The entrance to Piper’s Hill was engulfed in chaos.

Mari was stationed at the residential quarters just past the first corridor, relying on the ragtag troops she had left to keep the invaders occupied.

“Move, move!” she was shouting over the din of combat, watching the former slaves toss their Hakkatovs at any warrior of Nagoya that dared to breach their perimeter.

She saw them from the center of the square, each man edging cautiously towards the fire-throwers led by Marvin, who had set themselves up as the invaders’ welcoming committee. Each Yokun wore the distinctive armor of the Yokun Zhurkin or ‘Frontline Infantry': a series of metal plates bound together by mail and worn over hardened leather cuirasses and greaves. Each one of their scaled heads was protected by a full-plate helmet adorned with Rakhasha horns. The Rakhasha were the elephantine predators of the Arasaka jungle—no living creature could pose a threat to them without a mechanical advantage. There was no greater indicator of Yokun supremacy than their hunting of the Rakhasha virtually to extinction.

Slathered across their breastplates was the sigil Mari had learned to revile: the mailed fist bathed in hellfire that told her exactly which clan had come knocking at her doors this time:

Clan Hitogi, led by their butchering Prince himself, no doubt.

The children were quickly evacuated out the southern tunnels where they’d planned to run in case of an emergency like this, and yet Mari scowled in the face of yet another retreat. It felt like that had been her whole damn life since she’d first taken up the mantle of emancipator.

Maybe Marcus had been right. Did they stand a chance at all?

She helped guide a family of three Yokun from their crumbling house to the edge of the beleaguered metal platform that kept the civilians' quarters suspended above the chasm that descended far below them.

“Lady Mari!”

Hialja’s hulking mass of muscles managed to block a spear that had been sent flying straight at Mari’s head, groaning under the pain of the blow.

“Hialja! Hialja, get back! Your job is to defend the civilians, not me!”

“My…job,” the Tauron scowled. “Hialja’s job…is…to kill. Kill anyone who dares hurt Pale Lady!”

Mari watched the great Minotaur swing her axe above her head as she charged at the Yokun warriors breaking through the North tunnel, taking the full discharge of the Hakka bombs and yet still pushing through.

She watched as Hialja roared into them, ready to charge and give her life to put them down. She’d maybe get five or ten…maybe…but she was already bleeding from her good arm. Mari knew Hialja and knew more than anyone that the power of that beast had limits.

She spotted Marvin amidst the crowd of Hakka-tossers taking cover at the front of the civilian bridge. “Marvin, fall back!”

The human looked back at her with pure frustration in his eyes. She’d only ever seen him as angry as that once before…back when he still toiled under the weight of his Master’s scaled heels.

“If I’m gonna die, lass,” he said. “I’ll die knowin’ that me life meant something. Go with the civvies. Lead them out of here. We’ll do the rest.”

“The dumbass farmer has a point, you know,” a sly voice then whispered in Mari’s ear from behind—the voice of the Tigran Karliah. Clad in her polished velvet battledress, she looked the very image of an assassin sent from the deserts of Chun themselves—a true envoy of her people.

“The last of the families is out,” Karliah told her, grabbing her arm and yanking her away as she looked at her people dying before her. “Matriarch, you know it is you that I—that they—need. Come, we can get a proper head start.”

Mari could say nothing in response. She simply bit her lip and cursed herself for her own indecision. She was thankful Marcus wasn’t here to see her. With him, she always knew what to say. That was the image of herself she’d planted in his mind—it was the way he saw her. She liked it that way. She liked it that he’d always believed in her, even when she could be just as obstinate as he was…

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Hialja is sick of waiting!” the great black Tauron roared. “If the Masters want her, they can come and get her!”

Marcus, Mari thought. Marc…please…

At that moment, a spear of psychic energy pierced through the minds of the combatants of Piper’s Hill. Even the Yokun stood confused for a moment, looking around them as though a secret weapon of the rebellious slaves had just been employed against them. In a way, it had. Just not a weapon they were capable of truly discerning.

Soldiers of Piper’s Hill, a voice rang out in the consciousness of every former slave. If you wish to run, then run. But if you wish to save your shelter, and deal a blow against your former Masters that they will not soon forget, then listen to my words.

Hialja groaned, shaking her great locks in disbelief. She wasn’t the only one.

“That—that’s the power of Jin’an!” Karliah cried out. “But…it’s not her voice…”

“Who cares whose bloody voice it is!” Marvin screamed as he lit another Hakkatov from his dwindling supplies and began edging back from the spears of the Zhurkin. “If there’s a way to fuck these bastards up, I’m game!”

“What the hell happened to making a heroic sacrifice?!” Karliah screamed down at him as she effortlessly dodged a spear launched at her lithe form.

“I’m past that!” Marvin shouted back. “Men! Listen up. Sounds like someone’s got a plan.”

“Hialja…will listen,” the bloodied Tauron growled, throwing off five Zhukrin and staggering back into the center of the plaza with the rest of the harried forces. By now, the Zhukrin had poured out of the entrance corridor en-masse. The Pipers were about to be surrounded.

But in a sea of panic, Mari couldn’t help but smile.

“Marc…”, she whispered. “I’d know that voice anywhere.”

Form a defensive knot and make a beeline for the southern shaft! The voice thundered in the heads of all the assembled slaves. Make use of your Hakkatovs to cover your retreat. If any melee combatants come within reach of your vanguard, well…I believe one of you has quite a penchant for smashing?

Hialja smiled under her fury. Her bloodlust had only just begun.

As the voice explained the rest of the plan, the slave warriors watched their foes edge ever closer and felt the reverberations of the metal platform underneath their feet begin to wobble under the weight of the Yokun armor.

Mari’s eyes flew to the ceiling where the platform’s suspension chains were beginning to give way…

“Are we really going to potentially put our lives on the line for a man who isn’t even brave enough to fight beside us?” Karliah spat.

“Oh, he’s with us, all right,” Mari replied in the center of their defensive knot. “Isn’t that right, Marc?”

Mari could feel his presence even though she couldn’t see him. He was there. He was exactly where they needed him to be.

Hakka-throwers! Marcus telepathed. Stick to the center—send your grenades flying high. Tigran, position yourselves around the perimeter of the circle—use your small frames to dance between the cumbersome strikes of the invading army’s spears. Yokun! Keep to the rear; let your arrows fly towards the far edges of the enemy formation. Let them know that they aren’t safe even if they cower behind their officers! Hialja…you know what to do.

The Pipers obeyed with some difficulty—trying to sort themselves as their enemies kept pressing forward. Losses were inevitable. Slaves fell before they could truly witness the miracle of their ascension—before they could even realize the finest moment of their revolt against their former Masters. Getting the formation right was tough, especially for such a ragtag force, but with Marcus’s telepathic instruction to guide each and every one of them every step of the way, they soon got a handle on his command, and the Yokun of Nagoya began to fight tooth and claw for every inch they got in the den of their prey.

With every inch, the metal platform only continued to give way until the rusted chain links started to audibly break apart.

“Marc!?” Mari shouted over the din of the ensuing battle. “We’re approaching the South tunnel!”

Hialja’s axe soared to cleave clean through a swathe of Yokun at the front of the knot. Marvin kept exhorting his Hakka-throwers with ever-more-colorful profanities, and even Karliah was leading her sisters in the deadly dances they were performing at the outside of their circle, some of the Tigran managing to disarm their opponents completely before they even made it to the rest of their troops.

Mari, Marcus telegraphed. Do you trust me?

“That a joke?” she asked him right back. “You’re the only man I ever have.”

Then that’s all I need to hear. Pipers! Hold position at the southern tunnel entrance. Begin filing through the exit from the back. Hialjia, keep up your pressure! Tigrans, continue your harassment!

“Does this man of yours always bark orders like this?!” Karliah spat as she split a Yokun warrior’s spear and followed up with a horizontal slice of her dagger across his exposed throat.

“This is new, actually,” Mari smiled back at her. “Though if I’m being honest, can’t say it’s a turnoff…”

“…I will never understand you humans.”

***

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