Panzicosta leapt off the behemoth Lutamek, ignoring the sparks and smoke emanating from the exposed access consoles. The robot strained against its braces as Panzicosta stretched his legs and appendages, with satisfying cracks.
‘This place smells like a Skrift’s intestines,’ he said to Millok, who descended gracefully from the front of the enslaved vehicle.
‘How long since you last saw the Doctor?’ Panzicosta asked, noting the shudder as Millok stared at the tall, grey-washed buildings of Abzicrutia: Doctor Cynigar’s experiments had been far from pain-free, but it was every Brakari soldier’s duty to improve – or be improved.
‘Long enough for me to heal, General,’ Millok replied and stepped over a muddy puddle. ‘The roads are no better.’
‘Or the sanitation,’ said Panzicosta. ‘Still, it has its purpose.’ Panzicosta looked at Millok and held back a wave of sexual need. ‘The Lutamek performed as you promised. Good bracing.’
‘Thank you, General.’
Between the mud-coloured towers sat squat domes for those Brakari who longed to sleep in a moist and warm environment. Panzicosta watched Millok steer clear of these, obviously wary of the male attention she attracted.
A guard from the nearest watchtower scuttled over. ‘Doctor Cynigar will be here shortly, General.’
‘Good,’ Panzicosta snapped. ‘And my intelligence report?’
‘Yes, General. The Draytor has been in contact.’ The turquoise soldier with unusually large eyes read from a sliver of plastic. ‘The new biped army call themselves ‘humans’ and have crossed the great lake. The Draytor remains undetected and awaits further orders.’
‘Good.’ Panzicosta walked a circle. ‘We have the name of our enemy at last.’
‘And your orders, General?’
‘Tell the Draytor–’
‘Panzicosta!’ A high-pitched squeal cut him off. ‘I see you are still resisting your adaptation?’
Panzicosta turned to greet a small, black-shelled creature who swam through the air. Spikes and fins wafted over the body of a long sea slug with a monkey’s face.
‘Doctor Cynigar, I…’ Panzicosta started.
‘You need time, yes, but how much time, I wonder? Will you be ready for the next war?’ The Doctor’s voice was clipped like that of an officer Panzicosta had once served under.
General Panzicosta’s scales raised a touch but paused before flexing fully and snapping shut.
‘Don’t start bristling at me, young Brakari!’ A wave of green electricity washed over the Doctor. ‘Belsang wants every Brakari at their full potential and that means having more than your new knife arms and engorged pincers!’
Panzicosta took in air and deflated slowly. He had to stay calm. Doctor Cynigar was one of only two Brakari he was truly wary of. Who knew which adaptations and violent skills he had endowed upon himself?
‘But you will find out from Belsang yourself if you are here to wake him?’ The Doctor floated up to Panzicosta’s eye level and kept a claw’s length back.
‘Yes, I intend to wake Belsang shortly,’ Panzicosta replied.
‘Any more news of this new species?’ Doctor Cynigar asked.
‘Humans, they call themselves.’ Panzicosta grumbled and turned to the guard. ‘Lieutenant, has the Draytor any intelligence on these humans’ adaptations?’
‘Speed, invisibility, merging with weapons,’ the turquoise soldier replied.
‘Nothing aerial?’ the Doctor asked.
Panzicosta stretched a mandible. ‘Doctor, aerial warfare is inhibited by the laws of this land. We are bound to do battle on land only.’
The Doctor swung round with a flash of luminescence. ‘I’m well aware of the imposed rules, General, which is why I push them to their limit! One successful aerial adaptation would be worth a dozen land traits.’
Panzicosta raised his head a notch and refused to respond.
‘And you, Millok,’ Doctor Cynigar floated over, ‘your new visage suits you.’
‘Thank you, Doctor.’ She crouched slightly. ‘Everything has been as you said.’
‘And you have been practising?’
‘Yes, Doctor.’
‘This is acceptable. Come with me for further testing, I wish to see proof and talk about your donation.’ Doctor Cynigar swayed through the air to return to his laboratory. ‘It’s good to know some of our soldiers are enhancing the Brakari cause.’
Panzicosta’s scales wavered.
‘Goodbye, General.’ Millok bowed and followed the Doctor through a low doorway.
Panzicosta dismissed the guard and was left with his thoughts. He paced a circle in the mud. ‘The dirty little Lutamek stain,’ he mumbled. ‘When the battle is won, I’ll turn him inside out and drown him in a bowl of his own faeces.’ His scales opened and snapped with a clack. A thought came to him and two of the antennae on his head flicked upright.
‘Lieutenant!’ he shouted and the turquoise officer scuttled back. ‘New orders for the Draytor.’
‘Yes, General.’
‘I want it to kill three humans every day. The human army must be weakened by the time it reaches us.’
John sat up, gasping for air. The remnants of his dream hung close to him and he thought he could still hear Rosie on their bed, screaming and covered in blood.
In the dull light he could see men running out of the room, so he followed. They rushed through the rooms of the castle and joined the back of the crowd as Lavalle spoke to the group.
‘…killed in the night. Three of them. All beheaded.’ He stood in the early-dawn light at the tall entrance.
John looked at the calm desert morning, which contrasted with the pure hell of last night. In the thick of the sandstorm, the last hundred steps had been tortuous: clambering around walls, through ditches and over rough ground. Anything designed to inhibit an army willing to attack the castle had slowed them down as they searched for shelter. Now, with the clouds of skin-lashing sand gone, John could see the symmetry and beauty of the defensive system.
‘How were they beheaded?’ Mihran pushed through and stared at Lavalle. ‘Was it a sword? An execution?’
Lavalle dropped his head. ‘Look for yourself.’
‘The bodies were dragged here.’ Mihran’s voice trailed away.
John couldn’t see – and realised after some neck-craning he didn’t want to see three decapitated soldiers anyway. But who were they? Who hadn’t made it to safety last night? He looked around. Mata’s large frame was easy to spot and Crossley was in the thick of the action.
John relaxed, knowing his friends were safe, and felt an urge to go back into the castle. Like a thief sneaking into an empty bank, he walked back into the darkness: back to the drawings.
He had a little more natural light now than when he and Crossley had explored last night. He climbed the stone steps leading to the first floor, past the room where he’d seen Mihran and Li discussing military tactics, using images she projected onto a wall. One more room and… the drawings: black smudges and lines covering the grey stone wall to form a vast, crude picture of war. With the morning light creeping in, John made sense of what appeared to be the castle’s final battle, drawn by the defenders. But who were the soldiers fighting and where were they now?
The drawing had been split into a triptych of war. In the first picture, the safe haven was being built by a group of tall, metallic creatures. Some towers reached five storeys high and, at the perimeter, they were digging a shallow moat and filling it with white stones.
John looked at the second panel. A swarm of giant leeches surrounded the castle, held back by the moat. The leeches were firing barbed shells which, according to the picture, grew into stone-eating polyps when they hit the walls and burrowed through to attack the robotic army within.
‘I thought you’d be in here again.’ Crossley’s voice made John jump. ‘I still think this last one was drawn in the last few hours of the battle.’ Crossley pointed at the third panel.
It showed the castle close to ruins. The flatworm army was inside and tearing the robots apart. It also showed a group of robots rushing out on a final defensive attack. Suicidal, but their final chance for escape.
‘I wonder if it worked?’ John asked. ‘Did they survive?’
‘I don’t think I’d want to find out,’ Crossley replied.
But it wasn’t the story of the robots’ last stand that had drawn John back to the pictures. It was the solitary man standing on a nearby hill while the battle played out. Watching. Was this the person responsible for bringing them here? John wondered. Were these battles his entertainment?
‘Time to go,’ Crossley said.
‘Did they find out what happened to the three men?’ John asked as they descended the stairs.
‘Someone – or something – decapitated them, then dragged their bodies and heads to the entrance,’ Crossley said as they wound down to where the main group were waiting. ‘My guess is it was those freaky-looking worms from the picture, but who knows? Li says everyone’s accounted for apart from Althorn.’
‘Oh,’ John replied.
Mihran nodded at them. ‘Right, we’re all here. The same as yesterday. Li on point, triangular formation.’
They filed through the entrance and snaked around the array of broken battlements where John saw three mounds of soil. Each had a block of stone from the castle as a gravestone with a black handprint embossed on the front.
‘Who were they?’ John asked Crossley.
‘Li reckons it was an Ethiopian, an Indonesian and an Irishman.’
‘No obvious connection there,’ John said and looked back to the castle.
‘No, it just sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.’ Crossley nudged John.
John shook his head and tried not to smile.
Unseen by John the night before, large metal cubes lay scattered across the barren earth around the broken castle.
‘These must have been the robot defenders,’ Mihran said to Li, a few steps ahead of John.
‘Odd how they haven’t rusted,’ John pointed to the shiny hulks.
‘The metal is non-ferrous,’ Li answered. ‘Plus the humidity is low here.’
Mihran slowed down to walk with John. ‘Li showed me the triptych. They fought well against such a formidable aggressor.’
‘Even the moat didn’t stop them,’ John said.
‘Yes.’ Mihran looked ahead to the white line running around the battlefield. ‘But it showed they knew their enemy.’
‘A valiant defeat is one step from a glorious victory.’ John quoted one of his grandfather’s sayings.
Mihran stared at John and said, ‘Which suggests a glorious victory is only one step away from defeat.’
The moat was ten paces wide. Mihran bent down to touch and taste the white substance that lay a finger deep.
‘It’s salt.’
‘Where did they get it from?’ John asked.
‘The lake I guess.’ Crossley looked back, past the castle to the shimmering horizon. ‘One helluva feat, getting it out here.’
‘They needed it.’ Mihran pointed to a dark patch on the other edge of the moat.
John could tell by its kite-like shape it was the desiccated remains of one of the large flatworms.
‘Over here!’ Li called out.
She was standing by a large pile of broken robot bodies which lay in a semicircle.
‘This is where they breached the moat.’
A thick dark line ran from across the moat.
‘There must be seven or eight dead,’ John said.
Mihran spoke slowly and nodded. ‘They sacrificed themselves for the good of the species.’
‘They died to form a bridge?’ John shook his head.
‘What I don’t understand is if we’ve been getting these… adaptations,’ Crossley said, ‘how come the leeches didn’t evolve a way to hop the moat?’
‘Maybe one did,’ Li answered. ‘But that wouldn’t mean the rest could follow.’
‘Sure.’ Crossley walked over the crunchy salt, coughing rhythmically as he stepped.
‘Rekarius!’ General Panzicosta cursed as he squeezed his large shelled body through a dark and dusty tunnel.
His temper was amplified by the knowledge that this was only the third of twenty-seven archways leading to the subterranean Temple of Bekkrypt, designed to ensure guests showed reverence to Belsang. The long passageway sloped downwards and became slippery the nearer visitors got to the humid circular body of the temple, where the Brakari leader resided. But, despite the humiliation, Panzicosta ran through the rites as he slipped through another set of arches, knowing the process of reviving Belsang had to be followed meticulously, and so he pushed on with his incisor arms stabbing the mudstone walls for support.
The faint light-blue glow emanating from the temple’s centre illuminated the crude etchings on the tunnel walls: lines of Brakari warriors in formation; Brakari fighting various foes; a large Lutamek being restrained; the building of Abzucrutia; concentric rings of Brakari warriors in prayer around a floating figure.
‘I can’t see why…’ Panzicosta grumbled as he pushed his way through the final, tightest, arch and into the dome of the temple.
The air lay thick with moisture, which dripped from clumps of moss and algae growing across the struts supporting an immense domed ceiling. Shafts of light pierced the heavy air through geometrically positioned air holes in the roof, illuminating the colourful images covering the walls of the temple. Panzicosta ignored them and stared at his slumbering leader.
‘Belsang.’ He lowered his large, blue head to the glowing powder-blue figure that hovered above a black stone plinth at the centre of the shrine.
Unlike other Brakari, Belsang’s body showed no obvious sign of a protective shell. His body was a quarter the size of Panzicosta’s but swollen with fatty flesh. Eight bulging appendages ran symmetrically down his body, each ending with three pudgy digits rather than the lethal blades and pincers Panzicosta possessed. Each pair of arms or legs was folded, giving Belsang a patient demeanour, but Panzicosta knew the ruthless power that resided beneath the banal facade.
Panzicosta recalled the moment Belsang had transformed from fellow warrior to Brakari leader. Mid-battle and covered in his enemy’s blood, Belsang had bellowed in pain as he imploded with the sound of a mighty crashing wave. His weapons had fallen to the ground, his armour plating had disappeared and what remained was a small and bloated Brakari bursting with raw energy. Belsang’s transformation had been too late for victory, but as the new Dominus he had shown the Brakari a new path.
‘Belsang the Great.’ Panzicosta lowered his body and stretched his pincers across the slimy floor of the temple. ‘I humbly prostrate my body before you in servitude. The Brakari army faces threats anew.’
The light in the room increased a notch and a twitch shook Belsang’s body.
‘We need you, Dominus, to unite our forces and bring us the victory we desire,’ Panzicosta continued.
The sound of a tiny bell echoed around the vast chamber and Panzicosta pulled his body back to a crouched position.
Two of Belsang’s seven eyes opened, along with his tiny mouth. ‘Name the enemy.’ His deep voice filled the temple.
‘Humans.’
‘Detail.’
‘Soft-bellied, internal-skeleton bipeds with an average level of adaptation.’ Panzicosta knew to keep his answers brief.
‘Can they create soldiers?’ Belsang asked.
‘No.’
‘Have they any allies?’
‘No.’ Panzicosta hoped not.
Belsang vibrated and a third eye snapped open. ‘You have sent a Draytor.’
‘Yes, Dominus, it will kill three humans every day until battle.’
‘Your orders must be reversed. I sense a weakness in this species.’ Belsang’s voice reverberated around the temple.
‘Dominus, I–’
Worms of electricity writhed across Belsang’s body. ‘If the Draytor kills too many, the enemy will be debilitated beyond survival and may not arrive at battle in sufficient numbers. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Dominus.’ Panzicosta remained motionless.
‘Preparations for war are under way?’
‘Yes, Dominus.’
‘Then leave my temple immediately.’ Belsang rose a foot higher and another eye opened. ‘Bring me my Vaalori steed. We march!’
John watched the soldiers scour the remains of the robot army, which lay scattered around the ruined castle. They clambered over metal carcases and ripped open hatches to explore inside, searching for valuable gadgets, advanced weapons or, more often than not, something that looked good hanging on a cord around their neck.
From a rise in the land beyond the salt moat, John surveyed the land. He had to admit it was a good viewing point: far from where the flatworms had made their attack but near enough to see the action. This was where the watcher had been standing, but any footprints had been wiped clean by the sandstorm. John slipped his hand between the buttons on his shirt and clasped the toy soldier. Had the watcher taken him away from Joe? He pictured his son’s smile and had to breathe in deeply to calm his anger.
A yell caught his attention. Olan was beckoning Li and Lavalle to a cluster of robot bodies where other soldiers were pushing the blocks apart. A deep boom echoed as a metal hulk fell to the ground. As the dust cleared, Olan’s discovery was plain to see, and John scampered down the hillside.
‘Step back!’ Lavalle was shouting. ‘Olan – you found it, read what you can see.’
John stood on tiptoes to see Olan standing on an overturned robot next to a tall, white obelisk stone. It had a simple message inscribed in black.
Olan spoke aloud: ‘Here the Platae were victorious over the Lutamek.’
John looked around for a friendly face. ‘So these robots are the Lutamek?’ he asked.
Nobody answered him.
Mihran climbed up next to Olan and stroked his beard before speaking. ‘When we reached these shores, an obelisk decreed we must defeat an enemy.’He scanned the faces around him.‘We thought, naively, we would fight an army similar to ourselves.’ He pointed to the nearest Lutamek hulk, blasted and torn apart. ‘Nowwe have seen the kindof enemy we willface. This is why we mustembrace our changes and do everything in our powers to becomegreater fighters. Stronger, faster,more accurate… flexible, impenetrable and unpredictable.’
‘But we only have a few days,’ Crossley said. ‘How can we fight an army who live here?’
Mihran gave a rare smile and shook his head. ‘Who is saying we are not prepared?’ He tapped his temple. ‘We will be victorious. But enough of this distraction – we must find our enemy before they find us. Back in formation and keep walking.’
Samas, Li and Lavalle ushered their groups away.
‘Check this out.’ Crossley jogged up to John. ‘I’m guessing it’s some kind of communicator unit.’ He held up a fist-sized box covered in blue dials. ‘I just need a power source to fire it up.’
‘Great,’ John said and looked away.
‘Hey, what’s up?’
‘I don’t know.’ John shook his head. ‘Everything’s getting to me – my arm, Joe, this place…’
‘And you don’t want to fight?’ Crossley asked.
John gave the American a sharp look. ‘I’m not afraid, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘No, I…’ Crossley lowered his voice. ‘Look, I’m afraid, if I’m honest.’ He looked around. ‘And I reckon just about everyone else feels the same. This place is freaky enough but the idea of fighting a huge robot army or a swarm of gigantic ants is enough to make Lavalle soil his armour.’
John gave half a smile.
‘Even Randeep over there with his invisible sword is probably worried, right?’
‘It’s totally invisible now, is it?’ John asked.
‘Apparently. He won’t show anyone – something about having to draw blood every time it’s unsheathed. Hey, I wonder what those two are chatting about.’ Crossley nodded to where Bowman was in deep conversation with Li. ‘Let’s earwig!’ He sped up and John trailed after him.
‘…known as the Black Sword. He was known for his temper and he never took prisoners.’ Bowman was talking. ‘They say his sword was black from the blood of a thousand beheadings.’
‘It doesn’t mean he killed the men,’ Li replied.
‘But I’m sure it’s him!’
‘Did you ever meet him?’ Li asked.
‘No, he died long before I was born.’
‘He died? How?’
Bowman shrugged. ‘They said he burnt for his sins.’
‘He was burnt at the stake?’
‘No.’ Bowman was visibly agitated, like a boy caught telling lies. ‘They just said he burnt – in the Holy Land – something to do with God’s wrath.’
Crossley was looking at John, trying to get his attention. ‘Who?’ he mouthed.
John shook his head. ‘Don’t know.’
‘Okay, I’ll look into it. Head back, we need your eyes up front.’ Li stepped out of the line to survey the soldiers, ignoring John and Crossley.
‘It has to be Lavalle,’ Crossley whispered a dozen steps later. ‘He’s got a temper, that’s for sure!’
‘Bowman thinks he’s this Black Sword?’ John asked.
‘Yeah, and if he’s right, Lavalle must have killed those soldiers last night.’
John shook his head. ‘No, not Lavalle, he’s–’
‘He’s what?’ Crossley asked. ‘You saw how he was with me.’
‘Yes, but–’
‘No, the more I think about it, it has to be him.’ Crossley turned, bumping into Randeep, who was just behind. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’
‘What are you going to do?’ John called out, but got no reply.
Five minutes later, Bowman shouted, ‘Another obelisk!’
The soldiers rushed forward, carrying John forward in the tide.
‘Just like the last one.’ Bowman was touching the white stone and black script.
‘But no bodies,’ Randeep said.
‘Nothing for miles.’ Samas gestured out across the featureless landscape.
‘On this spot, the Nama-Gametiads and their allies were victorious over the Ilanos,’ Bowman read.
‘Allies?’ Olan asked.
‘It would appear,’ Mihran said as he joined them, ‘that all participants of the victorious army in a pitched battle are equal.’
‘We could use a few allies,’ Olan said.
‘But what happens to the defeated tribe?’ Euryleia asked. ‘The ones that survive…’
‘I presume they are bound to this land.’ Mihran turned, distracted by raised voices at the back of the crowd.
‘…don’t care what you say – I want to know the truth.’ John heard Crossley. ‘Are you the Black Sword or not?’
‘What is he doing now?’ John pushed through the crowd to see Crossley goading Lavalle.
‘I’m going to string you up, you little–’ the crowd parted and Lavalle froze. ‘Ah, another obelisk,’ Lavalle said, looking uncomfortable.
‘Tell us the truth!’ Crossley stood with his hands on his hips. ‘Are you the Black Sword?’
Lavalle shook his head. ‘I don’t see how this is relevant.’
‘We need to know if we have a murderer in our army,’ Bowman said.
‘Did you kill the three men at the castle?’ Randeep stepped forward with one hand on the hilt of his sword.
‘No, of course I didn’t.’ Lavalle stared at the faces around him, finally fixing on Mihran.
‘It’s time we cleared this up,’ Mihran said. ‘Let’s make this easy. Describe your last kill.’
‘My last kill was during my crusade when I was in Damascus and…’ Lavalle paused.
‘And?’ Mihran asked.
Lavalle breathed in deeply.
‘Come on!’ Crossley shouted.
‘Be quiet!’ Lavalle yelled back, then took a deep breath. ‘So be it. I will hide nothing.’ The knight looked directly at Euryleia, whose eyes stayed on him throughout his confession. ‘During my crusade I was captured at Hattin alongside King Guy. We were taken to Damascus, where a number of my compatriots were executed.’
The crowd stood silent. To John, the war sounded like his: an elite class leading the masses to their death, fighting for a noble cause they cared little about.
‘Many waited for their ransom to be paid, but I escaped. I rejoined my army and the crusade continued. A few days ago our army engaged Saladin’s at Arsur, where he was defeated.’ Lavalle’s eyes lit up. ‘I killed many enemy soldiers from my horse, with my lance, a further score on foot, with my sword.’
‘The black sword!’ Bowman shouted out.
‘Do you know the history of your crusades?’ Mihran cut to the chase.
Lavalle’s head dropped a notch. ‘Yes, Li has told me all I need to know.’
‘Your victory was short-lived.’
‘Yes.’ Lavalle raised his head. ‘But I live to fight on.’
‘Why are you not wearing your armour?’ Mihran asked.
Lavalle sighed. ‘I was not wearing my armour during my last kill because…’ he looked to Euryleia, who held his gaze, ‘…I was executing the captured soldiers who could not be ransomed.’
‘You could have let them live?’ Euryleia spoke quietly.
‘We had barely enough food to feed ourselves, let alone–’
Mihran stopped Lavalle with a raised hand. ‘And what of the blond man?’
‘What?’ Lavalle glared at Mihran. ‘I didn’t mention the…’
‘Why did you kill him? Was he your enemy as well?’
‘He was a traitor.’
Lavalle seemed smaller to John now.
‘And yet you took great relish in cleaving through his neck.’
Lavalle looked to the dusty earth. When he looked up, Euryleia was gone. ‘I was serving my god… my duty as a knight. I executed many men but, as God is my witness,’ he pressed a fist to his chest, ‘I have not killed a single man in this land.’
John noticed Mihran squint and tilt his head, before saying, ‘I believe you.’
‘What?’ Bowman stepped out of the crowd. ‘But he’s the Black Sword – it has to be him.’
‘He may be the Black Sword,’ Mihran said. ‘But he did not kill the three men at the fort.’
General Panzicosta leant against the outside wall of the Temple of Bekkrypt, wheezing with exhaustion.
‘Bring me a bucket of Sorean blood,’ he ordered a shiny-blue Brakari, who crouched a salute before springing away with speed. He looks like he hatched yesterday, Panzicosta thought.
Fifty metres down the earthen road, the gigantic five-legged elephant-like Vaalori ambled through a crowd of bellowing Brakari soldiers. Belsang sat cross-legged on a wooden howdah on the behemoth’s broad back, with one pair of arms unfolded, waving at the crowd.
The cries rang out: ‘Dominus!’, ‘Belsang!’ and ‘Victorio Brakarius!’
Panzicosta kicked a piece of mudstone through the gaping hole he had knocked in the temple wall.
Belsang was testing me, he thought, forcing me to use my adaptation. No. Only I choose when.
The diminutive soldier returned with a leather bucket of dark red liquid and placed it at Panzicosta’s feet. With a movement quicker than the soldier expected, Panzicosta lashed out at the small Brakari, slicing through a leg. A high-pitched squeal cut the air and the scorpion-like Brakari scuttled off, leaving its torn limb in the dirt.
‘Next time you will be faster,’ the General spat and dropped his head into the warm liquid.
‘We will need every soldier fit, General.’ A soft voice caused Panzicosta to pause and twitch his scales.
‘It’ll grow back, Millok,’ Panzicosta said and finished off his victuals. He turned to the female. ‘Ah, another present from Doctor Cynigar? But at what cost? More eggs for the army?’
‘Yes, impressive, aren’t they?’ Millok swayed from side to side, showing off the electric-blue stripes that adorned her sides.
She stepped forward and stumbled.
‘I meant your lame foreleg.’ Panzicosta bristled. ‘And remember I am your superior, Millok. You may be light-headed after your… enhancement programme, but only talk when requested or I’ll injure more than one leg.’
‘Yes, General.’ Millok bowed and a wave of white light ran down each stripe.
Panzicosta let the silence hold and watched the young female with a mix of sexual desire and admiration. How had such a soldier been selected to fight for the Brakari? She was nothing like the rest of the army.
‘We travel for battle soon, so you must be healed in two days,’ he said.
‘Yes, General.’ Millok nodded and took a look through the hole in the temple wall.
Panzicosta wheezed: ‘Belsang is serious this time. We go to war and, whatever the outcome, we won’t be coming back to this shithole again.’
Millok replied, ‘Good.’
‘Yes.’ Panzicosta looked away. Any power he had accumulated during Belsang’s hibernation was slipping from his grasp and he needed to regain control. ‘You, messenger!’
A Brakari officer armed with a huge fighting claw turned. ‘Yes, General.’
‘I need you to send an order for the Draytor with the enemy. Order it to cease killing.’
‘Yes, General.’
Panzicosta walked in a circle and thought out loud. ‘We need more information about the enemy. But with the little time we have left it won’t be enough, I…’
Millok trembled as though she were holding back advice, Panzicosta noticed, or was it the Doctor’s chemicals? He stared down the street at Belsang on his black Vaalori as it turned the corner and disappeared from view.
‘And order the scouts to retreat,’ Panzicosta said.
‘General?’ the clawed officer asked.
‘Retreat from their posts and form groups no bigger than five. We go to war. Order them to attack at will.’
‘Yes, General.’
‘And one last order for the Draytor.’ Panzicosta closed his scales silently.
Millok looked up.
‘I want to see the enemy in the flesh. Order it to bring me a live human.’
John stared at the long, sinuous limbs which lay scattered across the ground like huge chicken bones. They walked past the occasional intact body but, due to the bizarre anatomy, it was hard to tell where the head had been and what weapons these creatures had fought with.
‘Nothing to glean here,’ Crossley said and shook his head.
It was the third battlefield they’d passed.
Nothing lived in this desolate, grey, flat land, John thought, and looked back at the skeletons.
‘Why is there only one army?’ he asked.
Crossley shrugged. ‘Maybe the losers were really small?’
‘Or they turned to dust when they died?’ Olan added.
John gave the dirt a scuffled kick, sending a cloud up to his shins.
Up ahead, past the densest concentration of bodies, John could see symmetrical lines in the ground. ‘Are they…?’
‘Ah, yeah I get it.’ Crossley nodded.
Olan looked confused until the lines became rows of mounds. ‘They buried their dead?’
‘Probably after their enemy headed to the silver gates,’ Crossley said. ‘The obelisk called them the Frarex. They lost.’
John shivered at the thought of coming up against some of the creatures they’d seen on the battlefields. ‘But we’ll have to meet one of these armies at some point, won’t we?’
‘Sure.’ A grin spread across Crossley’s face. ‘Poor devils, ha!’
‘That’s if the losers stay here,’ Olan said.
‘What if they die when they are defeated?’ Euryleia said.
‘Maybe the defeated soldiers just go back home?’ Crossley said.
‘I doubt it,’ Samas replied. ‘This land has little love for the weak.’
‘Most of these sites have been looted,’ John said. ‘Which means someone must still be here.’
‘Unless new armies like ours are picking the bones?’ Crossley said.
‘Or victorious armies plundering before leaving?’ Olan added.
‘Anyone here would be battle-hardened.’ Euryleia stared out to the horizon.
Samas said, ‘Listen, we’re getting stronger every day and with a little more training we’ll fight as one unit.’ He held up his clay cast. ‘John and I are both healing well.’
John raised his gun-arm and smiled. ‘I think mine might be more permanent.’
Samas shrugged. ‘Who knows? If I ever get this thing off.’ He wrapped his knuckles against the rock-hard cast.
‘The rate everyone heals here, it should be fixed the day after tomorrow,’ Euryleia said and turned to John. ‘How is your arm?’
‘Well, it doesn’t weigh as much as it did,’ John replied. ‘But I can’t get the magazine in so I won’t be much use when it comes to fighting.’
‘No excuses, John, we’ll all have a use, believe me,’ Samas said. ‘My shield arm’s out of action but I’ll still fight. How about fixing a spear to your gun?’
‘I don’t know how to fight with a spear and…’
‘It’s fine,’ Euryleia cut in. ‘We’ll know what we need to do when the enemy attacks.’
‘Could be at any moment.’ Crossley pointed at a new patch of bizarre, dead creatures.
‘Okay, I’ll think about it,’ John said, reminding himself to stay strong. ‘What are you going to do, Crossley?’
The American grinned. ‘I’m still waiting to get my hands on some decent explosives.’
‘What we really need is water,’ Euryleia said.
‘And some food before our rations run out,’ Samas added.
‘Good luck,’ Crossley said in his usual manner.
John looked around at the burnt and desolate plain. ‘Somewhere to sleep tonight would be good as well.’
Samas craned his neck to see the men at the front of the line, who had stopped.
Bowman was waving. ‘Althorn’s back!’
‘In that direction,’ Althorn pointed to the right of their path, ‘near a tributary of the lake, I came across a camp of tents, big as a forest, all torn and full of corpses.’
Althorn was covered in dust and stretched his legs while the group rested around him.
‘They were killed in their sleep.’
Crossley raised his eyebrows at John.
‘Who were the dead?’ Lavalle asked.
Althorn shrugged. ‘Another tribe of alien soldiers. Who knows how long they lay there.’
John tried not to show his fear. A memory came back to him from a raid into enemy territory after his battalion had taken a German trench. He’d stepped into an officers’ mess and, to his horror, found it fully manned. Full of gassed enemy troops. They looked like they were sleeping, John had thought. Some held gas masks in their laps and others were slumped in their chairs.
‘So you suggest we head ten degrees left and aim for this forest?’ Mihran asked.
‘It’s our best chance of finding water,’ Althorn replied.
John looked at Crossley. ‘This plain must be huge if Althorn didn’t leave it.’
‘Sure, but it can’t all be like this though, hey?’
‘Come on then.’ Samas called the battalion to its feet. ‘Let’s move!’
‘During our first day in the forest, we used a wide formation to find water.’ Lavalle talked to Mihran and Li as they walked.
Mihran shook his head. ‘Too dangerous – the arrowhead will suffice.’
John saw Lavalle grimace as he pulled back to walk with the infantry. The public humiliation he’d received hadn’t only cost him Euryleia, but his standing in the battalion.
John heard low growling noises and looked at Crossley. ‘You’ll give yourself a nosebleed if you keep doing that.’ He sounded more like his grandfather than he would have liked.
‘How else are we going to find water?’ Crossley whispered back.
John spotted Mata on the right flank. ‘I might know a way.’
The battalion reached what looked like a tree sculpted from stone. John picked a tiny black feather from the twisted rock and guessed it was a leaf.
‘Water.’ Mata pointed at a dry crack opened by a broad granite root.
‘Can you sense anything?’ Mihran asked Li, who was busy scanning the tree and ground.
‘Possibly… this tree is alive. Very slow-growing. No free water.’
Crossley stood next to Li and cleared his throat. ‘How about here.’ He pointed to a gap between the dirt and root.
‘Yes, the tree must have penetrated the rock to access an aquifer. Quick, get–’ Li started.
But Mata was there first: his left arm stretched into a twisted mass of brown vines, curled through the crack and into the earth to open up a depression two paces wide.
Li turned to Crossley. ‘How did you know?’
‘I…’ he stuttered. ‘I know my geology obviously and…’
Randeep rushed forward. ‘Do you have an ability we don’t know about?’
‘What? No! What gave you that idea? Anyways, you can’t talk with your apparently invisible sword.’
‘I haven’t hidden anything and my oath is sacred.’ Randeep stared at Crossley. ‘All abilities must be known.’
‘Okay, but…’
‘Look!’ John said and they turned to Mata, who breathed hard as he coiled his arm back out of the crevice.
The small crater had filled with trickles of fresh water, which transformed into a small pond.
Althorn rushed forward. ‘Let me test it.’ He dipped an elbow and rubbed some on his wrist and lips. ‘It’s good. And cold!’
‘Stand in line!’ Mihran bellowed when the nearest soldiers moved in to drink. ‘Slake your thirst, refill your canteens, then move on – we must find shelter before dark.’
John stood next to Crossley, who was nervously staring at patches of the ground. ‘What is it?’ he asked as the American coughed, turned and coughed again.
‘I’m not sure, but I think I’ve found something, maybe a–’
Crossley’s last word was cut off as explosions erupted around the soldiers, filling the air with dust.
John’s first instinct had been to hit the ground, assuming it was mortar fire. ‘Get down!’ he shouted and pulled Crossley with him.
Through the stinging dust, John saw large shapes rise from the ground and attack the nearest soldiers. Through their legs he saw dark-blue shells and snapping pincers. He lay paralysed with fear as the huge creatures snapped at archers and spearmen, who fought valiantly to keep the enemy back. A disembowelled rifleman was writhing and screaming in his own blood and excrement, and a huge claw came crashing down, splitting him in two. John looked away. Lightning flashed, burning John’s eyes, and a beast fell to the ground with steam pouring from a hole in its head. He saw Li, picking them off with accurate shots.
On the other flank, Samas was defending against another blue creature and Mihran was beside him, slashing with his formidable sword: removing limb after limb before finally taking the head of the attacker.
Two minutes after it had begun, it was all over. Five blue bodies lay next to seven dead men.
The war between humans and Brakari had begun.