513 A.F.
Barrens
Smoke billowed from the battle chargers, black clouds drifting skyward. Four hardened wheels carried the charger, a dark hulking mass, roaring down a concrete highway. Jack and Mary sat in plush fur lined seats, a stark contrast to the enveloping steel doors. Peering through inch thick glass, Jack looked out at the familiar site of ruinous urban centers. Towering signs had faded with a century of sunlight beating down mercilessly. Buildings dotted the horizon, shattered windows and open doors staring back like so many empty faces. They passed the remnants of a school, its doors plastered with yellow tape, red spray painted warnings still faintly visible on the walls. Jack didn’t know much about the cities of old. The histories were vague and generally uninteresting. He only knew that war, gruesome violence of an unprecedented scale had ravaged the kingdoms. Civilizations at their pinnacle came crumbling down. People fled or rioted as death swept across the continents, unsolicited and without prejudice. One dying country released plague warfare as a dead man’s switch, killing of billions as their final reprisal . The rest died through famine or sporadic conflicts as people fought for food, vultures picking the bones off a once towering corpse. Jack kept scanning, looking for signs of life across the dead horizon.
Most of the rubble and vehicles had been cleared from the highway, a main thoroughfare between DeeSee and York. Two more chargers flanked Mary and Jack’s vehicle, helmeted heads emerging from the top of each in a canopied turret. The other vehicles bore a hodgepodge of armor, their open beds providing room for supplies. The lead charger maintained the pace, rumbling down a fifty foot wide swath that stretched endlessly, disappearing at the edge of the world. Jack sat rigidly across from Mary, scanning the countryside. He tugged at his boot strap and leaned back to look over at Mary. She wore a comfortable dress with modest boots, all adorned in Coldmar’s icy blues. Her pale skin and fiery red hair made for a striking appearance. She glowed with a pale brilliance that seemed to light up the stark interior of the charger. Jack looked her over out of the corner of his eye, surrendering himself for a brief moment, lost in her placid beauty. Mary pursed her radiant red lips mockingly, steeping her brow at Jack. “Don’t tell me you don’t miss me” Mary said shamelessly, uncaring of the quiet driver and her handmaiden Shea up front.
Jack shook away his momentary lapse, staring at her stoically and shrugged. “I’m taking you to marry my liege lord, Prince Aiden.” With an effort, Mary’s face softened, her lips pouting. “But you do love me Little Raven”. Jack’s face remained a mask. He reflected quietly; maybe once he did, but no longer. He wrestled with the memories of Mary, only years ago. The thought of her embrace invaded his mind, like sun-beams bursting through wintry clouds. It filled him with a warmth he had since forgotten. Longing thoughts tugged at him, threatening to pull down the mask. He cut himself away from the thought, a stinging bitterness. “My lady, I am here simply to escort you to First Reach, as your father, and the King, have commanded”. Mary’s lips parted, sighing. “Always with duty, that was forever your problem my love”. Her face softened, eyes glistening as they focused on Jack. “But you could be..” she whispered against the roar of the charger. “You could be my king, if only-”. A cacophony of metal crashing thundered through the air, cutting off Mary’s words. Jack sat up straight, looking outward through the thick glass. “Shit” he muttered, “get down and stay down, looks like we have company”
Ahead, the lead battle charger dropped unexpectedly from view. Jack braced as their driver wrenched the wheel left, sending the occupants swaying hard inside. Rubber gilded perilously close to air as their charger avoided the gaping maw of a concrete pit. Careening past, Jack watched the lead charger smashing into the pit. The front end crumpled, sending the engine block smashing into the cab, crushing it like a sledgehammer collapsing a tin can. It flipped headlong, finally landing upside down, screeching across the concrete. Jack spied a smear of blood and limbs, probably from the mounted guard, severed and sheared as the charger slid, turret mangled under the weight of the charger. The tailing humvee swerved left, following Jack and Mary’s charger and evading the trap. To their right, Jack spotted three war chariots and five stallions. They were racing across a sprawling brown hillside, dotted with stone monuments and grey pillared structures. The vehicles dodged stone outcroppings, darting in and out of view. A graveyard. Fitting, Jack thought.
The blackened chariots raced in front, booming, violent engines surrounded by a cage of metal bars. The open frame came to a point, a haggered figure bouncing and knocking around in a turret as the buggy raced across the terrain. Atop the chariot, a deadly gleam caught Jack’s eye. Ballistas. Behind them, five more mounts hurtled across the field. Two of the bikes carried a second silhouette, brandishing long, menacing weapons as they worked closer. Jack calmly barked at the driver to speed up, as he climbed to the center of the vehicle, unlatching the turret koopala. The attackers shot onto the highway behind the caravan, swerving dangerously as dirt turned to concrete. Jack heard a mechanical groan and sharp ‘clink’, as the rear humvee opened up with his mounted crossbow. He slammed the turret door open, standing and peering out over the steel armor of the turret. The attackers were quickly gaining ground against the slower chargers. He watched as the enemy swarm dispersed, lurching wildly to avoid the crossbow. The lead pursuer sped forward, turret rotating. Jack saw a flash as the ballista fired. It struck the rear charger, clanking harmlessly against the steel frame. A second chariot pulled forward, racing to get ahead of his peer. The gunner recoiled sharply. Like a scorpion’s venomous tail lashing out, the ballista unleashed a massive bolt, piercing the back of the humvee, a steel cable whipping out and snapping taut.
The caravan gunner leveraged the arm of the mounted crossbow, slamming his knee into the rounded turret for support. He aimed carefully, losing his weapon at the lead pursuer. The driver of the attacking chariot jerked as a bolt penetrated his neck, pinning him to the seat. Dying hands reflexively convulsed, dragging the steering wheel. The steel cable connecting the two vehicles groaned and squealed, threatening to snap. As the driver’s head slumped lifelessly, the passenger reached madly across the wheel, struggling against the pull of stiff arms. Before he could correct, the steel cable jerked them violently to one side. The chariot clipped a jagged metal railing, heaving upward. The top heavy chariot toppled, pitching brutally as it rolled. A metallic whip cracked as the steel from the bounding cable snapped. With a flash, a trailing rider was separated from his mount. His torso bounced and bobbled to the ground, leaving his legs and two bloodied stumps still clutching the bike as it veered off aimlessly into an adjoining field.
Two more bikes flanked the rear humvee, narrowly avoiding the wild steel cable. They reached out, steadying arms as they fired at the rear charger. The hand crossbows plinked off the humvees armor. The caravan gunner ducked behind steel plates, wrenching down on the crossbow arm and shimmying another bolt into place. He stood cautiously, leveling his mounted weapon. With a squeeze, a mechanical clank sounded, sending a bolt flying at a trailing rider. It struck the attacker in the arm, a spurt of red tipped steel ejecting from his tricep. He crumpled in pain, losing the grip on his handlebars. The bike drifted, then jerked as the rider flailed wildly. Steel met steel as the bike crashed sideways into one of the pursuing chariots. Rubber caught hold and ripped the mount under the buggy, causing it to bounce forcibly over the mangled pile of flesh and metal.
The third chariot had swung wide and was now drifting back towards their rear humvee. The gunner shook; a mechanical clank was audible above the turbulent race. Shining steel buried into the rear tire of the caravan humvee. Black chunks flew as the tire erupted. Grinding metal sent fiery sparks upward as the tire diminished into steel grinding against concrete. The black charger heaved, weight shifting precariously. In a heartbeat, the black mass reeled violently to one side, sending the vehicle tumbling sideways. A stallion foe beside the vehicle disappeared, crushed flat as a trivial insect beneath a pounding fist. Two pursuing chariots and two stallions remained, dodging easily around the mess of vehicles. Jack watched as they closed the distance. He reached down to his hip, sliding a worn, but reliable pistol from his holster. He maneuvered his palm over the slide with a practiced hand, glancing down at the exposed brass and eyeing it contemplatively. Releasing the slide, he pushed the sidearm calmly back into the hardened leather holster. He methodically checked his green and black armor, testing the straps on his forearms and chest, kicking his legs out in an awkward stretch to ensure there was no shaking or jingling.
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Jack peaked between the steel panels of the turret, watching a pair of dirtied goggles and wild windblown hair come into view. Below, the handmaiden screeched. A bolt pierced the armor, steel tip jutting a thumbs length through the door. Outside, he could hear the whooping and jeering of bandits. The charger’s engine bellowed, and the driver was shouting obscenities. Mary’s handmaiden was uttering squelched prayers between sobs. More bolts plinked against the armor outside. The sounds of pandemonium had a certain… melody to them. Jack crouched into the cab and looked at Mary. A grin crept up his cheeks. Rubbing his jaw, Jack had almost forgotten what smiling felt like. “Looks like they’re playing my song” he smirked.
Mary watched as Jack swung effortlessly across to the pierced door. He clutched the handle with two hands, bracing. Mary’s heart pounded. Her palms were squeezed tightly, knuckles a ghostly white as she clung to the seat. She looked at Jack longingly. Through the haze of chaos around them, she sat steadily focused on him. His poise was infectious. He oozed the same confidence that she fell in love with years ago. Reaching over swiftly, she tucked her handkerchief delicately into his belt. He turned his head slightly towards her, that consuming grin of his still painted across his face. She smiled reflexively, blushing. “For luck my love”, as she pulled her hand away from his waist. He mouthed a response, but it was lost in the screeching as the door was torn from the battle charger. Jack launched atop the door, jettisoned toward the adversary’s chariot. Mary watched him go, and realized she had loosened her grip on the seat. Her heart no longer pummeled her ribs uncontrollably, it was beating more distinctly now. Terror was replaced with a rhythmic hum, a heartbeat of longing
The steel door jerked him explosively, threatening to rip his bones clean from their moorings. He held tight, trying to orient himself in flight. The momentum of the door brought it crashing near the bandit chariot, screeching like a sled down the roadway with Jack crouched atop still grinning stupidly. As he launched himself toward the metallic cage, he shot a hand out to grab part of the cage. Using his momentum, he rocketed forward at the gunner. Jack glimpsed a pair of wide eyes behind sooted goggles. The bandit let out an unintelligible grunt as Jack’s shoulder impacted his chest, knocking the air out of the bewildered bandit and sending him toppling over his waist high turret. The body tumbled as it crashed into the dusty shoulder, flipping uncontrollably. Jack maneuvered between the cage, slinking through metal bars to reach the driver. A dirt flecked face turned to Jack from the passenger seat, swinging a leather strapped arm across his chest, trying to aim up at Jack with a hand crossbow. Jack kicked out a leg, catching the upswung arm and redirecting it away from himself. He heard a brief ‘plunk’, followed by an unsettling ‘thwok’ as the crossbolt flew only inches across into the driver’s exposed temple. The crossbow wielding bandit, stunned, looked over in horror. Jack used the opportunity to grip the bars above his head. He swung feet first and swept the bandit out into open air, never seeing him land. Jack straddled the seats, fumbling to heave the lifeless driver out of his seat. Damn, he forgot how heavy limp bodies were. Finally, he wedged himself into the edge of the driver-seat, shoving the bandit unceremoniously out into the highway. Jack mashed the gas pedal, trailing a fountain of sparks from the still dragging door.
He felt a little chagrined that he might be performing a little…brashly, but he brushed that thought aside. He reached down to his hip holster, reassuring himself. Yes, he could pull out his .45 Dirk, but every bullet fired came with a cost. His ammo was strictly accounted for, and came directly from the kingdom’s coffers. As a Raven, he was permitted to fire in the line of duty. But the swift reprimand would be just as painful as a bolt to the knee. He shrugged off the thought, narrowing his eyes in concentration. As he swerved his charger to avoid some crossbow bolts, he angled towards another marauder on a bike. Jack made quick work of the hapless rider, bringing the steel frame of his chariot smashing into the bike. The rider, unarmored, went skidding with the bike. Bronzed skin met concrete, peeling away to reveal a hazy mesh of red as the crash faded from view.
There was only one chariot and stallion left. Jack watched helplessly as the last chariot headed towards the black battle charger. A bandit clambered over the metal turret, slinking carefully down the metal frame. He leapt for the back of the battle charger, grabbing hold in the empty door frame that Jack had emerged from only minutes ago. He watched as a familiar boot shot outward, bits of blue dress draped over a slender leg. Mary’s heel struck the marauder’s jaw, sending his head up and back. His body followed suit with his head, sending him tumbling behind the two vehicles. Mary poked her head from the charger, her red hair a brilliant explosion as it met the whipping winds and sunlight. She looked back, finding Jack in close pursuit. She scowled before tucking her head back into the car. Apparently she wasn’t happy with his performance so far.
Jack was trying to get alongside the last chariot, but the two vehicles ahead of him were swerving sporadically. He looked ahead down the highway where he noticed the lanes narrowing down to two as they approached a bridge. He was running out of time and space. The last chariot was without a gunner, but he watched as the bandit driver reached back, fishing around for a hand crossbow bolt. His passenger was maneuvering his way into the turret, eyeing the open door way as he swiveled the ballista towards the helpless charger. Shit, out of time Jack thought. He reached down, hand greeted by metal and leather. Thumbing the cold steel hammer of his .45, he extended a steady hand over the wheel. With a slow, purposeful squeeze, the gun fired. Jack watched as the bandit driver’s head jerked and then slumped. The bandit gunner was too preoccupied reloading the ballista and taking aim at Mary’s charger to realize what happened. The enemy chariot drifted away from Mary’s charger, taking flight as the road and dirt disappeared into a rocky chasm. Jack watched as the bandit vehicle tumbled in the air for a moment, finally crashing into a jagged bottom as the steel frame folded on impact.
Mary’s charger slowed, crossing the bridge safely as Jack pulled up next to them. Jack shifted in his seat, sliding the .45 safely back into the holster and cursing himself. He waited too long, he never should have let them get that close to Mary’s vehicle. Damn bandits, what the hell were they doing out here anyways? These highways had been without incident for a decade now. Jack cursed himself some more, trying to remember how much further they had to travel. His eyes were narrowed, keeping out the wind and dirt that swept through the chariot’s open cab. His face was clenched with frustration over the ordeal, trying to make sense of it. To his left, he glimpsed the fiery sunburst of Mary’s hair tucked safely away in the black charger. She wore a smile as her handmaiden clambered into the back seat, all apologies and scraping. Between heads bobbing, Jack locked eyes with Mary and felt a bit of his tension melt away, like she was threatening to pull down the mask yet again.
Green specks dotted the landscape now, rolling up and down with the jagged land. There were no once ruined civilizations here. Instead, the desolate browns and grey were occasionally covered in greens and yellows. Nature was hard at work, much like man-kind, trying to rebuild. In the distance, mountainous peaks were lined with full sized trees, like fortresses walled off in brown and green. On one particular peak, the pine trees parted ways to man’s fallen creation. Faded green signs beckoned atop bent steel. A crumbling concrete structure was perched precariously atop an overlook. Shattered glass lay strewn across the rocky cliff exposing the building to the elements. Wind swept in, sweeping and crashing between the walls. Planted firmly atop a wood deck, a man in stark white armor looked outward behind binoculars. The figure dripped with a vicious grace; a deadly mountain cat waiting to strike. His face was masked, covered with a sleek black shield. As the last marauder plummeted into the ravine, he plucked the comm-link off his shoulder. With the slightest of head tilts, he growled calmly into the radio, “Marauders down. Begin Plan B”.