The four infantry scouts made their way through the hills north of Kerucester, their scanners picking up a number of creatures, detecting their heat, chemical, or electromagnetic signatures. However, the scanners couldn't pierce rock or earth, so they had yet to find any clear sign of the rogue beast soldier they were looking for.
“We should send up a drone,” declared one of the scouts.
“That's not protocol,” retorted the lead scout, her purple eyes scanning the rocky terrain. “It could give away our position. We're better off with the scanners.”
The first scout nodded and said nothing more. Arguing was no use in the Drakmundi military. Everyone followed the protocol or paid the price. Promotions hinged on it, and every Drakmundi who survived the grueling process of creation desired to be promoted a little further, to be moved a little further from the beasts and a little closer to the Council.
“Where's our sweeper?” asked the scout, looking behind himself to where the last in line should be standing.
The lead scout gritted her teeth, adjusting her grip on her spear. “Let’s circle back and find him. I’ll see him terminated for this.”
Retracing their steps, they rounded a large boulder and saw a pool of purple blood lying in the path they’d taken. One of the remaining scouts turned to look at their leader, but she was gone. She fell suddenly from the sky, her limp body crashing into the two remaining scouts. A roar echoed off the rocks and hills as a huge form leapt from atop the boulder.
***
“What’s going on down there?” asked Yulun over the comms.
The dogfighting had died down, the Astralbian and Griffonian alliance overcoming their early struggles and gaining momentum against the Koomite wasp riders. The cultists appeared to be ready to fight to the last rider, and that suited Yulun just fine.
“We’ve secured one of the star trees,” answered one of the sailors that had landed with Talon Squad. “Talon Squad was going after the other, it looks like they missed their chance.”
“Should we blow it out of the sky?” asked Rewna. “It doesn’t look to be a particularly large or well armored tree.”
“No!” shouted Reclan. “Do not, I repeat, do NOT attack that star tree!”
“I think the cattle can be written off as a lost cause, Specialist,” said Yulun.
“What?” asked Reclan, not understanding at first. “Oh! No, I’m not worried about the cattle, I just watched Vanbrook and Raivyn climb on that tree before it took off!”
Yulun stared at her console, dumbfounded. “Say again, Specialist Reclan?”
***
As the door snapped shut and the thrusters began to rumble, Vanbrook turned, wide-eyed, to look at Raivyn. “Now what!?”
“Now we fight,” said Raivyn with a shrug. “You handle the bruisers, I’ll hold off the psychic attacks.”
Vanbrook nodded and turned to look at his surroundings. They stood in an open wooden room, the main exit behind them and two stairwells on the opposite side, one leading up to the command room and the other down to the dungeons. He looked back to the Raki he’d bowled over, who was now standing and stomping over towards him, feet sure even in the chaos of liftoff. Taking a wide stance, Vanbrook held out his shield and drew back his saber, ready to run the cultist through.
Rather than charging into the point of a sword, the Raki snarled, drawing a wicked, curved cutlass and lashing out at Vanbrook, who easily parried the wild strike. However, before Vanbrook could counter the attack, two more cultists poured into the room from where they’d been stowing away their stolen cattle. One drew a pistol and the other put a hand to his temple. The Raki drew back for a heavy swing, but Vanbrook slammed into him shield first once again, wrapping his sword arm around his opponent and twisting to put him between himself and the gunman. The gambit worked, and two shots rocked the Raki’s body before the gunman realized his mistake. When he did, he found himself staring down the barrel of Vanbrook’s own pistol. It was the last thing he saw.
Raivyn, meanwhile, had fired a volley of T-bolts at the psychic, who’d attempted to pile on against Vanbrook. Instead, he found himself on his back foot, doing his best to defend himself.
More cultists came into the room, but Vanbrook charged the stairwell they had emerged from and used saber, shield, and revolver to fend off anyone Raivyn couldn’t hit with T-bolts or grip with telepathic terror. Another wild cutlass swung at Vanbrook, but he had taken up a position by the stairs to bottleneck his opponents. This allowed him to fight a number of swordsmen, keeping them close enough that the gun-wielding cultists had trouble lining up a shot. Using the confused knot of swordsmen to his advantage, Vanbrook quickly dispatched two of them, kicked their bodies into their comrades and turned his gun on the small group of gunners.
Meanwhile, Raivyn struggled against a group of three psychics who had emerged from below, coming into the room through a different doorway. One focusing on maintaining a shield of telekinetic energy, one trying to crack Raivyn’s telepathic defenses and the third keeping up a steady fire of T-bolts. Raivyn struggled to keep up a shield, but knew she’d have to engage in offense, as well. Seeing the dead Raki and his cutlass lying on the ground, she found her answer. Keeping as much energy as she could focused on her shield, she reached out and grabbed the cutlass with her mind, drawing it through the air with blistering speed. It slammed into the back of the shield-focused psychic, stabbing out through his chest. Seeing their comrade suddenly slain shook the concentration of the other two, and a hail of T-bolts quickly took them out.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Looking around and seeing that their enemies were all either dead or unconscious, Vanbrook nodded to Raivyn and stomped up the steps to where the pilot stood alone at the command console.
The pilot, hearing the boots behind him but not turning as he watched the membranous display screen, asked, “Did we take care of the interlopers?”
“Not exactly,” said Vanbrook.
The pilot turned and found himself staring down the barrel of Vanbrook’s revolver.
***
“WEAKNESS DISCOVERED.”
The poster was in blue, black and red, with a purple silhouette of what appeared to be a Drakmundi suffering a terrible headache, his back arched and his head, which had red lightning bolts emanating from it, in his hands.
In smaller text, the caption read, “Intrepid group of Marines, along with agents and assets of the RTS, discover the secret to beating back the dreaded Drakmundi! More information to follow!”
“Huh,” said Darvik. “Must have been that reporter.”
“You mean Jrenka?” asked Glynn.
The two of them had been using their downtime to train his psychic abilities, and were just on their way from the lower offices of the Keep to take a break and go get some rakka in the cafeteria when they saw the poster hanging in the halls.
“That’s the one,” he said. “But she doesn’t name Creddik here.”
“She doesn’t name anyone,” noted Glynn. “I don’t think that’s the point.”
Darvik shrugged. “What is the point?”
“Keeping hope alive,” said Glynn.
He turned to her. She wore the same cold, distant expression she usually did. ‘Hope’ was not the first word that sprang to mind when he read her face. But something about it reminded him of Cevla. That was the last thing she’d said to him before dying in his arms. Keep giving people hope.
He shook his head. “It’s… a noble goal. Come on, let’s go get that rakka.”
***
With two captured star trees, a handful of Koomite prisoners, and a herd of recovered cattle in tow, Rewna’s star tree and the Bombard made their way back to the cattle towns just west of Fort Bog Iron.
Raivyn piloted the star tree that she and Vanbrook had taken, with Vanbrook along as a kind of copilot. A handful of sailors with ranching experience were down below handling the cattle. Vanbrook, whose experience with cattle was almost exclusively gained a few hours ago in the corral, wasn't much help, so he opted to spend his time with Raivyn.
“Everything okay up here?” asked Vanbrook cautiously. Last time he'd tried to talk with her outside of business, it hadn't gone well.
“Yeah, it’s flying just fine,” said Raivyn. “I never cared much for piloting but flying a star tree is… different. I kind of enjoy it.”
“I should have trusted you, you know,” he dared.
“What's that?” asked Raivyn.
Vanbrook sighed. “Back in the corral. You saved my hide a couple of times over, but in particular with the bulls. You were right behind me, but I didn't think about that, and I was ready to take on those bulls myself.
“Same thing happened with Lawbine–look, I know you didn't want to talk about this, so cut me off if you have to–but, anyway, I should have trusted you.”
Raivyn bit her lip. She thought about what D'Jarric had discussed with her. She wanted to stay mad at Vanbrook, but he'd just fessed up to everything. Almost everything.
“And- and if you wanted to kick me to the curb because you prefer Lawbine to me, well, that was never up to me anyway,” he continued. “So, uh, sorry, I guess. I'm sorry.”
Raivyn sighed. That was everything.
“It's you, idiot,” she said, shaking her head. “I prefer you.”
Vanbrook smiled faintly. She returned the smile over her shoulder, keeping her hands on the root-like structures that let her link with the tree.
“I don't think,” she said, trying to summon the courage to tell the joke, “I don't think you'd have had the guts to say any of that if you were outside of this thing. I could've taken another shot at you.”
Vanbrook laughed out loud, remembering the first time Raivyn had flown a star tree. The ultra-intuitive controls had caused her to fire the tree’s eyes on Vanbrook, literally with just a thought. Thankfully, the shot missed.
“Hmm,” he said. “I think we brought on some rakka when we first landed to bring in the sailors. I know there are some kind of snacks aboard somewhere. Can I get you anything?”
“If there's tavan blossom tea and something light I’d love that, thanks,” she said. She cracked a smile. Otherwise, you could always go below and see if you could dig up any of that nutrient slime we lived off of on the way to Koo L'Koom.”
“Two jokes inside a minute?” asked Vanbrook with a chuckle. “I'm impressed.”
She smiled timidly at him, laughing softly.
***
Farbin slammed his fist into his console.
“What do you mean!?” he demanded.
“The scouts are all dead,” repeated Cenfil. “We assume it was the rogue beast.”
“Assume?” asked Farbin, more than a little annoyed. “The ocular cameras were supposed to be running!”
“They were,” answered Cenfil calmly. “But the attacker was never on camera.”
Farbin shook his head. “How can a beast do any of this?”
Beast soldiers were the lowest caste in Drakmundi society. Above them were the soldiers, such as the infantry and scouts, then the heralds, the world serpents, and, highest of all, the Council.
Each caste left more and more itchy, stinking flesh behind for mechanical improvements, and it was possible, through merit, to be promoted to a higher caste. Except for the beasts. Beasts were of sub-sapient intelligence, controlled tightly by programming and psychic mastery. They weren't eligible for promotion, they were simply cannon fodder. Shock troops sent in to destroy and demoralize the enemy. Even with a broken transponder, a beast shouldn't be capable of the kind of havoc this one was wreaking.
“Send another squad,” ordered Farbin. “This time, eight scouts and four beasts. We know where it was, assuming it wasn't the locals. I want them dead all the same if you should find them. I have other matters to attend to.”
“Yes, sir” answered Cenfil.
As they had talked, a message had come through on his console, concerning the captured Griffonian ship. Farbin’s smile widened as he read the report. It was good news. They'd soon be expanding their campaign against the Griffon Republic.