Destiny (21 page)
Authors: Jason A. Cheek
“Yes, Ma’am.” Beth joined Ryan heading for the door when the Director's voice stopped him in the doorway.
“Agent Moss?”
“Ma’am?”
“While you’re away on the mission, I’ll be working with Doctor Robinson about getting that heavy rifle design you came up with into production.”
Ryan almost laughed out loud as the physicist’s face turned beet red at the Director’s words. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
Location Irlendria / Nessa Manitou:
Nessa’s lungs burned as she made her way deeper into the Great Forest. Time was hard to determine in the dense foliage, but her best guess was that the first war drums had begun beating around midday. Since then, the entire forest had reverberated with the thunderous rumble as more and more drums picked up the call, while all around her the woodland was slowly being enveloped in a smoky-white haze that covered everything. Trees began rising out of the murky mist barely ten feet in front of Nessa as the visibility dropped to almost nothing, forcing her to move carefully through the woods at a plodding walk least she kill herself.
It had taken nearly a week of hard travel to reach the outer edge of the ancient greenwoods. Nessa had heard stories of the extensive destruction the Elven homeland had suffered from the Tuonellian invasion, but this was the first time she’d seen the devastation with her own eyes. Over the last forty-seven years, a new growth of young trees had spread across the hundreds of square miles covering the worst of the forest’s scars. Unfortunately, it would take several centuries before the land’s terrible scars were completely healed.
Although the Elven Clans were her people’s longtime allies, ever since the Great War they had become violently aggressive to any intruders entering into their domain uninvited. The High Elf Clan had most notably enforced this hostile stance, but from the rumors she’d heard on the plains, the Forest Elves were not much better. The only hope she had for completing her quest lay in making contact with the Wild Elves first. If anyone would grant her safe passage through the forest and help her find this last Paladin Luonnotar had sent her to seek, it would be her childhood friend, Enelya.
Nessa’s pulse quickened as she remembered the touch of Enelya’s soft hands and the taste of her lavender lips. It happened so very long ago, when her mother lost her life leading the counterattack that drove the Tuonellians from the Elven homeland. It was also the first time Wakinyan had come for her.
The young of the Elven Clans and several Centaur Tribes had been hidden deep within the heart of Daeron Fortress as the Alliance forces rallied to King Elerossë’s banner. She still remembered how the thick walls of the Fortress had shivered from the Hordes’ constant bombardment while the sky burned from the raging forest fires. As the Tuonellians were driven back to the open plains, her mother’s Death Gift had come.
The anguish, at first, had been unbearable. Nessa had thought she would die of heartache as she cried out in her grief. She’d never felt so alone in her life. That is until Enelya had come to her aid. As the blood raced through her veins at the memory of Enelya’s burning touch, Nessa’s eyes closed as her body shook with the intensity of the emotions flowing through her. Sometimes it felt like that first kiss had changed her forever.
Opening her eyes once again, Nessa forced those memories away. She hadn’t seen Enelya again since that first time. It made no sense for her to hope the small Wild Elf still felt the same way about her after all this time. Even if her blood still burned from the memory of their time together.
Unlike the fillies of her tribe, Nessa had never taken a mate. While unusual, it was not unheard of for young female warriors to choose other paths than motherhood. Although, in her case, the simple truth was that she’d never been attracted to males.
Nessa became aware of the gurgling sounds of the river a moment before she stumbled down its sandy bank. As her hoofs splashed into a shallow rivulet, she noticed that the mist seemed to be clearer here. Kneeling at the river’s edge, she splashed her face before drinking deeply of the icy cold water. After plodding for so long in the smoky haze, this was the first time her lungs didn’t feel like they were burning from within. Closing her eyes, Nessa listened to the sounds of the forest as she prayed to Luonnotar for guidance.
Slowly the thunderous sounds of the drums faded away as Nessa focused her thoughts on the river and the path she should take. Minutes passed as the natural rhythms of the forest slowly came to her, when she suddenly heard the faint sounds of combat carried on the light breeze. Her long ears automatically pivoted, individually seeking out the direction of the ruckus when she heard a distinctive shrill cry she remembered all too well from her childhood.
Nessa’s eyes shot open as she sprang to her hooves in one fluid motion. Without a second thought she took off at a reckless gallop heading upriver. Slipping and sliding on the moss covered rocks her heart pounded in her chest as she raced to reach the battle in time. She knew the sound of a Wild Elf death cry when she heard one!
***
Location Irlendria / Tiberius Decius Lupus:
Tiberius' lungs pumped like a smith’s bellows as he charged through the dense woods towards the distant sound of horns. His long curved horns led the way as his bulls followed close behind him, their lorica segmentata armor clanking loudly in the unnatural silence of the forest as they ran. Unlike the rolling grasslands of the Imperium, they were constantly forced to duck under the many low hanging tree branches or leap over the knobby roots that rose up out of the uneven ground.
Steam rose from Tiberius’ flaring nostrils as his body struggled to release the excess heat building up in his system, but still the edge of his vision was tinged with the red telltale signs of berserker rage. Extreme physical exertion always held the risk of bringing with it the mindless fury of his people. Nevertheless, he drove his legionnaires onwards at the merciless pace.
Barreling through the thick foliage blocking their path, they passed by a Nightclaw hunched over a fresh kill, but before the dangerous beast could do more than roar out a warning. They’d already left the predator far behind as Tiberius led them in a straight line towards their goal. The tactical side of his mind screamed in warning at his blind flight after the Thirteenth, but at the same time, he knew if there were going to be any hope of reforming the Alliance of Aurenko, the surprise attack had to be stopped before it was too late.
The distinctive sounds of combat rang out ahead of them as Tiberius saw black smoke billowing into the sky. His ears flattened against his helmet at the burning stench of death. Visibility quickly dropped to only a few feet as they approached the thick smoky-white wall that marked the outer limit to the raging battle. From somewhere deep inside came the shrill whistle blasts of the Legion’s Centurions as the battle lines began to advance. Slowing down to a quick walk, Tiberius held up a gauntleted fist. Using the Legion’s hand-speak, he communicated silently with his bulls as the Elven war drums began pounding out their warning high overhead.
As the loud clanking sounds of metal plates shifting into place rang out around them, Tiberius motioned Decanus Cornisus to his side. Leaning close to the smaller male’s ear, he spoke quickly. “Under my direct command, you are to take orders from no one else but me. I want your bulls to be prepared for anything.”
The only sign of surprise Tiberius saw was a slight widening of Cornisus eyes as the small male saluted smartly without hesitation. “Yes, Sire”
All around them the heavy throbbing cadence of distant war drums began answering the city’s cry for help as he saw the blazing grove for the first time. Tiberius’ breath caught in his lungs as he recognized the burning Mother Tree. It was Bel Arbre Ciel, the Forest Clans capital city.
An overwhelming feeling of dread took hold of Tiberius’ heart as soon as he saw the burning bodies plummeting to their deaths from high up in the trees. Hundreds were dying, many of them small children. All hope for peace fled Tiberius’ mind as his hands unconsciously clenched into fists in futile anger. Still, Tiberius had to do what he could to somehow salvage this disaster for his people.
Listening to the orders being called out, Tiberius could guess where the command group would be located for this type of attack. Quickly he guided his bulls in search for the general leading the battle. As the rage flowed through his veins, Tiberius fought to control his mounting fury, his mind reeling at the culmination of events that could have led to such and unimaginable attack being possible. The plan must have been decades in the making. His strategic mind knew that this could only end with the start of another Tuonellian invasion. Only, this time, there were no Klavikians left to bring the Alliance back together.
The first rule of war taught in the Imperial War Academe was to know your enemy. Typically that was not meant in the literal sense. In most one-on-one confrontations the obvious foe standing in front of you was typically your enemy, but when it came to empires battling one another, the true enemy was not always so simple to deduce. Now that Tiberius knew what was happening, he could find a way to stop it. His people wouldn’t be used as scapegoats for the destruction of the world!
The screams of the dying filled the air around them as Tiberius saw the Thirteenth Legion’s Silver Wolf next to the pennant of the Imperium rising out of the hazy smoke ahead of him. The symbol of Akras’ silver sickle on a golden field filled him with hope. Coming in range of the command group, he saw the Commander directing the battle.
“Commander Scipio, you will stop this assault at once.” As one, the Thirteenth’s Command Group turned around in shock at the sound of his deep bellow. Incredulously, Mettius Scipio looked at him as if seeing a ghost. Quickly the Commander pushed his way to Tiberius side grasping him by the shoulders.
“Legatus, you’re alive! General Volturcius told us you had been assassinated by the Elven Clans during the celebrations.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Tiberius saw Cornisus warily move in closer as he corrected the Commander harshly. “Is that how you speak to your new Emperor?”
Laying a callused hand on Cornisus’ armored shoulder, Tiberius spoke sharply. “That will do Cornisus!” Seeing Scipio’s look of shock, Tiberius slung his arm over the gruff Commander’s armored shoulders looking grim. “It’s a long story best told when we have more time, but trust me when I say that the report of my demise was part of a nefarious plot against the Imperium.”
Turning Scipio towards the sounds of combat, Tiberius spoke with authority. “I’ll expound on the specifics later, but first I want the Bucinator ordered to signal the Legion to stop all hostilities and pull back. The recall point will be southwest of the forest, where the First and Second Legions fell.”
With a curt nod, Scipio gave the order. Immediately the buglers began signaling the Legion’s recall as Tiberius scanned the smoke around them speaking urgently. “The Imperium has been betrayed. This General Volturcius is not who he claims to be. He is to be found and …”
Turning back around, Tiberius froze as he saw Scipio’s eyes light up with an eerie green glow at the mention of the General’s name. Instantly, the Commander’s face turned into a savage mask of hate. With a cry of shock, Tiberius fell back as the old bull lunged at his neck teeth first.
Tiberius fought to keep the gnashing teeth away from his exposed throat as the yellowed tips of Scipio’s aged horns gouged deep furrows down both of his black furred cheeks. Blood streamed down his muscular neck in rivulets as he fell to the ground with the Commander on top of him. As they rolled around in the dirt, Tiberius heard the stomp of hooves as the clash of melee combat suddenly erupted on either side of him. Focused on his own fight for survival, Tiberius couldn’t spare a second to look at what was happening around him.
The old bull’s strength was incredible. Straining with his entire body, Tiberius arched his back to escape Scipio’s gauntleted fists clawing blindly at his face. In the back of his mind, Tiberius realized this was the same type of mindless fighting they’d faced during their battle against the Praetorians inside Gravida’s fortified walls. Still, it just didn’t make any sense for Scipio to attack now. They’d just been talking as if everything was fine. What in Akras’ name was going on?
At any time, Tiberius could have triggered his Wolf Gauntlets to end the fight, but for the love of the grizzled commander, he kept his tinnearlian blades sheathed. Capturing Scipio’s armored wrists in his powerful grip, Tiberius locked horns with Scipio as he pushed the Commander back with all his might. Just as he managed to push the old bull away from him, Tiberius saw Cornisus coming up behind the Commander with his bloody gladius raised for a killing strike. Gasping for breath, Tiberius bellowed urgently.
“Don’t kill him!” Seeing the confusion on Cornisus’ blood splattered face, Tiberius held the Decanus’ eyes explaining the order. “We need him alive!”
Quickly strong hands pulled the insane Scipio from on top of him as Cornisus gave him a hand up. All around him, wide-eyed legionnaires moved about quickly to secure the safety of their Legatus. It took an entire contubernium to subdue the old bull until they managed to bind him with thick ironidium shackles.
Unbelievably, Scipio still frothed at the mouth struggling to break free as his vacuous black eyes bulged in their sockets from whatever had driven him insane. Cornisus assigned four legionnaires to hold Scipio as Tiberius inspected the five dead bulls laid out on the ground nearby. The bodies were hacked up bloody messes. Even in death, each male’s face was twisted into a frozen mask of hate. From what Cornisus had witnessed of the attack. Whatever had happened to them had occurred simultaneously.
Silently Tiberius thanked Akras that there weren’t more deaths this time. Taking one more look at the dead, he shook his head in silent consternation. There had to be a logical explanation for what was happening to his people. None of this made any sense. How could six Minotaurs suddenly turn into mindless creatures that attacked their own people?
