Marron Mishala Davar carefully crept around the Wyldling patrol. It was a group of Wanderers, as idiosyncratic as that idea was. The typically solitary creatures didn’t work well together though.
This group had several variations from the base Antid though. Of the group of eight, three were the regular Antids, hulking creatures with six limbs, the upper arms tipped with scythe-like blades. One was a Lurker, a quadrupedal thing that spat out gobs of acid at its foes. Another two were even bulkier than the Antids. They were bipedal, but their forearms were long and sturdy enough to serve as front legs. They often used their knuckles to aid in their movements. They would have resembled primates, but their skin was covered in scales instead of fur. Their colouring varied with their moods and at the moment, streaks of silver and blue rippled down their backs.
“Primals,” Marron muttered, though he frowned. He wasn’t sure of the name, but the creatures were rarely seen here on Rumiga. They were either a step up on a Wanderer’s stage of growth or a different variety altogether. They also needed an environment with denser than normal ambient Chaos, otherwise, the negative pressure would suck their reserves dry too quickly.
It was direct evidence that the ambient Chaos in the valley was thicker, 1.2 or 1.3 iarvesh, probably.
The last two were what Marron thought of as proto-Hunters. They were Antids that had advanced enough, either through age or consumption, that they were close to advancing. They were smaller than their fellows but probably weighed more. They were more agile too, and their scythe limbs were smaller but tougher.
The problem with the group was that they were only one of dozens. All of them roaming towards the north. That was where he needed to go, but it looked like he’d have to go south and west for a bit. He’d try to circle around the valley, but the changes in the area made the previous maps unreliable.
Scouting work hadn’t ever been something he was formally taught, just that he found the necessity ever since his advancement to Knight. For that matter, he’s spent more time out in the wilds than in the city ever since.
Well, there was one surefire way to avoid a Wyldling’s notice: Stay as far away as possible. It was easy to kill them, but if they were this clustered, then he would be noticed.
Hmm, maybe he could create a diversion and then slip through the gaps? It would be worth considering, but not quite right now.
Once he was out of sight, he went down the trail at a ground eating pace. The Cinderfield Hills were warm, and the ever-present cold and snow were absent. But it would not be the case outside of the valley.
An hour later, he arrived at the ruins of Outpost 4. It was nothing like the Frozen Camp or Outpost 8 as it was initially designated. This one, the fourth in the logistical chain, was nothing but a small square compound, barely fifty paces to a side, and a couple of surface buildings. There wasn’t much underground either, and there was neither an Animus engine nor a Protective Dome projector. There should have been a couple of Plasma Carronades but those had been dismantled and taken away. What was left was the skeleton of the compound, mere walls and empty rooms.
Still, he did find a few notes etched on the walls within the commander’s office back when he came this way.
“All Imperial forces return to the capital as soon as possible.”
Short and simple, with the Animus signature of the outpost commander. Marron authenticated the signature using his crystal tablet.
“I should wait until dark,” he muttered to himself.
Wyldling eyes were keener than a human’s but Luminous Moon’s light dulled their senses even more than the Radiant Sun did. The outpost was outside of Cinderfield, and since it was already close to the Season of Air, and he was in the far north, it was rather cold. Rather than waste Animus warming his body, he snuck out and looked for deadwood. He found enough branches that he snapped to a reasonable size and returned.
Inside the barracks, he sequestered himself in an officer's quarters and built a fire. He watched the airflow for a bit, determining that the smoke stuck on the ceiling before seeping out through mini cracks up to the next floor above. It should be safe enough for the night.
With a fire going, he toasted and spiced a ration bar and suffered through dinner. Then, he barricaded the room and let himself sleep, waking up every few hours to check the light. Once twilight came, he snuffed out the fire, tidied up as much as he could, then left.
Even outside of the valley, the Wyldlings patrolled. They ranged far, several dozen leagues, but never farther than they could return in a couple of days. Cinderfield was far from the Veil, roughly ten leagues or so, and it was fifty more leagues away from the Zarek Mountain range’s foothills. The area between was a mix of valleys and plains. There was a meandering river, the Kliss if he remembered his geography correctly. That one eventually flowed into Rumiga City.
The Wanderers, well suited to staying inside a plane compared to the other types of Wyldlings, could reach all the way to the foothills and that wasn’t where Marron wanted to be. Outside of the roads the Empire built to cross the Zarek Mountain Range, the presence of humans wasn’t tolerated by Avos Zarek. Especially Knights or higher.
So, he found himself walking at the bottom of a ravine, somewhat thankful he knew how to walk over snow instead of trying to plough his way through. The cold winds cut through his uniform even if he kept his cold-weather cloak closed. He looked forward to his rest during the day, often looking for hollows or depressions in the ground where he built hasty shelters and kept a fire growing. He'd use his brazier if there was no deadwood nearby, sacrificing Animus to the tool rather than filling his cartridges.
“Swarm fodder,” he muttered as he climbed up a tree. The Wanderer squad to the north of the ravine blocked the crossing and there was another squad behind him. He didn’t see a way past them without either taking a really long detour or killing them.
He wasn’t about to go three leagues out of his way. That was nearly half a day’s walk!
He aimed with his Plasma Caster, a fresh cartridge attached. There were eight of the creatures but three pairs were lined up. Five shots then.
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Breathing evenly, he activated his Facets. Rapid fire. Guidance. Piercing. Between one breath and another, he pulled the trigger five times. Purple bolts erupted from the muzzle, curved around branches, trees, and falling leaves. The bolts twisted and vibrated, and once they struck the Wyldlings’ Protective Field, the shape and vibration cut through the Chaos like a hot knife through butter. Three of the bolts pierced through heads, curving towards the Wyldling beyond. The fourth bolt shattered a head but the fifth missed.
The proto-hunter ducked and avoided the shot. The plasma bolt didn’t have enough space to turn and splashed against the snowy ground, melting ice and dirt into a steaming puddle. The surviving Wyldling twisted and oriented itself to Marron, then foolishly launched itself towards him. Two more purple bolts were fired.
Marron quickly ejected the cartridge, caught it with his left and slotted it in his belt. With the same motion, he plucked a fully charged cartridge from its holder and inserted it into the Caster. The entire swap took less time than the blink of an eye. It was unnecessary though, as the follow-up shots killed the Wyldling
As soon as he confirmed the kills, he dropped down from the branch and sprinted past the corpses, not even taking the time to harvest their Chaos Shards. He was through the ravine and into a gully in ten minutes.
Two days later, he was just a couple of dozen leagues away from Outpost 8. Except…
A shiver ran up Marron’s spine. He kept to the shadows between a boulder and a tree. Something was watching him. It had been for the past day. But for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out who or what it was. He wouldn’t even have noticed if not for the spine-tingling thrill that came from having a predator stare at his vulnerable back.
Marron’s mind raced. He could simply rush towards the outpost, but he was at least a day away. With the heavy snowdrifts, it slowed him enough that he would be caught.
Gritting his teeth, he determined that he needed to… ambush whatever it was that was stalking him. His eyes roamed the countryside, seeking a likely kill zone. He honed into a cul-de-sac. The walls on the other sides were steep, nearly impossible to climb with ease or speed. He made his way towards it, then climbed up a slope. A small ledge halfway up the thirty-pace high cliff face made for a good marksman’s nest.
There, he focused on his fourth Facet, the one he unlocked from his advancement to Knight. At its most basic use, it increased the penetrative power of his plasma bolts, though it could also do the same to any projectile he used, such as the solid slug bullets some legions used. Another aspect of his Facet was one that combined the strength of multiple shots into one. That was the one he was ready to use now.
Seconds passed like minutes, and minutes into hours. He waited with as much patience as he could muster to lay still and remained focused. His mind did wander at times.Odd thoughts of his missing sister, of his other brothers, and his parents.
Da was still nowhere to be found, and he found himself cursing at the man and the Inquisitor that had led them away into that foolish expedition. Their one goal should have been to stop the Wave, but no, that one had been destroyed without Da’s intervention. Where was he? Mum mentioned looking for him, which did relieve Marron’s worries. Mum was the most competent of the family after all.
As for Kato and Rami, well, they were both safely in Faron’s Crossing, away from this war. Yuriko, on the other hand, he worried about. His airheaded sister was a bit too gullible and with her in the hands of the Mishala Clan, he wondered if he’d even recognise her by the time she came back. A greater part of him also wondered if he’d ever see his sister again.
Yuriko…needed protecting. That’s what all three of the brothers thought. If not physically then in the other sense. Socially. Most anyone can get her to do things simply by asking. Thankfully, most of the boys in her class were idiots who don’t even have the courage to be direct. But the people in Realmheart? Marron felt a shudder go through him. He wasn’t strong enough yet. He will be. He will be.
Which brought his thoughts into the complicated and tangled yarn that was Niamh. That sweet, sweet girl made life more interesting, that was for sure. He kind of missed her softness now when he was away in the wild. And how he missed her kisses…
Shaking his head and trying to pull his mind out of the gutter, he activated his Enhanced Senses. Nothing.
There was nothing near him. But why did he still feel that spine-tingling chill? Perhaps he should have just left. He could have been halfway to the outpost by now!
“Second-guessing won’t help,” he muttered to himself.
A few minutes later he could no longer contain his impatience. He’d rather make his way to the outpost now than wait days to ambush something he wasn’t even sure was there.
He shook his head and got up, brushing off the leaves and dirt he used to hide himself. He made the mildly difficult climb up out of the cul-de-sac and oriented himself north.
The moment he took a step away, that foreboding feeling returned. Followed by an ill wind that blew at the corners of his cloak. Sweat beaded and froze on his forehead and he swallowed convulsively.
Then…an eerie voice drifted out of the wind.
“I. See. YOU.”