Chapter 52

"Now! Pull her out, I can't hold it!" Bryan roared through gritted teeth. He stood hunched over, body trembling as all his strength went into holding the collapsed roof beam a few feet off the ground. Beneath him, a woman screamed, bleeding, partly covered in the rubble. The fire spread rapidly between the houses, the flames licking up the sides of wooden structures, casting an eerie orange glow over the chaos. Men dashed with pails of water, shouting instructions, their efforts seeming almost futile against the roaring inferno. People screamed, their cries blending into a symphony of panic and despair. Similar scenes of wreckage were everywhere; whole streets destroyed, monstrous craters marking the Warwolf's devastating impact.

Nicolas pulled the woman free, his muscles straining with the effort, and Bryan released the timbers with a shuddering groan. Two young women dashed forward to inspect her, bandaging her wounds and trying to stop the bleeding. Nicolas stood up, looking around, and wiped the sweat from his brow. His ears were still ringing from the last impact, making it hard to hear anything clearly. Panic and despair spread like wildfire. All zones were being hit, but this part of the outer zone, where the poorest lived in the shoddiest buildings, had been almost entirely demolished.

"We don't have long. There'll be another incoming shot in a minute," Bryan said, his voice rough and urgent.

Nicolas watched as members of his division spread out, helping people amidst the chaos. Steam and smoke filled the streets, fires spreading, growing, and being extinguished. He said, "Things are under control here. Let's get to the wall. We'll be able to see where the next shot lands from there, figure out where we can be of most use to people."

They clambered up the steps, Bryan nursing a wound to his hand. Nicolas noticed the blood and said, "You need to get that tended to."

Bryan shook his head. "There are other folks who need the medics more."

"You're saving lives every hour. Keeping you up and healthy is worth a medic's time," Nicolas insisted.

Bryan laughed, a little manically. "I'm okay. Well, none of us are okay, really, are we? How long are we supposed to hold out like this? This can't be part of Brightforge's plan."

"I don't think Brightforge, I don't think anyone, ever envisioned that the Warwolf still existed, or that it would be deployed out here," Nicolas replied, his voice tense. "The plan was a nice, comfortable siege that drained the Empire's resources and fomented further discontent. Then, when other cities took advantage to claim their freedom, Cincy could strike like a dagger."

Bryan coughed, a harsh sound against the backdrop of destruction. "That's not working out."

As they mounted the wall and looked inward to the city, Nicolas said, "At this rate, there won't be a Cincinnati soon. They'll have to talk terms. This can't continue."

From the top of the wall, they surveyed the city. Smoke and fires marred the skyline, entire streets deleted, the inner wealthier sectors also burning. They watched in horror as a grand house near the Tower caved in on itself, collapsing in a plume of smoke and debris. The scale of the devastation was overwhelming, and the future seemed darker than ever.

Then they heard a sound, distant and faint, but unmistakable—the sound of impacts, crushing, screeching metal. As they watched, a plume of dust and streamers of smoke appeared to spread from a point beyond the distant hills.

Bryan squinted at the sight. "What the fuck is that..."

Nicolas peered, equally confused. "I don't know...that's where the shots have been coming from..."

Bryan's voice held a note of hesitant hope. "You don't think..."

Nicolas shook his head, barely daring to dream. "I daren't dream..."

They waited, eyes on the sky, ears pricked for the next projectile. After a time, Bryan spoke again. "That's the longest it's been between shots since the whole thing started..."

Nicolas swallowed hard, fighting against a rising tide of hope. "I can't believe... It's not good to hope..."

As they stood, they heard the heaving footfalls of a gigantic Griidsuit. They turned to see Arcstone approaching. The sight of his powerful suit, a precious resource of immense strength, stirred conflicting emotions in Nicolas. He knew the Griidlords' time and power were assets to be measured carefully, but looking at the hulking figure, he felt a bitterness that the Griidlords weren't in the streets, clearing rubble and saving lives on a scale that a hundred men couldn't hope to achieve.

Arcstone's voice cut through his thoughts. "You boys, come with me."

Bryan pointed beyond the wall, excitement in his voice. "Did something happen to the Warwolf?"

Arcstone's tone was brisk. "Come on, Brightforge wants to talk to you."

Bryan and Nicolas exchanged shocked glances. Nicolas asked, "He's okay?"

Arcstone nodded. "Looks like he will be, but he won't be swinging a sword for a long time. Come on, he needs you."

Nicolas and Bryan followed him, descending to the streets. They trudged through sectors of increasingly finer buildings, the Order rising with each step, yet everywhere there was smoke, flames, rubble, screams, and people crying. Nic's thoughts whirled, trying to grasp what Brightforge could possibly need from him. Surely there were bigger considerations on his mind, more pressing concerns than anything Nicolas could contribute.

As they walked, the destruction around them seemed endless. The devastation from the Warwolf's relentless assault was profound. Families huddled together in the ruins of their homes, the wounded cried out for help, and the air was thick with the acrid smell of burning wood and charred flesh.

Arcstone led them through the Tower gardens, which had been less scathed by the attack. A crater nearby still smoked, and a peacock lay smashed, its feathers creeping across the ground in the low breeze. Nicolas’s heart shifted as he took in the sight. He had only passed through these gardens a few times, and they had always seemed like an oasis of beauty and tranquility.

Inside the Tower, they entered the cavernous foyer. The smooth, arching metal roof and surfaces gleamed under the dim lighting. Nobles and leaders ran to and fro in a panic, the atmosphere more dreadful and chaotic than he had ever seen. Arcstone led them to the elevator, a sense of urgency in his stride.

Nicolas had never been further than the first level of the Tower, where the public rooms existed: the banqueting halls, the receptions. Even those rooms were a rare and valued experience. As they entered the elevator, Arcstone briskly touched a panel and the chamber doors shut. It began to hum, and Nicolas could feel the compression of vertical acceleration.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Bryan's voice broke the silence. "What...what are we doing here? We're just soldiers..."

Arcstone replied, "You're not just soldiers. You two spared the city from defeat at the battle of Oxford. You helped give us the little chance we have now."

Bryan's tone was skeptical. "So we're getting medals while the city burns down?"

Arcstone chuckled low and deep. "Brightforge will speak with you. You're trusted, both of you, and you're capable. I hear you're a dangerous man with an axe."

Bryan shrugged. "I've given more than I've got."

Nicolas smiled. Bryan had a reputation that exceeded his rank, and in some ways, he wondered if Bryan was wasted as an NCO. The elevator came to a stop, and the doors slid open, revealing a hallway in the upper Tower. Bryan and Nicolas were in awe; these were the realms of the super-rich, the highest nobles, the Griidlords.

Arcstone marched down the hall, and the two men followed, eyes wide with wonder. They entered a large chamber with a towering transparent wall. Five egg-shaped, coffin-like structures were arrayed in the space. Nicolas’s eyes darted back and forth, unable to settle his attention. On one side, he saw the pods where the Griidlords healed and maintained their suits, a space reserved only for priests, the Griidlords themselves, and the very highest-ranking people in the city. But beyond the glass-like wall, the landscape around the city was laid bare, and he couldn’t help moving toward the clear material, staring out at the distant smoking wreckage.

He breathed, "The Warwolf... it's... destroyed..."

Bryan came to stand alongside him, and they both trembled slightly, disbelief, relief, and hope mingling in their expressions. The sight of the massive war machine reduced to ruins seemed almost too good to be true.

A weak voice came from behind them, "We're not saved, but this is a chance we can't waste."

They turned to see one of the coffin-like pods lay open. Inside, bathed in cool blue light, Brightforge lay, very much alive but clearly pained and weak. Nicolas stepped closer, concern etched on his face.

"What happened to it?" Nicolas asked, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and hope.

Brightforge's expression was weary, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't tell you that. A third party intervened. We'd hoped this would happen, and now that it has, we need to take advantage."

Nicolas frowned. "But without the Warwolf, the Empire is stymied. They'll have to wait us out. We have time now..."

Brightforge's eyes seemed to darken with a heavy sadness. "Less time than you might think."

Bryan, his face still showing traces of hope, asked, "What do you mean? If the Warwolf is destroyed, their main advantage is gone."

"Sources have informed us that Dania of New York is petitioning the Emperor to return the Behemoth to her," Brightforge said.

Nicolas had some vague memory of being schooled about the Behemoth. Bryan just looked confused. Brightforge, seeing their expressions, continued, "The Behemoth is a terrible machine of destruction, at least as dangerous to us as the Warwolf, perhaps more so. It can only be piloted by Griidlords from New York. Upon their defeat by Tiberius Bloodsword, the Emperor demanded the Behemoth as a kind of ransom, but truly he wanted to keep it in Boston. There, it might be useless to him, but it leaves New York diminished and easier to control. Now Dania is pressing that circumstances require New York to receive the Behemoth. She will swear deeper fealties to the Empire and use the machine to destroy us, then her enemies in South New York."

Nicolas cast his eyes back through the window, to the slumbering wreckage of the Warwolf. "So that was for nothing?"

Brightforge slowly, painfully, shook his head. "It gives us time, Nic. That's why I need you. Dania is queen because her father was murdered. She believes he was killed by an assassin from the south. This is what is driving her further into the arms of the Emperor, but I believe—have to believe—that the assassin came from the Empire itself, a way to interrupt the revolt that was gathering momentum between the two halves of New York."

Nicolas waited, unsure of how this involved him. Brightforge continued, "The Emperor is cautious. He will explore every avenue available to him before he releases the Behemoth to New York. Once he does, this war is over. I'll have to bend the knee, accept my fate. But I think we have at least a month. If the assassin can be found, if it can be proven that the assassin came from the Empire, not only would this turn Dania back from her path of deepening fealty, it would show the other cities how desperate the Empire truly is. It would reveal that the Empire is willing to kill one of its own vassal lords, that it needs to resort to such methods because it lacks the power or the might. If New York tumbles into revolt, other cities will follow like dominoes. The siege here cannot be pressed without the resources of the entire Empire. The Empire cannot afford to keep armies here when it has rebels casting off the yoke from all points of the compass."

Nicolas felt dread and confusion. "I don't understand. What do you need from me?"

Brightforge said, "I would send a Griidlord if I could, but with me in this box, I need the other four present to hold the walls. But I want you to go."

Nicolas trembled. "Me? To New York?"

Brightforge nodded. "To wherever. I need you to find the assassin."

Nicolas said, "But I'm an officer. My place is here. Surely there are others..."

Brightforge interrupted, "You could have been a Griidlord, Nic. You're regarded as one of the best soldiers the city can offer. Alongside you stands a man who is no small legend himself for the way he's composed himself in bloody fights. And I have another. A small party is best. Whoever we send needs to pass inspection by the besiegers. You'd go as merchants, take horses and an empty wagon. You can abandon the wagon once you get well beyond the enemy lines."

Nicolas shook his head, disbelieving. "I don't feel up to the task."

Brightforge said, "Nic, trust me. I wouldn't be sending you if you weren't capable. You can fight. You're smart enough to make the decisions I know you'll have to make. And most importantly, I trust you. That's what this has been about since the beginning. Don't worry, I'll take care of the 3rd."

Nicolas bowed his head, saying, "Whatever my city needs of me."

Bryan likewise bowed his head, though he was visibly shaking at the enormity of the task before them.

Brightforge continued, "One month. We have that, but I can't promise the Emperor will wait any longer before he releases the Behemoth. You have a month to find the assassin. You'll need arms, but if you leave here with relics, the Empire will see through your guise as traders. First, go to Mt. Orab. There is a monastery there that is holding treasures for me, something I put in place for just this eventuality. You can equip yourselves as knights there. Then head north to Pittsburgh. You can pay your way onto a Foofield train and be in New York as soon as possible."

Nicolas felt the weight of the mission bearing down on him. "I... I don't know where to begin."

Brightforge smiled weakly. "Neither do I. Nobody would. That's why it needs to be you. You've got the smarts for this. Now go. You can't waste a moment. You have a month for hunting, and little more. The fate of this city hangs in the balance."

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Afterword

Dearest Reader,

As this chapter of The Griid concludes, I find myself deeply moved by the overwhelming support and encouragement from you, our cherished readers. Your love for this story has sparked within me an unyielding dedication to expanding upon this rich universe and breathing life into these exceptional characters.

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Tom Wrath

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