CHAPTER 2

Unbalancing Act

One should consider the story of the gar bear hunting the weasel. It is said that the bear resolutely clawed at the weasel’s hole until it lacked the strength to even crawl down to the river to sustain its thirst. The weasel waited until the bear died of starvation to emerge from its burrow. The smaller animal feasted upon the giant carcass for the entire winter. Determination must be easily discerned from desperation.

Passage Two, Twenty-Seventh Precept of the Combat Codes

Where is everyone?” Knees said, looking up at the vast azure sky above.

“Maybe they saw us and turned scared.” Dozer chuckled as he dismounted the roc from behind Knees into the tall Kirothian high grass.

The Whelps had arrived at the center of the triangle-shaped plateau formed by three intersecting rivers. Murray had made sure to map it out the day prior, as the Whelps had already been lost several times, trying to navigate the unfamiliar terrain.

“We’re a bit early still, likely,” Murray said, trying to halt Bird’s movement by yanking on his harness, which only caused the roc to trot in a dizzying circle.

Brynn placed a calming hand on Bird’s beak and whispered a few choice Jadean words. The roc stopped in its tracks and lowered its head obediently.

“You got to teach me how to do that,” Murray said with a sigh as he dismounted.

“Ku, you just need to be nice,” Brynn said as she took to reining in the entire group of rocs.

“I’m plenty nice,” Murray grumbled. “Darkin’ bird has an attitude…”

Murray’s words were overtaken by a growing tremor beneath their feet. There were no storm squalls on the horizon, but a billowing cloud of dust careened toward the Whelps from the north.

“In Venturi, we used to have sandstorms that looked like that,” Knees said warily.

“That’s no storm, Knees,” Murray replied as the distinct forms of riders broke out in front of the dust cloud, sweeping onto the highland grasses. At least fifty rocs charged toward the Whelps.

Murray watched the students to gauge their reactions. Dozer and Knees appeared ready to fight, their fists curled into balls. Brynn made a strange sign toward the sky.

“What should we do?” Dozer yelled, swiveling his head as the roc riders circled the group, whooping alongside their screeching birds.

“Do nothing,” Murray said. “This is the Tanri tribe here for your challenge.”

It was comforting to Murray that there were still some Grievar who kept to the old ways. The Tanri were just as Murray remembered them, even more than two decades later.

The riders finally stopped circling. Each wore a colorful feathered mask sitting over the forehead, a central slit for the eyes and a hooked beak down over the nose and mouth. The Tanri gazed down silently at the Whelps from atop their birds.

One of the largest and ugliest rocs Murray had ever seen trotted forward from the pack. The giant bird was missing an eye, like Murray, and its deformed beak jutted to the side. Atop it was an equally imposing man wearing a brilliant bird mask, a jumble of plumage shooting from its top.

The man agilely dismounted his roc, sliding off and landing in the high grass. Like the rest of the riders, he wore a leather vest with cutoff sleeves.

The man held Murray’s gaze through his mask as he strode forward aggressively.

Murray stood his ground, keeping his hands down by his sides. Even as the man came within Murray’s reach, a point that normally would bring his hands high, he suppressed the reaction. He wasn’t planning on insulting their host, ruining this opportunity for the Whelps.

The large man stopped an inch away. Murray could smell his sour breath beneath the hooked beak and see the flecks of his bronze eyes inside the mask’s slit.

The man clasped a hand behind Murray’s head, another action that would normally set Murray’s synapses on fire, arm his defenses for an incoming head butt. Instead, Murray responded in kind, reaching behind the crown of the man’s head.

Simultaneously, the two slowly brought their skulls together and pressured in. The jagged edge of the mask cut into Murray’s forehead. Blood began to trickle down his brow into his eyes.

Finally, the man released the clinch and Murray followed suit, taking a step back.

“It been too long, mighty one.” The man spoke the broken Tikretian words in a baritone as he lifted the mask off his head, revealing a round face with red, leathery cheeks, worn by the unending highland sun and harsh winter frosts.

“Indeed it has, Muhai,” Murray replied. “You look the same as I last saw you. Ugly as that darkin’ bird of yours.”

The man named Muhai rocked his head back with laughter. “You too, my friend, ugly still! And old now.”

Muhai turned and motioned for the rest of his riders to dismount. They did so gracefully, sliding from their unsaddled birds into the high grass. Murray knew the Tanri had been riding rocs since they could first take steps. They grew up with their birds like brothers.

Many of the men and women removed their bird masks, but several of the smaller ones kept their faces covered.

Muhai walked purposefully to each of the Whelps and performed the same ritual, getting uncomfortably close and pressing his head up against theirs.

“This is way our birds greet and say farewell,” Muhai explained. “We bird people, Tanri, do same.”

The man ran his hand through Brynn’s hair, murmuring as he felt her thick curls. He sniffed Dozer and squeezed his shoulder.

“This one, look strong. Maybe has Tanri blood? Smells a bit different than rest of you city kin.”

“What’s he mean?” Dozer asked defensively. “He says I smell?”

“It’s a compliment; best take it.” Murray chuckled. “Muhai is a chieftain of the Tanri tribes.”

The Tanri stood among the Whelps, not paying the wide-eyed group much heed as they went straight to work, smiling and laughing as they did so. They unloaded several packs off the backs of their birds.

Muhai spoke to the Whelps to translate the events. “We Tanri must please the sky before we can start challenge.”

A stout Tanri boy with a long tuft of black hair hanging down his back smiled as he walked fearlessly toward Knees and Dozer. He nodded and motioned for them to follow. “Help.”

The boy brought the Whelps to the side of a plump-looking roc, one that Murray noticed had no rider atop it. The young Tanri pulled a leather pouch from his side and crouched beneath the bird’s undercarriage. He reached out and squeezed. Thick milk poured from the roc’s teat into the leather skin. When it was full, another boy took the brimming skin and handed the milker another empty container.

“What… what are they doing?” Dozer asked.

“You’ll see,” Murray said, smiling as he watched.

Several of the younger Tanri came forward when enough liquid was collected, and passed the skins around, each taking a long swig, letting it pour down their face and splash across their leather vests. One handed a skin to Dozer and nodded.

“You—you mean I’m supposed to drink bird piss?” Dozer stuttered.

“It’s not piss, you block!” Knees said. “It’s milk. That be a mother bird, and she’s just given you some of her supply to drink.”

“That’s even worse than piss!” Dozer yelled, holding the skin up to his nose and giving it a wary sniff.

“Best not insult them, Dozer,” Murray said as the Tanri boys eagerly eyed the foreigners.

Dozer breathed deeply and took a swig of the roc milk, closing his eyes as it went down. “Hey, not so bad,” he said as he passed the skin to Knees.

Each Whelp took their turn.

Muhai stood next to Murray. “You watch over your children.”

“They’re not my brood, Muhai,” Murray said. “Students. I’m a professor at the Lyceum now.”

“Children, students, same,” Muhai said. “I see how you watch them.”

Murray nodded as the Tanri chief motioned for the Whelps to sit in a circle in the grass. Several of the younger masked Tanri sat alongside them.

One of the tribesmen led a black roc forward into the circle and stood with his hands outstretched. A Tanri boy stood to volunteer and stepped into the circle across from the roc.

The boy shuffled forward cautiously and slowly slipped his hands behind the roc’s head as Murray and Muhai had done upon greeting.

The Tanri boy jerked the roc to the side and threw a low foot, trying to kick out one of the creature’s lanky legs. The roc responded by driving forward with ferocity, knowing this game they played. The bird tossed the boy to the ground. He stood and bowed his head to the avian opponent before taking a seat back at the sidelines.

Another Tanri, larger than the first with red-flushed cheeks and feline eyes, started the ritual again, wrapping his hands behind the roc’s head. This boy’s strategy was different, though; he pulled the roc toward him and tried to unbalance it. Murray recognized de-ashi harai, one of his favorite foot sweeps.

But the bird’s balance was spectacular; it righted itself and twisted its long neck to the side, forcing the boy forward before jerking the other direction and easily tossing its opponent into the grass.

The Whelps stared wide-eyed at the bird wrestling, something they’d never seen before.

“The Tanri learn much of their wrestling working with the birds,” Murray explained.

“Doesn’t it hurt the rocs?” Brynn asked, the girl’s expression sour as another Tanri grasped the roc’s feathered neck.

Muhai laughed from beside them. “You city kin! Always ask same question. Bird hurt? When we fight, Grievar hurt so often, but you worried about bird. But no, bird is honored, given good home, food, mate. Most often, boys get bashed up but bird hearty. When they fight each other, it much worse. This fun for them!”

Murray watched as another Tanri boy was tossed into the dirt by the rearing roc.

“I want at it!” Dozer yelled, standing up.

Muhai smiled and extended his hand for Dozer to step into the circle. Dozer did as he had seen, placing his hands behind the bird’s head in a clinch and setting his stance.

Murray could see Dozer’s arms straining already. That wouldn’t do; he was too taut. The bird, however, was fluid like a whip. It curled its neck inward and retreated on its hindquarters abruptly. Dozer attempted to hold on, even impose his will and push the bird the other way, but he flailed to the ground.

“Bird’s darkin’ strong!” Dozer huffed from the grass. “Don’t even think Coach would be able to hold on.”

“I’d tend to agree with you, kid, given the luck I’ve had with my own bird,” Murray said.

“Watch,” Muhai said, as he motioned for another Tanri to step forward, this time a smaller, squat girl who had the chief’s bulbous nose.

The girl assumed the starting position with the roc. Instead of tightening up and grasping hard at the back of the bird’s head, the girl gently brushed against the nape of its neck with both hands.

She pulled forward and the roc retreated. The girl moved with it, taking two steps until the bird stopped and started to move in the opposite direction. The girl stepped back twice, in time with the bird. The two shuffled to the side, almost in synchronization.

“She good at bird dance,” Muhai said, his chest puffed out proudly.

“That your girl there?” Murray asked.

Muhai nodded as his daughter and the roc continued to move in unison, the girl guiding the bird gently.

“What’s going on here?” Dozer guffawed.

“She’s timing her sweep,” Murray said, keeping his eyes trained on the girl’s feet. “Instead of trying to force the roc in a direction, she’s lulling it into a pattern.”

As if on cue, the girl shuffled to the side and changed cadence, rapidly sweeping her outside leg low into the bird’s weight-bearing talon. The roc toppled to the ground, squawking from the grass.

“Isn’t that cheating, the way she calmed it?” Dozer protested.

Muhai turned to Dozer, a big smile spread across the man’s face. “Like any fight. Need to make pattern, then break pattern.”

Murray motioned at the watching Whelps. “When you go up against the Tanri, you’ll need to keep that in mind.”

An abrupt blaring sound broke up the bird wrestling. Muhai held a large ram’s horn to his lips and blasted it again in several quick, short bursts.

The signal prompted the Tanri to shout as they herded their rocs into formation. The birds settled on their haunches in multiple circles, lowering their heads to the grass floor while watching with upturned eyes.

Muhai gestured toward the makeshift rings. “Your challenge.”

Murray nodded, and Dozer, Brynn, and Knees stepped forward. Muhai handed each a leather vest to wear.

Muhai brought a group of the Tanri kids into a huddle, each pressing their heads into the center.

Murray shrugged and did the same, gathering the Whelps around him with linked arms. “This will be a bit different than what you’re used to. No strikes and only goal is to get your opponent off his feet, like Dozer tried with the bird.”

“So, it be like wrestling class, then?” Knees asked from the huddle.

“Well, not quite,” Murray said. “You can’t shoot low for the legs, and you need to use that leather vest as a grip. Goal is to use your trips and throws to get them on their ass.”

“Seems easy enough.” Dozer found his confidence again. “Can’t be as hard as fighting a roc!”

The Whelps broke apart, Dozer clapping his hands in excitement as he strode into a circle across from Muhai’s daughter. Knees and Brynn did the same, stepping over the outstretched bird necks to stand across from their opponents.

Dozer nodded and smiled at the stout Tanri girl with red cheeks, who smiled back. Muhai’s daughter was happy to show Dozer the proper way to begin, one hand on the leather collar, the other in a clinch behind the head.

Murray stood beside Muhai and watched. He remembered doing the same two decades before, on his own Pilgrimage. He’d been brash like Dozer.

Muhai blasted the horn, and the action began in the high grass, combatants shifting their weight, gripping and grasping leather vests in attempts to unbalance their partners.

“How has nothing changed?” Murray whispered from beside Muhai. He wasn’t quite sure if he was asking himself or the Tanri chieftain.

“Everything change,” Muhai said as he watched his daughter grapple with Dozer, unbalancing the boy with a well-timed inside sweep.

“This is as I remember, though,” Murray said. “The endless sky overhead, the games in the grass, your people smiling, fighting for the true spirit of it. Like Grievar should be.”

Knees was nearly able to throw his opponent with a quick hip toss, but the Tanri reacted with a strong base and an outside trip, which brought the lanky Venturian onto his back.

“Here, we fight to keep the same,” Muhai said. “But is not. Empire been coming, taking our birds. Says they need them against rebels in forests and mountains where mechs can’t reach.”

“The empire came to the tribes?” Murray asked.

Muhai nodded. “They got weapons. We can’t do anything but say yes. And they try to bring us in, too, get our boys to fight for them against—”

“The Flux,” Murray finished Muhai’s sentence. “They’re trying to conscript you to make sure the Flux doesn’t enlist your people.”

“Don’t want any of it!” Muhai’s voice rose. “Not what the Tanri-kin are meant for. We meant for riding, fighting here under blue sky. The empire, the Flux, we don’t care about them.”

“I got you now!” Murray heard Dozer yell from his grass circle. Dozer had driven Muhai’s daughter to the edge and was on the verge of picking the smaller girl up by her leather vest. At the last moment, the girl changed her direction and lifted a leg high between Dozer’s knees, taking the big Grievar fully off his feet and throwing him on top of two surprised rocs.

Dozer looked up incredulously from a ruffle of feathers and squawks.

“Thought I had her.”

Several giant bonfires sent crackling embers up toward the night sky.

Murray couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen so many stars. His view from the barracks in Ezo was polluted by spectral light and cloud cover.

The Whelps sat beside the Tanri tribe in the same grass field they had competed in, the slumbering forms of their rocs surrounding them.

Dozer downed another skin of bird’s milk, the stuff dripping down the side of his face as some Tanri kids watched him with wide eyes. “I’m starting to like this stuff!”

“Your boy fit right in here, mighty,” Muhai said from beside Murray. “You like to leave him? We take care of him.”

Murray nodded. “Might just do that.”

He listened to Knees trying to converse with Muhai’s daughter, who sat beside him on a log. The girl had a good grasp of Tikretian, which was surprising, given how far out the Tanri roamed from the empire’s major cities.

“You do well early, good grip,” the girl said as an offering, referring to her match with Knees where she’d tossed him in about twenty seconds.

“Not near as good as I needed,” Knees said. “Thought I knew proper leg sweeps until I went up against you.”

“More practice with birds, next time.” Muhai’s daughter smiled.

“Right, maybe I’ll try that,” Knees said. “Why aren’t any of you Tanri taking the Grievar Road, doing the Pilgrimage this year? Think you’d do great.”

“Not our place,” the girl said. “Place is where birds go. We follow them, fight where they take us.”

Knees took a swig from his waterskin. “Sounds nice. Where we are at the Lyceum, we need to worry about classes and homework, teams and scores.”

Muhai’s daughter nodded, though she did not seem to quite understand.

“There is one Tanri, though, on your Pilgrimage,” the girl said as she held her hands up to the fire. “He appeared from the night, riding on bird even bigger than my father’s with feathers burning like this fire.”

Brynn turned from her quiet vigil in front of the fire to chime in. “We’ve heard about him. They call him the Firebird. He wears a Tanri mask when he fights, and they say he’s undefeated on Pilgrimage so far. Probably will win the whole thing.”

“Unless I take it all!” Dozer stood up and shamelessly flexed for the group.

“Unlikely, given your performance today,” Knees said to his friend. “And don’t forget Kōri Shimo also be winning every match he’s had.”

Dozer sat down, clearly deflated at the mention of his classmate. “Just our luck Shimo’s on Pilgrimage with us this year. The one freak from the entire place that gives me the shivers…”

“I think you can best Firebird, or this Shimo you speak of,” Muhai’s daughter whispered from beside Knees. “You must trust your throw.”

A smile curved up on Knees’s face, something Murray didn’t see too often. “I’ll try.”

“Your daughter speaks good Tikretian.” Murray turned back to Muhai.

“Yes, yes,” Muhai said. “At first, I against it, but as I say, even here things must change. Need people to talk with hawkers for trade and deal with empire.”

The two old friends were silent as some of the Tanri kids began to dance in front of the fire. Muhai broke the silence.

“You too, mighty,” Muhai said. “You welcome to stay with us. You said you hate them soap-eaters, politiks. So, stay out of the dealings.”

“Much as I’d love to, can’t do that.” Murray sighed, watching Dozer start to make a fool of himself and dance in the firelight beside the Tanri.

“You got that look,” Muhai said. “You chasing something else here. Not only Pilgrimage.”

Murray nodded. “Someone. Someone I lost. A debt that needs be paid.”

“Knowing you,” Muhai said, “you be right up knocking on emperor’s door to keep your promise.”

“Not the empire I’m seeking this time, Muhai,” Murray said. “It’s the other side. The Slayer.”

“What you want with a demon?” Muhai whispered. “We hear stories from the northern tribes about this Slayer. The demon, he never sleeps, never eats, never pisses. He never stops. He goes to the tribes, the villages, tells the best fighters to join him. If they don’t, he kills them, bleeds them right there in front of their chicks. If they join, they disappear. No one knows where to.”

“I got some idea where,” Murray said. “Least, I’m looking.”

“Mighty, you a warrior,” Muhai said. “The fight runs deep in your blood. But you don’t want nothing to do with this Slayer.”

“Told you, Muhai, he’s got someone I lost. Someone I should never have taken my eye off.”

“Must be important,” Muhai said.

“Suppose so,” Murray murmured as he stared into the fire.

Dozer had stripped down to nothing but his underwear as he huddled with a group of Tanri, their arms encircled and their heads pressed in together as they danced around the fire.

“Sure you don’t want to leave the big one?” Muhai asked.

“I’d love to, but we’ll need as much help as we can get to get where we’re going,” Murray said.

A thunderclap above turned all heads in the camp toward the sky. Three bright trails plummeted past like meteorites, blazing to the horizon.

The Tanri were silent; the laughter quieted.

“What was that?” Dozer stared out to where the flashes had disappeared.

“Flyers,” Murray said. “Likely empire mechs out looking for Flux rebels.”

“We seen those thunderbirds fly past many times,” Muhai said as he moved to calm some of the rocs that had been startled. “Bad luck.”

Murray sat back down and stared into the fire.

He needed to find Silas before the empire did.

The Whelps followed the Grievar Road east a full day after leaving the Tanri. Murray planned to keep to the road as long as it clung to the Beodar River before cutting north through the Kavel Mountains pass. Once their birds trekked over the craggy terrain, they would land in the Venturian desert.

Dark clouds hovered over the tallest of the peaks in the distance. The storms could wander south and bring weeklong rains with them. The crew already had to take cover at the start of their journey because of landslides along the road. Murray hoped they could keep a steady pace all the way to the mountain pass without more interference.

“First proper city challenge we got, I’m ready,” Dozer said with a muffled voice from atop his roc. The big kid still proudly wore the bird mask Muhai had given him as they’d said their farewells, though it was too small and squished his face inward.

“Please don’t tell me you’ll be wearing that all the way to Venturi,” Knees said from the front of the roc.

“You’re just jealous the Tanri didn’t think enough of you to give a mask over,” Dozer said.

Murray smiled as he remembered the farewell, the Tanri and Whelps with arms encircled, pressing their foreheads in together like a flock of rocs greeting each other on the plains.

“I think it’s quite an improvement for you, Dozer,” Brynn said as she pulled up beside the two boys.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Dozer said. “Don’t tell me you’re still holding a grudge because that girl back in Mirstok fancied me better than you.”

“Did you forget she robbed you blind?” Brynn laughed. “And I told you, she wasn’t my type. Too skinny.”

“Who’s your type, then?” Dozer asked. “Maybe more like Muhai’s girl, one that can throw Knees five times without breaking a sweat?”

“Not so much,” Brynn said. “And I think Muhai’s girl was taking a liking to Knees more than either of us.”

“Hear that?” Dozer slapped Knees on the shoulder. “I noticed you two talking last night fireside.”

Knees didn’t notice the banter between his friends; he stared off toward the Kavel Mountains rising from the highland plains like a wall of granite.

Murray knew the kid was likely thinking about what lay beyond those mountains: the sprawl of the Venturian desert where he was born and where the next challenge lay ahead.

Murray pulled at Bird’s reins and muttered one of the Tanri phrases Muhai had taught him. To his surprise, the roc followed his lead this time, kicking it up a gear into a gallop along the Grievar Road.

“Hey!” Knees’s sharp voice caught Murray’s attention.

The Venturian pointed far east along the road to the base of the forest several miles away. Murray squinted his eye, his vision not what it had been a decade before, but he could still see the large forms clearly.

Mechs.

The Enforcers were unmistakable, glaringly sharp steel suits of armor set against the high muted yellow-green grass and brown dirt.

“How many?” Murray asked Knees. The boy had remarkably sharp eyes.

“Three,” Knees replied.

Murray pulled on Bird’s reins, and he ground to a halt along the road. He held his hand up to stop the others.

Dozer spoke in a whisper as he lifted the mask off his face. “What should we do? They’re blocking the road.”

The group had encountered mechs early on in their journey, two empire Sentinels set to weed out rebels at the gates of the western province of Glynthik. Murray had shown the Daimyo their safe-passage tattoos, and luckily, they’d taken more interest in some Desovian hawkers.

This was different, though. Why would Enforcers be posted at the crossroads to Venturi?

“Let’s get off the road,” Murray said. He directed their birds over into the high grass and behind a rocky elemental outcropping, one of the many depleted rubellium reserves that jutted from the highland earth.

Murray needed to get more information. He had to know whether avoiding these mechs was worth the risk of cutting into the Kavels early and bypassing the clear path through the mountain. The terrain would be risky, even on rocs.

He had to get a closer look, but he couldn’t bring all the Whelps with him. Especially with the heavy-footed Dozer, they’d be given away before they made it within earshot.

“Dozer, I’m leaving you in charge of watching the birds,” Murray said. “You stay with Brynn. I’ll take Knees with me on foot to get a closer look.”

“What?” Dozer protested. “But I want to see what’s—”

“We need our strongest fighter here in case more mechs cut us off from behind,” Murray said. After so much time with the boy, Murray certainly knew how to play to his vanity.

“Right, right.” Dozer puffed his chest out. “Don’t worry, Coach; nothing will happen while I’m here.”

Murray nodded and motioned for Knees to follow. They stayed low in the high grass as they jogged toward the Enforcers.

“These be the same sorts that blew a hole through Joba,” Knees said softly.

Murray knew well what Knees referred to, what had happened to the largest member of the Whelps last year. While Murray had been drunk in the Deep, Joba Maglin had been disemboweled by an Enforcer’s cannon. The silent giant had sacrificed himself to save Cego; he’d staved off the kid’s execution by the Goliath.

Murray knew what it was to confront the darkness. He motioned for Knees to follow closely.

The two stayed tight to the shadows of a string of elemental deposits, slowly creeping closer to the Enforcers. As they approached, Murray could now make out smaller forms set in a line beside the three steel beasts.

Five men were chained together, on their knees in front of the Enforcers. Several bodies lay strewn on the dirt, including two avian forms in an exploded pile of feathers.

One of the mechs was pacing back and forth in front of the men; Murray could now make out the grating mechanical voice of the beast over the highland wind.

“You won’t have another chance to respond, Flux scum. I’ll ask you again. Where is your base of operation?”

Murray held a hand up for Knees to stop so they could get down on their stomachs. Enforcers were known to have a variety of heightened senses; they couldn’t risk getting any closer. From the vantage in the grass, Murray could see that the men on their knees wore black leathers and had the tops of their heads shaven. Flux rebels; these were Silas’s men.

One of the men, a lanky, mustached Grievar with his hands manacled behind his back, spat into the dirt. He looked directly into the encasing that housed the Enforcer’s Daimyo pilot.

“Dark you and your metal arse. Dark your little beady eyes behind that glass. And dark your emperor, who sent you down to do his dirty work.”

“So be it.”

Even from a distance, Murray could hear the hum of the pulse cannon charging at the Enforcer’s arm. Murray heard a strange sound from beside him and saw Knees was shaking. Though the Venturian was as tough as they come, Murray knew the fear that coursed through the boy now.

He placed a hand against Knees’s arm. He met his eyes.

Nothing will happen to you; I’ll keep you safe, Murray wanted to say.

“You have one final chance to reconsider.” The Enforcer’s cannon was nearly fully charged, emanating an azure light from its barrel.

The mustached rebel abruptly stood and charged, screaming.

“Free to fight!”

The other four rebels also stood and echoed the call. “Fight to be free!”

The Enforcer released its cannon charge and a brilliant pulse burned across the road, engulfing the mustached Grievar. Murray held a hand over his eye and squinted to keep looking through the brightness.

When he lowered his hand, he saw carnage. All five rebels were floored, their bodies scattered about like cuts of meat at a butcher shop. He couldn’t tell whose parts belonged to whom.

“Darkin’ spirits above,” Knees breathed. The kid had forced himself to watch the entire thing. A tear streaked from his eye, and Murray saw his arms tense. Knees was ready to move, ready to spring into action.

Murray grabbed the kid’s arm tightly.

“No,” he whispered. “I know you want revenge. I know you want to teach them a lesson after Joba. Now is not the time. Your life will go to waste. Sometimes, we need to pick our fights. Sometimes, the fight isn’t the one in front of us.”

Knees trembled and let out a silent scream.

They crawled on their bellies through the high grass to get some distance before jogging back to the outcropping where the others were waiting.

“What happened?” Dozer asked, looking worriedly at Knees, whose face was now pale.

“We can’t go that way; it’s too dangerous,” Murray said, hitting Dozer with a hard glare to let the boy know he’d best drop it.

Murray unfurled his map and pointed to a closer pass through the mountain range. The terrain would be risky, but it was the only way through now.

“We’ll head due north and cut through the Kavels here,” Murray said. He looked at Knees as the kid climbed onto his roc’s back.

“From there, we head to Venturi.”