside and find a way to climb up and enter through the terrace. Or we have to blow this thing open, which from the look of it is going to take quite the boom.¡±


    ¡°Well, we¡¯re not wasting an anti-tank rocket on it, and as we¡¯re limited to our Warforce loadouts none of you should have C4 due to the fact that it was bugged.¡± Alter began. ¡°So, my question is, which one of you chuckleheads brought the stuff anyway?¡±


    The seven men glanced at each other sheepishly before Boozehound raised a hand. Alter looked at him, mouth open in disbelief.


    ¡°Really? You wasted a medic¡¯s backpack slot on explosives?¡±


    ¡°What, you¡¯re going to complain?¡± Boozehound chuckled as he began rifling through his pack.


    ¡°I¡¯m just ¡­ urgh, good job.¡±


    The rest of the squad backed away to a reasonably safe distance as Boozehound and their actual designated explosives carrier, Whim, set to work dosing out the hazardous, grey putty-like material and attaching it to the door. Like a pair of giddy school children, they practically skipped down the stairs to join them, remote trigger in hand.


    ¡°Hold on, are we certain this isn¡¯t going to set fire to the building?¡± Walross asked.


    ¡°Excellent question.¡± Whim answered with a wild grin. ¡°Let''s find out!¡±


    Click.


    Boom.

 Ch.37: Going Up

    There is an aspect, a by-product, of an explosion that popular media often omits. Film, television, animation, video games, many are guilty of leaving an empty space at this particular table. Its name is ¡®Shrapnel¡¯.


    And it holds no allegiance.


    The explosion rattled the building, causing the squad to squeeze their eyes shut and reach out to grab the nearest solid, anchored object. The noise, akin to the bark of some hound of hell directly in their ears, was followed by the pinging and rattling of dozens of wooden shards. Due to the positioning of the explosives the majority of debris was sent into the top floor, but that didn¡¯t stop a small cavalcade of timber slivers raining down upon them. Alter was fortunate to be facing down the stairs and was fairly sheltered but for a solitary ping as one of the missiles glanced off his helmet. Those at the front were not so fortunate as their arms frantically flashed up to cover their faces.


    ¡°Argh, bloody hell!¡± Whim growled as he clawed at one of his eyes.


    ¡°Did you really need to use that much C4?¡± Someone asked, the ringing in Alter¡¯s ears making the voice unrecognisable.


    ¡°Did you see that door?¡± Whim retorted defensively. ¡°I¡¯d have used the whole block if I wasn¡¯t worried about bringing the ceiling down.¡±


    ¡°Well, you certainly brought something down. Like our life expectancy.¡±


    ¡°We can discuss the topic of ¡®appropriate use of force¡¯ later, push forward and seize the ground.¡± Riptide ordered as he began to advance through the forest of splinters.


    Sufficiently recovered, the rest of the men fell into place behind him and they were soon standing at the site of their hexogen-based remodelling. The door was in a suitable level of ruin, shards of wood littered the floor, with a skeleton of a construct still hanging limply from bent hinges. The twisted remains of four thick metal bolts, two on the floor, two in the ceiling, stood apologetically amidst the carnage like trees that somehow manage to withstand a hurricane. They say that there is no smoke without fire, and there was certainly smoke. As they continued to push through the picture became clearer. An eclectic collection of furniture had been pushed against the door, with the force of the explosion knocking them backwards into the room beyond. Some of the pieces were covered in rich velvet-looking cloth, three of which were merrily ablaze and emitting dark, acrid smoke in all directions.


    ¡°Team Two covers the approach.¡° Riptide ordered. ¡°Team One, deal with those fires before they spread.¡±


    The squad had emerged into a moderately sized room with a solo corridor leading along the front of the building where a series of wide glass doors opened onto the terrace. The purpose of this room was unclear, but the presence of a thick, business-like desk in the centre of the scattered furniture led Alter to believe this was a reception area. With no other entrances to the space, Riptide¡¯s team moved to the entrance of the corridor and settled in while the rest set to work fighting fires. Cushions and chairs were punched, stamped on, waved about and overall treated rather poorly. It was a wildly inefficient method but with perseverance and the convenient wearing of heat-proof gloves, the blaze was sufficiently smothered.


    The sound of urgent but nervous conversation could be heard emanating from the terrace as the squad regrouped and readied themselves to continue onward. Winslow had mentioned a group of men trying to climb down the outside of the building, perhaps some of their number didn¡¯t possess the nerve to join the attempt. As the squad paused and listened, the voices continued to bicker as they seemingly moved back and forth along the terrace. Alter could count four distinct accents, with a possible fifth. Three doors were spaced out on the opposite side offering passage deeper into the building. Two were conspicuously open while the third, which maintained a similar solid aura as the one they had destroyed, was firmly shut.


    ¡°Edwin, if you¡¯ve got a plan you need to tell us now! That bang sounded like it was coming from the stair-block!¡± One of the more panicky voices suddenly raised in volume.


    ¡°I know, I know! Just, give me a second.¡± Another responded with a frustrated tone.


    ¡°We can¡¯t jump down, old Splitface is rounding up everyone that makes it. Where¡¯d the boss go?¡± The first voice insisted.


    ¡°He¡¯s been in his office the whole time. Face it, Siddy, he¡¯s abandoned us. Did so the moment those weirdos started slaughtering their way through the whole place.¡± A third voice joined in.


    Alter couldn¡¯t help but raise an eyebrow at the accusation. ¡®Slaughtering¡¯? A little extreme, wasn¡¯t it? Then again, how else would people who¡¯d never seen them before describe their actions?


    ¡°Their boss has fled while simultaneously never leaving his office? Well, that¡¯ll narrow down our search area quite nicely.¡± Boozehound whispered, a smug expression stealing across his face.


    ¡°Mmh.¡± Riptide nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s grab these guys before they can do anything drastic. Team One takes the first entrance and scares them down, Team Two will move straight ahead and prevent any escape through those doorways.¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Affirm.¡± Walross responded.


    ¡°Go now.¡± Riptide ordered and the men burst into motion.


    There was little to no hope of maintaining secrecy as they charged forward, but their close proximity to their target gave the men no time to react properly. Alter¡¯s shoulder was mending itself slowly, and he was able to hoist his weapon at a satisfactory speed. However, he was still unable to lift the rifle beyond ninety degrees so he kept to the rear. There were indeed five men still milling about nervously on the terrace, split into a three and a two. A variety of ages were apparent, from roughly twenty to fifty, each was pretty well dressed for the time period, and each was armed. Elegantly wrought, shining swords were strapped to their hips, blades roughly a forearms length. They looked awfully, suspiciously new. It was a relief that none of them went for their weapons as the first team piled out of the building. Their appearance was accompanied by a loud slam as Riptide forced one of the open doors closed as his team advanced, splitting the men¡¯s attention.


    ¡°None of you move a muscle!¡± Walross called out in a stern but not overly unfriendly voice. ¡°We¡¯re not going to hurt you unless we have to, let¡¯s keep things as civil as they can be.¡±


    The group seemed uncertain as they exchanged glances between each other. The tension hung in the air for a while longer as the men withered under Walross¡¯ fiery gaze and the slamming of the second door. Their resolve faltered quickly once they realised they were flanked, and under the hawkish eyes and clear, concise instructions of Walross they unsheathed and dropped their weapons before backing into one of the corners. Alter shifted across and leaned over to examine the street below. Guards could be seen moving in all directions, either to shepard the captured patrons, or to keep the rubber-necking locals from over-running the Last Flourish in a tidal wave of curiosity. Winslow was standing at the centre of the operation, speaking quietly to his men and shooting powerful glares at captive and civilian alike. As if sensing Alter¡¯s observation, he turned his gaze upward to the terrace and gave a questioning gesture.


    ¡°Five to pick up on the top floor terrace.¡± Alter called down to him before stepping back after receiving a nod of understanding.


    Riptide had wandered over once the situation had stabilised and was busy inspecting the discarded blades.


    ¡°I¡¯m fairly certain these swords are the ones we saw in the immigrant camp. Looks like the distribution has already begun.¡± He murmured to Alter as he moved to join him.


    ¡°They haven¡¯t had that long to dole them out, all going well the rest of them are still here.¡± Alter patted his friend on the shoulder before moving across to the silent and resentful men. ¡°Your boss¡¯ office. Where is it?¡± He asked in a deadpan tone.


    Stone-faced looks greeted his question at first before the man with the fraught voice from earlier, Siddy, spoke up.


    ¡°First door from the stairs, then to the right. You won¡¯t find him though; he¡¯ll be long gone.¡± He answered through gritted teeth, whether the anger hidden behind the dentistry was direct at Alter or the Foreman was hard to tell.


    Movement from inside drew his attention away as Winslow and a cadre of guards appeared and began pulling the surrendered men away. Winslow stayed behind, joining Riptide in his attempt to appraise the abandoned arsenal.


    ¡°Those will be part of the shipment alright. You said these weapons were being moved in containers marked with a green lion, correct? That¡¯s a signifier used by the Royal Djarel Foundry, a manufacturer from one of the smaller nations down south, bordering the Fourth. This isn¡¯t the first time we¡¯ve caught thugs sporting the Foundry¡¯s blades.¡± He confided.


    ¡°¡®Royal¡¯? Sounds expensive.¡± Riptide remarked but Winslow shook his head.


    ¡°Anything but. Pretty they may be but below the surface the material is cheap and prone to cracking under repeated impacts. I¡¯d sooner have a heavy wooden stick than one of those things in a scrap.¡± He frowned.


    ¡°They¡¯ll still do the job though.¡± Alter warned and pointed back into the building. ¡°One of those men told me the Foreman¡¯s room is through that door and to the right, is that accurate?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s telling you the truth. I¡¯ve been there a couple of times when we¡¯ve had to deal with outsider gangs who thought that snatching unsuspecting women off the street was a good way of doing business.¡± Winslow spat over the side of the terrace.


    ¡°They also said he¡¯ll have already fled the scene. It sounds like this office backs onto the next building in the row, do you think he ran next door?¡±


    Winslow nodded again. ¡°The Last Flourish rents the attic space for storage, I¡¯ll show you.¡±


    Leaving a handful of men to keep watch, the newly bolstered squad breached into the first room to no resistance. A small, almost cosy looking living room in a quaint cottage style. It seemed quite out of place given the contents of the rest of the building.


    ¡°Man¡¯s a sentimental type.¡± Winslow explained with a chuckle as he moved across the space. ¡°Office is through here.¡± He came to a halt next to a rather nondescript yellow painted door.


    Alter, confident enough to resume leadership, ordered the rest of the squad to hold position while the command team moved through to inspect the office. He had been speculative on how it would be presented. Would it be a grand, spacious affair akin to a penthouse suite? Or a dark, dangerous bolthole with walls covered in weapons? Alter was more than willing to admit that ¡®Your grandma¡¯s countryside kitchen¡¯ had not been on the ballot.


    ¡°What?¡± Riptide asked as he glanced around the room in disbelief.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter? Never seen a copper saucepan before?¡± Alter jibed.


    ¡°Subverting expectations is the Foreman¡¯s style, really throws the wannabe hard-noses through a loop. It¡¯s certainly worked on you.¡± Winslow¡¯s mirth continued as he skirted the old wooden table that took up the centre of the space.


    He examined the far wall with a pondering eye and, having spotted the necessary points, pushed a pair of terracotta tiles in unison. With an oddly smooth glide, a section of the wall slid back and across, revealing a metre-high hole that led into a dusty looking storage space.


    ¡°Come on.¡± Winslow beckoned as he ducked through.


    Alter, Riptide and Boozehound looked at each other, bemusement written across their faces before following the man into the attic beyond.

 Ch.38: Secrets Amidst the Rafters

    This was, without a doubt, the cleanest attic Alter had ever seen. The triangular space was immaculately kept, not one speck of dust could be found on the patchwork wooden floor. Shelving units lined both sides, each filled with neatly placed and organised boxes and files. At the far end of the space an ornate desk was laid out with neat piles of paper, envelopes, quills, ink pots and a closed, unlit lantern. Winslow stood over it, fiddling with the tiny drawers and hatches that coated its surface.


    ¡°Surprisingly well maintained.¡± Riptide commented as he emerged through the hidden door, echoing Alter¡¯s thoughts. ¡°Give me a bed and a couple of skylights and I¡¯d be very happy.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a bit chilly, though. I dread to imagine the cost of decent insulation in this place.¡± Alter joked as he moved further into the attic.


    A polite chuckle stuttered its way out of his friend''s throat as he moved to the side to allow Boozehound to crouch through. Shrugging off the lack of back-and-forth, Alter sidled over to one of the shelves and selected a suitably chunky wooden box to examine.


    ¡°What does the Foreman use this place for?¡± He called over to Winslow, mild annoyance slipping into his voice at the realisation that his chosen prize was locked.


    ¡°Information, mostly.¡± Winslow spoke absentmindedly as his own search continued. ¡°Blackmail material, gang movements, smuggler¡¯s contracts. The grease that keeps the wheels of the underground turning. I recommend you leave it well enough alone, for the sake of future relations.¡±


    ¡°Alright. How about you, what are you looking for over there?¡± He asked as he gently replaced the box and motioned the others to leave whatever they were looking at alone too.


    ¡°This weapon shipment has only just arrived, therefore the paperwork should still be being dealt with. I had hoped to find something about it here, but¡­¡± Winslow¡¯s voice trailed off in disappointment as he replaced the last stack of paperwork.


    ¡°But they¡¯re a little further down the bureaucratic path then we¡¯d hoped?¡± Boozehound suggested as he paced around the room.


    ¡°So it would seem. We¡¯ll have to hope that we can find the rest of those weapon¡¯s down in the basement.¡± There was a poignant thud as the last drawer of the desk was slammed shut and the Sergeant turned, throwing a dull iron key to Alter. ¡°Here, you¡¯ll need this.¡±


    ¡°What about the Foreman himself? This seems more like a safe room dead-end than an escape route. Unless he has some secret trapdoor in here.¡± Riptide asked.


    Winslow smiled knowingly. ¡°Well, then. As an official liaison between the lords of Masserlind and the Known House, I am allowed to know about this place.¡± He stepped to the side of the desk and reached a hand up to disappear behind a ceiling beam close to the far wall.


    ¡°Now, let me show you what I¡¯m not supposed to know.¡± His wrist shifted as if grasping a hidden lever as his smile broke into a gleeful grin.


    For the second time in five minutes invisible mechanics sprung to life and, in a process highly similar to before, a section of the far wall slid to the side. Another, smaller hole was revealed and with a short burst of laughter at the men¡¯s incredulous looks Winslow picked up and lit the lantern before crawling into the shadowy recess.


    ¡°Again?¡± Alter asked in disbelief.


    ¡°How many separated homes are in this row? Eight to ten? Who knows how many attics he¡¯s taken over.¡± Boozehound grumbled as he moved to follow the guard.


    His statement was met by the low rumblings of agreement as the three men continued their loft-space odyssey. This was no simple bypass through the wall, the entry led into a tunnel that extended for a number of metres which Alter estimated to be the length of the next house¡¯s allotted space. Fortunately, they emerged into a new attic just before the claustrophobia could set in, and as the men stood and examined their new surroundings they were met with a much more traditional setup. One of dust, cobwebs and abandoned odds and ends that get shoved into such storages only to be forgotten about until their usefulness has long since expired. Items and keepsakes from countless generations of childhoods that the parents just can¡¯t bring themselves to throw away. Boxes, trunks and suitcases that might come in handy one day, you never know. Although, there was a noticeable lack of the traditional heap of tacky Christmas decorations. Winslow was crouched down nearby inspecting the floor.


    ¡°See this?¡± He asked, pointing to a spot of disturbed dust. ¡°There¡¯s footprints moving through here, leading dead ahead.¡±


    ¡°Please tell me they¡¯re not headed straight for the next wall.¡± Riptide groaned as he massaged his hip, it being the unfortunate recipient of several bludgeoning assaults from the butt of his rifle as they¡¯d crawled through the tunnel.


    ¡°It looks that way I¡¯m afraid.¡± Winslow answered apologetically as he tracked the prints.


    ¡°Keep your voices down, and watch your footing. Voices on the floor below.¡± Boozehound cautioned in a whisper.


    The men quieted at the warning, the aforementioned voices were a mixture of masculine and feminine tones, all were calm and conversational, not an immediate concern. Alter spotted a floor hatch and delicately picked his way towards it. The ground around the obvious exit was undisturbed, neither footprints nor handprints marred its grubby surface. Winslow and Boozehound had traced the Foreman¡¯s trail to the next wall and were busying themselves scouring the surroundings for yet another hidden mechanism. Despite this, it was Riptide who made the first solid discovery. HIs attention had been waylaid by one of the footprints halfway through the space. Silently, he ushered Alter over and whispered his findings.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°This print is wrong, see how there¡¯s a sticking out part on the outstep? That¡¯s a toecap, the man¡¯s backtracked by stepping in the existing footprints, now he¡¯s cutting sideways.¡± He continued conspiratorially, eyes roving and scanning the floor like an owl on the hunt.


    This new, hidden track saw them move to the steep sloping roof, where another tiptoed footprint was nestled between a pair of damp-riddled crates, the man must¡¯ve leapt the distance in order to maintain his illusory path. They beckoned the others over and with the help of the lantern¡¯s light they began to spy other hidden details. There was a hatch embedded into the roof, thin cracks in the tiles betrayed metal hinges that glinted softly in the warm orange light. The catch was located a moment later, and with the opening of the hatch Alter looked out to see rough metal rungs attached to the rain-slick slates that charted a precarious route down to an alleyway between rows of houses and small gardens. The outside was dark and shadow-choked, but even without light he could tell the alley was empty.


    ¡°He¡¯s long gone alright. I think we¡¯re done here.¡± Alter murmured.


    No further questions were asked, the men were seemingly content to return from their not-so-wild goose chase. As they untangled themselves from moving back through the tunnel, the lantern was snuffed out and replaced on the desk. Alter lingered for a moment, this room was a treasure trove of intel, but his orders were to keep the House¡¯s business as undisturbed as possible. Never-the-less he opened his mouth to ask whether they could see about securing some of the unsecured documents but his words didn¡¯t immediately arrive. A pair of red flashes lined the corners of his vision, his eyes snapped to his teammates who quickly matched his sudden alertness.


    ¡°I think I got the pulse just after you two did.¡± Riptide spoke, voice calculating. ¡°Which means that was roughly westward.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the same bearing the hatch opened out to. What can you tell us about the city in that direction?¡± Alter turned his gaze to Winslow who seemed a little taken aback by their sudden shift in attitude.


    ¡°It¡¯s a pretty rough part of town, a lot of the gangs are born from those side streets. Why?¡±


    The three squad-mates gave each other knowing looks before Alter continued.


    ¡°Get back to your men and reinforce the perimeter, Sergeant. We have trouble heading our way from that direction, numbers unknown.¡± He ordered.


    It took Winslow a second to process the instruction, but to his credit he quickly gave a crisp salute and hurried back into the pseudo-kitchen. The command team followed a moment later, emerging back into the room where the rest of the squad stood ready.


    ¡°We took the liberty of securing the rest of the floor, no further contacts and no weapons cache, sorry. I¡¯m guessing you got the pulse too?¡± Whim reported as they arrived.


    ¡°That was risky of you to undertake without a medic nearby. But given the circumstances, good job.¡± Alter half-scolded the man.


    ¡°How¡¯re we handling this?¡± Walross asked, cutting off Whim¡¯s inevitable sarcastic response.


    ¡°We get down to the basement asap and sweep it for crates marked with a green lion, then we greet whatever might be coming our way. Anyone who escaped knows we¡¯ve got a significant force here, I doubt they¡¯d be stupid enough to attempt a fight. Here¡¯s hoping it¡¯s just some drunkard who heard his favourite watering hole is being raided and is on his way to give us a piece of their mind.¡± Alter joked dryly as he made for the stairs.


    The squad hurried back through the Last Flourish, passing blasted bannisters, broken bottles and bloody blotches where bodies once basked. A clean-up effort was well underway on the ground floor, the unfortunate souls who met their ends had been removed, the scattered furniture picked up and returned to their rightful positions. The smell lingered though, and likely would for some time. They hustled past the scene and through the doors to the kitchen where another mess was as of yet untouched. Shattered plates and cutlery, half-finished meals and a frankly disproportionate turnip supply littered the floor. A pair of knives and a scattering of bullet casings marked where Whim and Vangroover had held the rear stairs. The body of a young man could still be seen sprawled on the steps, his arms and head lying still on the cold floor. The entrance to the basement was located beneath the stairwell, its door hanging open and inviting.


    ¡°Seven and Eight; remain here and make sure no one wanders in through the back. Two has the lead once we¡¯re downstairs.¡± Alter ordered.


    The majority of the squad tramped down the stairs into the darkness beneath the Last Flourish. With no obvious light source, flashlights were produced from packs and attached to gun barrels, and the men advanced. Doorless chambers twisted and turned, rows of bottle racks brimming with wine and liquors, crates of fruits and vegetables, old chairs and tables, and a room filled with enough cheese to earn the title of ¡®glorious¡¯ from their resident Frenchman.


    There was but one door that blocked their way, situated in the deepest, darkest recesses of a forgotten furniture jungle. Its iron bars that ran across its surface and thick, sturdy lock promised no entry. The key Winslow had given them in the hidden storeroom said otherwise. With what could only be described as an excessive creak, the men crept into the room beyond.


    The room was made of featureless stone, but in the centre stood a worthy prize. Worthy, but worryingly slim. A pair of stark wooden crates lay open and empty, loose strands of yellow straw used to pack the interior littered the floor. The discarded lids bore the stencilled mark of a green lion.


    ¡°Ach, we¡¯re too late.¡± Boats hissed.


    ¡°They shifted the whole bunch in a couple of hours, we were never making it on time.¡± Walross tried to sound reassuring but his words seemed hollow as they gently echoed through the space.


    ¡°How many of these crates did you see in the camp?¡± Alter asked quickly.


    ¡°Six.¡± Riptide responded; voice subdued as he kicked at the straw.


    ¡°Then I¡¯d say they¡¯ve got more than one safehouse out there. Question is, where?¡±


    Any further theorising was interrupted by their radios leaping into life. The sound crackled as the signal fought its way through the stonework.


    ¡°This is ¡­ ght ¡­ Men approaching ¡­. entrance ¡­ whole mob of them ¡­. angry.¡±


    ¡°Time¡¯s up gentlemen, let¡¯s move.¡± Riptide shouted and the men responded with a surge of motion towards the exit.

 Ch.39: Withdrawal

    The men went charging through the dark and cluttered rooms, the incessant pounding of heavy footfalls chased a dizzying dance of flashlight beams. The intrusive thought to snaffle a wheel of cheese on the way through was given thorough consideration but was sadly discounted. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the order was given to remove and stow the lights in order to keep one of their myriad cards hidden. Whim and Vangroover held their positions in the kitchen, their weapons trained on the back door. Their relief at reinforcement was quite visible, and standing alongside them revealed the reason. The rear yard was filled with lights, the small fires of wooden torches held by a couple of dozen snarling figures.


    ¡°They came piling in a couple of minutes ago.¡± Whim explained in a whisper. ¡°From what we¡¯ve heard, the majority of them are busy shouting at the guards out front. As for these fellas, they seem content to just glare at us for now but I¡¯m not sure how long that¡¯ll last.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, we¡¯re pulling out anyway. Nice and orderly boys, two at a time.¡± Alter nodded and the squad began to Noah¡¯s Ark their way back through the bar.


    The room itself was still in a state of disarray, the cleanup effort having completely halted at the mob¡¯s appearance. Both sets of main entrance doors had been propped open and the squad piled out into the damp streets and cool late evening air. The situation, however, was anything but cool. The Houseguard had formed a defensive cordon stretching from the Last Flourish to the nearby crossroads. Bands of men swarmed the roads in three directions, egged on by their invisible leaders they hurled insults and made sudden daring lunges forward to gain what ground they could. There were no visible weapons among them, but Alter could easily make out the suspicious bulges and arms hidden behind backs that casually betrayed the presence of blades amidst the bodies.


    ¡°Who are this bunch?¡± He asked Winslow who stood in the centre of the cordon with folded arms.


    ¡°Everyone with a secret to keep.¡± The Sergeant spat onto the cobbled road. ¡°Street gangs, petty thugs. Anyone the Foreman has dirt on who''s capable of throwing stones, both physical and metaphorical.¡±


    ¡°They going to try anything?¡±


    ¡°Only if we hang around too long. Which leads me on to ask, are we done here?¡± Winslow turned to him, expression cold.


    ¡°We are. We¡¯ll discuss that once we¡¯re in a more secure environment. Is our path back to the estate secure?¡±


    Winslow nodded and quickly ordered the guards to withdraw. With speed and efficiency, the cordon collapsed and the loyalist forces began moving back towards safer ground. Their retreat was met with a loud and buoyant wave of jeering and whistling by the crowds that converged and swarmed into the Last Flourish like ants.


    ¡°We¡¯ve earned a lot of bad blood with our actions this evening, good faith that took years to build. I pray it¡¯s worth it.¡± Winslow complained as they moved.


    ¡°That¡¯ll depend on the men we picked up and what they can tell us.¡± Alter replied shortly, having neither the energy nor desire to broach that particular subject.


    Words were few and far between as the combined force moved through empty streets. While the tramping of their feet caused more than one concerned face to appear at many an upper floor window, none made any effort to impede their progress. As such, it did not take long for them to cross the gated threshold into the Masserlind estate. They came to a temporary halt at the front entrance of the main house where a surly butler they hadn¡¯t seen before informed them that Oliver had retired for the night, leaving instructions for the squad to seek their beds. All debriefs and subsequent discussions were to be held over breakfast the next day. Ragged cheers met this proclamation and the guards immediately scattered in a dozen directions before melting into the night. With markedly slower paces, the squad took their leave as well, skirting the edge of the building and filing towards the trees that obscured the silhouette of Osprey Hall.


    The majority of their new home was dark; however a number of candles were still lit in the main hallway. Morgan stood to attention just inside the door, welcoming them with a formal bow. She was doubtless tired from a long day¡¯s service, but if she felt the effects of weariness then she made no show of it. The offer of a cooked meal was given but there were no takers. With each man collectively feeling the weight of their actions, sleep, or at least the attempt to sleep, was the only remaining objective. Muttered ¡®good nights¡¯ in a handful of tired sounding languages saw each man seek their private rooms. Alter was surprised to be met with a soft floral fragrance as he entered his own chamber. The fireplace was merrily alight, its accompanying pair of chairs pulled to the side. In their place sat a large copper bathtub, full and foaming, with wafting wisps of scent-laden steam rising from its surface. He stopped, absently closing the door behind him as he pondered this unexpected but welcome addition. There was the immediate question of how Morgan had known when they were returning, but he was happy to put that down to ¡®Professional Foresight¡¯ and call it a day. Piece by piece, his uniform was left where it fell as he stripped his way across the room, with one of the armchairs accepting the noble sacrifice of becoming the designated clothes holder. With something between a sigh and a groan he submerged himself into the delightfully warm water before leaning the back of his head against the edge and staring at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. He¡¯d practically recovered his full range of arm movement by the time they made it back but examining the impact site revealed a mighty bruise forming. Other than that, he was in pretty good shape. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    He wasn¡¯t sure how long he spent in the tub, it might have been half an hour, it might have been three. Every action, every room, every possibility battled for the attention of his mind¡¯s eye. His imagination spun intricate webs of what might have happened, like the branches of a tree twisting and spiralling into a vibrant canopy of alternate conclusions. He had anticipated a fight, but looking back he was forced to acknowledge how unexpected their opponent¡¯s willingness to face death was. Once again he was left to wonder whether the local¡¯s lack of understanding surrounding the squad¡¯s combat capabilities was inadvertently causing more harm than good. This quandary, however, led him to an entirely different realisation. The water had turned cold and the fireplace housed naught but fading embers. He gripped the edges of the bath, levering himself upright and sloshing his way to his feet. A pair of towels hung ready on an attached stand, complete with a crisp white robe which would¡¯ve been straight out of a hotel bathroom were it not for the apparent home-craftsmanship. It was a bit of a snug fit but that mattered little to Alter. After all, the bed was right there and it had his name written all over it.


    When his eyes fluttered open again, morning had come. The sun peaked shyly over the rooftops of Jestriff, where faint lines of evaporating water raced upward to meet the gently floating cloud that populated the brightening sky. His clothes and uniform were exactly where he¡¯d left them, the bathtub remained in place and undrained with but a few stubborn colonies of bubbles clinging to the sides. He was a little surprised but thankful that one of the maids hadn¡¯t entered the room to remove it while he slept. Slipping out of the robe, he crossed over to the wardrobe and examined his newly provided selection of more casual gear. There had already been mentions of a visit from a professional tailor in the coming days, that would certainly be an experience. Opting for the most basic and closest equivalent to a t-shirt and jeans as he could, he left the room heading for the dining area. Half of the squad was already present, enjoying steaming mugs of the local coffee equivalent. It bore similarities to the breakfast beverage they had been served in Crestvigil but the taste was different, the welcome bitterness shone amidst the clashing flavours. Fortunately, there was no mystery ingredient that made the world stray ominously towards the cartoon, which made the drink much more acceptable. Alter was halfway through his second mug by the time everyone had gathered and a maid from the main house came to collect them.


    Oliver¡¯s private dining room was notable not for its opulence nor its frugality. It was almost suspiciously average. The man himself and Winslow were already in attendance, sitting around a large, circular table seated for ten.


    ¡°Welcome, everyone. Please, take a seat.¡± Oliver beckoned as various staff members filed in from a small door across from them with plates and platters aplenty.


    The men ate in comfortable silence, it was only after the final morsel had been devoured and all the plates cleared away when Oliver clasped his hands together, knitted his fingers and began to speak.


    ¡°Winslow has already given me his report. I would like to hear yours, Captain.¡±


    Alter shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the use of his assigned rank equivalent to a parent using his full name. As he recounted the previous evening¡¯s events, he almost found himself withering under the young Lord¡¯s stare.


    ¡°To conclude, we found and apprehended a number of the agitators and discovered the location of two out of the six weapons crates. The contents of which appear to have already been distributed to your uncle¡¯s minions.¡± He finished, unsure as to how Oliver would respond.


    ¡°I understand.¡± Was the simple response before Oliver took a breath and continued. ¡°Given that this was your first time operating in the city, I shall overlook some of your more drastic actions. However, a number of my citizens were lost during this operation. This, I find harder to accept. You will take greater care, Captain, to measure your use of lethal force.¡± His voice was fair and even, teacher-esque one might say.


    ¡°Yes, Sir.¡±


    ¡°Winslow?¡± Oliver looked to the Sergeant and motioned him to speak.


    ¡°Of the twenty people we apprehended last night, eight have since been released after their initial interviews. Innocent people caught up in the sudden tide. Additionally, we recovered ten wounded from the Known House, two of which have been discharged. Unfortunately, four sustained major injuries, from which the doctors say they may never truly recover from. I¡¯d like you to help me sort out our seedier guests, specifically with the identification of any aggravators we¡¯ve caught in the net.¡± He spoke matter-of-factly.


    ¡°With pleasure.¡± Riptide answered, a harder edge creeping into his voice.


    ¡°Then that will be all, Gentlemen. With luck, we¡¯ll manage to extract enough useful information to make this whole business worthwhile. Designate, say, three of your number to assist Winslow with his assignment, then return to your quarters. Rest. You will be called for again, soon enough.¡± Oliver clapped his hands together and stood, signalling an end to any further discussions.


    Riptide, Boats and Boozehound volunteered for bastard-spotting duty and followed Winslow out of the small door. The rest meandered back to Osprey Hall, unsure of what to do with themselves. A thought popped into Alter¡¯s mind as they arrived and he asked Morgan to fetch him a coin purse. It was time for a lesson in local economics.

 Ch.40: A Question of Money

    As the late morning sun plodded through the heavens, Osprey Hall was alive with the sound of currency. The squad had filed into the briefing room and the large table was coated in shining coins, Alter was no authority on metallurgy but they certainly seemed precious enough. Silver and golden hues caught the light streaming through the windows and reflected a subtle lightshow onto the ceiling. Their collection consisted of five distinct types ranging from thin silver circles no bigger than a thumbnail to a hefty golden disc more suited to being a museum centrepiece than legal tender. At the centre of the coin pile was a single sheet of paper, coated with hastily scrawled names, values and conversions.


    ¡°Who in their right mind decided to use multiples of three?¡± Pavejack grumbled as he shifted coins around, forming small piles of equal value from different combinations.


    ¡°It¡¯s as good a system as any, it¡¯ll just take some getting used to.¡± Vangroover reassured him.


    ¡°Ferns, Pressens, Augusts. The naming convention is all over the place.¡± Whim added.


    ¡°They¡¯re named after old kings, or emperors in this case, back from when Northern Meios was one nation roughly three hundred years ago.¡± The Canadian continued.


    ¡°When did you pick that up?¡± Alter asked quickly, impressed with his sudden knowledge.


    ¡°It¡¯s from a wonderful, mythical invention called a ¡®Book¡¯. There¡¯s a small shelf in the office with some basic history tomes, they¡¯re great for helping you get to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Nicely done, have you found anything else useful?¡±


    ¡°I learned that Crown Prince Tristan, circa two hundred to one hundred and sixty years ago, was engaged twelve separate times to different women before finally marrying.¡±


    ¡°Twelve? The absolute mad-lad.¡± Whim quipped with a chuckle.


    ¡°Right? But to better answer your question, not really. Most of what was written can be considered glorified gossip, no mention of anything resembling our situation yet.¡±


    ¡°Keep looking. Anyway, getting back on track. To summarise; One individual unit of currency is a ¡®Fern¡¯, three ferns equal one ¡®Pressen¡¯, and five pressen equals an ¡®August¡¯. A ¡®Silver Pressen¡¯ is worth twenty regular pressen, and one ¡®Golden August¡¯ is ten regular august. This shakes out to represent values of one, three, fifteen, sixty, and one hundred fifty. Anything significantly beyond these values is handled using solid gold bars and we are not falling into that dark pit today. This currency is used all across the northern continent and maintains a steady rate between nations.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m already dreading my first shopping trip, it¡¯s going to be so embarrassing.¡± Pavejack bemoaned.


    Any further discussion was temporarily cut short as the door opened. Riptide, Boozehound and Boats wandered into the room silently, offering short nods of acknowledgement. Tabitha followed just behind, bearing her customary beaming smile and a tray of freshly baked golden pastries which she slid gently onto an unoccupied corner of the table.


    ¡°Perfect timing, Miss Tabitha.¡± Alter smiled. ¡°Could you bring me the expenses log for the Hall, please? Or its nearest equivalent? Ahh, the budget for the knights too, if possible.¡±


    ¡°Sure thing!¡± Tabitha curtsied and made a hasty retreat.


    The door clicked shut, the men remaining silent until the sound of tapping feet faded from their perceptions.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to get fat if we stay here.¡± Riptide remarked as he carefully selected one of the larger pastries, devouring it in two large bites. ¡°Looking to stock a treasure chest?¡± He asked, pointing to the scattered coins.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you about it in a moment, give me your report.¡± Alter folded his arms, face expectant.


    Riptide held up a hand, chewing furiously before swallowing and wiping his mouth with the back of the raised hand. ¡°We got a whole bunch of them.¡± He began before pausing to pick at something caught between his teeth.


    ¡°Between the prisoners and the recovered bodies, we counted six of the ten we identified in the camp. Four alive, two dead.¡± Boozehound carried on after shooting the lieutenant a scowl.


    ¡°Unfortunately, the brown-haired man you¡¯d pegged as their leader was not among them.¡± Boats followed up. ¡°None of them have started chatting yet, but now that Winslow knows which ones to go for, I doubt it¡¯ll be long before we start getting results.¡±


    Alter nodded and the three returning men were brought up to speed. Five minutes later Tabitha reappeared carrying a pair of thick leather-bound books which she pressed into Alter¡¯s arms. There was a sense of urgency in her actions and as she stepped backward, she wrung her hands nervously and asked that the books be returned as soon as possible. When pressed, she admitted that Morgan would certainly not approve, and feared her ire. After being promised a swift return, she left the room, shooting one last serious look at the men as she left.


    ¡°Looks like we haven¡¯t earned enough trust quite yet.¡± Alter remarked as he thumbed open the first book bearing the name ¡®Osprey Hall¡¯.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Neat rows of numbers and letters, pages upon pages of tables all signed and dated by a half dozen supremely official sounding names. Expenditures of all shapes and sizes over a dozen years. From furniture to foodstuffs, weapons to cart wheels. The numbers themselves were short-handed to single letters, however with each coin bearing a unique name the translation was simple.


    ¡°Three pressen and a fern on candlesticks. Two silver pressen for a new suite of bedroom furniture. Looks like the Hall took a weekly food delivery costing roughly twenty F per.¡± He rambled as he skipped across the ledger¡¯s contents.


    ¡°Would be nice if we could compare it to something.¡± Riptide responded as he opened the second book. ¡°Look here, one Golden, a silver and three A¡¯s for a new set of armour purchased ¡­ early last year I think. What was the date again?¡± He looked up as his mind wrapped itself around this sudden new puzzle.


    ¡°Two-twenty-three From Third Calling.¡± Boozehound remembered, tapping his chin.


    ¡°Then I was off by a year, I thought we were on all twos.¡± Riptide frowned as he flipped to the back of the knight¡¯s ledger and worked his way back. ¡°I¡¯ve got a list of names here, it seems there were eleven knights in service at last entry. There¡¯s mention of a ¡®Captain Branchscale¡¯, has anyone said that around us?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a name I¡¯ve ever heard before. Someone make a note of them before we return them, if these guys got de-mobbed by foul play then we may well run into them sooner or later.¡± Alter ordered.


    ¡°Are the knight¡¯s pay mentioned?¡± Pavejacked piped up.


    ¡°I like you thinking, hang on.¡± Riptide smirked as he thumbed through a couple of pages before making a triumphant noise. ¡°Here. Hmmm. Looks like three A¡¯s a month for the rank and file. Almost double that for any lieutenants and three SP for the Captain, that¡¯s quite the jump.¡±


    ¡°Then as a small comparison, a regular Osprey Knight can expect to earn just over half of the Hall¡¯s food bill per month. You know what, actually that¡¯s not the best comparison, I¡¯m out.¡± Whim¡¯s valiant attempt at normalising foreign economics came to a juddering halt as his shoulders slumped.


    ¡°You tried, Simon, and that¡¯s what matters.¡± Walross patted him on the shoulder affectionately.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make fun of me.¡± Whim muttered under his breath in an adult version of a sulking child¡¯s voice, his lips splaying into a dramatic pout.


    ¡°Okay, have we copied everything we think we need?¡± Alter asked, to which the others nodded and closed the book. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get these back to their rightful places before Morgan finds out.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a bit late for that I¡¯m afraid.¡± A soft voice spoke immediately behind him.


    Alter froze. The whole squad froze. Wide eyes crept slowly sideways in static sockets. Morgan stood right next to him, the door wide open as if laughing at their shock. No sound had been heard, they¡¯d been so caught up in their task that her arrival had gone completely undetected.


    ¡°G¡­Good Morgan, ah, morning.¡± Riptide stammered, a guilt grin of pantomime-level subtlety threatened to rip itself free from his face as he slowly hid the ledger behind his back.


    ¡°Hello, Lieutenant Tide. May I ask where you acquired these materials?¡± Morgan smiled sweetly, a sight that was truly terrifying given the context of the situation.


    ¡°They were procured on my orders.¡± Alter stepped in, having regained some of his composure. ¡°I felt it appropriate that we should come to better understand the finances behind our current barracks, and of those that came before us. Have I broken any rules, Miss Morgan?¡±


    ¡°You may examine the Hall¡¯s ledger whenever you so wish, Captain. However, the Knight¡¯s ledger is not for your eyes, and I would have it returned to me please.¡± Morgan held out a commanding hand which Riptide instantly complied to.


    Morgan opened her mouth to continue but her speech was waylaid by the pounding of approaching feet as Tabitha burst through the open doorway.


    ¡°She¡¯s!¡± Tabitha began, one hand desperately grasping the doorframe as her lungs struggled to meet the requirements of her sudden acceleration. Much like the members of the squad, her eyes widen at the sight of her compatriot. ¡°I ¡­ I.¡± She began, but proved herself unable to continue speaking.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t mind, sirs. I have something to discuss with my fellow maid. Lunch shall be prepared for you all soon.¡± That sweet, spine-chilling smile returned as Morgan secured both ledgers and propelled the shell-shocked Tabitha out of the briefing room with her. The door gave them one last leering grin as it closed.


    Silence reigned over a ten second empire as the men recovered.


    ¡°Gentlemen, I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll be trying any more potential subterfuge today.¡± Alter gave a half smile and began tidying up the coins.


    ¡°She freaks me out.¡± Was Pavejack¡¯s honest responding statement.


    ¡°Yeah, honestly, it wouldn¡¯t surprise me if she turned out to actually be some ¡®guardian spirit of the hall¡¯ or some shit.¡± Boozehound quietly agreed.


    ¡°What do we do now?¡± Boats asked as the rest of the coins were pushed back into their pouch which Alter took possession of.


    ¡°We part ways here, you''re free until this afternoon, just don¡¯t wander too far. Later on I want to head over to a local marketplace, get my head around some basic prices.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll join you.¡± Boozehound volunteered instantly. ¡°There¡¯s a couple of buildings I want to check out.¡±


    Alter nodded. ¡°Anyone else?¡±


    Whim and Vangroover raised their hands while the others made mention of other tasks they could perform in and around the hall. Plans made, loosely, the men headed back to their rooms. The copper bathtub had been removed when Alter returned to his quarters, the robe he had slept in had also vanished, and the armchairs returned to their places near the fireplace. A gnawing concern lay siege to the corners of his mind and he fished out the trunk key from a pocket. His rifle lay untouched in the secure container from where he had placed it last night, the same tiny specks of rainwater still clung to its cold metal surface. Every bullet, every grenade was exactly as he¡¯d left it. Breathing a small sigh of relief, he closed and locked the trunk before stepping over to the window. For a moment he stood completely still, watching a lone member of the Houseguard take their slow, ponderous steps along the exterior wall. His thoughts shifted to the bustling city streets, and of the myriad concern the people held, both great and small. Again, the questions of whether they were actually aiding Oliver bubbled to the surface, but he forced them back down. A probing hand poked at the coin pouch which responded with jingling purpose. A few small, friendly injections into the local economy probably wouldn¡¯t go amiss.

 Ch.41: Shopping Attempt

    Jestriff¡¯s main market square bustled with activity as the lunching hour melted into the steady rush of the afternoon. The structure of this economic gathering was similar in nature to the one they had passed through in Crestvigil, only much grander in scale and variety. Every breed of your classic barnyard animal was in attendance, segmented in pens that took up nearly an entire quarter of the space. Once again, foodstuffs made up the lion¡¯s share of the stalls. However, the ample golden produce seen in Auserre had been replaced by much hardier, earthy-looking plants that could survive the harsher winters common to the north of Rillestia. As if to make up for this lack of variety, the artisanal market had greatly expanded with stalls hawking sweet and savoury treats of all shapes, sizes and colours. An overwhelming, mouth-watering wave of sights and scents so tempting that it made any decision of what to sample an impossible task. Further towards the centre were the tradesmen. From cheap and cheerful Old Dave Scroggins with his little table of carved wooden ducks, to Monsieur Dominique du Fancyarse and his menagerie of masterwork silver and golden statuettes capable of convincing any gullible distant relative that you¡¯d been turned to precious metal while on holiday in Magaluf. This was merely one of the rows, Alter dreaded to think how many more had been squeezed in.


    The four men ambled between these myriad enterprises, weaving and slaloming between other groups of patrons like a game of Snake in slow motion. They had kept to locally styled clothes in order to blend in as best they could, although it was clear that this plan was not entirely successful as multiple curious glances, punctuated by the odd inquisitive child, followed their progress. They were too new, too clean and uniform, their heights noticeably higher than the average person. The presence of their radios, earpieces and sidearms strapped snugly to their hips only added to the feeling that they were out of place here, though not unwelcomely so.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t think there was a crisis on their doorstep, would you?¡± Boozehound commented as they picked their way through a gaggle of chattering, bickering ladies.


    ¡°This is probably one of the few places where they can forget about it for a while.¡± Alter replied lightly as he danced between members of a pack of children charging around their nattering mothers.


    ¡°Nah, the tension is here, lurking in the undercurrents of conversation. You just need to listen for it.¡± Vangroover chimed in with a pessimistic tone.


    ¡°Can¡¯t say I¡¯d noticed that.¡± Whim responded, a hefty hint of scepticism in his voice.


    Vangroover shrugged but made no further comment nor attempted any additional explanation as the group reached the end of their chosen row and re-entered the salvation ring-road of freshly cooked food.


    ¡°There.¡± Boozehound suddenly perked up and pointed, not towards a stall but rather a set of ornate looking buildings whose steep-sided roofs poked out above the sea of brightly coloured canvas coverings.


    ¡°I see them, what am I looking at?¡± Alter asked.


    ¡°Temples, to the Four. My research project for the day.¡± The Frenchman announced with a sense of triumphant satisfaction.


    ¡°Fair enough, you¡¯re not wandering off by yourself though.¡± Alter cautioned.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go with him, make sure he doesn¡¯t become a monk while no one''s looking.¡± Vangroover volunteered with a wry grin.


    Alter nodded. ¡°Alright, Whim and I will keep looking around here. It looks like there¡¯s a blacksmithing section ahead; you never know if some idiot might be trying to sell weapons from the shipment in there.


    ¡°Excellent, we¡¯ll catch up with you later.¡± Boozehound was too eager to get moving and immediately meandered away towards his destination with Vangroover, the last few words of his departing statement lost to the milling crowds.


    Alter watched them go with a mixture of hope and nerves, the possibilities and implications of a successful temple visit would certainly throw the cat amongst the pigeons. His moment of sombreness was quickly cut short by the realisation that he was alone. However, a swift inspection of his immediate surroundings soon revealed Whim accepting something for a nearby cooking stall.


    ¡°What¡¯ve you got there?¡± Alter leaned in to examine his friend¡¯s delicacy of choice.


    Whim offered him a child-like smile and held up a piece of steaming red meat in between slices of thick crusted bread. ¡°Slab-a-lamb.¡±


    ¡°Please tell me that¡¯s its real name.¡± The man¡¯s enthusiasm bled into Alter¡¯s response.


    Whim took a large bite as he indicated the painted wooden sign that indeed confirmed the name.


    ¡°Aaasassafassaashashah.¡± His moment of ecstasy turned to horror as the meat proved too hot for his mouth to handle.


    ¡°Serves you right, you bottomless pit.¡± Alter teased smugly.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Ish good though.¡± Whim retorted as he battled the remnants of the spiteful sandwich.


    ¡°Must you insist on being a permanent source of embarrassment for me? I hope it didn¡¯t cost you too much.¡±


    ¡°Two F, but it looks like you can get a lot of different, smaller things for only one. You know, it¡¯s weirdly nice to be in a society where the lowest value of currency can still get you things instead of just taking up space in your wallet.¡± Whim chatted merrily between more measured bites of his prize.


    ¡°I guess I see what you¡¯re saying. Is that a good thing or a bad thing, economics-wise?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know enough about the subject, but I¡¯d guess it''s good.¡± Whim supposed.


    The two men fell into comfortable silence as they dove into the next set of market stands. The cost of displayed products ratcheted upward at concerning speed as they walked. Soon enough they found themselves surrounded by ceremonial armour pieces, gem-studded swords and scabbards, everything an aspiring nobleman would need in a future precious heirloom. Alter frowned as he examined the ostentatious displays, his mind drawn back to Huntmaster Raymond and how he was about to risk his men¡¯s lives in order to retrieve such vulgar items. Finally, they broke through into the collections of the honest blacksmith¡¯s trade. The arrays of conflict were certainly impressive, Alter was confident that a warrior of any build or style could find exactly what they needed here. While he wouldn¡¯t make any purchases, safe in knowledge that he didn¡¯t know enough to make an educated decision, it was still enlightening to enquire about prices and timeframes with the various workers that seemed willing to chat. There was no evidence of any freshly arrived weapons bearing the mark of the Royal Djarel Foundry, a fact that Alter greeted with disappointment mixed with a hidden dose of relief. Still, though, there was plenty of real-estate to cover yet. Their progress was halted, however, by the sudden crackling in their ears as the radio sprang to life and a worried voice


    ¡°One, this is Eight, erm. Three is kind of having a moment here.¡± Vangroover reported.


    The two men looked at each other in confusion. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®moment¡¯?¡± Alter keyed his radio and asked.


    ¡°A ¡®fall to your knees and become unresponsive¡¯ kind of moment.¡±


    ¡°Where are you?¡± Alter spun on his heel and began cutting a path towards the distant temple spires.


    ¡°Kalaton¡¯s, rear left.¡±


    ¡°Please tell me you¡¯re alone.¡± He pleaded, neatly bisecting a pair of men about to come to blows over a chipped vase.


    ¡°There¡¯s no one else here, to be honest it doesn¡¯t seem like this place gets many visitors. Want me to block the door?¡± The sound of something heavy scraping along stone was carried across the wavelengths.


    ¡°Position yourself in the doorway if you feel it necessary, no need to barricade yourself in though. We¡¯re en route, standby. Anyone back at base picking this up?¡± He asked hopefully, but the lack of response from anyone remaining in the Hall quickly dashed that hope.


    Alter and Whim powered their way through the remaining ranks of the market square and out into a large, well-kept street with small trees growing down its centre. Situated on either side of this road were four imposing structures of zealous mortar. The two closer to the square were considerably larger than their more distant brethren, and commanded a steady stream of travellers and devotees that filed in and out of their doors like lines of ants. From their iconography, and the increased scale, Alter reasoned that these were the temples of Sirrithae and Nerrothyll. At the rear right, a much more sober and discreet looking structure bore a quiet but heavy presence. The Mullisvar temple received a mere fraction of the foot traffic that the previous two enjoyed, however there were still a handful of grim looking individuals that stepped across the ominous threshold. Finally, an equally less imposing building marked with stone carvings of the sun and moon had no visitors coming or going. However, its doors were open and, leaning against the cool stonework of the entryway, Vangroover could be seen keeping his tense vigil.


    The relief on the Canadians face was quite palpable as he caught sight of their approach. With sharp beckoning gestures he ushered them inside and closed the door behind them. The space inside Kalaton¡¯s temple was curiously plain, and even though there were no apparent doorways or corridors to other parts of the building the room seemed barely half the total size of the structure itself. Simple wooden pew-like benches lined the room in a traditional church setup. At the far end a carved stone altar stood on a raised dais, atop which were two large ceremonial plates. One was made of silver, the other gold, together they gazed across the room with an uncanny sense of omnipotence. Boozehound was sitting on his knees at the bottom of the dais, his arms hanging limply at his sides.


    With quiet steps, Alter moved forward until he stood just behind and to the side of the Frenchman. The man gave no response to his approach, choosing instead to simply stare up at the twin-disc eyes with a look of fear and wonder etched upon his face. Slowly, unsteadily, he blinked twice before tear-damp eyes turned upward towards his newly arrived companion.


    ¡°We are in the presence of something much, much greater.¡± Boozehound whispered.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be honest with you, Marcus. The last thing I need is my medic turning into a religious nutcase on, as far as I can tell, a Thursday afternoon.¡± Alter folded his arms and glowered down at the kneeling man.


    Boozehound did not rise to the provocation. ¡°Just wait.¡± He smiled.


    Alter growled to himself and levered himself down to the floor. If his friend was going to have a world-shattering episode then he¡¯d at least have someone he knew nearby and in eyeshot. All was quiet for a couple of minutes, save for the awkward shuffling of Whim and Vangroover towards the back of the room. All of a sudden, a strange buzzing sensation caused Alter¡¯s eyes to widen, and he found his gaze inescapably drawn to the altar and the twin plates. Dimly he was aware of a soft chuckle coming from Boozehound¡¯s direction as once again white text began to appear in the centre of his vision.


    MISSION STATUS // 8Hkio4374¡±@dfEE0 / UNDEFINED / ONGOING


    CURRENT LOCATION // 2843 3857 / CITY OF JESTRIFF / NORTHERN RILLESTIA


    CURRENT OBJECTIVES //


    -Secure the Masserlind Succession


    -?????


    WELCOME TO SITE-17 // INACTIVE / DORMANT


    REQUESTS UNAVAILABLE AT THIS TIME // REACTIVATION / REQUIREMENTS UNMET

 Ch.42: Someones Knocking on my Skull

    MISSION STATUS // 8Hkio4374¡±@dfEE0 / UNDEFINED / ONGOING


    CURRENT LOCATION // 2843 3857 / CITY OF JESTRIFF / NORTHERN RILLESTIA


    CURRENT OBJECTIVES //


    -Secure the Masserlind Succession


    -?????


    WELCOME TO SITE-17 // INACTIVE / DORMANT


    REQUESTS UNAVAILABLE AT THIS TIME // REACTIVATION / REQUIREMENTS UNMET


    The buzzing intensified by unbearable magnitudes as the glowing white text revealed itself letter by letter in the centre of his vision. Something alien, something other, an unknowable presence scraped and scrabbled against the outskirts of his psyche. The room, the dais, Boozehound, everything swam out of focus and he reactively slapped his hands down onto the floor to steady himself. It felt like he was viewing the world like the surface of the ocean from ten metres below, an invisible storm lashed and distorted its blurred surface as invisible currents buffeted him from all angles. His lips began to split into a feral snarl as the last words formed before the mind-splitting sensation suddenly receded, leaving the world suspiciously silent and crystal clear. He allowed his shoulders to slump forward as he took several ragged breaths, only now becoming aware of the hand on his shoulder. Boozehound¡¯s face was a mixture of concern and guilty relief as he offered a steadying presence.


    ¡°Do you see what I mean?¡± He asked softly with an encouraging smile.


    ¡°I don¡¯t-¡± Alter began before taking a moment to shake his head and tenderly clamber to his feet. ¡°I don¡¯t think I share your enthusiasm for this particular discovery.¡± He admitted.


    ¡°Are you alright? What happened?¡± Whim and Vangroover came rushing up to them before Boozehound could respond.


    ¡°Divine revelations.¡± Boozehound announced with exhilaration and a grand gesture towards the plates.


    Whim fixed him with a withering stare for a long second before turning to Alter. ¡°What actually happened?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡± Alter shuddered. ¡°Do you remember when shortly after we raided the Badlands fort, the command team saw a bunch of text? It¡¯s happened again, only this time it was much more violent.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡± Vangroover tilted his head to one side.


    ¡°Like something was trying to force its way into my brain but didn¡¯t, or couldn¡¯t, understand why it wasn¡¯t working. Kept slamming me around like a kid trying to open a tupperware box.¡±


    Whim turned his malevolent gaze towards the plates and pushed his way past the other men, moving onto the dais with slow, deliberate steps. He folded his arms and regarded the thin metal eyes with an imperious air as if daring the words to do the same to him. Nothing happened, at least not visibly. Whim made an impatient noise and turned back to them with a shrug.


    ¡°Looks like I¡¯m not worthy of your great enlightenment.¡± His voice dripped with sarcasm as he descended, stopping on the first step to maintain his height advantage.


    ¡°It was only the command team that got the message before, it makes sense for this to work the same way. I wonder if Rip is seeing the same thing.¡± Alter mused.


    ¡°We should go and check.¡± Vangroover jumped on the idea, clearly desperate to leave the building.


    The men nodded in agreement and, despite Boozehound¡¯s reluctant glances backward, they made their way back outside into the street. A palpable sense of relief washed over Alter as he felt the warmth of sunlight and the gentle shift of free air on his face. All thoughts of shopping or any other forms of market research had been forgotten for the moment. Other than a couple of half-hearted attempts at conversation the men walked in silence as they made their way back towards the estate. Osprey Hall was weirdly empty when they returned, however the sound of merry thwacking, yelps, curses and laughter could be heard echoing from nearby.


    Upon investigation, the rest of the squad had settled into a relaxed afternoon beating the snot out of each other with wooden swords in the central training yard. The men had donned, or more likely been forced to don, thick leather jackets that gave their arms and chests a tree-like appearance. Even thicker leather gloves somewhere between baseball mitts and industrial-grade oven gloves grasped training weapons that slammed and ricocheted off both sets of defiant apparel. For now, only a pair of combatants were active, Boats was chasing a disarmed Pavejack in circles around the space while Riptide and Walross lounged on a straw bale and cackled at the teenager¡¯s desperate protests. Each of them bore the sorry markings of blunt impacts, none of them seemed to particularly care. Riptide noticed their arrival first and waved them over as Pavejack flopped to the floor in defeat with Boats crashing down on top of him shortly after.


    ¡°How¡¯d it go? Are we broke now?¡± The lieutenant asked with a mischievous smile.


    ¡°Things have taken an interesting turn, that¡¯s for sure.¡± Alter grimaced momentarily. ¡°We need to have a command team meeting, now.¡±


    Riptide looked left and right, a moment of confusion and worry passing across his face.


    ¡°Sure.¡± He quickly levered himself off the bale and shed the jacket and gloves.


    Leaving Whim and Vangroover to join the others in the noble art of pokey-sticks, the command trio returned to the hall and climbed the stairs to the relative quiet and isolation of the briefing room.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°What¡¯s this about?¡± Riptide asked, his worry not yet alleviated.


    ¡°We got another mission update text-in-the-air thing, when we were visiting one of the local god¡¯s temples.¡±


    Alter launched into a full explanation of all that he had heard, seen, and felt during the whole process. To his credit, Riptide stood quite still, offering his full attention and making no attempt to inject any of his signature quips or on-reflex deflective humour. Stranger, though, was the fact that Boozehound was also silent. Given his zealous confidence in the temple, Alter had anticipated more than one preacher-like interjection. However, the Frenchman was eerily quiet, it was as if he had withdrawn within himself and was ignoring the outside world in favour of his own hidden thoughts.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t sound pleasant, but I should probably go and see this for myself.¡± Riptide spoke slowly, resigned as he anxiously scratched the back of his neck.


    ¡°Not a bad idea, I¡¯d suggest you take the others with you and see if any of them get a reaction.¡± Alter suggested.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do that. Anything else?¡±


    ¡°Not yet, come see us once you¡¯ve returned. Here, take this.¡± Alter slung the coin purse over to him. ¡°Just in case you see something that takes your fancy.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure I can find something to waste this on. I¡¯ll see you later.¡± Riptide saluted comically and left the room, his footsteps quickly fading from earshot.


    With one companion dispatched, Alter turned his attention to the other, more sombre body in the room. ¡°You finished pulling yourself together in there?¡± He asked.


    ¡°I ¡­¡± Boozehound began, his eyes glued to a point somewhere between the floor and the unending abyss. ¡°I¡¯m feeling more like myself now. I think.¡± His voice lacked any certainty of belief.


    ¡°What made you act like that?¡± Alter asked. ¡°I mean, you were in there much longer than I was, did it affect you differently?¡±


    Boozehound began to move, he took a dozen miniscule, unsteady steps and sank into a chair, hands pressed to his face as if rubbing away an invisible stain. ¡°I was so ¡­ happy. Elated. Utterly convinced that my theory was proven correct, and how wonderful it all was.¡± He sighed and shuddered.


    ¡°You¡¯re certainly more receptive to the idea of living deities than me. Perhaps this difference in opinion changed how we were affected. Not that I¡¯m ready to simply accept this as fact, it could still be a coincidence.¡± Alter theorised as he leaned against the table.


    Boozehound opened his mouth sharply at his last statement but no sound emerged. A moment later he began to speak in a more measured tone. ¡°It is my belief that Kalaton is the one that sent us here, and that he, she or it is guiding us forward. I wouldn¡¯t go so far as to call it faith, and I¡¯m not going to insist on treating them like people treat their gods back home. That said, I¡¯d like to go back there soon. I¡¯d like to feel that warmth again.¡± Boozehound¡¯s head turned slowly, wistfully, towards the window.


    ¡°Can I trust you, Marcus?¡± Alter¡¯s voice dropped. ¡°You¡¯re my friend, and I will respect your decisions. But I need you to tell me you¡¯re not going to wander off to chase this feeling, we need to stick together if we¡¯re all making it out of this.¡±


    ¡°Out of this?¡± Boozehound asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes tracked glacially back across the room to look at him anew. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s going to happen.¡± There was no bitterness in his voice, no accusation. Only sheer weight.


    Alter found himself shivering at those words and hurriedly broke eye contact. ¡°I can¡¯t believe that. For myself, for everyone that¡¯s dreaming of getting home.¡± He vowed, more to himself than his companion.


    Boozehound did not respond, his head was already drifting back to the window. A small eternity passed in the room. The two men barely moved as time ticked by, measured only in the passing of distant clouds and the dancing of dust specks in the intermittent rays of sunlight that illuminated the far corner of the room. At one point Whim stuck his head through the door with half a question on his lips, but the heavy pressure of the conversational purgatory caused his words to die and he left without another sound. Finally, the door opened again, and a grim-faced Riptide strode through with purpose.


    ¡°I have approximately two thousand, four hundred and seventy-six questions right now. And I reckon you might be able to answer three of them.¡± He stalked his way over to the stone windowsill and planted both hands upon it with a pair of thuds.


    Both Alter and Boozehound snapped out of their respective melancholies at his declaration, but neither made much of a sound.


    Riptide sighed. ¡°I saw the writing, and I felt something similar to what you described. The others felt nothing.¡± He wrapped his knuckles against the stone work a handful of times before turning around. ¡°The information we got seems legitimate enough, there¡¯s plenty of new things to discuss though.¡±


    ¡°Agreed. First though, what did you feel?¡±


    Riptide began to pace up and down and he considered his answer. ¡°I felt focused. Determined. Like I had been given a critical job that only I was capable of completing, with the weight and expectations of the world upon my shoulders. Uncomfortable now that I think about it, but my swelling pride shielded me at the time.¡±


    ¡°Another completely different response to being in Kalaton¡¯s presence. Possibly affected by our own feelings about being in this world?¡± Boozehound asked, perking up with the knowledge that someone had felt similarly to himself.


    ¡°The two of you are certainly happier to be here than most, and I lean more towards making it back. Good thing Walross is one of the unaware brigade or he¡¯d likely burst into flames.¡± Alter chuckled dryly.


    ¡°We¡¯ll go forward with that theory for now, let''s move on. We¡¯ve got a new objective, and a mystery one at that.¡± Riptide continued. ¡°Although, there¡¯s not much we can do with a bunch of question marks.¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s most likely been triggered by our actions, and given that it''s not divided from the succession objective I¡¯d wager it''s in a similar vein. We¡¯ll call it progress and keep moving. ¡®Welcome to Site Seventeen¡¯. Catchy name, doesn¡¯t sound particularly religious.¡± Alter followed up.


    ¡°Kalaton has been presenting information to us in the style of a videogame since the beginning, this is just a continuation of that. I have no doubt that if we ever visit a temple in a different city then it¡¯d have a similar designation.¡± Boozehound added.


    ¡°That assumes this is Kalaton talking to us to begin with. I¡¯m not ruling out a coincidence just yet.¡± Alter argued.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not get riled up over theology here.¡± Riptide stepped in. ¡°From the rest of the wording, these sites will allow us to communicate or interface with this god or system at some point. My guess is completing objectives will work towards this unlocking.¡±


    Alter shrugged. ¡°That would make sense to me.¡±


    His sentence was cut off as a politely coughing figure appeared in the doorway which Riptide had left open when he returned. Oliver stepped through the threshold with a sheepish expression.


    ¡°Apologies for my sudden arrival gentlemen, but Winslow¡¯s work has borne fruit and I¡¯d hurried over to give you the news. I will admit, I found myself listening from the corridor for a while. You were having quite the odd conversation there, care to tell me a little more about it?¡±

 Ch.42.5: Records of Monsters

    Excerpts from the Manual of Unnatural Beings


    And so the wretched plead upon the steps of their forespoken chorus, for in their lack of faith they would not accept their wrongdoings. In that moment of judgement shall they be cast out of the blessed belonging, to brandish their message of repentance to any that should balk at the sight of the promised door ~ The Book of Mullisvar


    Unrepentant are formed from the souls of the recent dead who, upon standing before their Judging Chorus, were unable to reconcile with their past transgressions. Individuals who make such refusals are prevented from moving on and are instead cast back into the mortal world as twisted representations of their unresolved grievances.


    With the loss of their physical bodies, the majority of Unrepentant are invisible to the unaugmented human eye. However, under the effects of certain lights, such as Sirrithae¡¯s Lifeflame, their new appearances can be observed as shadowy apparitions. These forms, their observed behaviors and the unique circumstances surrounding them have all been recorded within this manual. It is our sincere hope that this information can be distributed across all lands so that as many innocent lives as possible can be saved.


    Common Designation : Pathstalker


    Type : Humanoid


    Aggression Level : High, Active


    Forming Grievances : Anger, Betrayal, Deceit


    The Pathstalker is an Unrepentant of medium-level threat. It is often discovered on the outskirts of society, in the aftermath of major battles or significant natural disasters. It holds a severe loathing for humans, hunting and chasing any who cross its path across great distances and time scales. While typically encountered solo, groups of up to twelve Pathstalkers have been recorded in various locations. As with all Unrepentant, Pathstalkers are invisible to the human eye. However, their silhouettes can be revealed under the light of Sirrithae. Folklore in some regions also states that cats are capable of detecting their presence. It is believed that Pathstalkers are formed from the betrayed, the unholy, and the liar.


    These creatures are typically eight feet tall with slim figures. Other notable features include their reverse-jointed avian legs, their hair-like tentacles and their long forearm blades. While their legs may appear spindly, a Pathstalker is capable of great bursts of speed and endurance.


    Notable Event: The scouring of the flagship Prince of the Waves


    The Prince of the Waves was the flagship of the Kydrin Royal Navy, constructed and launched in 143 F.T.C with a crew of 256. Three years later, the Prince was engaging in anti-pirate operations when several captured pirate captains being transported back to the mainland for trial and execution managed to escape their cells. Their escape attempt was unsuccessful and they were quickly slaughtered before they could reach the main deck. In the aftermath, one of the captains became a Pathstalker, appearing in the dead of night and quickly slaughtering the crew. With no one left to control it, the Prince of the Waves began drifting aimlessly and eventually washed ashore on the Kydrin coast two weeks later. After this event, priests of Sirrithae are almost always present on key vessels.


    Common Designation : Languid


    Type : Amorphous


    Aggression Level : High, Passive


    Forming Grievances : Abandonment, Reluctance, Ignorance


    The Languid is an Unrepentant that takes no fixed form, instead coalescing into a shadowy pool that flows like water at an incredibly slow pace. A Languid does not discriminate against any particular creature and will subdue and absorb any animal that unwittingly enters its body. Those that do walk into a Languid feel an increasing sense of tiredness and fatigue the longer they stay within it. Eventually, the animal or individual will fall into a deep slumber, the languid will then digest them, growing in size in the process.


    Fortunately, a person who enters and becomes aware of a Languid can escape its clutches by leaving the body, as such many Languids can be reported and removed before they become problematic. Languids hold no real form of self-locomotion, however they are able to pull themselves using a living being as an anchor, bringing them into their centre for the highest chance of a successful hunt. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Notable Event: The loss of Brimstone Pass Field Hospital


    During the fifth war between Solfin and Vaurkal, the majority of the fighting took place in a steep-sided valley known as Brimstone Pass. As the two armies clashed, a small Languid was able to travel along the main road as columns of men and supplies passed through it. Later it would arrive at the Solfin Army¡¯s field hospital which at the time housed hundreds of wounded, immobile soldiers. This event unfortunately coincided with a Vaurkal raid which caused the guards to leave their posts. When they returned, all but a handful of the most able wounded were dead, and the Languid had grown five times its original size.


    Common Designations : Lingering / Stephanie¡¯s Tutor


    Type : Humanoid


    Aggression Level : Variable


    Forming Grievances : Abuse, Unreadiness, Duty


    A Lingering is a unique Unrepentant which can occasionally be seen as an improvement for the living surrounding their appearance. Lingerings attach themselves to an individual of importance in their life that they would wish to change. Appearing as a second shadow that trails their chosen host, the Lingering can alter the host¡¯s personality and speech to suit their desires. While many Lingerings are malicious and cause great grief to their hosts, others are seen as benevolent, guiding hands that pilot their charges to become better people. Lingerings are one of the few types of Unrepentant which can pass on to the Chorus once they determine their purpose has been fulfilled.


    Notable event: The reconciliation of Stephanie Pericell


    Lady Stephanie Paricell was a noble¡¯s daughter infamous for her short temper, haughty attitude, reluctance to compromise and violent outbursts. With her parents lacking the strength to control their child, she was instead handed to tutors, priests, anyone willing to attempt to teach her good manners. None were able to, and with each failed attempt Stephanie¡¯s actions became more egregious. This eventually resulted in one tutor¡¯s death as they were pushed from a fourth story window. Returning as a Lingering, Stephanie suddenly underwent vast personality changes, becoming a model citizen overnight. Once the change was complete, the Lingering vanished, becoming the first recorded case of such an event.


    Common Designation : Rainsour


    Type : Amorphous


    Aggression Level : Passive


    Forming Grievances : Loss, Grief, Fear


    The Rainsour is a low risk Unrepentant more commonly viewed as an annoyance than a threat. Like an invisible storm cloud, a Rainsour is a stationary gaseous mass that appears to sap the enjoyment and happiness of all that pass beneath it. People experiencing a Rainsour report the sensation of soft rain upon their bodies, followed by small but growing waves of depression and listlessness. These clear signs, combined with their inability to move, cause most of these Unrepentant to be quickly discovered and either banished or entrapped.


    Notable event: The failed negotiations at the Meios Trade Collective


    During the years of 195-203 F.T.C, a number of crucial trade and financial summits ended without any agreement despite there having been no concerns that deals may not be made. These negotiations were all held in a purpose-built meeting hall constructed by a company known as the Meios Trade Collective to be used as a neutral site for international trade agreements. Unbeknownst to those third parties, the Collective had built the hall around a known Rainsour and, using a near-invisible nets stretched above the negotiating table to block the rain-like sensation, several key proposals the Collective did not agree with failed due to the Rainsour causing the attendees to lose hope of a settlement. This scheme was later discovered, with the Collective being dissolved and the Rainsour banished.


    Common Designation : Guardslit


    Type : Humanoid


    Aggression Level : High, Active


    Forming Grievances : Injustice, Corruption, Failure


    A Guardslit is an aggressive, calculating Unrepentant that exhibits a much greater intelligence than its Pathstalker cousin. Taking on a greatly similar body to the Stalker, it instead trades the tentacle-like head feelers for a sharp, angular, jagged head that is said to jingle like a set of distant keys. Guardslits appear to only target those carrying weapons, and primarily appear in towns and cities with a significant military presence. Only active at night, the Guardslit will attack and kill one target per day before vanishing again. Once a certain number of armed individuals have been killed, a figure that has been recorded to vary greatly, the Guardslit will vanish, its grisly work apparently complete.


    Notable events - The Fjostri Daggershade


    The town of Fjostri in northern Yerrhenge was subject to a Guardslit¡¯s ire during the winter of 136 F.T.C. The military presence in both the town and the nearby fortress was notoriously corrupt, with locals stating that they would rather face wasteland bandits than those who should protect them from such villains. In order to prevent their crimes becoming more widely known, the leader of the garrison, his name forever struck from the record, ordered every traveller leaving the town be searched, and intimidated into never revealing what was truly happening. One man was caught smuggling letters destined for Yerrhenge¡¯s rulers, and was subsequently executed. Over the next two months, this man¡¯s return as a Guardslit would haunt the streets and battlements. Targeting only the corrupt guards and their masters, they became so fearful that they refused to attend their posts at night, locking themselves in their barracks and allowing others to escape the town and call the nation¡¯s justice down upon the crooked men. Once the royal army arrived, the Fjostri Daggershade was never seen again.

 Ch.43: Your Next Assignment

    As one, the command team clamped their mouths tight shut and became suddenly interested in the various corners of the room. To his credit, Oliver ignored their immediate reluctance as he made his way to the centre of the room. With a relaxed but expectant expression, he leaned casually against the table, folded his arms and fixed each man in turn with a knowing look. Alter proved first to succumb to the awkward pressure, unclenching his jaw and splaying his fingers across the surface of the table.


    ¡°Alright. Before I begin I want you to understand that a lot, if not all, of what I¡¯m telling you is pure conjecture and working theory. That said, where would you like me to begin?¡±


    ¡°Why, from the beginning, if you please.¡± Oliver smiled.


    Alter exhaled a slow, hissing breath and began his attempt at sane explanation. He spoke of the moment the two of them had spoken after their raid on the bandit fort, and of the jarring message that had inserted itself into the centre of the command team¡¯s visions. Certain details were excluded, such as the string of characters that resembled a world seed and their midnight resupply. Oliver listened intently, nodding along and making small acknowledging noises as Alter continued.


    ¡°So, this outside power of yours, who may or may not be He that gazes beyond, directed you to aid me in securing my position?¡± Oliver clarified.


    ¡°Essentially.¡± Alter confirmed, quite happy to omit the fact that Oliver¡¯s name was not directly mentioned in their official instruction.


    ¡°I see, continue.¡±


    From there, the day''s events were recounted to a reasonable level of accuracy. From Boozehound¡¯s sense of euphoria, to Alter¡¯s mental mauling and Riptide''s dutiful reaffirmation.


    ¡°This is certainly a lot to take in, both for me and I suspect far more for you.¡± Oliver conceded.


    ¡°I apologise for not telling you about it sooner, however given the nature of what we¡¯ve been experiencing I didn¡¯t want to cause any undue concern so early into our working relationship.¡± Alter spoke solemnly, a single hand raised in admittance.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, were I in your shoes I would probably have done the same.¡±


    ¡°What do you think? Are we Kalaton¡¯s Soul Kindlers?¡± Boozehound perked up.


    Oliver¡¯s mouth opened but only to offer a set of teeth as a pre-occupied hand scratched at the bottom of his chin. ¡°The ability to tell when an enemy is close by, strange messages and instructions appearing in the heads of your leaders but not your rank and file. A near instant, much stronger response when you entered the relevant temple. I have never heard of any powers given to the followers of the other gods. As it may have been mentioned to you before, there are no records of Kalaton picking, or even being able to pick, his chosen representatives. I¡¯ve got no historical precedent to refer to, however¡­¡± Oliver¡¯s monologue petered out for a moment as the chin-scratching accelerated.


    ¡°I¡¯d say there¡¯s a strong chance that you could well be. Ahh, if only Lucille were here, she would know better than I. Tell me, did you visit the other temples before Kalaton¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Boozehound admitted, his body visibly tensing as his mind reached for unwanted facts


    ¡°Then I¡¯d suggest you do that when you can, just to confirm that you¡¯re not getting a response from any religious site. Not that I wish to dampen your enthusiasm or pour water on the possibility of such a status.¡± Oliver reassured quickly as he spotted Boozehound¡¯s distress.


    ¡°Needless to say, Sir, it can be agreed that making this public knowledge would not be the best course of action.¡± Alter interjected in an effort to keep the conversation moving forward.


    ¡°I agree wholeheartedly. To make such a claim would lead to a lot of unwanted attention in a delicate time. Our opposition would spin this as a desperate attempt to grab false religious legitimacy on my part, and would use it to further tighten the noose around our necks. This does not get out.¡± Oliver nodded grimly.


    ¡°We understand.¡± Alter¡¯s flat statement was accompanied by nods from the other two men.


    Oliver¡¯s shoulders slumped slightly as he emitted something between a sigh and a chuckle. ¡°You represent a wonderful asset, Captain, and only the Four know where I would be if you hadn¡¯t helped us back in the Badlands. But sometimes I worry I¡¯ve taken in something far beyond my understanding, let alone control.¡± A playful smile formed on his lips.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Well, here¡¯s hoping we don¡¯t have too many more surprises for you. Worrying ones, I mean.¡± Alter matched his expression. ¡°Moving swiftly on, you said you had some preliminary interrogation results for us?¡±


    ¡°Ahh, right.¡± Oliver¡¯s back snapped back to being rigidly upright and his face settled into that of a leader¡¯s seriousness. ¡°Of the four agitators you successfully identified, we¡¯ve been able to confirm that all of them were indeed in my uncle¡¯s indirect employ. Now, one man broke near instantly, more on what he¡¯s been telling us later. The second is hanging tough, I doubt we¡¯re getting anything out of him any time soon. You put some holes in the third man so we haven¡¯t started working on him yet. The fourth man won¡¯t shut up and is making absolutely zero sense. We¡¯re not giving up though, false insanity is a known tactic.¡±


    ¡°So, in actuality we¡¯re only dealing with one man¡¯s testimony, and a suspiciously instant one at that.¡± Riptide sounded a little incredulous.


    ¡°Well, yes.¡± Oliver answered defensively. ¡°But it is our belief that what he told us is accurate. Guilt is a powerful, controlling emotion, and one Winslow is quite adept at exploiting. Anyway, the man comes from a small impoverished village on the border between the two Masserlind controlled territories. The sort of place you never hear about but you see its name in the odd census and wonder if it truly exists. Long story short, the village falls on hard times and a group of futureless young men leave seeking a fresh beginning, ripe with resentment against the local governors. Through accident or design they meet a man who stokes that hateful fire and eventually recruits them for my uncle¡¯s cause. They spend the next year travelling to identical fringes of society, identifying and rousing more to their cause while simultaneously further entrenching themselves in the belief that I, personally, ruined their lives.¡± Oliver slowly crossed to the window and glared resentfully at the world as he spoke, as if a good staredown would solve all his worldly issues.


    The members of the squad exchanged confused glances, while this was interesting enough, the information wasn¡¯t exactly useful in their current situation. It seemed that Oliver shared this thought as a spark of realisation that he¡¯d been rambling caused him to spin back around to face them.


    ¡°Oh, sorry, I¡¯m still digesting all this myself. Let¡¯s get to more pressing matters. Our guest claims to have overheard a conversation between the more senior heads that two of the weapons crates were not staying in the city and have in fact already been smuggled back out. Their alleged destination is to the west, specifically to the border with the neighbouring Dukedom. There they will be used to equip the latest cadre of bandits and troublemakers, who will then cause merry chaos and misery along the dividing line. Honestly, I¡¯m surprised they didn¡¯t think of this before, and now that they have I dread to consider the consequences of their success.¡± He paused to breathe, eyes scrunching closed before opening again.


    ¡°This piece of information coincides wonderfully with another discovery the estate has made. A batch of old uniforms, believed to have been disassembled and sold as loose fabric, were instead taken intact and never reached the destined tailor. Their whereabouts are currently unknown, but¡­¡± He stopped again and prompted someone else to finish the sentence.


    ¡°But it takes no great leap of logic to conclude that they may well be on their way to the same bandits as the crates.¡± Riptide offered conclusively.


    ¡°Precisely. What I have told you, and the conclusions drawn forthwith, lead me to your next assignment. That is to give pursuit and prevent both the weapons and the uniforms from sparking a cross-border incident. The carriages hiding the goods will be in no great rush, so even with a few days head start you should be able to catch them on horseback.¡±


    Alter, who had been nodding along happily and running some internal calculations suddenly halted, a familiar pit opening in his stomach as he pondered the implication of Oliver¡¯s final sentence. He did not know how to ride a horse. None of them did. He did not know how to take care of said horse. None of them did. Now how was he going to explain this?


    ¡°What if I¡¯ve never ridden a horse?¡± Riptide asked.


    You could hear a pin drop. You could hear a pin¡¯s pin drop. Oliver looked like he¡¯d been hit square in the face with an invisible frying pan chilled to a temperature somewhere between Antarctic storm and absolute zero. His jaw worked silently as he wrestled with this new revelation.


    ¡°Do any of you know how to ride?¡± He asked slowly.


    ¡°No.¡±


    The pin¡¯s pin dropped another pin. However, the tendon-torturingly clenched fist hitting the table was much less subtle.


    ¡°I.¡± Oliver began, faint blue light sparking in the corners of his eyes. ¡°Am going to go and find someone to teach you how to ride a horse. You have tomorrow. You leave at dawn the next day regardless of how well it goes.¡± There were no further words spoken; Oliver strode from the room without a backward glance.


    ¡°You could have worded that better.¡± Boozehound remarked to Riptide once a safe amount of time had passed.


    ¡°Was it going to change the outcome?¡± Riptide protested, although his voice was a little shaken.


    ¡°Well if he comes back with a sword in hand then I¡¯m holding you out in front of me.¡± Alter joked limply. ¡°Okay. One of us needs to tell the others what just happened, another needs to find Morgan and ask her if we have any clothes suitable for riding lessons.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m already working on it!¡± Morgan called from the corridor.


    ¡°Lovely.¡± Alter stammered after a momentary pause.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go inform the boys.¡± Riptide announced quietly and left the room.


    ¡°There are some maps in here, right?¡± Boozehound hurriedly stood and moved to a cabinet filled with rolled up parchment.


    Alter moved over to join him and began leafing through the various maps and charts. In truth, his attention was already lost in tomorrow.


    His legs already hurt.

 Ch.44: Horses Are Not Bikes

    Alter was dead. He had to be. He was dead, he had died and gone to hell, and this, this, monstrosity, this beast of pure spite, had been assigned as his eternal tormentor. The ground was hard and unforgiving, and although the grass was certainly green it granted no comfort to his aching spine. Laughter, smug and mocking, stung his ears as he silently raged against his forsaken existence. With a pained sound, a groaning, snarling, cry of anguish he levered himself up onto his elbows and surveyed his surroundings with contempt. A brutal hellscape did not surround him, there was no fire, no lava or brimstone. No pits filled with the wailing damned being tortured evermore by little red men wielding oversized cutlery. The sky was a hazy blue, the scattered and roaming clouds painfully picturesque. With a glacial turn of his neck, he regarded the source of the laughter, now reduced to chuckling and hushed snorts. Sitting atop or leaning against a tall wooden fence, half his squad were more than happy to exhibit their delight at his suffering. A fifth man, coincidentally the only one not currently mid cackle, frowned at him with pursed lips, crossed arms and stormy eyes. All things considered it wasn¡¯t surprising, it being the third time Alter had been sent sailing through the air to land in a sprawling heap in almost as many minutes. By his nemesis. Merrily prancing about in victorious satisfaction. Again, his head swivelled like a security camera in a bank until the beast came into view.


    Pinecone. No, the creature did not deserve a name.


    It.


    ¡°Oh, I know, use It to learn to ride on. It¡¯s always a good idea to start with a horse that already knows who you are.¡± Alter lamented in a mocking tone under his breath.


    ¡°Are you alright, boss?¡± Riptide called out. ¡°You¡¯ve got this! Fourth time¡¯s the charm and all that!¡± The giggling resumed with restored strength.


    ¡°I think perhaps we need to pair you with a different horse.¡± The fifth man stepped in, his deep rumbling voice was all business and left no room for argument.


    With a relieved nod Alter made his plodding way back to the fence and a previously laughing now suddenly quite nervous Whim was ushered forward by their hastily recruited instructor. Having rejoined the others, Alter leaned heavily on the fence and turned to see how the other riders were doing. The three other squad members in the other pens of the quartet were faring much better. Walross, Vangroover and Boozehound guided their mounts in steady circles with varying but equally impressive levels of ability. Satisfied, and a little jealous, he turned his head up, closed his eyes, and allowed the late morning sun to soothe the aches and pains. His peace was short lived, as an annoyed whinny, a Whim-sounding yelp, a thud, and a chorus of Oooh¡¯s painted a vivid mental picture of what had just happened.


    His eyelids cracked open and sure enough Whim was on the floor massaging his tailbone but managing to smile at the same time. Their instructor was busy in the far corner corralling It and grabbing at its reins, bringing the horse to order with a seasoned display of skill.


    ¡°Alright, this one is too high-spirited for a new rider. I¡¯m going to take him back to the stables and bring back another. Keep doing what you¡¯re doing.¡± He called tersely as he opened the pen and led It away.


    The squad watched man and beast leave in awkward silence before Riptide hissed out a breath and smiled wryly.


    ¡°I¡¯m honestly shocked he hasn¡¯t stormed off in disgust yet.¡± He remarked once the man was safely out of earshot.


    ¡°We¡¯re certainly making him work for his money.¡± Whim agreed as he ambled back to them.


    ¡°At least some of us are doing alright.¡± Alter remarked with a generous dash of bitterness, jerking his head towards the more successful squad members.


    ¡°This mission is going to be hell.¡± Pavejack bemoaned.


    ¡°It won¡¯t be as bad as you think. Our somewhat supernatural endurance and recovery times should make travel bearable. I think.¡± Riptide encouraged him with a gentle pat of the shoulder.


    Conversation idled onward as they watched the others make their circuits before motion resumed along the path from the stables ten minutes later. Not just one replacement had been selected, a whole set of four new horses were being led towards them. The instructor, who had introduced himself when they¡¯d first met but Alter had immediately forgotten what his name was, strode at the front.


    ¡°Have any of you had any trouble?¡± He called out to the mounted men as he arrived, to which they confirmed that all was well. ¡°Right then, dismount, those horses will be yours going forward.¡±


    With dramatically varying feats of grace they dismounted and the old horses were taken away by nameless stable hands for a well-deserved break. New horses in place, Riptide, Pavejack, Whim and Boats were ushered onto them for their own trials and tribulations. Or lack thereof as it turned out, much to Alter¡¯s relief and resentment in equal measures.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Despite their lack of experience, the squad was picking up the basic riding techniques quite well, even Alter was able to build a swift rapport with the grey mare beneath him once his turn came around again. By afternoon the instructor was satisfied that they wouldn¡¯t all immediately fall and break their necks if they tried something faster. After a swift lunch where each man sat with his legs spread as widely as possible, the squad was soon carted off to a stretch of well-maintained grassland a short distance outside the city. There they were reunited with their most promising equine partners for an afternoon¡¯s charging about and skeletal-rigidity testing. Blessedly, there were no disasters as they grew more accustomed to the rhythm of canter and gallop. As the sun began to tickle the top of the city walls the call to halt was made and the weary men turned their mounts towards home. Alter chuckled to himself, there¡¯d not been here a week and he¡¯d started thinking of Osprey Hall as home, something to be kept to himself for sure.


    The return through busy streets was a little nerve-wracking but the horses kept thankfully calm as the sea of locals parted and flowed between them. A few individuals in the jumble of faces who perhaps recognised them from the Last Flourish raid shouted at them as they passed but their words were lost to the soundscape of city streets. Turning into the estate they made their way to the attached stables, where a butler was waiting for them to arrive.


    ¡°Captain Alterfate?¡± He asked as they dismounted. ¡°The Lord has summoned you and your lieutenants to the main house. Follow me, please.¡±


    ¡°They couldn¡¯t give us five minutes to remember how our legs work, could they?¡± Boozehound complained as he massaged the inside of his thighs.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± Riptide muttered through gritted teeth. ¡°Just pretend you''re wading through chest-high water.¡±


    ¡°Ahh, grow up you two. Come on.¡± Alter commanded, ignoring the fact that his legs felt more akin to soup than limbs as he attempted to walk as nonchalantly as possible.


    It took approximately double the length of time it would normally take to reach the same room they had been debriefed in after the raid. Stairs were a problem. Oliver regarded them with a pensive expression as they tottered through the door and gave their best shaky salutes.


    ¡°You¡¯re all still in one piece. What is your assessment?¡± He asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be ready.¡± Alter reported.


    ¡°I hope so.¡± His cold demeanour broke and the familiar sheepish half-grin appeared. ¡°Listen, I got a little worked up yesterday. I hope you didn¡¯t take it personally.¡±


    ¡°Not at all.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. Now, you¡¯re not the only ones that have been busy today. Take a look.¡± Oliver indicated a bundle of papers that had been collected on the table. ¡°I¡¯ve had two copies of the local maps made, both are marked with the target¡¯s most likely route. More important, perhaps, are these letters.¡± With a flourish, he pulled a pair of wax sealed envelopes from a jacket pocket.


    ¡°Official documentation?¡± Riptide asked.


    Oliver nodded. ¡°Indeed. The first one is your ¡®Authority of Movement¡¯ paper. Gates, checkpoints, patrols, there are a number of places where you may be halted and questioned. This will get you through.¡± He placed the letter next to the maps gently.


    ¡°That¡¯ll certainly help open a lot of doors, no pun intended. However, we¡¯re not exactly official looking, there are some that might still stop us.¡± Alter cautioned to which the young lord nodded.


    ¡°That¡¯s where this comes in.¡± He held up the other letter. ¡°¡®Authority of Control¡¯, signed by my own hand. Use this in case you need to take command of a situation or location. For example, if the leader of a checkpoint is on my uncle¡¯s side of the board and attempts to stop you. Supplant them.¡±


    The command team gave each other astonished glances, that was a powerful document. A fact that Oliver seemed perfectly aware of as he leaned forwards with a serious look.


    ¡°This seal is not to be broken lightly, Captain. It represents the faith and trust I am placing in you. Do not abuse that fact. This goes in your deepest, most secure pocket and it never sees daylight until unavoidably necessary. The Four only know how much our opponents would sacrifice to get their hands on one of these.¡±


    ¡°Are you certain you want to give us this? We can always move around any obstacles.¡± Alter shifted self-consciously under the weight of Oliver¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Do you doubt my decision?¡± Oliver¡¯s head tilted gently to the side.


    ¡°No.¡± Alter quickly dropped his protest.


    ¡°Then take it.¡± Oliver straightened up again. ¡°In addition, I¡¯ll be sending an extra man along with you who will help you in your task. He¡¯ll look after the horses as you go. They¡¯re as loyal as I can get at such short notice, just remember not to say too much around them.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate it, it¡¯s a relief to know the horses will have an expert taking care of them. I¡¯ll make sure the letters stay unmentioned.¡± Alter nodded.


    ¡°Excellent. Then take these documents, stash them away, and have a very gentle evening. The staff at the hall will wake you at first light, and your horses will be ready to go as soon as you are. Dismissed.¡± Oliver nodded respectfully to them and hurriedly slipped through a side door.


    Alter immediately stepped forward and scooped the letters into his arms before delicately hiding them in the folds of his clothes. The other two both secured maps and together they made their way out of the main building. Back in Osprey Hall there was a quiet but excited feeling as the squad were served their evening meal. True to her word, Morgan had also been busy. Their uniforms sported layers of additional padding down the insides of the trouser sleeves, offering additional protection against chafing without sacrificing mobility. As the plates were cleared and final updates given, a silent determination fell across the group as the shades of night drew its heavy curtain across the world.


    It was no surprise that each man sought his bed early. After all, at dawn they rode.

 Ch.45: Dawn Riders

    Dawn had not entirely arrived when Alter was gently shaken awake. The sky had only just begun its enlightening transformation. A distinct, almost pulsing smudge of orange sat squarely to the east, surrounded by a blooming selection of blues diving back into black as the last few stars desperately held onto visibility. A basin of warm water had been placed in the middle of the room, wisping trails of water vapour reaching upward, silhouetting his clothes that had been neatly arrayed for his convenience. Tabitha offered a quick, silent curtsey before slipping from the room to continue her duties as Alter prised himself from the warmth of the bed. Crossing to the basin, he quickly submerged his face in the floral-scented water and for a few brief seconds pondered the nature of existence. Existence existed, as did he. Lovely. Withdrawing his features, he groped for the small towel hanging from the basin¡¯s side and subjected himself to its rough, thrashing embrace. Replacing the towel and opening his eyes he picked up a small mug of cold water and drained its contents in two long gulps. The mug clattered back onto the side of the basin as Alter entered the time-honoured battlefield of getting dressed, eyes blinking away the last vestiges of moisture still clinging to his eyelashes. Layer by layer he enrobed, pausing briefly to ponder the camouflage scheme they were locked into. By all accounts their destination was primarily woodland and grass prairie, unsuited to the tan, olive and dull orange their desert camo provided. However, they should still register as natural enough to an unwitting eye, the difference not so great as to be considered detrimental.


    Stepping out into the corridor, he could see that the bedroom doors for the other quarters were a mixture of open and closed. The faint smell of cooking tickled his nose as he descended the stairs, causing him to pivot into the dining room where three of his friends were already sitting. If there was joviality in the room, he could not see it. Not that there was any sense of despair or resentment, merely overwhelming tiredness and the looming pressure of purpose. The food was slightly different, rich and complex flavours traded for simple, travel-resistant stability. The men of the squad came and went, when Alter had finished his meal he too returned to his room, fishing the little key from its hiding place beneath the wardrobe and opening the secure footlocker. With hands on hips, he surveyed his assorted equipment. One of the benefits of travelling by horse was the potential for storage, although the prospect of keeping one or more valuable weapons out of his immediate reach was disconcerting. He¡¯d figure it out once he could see what he was working with, for now he began the process of loading himself up normally. One by one, clink by clang, the men clattered their way down to the entrance hall where a bleary-eyed, yawning Winslow leaned heavily against the doorframe.


    ¡°Are you all ready to depart?¡± He asked, his question punctuated by a wry eyebrow.


    Alter counted heads and confirmed that all were present and good to go.


    ¡°Alright then, your mounts are waiting for you outside the city so we¡¯ve got a bit of a walk ahead of us, hence waking you up a little earlier than expected.¡± Winslow explained.


    ¡°Why the sudden change?¡± Riptide asked quickly as the men began filing out into the early morning air.


    ¡°Security concerns. A newly hired stable hand we now believe is in the enemy¡¯s pocket managed to put two and two together about yesterday''s movements. Bastard tried to slip poison into the horses¡¯ feed last night. We¡¯re very lucky we caught him in time.¡± Winslow spoke casually, his voice barely audible over the crunch of boots on gravel.


    ¡°I hope you break him.¡± A growling voice, likely Boats¡¯, came from somewhere behind them.


    ¡°Oh we will, count on that.¡± Winslow rumbled in response, his face briefly scrunching into a spiteful grimace.


    The sudden aggression of the conversation caused it to dwindle out, the men falling into silence as they marched past dark windows and shadow-strewn gardens. Exiting the estate they made their way to the same gate as yesterday. The streets were mostly empty and quiet, however a small number of locals were already up and moving and some early morning businesses were beginning operations. They arrived at the city gate with no ceremony, the heavy portcullis raised just enough for them to duck their way under. The quartet of guards on duty gave curious looks but hurriedly diverted their attention as Winslow fixed them with withering stares.


    By the time they reached the green of grass the sun was emerging over the horizon. The nearby hills and forests were bathed in golden light. The fields glistened with a thick layer of morning dew which, if you squinted hard enough, could be mistaken for a forest of freshly spun spiderwebs. Winslow led them away from the main road and towards a copse of mature trees standing defiant against the push of civilisation and agriculture. Movement could be seen amidst the huddled trunks, men and horses both being picked out by the dawn¡¯s light. Upon sighting their approach, a cluster of men wearing the armour of the Houseguard emerged to greet them. Each one led a horse which Alter quickly identified as their chosen partners. They were fully saddled and harnessed, a sense of anticipation and an eagerness to get going showed in their body language. One of the men was dressed differently from the others, he stepped forward as the two parties met and Winslow beckoned him over.


    ¡°Captain Alterfate, this is Hubert Farfield. He¡¯ll be your liaison for the mission, as mentioned by Lord Masserlind I¡¯m sure.¡±


    The man saluted smartly. ¡°I¡¯m ready to assist, Sir. I¡¯ll keep the horses in top shape even if it kills me.¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Alter regarded the man. He was younger than originally estimated, Alter would put him at the twenty mark and stood a half-head shorter than him. A short but thick tangle of black hair sat atop a freckled, boyish face. His body was thin but not weak looking, his clothes clearly designed for outdoor labour, complete with a belt strung with various unknown tools likely crafted for horse-based work. There was a short sword on one hip, and as the horse he was leading plodded up behind him Alter could see a hunting bow strapped to the saddle.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll do a fine job, Farfield.¡± Alter gave him a smile and a nod. He refused to call a man ¡®Hubert¡¯ on principle.


    Farfield broke into a youthful smile as he finished saluting and led his mount towards the road. Winslow and the squad watched him go.


    ¡°He¡¯s a good kid.¡± Winslow spoke with warmth. ¡°Clever, and damn good at his job despite his appearance. You need not question his motives, he was one of Oliver¡¯s childhood companions, the lad puts a hound¡¯s loyalty to shame.¡±


    ¡°Is he any good in a fight?¡± Whim asked.


    ¡°He¡¯s trained.¡± Winslow answered with a frown. ¡°But not experienced. I would take it as a personal favour, Captain, if you could ensure the lad does not needlessly endanger his life.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll do our best to keep him out of the firing line.¡± Alter reassured the Sergeant before noticing a sudden detail. ¡°Hold on, I only count seven more horses, we''re one short.¡±


    ¡°Ahh, you noticed. There was a slight change of plans. Come with me, the rest of you take your horses to the road and make yourselves ready.¡± Winslow ordered before setting off towards the trees.


    Curious looks were exchanged as Alter followed the man away from the group. As they plunged into the shadow of the canopy and away from listening ears, Winslow began to speak.


    ¡°As a leader, there will always be a certain burden of expectation on you. A leader personally appointed by Lord Oliver himself doubly so. When a stranger on the road looks at you, sees you, they will instantly measure you against what they expect a leader to be. This is a problem. You are a Captain of a knightly order in all but name, but you do not look the part. Your bearing, your mannerisms, they¡¯re too soft. Your men, too relaxed in your presence. Your equipment, while unique and terribly effective as I well know, appears simple. Ungarnished. Those who misunderstand you may call it cheap. Weak. We cannot have that.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine, I like being underestimated.¡± Alter responded defensively but Winslow quickly cut him off.


    ¡°It is not fine. You would sully your master¡¯s reputation. Now, I cannot give you new weapons even if I wanted to. Nor can I dress you in emblazoned armour, it would only compromise your prowess. However, your horse is as much a part of your equipment as anything you carry. Not that I enjoy calling a living being ¡®equipment¡¯. Nevertheless, a Captain riding the same breed as the men behind him reflects badly on our Lord, and that is something we can fix.¡±


    The pair emerged into a small clearing where stood waiting was a middle-aged man tending to another horse. A much larger, much more imposing horse. Its coat was a mixture of dark brown and black, its heavily muscled body exuded sheer power. As its head turned to look at them Alter had to fight the urge to take a half-step backward. This was to be his mount? Surely he was not worthy.


    ¡°How is she doing, Master Farfield?¡± Winslow asked.


    ¡°Ready to get to work, she took to the scent on the saddle surprisingly well.¡± The man answered as he slowly turned around.


    He scrutinised Alter, jabbing his chin at him. ¡°Is he the one?¡±


    ¡°He is.¡± Winslow confirmed.


    ¡°What a terrible joke.¡± The man muttered at a volume deliberately loud enough to be heard by all present.


    ¡°Now, now, don¡¯t be like that. Let¡¯s just see what happens.¡± Winslow laughed gently.


    ¡°Rrrgh, fine. You, take the reins.¡± The second Farfield held out the strapping for Alter to accept.


    Reasoning that to hesitate may well torpedo the whole situation, Alter stepped forward and claimed the offered reins. Farfield Two begrudgingly stood back as man and horse regarded each other. Alter was statuesque as he was watched, scrutinised, sniffed, licked, and nibbled a little. Having seemingly made some sort of decision, the horse let out a hefty snort and took a pair of eager steps.


    ¡°Well I¡¯ll be. Here I was expecting a shattered rib cage.¡± Farfield sounded stunned.


    ¡°I told you.¡± Winslow chuckled, giving the man a hearty slap on the back. ¡°I¡¯ll meet you back on the road, Captain. I¡¯m looking forward to seeing your men¡¯s reactions.¡± He called out before heading back the way they came.


    ¡°Alright then. Introductions. This is Tarikell, she is an eight year old Royal Ebony, originally brought here for the former Lord Masserlind. Her name comes from the old Bersk language meaning ¡®The amount of force needed to guarantee victory¡¯. Mount.¡± Farfield instructed.


    With a little difficulty Alter managed to climb onto Tarikell¡¯s back, the man nodded.


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t immediately thrown you off. Good. On you go, and make sure to keep my boy safe. He¡¯s got talent, unlike the other one.¡±


    Without another word he stalked off in the opposite direction, leaving Alter and his new horse alone.


    ¡°Alright.¡± Alter murmured uncertainly before gently bringing Tarikell up to a trot.


    They emerged from the copse amidst a barrage of cheers and exclamations from the waiting men. Shrugging off the myriad questions and quips he moved to the head of the group and paused. With a wave to Winslow and a click of his tongue, Tarikell began to plunge down the road. The thunder of hooves filled Alter¡¯s ears as the others rushed to catch up. After a few minutes the column settled into a more comfortable pace, and they disappeared into the vast woodlands of the world.

 Ch.46: Life in the Saddle

    Pain. A state of being. A mental response to overwhelming physical stress. A bottomless, steep-sided pit from which salvation is never assured and capitulation is inevitable. The herald of the beginning of the end of all things. Bread. It holds many names, myriad justifications, and an infinite number of lessons to teach. To conclude, pain is not fun, and as Alter struggled his way off Tarikell''s back he could also conclude that he was no masochist.


    The thrill and exhilaration of speed and the whistling wind had lasted about an hour. The excitement of riding a horse through open country almost made it to two. The naive self-congratulation of ¡®Hey I¡¯m adapting to life in the saddle really well!¡¯ ended the moment they stopped for lunch. Now as they dismounted with the sun sitting heavily on the western horizon the idea that legs were supposed to be flexible seemed an almost alien concept. The day itself had been largely uneventful. They had been well advised to quell any hopes of immediately catching up to their targets on the road, but that hadn¡¯t stopped the little sparks of possibility from rooting in their minds as the journey began. Alas, to no one''s surprise, the advice proved correct as the only travellers they encountered were farmers carts or groups of walking peasants that vacated the road the moment they made eye contact. A number of small settlements had been passed, ranging from small agricultural communes to more established villages with basic wooden walls. A couple of times they stopped to make queries to the stationed guards in their simple leathers and basic equipment. However, the answer was always the same. No trade caravans or supply convoys had passed them today. Move along.


    Were they on foot, Alter would¡¯ve pushed onward for another hour yet. But Farfield had advised an earlier break from the road in order to give the horses enough rest to maintain the pace. Trusting the knowledge of the youth, a call to find shelter for the coming night was given. A sizable clearing at the side of the road gave them ample space to rest amongst the thick tangle of trees they had been riding through. From the markings on the ground and the remnants of past fires, this was a well-established stopping point. One by one the men levered themselves from their mounts with varying levels of discomfort. The horses were led to one corner of the clearing where a much healthier looking Farfield had placed several bags of feed. Once the sound of clattering hooves left their ears, the tempting babble of a nearby stream caused the young man to produce a bucket and go charging off in search of the fresh, cool water.


    ¡°He¡¯s a good kid.¡± Walross remarked as they watched him disappear into the treeline. ¡°Eager and efficient, well trained and well disciplined. We could do a lot worse.¡±


    ¡°Quite right.¡± Alter agreed as he massaged his thighs. ¡°Could you imagine if we¡¯d been sent out without anyone to help us care for the horses? It¡¯d be a horror show.¡±


    ¡°We should try not to take too much advantage of his sincerity though. One of us should offer to help him when he gets back. Or three of us.¡± Boozehound commented from where he lay on the floor nearby.


    ¡°But not you?¡± Riptide replied cheekily, gently poking one of the man¡¯s legs with his foot.


    ¡°Eight horses is a bit much for one person, I think. Alright, any volunteers?¡± Alter asked.


    ¡°The younglings, they¡¯ve got energy to burn.¡± Walross gestured broadly towards Pavejack and Vangroover.


    ¡°We¡¯re all helping him.¡± Riptide corrected him firmly. ¡°We need all the experience we can get, and it¡¯ll help us to further strengthen our bonds with our new friends.¡±


    A murmur of reluctant agreement rose in response and when a few minutes later Farfield emerged with his bucket filled to the brim all eight men ambled their way over to request instructions. With a mixture of surprise and flatteredness at their willingness to help, Farfield immediately rattled off a list of instructions for caring for a horse after a long ride. Without waiting to see if they understood he raced off again to bring more water, leaving more than one unfinished question lingering on the lips of those left behind. Uncertainty aside, the men set to work with zeal as cloths were produced from pre-packed saddlebags and each man set to rubbing their horse down. Time passed, Farfield continued his water delivery service, handing out tips and advice during his fleeting visits. By the time the sun had fully sunk out of view and the light of the newly lit fire became the dominant source, Alter was the only man still hard at work. Tarikell had a substantially larger surface area than the rest of her kind, but in all fairness Alter was enjoying the simplicity of such a repetitive task.  Eventually however, there was no more to do and he was relinquished of his ostling duties. He himself had built up quite a sweat, as such the heat of the fire was unappealing to him. A comfortable log a short distance away made a much more pleasant seat, where he could bask in the cool of the evening and enjoy what food he had in peace. A peace which didn¡¯t last as long as he would have liked.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Time for another unlicensed therapy session with your favourite Belgian second-in-command¡± Riptide announced cheerfully as he planted himself on the log next to him.


    ¡°Ooh, lucky me.¡± Alter joked as he shifted to make more room. ¡°Same as last time?¡±


    Riptide nodded. ¡°What do you want first? The list?¡±


    ¡°Works for me. Starting with our local fresh convert.¡± Alter stole a glance over to the fire where the rest of the squad was happily distracted by asking Farfield twenty questions every three seconds.


    ¡°Boozehound. Marcus worries me, man. He¡¯s changing so quickly. Too quickly. The moment this religious stuff got in his head he threw all his critical thinking to the wind. To be fair, he¡¯s keeping it to himself for now. But I don¡¯t think that¡¯ll last too much longer.¡± Riptide shifted uneasily as he spoke, not enjoying the light he was painting his friend in.


    ¡°We need to make sure his new viewpoint doesn¡¯t compromise what we¡¯re doing. His duties as our medic should help with that. I¡¯ll talk to him if I think he¡¯s muddying the waters too much.¡±


    ¡°Right. Moving on to Boats, he¡¯s worrying me in a different way, actually.¡±


    ¡°You mean the fact that he¡¯s advocating for violence whenever the option presents itself?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. We both know he has a nasty side but he always kept it on a tight leash. It¡¯s like being here is an excuse to loosen his grip on that emotion.¡±


    ¡°You think he might go too far?¡± Alter asked quickly.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe? Another thing to watch out for, I guess.¡± Riptide kicked at the floor a couple of times, a hint of frustration in his voice.


    ¡°Pavejack. Assessment?¡± Alter moved the conversation on.


    ¡°All told, pretty good. He¡¯s stabilising well, and he¡¯s sleeping through the night instead of waking up half a dozen times. Nothing else to report, thank goodness. Moving on, Peter is Peter and honestly, he¡¯s been surprisingly calm. He still hates being here, and he still won¡¯t show that to you unasked. But he¡¯s not trying to sabotage our efforts either.¡±


    ¡°Then I have no complaints.¡±


    ¡°Whim is happy, I¡¯m not worried about him... Vangroover creeps me out a little, if I¡¯m being honest.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s like he¡¯s always judging me. Judging all of us. I keep catching him watching everyone out of the corner of my eye, little gestures and responses, silent words on barely moving lips. Like he¡¯s keeping score in a game that I can¡¯t figure out the rules for.¡±


    Alter made a thoughtful noise, his memory reaching back to the brief conversation they¡¯d shared back in the migrant camp. ¡°I think there¡¯s something we don¡¯t know about him, a hidden history of sorts.¡±


    ¡°Yeah? Reckon he¡¯s some sort of hidden Rambo character?¡± Riptide asked curiously.


    ¡°Nothing like that, but he spoke as if he knew military life despite his age. Something to keep in the back of your mind if he starts opening up a little more.¡±


    ¡°Right. As for me, I¡¯m doing alright. I think I¡¯ve calmed down a little since we last did this. The whole ¡®responsibility¡¯ thing is heavier than I thought it would be, though. Knowing that it¡¯s only going to get heavier scares me a little. Scares me a lot.¡± Riptide¡¯s eyes sank to the floor.


    ¡°I agree. But you¡¯re doing very well, everyone believes that. Keep your head up, mm?¡±


    A moment of silence was shared. ¡°Thanks.¡± Riptide spoke softly. ¡°And you?¡±


    ¡°Still deciding. On one hand I kind of wish I had a smaller horse. On the other, having a bigger horse is badass.¡± Alter spoke resolutely.


    Riptide let out a short burst of laughter, shaking him loose from his self-imposed melancholy. Alter grinned in response.


    ¡°Serious answer, I think I¡¯m adapting well to this new life. You know me, home is where I slept last night and all that. We¡¯ve got a solid foundation to build on, allies to lean on. We¡¯ve got clues, paths, avenues of exploration available to us. We are learning, we are growing. We¡¯ll make it, whatever ¡®it¡¯ may be.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s an awful lot of we¡¯s in the segment about you. But I¡¯m happy to call that a decent frame of mind. That¡¯s the lot, unless you want to add anyone new to our little roster?¡± Riptide asked searchingly.


    ¡°Not unless you want us to count the horses. In which case Tarikell is the best one and I will stand no arguments.¡±


    ¡°Not biased at all. Any which way, that¡¯s enough lurking in the periphery. We should rejoin the others.¡± Riptide stood.


    ¡°Fine.¡± Alter followed suit, he¡¯d cooled down enough to stand being nearer to the flames.


    The pair found places to sit in the wider circle as the fire blazed merrily against the darkening world. Laughter and conversation chased the shadows far away. Another night in the Elsewhere. Another sleep towards the rapidly approaching future.

 Ch.47: Closing the Distance

    It had rained overnight. The ground was heavy and sodden with moisture, the trees were coated with a halo of glistening droplets and slender tendrils of water vapour snaked upward into the morning sky. The clouds had moved on but a stubborn few still lingered on the horizon, as if smugly observing the inconvenience they had caused. The moist and miserable men huddled around a struggling fire, the damp wood resisting every effort to cause it to combust. All the way around the circle the question was asked of how each man was feeling. The near universal answer was as Alter had hoped, a bit stiff but much better than expected. Their elevated recovery rates once again proved essential to their chances of success. Once the horses were readied then they would be on their way again, although the change in conditions added an element of uncertainty to their potential progress.


    ¡°This weather is going to make things so much worse. Just look at the road.¡± Pavejack complained as he cast a rueful eye towards the muddy trail.


    ¡°Are you kidding me? This is ideal.¡± Riptide countered as the only chipper member of the group.


    ¡°And why is that?¡± Walross shot back icily.


    ¡°I mean, sure we¡¯re going to lose some speed going through all that, but remember what we¡¯re chasing. Having to pull heavy wagons or carriages through this muck? Our targets are going to be moving at at least half their normal pace, we can really close the distance in this.¡± Riptide straightened his back and gave a softly smug look to his audience.


    ¡°That¡¯s assuming the rain hit the roads ahead just as hard as it did here.¡± Walross protested.


    ¡°The clouds did roll in from the west, I¡¯d say there¡¯s a good chance the entire province got soaked.¡± Boats replied thoughtfully, having been the only one awake at the rain¡¯s arrival.


    ¡°It¡¯s an advantage, sure, but we should temper our expectations a little.¡± Alter cautioned. ¡°It doesn¡¯t change the fact that they¡¯ve had a mighty head start. Plus, I don¡¯t think the circumstances are so dire that I would be willing to risk injuring our horses for the sake of gaining an extra hour or two.¡±


    ¡°Fair point.¡± Riptide conceded before looking over to the horses. ¡°What do you think? How fast can we travel today?¡± He called out.


    Farfield¡¯s head popped out from behind one of the breakfast-eating mounts.


    ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be too bad, these horses are trained to charge through mud much deeper than what we¡¯ll encounter today. Still though, there will be an increased risk of one of them slipping and potentially breaking something. My advice, don¡¯t push them too hard and trust them to control their speed. If they all start slowing down, let them. They know a lot more about staying on their feet than you do. Ahh, no offense meant, Sirs.¡±


    ¡°None taken, your insight is much appreciated.¡± Riptide turned back to the huddled group. ¡°There you have it, today is a prime opportunity to reel those bastards in.¡±


    The conversation quickly devolved as finally the sparks of flame took root and a ragged cheer rose at the prospect of food with a singular grain of warmth. Breakfast was produced and lasted approximately twenty seconds. A new record, not that anyone was counting. Once finished, the men quickly stamped out the young fire and packed their sleeping gear into their saddlebags.


    ¡°If you¡¯re all ready to move, you can come over here and I¡¯ll run you through the steps to make sure your horse is fit to travel.¡± Farfield called.


    The next fifteen minutes was spent at rapt attention as the young ostler explained his craft. They were taught which straps needed tightening after being loosened at night for the horse¡¯s comfort. How to safely and securely attach their bags without causing chafing. The locations of spots on the harness which can wear out faster than anticipated. Finally, the body language and subtle gestures horses make when they¡¯re uncomfortable. All necessary lessons met with vigorous nodding and the unspoken understanding that half of it would be forgotten by the end of the day.


    ¡°What do we reckon? All happy?¡± Alter asked Tarikell quietly as he finished his adjustments and stepped back to examine his work.


    His horse regarded him with her deep chocolate-coloured eyes filled with the unfathomable depths of unspoken, unspeakable wisdom. One ear flicked lazily to the side, the only indicator that she had registered his question at all.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a positive.¡± Alter muttered with a bemused snort as he hauled himself upward into the saddle and guided her towards the road.


    The squad gathered and soon they were on their way once more. The thunder of hooves was replaced by a steady squelch and splash as they surged through puddles and muddy lagoons. Trees continued to crowd their flanks, and would do so for the rest of the day if Farfield¡¯s estimate was correct. Alter was glad to be at the front of their double column, a quick glance backward revealed a hail of dirt clods flying upward towards those at the rear. The ideas of fitting the horses with mudguards forced his way into his mind which was worthy of a quick chuckle but no further consideration as the men settled into the steady rhythm of progress.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Hours passed. The road continued to wind between low hills covered in dense foliage. Not a soul was met as the unknown distance was trampled beneath them. The western sky was slowly filling with lead grey clouds, promising a fresh batch of rain to come. Having sunk into the expectation of another fruitless day, the squad was understandably excited when the first evidence of their potential quarry appeared.


    Rounding a corner, another clearing turned campground appeared to their right. As they got closer the evidence of recent human activity mounted, and Alter called a halt for some quick investigative work. Three separate ash piles, recent enough to maintain the tiniest hint of warmth, were found in various corners of the space. Areas of flattened grass indicated several tents had been utilised, combined with the tracks of numerous horses. The biggest takeaway however, was the deep ruts and channels driven into the mud of the road. Wagon tracks, and more than one set.


    ¡°See how the lines cross and merge?¡± Whim pointed out eagerly. ¡°These are heavy, four wheeled transports. Three of them, with two horses pulling each one. I like what we¡¯re seeing here, boys.¡±


    ¡°If this was their campground last night, how far do you think they could have made it today, Farfield?¡± Alter asked as he absently kicked at one of the ash piles.


    ¡°If they moved with the eagerness that we¡¯ve shown then we won¡¯t catch them today. Remember, the horses have to work harder while moving through the muck so we¡¯ll be stopping earlier in turn.¡±


    ¡°Something tells me that isn¡¯t the case.¡± Vangroover spoke up, pointing back at the road. ¡°Look at where one of the wagons swung onto the road there. One of the rear wheels split the mud ridge the front one made, allowing water to drain from one side to the other.¡±


    Their curiosity peaked, the men ambled over to the indicated spot and scrutinised the aforementioned break in the ridge.


    ¡°There¡¯s still a little bit of water leaking through.¡± Pavejack observed.


    ¡°If they left at the same time we did then that water would be long finished moving. They had a late start, perhaps they were stuck waiting for the mud to dry a little before they could set off.¡± Riptide mused.


    ¡°Does that make sense?¡± Boozehound turned to Farfield who pondered the question before shrugging.


    ¡°That sounds possible, maybe they¡¯re closer than I thought.¡± He responded after a pause.


    ¡°Good enough for me. Let¡¯s get going, maybe we¡¯ll make contact today after all.¡± Alter ordered and the squad hurriedly stumbled back to the waiting horses.


    There was a renewed sense of purpose as they launched back into the pursuit, an exhilaration at the prospect of rounding each corner that presented itself. Minutes passed in eager anticipation as the tracks they followed grew clearer and more recent. Further ground was gained as they came upon a small stretch where much deeper ruts were marked with signs of digging and the slim rectangular imprints of wooden boards. One of the wagons had become stuck here, it must¡¯ve taken them some time and effort to free it.


    ¡°Now that contact is looking more likely, what¡¯s our method of approach?¡± Boozehound shouted from immediately behind.


    ¡°It¡¯ll depend on their show of force.¡± Alter called back. ¡°If they look like regular folks then we pull alongside and ask them to come to a stop. If they¡¯ve got armed guards, which I imagine they will if they are who we¡¯re looking for, then we go past them without stopping. Once we¡¯re safely out of sight we find a good place to keep the horses before backtracking on foot. These horses are well trained but I don¡¯t think they¡¯re going to react well to gunfire. Mounted combat is out of the question.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡±


    Alter felt his grip on the reigns tighten subconsciously as they continued. Another straight revealed yet more incidents of a wagon bogging down and needing to be freed. A large puddle whose banks had been breached was still merrily disgorging its contents into the newly made channels. A small pile of horse dung sat amidst the dirt with a thin wisp of steam emanating from its grass-streaked mass. One last bend was rounded, and there they were.


    Just as predicted, three heavy looking wagons with closed canvas roofs struggled their way forwards, pulled by pairs of thick-legged, shaggy haired draft horses. Each wagon had a pair of men walking alongside it, men who were already looking at the approaching riders as the sound of their approach gave them away.


    ¡°Watch out ahead!¡± Riptide yelled next to him. ¡°Riders passing on both sides!¡±


    The footmen scuttled into the gaps between horse and wagon as the columns split to pass the much slower vehicles. Alter turned to look as he thundered by, each wagon had a pair of men on their front benches, a driver and a spare. He quickly noticed that each of these men had a sword strapped to one hip. He was also quick to realise that he recognised these weapons. Armaments produced by the Royal Djarel Foundry, shiny and new. Alter allowed himself a tight-lipped smile and waved the squad to continue without slowing. They had their men.


    The columns closed back together as the forward wagon was eclipsed and the squad forged onward until a close together pair of turns slalomed them out of sight. A short distance later they found a small gap in the trees that made for an ideal stopping point. Horses suitably ensconced, orders were given for Farfield to remain while the squad readied their weapons and moved back to the road. The hostile proximity warning had not triggered, these men had no idea what they were rolling into.

 Ch.48: Cargo Inspection

    ¡°How do you want to handle this?¡± Riptide asked as the men assembled on either side of the road.


    ¡°Officially.¡± Alter responded after a brief moment of consideration. ¡°We walk back to them and state our identities and intentions clearly. Keep your weapons trained on them but remember we are not free to engage unless they make a hostile move. So long as they comply with the order to stop what they¡¯re doing, drop their weapons and step away from the wagons then no shots need be fired.¡±


    ¡°And if we round the corner to find they¡¯re already hostile?¡±


    ¡°Then we deal with them.¡± Was the blunt response.


    ¡°Do you want Team Two off the road at point of contact? An L-shaped ambush would work well here.¡±


    Alter shook his head. ¡°Nah, I want a full show of manpower from the get go, less chance of them thinking a salvo of arrows or a rush play might work. Provided they comply with instructions, Team One shepherds them off to the left side and keeps them honest while Team Two moves up the right and searches the carts.¡±


    ¡°Safeties on then.¡± Whim commented idly as they began their squelching march back down the road.


    Alter considered reinforcing the point but eventually let it slide as they moved. He kept his eyes straight ahead as the familiar giddiness of the impending possibility of combat settled into his stomach. They reached the first of the two turns a minute later, his heartbeat and breathing rate steadily accelerating as the seconds to contact counted down. However, the convoy had not yet reached the road¡¯s twist and so they continued unopposed. The distance before it curved back to its original orientation was minimal and soon both parties came into view of each other.


    The first wagon was thirty metres away, moving slowly through a particularly deep section of muddy ooze. As the squad appeared around the corner, the driver quickly spotted them and entered a rushed, whispering conversation with his assistant. This second man rose slowly to his feet, one arm quietly reaching behind the wooden bench, face quizzical and eyes narrow. It took the two flanking guards another couple of seconds before they redirected their attention away from the motion of the beleaguered wheels. Trading looks with each other they cautiously advanced, hands straying towards sword-loaded hips. The guards of the second wagon soon took notice as well, and word that something was afoot quickly brought the other wagons to a halt. For a soft moment the scene was dominated by an eerie silence broken only by the gentle rustling of the trees.


    ¡°Squad, weapons ready and advance. You know your jobs.¡± Alter ordered quietly.


    The two teams formed a wall of bodies and weaponry across the road and as one began moving forwards at roughly one pace per second. As the leader of the unit, shouting at confused members of the opposition was socially beneath him. That sacred duty fell to the lieutenants of the world, a responsibility Riptide adhered to with gusto.


    ¡°In the name of Lord Oliver Masserlind, you are hereby ordered to drop your weapons, dismount, and step away from the vehicles!¡± He roared, his voice slipping into his native Flemish accent under the intense volume.


    ¡°Who the fuck do you think you are, blocking the road like this?¡± One of the more advanced guards bellowed in return, hand wrapped defiantly around the hilt of his sword.


    Alter¡¯s mouth tightened in annoyance at their lack of immediate cooperation. It was the increasingly familiar problem of people not recognising the threat a gun posed, he could feel the fight creeping closer as a bow began to emerge from behind the wagon-driver¡¯s bench.


    ¡°Squad halt, safeties off but keep those fingers off triggers. Give them every chance.¡± He amended, receiving several clicks in response. An ominous sound if you knew what it meant.


    ¡°We are knights in the service of the house of Masserlind, and we have orders to search any and all wagons moving along the road. Don¡¯t do anything you could regret.¡± Riptide warned.


    The challenging man sneered at his statement. ¡°Bullshit, you¡¯re just a bunch of bandits who are dumb enough to think you can scare us. Fuck off or taste steel!¡± There was a rasping sound as he drew his sword and pointed it at them.


    By this point the second pairs of guards had caught up to the first and a pair of bows were visible but not yet readied.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think asking nicely will cut it. Gonna need to scare them, boss.¡± Boats murmured. ¡°Could knock Loudmouth¡¯s shoulder for six, that¡¯d get their attention.¡±


    ¡°Aim.¡± Alter ordered with a snarl of his own.


    The standoff continued, Riptide and the lead guard exchanging warnings and threats as all the while the two parties continued to get closer. It was the bowman on the lead wagon that blinked first, in a sudden movement he readied an arrow and began to draw the bowstring back. Boats was alert though, and before the man could bring his arrow to bear a shot from the marksman rifle cracked out. The wood of the bench next to the man exploded in a shower of splinters as a dozen birds launched into the sky in blind panic. The guards faltered, their heads snapping around to the impact and the swearing bowman who dropped his armament in fright. Boats waited for their faces to turn back to them before letting loose another round. One of the wagon¡¯s wheels similarly erupted in shards and the tethered horses whinnied and stood on their hind legs as the loud noises threatened to see them panic and attempt to bolt.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°You were given an order. Swords down and step away!¡± Boats thundered.


    The caravaners were rattled, it was plain to see. They glanced at each other nervously, their sword points edging closer to the ground as they shuffled in place. The newly silenced leader turned to face them slowly, his own sword arm steady and raised. With a look of pure disgust he pointed his blade directly at them, and just as Alter was preparing to order a disabling shot, his fingers parted and the sword fell to the ground with a soft thud.


    Nobody spoke as his arm slowly dropped to his side. Disbelief was written on the faces of both parties. He motioned for his companions to do the same, and after a hesitant second more blades met the floor.


    ¡°Move up.¡± Alter ordered.


    The two teams split as they progressed with their plan. Alter¡¯s group ushered the men to the treeline and placed themselves between them and their surrendered blades. Riptide edged his group along the far side, stopping once to deal with the second driver who needed a little more persuasion. After another tense minute all heads were accounted for and the search was underway. The men were made to sit amidst the closest trees facing away into the forest, and while they grumbled quietly to each other there was no immediate hint of any death-or-glory resistance. Alter stepped back and stole a glance into the nearest wagon. It was piled high with boxes and baskets, sacks and pots. Riptide and Vangroover were determined to be thorough, and nothing was left unopened. The first wagon was declared clear ten minutes later, and at fifteen a shout from the middle wagon drew everyone¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Look what we have here!¡± Whim called as he upended a large leather trunk out onto the muddy road.


    Light blue uniforms were scattered across the path, trousers and jackets clearly emblazoned with the Masserlind coat of arms.


    Pavejack let out a low whistle. ¡°Looks like someone¡¯s in trouble.¡± He cooed in a singsong voice.


    There was no answer from the sitting men, but the tensing of muscles throughout indicated more than one guilty conscience. A short while later a second trunk emerged from the rear wagon and a nice pile of clothing was made in the middle.


    ¡°That¡¯s the lot.¡± Riptide reported as he strolled over to Alter. ¡°No weapons to be found, we checked every container, we even searched under the beds for hidden compartments. Everything else is mundane trade goods.¡±


    ¡°We weren''t expecting to find both objectives at once to begin with.¡± Alter shrugged. ¡°There are too many to take with us, burn them, then find me some rope.¡±


    Riptide nodded and moved away. Alter watched intently as flame was coaxed into existence and the tumble of garments began to burn. Satisfied that the flames were sufficient but not too wild to risk spreading, he turned back to the sitting men.


    ¡°Here¡¯s how this is going to work. We¡¯re tying you up and leaving you here, for now. The next town is a couple of hours away, there I¡¯ll give orders for the local guard to come and pick you up and take you into custody. I¡¯ll leave it up to them as to how you¡¯re dealt with but I¡¯ll make sure they know you surrendered peacefully.¡± He informed them.


    Again there was no verbal response, a couple of the men spat angrily into the woods as a sign of defiance while others meekly accepted his words. With slow, careful movements and constant reminders of what was pointed at them, each man was turned and bound by their arms and legs.


    ¡°What will become of us?¡± The leader asked as his turn arrived.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Alter answered simply, the finer points of this nation¡¯s justice system were beyond him.


    ¡°What if the guards never come for us?¡± He continued.


    ¡°Then you shall have to hope that more travellers find and release you before anything terrible happens.¡±


    ¡°You would let us starve?¡± He laughed dryly, causing his fellow prisoners faces to pale at the thought.


    ¡°Would you rather I had ordered my men to kill you? Be thankful for your chance at life.¡± Alter growled as he leaned in, allowing a wave of emotion to cloud his judgement before pulling away again.


    Trusting his friends to finish the job he walked a short distance away and blew out a pent-up breath. There he remained, facing down the road towards where their horses were being kept, one ear listening to what was happening behind him. A set of footsteps betrayed one of his companion¡¯s approached him.


    ¡°Everyone is secure and the uniforms are already too damaged to be useful.¡± The quiet voice of Walross reported.


    ¡°Do you think we¡¯ve taken the correct action today, Peter?¡± Alter asked, not turning his head.


    The other man considered his words for a moment. ¡°No one died, and with those authorization papers you¡¯ve got then the guards shouldn¡¯t kick up a fuss about securing them later. I think we¡¯re doing the best we can, given the circumstances.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re abandoning them in the wilderness.¡±


    ¡°Better than leaving a pile of bodies in our wake. Like we usually do.¡± Walross let a slight edge enter his voice. Not enough to be considered a threat, more of a tactical reminder.


    Alter nodded at his wisdom as the others finished their duties and formed up around him. It was time to go, and the order was given to return to their mounts. Alter stole a glance backwards as they left, and offered a silent prayer that he hadn¡¯t just abandoned twelve men to a horrid fate.

 Ch.49: Friends in High Places

    The squad watched in relief as the mounted column of guardsmen rallied from the nearby town of Kingspool disappeared into the treeline. It had taken multiple hours of tense and frustrating negotiations to reach this point. The commander of the local garrison was none too impressed when the strange men claiming to wield the authority of the territorial lord marched into his office. An offense doubled by the horrifying amount of mud they had carried in with them. With their somewhat dishevelled first impression already scoring negative points, an uphill battle to convince him to help ensued. From firm but polite, to fists clenched beneath the table, to full blown sabre-rattling and the mentioning of the word ¡®gallows¡¯. Finally, with a slow and deliberate motion Alter had revealed the wax-sealed letter containing his penned Authority of Control, his steely gaze never leaving the commander¡¯s defiant pupils. Fortunately, the sight of the Masserlind coat of arms stamped into the wax was enough to dislodge his reluctance. The seal remained unbroken, the true nature of the document left only to the imaginations of those who were not there for its bestowment.


    Unfortunately, acceptance of the order did not equal immediate compliance. Further precious time was lost ensuring that action was actually taken. By the time men and horses were prepared, briefed, and dispatched, the question of whether any further travel was worth it today held considerable weight. Eagerness to complete the job managed to overcome the longing for proper accommodation and so the decision to continue was made. With the sight of the guard¡¯s departure, and the subsequent loss of the heavy blanket of guilt that had settled over his shoulders, Alter turned Tarikell westward and resumed their pursuit. The horses had been treated to an unexpected break, there was still a good couple of hours available for travel.


    The town of Kingspool marked the end of the dense forest as the land grew increasingly rocky, sparse and wind-swept. Sharp inclines spoke of a once highly volcanic landscape, worn away over centuries of exposure to fast flowing rivers and nightly freezes. Still though, a good number of resolute igneous rock formations stood proud, silhouetting on the horizon line like mighty stone trees. A scattering of smaller patches of woodland could be seen, but they were smaller, hardier species that seemingly held no great desire for conquest. The road snaked between these features, the thinner topsoil reducing the amount of mud to be avoided. Instead, the rockier substrate caused gravel-bottomed channels and gullies up to a foot deep that would suddenly lunge across their path as the water that created them followed the gravitational path of least resistance. As they once again left civilisation in their wake, the increasing wildness of the terrain reminded them of the Adderbite Badlands minus the heat and desolation.


    Two hours of cantering later, a tall line of hills hosted a large rock bluff which emerged from their side like a barnacle attached to a whale. Its slopes were sheer but a small river had managed to carve a navigable canyon which plant life was slowly but diligently expanding upon. Taking it as a sign to find shelter from the rising wind and cooling temperature, the squad dismounted and led the horses into the gap. Eventually finding a wider, almost circular area deeper within the confines of the bluff.


    ¡°This is some Lord of the Rings shit. Hey, does anybody see any suspicious doors carved into the rock?¡± Pavejack asked as he looked around.


    Alter chuckled and rolled his eyes as the conversation quickly dissolved into people claiming to be various characters and all the good-natured arguing that ensues from such discussion. Fortunately, Farfield was too absorbed in his evening duties to pay much mind to the strange names and bizarre references. A three-man party was sent to acquire some firewood as the others made camp, once they returned a large fire was coaxed to life. Their ostler had split from the group at Kingspool and had used the time to restock their provisions, tonight''s meal would be a step up in quality all the more sweetened by their recent success.


    ¡°We¡¯re being watched.¡± Whim reported causally between mouthfuls of hot stew.


    ¡°What?¡± Alter asked quickly, his bowl clattering to the floor as he hurriedly set it down and reached for his sidearm.


    ¡°Look up.¡± Whim smiled, head craning back to take in the darkening sky.


    Confused, the other men also turned their eyes upward to the surrounding cliffs. For a few seconds Alter saw nothing before subconscious pattern recognition picked out a dozen gently shifting shapes poking out from the many small ledges that perforated the bluff. A moment later he registered the two dozen softly glowing yellow eyes that observed the group keenly. Hungrily.


    ¡°Birds?¡± Walross asked as he squinted up at them.


    ¡°Northern Flaybeaks.¡± Farfield answered after a moment¡¯s thoughtful chewing. ¡°It¡¯s not surprising to find small colonies in places like this. They can grow pretty big but they¡¯re primarily scavengers so you shouldn¡¯t worry too much. The worst they¡¯ll do is make a lot of noise fighting for any leftovers.¡±


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    That last statement was all the instruction Whim needed. Within a heartbeat two respectably large chunks of stewed rabbit went sailing through the air to land at the edge of the firelight with a wet thud. In response a series of warbling cackles filled the air, a noise akin to a magpie if it was trained in classical opera. A few of the more adventurous birds began hopping their way downward from perch to perch, stopping frequently to regard the sitting men with fresh suspicion.


    ¡°So much for a peaceful night''s sleep. They¡¯ll be pestering us until sunrise.¡± Riptide bemoaned.


    ¡°A price I am willing to pay for a new best friend bird.¡± Whim responded with a wide, boyish grin.


    ¡°What, is a horse not good enough for you?¡± Alter teased.


    ¡°Glorious Steve is more of a business partner though. I need someone I can get up to shenanigans with.¡± Whim¡¯s eyes sparkled mischievously.


    ¡°Your horse is not called ¡®Glorious Steve¡¯.¡± Pavejack groaned, a despairing palm covering his eyes.


    ¡°I have renamed him thus.¡± Was the smug reply.


    Further conversation was drowned out by the sudden din of a burgeoning squabble. Three flaybeaks had built up the courage to go for the rabbit, their grey and green feathered forms dancing in and out of the light. Large, pointed beaks with serrated, almost spiked, edges fought for the warm morsels. Two of the birds were larger, and soon claimed their prizes and flew back to their lofty perches for a mid-evening snack. The third, smaller in size, hopped and skipped around the outskirts of the group, bright eyes hopeful of a fresh offering. Whim was more than happy to oblige and another lump of meat was fished out of the pot and slung in its direction.


    ¡°That¡¯s the one. You shall be Roberto.¡± Whim smiled affectionately as it devoured its meal.


    ¡°Humans will pack-bond with anything I guess.¡± Walross laughed.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if¡­¡± Farfield spoke up with uncertainty.


    ¡°It¡¯s too late, lad. He¡¯s already named it.¡± Alter sighed.


    While Whim and the newly titled Roberto continued working on their new found friendship, the others finished their meals and settled down for the night. Boats and Vangroover made the noble sacrifice of guarding the entrance to their concealed campsite with a small contingent of the opportunistic flaybeaks scurrying after them.


    Morning came silently and with a distinct chill. With the rocks blocking the dawn sunrise, a good hour was lost before the dim light brought the first few men to consciousness. Alter was greeted by the sight of his own breath as he stomped his way over to last night¡¯s fireplace.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like we¡¯re going to get any more rain after all. Our targets will be able to travel at a faster pace going forward.¡± Riptide grumbled as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.


    ¡°So will we.¡± Alter reminded him. ¡°All going well today will be our last full day of travel before we reach the border. If they got as bogged down as yesterday¡¯s bunch then they won¡¯t be too far ahead.¡±


    ¡°Then we should talk about the possible encounter now. I¡¯d wager at least three internal organs that whoever they¡¯ve got transporting weapons will be a lot more aggressive.¡± Riptide signalled the others to gather around.


    ¡°A fair assessment. However, the world has decided to give us a wonderful palette of terrains to operate in. We have hilltops and blind spots aplenty to work with.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going for a proper ambush this time?¡± Boats asked.


    Alter nodded. ¡°Providing we have the opportunity to set one up, yes. Come on, get yourselves and your horses fuelled up and ready to move.¡±


    Each man attended to his own duties as they prepared to leave once more. They were getting more practised, the amount of advice Farfield needed to dispense lessened by the day. One by one they began leading their mounts out of the rocks before climbing aboard once safely out. Alter was the last to step out of the cleft and into the morning sunlight before swinging himself onto Tarikell¡¯s back.


    ¡°Alright, are we all ready?¡± He asked as he double checked his saddlebags.


    He was met with a chorus of affirmatives and one determined squawk. He blinked once, twice, before turning around and glaring at Whim in disbelief.


    ¡°Are you serious?¡± He asked.


    ¡°What?¡± Whim replied innocently as he tilted his head to one side, a gesture matched perfectly by the bird perched snugly on his shoulder.


    ¡°I ¡­ Just.¡± Alter stammered before surrendering to his friend¡¯s inescapable ability to achieve the unnecessary. ¡°Just make sure it doesn¡¯t give us away or anything.¡±


    Ignoring the snarky chuckling that bubbled from the throats of several of the men behind him, he prodded Tarikell into motion. It was going to be another long day in the saddle.

 Ch.50: Off the Beaten Track

    Tragedy can strike at any time. It can be loud, as a car accident is loud, a horrifying moment of twisted inevitability. But it can also be quiet. Silent and prolonged. Weeks of sombre visits watching a beloved family member lose their sparks of self within the cold and sterile confines of hospital walls. Like it or not, whether it¡¯s in the forefront of your mind or hidden in the dustiest corner of memory, the great clock of tragedy is always ticking. Today, not even an hour into their day¡¯s travel, did this loathsome beast raise its sadistic head. In a move that everybody but one predicted, Roberto did not hang around for long. The bird realised that more food was not immediately forthcoming and home was rapidly approaching the horizon. With a dismissive squawk and a flutter, the hypothesis that a handful of lumps of cooked rabbit and half a carrot is enough to fully tame a wild animal was proven incorrect. Whim was understandably devastated, abandoned, betrayed, distraught, depressed and overall not having the best of mornings. The squad was quick to give their sympathy and commiserations, however there was more than a little hidden relief sitting beneath the surface. Birdless and forlorn, the men pressed on.


    The land became more extreme as they moved, a gentle incline sending them ever higher above sea level. The dark rock outcroppings became larger and more pronounced. Ancient mountains, worn away to almost nothing over countless centuries of weathering. The plants grew smaller and hardier, and while grasses still held dominion across the areas of flat ground the overall diversity of species plummeted. Through all this the trade road snaked, navigating past cracked boulders and tumbling scree. As they moved, they searched. As they searched, they found. The trail grew hot once more, hoof prints dug into the dusty soil and recently compacted gravel betrayed the passage of heavy wheels. A campsite tucked in a shady, sheltered corner held ashes that looked older than the previous caravan¡¯s. A fact backed up by the dryness of the small piles of horse manure. This group was still a good day or two ahead.


    It was mid afternoon when the tracks suddenly veered off the road, with a preliminary investigation showing that they were not the only ones to do so. A freshly trampled path led away from the beaten track, mostly footprints but with evidence of other horses and wagons alongside. A route which quickly twisted its way out of view into what appeared to be a particularly dense tract of outcroppings and narrow canyons. Perfect for a concealed base of operations.


    ¡°This place has got an ambush written all over it.¡± Alter remarked cynically as they pondered their next move.


    ¡°That works just as well for us as it does for them.¡± Riptide reminded him.


    ¡°True, but they¡¯re the ones already set up with knowledge of the terrain.¡± Alter countered.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t change the fact that we¡¯re going in there regardless.¡±


    Alter took a quiet moment to rue the fact that he wasn¡¯t allowed to complain anymore before sighing.


    ¡°Yeah, I know. Alright gents, we proceed on horseback for now. I want two pairs of eyes on every ridgeline we pass, and keep a weapon ready should you spy a sentry. Once we¡¯re confident that we¡¯ve sufficiently closed the distance then we look for a hidden dismount point before continuing on foot. From there, high ground is king.¡±


    A soft chorus of affirmatives met his instructions as the men brought their horses into a single file line. Alter kept only one loose hand on the reins, trusting in Tarikell to recognise and follow this new trail. His free hand rested on the top of his thigh, a position within easy reach of his hip-holstered pistol. His eyes roved the skyline, scouring the ragged contours for anything resembling the shape of a human. There was a certain wild west feeling as they began to round the first corner into the great unknown, all they needed was a suitable soundtrack and some ridiculous hats.


    Into the wilderness they plunged. The trail flowed between obstacles like a river, at times squeezing itself through gaps that would¡¯ve left a wagon with only a few centimetres of clearance on either side. No blockade was encountered, nor were they suddenly engaged by a guarding archer or other hidden force. As they passed through one of these tight passages, a hint of paranoia was beginning to eat away at the corners of Alter¡¯s mind when Farfield suddenly started waving his arms and pointing down the path. A thin wisp of smoke, barely visible against a distant bank of grey clouds emerged from the next outcropping. The source was well hidden, and doubtless the path would pass by in easy view of whoever was in attendance. The squad quickly came to a halt, the command group dismounting and moving a short distance closer.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look too big. A campfire?¡± Boozehound whispered.


    ¡°I think so, should be a nice and easy roll up.¡± Riptide answered eagerly.


    ¡°That¡¯s assuming these are in fact the people we¡¯re looking for.¡± Alter reminded them. ¡°No one is getting taken out without good reason. That said, I think I saw a useful gap a short distance back. Take Boats and one of the rifles and see if you can¡¯t get eyes on what¡¯s going on back there. The rest of us will hold here.¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°Understood.¡± Riptide began backtracking, motioning Boats and Vangroover to accompany him.


    Alter and Boozehound returned to the rest of the group who had collectively decided to dismount in order to stretch their legs a little. Five minutes passed before the radio crackled into life.


    ¡°Getting eyes on the fire now, standby.¡± Riptide reported.


    As one the men shifted their attention to the distant plume, as if focussing their mind on it would somehow make it easier for their spotters to observe.


    ¡°Eyes on a small fire. Two men, armed, simple leathers and drab green cloaks. Bows and short swords, but not the type we¡¯re looking for. They¡¯re pretty relaxed, you¡¯re unspotted for now. Looks like one of the men has a flag on the ground next to him, could be their means of signalling intruders. Got shots prepared on both. Awaiting further instructions.¡±


    ¡°Acknowledged, keep eyes on for now.¡± Alter responded a moment later before turning to the other. ¡°It sounds like we¡¯ve hit their outer perimeter, that means it''s time for a walk. Farfield, take the horses and find a suitable bolthole. Will you need any help?¡±


    ¡°I should be alright on my own.¡± The ostler answered confidently.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I like to hear. Everyone else, we¡¯re going to go and have a nice chat with these watchmen. Watch your footing as you go.¡±


    The remaining squad members readied their weapons and began to pick their way up the gentle slope that led towards their target. There was no straight line, as loose ground and gravel with a crunch worthy of any breakfast cereal threatened to give away their approach. Eventually they were able to make it to the nearest rocks, the faint murmuring of voices on the air only just entering audible range. Alter flashed a series of hand signals, sending Boozehound and the machine gun team to circle around to the left while he and Whim went right. Their creeping led them to what he assumed to be the main entrance to the secret camp, a set of wide cracks filled with a thin layer of compacted soil with plentiful footprints on offer. Satisfied, he took a knee and sent a pair of blips over the radio. His signal of readiness was matched by the other team shortly after.


    ¡°Both targets appear unaware. You¡¯re green to move.¡± Riptide reported.


    Putting on his most winning smile, Alter stood and together they strode casually up the natural staircase. Their arrival coincided beautifully with the others as the pair of armed men found themselves immediately surrounded. Alter regarded them with curiosity, these were no young ne¡¯er-do-wells, no brash, fresh-faced rebels. They were more mature, weathered, as if they¡¯d lived their whole lives amidst the crags. The first was rooted to his seat as he stared blankly at their sudden visitors. But the second swore and reached for his sword.


    ¡°Touch that and you die.¡± Alter spoke flatly and with authority. He wanted to establish the danger they were in as soon as possible, therefore the usual niceties were unrequired.


    ¡°Wh¡­What¡¯s going on here?¡± The first man asked in a thick, unrecognisable accent. Their wide and imploring eyes turned to Alter in alarm.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got a couple of questions for you to answer, gentlemen. Stay seated, and surrender any ideas of fighting. Nobody gets hurt unless absolutely necessary.¡± Boozehound purred from the opposite direction.


    HIs words struck a nerve and the man who had reacted settled back onto his rocky seat. The two of them looked at each other, their faces steely and grim, and said nothing. Alter sighed inwardly, at least their immediate anti-interrogation stance solidified the fact that they had something to hide.


    ¡°What are you two doing out here?¡± He asked.


    No response beyond the gentle whistling of the breeze.


    ¡°Where does the trail lead?¡± He continued.


    Nothing, not even a twitch.


    ¡°We were tracking a trading caravan which we believed passed this way recently. Perhaps you saw it?¡± Was his final question before things got a little less peaceful.


    They had successfully got the jump on these two, but that didn¡¯t mean there wasn¡¯t anyone else nearby. Their go to trick of shooting the ground next to an unwilling local ran the risk of calling reinforcements to their position. He looked at Whim and tapped the sheath of his knife. Surprisingly willing to draw steel, Whim stepped up behind the second man and placed the flat of the blade against the side of his neck, ensuring the other man could plainly see what was happening.


    ¡°Why are you doing this to us? We¡¯re just hunters from Kingspool.¡± The second man uttered, a hefty dose of nervousness turning his voice hollow.


    ¡°We¡¯re doing this because we didn¡¯t feel like you understood the situation properly.¡± Whim reported grimly. ¡°Answer the questions, or we find out how much windpipe I can remove before you faint from blood loss.¡±


    The threat hung in the air, its implications rattled and ricocheted through the minds of all that heard it. Alter kept his features passive but his glare fierce, and prayed their new captives would fold before Whim was forced to follow through. Thankfully, the defiant veil cracked, and the first man slumped forwards gently.


    ¡°Alright, blessed Four, alright. I¡¯ll tell you all I know, just don¡¯t kill him.¡±


    Alter¡¯s glare turned into a relieved smile.


    ¡°Excellent choice. Now, let¡¯s start from the beginning.¡±

 Ch.51: Opposition : Capable

    Conducting interrogations was not entirely within Alter¡¯s wheelhouse, but he felt as if he was getting the hang of it. There was a certain reliable pattern to proceedings that he appreciated. Ask a question, receive no answer, the knife gets dug in a little more until there¡¯s a flinch, receive an answer to the previous question. Mix it up every now and then to keep their captives on edge and behold, a steady stream of information.


    As it turned out, these men knew a lot more about the local situation than they had initially let on. Most importantly, they were in the right place. Ahead lay a burgeoning hive of rebels, agents and other men under the thumb of Oliver¡¯s uncle. Additionally, the weapons shipment they had been tracking had indeed arrived by torchlight late yesterday evening. As for the two men themselves, they were in fact hunters from Kingspool. Hired as watchmen, they were making nearly double the amount of money per week than they would make in their usual trade. Other than that, they had no outstanding loyalties. Queries as to how many men were occupying the base resulted in rough estimates ranging between twenty and sixty. With the arrival of supplies, the base was beginning to commence local operations. As such, there were always groups coming and going using a handful of semi-hidden paths. There was another watch post, however it was covering the opposite approach and was manned by similarly employed locals. The men were confident that their fellow hunters wouldn¡¯t risk their lives to reinforce the base should it come under attack.


    After a brief consultation with his fellows, Alter called a halt to the questioning. Knife sheathed and weapons lowered, the hunters were given their marching orders. Allowed to keep their equipment, minus the signal flag, they were ordered to move five hundred paces in a straight line away from the base and without coming across Farfield and the horses. Go home, never come back. After accepting this rule, along with promises made to not support such enterprises again and to testify should it be required, the hunters left. The marksman team watched their faithful exit for a while before rejoining the squad once they were happy that their orders were being adhered to.


    ¡°I know it looked like I was alright with that. I wasn¡¯t. That just felt wrong.¡± Whim reported firmly once all were in earshot.


    ¡°You were only playing a part, we all recognise that. They didn¡¯t seem like bad guys, and they certainly weren¡¯t ¡®the enemy¡¯. It¡¯s always going to be harder when you don¡¯t have that dehumanising degree of separation.¡± Riptide responded gently, a sentence falling somewhere between reassurance and justification.


    ¡°I know, I know. It¡¯s just ¡­ I don¡¯t want to be the guy you automatically call on for this kind of thing.¡± He shivered.


    ¡°Hearing you loud and clear.¡± Alter patted him gently on the back. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s go take a look at this base we¡¯ve heard so much about.¡±


    ¡°We should stay away from the path for now. It¡¯s only a matter of time before someone realises that their sentries have gone silent.¡± Pavejack warned.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got a good couple of hours of daylight left, that¡¯s plenty of time for some reconnaissance before they notice they¡¯ve not come home.¡± Boats answered airily as he squinted up into the sky.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean we should risk bumping into one of those parties they mentioned that are moving through the area. Prepare yourselves for a hike, mind your ankles.¡± Alter announced with a dry chuckle.


    The grumbling that met his statement was deemed survivable and so they began their approach. They moved in a ragged line as they skittered, skirted and scrambled their way across the boulder field that lay between them and their target. Only once they had squeezed and forced their way through a cleft in one of the larger vision-obscuring rocks did the base come into view.


    The structure itself made full use of the terrain. It sat atop a steep-sided bluff whose smooth, curved sides had been worn into shape by a river long since departed. One side was reachable by a gentle, grassy slope across which the trail passed. This accessible end was blocked by a thick wooden wall, however the cliffside was left unfortified. From their vantage point they could see a number of tents, along with a handful of more permanent looking wooden structures. A small number of figures could be seen milling about, although no further details could be gleaned from this distance. Finally, a small watchtower emerged from behind the wall where a lone sentry kept a disinterested vigil across the lumpy landscape.


    ¡°Nice of them to keep the sides open.¡± Boozehound remarked as they studied.


    ¡°I struggle to see how they could house sixty people at a time in there. Maybe the numbers we¡¯ve got are off.¡± Walross added.


    ¡°Nah, there¡¯s enough space in there, this perspective is skewing your perception.¡± Boats corrected as he stared intently through the scope.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s safe to assume that the cliff reaches all the way around. Do you think climbing up as an infiltration route is feasible?¡± Riptide pondered.


    Boozehound shook his head. ¡°If we were free climbing then maybe. But trying to carry our equipment with us? Not happening, not without a lot of noise, and certainly not without plentiful daylight.¡±


    Alter sighed. ¡°Front door it is, then.¡±


    ¡°Are we going to simply push through? Like the fort in the Badlands?¡± Pavejack asked.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    ¡°Probably.¡± Alter conceded as he scanned the rest of the land in view. ¡°There¡¯s plenty of overwatch spots we can take advantage of. We could try to draw them out, in theory.¡±


    ¡°You want to lay siege to the place?¡± Whim laughed. ¡°You¡¯ve been in medieval-land for too long, man.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll need to be quick. Remember, they¡¯ve got additional forces coming and going. We don¡¯t want to find ourselves sandwiched.¡± Riptide warned.


    ¡°Then I¡¯d say the Badlands comparison is pretty accurate. Come on, let¡¯s see if we can¡¯t work our way around and get a different, better angle.¡± Alter waved them into motion.


    Together they began to cut their way across in order to get a proper look at the wall and the assumed gate it held. This plan was not flawless, within two minutes of their attempt each man froze as the red light flashed.


    ¡°Pulse.¡± Alter growled urgently through clenched teeth. ¡°Bearing?¡±


    ¡°Negative, instantaneous.¡± Riptide answered as he swung his weapon towards the nearest skyline.


    ¡°It¡¯s the sentry! Fucker¡¯s got good eyes.¡± Boats called after raising his scope towards the base.


    ¡°What¡¯s he doing?¡± Alter demanded as he looked for a place to break line of sight.


    ¡°His jaw is moving at a thousand miles an hour and his eyes are locked on us. We¡¯re rumbled.¡±


    ¡°Get into the rocks for now. After me, quickly!¡± Alter ordered as he spotted a gap in the rocks that curved back towards the direction they arrived from.


    The squad bolted for the gap which fortuitously carried on through to the other side. On Alter¡¯s orders they split into their teams and moved in opposite directions to regain a view of their opponents. He led his team on an urgent charge across the rocky ground, vectoring away from the wall-side before deciding on a relatively smooth-topped rise. Weapons ready they crawled upward until their heads began to poke over the top. The sentry was still at his post, head swivelling as he scanned the area with intense purpose. He was not alone, though. Another man stood alongside him, something about him cast a sense of unease amidst the as-of-yet unspotted team.


    ¡°Team Two, report.¡± Alter thumbed his radio into life.


    ¡°Getting eyes on now.¡± Riptide answered. ¡°We¡¯re pretty exposed here, not sure how we can stick our heads out before we¡¯re spotted again.¡±


    ¡°Do what you can. We spy a second man in the tower, do you notice anything else from your angle?¡±


    ¡°The gate has just been closed, that¡¯s about it for new info. I guess they¡¯re bunkering up while they decide what to do?¡±


    ¡°The second watchman¡¯s got green eyes.¡± Boats reported calmly, a hint of curious wonder in his voice.


    ¡°And that¡¯s relevant how?¡± A stressed Walross hissed angrily.


    ¡°No, I mean his eyes are literally glowing green right now.¡± The marksman added urgently.


    Alter stared intently at this new figure, overcoming the strange feeling he got as he did so. Sure enough, a faint jade light emitted from his undetailed face. Something in his mind twigged and for a moment he was standing near the gates of Crestvigil as they dealt with the Unrepentant. The gnawing in his stomach lurched and twisted as the light began to intensify.


    ¡°That¡¯s a Sirrithae Soul Kindler. Team Two, they¡¯ve got their eyes on you, break contact immediately!¡± He shouted.


    The light continued to grow, and a faint line akin to that of a laser pointer began to form, headed arrow-straight towards where the other team was situated. An area perhaps five metres squared began to glow in a similar manner before there was a sharp crackling explosion. The illuminated area suddenly burst into a thousand shards and fragments and a short blast of wind rustled the clothes of Team One.


    ¡°Engage, engage!¡± Alter screeched. ¡°That fucker doesn¡¯t get to play!¡±


    Pavejack needed no further encouragement as the LMG roared into life, sending a vicious stream of lead slamming into the wall just below where the Kindler was standing. The inaccuracy of the initial burst was enough to send both them and the sentry diving downward and out of sight. A sight punctuated by a frustrated stream of expletives as the fire continued, the wall was soaked in bullets in the perhaps vain hope that a lucky shot would punch through the timber and score a fortuitous hit.


    ¡°This is Three!¡± The radio sprang to life. ¡°Two and Eight are out of action! Disengaging!¡±


    There was a moment of strained quiet as they processed the message.


    ¡°How bad?¡± Alter asked quietly, wide and angry eyes still staring intently at the vacated watchtower.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, their vitals were shielded from the blast but both are unconscious at this time. Standby.¡± Boozehound answered, his voice concerned but professional.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you take him out?¡± Walross turned to Boats angrily.


    The Scotsman was oddly peaceful, his eye still firmly connected to the scope. A look of confusion spread slowly across his face as he registered what had been asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± He answered with uncertainty. ¡°The more I looked at them, the less I wanted to hurt them. I couldn¡¯t pull the trigger.¡±


    ¡°Schei?e, don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve started growing a conscience now.¡± The German laughed incredulously.


    ¡°Keep your eyes on that tower!¡± Alter snarled. ¡°You see one wisp of hair poke out, you send it to hell. Hold position here, I¡¯m going to go and see what happened for myself.¡±


    Alter stalked his way along the safe side of the ridge. He knew that if Boozehound wasn¡¯t panicking then his friends were not in immediate danger, so his time of arrival made little difference. He attempted to better regulate his breathing as he progressed and his mind fought to wrangle what he had just seen. They were facing a person with, for lack of a better term, laser eyes, and perhaps the ability to make people reluctant to hurt them the more they look at them. The solution was simple enough, get the drop on them and gun them down from a suitable distance before they can react. But they were already two men down, who knew if they would be presented with such a golden opportunity.


    Gods above, he hated it when they could fight back.

 Ch.52: They Cant Shoot Back, Thats Illegal!

    Team Two was in a state akin to shell-shock as Alter hurriedly stumbled his way to their position behind the recently blasted stone. Riptide and Vangroover had been laid down on their backs atop the one patch of grass not studded by sharp flints. His lieutenant appeared to have woken up since the initial report, much to his immediate relief. While his eyes were glassy and stared blankly into the sky, his breathing was regular and his fingers drummed slow rhythms onto the ground next to him. The other casualty was more concerning. Vangroover¡¯s eyes were closed, his chest rose and fell violently like waves crashing in a storm. Boozehound leaned over him, the picture of concentration with medical tools in hand as he fiddled with the far side of his neck. A large gash on his forehead had already been treated, but the wet blotches running down his left side showed there was plenty more damage to deal with. Finally, Whim was crouched nearby, rifle raised as his head desperately twisted to cover multiple approach angles as well as keep tabs on what was happening next to him. Alter slipped silently onto the scene before taking a knee and raising his own weapon to bolster security. He wanted an immediate update but with his medic so focussed on what they were doing he decided it was better to wait. Eventually, Boozehound was finished with whatever he was handling and let out a sigh as he moved onto the next task.


    ¡°Good news or bad?¡± He asked without looking up.


    ¡°Give me the good, I guess.¡± Alter murmured in response and wondered why people ever bother asking that question when you¡¯re getting both anyway.


    ¡°Rip¡¯s going to be fine, no major injuries. But something about that blast messed with his vision, hearing, and balance. So, until he shakes those effects off then he¡¯s out of action.¡±


    Alter fought the urge to let out an incredulous snort. That was the good news? The man might not fully recover for weeks. Boozehound continued.


    ¡°As for Harry here, well, the fact that he¡¯s bleeding should give you a clue. He was much closer to the epicentre, and while he was able to get clear of the explosion he still got peppered by rock shards. I¡¯ve been removing the biggest chunks as I go, but he¡¯s going to be a few grams heavier when all is said and done.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s his neck? I saw you working on it pretty intensely.¡±


    ¡°Ahh. It was a close one, one of the larger shards just managed to lodge itself in between two of his upper vertebrae. I was having to wrestle it out while avoiding his windpipe and what I think was a pretty important vein. Suffice to say he¡¯s not moving at all until I say so.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you have any Lifeguard Rejuvenators?¡± Alter asked. LRs were the most powerful healing item from the game, capable of bringing a person back from the brink in a flash.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Boozehound answered uneasily after a second. ¡°But we were on max difficulty settings so I was limited to just the one. I¡¯m not using it unless it¡¯s truly a life-or-death situation.¡±


    Further comments were interrupted by a sudden burst of gunfire that echoed between the rocks. The two men that were fully conscious and not performing impromptu surgery held their breaths and waited for a report. After a small eternity, the radio crackled and Boats¡¯ voice rippled into being.


    ¡°Engaged and eliminated two targets on the watchtower. High threat opponent not among them. Five and Six are working their way around to get a good arc of fire into the camp interior. I¡¯m holding this position for now.¡± His voice had returned to its usual matter-of-fact tone.


    ¡°Acknowledged, keep us abreast of the situation.¡± Alter answered.


    The sound of struggling coming from behind him caused Alter to turn. Riptide had seemingly decided that he had recovered enough to begin moving again, with great effort he was able to prop himself up on his elbows. His head flopped from side to side as he squinted at his surroundings. However, it was clear to see that his vision had not yet recovered as he spent a good five seconds staring intently at Alter before realising who it was.


    ¡°Ooh, it''s you. Hello.¡± His voice wavered and sloshed drunkenly, a strange lopsided smile on his face.


    ¡°Hello there, how are you feeling?¡± Alter asked, a smile of his own fighting to the surface in response.


    ¡°I ¡­ can¡¯t hear anything. I¡¯m sure you said something nice, though.¡± Riptide beamed before his neck decided it¡¯d had enough of supporting the head and he slumped back down to the floor.


    ¡°Marcus, did you give the man medical aid or half a bottle of whiskey?¡± Alter called over to the medic.


    ¡°Busy. Go shoot at something.¡± Boozehound muttered in annoyance without looking away from his work.


    Alter nodded slowly and looked around for Vangroover¡¯s equipment. Spotting it dumped in a pile nearby, he crossed over and began fiddling with the backpack. His object of desire was the olive-green tube strapped to the side, and the snug little explosive projectile it housed. Single-use launcher acquired, he moved past the others, signalling Whim to follow him. The rifleman cast a concerned glance towards the medic but decided to follow along. Together they picked their way further around the exterior of the base before settling on a spot to poke their heads up.


    The wall remained bare and defiant. The tower was empty, doubtless the enemy would have learned not to ascend it by now. The gate was almost indistinguishable from its surroundings, having been made from the same wood as the wall. All was quiet, and sickeningly still. The little knot of anger that had been bubbling in his chest grew in strength as a burst of machine gun fire lanced from the right side towards a target they couldn¡¯t see. A response came moments later as again the thin green line heralded a sudden explosion from where the tracer rounds had originated. There was a moment of fear that briefly drowned the rage but Walross was quick to report that they had displaced the moment they¡¯d stopped firing. Alter nodded to himself and began the process of readying the tube, this deadly game of cat and mouse could not be allowed to continue.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°Are you seriously considering using one of our AT launchers on a flimsy wooden wall? They¡¯re only single use, remember.¡± Whim whispered.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Alter growled.


    ¡°Understandable, have a nice day.¡± Whim shrugged and wisely moved a short distance away before turning his attention back to the wall.


    With cold, calculated motions the launcher was primed. His teeth were hard clenched and his brow deeply furrowed as he hoisted it up to his shoulder and peered through the sight with malicious intent. The gate was placed firmly within view. The trigger firmly squeezed. A deafening roar and whoosh as if a steam engine had been punched in the stomach was violently emitted. A streak of stark white smoke tracked the rocket¡¯s progress as it fizzed through the air to impact squarely into the wooden barrier. The subsequent explosion was enough to send both of them diving for cover as splinters rained across the surroundings. When they poked their heads back out to look, the gate was gone, along with a good five meters of wall that had collapsed under the force of the shockwave. Shots ringing out from Boats¡¯ position told them that they had sent multiple men scurrying away from whatever boltholes they¡¯d found, and were paying the price for their panic.


    ¡°Did someone just waste one of the launchers?¡± A flabbergasted Walross asked over the radio.


    ¡°Yeah, the boss is a little pissed off.¡± Whim responded awkwardly, wide eyes taking in the scene below.


    ¡°It¡¯s certainly got them riled up.¡± Boats cut them off. ¡°A whole bunch of them fled towards the far side, I think I saw HTT among them but I couldn¡¯t get a clear shot through the smoke.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re abandoning the wall. Move up.¡± Alter ordered before throwing himself over the crest and charging downslope towards the cover of the now broken barrier. It took Whim a moment of stunned protest before he picked up the spent launcher and raced after him. There was no attempt at retaliation as they crossed the open ground and made it to the wall. Making no attempt to curb his momentum, Alter slammed his shoulder into the wood and pointed his weapon at the breach. He dared, willed, someone to come stumbling into view. Noone. Once Whim rejoined him he stalked along the wall, pausing before the interior came into view.


    ¡°Machine gun team back in position, no movement at this time.¡± Walross reported.


    ¡°Marksman reports negative on contacts.¡± Boats added.


    Ideal. Alter began inching around the corner, eyes scrutinising everything that stood beyond. The wall was nothing more than a simple palisade, with no walkway or steps to give defenders a position atop it. The legs of the watchtower were flimsy, with a ragged ladder running up the rear side. Two bodies lay at its base, their limbs contorted and splayed having fallen when Boats took them out. More bodies lay on the ground nearby, many of them sporting the gleaming weapons that had brought them out here. Out of the corner of his eye, Alter could see that one half of the gate had collapsed backwards, but not all the way to the floor. With a hint of grim satisfaction, he noted the limp wrist that poked out from underneath the shattered planks. Further in, three log cabins stood silently, their doors hanging open. Tents on both sides rippled gently in the soft breeze, all was quiet and still. With a quick flurry of steps he pushed through the gap and swept the rest of the wall to spy noone cowering in its shadow.


    ¡°Well.¡± Whim whispered as he moved through after him. ¡°We¡¯re here now. What do you want to do?¡±


    ¡°We check the cabins first. There are only so many hiding places on this rock, keep that finger of yours tight.¡± Alter responded firmly before taking slow, measured steps towards the cabin closest to where his squadmates were keeping watch.


    The interior walls were coated with bunks, all empty. A rough wooden table and four chairs took up the centre, the top of which was mostly empty but for a handful of small wooden cubes. It seemed a game of dice had been interrupted. Carefully, Alter leaned down and swept his rifle over the underneath of each bunk before stretching upright and calling it clear. The second, central cabin had much nicer furnishings, with only the single bed taking up a corner. Alter quickly identified it as the Kindler¡¯s room, the presence of a desk and various scattered papers promised a splendid trove of intelligence. Collecting that would come later, there was harsh work still to be done.


    ¡°Four reports possible movement, green tent beyond the far cabin. Permission to engage blind?¡± Boats asked over the radio.


    ¡°Given.¡± Was the immediate answer and a pair of shots rang out.


    ¡°No response to shots, keeping eyes on.¡± The marksman reported.


    Alter posted Whim on the corner of the cabin in order to keep vigil over the suspicious tents before he moved into the final structure. There they were. Opened and half empty, the weapon crates lay on the floor against the far wall. Clumps and single strands of straw from their interiors lay scattered across the floor as swords had been hastily grabbed during the initial exchanges. He nodded to himself, they had what they came for. An urgent burst of rifle fire caused his attention to snap back to the present.


    ¡°Target down, far side cliff edge.¡± Whim called as Alter emerged.


    Together they crept forwards in the direction he had indicated, pausing only to clear the tents nearest their path. Having run out of ground to cover they tentatively leaned forwards to peer over the edge. A narrow stone staircase led downward towards a sea of head-high bushes that filled the rear half of the basin surrounding the bluff. Alter crouched down to examine the steps, confused. It was as if someone had pinched the rock and stretched it out. Natural material, unnatural positioning. The Sirrithae Kindler¡¯s mark again, no doubt. Slowly, he moved his vision to the innocently swaying foliage, and backed away from the edge. If their enemies had doubled around to the right then the machine gun team would have spotted them. So, they were either hiding beneath them, fleeing deeper into the wilderness, or circling around toward where Boozehound was the sole capable fighter with twin defenceless patients.


    ¡°Targets lost. Four, regroup with Three on the double, they could be flanking in that direction. Five, Six, get in here and set up overwatch. We¡¯ve almost got this job tied up with a pretty bow, let¡¯s not balls it up now.¡±

 Ch.53: Your House, My House

    Quiet had descended upon the scene, at least outwardly. Alter roved the perimeter, hands gripping his weapon tightly as he scanned the foliage below. Somewhere in that leafy soup was a small force of hostile men capable of ruining their days, their lives, everything. Or maybe they had all fled, scattered like dandelion seeds in the wind and all this tense paranoia was for nothing. Either way it didn¡¯t matter, vigilance was the order of the moment, and damned if he was going to be found wanting.


    At least he wasn¡¯t alone in this undertaking. Walross was also on patrol, his posture betraying the fact that he was just as on edge as him. In the shadow of the wall, Pavejack had the machine gun set and ready with a view of the newly created staircase. Having confirmed that the tents were clear, Whim had set off back to where Boozehound worked frantically to prepare his two patients to move. Finally, Boats was away by himself amidst the high rocks to ensure none could sneak up behind them.


    ¡°Ever get the feeling you¡¯re being watched?¡± Walross commented as their paths crossed, his voice laced with a heavy dose of sarcasm.


    ¡°I feel like a random npc grunt in a stealth action game, existing only to spout some cheesy macho one-liners and run for an alarm button.¡± He responded bitterly.


    ¡°Mmhm. Although, you¡¯d think that if they were in fact watching us then the Kindler would have tried something by now.¡± Walross paused to examine one patch of bushes more intently.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a small theory about that.¡± Alter halted as well, choosing a point to scan deeper into the basin. ¡°Remember how Oliver said that using his powers too frequently could have pretty large drawbacks? That man let loose a bunch of blasts and pulled a fairly long flight of stairs out of solid rock, all within a couple of minutes of each other. He may well need time to rest and recharge before they can think about reengaging.¡±


    ¡°I see the logic. How much would you be willing to bet on it, though?¡± Walross asked thoughtfully.


    ¡°Nothing. As far as I¡¯m concerned there¡¯s a man behind every leaf ready to jump out at any second.¡±


    ¡°Very wise.¡± Walross nodded and continued on his cliffside vigil.


    Motion from behind drew Alter¡¯s attention as a small procession made its careful way through the hole in the wall. Boozehound stepped as if he were tip-toeing through a minefield, the still unconscious Vangroover strapped securely to his back. Riptide came following him like a lost puppy. From the way he was swaying gently from side to side as wide eyes peered intently at his surroundings, he was still recovering. Bringing up the rear was Whim, ready and alert to any potential threats. The trip hazard of the destroyed barricade successfully navigated, the men disappeared into the centre cabin where the wounded could be given proper beds and chairs. Transportation mission accomplished, the two healthy men exited the building and moved over to Alter¡¯s position.


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re going to ask.¡± Boozehound cut off Alter¡¯s immediate question. ¡°We¡¯re not going anywhere until Harry¡¯s neck has a chance to begin healing. I¡¯ve done all I can for now, and I see no reason why it would get any worse without provocation. Still, he¡¯s in no fit state to travel. As such, this collection of hovels is home until I say so.¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡± Alter held up a placating hand, the man had predicted his next words perfectly. ¡°Do you have an estimate for how long it¡¯ll take?¡±


    The Frenchman shook his head. ¡°Not really, but it certainly won¡¯t be today. We should make preparations in order to secure the area for the night.¡±


    ¡°Does that mean we¡¯re going out hunting?¡± Whim asked eagerly, hefting his rifle to imply the results of such an excursion.


    ¡°If we were at full strength, perhaps. But we are not.¡± Alter answered firmly. ¡°We need to bring all of our resources within the walls. That means a couple of people are going to have to go back and retrieve Farfield and the horses and bring them back here. Go and grab Boats and get moving.¡± He ordered.


    Whim¡¯s jaw worked silently for a couple of seconds as he processed what he¡¯d just been told to do. The man let out a low, grating groan before dejectedly stomping his way towards the wall. Boozehound let out a low snicker as they watched him depart, and despite the tension Alter found himself cracking a smile at his overly dramatic exit. The pair listened to him bemoaning his pitiful situation and back-breaking workload to the Marksman over the radio before the two arranged a rendezvous point and the conversation petered out. Boozehound continued his report to its conclusion.


    ¡°As for Rip, he¡¯s improving steadily and shouldn¡¯t see any lasting damage. I¡¯d wager that by sundown he¡¯ll be cleared for duty again. He¡¯ll be my assistant until then.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a relief, thanks. Will you need any more help or is it just a case of waiting?¡±


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine with what I have. You keep working on maintaining our new perimeter.¡± Boozehound began walking back towards the cabin but paused to glance ruefully at the wall.


    ¡°Would¡¯ve been nice if this was intact.¡± He commented, a not-so-subtle hint of accusation in his voice.


    Alter considered shooting a defensive remark back but ultimately decided against it. With Boats and Whim retrieving the ostler and horses, and the machine gun team busy with eyeing the basin, there was no one left to watch the proverbial front door. That was his job. The bodies of those dispatched near the wall had already been searched and removed, but as Alter slowly clambered up the rickety ladder of the watchtower, he found himself face to face with the shocked, pain-wracked expression of one of the men Boats had dealt with. Lovely. Turning away from the silently accusing face he scrambled up the rest of the ladder and used a foot to flip the body over and into a corner where he didn¡¯t have to think about it. The local scenery made for much more pleasant viewing.


    Time had passed, unaware of the drama that had unfolded so recently. The sun hung low in the sky, toying with the horizon line like a child dipping their feet into a cold pool. The sky was beginning its vibrant evening palette swap as hints of yellow and orange clamoured for attention around the blazing white disc. The gently darkening hillsides and banks were still and serene but for the scattered patches of longer grass where the invisible machinations of the breeze painted their waving patterns. He sucked in a long breath through his mouth and exhaled slowly through his nose. He had not been himself during the latter stages of the fight. The sight of his friends lying wounded on the floor had caused him to throw an amount of critical caution to the wind. As a leader, as a Captain, he could not allow himself to become so swayed. Compromised. In his self-imposed exile atop the tower, Alter reflected on his actions, silently vowing to never allow that harsh, malicious self to take control again. Even though the uncontrollable little voice in the back of his mind made it perfectly clear that he would do the exact same thing should such an event happen again.


    Movement caught his attention, snapping him out of his grim reverie. A column of horses led by familiar figures made their way slowly through the rocks towards him. Whim spotted him in the tower and waved jauntily while Boats quietly split away from the procession and vanished back into the broken boulders. The horses were skittish as they approached the wall, and required some encouragement to finally plod their way through the ruined gate. Farfield glanced around the captured camp nervously, finding himself sickened by the dark red smears on the ground yet unable to stop himself from taking long glances at them. The cooking pot was produced and suitable firewood sourced from one of the tents. The sky completed its transition, the temperature fell, and the sun finally decided that the pool was fine enough to sink beneath the surface. Eventually, Alter decided that remaining in the tower was a fruitless task and he began his unsteady descent.


    ¡°Any movement?¡± He asked Pavejack who was still nestled snugly against the edge of the wall.


    ¡°Nothing the whole time.¡± Pavejack answered languidly, with a cat-like stretch. ¡°Hey, how¡¯re we going to handle security tonight?¡±


    ¡°By having two watchmen on alert at all times, and relying on the proximity pulse.¡± Alter answered, waving to Boats as he came silently padding into view to join them


    ¡°One on the gate, one on the stairs?¡± Pavejack asked as he stood, to which Alter nodded.


    ¡°Rip¡¯s had a nice, relaxing afternoon. I¡¯m sure he won¡¯t mind volunteering for a double stint.¡± Boats commented with a half-smile.


    ¡°That¡¯ll be up to Marcus. Come on, let¡¯s see what''s on the menu.¡± Alter nodded towards the small cooking fire that had been constructed between the cabins and the trio made their way over.


    Farfield stirred the half-constructed stew in silence, his grip on the long wooden spoon was iron-like, his head snapped toward any direction a sound emanated from. Alter coughed gently to signal their approach, causing the young man¡¯s face to spin toward them with wide eyes locked in anxious scrutiny.


    ¡°Ahh. Good evening, Captain.¡± He stammered as he turned to stare intently at the cooking pot.


    ¡°Good evening, Farfield.¡± Alter responded gently as he sat down opposite the nervous youth and offered him an encouraging smile. ¡°You¡¯ve worked yourself into quite a state there. What ails you?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s, umm.¡± He began before a wave of embarrassment caused him to choke on his words.


    ¡°Relax kid, we won¡¯t bite.¡± Boats laughed as he took his own spot.


    Farfield took a second to compose himself, eyes straying out to the rapidly darkening wilderness. ¡°They¡¯re still out there, aren¡¯t they? Sir Whim told me that a Soul Kindler was among them. The thought that I could just vanish into the floor without warning terrifies me. I don¡¯t know how you can do it.¡± He admitted, his head awkwardly shrinking into his chest.


    Alter sighed, what had the man been telling the poor lad as they¡¯d brought the horses over?


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to get sucked into the floor or anything like that, trust me.¡± Pavejack sat down next to him and put a comforting arm around his shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re all here, we¡¯re all going to protect you.¡±


    Farfield smiled weakly at the attempt at comfort before shivering. ¡°A lot of people died here, didn¡¯t they?¡± He asked as his attention turned to the slim licks of fire.


    ¡°An amount.¡± Alter answered simply, the exact number that had been reported to him had already been lost to the aether.


    ¡°How do you do it?¡± Farfield asked without looking back up. ¡°The camp, these buildings, even this firewood. It all belonged to these men, now they¡¯re gone and we¡¯ve taken it over so casually." His voice was plaintive, as if begging for reassurance that those surrounding him felt the same way.


    Alter swallowed, and wished he had some sort of alcohol to hand. He had a hunch that he would need some fortification for the upcoming conversation.

 Ch.54: Imminent Return

    Night had descended upon the scene, quiet and peaceful. However, the word Alter would use to describe it would be ¡®Nerve-wracking¡¯. A cold wind blew with a mischievous intent to seek out gaps in clothing to provide maximum discomfort. It whistled harshly through the cabin windows, and caused the loose canvas of the tents to ripple and snap. Below them in the darkness, the trees in the basin writhed and rustled like an invisible sea. The moon tried its best to illuminate their surroundings but rolling banks of clouds often painted the world colourless.


    Vangroover remained unconscious, but it was only a matter of time before he would awaken. The question had been raised of simply using a jolt injector to wake him up immediately, but Boozehound had overruled such ideas. Stating that a sudden surge in blood flow could cause the wound on his neck to reopen itself. Riptide was well and truly back on his feet and keen to make up for lost time. He had wanted to immediately surge off in pursuit for bloody vengeance but cooler heads had brought him back into line. Still, it hadn¡¯t stopped him from roving the perimeter like a caged wolf, if looks could kill then everyone within a twenty-mile radius would¡¯ve flatlined within minutes. The quiet decision was made to leave him to it, he¡¯d come back when he was tired.


    Farfield managed to get over his funk with minimal assistance, much to everyone''s relief. His questions and subsequent struggles with the nature of their current situation were successfully waylaid by the gruff wisdom of dozens of action movie quotes. Combine that with some recycled wisdom, a heaped portion of positive reinforcement and a subtle dash of ¡®remember you signed up for this¡¯, the lad was satisfied enough to drop the subject. It wasn¡¯t the most genuine of conversations, there was a certain pang of guilt that comes with willingly distorting the truth despite knowing that honesty would likely further compound the issue. But after all, you can¡¯t just casually admit to someone that you¡¯ve popped into existence from an alternative plane. How does one describe to a person that transitioning between realities allows for the emotional detachment required for combat without sounding insane? That is a battle that simply cannot be won, and Alter was not in the business of fighting said battles.


    In what many would describe as a foolish move, or a noble sacrifice as he would put it, Alter had volunteered for the middle watch. From the darkest hour to just before sunrise he had nothing to do but wait, listen to the cruel wind, and watch the moonlight shadows dance along the broken wall. At least he was sheltered from the worst of the wind, and he wasn¡¯t the only one awake. Around the corner was a much less comfortable Whim whose duty of watching the staircase left him exposed to the elements. Every so often the man¡¯s dark and miserable mutterings would drift around the corner, and Alter would allow himself a smug smile before snuggling deeper into the blanket nest he¡¯d surrounded himself with. It was the little things like that which made the whole situation more bearable.


    Such shreds of comfort cannot last forever. Eventually, inevitably, they are broken. Just as he was drifting into a pleasant state of drowsy semi-alertness, the pulse fired. Its scarlet flash caused him to bolt upright, shedding blankets like withered petals. A heartbeat later he heard the clatter of Whim following suit and knew that this was no false alarm. One by one he roused the sleeping members of the squad, offering little explanation other than a serious look and a meaningful tap of his temple. Gesture recognised, each man slipped out of their beds and equipped themselves before fanning out into the crisp night air. Alter followed once all were up and alert, electing to join Riptide as his lieutenant situated himself near the break in the wall.


    ¡°How¡¯re you doing? Fit for contact?¡± He asked as he settled down next to him.


    ¡°I think so.¡± Riptide answered slowly. ¡°My body¡¯s responding properly now, and my balance is back. But I won¡¯t know how my vision is doing until it gets a little brighter.¡±


    ¡°Good enough for me. There wasn¡¯t enough of a difference in pulse timings between me and Whim for a solid bearing. However, I¡¯d put it closer to the wall-side than the basin-side.¡±


    ¡°That makes sense to me, if it¡¯s our opponents looking to re-engage us then they¡¯ll know the terrain well enough to take advantage, even in the dark. I¡¯ve got to question the timing though, why now? If they were waiting for reinforcements then surely they wouldn¡¯t have arrived in the middle of the night like this.¡± Riptide frowned.


    ¡°Well, for all we know this pulse was just some local nocturnal predator who¡¯d take a pass at one of us if they were dumb enough to wander off alone.¡±


    ¡°You know full well they¡¯re coming back to finish the fight.¡± Riptide gave a quiet but grim laugh.


    ¡°What can I say, I¡¯m ever the optimist. My bet? The Kindler¡¯s all souped up and ready for another go. Keep those senses tuned, I¡¯m going to check in on the others.¡± Alter patted him on the back before moving off and towards the staircase.


    Whim and Boozehound were already in attendance, their hushed voices locked in whispered conversation as he approached. Their attention appeared to be focussed on a pitch-dark point in the distance.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ¡°What¡¯re we thinking?¡± Alter asked as he joined them.


    Whim pointed in the direction of interest. ¡°Keep your eyes on that area there, we thought we saw something earlier.¡± He murmured.


    Alter glared into the hidden distance, following the path of the outstretched finger. Nothing. No. Something. A faint orange blip that raced into and out of vision.


    ¡°Fire?¡± He asked, head tilting to one side as his eyes strained to increase the scant details.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been getting glimmers like that for the last minute or so. Someone out there is roaming around with a torch. It¡¯s too early to say if they¡¯re getting closer though.¡± Boozehound confirmed.


    ¡°It still helps us narrow down the probable angle of attack.¡± Alter mused before reaching for his radio. ¡°Four, position?¡± He asked.


    ¡°The tower. I¡¯ve got the scope up and running for regular sweeps, hillsides are clear at this time.¡± Boats responded.


    ¡°Noted. Pay attention to the area opposite our initial approach, we believe our incoming guests are currently in that direction.¡±


    Boats confirmed the instruction as Alter moved further along the edge to where he knew a small pile of cut lumber should offer him some cover if things turned hot. The light was more solid now. Defined. The soft flicker of flame cast its warm glow across the distant rocks, it was an eerie feeling to watch the firelight grow in strength as the distance between them closed. As the seconds passed, more light sources began piercing the shadowy veils. Four distinct patches illuminated the hilltops, but no humanoid figures risked exposing themselves. They had learned their lesson from earlier, it seemed. A small snarl of frustration etched itself onto his lips, when were they going to show themselves? His impatience grew.


    ¡°Hey, ummm.¡± Pavejack began over the radio, his voice uncertain. ¡°Does anyone else feel the ground vibrating?¡±


    That got his attention. He focused his senses downward towards his feet but felt nothing. He reached down and laid a palm against the cold stone, but try as he might he could not sense any movement in the ground. Just as he reached for the radio in order to ask for clarification, Walross chimed in.


    ¡°He¡¯s not crazy, it feels like there¡¯s an engine running beneath our feet. Can anyone else confirm this?¡± He reported.


    One by one a series of negatives echoed each other in response, Alter¡¯s included. He pondered this concerning development as his eyes strayed back to the oncoming fires. If they were dealing with a Kindler, one capable of ripping and reshaping the world to their designs, then could this be their doing? The machine gun team was currently positioned in the centre as a reserve force, only to be deployed once they had solid intelligence on exactly where the enemy would appear. But the fact that only they could feel the vibration implied the Kindler had already bypassed the perimeter. Unless, of course, they¡¯d never left to begin with. Sealed within the rock beneath them like a human antlion, waiting for the moment to strike. Alter shook his head, such conjecture was worthless and served only to distract. Nevertheless, to ignore it would be the height of foolishness, he made the decision to abandon his current position and scurried towards where his friends stood waiting.


    Walross waved him over as he approached before pointing towards the ground. The pair were not hallucinating. He could feel it in his feet, and in the joints of his knees. A faint juddering sensation that set his vision buzzing with a subtle blur.


    ¡°That¡¯s not right, is it?¡± Pavejack asked. ¡°Rocks don¡¯t do this.¡±


    ¡°They do not.¡± Alter answered slowly, taking slow and deliberate steps in the direction of the wall. The sensation remained.


    ¡°I think they¡¯re tunnelling under us. We could find ourselves well and truly pincered if we¡¯re not careful.¡± Walross warned.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have the manpower to watch every possible point of breach, not without compromising the firing line should the torch-bearers come charging over the top. You see how strong the light has gotten up there?¡± Alter pointed to the section of hilltop visible through the hole.


    ¡°Then what do we do?¡± Walross hissed in frustration.


    ¡°I¡¯m thinking, I¡¯m thinking.¡± Alter shot back.


    Their conversation was cut short by sudden gunfire. The noise was instantly recognisable as a series of pistol shots. From behind them. Which meant that only one person could have fired those rounds, and he was supposed to be an unconscious patient in a safe and secure location. Horrified, the three men charged towards the single-roomed building, barging through the flimsy door with weapons raised to find themselves in a bizarre scene. The floorboards were uprooted and scattered all over, exposing the rock beneath. A pair of bodies emerged from the stone as if it were waist-high water, but their exposed arms and torso lay awkwardly against the floor with blood draining from a pair of holes each. Neither of them was recognisable as the Kindler. Still lying flat on the bed, Vangroover held his pistol in a shaking grip. His eyes were half-lidded and blurry as he gave the new arrivals a crooked smile before the pistol clattered to the floor.


    ¡°Contacts below.¡± He whispered hoarsely before his eyes closed again.


    At that moment, a great roar of voice emerged from somewhere outside. The sound was greeted by the angry barking of rifle fire. The assault had begun.

 Ch.55: One Eye on the Floor

    ¡°Get to the breach!¡± Alter roared at the machine gun team who surged into motion at his order.


    Instructions given, Alter turned his attention to the freshly exposed floor as the radio blared into life with contact reports, friendly status and positions, and the iron-clad order to keep half an eye on the ground between your legs. Sensing that perhaps stepping on the rock was a bad idea, Alter hopped and lunged between the scattered floorboards until he reached the bed. Vangroover had closed his eyes but was still vaguely conscious, the bandages and gauze covering his neck blessedly free of blood. With slow, careful movements, Alter leaned down and retrieved his Eight¡¯s pistol, placing it on the bed next to his twitching hand.


    ¡°Can you hear me?¡± he asked gently.


    There was the slightest of nods and the man¡¯s lips moved to signify that he was in fact still awake.


    ¡°Are you in pain?¡±


    The lips moved again, in a shape that he translated as a ¡®No¡¯ followed by another word he couldn¡¯t quite grasp.


    ¡°That¡¯s good. I¡¯m going to cross back over to the doorway now, but I¡¯m going to make sure that you¡¯re not alone, okay?¡±


    Again he traversed the ragged floorboard path and settled into the cabin¡¯s entrance. Eyes roved the darkness, now lessening as the first colours of dawn began to appear in the eastern sky. It was impossible to listen for movement over the shouting and gunfire from his right, he¡¯d have to rely on the senses of sight and touch. He took a knee and bent forwards, placing an empty palm against the ground. The vibrations had abated, did that mean the enemy had no further forces beneath them? Or had they simply moved on to make a breach somewhere a little less contested. He squinted across the empty space to where the horses stood with heads erect and ears nervously attentive. All was painfully still.


    ¡°They¡¯ve reached the wall!¡± Boats shouted over the radio.


    ¡°The stairwell just doubled in width in a heartbeat! Contacts on!¡± Boozehound added moments later.


    Alter processed this information as calmly as he could. Dire warnings they were but his men weren¡¯t panicking, a fact that told him they were not yet at risk of being overwhelmed. If anything, the news made his job a little easier. The staircase shifting meant that the Kindler must be over there, and between Boozehound and Whim they had enough firepower to hold that position even if they started ascending two by two. He had maybe a couple of minutes of safety to play with before the tunnellers became a threat again, which gave him a window to reinforce the wall.


    Decision made, he wasted no time in shifting his position, loping across the open ground to slot in with Riptide and the machine gun team. The breach in the wall was their main focus, with a number of dropped torches illuminating the gap. Armed and armoured men would appear only to be gunned down a split second later. Fresh bodies within the perimeter indicated that they had made it pretty close to breaking through at one point, but a box-fed LMG makes for one hell of an equaliser. The small dark line of an arrow lashed across the gap, headed leftward and upward to bury itself in the wooden walls of the tower, and as Alter traced its path it was joined by several others. Boats was pinned but safe enough for now. Frontline secure and holding, Alter backed away and moved towards the stairs.


    ¡°One, have you seen Farfield?¡± Riptide called out after him.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t, I thought he¡¯d be with you!¡± Alter shouted back as he continued, he had bigger fish to fry right now.


    The situation was similar here, the two riflemen took turns firing short, sharp bursts over the side of the bluff. Whim even had the time to give him a cheery wave and a thumbs up. Not content to accept the gesture as a reason to move on, Alter continued towards them but froze in place a handful of steps away. There it was, that vibration again. Quickly, he placed his hand on the floor once more and focused on the feeling of the subterranean motion. It grew in strength with alarming speed before fading away again as if it had passed beneath him.


    ¡°No you don¡¯t.¡± Alter snarled and turned around.


    He stalked back the way he came, attempting to trace the path of the shaking as it headed towards the centre of the bluff. Eventually though, obstacles caused him to lose contact and he decided to return to his original position at the cabin door. Nothing had changed, Vangroover¡¯s eyes had cracked open again and he lifted a hand to him at his arrival. There he kept his vigil, the light continued to increase, the gunfire continued to rip into the world. For a moment he thought he heard shouting coming from another direction but it was impossible to tell.


    ¡°Staircase clear for the moment.¡± Boozehound reported.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a while since we had a push, they¡¯re still tucked in behind the wall though.¡± Riptide added.


    ¡°Acknowledged. Be advised the Kindler is still active. Wait-¡± Alter began but something caught his eye.


    Barely visible in the earliest of morning lights, a faint line split the scene, appearing from beyond the next cabin and heading for the wall with a slight upward trajectory. Alter frowned at it before realising what it was.


    ¡°The Kindler¡¯s aiming for the tower. Four, get out now!¡± he shouted before setting off to try and put an end to the fresh bane of their existence.


    There was a dull boom and the sound of raining wood as he crept around the edge of the small building. A frantic request for an update from Boozehound was met by the report that Boats had managed to escape, and other than a twisted ankle he was well and good. Alter breathed a tiny sigh of relief as he slowly peered around the corner. There in plain sight, a small section of rock shifted and flowed like water a few meters away. A single head bobbed at its centre, it faced away from him but the faint green glow against the stone waves told him all he needed to know. Sight the target, disengage the safety, aim, set, fire. A simple, well-drilled series of steps, with a deadly result. Alter followed it with extreme prejudice. The shot struck the Kindler¡¯s head cleanly, just a few centimetres from their right ear. Gore and fragments of skull scattered across the ground as the remnants of the head vanished from sight. The ground had fully solidified by the time he closed the distance, but the damage had been done. The enemy was dead, they¡¯d even done the service of burying themselves.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°The Kindler is down. Mop up the rest.¡± He reported with vicious triumph.


    ¡°No need, the survivors are retreating westward. Orders?¡± Boozehound answered.


    ¡°Let them go, we¡¯ve spent enough ammunition for one day. Go and check on Vangroover. The rest of you, scan the bodies and grab what you can. Oh, and somebody find and dig Farfield out of whatever hole he¡¯s hiding in. I¡¯ll keep watch.¡± Alter rattled off his orders as he wandered back through the cabins to where he could watch the retreating figures disappear over the horizon. The sun peeked out at his back, and the world was bathed in a crisp golden light.


    Ten minutes passed, no further contacts were reported, Vangroover was given as clean a bill of health as he could get. But of the young ostler, there was no sign. Worry began to gnaw at him as he kept his vigil. Eventually, the approach of timid footsteps caused the muscles in his neck to tense in anticipation.


    ¡°Boss.¡± Whim sidled up to him, his words low and nervy. ¡°We¡¯ve found Farfield.¡±


    Alter did not turn to look at the man. He kept his vision steady and focused on the middle distance. He digested the tone of his friend¡¯s voice, the skittish syllables, the quiet reluctance, the awkward gloom. He took in those facts, and drew his grim conclusion.


    ¡°How bad?¡± He asked, tearing his eyes away from the mild scenery.


    ¡°It¡¯s not ugly. But I wouldn¡¯t call it good, either.¡± Whim admitted as he shuffled gently on the spot, his head turning away as his eyes flitted from point to point.


    Alter exhaled slowly, nodding his head as the familiar wave of dread crashed against the walls of his stomach. ¡°Where is he?¡±


    ¡°In between those two tents over there.¡± Whim turned and pointed to where the heads of the rest of the squad could be seen gathering above the canvas.


    ¡°Right.¡± Alter began the slow walk over, steeling himself with every step.


    The squad parted silently as they noticed his approach, allowing him an unrestricted view as the distance closed. Farfield was intact at least, no blood marred his body in ugly blotches. But that was where the niceties ended, most of his body was hidden, swallowed up by the hungry maw of the stone floor. His left side was fully submerged, with the only revealed part of his right leg being a thin ridge formed by the top of his thigh. The visible section of his shoulder twisted backward with his one free arm reaching out behind him. His neck had been stretching to keep his head above the rock, causing more of his face to be exposed than perhaps expected. Although, the majority of his jaw and mouth were submerged. His left eye was closed, barely visible beneath the shadow of his nose. His right eye was open, the panic of his last moments clearly visible in its wideness. Combining that with the paleness of his skin, Alter guessed that there were hidden wounds somewhere beneath their feet. He was akin to a swimmer desperately fighting the pull of the drowning depths, and even though he was successful in keeping his head above ¡®water¡¯, he had still lost. To conclude, this was not to be considered a good way to go.


    ¡°How did this happen?¡± Someone asked softly, not as an accusation but as a statement of disbelief.


    ¡°He must¡¯ve been hiding in the tent, got spooked and attempted to run. As you can see, he didn¡¯t get far.¡±


    ¡°Remind me why he was off sleeping on his own?¡± Riptide asked.


    ¡°He refused to stay with us in the cabin. Said he couldn¡¯t get over the idea that a dead man was using it the night before.¡± Whim answered.


    ¡°All he wanted to do was look after the horses. He never wanted to get into a fight.¡± Pavejack¡¯s words were choked with sadness.


    Walross put a supportive arm around him and the group fell into silence once more. For a couple of minutes they simply stood and cast rueful glances at their fallen aide, until Alter could bear the inaction no longer.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t feel right to just leave him here. Can we move him in any way?¡± He asked.


    ¡°We can¡¯t.¡± Boozehound shook his head sullenly. ¡°Even if we could prise his legs out from whatever angles they¡¯re stuck in, there¡¯s another reason.¡±


    The medic leaned down and, with a grimace, pulled Farfield¡¯s cheek back gently. The lips parted to reveal no teeth, gums, or tongue. Only solid grey. The sight was met with a sharp hissing noise as the observing men sucked in their collective breaths. His point proverb, Boozehound covered the man¡¯s mouth again.


    ¡°The stone¡¯s wormed its way all the way in. Filled his whole mouth and pushed down the throat. I¡¯d wager his stomach, lungs, hell his entire digestive tract is solid rock now, and there are plenty of other places where it could have invaded his body. If you want to move him, you¡¯ll have to carve him up first and excavate him piece by piece. I¡¯m pretty sure none of us want to do that.¡± He reported, bitterness emphasising each gruelling fact.


    ¡°That¡¯s ¡­¡± Alter began, but his voice quickly tailed off as the implications settled.


    ¡°Terrible? Horrific?¡± Walross prompted with a sweeping gesture. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. He died on our watch.¡±


    ¡°Look, his sword sheath is empty, and I don¡¯t see any loose blades around. At least we can say he went down fighting.¡± Boats mentioned, pointing to the empty scabbard that poked out of the ground next to his hip.


    ¡°That¡¯s slim consolidation, but from the brief interaction I had with his father he¡¯d probably be happy to hear that.¡± Alter grumbled in response.


    ¡°What kind of dad would ¡­ Ahh, what does it matter? Come on, if we can¡¯t move him then we should at least protect his body from scavengers and the elements.¡± Riptide¡¯s disgust melted into resigned common sense.


    The assembled men shook themselves out of their stupors and with murmured agreements they set to work. Farfield¡¯s body was tightly covered in two layers of tent canvas which were hammered into the rock as hard as the men dared. With a little trepidation and a sense that they were breaking some sort of taboo, Alter and Whim sorted through the ostler¡¯s belongings. They retrieved what they believed to be some personal items with sentimental value and placed them atop his shrouded body. Stones were carted in from outside the camp to be piled high, forming a cairn which should shield him from the worst of the weather. Satisfied with their solemn construction, the order was given to secure anything that could be used as evidence or supplies before departure. All agreed that they¡¯d had more than enough of this place.