"While the Ark was initially made for the creation of replacement Halos, we have recently found out how to use some of the factory-functions for a different purpose. As of a month ago, we have started to construct new experimental frigates and cruisers using the Ark. Our alliance with the Sangheili and the new technological advances that the Ark grants us have enabled us to achieve a great many things, most important of all is full Energy Shielding on an ever-increasing percentage of our ships,"
- Motivational speech, Lord Hood – March 23, 2553
~0~
Ever since their ship had taken fire above the big city, Captain Adrian Wren had known that things had absolutely gone to hell. The Spartan had jumped, leaving them in a damaged Pelican dropship as they tried to steer it to the north while continuously taking fire from an enemy that did not seem to have possessed guns. There had been no turrets, no installations and no humans with firearms and still their ship had taken enough fire to bring a dramatic change to their plans. And from there, things had gone from hell to the place where the devil went when it died. They had been forced to touch down at the base of an enormous forest, where India Three-Sixteen had attempted to repair her bird. Two hours they had sat there, keeping a close watch on a large perimeter with only seven marines.
At first, it had looked like the pilot might have been able to fix her craft. But then, these…things…had appeared. Floating machines with three metal blooms that were centered on a red eye that was capable of dispensing high-intensity lasers.
Sentinels. First encountered by the Master Chief Petty Officer Spartan one-one-seven at Installation zero-four, sentinels were the AI-controlled drones that protected Forerunner installations from all threats. They had encountered plenty of them on the Ark, where the last collection of mankind's warriors had fought for their very survival. There, they had been friendly.
But like the drones that Battlegroup Lima had encountered during their Operation to retrieve Math-011, these ones had other things on their collective minds. They had surged towards the already feeble position held by the soldiers, seemingly out of nowhere, starting to bombard them with lasers.
The thing was that the lasers hadn't been lethal. He had seen Corporal Hudson getting blasted by at least three of those bright beams, only for the man to get right back on his feet after having been knocked a few feet away from the Pelican with virtually no wounds at all. Captain Wren had quickly concluded that the sentinels hadn't been firing with lethal shots, leading up to him ordering for his men to stand down.
However, more and more of the machines had appeared together with more stranger looking units. Their position had quickly been swarmed by the mechanical bastards and it had gotten pretty obvious that they hadn't wanted the Pelican to be fixed. After half an hour of intense fighting, the units had started to use increasingly dangerous weaponry. So in order to preserve the lives of the men and women serving under him, Captain Wren had called a general fallback, leaving behind the Spartan's Experimental Field-Strip Unit and most of their ammunition. The Field Unit was the least of their concerns, as Wren had only installed it in their Pelican should the Spartan be wounded beyond normal recovery, or in need of replacement parts. There were enough MJOLNIR Mark VI parts on board of the When Duty Ends to outfit the Spartan two times over, but they lacked the expertise and knowledge to do so themselves. Hence the stripper.
He, India Three-Sixteen and the seven marines had done the one sensible thing that they could have done: they had temporarily abandoned the Pelican Dropship and moved southwards, away from the enormous forest and towards civilization. They had marched for three days, easily covering a hundred miles before they had finally reached the first sign of civilization: a giant lake. To the south-east of that lake lay a city, one that Captain Wren would soon learn to be Gil'ead.
In the first evening after they had crashed on the surface of the unknown planet, the Captain and his crew made a fire near the large city. There, Staff Sergeant Bryce had hunted down and killed a large doe, like he and other marines had done each morning, afternoon and evening, providing them all with enough food to go through the days of harsh marching. As all of the seven marines were battle-hardened-veterans that had survived at least four different engagements in the Human-Covenant war, they hadn't gone into this situation unprepared. All eight of them –the pilot not included-had brought external survival packs with enough rations and food to last a week each. But as animals were abundant in that area, they wouldn't waste useful supplies.
"Sir," the pilot asked him after they had spent two hours in the darkness outside of Gil'ead, "what are we going to do now? We were chased away from our craft by Forerunner machines, so they obviously don't want us to leave again."
"After the shit they pulled to get us here?" Corporal Hudson added. Corporal Hudson had to be the greenest of all marines in their part; he had the biggest mouth, but he was also the youngest in their party. What had made the soldier stand out so much to ONI had been his excellent scouting skills. Hudson saw things that the rest of them didn't and that often made him their first choice as Point-man. His big mouth however made it hard for Wren to go easy on the kid. Hudson was twenty-seven years old and had more ODST attitude than the rest of them. "I don't think they'll ever let us go."
"Don't worry about a thing Hudson," Second Lieutenant Riley replied. She was the second female member of their group, next to the pilot. She also held the second-highest rank, next to First Lieutenant Mason and Wren himself. She had set herself apart as a very level-headed thinker and mentally-powerful person, chosen because of her nigh-impervious mind. "Once we get the Spartan back, we'll destroy those machines and get right back to the When Duty Ends.
Her trust in the Spartan was endearing, but misplaced. Wren had read every bit of information on Secret-Spartan 007 that ONI had available, even the parts that were covered in black ink. He knew of the Spartan's attitude, troublesome service record and –unlike almost everyone that was aware of the Secret-Spartans- he knew that the Spartan would eventually be prone to fits of 'unexplained irrational sensations', meaning that he was going to lose his mind after too long. He had seen it happen with Simon-004 and he knew that it was going to happen to their attached Spartan too. In a way, they were his supporting crew. The soldiers chosen to make sure that he did this job correctly and –more importantly- transport him from one location to the other.
"Let's just see what the captain wants us to do next," the Staff Sergeant stated. "
"Right," Wren replied to the muscular soldier. Staff Sergeant Bryce was easily the most durable marine of their group, matched only by Sergeant First Class Wilks; ONI had plucked him out of the mass because the man had survived at least seven different engagements with the Covenant, getting nailed by almost every sort of weapon out there in the process. Bryce had taken plasma, bullets and even explosives without ever giving up. That sort of determination and discipline was very important to the Office. "At the moment, returning to the Pelican isn't an option. Those drones are too numerous for us to waste munition on and right now, our first priority is finding out why we are here," he explained to his crew. Three marines were currently on watch making sure that they wouldn't get surprised in the middle of the night. "The Forerunners had once made plans to protect the universe from the most powerful threat it has once faced. If they wanted us on this unknown planet with humans that don't recognize the UNSC, they must have had a damn good reason to send us here. It is up to us to find just what that reason is."
"So, a field trip?" Hudson joked.
"Corporal," Bryce swore and he jumped to his feet, but the two scouts that he had sent to the city ahead had returned.
"Sir," said First Lieutenant Mason, who pushed his glasses further up his nose. If anyone ever needed the definition of the word 'spook', they needn't look father than Mason. With his carefully kept beard and moustache, coupled with his glasses, the marine looked just like any other tech expert. But nothing was farther from the truth. The geeky-looking Mason was what the ODST's called an 'utter and complete doctor badass'. His eyes were basically shining with professional calmness and a certain calculating quality that most marines seemed to miss and unlike most their group, he had already been with ONI most of his career. If Staff Sergeant Bryce and First Lieutenant Mason were dropped in the middle of a jungle, Wren knew that Bryce would be the first one to escape, but that the First Lieutenant would escape completely unscathed. That and his glasses were purely aesthetic; there wasn't anything wrong with his eyes. Wren had often suspected that Mason had all sorts of gadgets built into them. "The city ahead is called Gil'ead. Apparently, it's a very important city to the established empire in this land.
"Empire?"
"Yes sir," Mason continued. "An empire that has been established more than a hundred years ago, ruled by a king Galbatorix."
"That sounds Irish," Hudson joked.
"Be quiet Hudson," the Asian Specialist Takeo quietly said. If their group of marines had one man who could be called the stoic, it would the Takeo. The second ONI agent in their group, Takeo had been a specialist for nearly fourteen years. Wetwork, assassinations and even demolition work; Takeo had seen it all. While he wasn't such a favored agent to ONI as Mason was, he had still earned his spot with ONI. And in direct contrast to First Lieutenant Mason, Specialist Takeo was trustworthy. Both of the spooks were completely calm and rational in the face of emergencies, but the Specialist had a little special extra that had Wren's favor.
"Anyway," Mason said and snapped a disapproving look at the young scout, "it appears that we have landed in the middle of a warzone. This land is currently in turmoil; officials in Gil'ead speak of a 'rider', of a rebel organization called 'the Varden' and two people called the Ra'zac…renowned dragon hunters.
"Come again?" Bryce growled. "Hunters of whatnow?"
"Dragons," Mason repeated himself with a moderately amused expression. "I know. It must be some special code word."
Captain Wren, who had long since stopped wondering how Mason was so good at gathering information, was quick to point out the problem in that last statement. "Lieutenant, we are in the middle of a mediaeval city with people that can shoot down UNSC-grade Pelicans without obvious weapons. If they have something that needs the code word 'dragon', I want to know precisely what it is."
"I know that sir. The people aren't very keen on talking; it appears that they have problems of their own. I've overheard some of the guards speaking about things like magic and elves. Either we have a very deeply conditioned rebel outpost, or…"
"Or the Forerunners had more reseeding programs," Wren finished the First Lieutenant's sentence, thinking back on the extreme threat that the flood had meant to the universe. "We got here for a reason, but we need more information. What else did you learn?"
Mason had been accompanied by a rough-looking Sergeant First Class, but he seemed to be keeping his mouth shut. And who wouldn't, when accompanied by an ONI spook?
"I got this map," Mason said without a hint of arrogance or satisfaction in his voice. "From one of the guardsmen. It depicts a land named 'Alagaesia.'"
"Alagaesia?" Staff Sergeant Bryce said with a growl. "Sounds like a nasty disease to me."
"Cut the crap," Wren snapped when he said Hudson smirking at the older marine. To Mason he said: "Show me."
The spook showed him the chart and Captain Wren spent at least half an hour orientating himself with the helpful piece of paper. They had arrived near a thick forest…traveled south to Gil'ead…great. They were in the middle the empire that Mason had talked about –the empire that was hostile to them, as they had opened fire on the UNSC without a single warning.
"What's this?" Wren asked eventually, eyeing a blotch near the southern-most section of the map. "This…Surda?"
"I don't know sir," First Lieutenant Mason truthfully answered. "But if it's not very detailed, I'd wager that it's a country that's not a part of the Empire. We might find friends there."
"Don't be hasty Lieutenant," Captain Wren replied sharply as he eyed the map. Between Surda and Gil'ead lay at least five other cities. One of them was the capital-city called Uru'baen, which was by far the largest city in the empire. Then there was Bullridge, north of Uru'baen and Dras-Leona, south-west of Uru'baen. Furnost to the south-east of the capital and Feinster to the west of that city. All of them were a part of the empire.
"There is still a rather big problem sir," Mason said with a bored voice. "Gil'ead was filled with at least two-hundred soldiers. The empire is a standard medieval empire, with foot soldiers and cavalry. The singer?"
"We don't have enough ammo," Wren replied wearily.
"In one guess sir. Without our Spartan, we might have to…improvise."
"We're not going to do anything for now Mason. We don't know who to turn to, where to search or whom to trust. We need information. Tomorrow, Takeo, you and I will infiltrate this city and learn more about the empire."
"Sir," Second Lieutenant Riley sharply said, "I wouldn't recommend that. The risk is too great and-"
"-while I value your opinion, Lieutenant, there is no need to worry," Wren interrupted her. "Tomorrow morning we'll start gathering and fabricating clothes to go unnoticed in the city."
As their commanding officer, Wren's word was final and the remainder of protests quickly died away. However, procuring the necessary clothes to infiltrate Gil'ead was harder than they had thought it to be. The fourth day on Alagaesia came and went by without anyone having done something worthwhile and it wasn't until the evening that Captain Wren spotted a group of travelers approaching the city. Of course, he would want to pay the group for their clothes, but they didn't have any money with them and they didn't even know what the civvies in this land paid with. Bryce and Hudson were already planning an assault when Riley and Flight Officer India Three-Sixteen, Allison, formulated a better idea. They approached the group of travelers, explained that they were specialized hunters searching for new and normal clothes and even managed to get the (male) travelers to give them some clothes.
"Womanly charm," Allison joked when she handed the captain the two sets of clothes. "Always works."
"Womanly cheating," Hudson muttered. "So who is going to be the lucky bastard to go on sight-seeing?"
"Not sight-seeing Huds," Sergeant First Class Wilks clarified. "Infiltration. I think you'll need to stay home for this one."
"You'd think?" Mason sneered.
Wren looked at his two spooks –the two best-fit men when it came to infiltrating a hostile city- and wondered which one he trusted more. Mason might be more experienced, but Takeo was actually loyal to the duty of a soldier instead of just fulfilling ONI's wishes.
Actually, the choice wasn't very hard at all. "Specialist Takeo, tomorrow morning we're going to scout Gil'ead. I want the rest of you on standby in case things go hairy."
The group of soldiers saluted him and started to prepare themselves for the night. Only Bryce, Wilks, Takeo and Hudson had taken sleeping bags with them, so they had to improvise that night. Thankfully there were enough trees around and with seven marines, one pilot and one Captain, they were perfectly capable of creating alternate sleeping places.
The next morning, at the dawn of their fifth day in the foreign country, Captain Wren and Specialist Takeo donned the clothes that the group of travelers had given them, but they had a small problem with preparing themselves for the infiltration.
"They don't fit," Takeo muttered after he had unsuccessfully tried to don the civilian clothes for the third time. They didn't want to risk heading out into an unknown area without the protection that their marine BDU's offered them. Months of peace and technological advances had enabled the UNSC to imbue the normal BDU with the same qualities that the ODST one had, and more. Their sleek, dark-green suits were impervious to small-arms fire and explosive shrapnel, but it would still buckle under heavy fire and plasma attacks. And seeing how the hostiles had used unknown weaponry, they wouldn't risk a thing.
"Cut it open at the sides," Wren replied. "It doesn't need to fit, only to conceal."
The soldier did as he was told and after another frustrating quarter of an hour, the two of them were finally ready to go.
Gil'ead, they quickly found out, was a fishing and trapping center where a lot of hunters could replenish their supplies and sell any hides they had retrieved during their hunt. It explained why the group of travelers had had spare clothes to share with total strangers. The problem was that the city was also a major staging point for the Imperial army, with lots of barracks and even a large fort.
But the soldiers wore short-swords, red tunics and chainmail. The basic mediaeval outfit for the basic foot-soldier. The entire city was completely primitive and even after they had searched the city for several long and tense hours, they hadn't a single thing that could point to an advanced form of weaponry.
In the afternoon, Wren decided that they should check out the nearest inn, as those places were the most information lay hidden for those that knew how to find it.
"I don't like this," Takeo said as he eyed a group of soldiers that were yelling and laughing at volumes way too loud to be professional.
"I know," the Captain replied.
"And why are these guys-"the Specialist mentioned with his head to the group- "drinking in clear daylight?"
"Not every military is well-trained," Wren responded. "These men are probably just taking a break."
"They're not even paying," Takeo continued, looking disgusted with the sight of the soldiers. "Look, all these people pay using coins, but these men don't."
Coins then? The mediaeval state had developed a roughly capitalistic trading society. Good; now they just needed to get their hands on some gold and they could start buying information.
Wren eventually got up from his chair –electing a few suspicious glares from the more sober soldiers- and walked towards the counter.
"Good day," he greeted the barkeep.
"So it was," the barkeep, sporting a fabulous moustache, replied somberly. "Until these lot came."
"Making a lot of ruckus, don't they?" Wren could feel Takeo's glare in his back, but he didn't pay that any mind. This was one of the things that they had all been trained in when they had been picked by ONI, he more than most: information gathering.
"More than that," the barkeeper growled and threw an angry glare at the collection of drunken soldiers. "They break more glasses than I can polish in one hour, they grope and touch at all the women near them and chase half my customers out by simply being here. A ruckus in my business, that's what they are."
"I see," Wren replied, a plan forming in the back of his mind. "If someone were to persuade them to take it easy, how far would your gratitude go?"
The barkeeper looked at him suspiciously. "I'd offer that someone a few free drinks, that's what."
"How about some information?"
At that, the barkeep laughed. It was a rough and bitter laugh. "If you can change these dogs' minds, I'll tell you everything you want to know. You're probably chasing after the Rider, aincha?"
"You got me," Wren said with a smile. Then he returned Takeo and sat down in his chair.
"Any luck?" the Specialist asked.
"In a way, yes. I have some orders for you."
Takeo's face didn't change one inch when he heard what Wren had planned out for him. Then, after he had verified how to get started, he turned to the rampaging Empire soldiers.
"Gentlemen," the Specialist told them with the Captain's words, "could you perhaps take your festivities with more ease?"
The alcohol-induced cheerfulness of the group vanished at once and it grew very quiet in the tavern. It occurred to Wren that this city was a hub of imperial soldiers, so any and all 'civilians' talking back to the soldiers would be frowned upon severely. Had these soldiers never learnt that one of the rules of R&R was never to disturb the civilian population?
"Why, I might ask," one of the larger and bulkier soldiers snarled at him, "does a lark-faced yellow-eyed lackwit like yourself think he can tell us what to do?"
That was a…rather old-fashioned way of calling Takeo out on his old Asian heritage.
"Be polite," Wren muttered to his partner.
The Specialist, who had been looking annoyed at the very start of their infiltration, forced himself to look relaxed. "Fellows, you have lost your manners in your…mugs. Why don't you take it easy?"
"You won't tell me what to do!" The drunken brute exclaimed and pushed Takeo with one arm –or at least, he tried to. At the very moment his arm snapped out to push the Specialist away, Takeo had stepped in and bashed the arm to the side with his elbow. Then, before the foot-soldier could have done anything else, Takeo had utilized that opening to deliver three rapid jabs to the man's face and two to his stomach in the span of two seconds, flooring him immediately.
The remainder of the soldiers –a total of six, not including their floored giant- stepped in to engage Takeo, thought better of it and instead chose a quiet spot in the corner of the inn to resume their partying. Two men shrugged and hauled their friend with them.
"Good job Specialist," Wren told the marine and then moved back to the barkeep again. Said barkeep looked impressed.
"Your friend doesn't look native," the man said and grabbed another glass to polish. "He from Surda?"
"Surda?" Wasn't that the country that wasn't a part of the empire? "No."
"Ah," the barkeep muttered and resumed polishing. "So, you two kept your side of the bargain. What do you want to know?"
The Captain decided to tell the truth. "As you said, we're not exactly from around. We're looking to go to Dras-Leona, but we don't really know how to get there."
The barkeeper then told him what he knew about the city. Apparently, Dras-Leona was home to a cult that worshipped a mountain, called Helgrind, which lay several miles east of the city. Dras-Leona was infamous for its slave trade and corrupt business, but the barkeep didn't want to be quoted on that. The last, useful thing that the man could told him was that the capital city had been raided and that a group of unknown size had stolen one of the King's treasures, having sneakily infiltrated using lies, trust and magic.
Magic. Wren had ignored that word, forging his own conclusion out of the information. The barkeeper had told him that this infiltration had taken place roughly five days ago, perfectly matching the UNSC's arrival at Alagaesia, above Uru'baen. That meant that the Spartan had survived –obviously- and escaped with something important.
That evening, Captain Wren rendezvoused with the rest of the soldiers to discuss their next course of action.
"We are in the middle of an obviously hostile empire, with no back-up and almost no supplies," Wren told his team. "Our Spartan is out there, taking the fight to the enemy. He has escaped out of the capital, but we can be certain that he hasn't gone north."
"That leaves south, east and west," said Corporal Hudson sarcastically. "`Marvelous."
"Shut up and let the Captain speak," Sergeant First Class Wilks growled at the younger marine, who promptly did as he said. Wren placed their map on the ground.
"We know he's not in Gil'ead. But if he had passed there, people wouldn't know anyway. So Two-Sierra can be anywhere. We need to focus on getting out of here alive without him. As the Forerunner's had the best intentions for mankind, proven by their nonlethal methods of getting us away from our ship, they must have a reason to keep us here."
"Sir, permission to speak?" Second Lieutenant Riley asked.
"Granted."
"Mason and I have been poking around sir. We've heard talk of a deeply entrenched rebellion that is opposed to the empire…in Surda."
Surda was the source of a rebellion against the empire? That settled things then. "The thing is we're outmanned, outgunned and outmaneuvered. To stay and fight now, without back-up, would be suicide. We need allies in this fight and the only allies we will find right now are those in the south."
"So, to Surda it is?" Mason lazily asked from his perched position in a tree. "That would take us weeks sir."
"It's either facing those drones or living in the empire for the rest of our lives," Wren said with a grim expression on his face and that was that. They spent the night at the same spot where they had spent the previous night and got up early the next morning to start their long march to the nearest city: Dras-Leona.
Even though they were all burdened by their rucksacks with supplies which, using ultra-light materials, weighed roughly thirty kilograms, were still limited to crossing roughly forty-five kilometers per day. Their environment varied with each passing day, they had to stop to make sure that they drank and ate enough and they even had to plan in a couple of pauses. Combined with a sporadic need to hide from the occasional patrol and orient to their goal, they didn't cross more than a hundred kilometers during the first three days. The fourth day however, they managed to get reach the first city on the map: Bullridge.
Now Bullridge was a large settlement with a garrison of soldiers that was equally as impressive as the one in Gil'ead, though their actual numbers were about half of those in Gil'ead. Bullridge was also a farming-based city, using a river –called the Ramr River- for trading and resources. The nine of them were still fully armed and armoured and while the various hills and forests were perfectly capable of hiding their numbers, the open plains and river-zones made it very dangerous for them to simply march through the open area. Though all of the soldiers they had encountered –and subsequently avoided- had been armed with nothing but swords, spears and bows, Wren just couldn't shake the feeling that one of the cities harbored a secret weapon. Their Pelican had taken actual fire and that was a very important thing for all of them to remember.
In the evening of their tenth day in Alagaesia, Flight Officer Allison and Staff Sergeant Bryce took their turn wearing the civilian clothes and infiltrating the city. They didn't learn anything new or important, aside from more mentioning of magic –these people had to be a very superstitious lot- and news about the mysterious 'rider'.
However, when Wren pressed Bryce tell them just what a 'rider' was, their conversation turned very interesting.
"A dragon rider, sir," Bryce replied with a scowl. "See, these people think that dragons and magicians are real. Apparently, a hundred years ago, there used to be an order called the Riders. These Riders were said to have been keeping peace in this land. And now the empire is looking for a boy who is said to have bonded with a dragon, becoming the new rider."
"Magic is one thing, but dragons? There must be some indigenous animal that looks like a big lizard," Wren voiced his thoughts. "And it must be intelligent in some ways, or a boy couldn't bond with it."
"Sir, you don't truly believe-" Bryce exclaimed, but Wren looked at him with a stern expression and the large Staff Sergeant quickly shut up.
"Magic could explain the days I've been having," Hudson joked. As he was their top scout, he the least fatigued of them all. Maybe that explained his ever-present humor. "I mean, we've been chased away by sentinels which I could have sworn used to work for the Forerunners. We are stranded in the middle of a hostile empire and we are searching for rebels of all people."
"Lucky that the Spartan isn't with us now," Wilks murmured.
"Talking about empire," Allison then quickly said, "look what I found."
The pilot handed out a few papers that had clearly been ripped off a wall and as Captain Wren read what was printed on them, he sighed.
It was a very rough image of an armoured marine, together with the sentence: "HAVE YOU SEEN THESE MEN?"
They were wanted. The empire hadn't put a bounty on their heads, but they were asking people whether they knew anything about them. It was time for them to pick up the pace and get to Surda now more than ever.
"Let's go," he ordered the group of marines and despite the fact that it was still evening, the nine of them continued their march for another three hours, going south-west to avoid crossing the Capital city Uru'baen. If there was any place in the Varden where they would be in danger, it would be the Spartan-raided capital.
Eventually they came across a small forest, where they established a small and somewhat sloppy perimeter and went straight to sleep. Each night they exchanged their sleeping bags, so that none of them would spend two nights in row by sleeping on the ground or in a tree. Initially, the soldiers had insisted on Wren keeping a sleeping bag with him at all times.
He had refused that.
By the time the sun stood high in the air on the eleventh day, they had already encountered two parties of searching empire soldiers. They had managed to avoid being detected by them, but Wren knew that it was only a manner of time before they would get located by the empire. They needed something faster, something more durable. They needed-
"Horses," Hudson uttered from his position half a dozen meters in front of them. The scout jumped in a nearby bush, as did Allison, Bryce, Riley, Mason and Takeo.
Captain Wren took one look at the approaching column of riders and knew that this had to be their best chance. If the riders passed them without incident, no big deal. If they didn't…
"Sir?" Sergeant First Class Wilks asked.
"What now?" Lance Corporal Browning whispered. Despite his excellent combat skills, the kid was always nervous.
"Follow my lead," the Captain replied and slowly walked over to the side of the road that they had been following for an hour now, keeping a hand on his belt as the riders grew closer and closer. Eventually, he was able to make out that their numbers ranged around the twelve and that all of them were armed, armoured and angry-looking.
"Halt!" The lead rider called and the rest of the skidded to a halt, just a few meters past Riley and Bryce's position.
They hadn't seen the marines.
"You sir, look familiar," the rider barked and on cue, the rest of the riders took up positions on his flank.
That's right you bastards. Bunch up.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" The rider asked in a rude tone, but he didn't get an answer to his question, as Captain Wren pulled out his sidearm and shot him in his face. The powerful pistol-round tore through the man's head like it was made out of wet paper and exited the back, spraying the soldiers behind him with blood and bits of brain.
And Wren's own soldiers opened fire. Within a second or four, all the riders had been killed by well-placed headshots. None of them had even had the slightest chance to retaliate and as the Captain holstered his pistol again, he briefly thought about the wrongness of their situation. Not only had they just caused a bloodbath in the middle of a hostile empire, they had also taken the lives of twelve human.
But he could not dwell on that thought, as they had an important goal to reach.
"Take the horses," he called out when the soldiers remained hidden. "We'll need them to get to Surda in one piece."
The rest of his squad appeared from their hiding places –he was surprised to see Hudson jumping out of a tree, while the Corporal had been hiding in a ditch the last time he checked- and mounted the various horses that were now scattered throughout the area. The loud noises of their discharging weapons had nearly scared them off and it had taken them quite some time to actually catch and calm the horses. Luckily, they were well-trained war-horses and it wasn't very hard to calm them down again.
And after that, the nine of them were free to move again. With the horses to bolster their speed and cover, they were really making progress. They covered ground at least six times as fast and like that, the kilometers melted away underneath them. After a mere three days of riding –during which they had been forced to ration their supplies carefully, as the horses seemed to burn through water and food like a Pelican 70 millimeter Chaingun.
They reached the vicinity of Dras-Leona, but by that time the empire had seemed to have declared a full-blown war against the UNSC. Soldiers were patrolling everywhere they went and as a group, they couldn't get anywhere near the city to find out more information about the war, as they would get recognized immediately. So they eventually set up camp south of Dras-Leon, nest to an enormous lake. Captain Wren briefly wondered how he was going to solve his lack of information, when he happened to glance at Mason.
The First Lieutenant was using an old survival trick to sharpen his knife; he grinded a few pebbles to pieces, peeled the bark off of a branch and then drenched the now-bare piece of wood in the lake. Then he rolled the wet branch in the pulverized remains of the pebbles and used that to grind his wicked-looking knife.
It was impossible for Mason to lose his head in a crisis and his level-headed thinking had solved many of their problems. But covert operations and infiltrating were two of his true specialties…and despite his lack of trust for the Lieutenant, Wren knew that he had to utilize the man's gifts if he wanted his squad to remain safe.
Drastic times asked for drastic measures and Wren gave both Takeo as Mason permission to infiltrate the city and find out everything they could about the reason for a well-funded and powerful empire to be chasing a boy and his pet-lizard.
While the two disguised themselves and then left for Dras-Leona, Captain Wren reached for the map again. From the scale of the map and the distance they had already traveled, he gathered that they still had roughly a hundred kilometers to travel. If they succeeded and actually got to Surda, they would have crossed an entire country in just under twenty days. He liked his odds, but he didn't know what they would do after they had reached the Varden. They would have to start gathering information all over again.
But the Captain was roughly shaken out of his thoughts three hours later, as Corporal Hudson suddenly yelled: "Spooks incoming! And…aww shit, they got at least fifty soldiers on their ass!"
Takeo and Mason, who now seemed to possess a collective ass according to Hudson, were indeed chased by a large group of cavalry soldiers.
"We've got company," Bryce shouted with a voice that many a drill Sergeant could only dream off. He pumped an M95 Shotgun –the newer model that held armour-piercing rounds and that could alternate between close-range and medium-range respectively.
"Move out," Captain Wren ordered his squad without hesitation. "We're getting out of here!"
"Sir, what about Takeo and Mason?" the Flight officer asked as Wilks helped her mount her horse.
"They can fend for themselves, can't they?" Lance Corporal Browning asked as he raced past the Captain, joining Hudson in the lead.
"They wouldn't lead enemy troops right back to us," Wren explained as he forced his horse to follow the Corporals. "And neither would they mess up. Something terrible must have happened if they were unable to shake them."
"Can't you feel it sir?" Sergeant First Class Wilks growled as his horse too exploded into movement. "This entire country feels messed-up; the air is twisted and charged with latent energy."
His statement worried the Captain, as Wilks would be the last person to complain about strange feelings and nasty weather. That man was as hardcore as hardcore could get –and not even the most grizzled, foul-mouthed ODST's dared mess with him, something that Bryce still had to struggle with at times. But he had no time to dwell on that, as he had to lead his squad to safety.
"Riley, Wilks, Bryce! I want suppressing fire with assault carbines on my cue!"
"Sir!"
"Copy that."
"Sir."
"Hudson, what's the situation!" He barked at the Corporal, who was lagging to their right flank to get a better view of the soldiers chasing them.
"They got at least two dozen guys with bow and arrows. Yeesh, Takeo and Mason are taking their sweet time. Ehm, yeah, they don't really look very happy to see us. There are two guys in the lead wearing strange, black clothes. They look very strange and…wait, does that guy have a beak?"
"Focus son!"
"Sir! The two in the lead are our biggest concern right now!"
"You heard that, Sergeants? Take out those cloaks!"
The two Sergeants twisted around and opened fire on the trailing group of soldiers, just as Takeo and Mason drifted apart and moved to the sides. They had a perfect view on their enemy.
Then suddenly, two riders in the middle of the group forced themselves to the front and one of them gestured with his hand, while the other one sat completely frozen and rigid.
An explosion rocketed past their formation and Wren swore as pieces of rock pelted him and his horse. Those bastards were using some sort of explosive weapon!
He was about to bark an order to the two rear guards, when a powerful pressure slammed into his mind. It felt like a large needle was being driven into his brain and he gritted his teeth, trying to shake the strange presence off. This wasn't some migraine or other sort of bodily reaction to the relentless pounding of the horse-riding; this was something else entirely. The assault on his head made it harder to concentrate and for a split-second, Wren lost control over his body. Then, a stab tore through the base of his skull and the throbbing headache dissipated. He focused on steering his horse and the invasive presence in his mind nearly faded away.
But then a second explosion shook the ground just as Flight Officer Allison was overtaking him and he watched as her horse tripped and fell, throwing the woman out of her saddle-
He instinctively reached out for the woman and, despite pressure on his mind growing worse again, managed to tear her away from her plummeting horse. With a mighty heave of his shoulders, he managed to get her upright. Her feet skidded over the ground and he was forced to completely let his horse go to prevent her from falling again, only using his legs to steer the careering creature.
The pilot reached for his horse too and with a combined effort, he managed to pull her on top of his animal. Takeo and Mason were slowly gaining speed, even as the First Lieutenant was firing one-handedly at the mass of soldiers with a Submachine-gun. Only two of his rounds went wide and the remainder slammed into the chasing force, downing at least seven riders without even hitting their horses.
Now that the two ONI agents had moved aside, the two veteran Sergeants had all the time and space they needed to fill their pursuers with holes .Despite the fact that he had never once ridden a horse in his life, Wilks managed to turn his body around on the horse, sitting with his back to the head of his ride even as he opened fire with his assault rifle.
Bryce didn't need to pull such fancy moves, as he simply turned his torso from the left to the right, firing a long burst each time he increased his grip on the horse. Unlike Wilks, who wasn't even holding on to his horse, Bryce was simply shifting his position like he was sitting on hot coals.
Takeo too opened fire on their stalkers and within a minute after Wren had hauled Allison onto his own horse, more than thirty soldiers had been shot off their horses.
The pressure on Wren's mind lifted with each explosive shot until suddenly, the Captain traced the origin of the power right back to its source. It seemed to originate from one of the cloaked men in the middle of the imperial formation. Not the two hooded figures on the front though, as they were still on the chase. One of them had various holes in his body and…green blood was pouring out? No, that couldn't be. It had to be the distance.
Wren concentrated intensely on the strange mental link between him and the old man that was chasing him and suddenly, it was gone. The pressure had lifted completely and he was alone in his head again.
Disturbing was what it was.
But whatever had happened, the soldiers had decided that they didn't want to lose more men for it. They broke off and veered away to the side, leaving a very visible trail of dead bodies behind them. Thirty dead imperials opposed to one horse. Odds that Captain Wren liked.
But he did not order his formation to stop until they had added at least another twenty kilometers of distance between their group and the place of engagement and by then, the horses were starting to get tired.
When Takeo and Mason had fully caught up with them again, the Captain stepped off his horse and faced the two spooks.
"What happened back there?" He snapped at them. "How did you get spotted, why didn´t you shake them and why did you lead them to us?"
"Believe me Captain, I would like to know that as well," Mason replied with a bored expression. "Takeo and I just found a few pamphlets depicting a certain Spartan, when all of a sudden these guys with missing limbs started screaming at us."
"I can remember my Neural Interface acting up," Takeo added with an equally emotionless face, "just as those people started yelling."
"Then these cloaked bastards show up and chase us halfway across the city," Mason spoke again. This time, a look of annoyance played over his eyes and he pushed his glasses up again. "We shook off all the soldiers that came after us, but not those two. Another one showed up later, but Takeo gave that one an Armour-Piercing surprise to the face-"
The Specialist padded his sidearm for emphasis.
"-and then we had to get back to our horses. Detours, maneuvers, nothing worked. It was as if they could trace us."
Captain Wren briefly wondered whether the mental pressure that he had felt during the chase had anything to do with their enemies' uncanny ability to track them, but quickly discarded that theory. Just a headache, nothing more
"And then?" he asked.
"Then, we decided that firepower would have to suffice." This time, Mason visibly smirked.
Captain Wren pinched the bridge of his nose and refrained from commenting on that obviously smug comment. Instead, he decided to bring a new point to bear. "Did you at least hear anything useful?"
"Yes sir," said Takeo. "Here too they think about magic. Also about dwarves, elves and a race called urgals. Dragons…they didn't like to talk about."
"But one of their commanders spoke about a second rider," Mason commented. "One that was connected to the imperial robbery."
"Shit," Bryce muttered. "You don't think that the Spartan is connected to this 'rider and dragon' bullshit?"
"I hope not. Imagine the sight of a dragon-riding Spartan? Never mind these people; that sight would scare the piss out of the Covenant." Mason had found a spot to play with his wits again, it seemed.
"Anymore?"
"We're getting more wanted every day sir," Takeo said. "They're looking for us in every major city now. Surda seems like our best shot for the moment."
"Think we can meet the elves there?"
"Shut up Hudson."
~0~
Four days later
As her black cloak whirled around her legs, the Shade brought her sword to bear and easily parried and overhead blow, battering her foe's sword out of its human's grip.
As the bearded man cursed and attempted to back off, she bounded forwards and lobbed his head off with a particularly powerful swipe. While she dodged the splatters of blood that her action had created, she turned to face the remaining seven men.
"What are you?" the lead human hissed in fear. The six men behind him raised a collection of swords, spears and axes, never quiet taking their eyes off of the thirteen corpses that lay sprawled across the sandy grounds.
A sudden gale of wind picked up and in a particularly ironic moment of coincidence, it blew her hood off. Her shoulder-length hair, as red as the blood of her foes, was trailing freely and her deadly pale skin only seemed to enhance the hellish glow.
"Shade!" Three of the men exclaimed, now completely and openly trembling with fear.
Raia eyed her opponents one final time, knowing that in just a few moments, all of them would be dead. While she never showed mercy to her human prey, she had gone through unusual effort to hunt these 'men' down. Slave-traders, preying on the weak and defenseless in Surda. From what she had gathered from the occasional human gossip, this particular group had been leeching off of society for a few months now.
And as much as she hated humans, she hated these sorts of people even more. She had spent an entire night haunting them, playing with their minds and driving four of them to an emotional breakdown by constantly appearing in those places where they only spotted her once, from the corners of their eyes. They had only understood that something was actively hunting them when she had spirited one of the biggest and meanest member of their group away in the early morning, allowing the rest of the group to find him hanging from a nearby tree.
And now she was going to end them. She didn't even need to use her mind or her magic to kill them; she simple dispatched all of them with simple strokes of her sword, painting the hot sand redder and redder with each life she took. She wasn't needlessly cruel to them in their final moments…but neither were their deaths very pleasant. She tried to stab more than slash, as such kills were always more…intimate. Satisfying. After all, even her sword was made to penetrate rather than to slash.
After the last human body hit the ground, defaced by a large puncture in the chest, Raia grabbed her hood and pulled it over her head again. Pathetic as they had been, the slavers had been making a lot of noise during their deaths and there was bound to be a large number of humans approaching her location to check on things. She had better return to the Varden encampment.
The Varden encampment…Nasuada had only just begun integrating the Varden in Surda and most of the civilians were stationed in Aberon, the capital city. But Nasuada was preparing an attack on the Empire already, the foolish girl. She would need at least one rider with her to properly engage her enemy in open warfare, otherwise the empire would simply shrug her attack off and destroy the Varden.
Foolish as Nasuada was, she knew how to exert her command. And as Raia marched past the various patrolling soldiers, she wondered about her own future. She was a Shade; there should not be any future for her. There could not be a future. The people in Alagaesia were just too stupid –too blind to see her as something more than that. Everywhere she went, she would be hated and loathed and attacked. There would be no peace for her in this land. But she had one person she could trust so safeguard her future for her and as long as that person remained alive, she would remain loyal to her.
And Spartan was out there, training with the elves. He did not hate her, because of his otherworldly origins. Her oath to him would prevent her from fighting him when, in the end, her Mistress made the move to retrieve her rider. All of Alagaesia would be in turmoil when that happened; the King and the Varden were one group against another and people could either support the one or the other. But the Mistress was an unknown factor in their silly war; once she set her eyes on something, she would rest at nothing to get it.
And Raia knew that, should her Mistress choose to, she would tear both the Varden and the empire apart to get it. Him. And there would be nothing that Raia could do to stop it, as she was loyal to the both of them.
She made her way to the large castle in the middle of Aberon and handed the guards the piece of paper that would excuse her from having to be searched like any other traveler. The cowl on her head and the long cape around her body made her suspicious to them, but they wouldn't dare disobey Nasuada, leader of the Varden.
And if they did…she would have another bloodbath on her hands.
As Raia walked through the hallways that carried her to Nasuada's office, she remembered how distraught the rider had been to hear that he was going to the elves. She hadn't seen his facial expression or anything like that, but his tone had spoken volumes. She didn't particularly like the elves herself, but…there had been no reason for Spartan to act so disturbed.
She reached the guarded room and one of the guards bashed his fist against the wooden door, signaling that Nasuada had a visitor.
On the lady's spoken intent, Raia was allowed to enter. The first thing she noticed when she stepped inside was that the dark-skinned woman didn't look very good. She had an annoyed expression on her face and bags under her eyes. She must not have had much sleep.
"Raia. How fortunate to see you." Nasuada made it sound like it was anything but fortunate to see her, but the feeling was completely mutual.
"Lady Nasuada," Raia said and bowed mockingly. "I share your feelings."
"What is it you seek?"
"I wish to express my concerns regarding some of your…decisions of placement."
Nasuada crossed her arms and glared at her. "Explain yourself."
"On our way to Surda, the less trained sections of your people would have been preyed upon by human slavers on four different occasions."
"They would?" the woman spoke, her eyes betraying honest concern. "What happened?"
Raia raised an eyebrow and Nasuada sighed.
"Of course. While I thank you for your deeds, I must know where your concerns truly lie."
"Today, I ended another slave-band. The people are growing restless…and I can sense that your troops are not yet ready for war. What are you planning regarding the empire?"
"While I do not share my battle-plans with everybody –especially not individuals like yourself- I understand that you aim for the Varden's wellbeing. I can respect that. Very well then. I do not aim to attack the empire just yet, as I know we are woefully outnumbered. Even with you in our ranks, we cannot afford to think that we can match them."
"With me in your ranks?" Raia asked with a hint of amusement. "You would use me as a soldier?"
Nasuada frowned. "Of course I would. I might not trust you, but the Spartan does. I will not let my opinions of your kind get in the way of what I need to do. You hold as much experience and abilities as an elf does –and seeing as you managed to help Eragon with his back, I take it that you know even more of magic than some of the elves do."
"I do, but I had not thought that I held enough trust for you to enlist me in the Varden's ranks."
"We must not allow our feelings to cloud judgment, Raia. Your deeds in the past might have set you as our enemy, but the war against the empire has made us allies. You said yourself that your Mistress does not serve the king, did you not?"
"I did."
"Then it is settled," Nasuada stated. "You will fight on the front-lines should the moment arise."
"Do not outstep your boundaries, lady Nasuada," Raia growled. What human could think of ordering her around? She, who had ended the lives of a hundred men and women? "I owe my loyalty to Spartan, not to you. I help the Varden because he does. Only he holds the power of commanding me."
Much to her confusion, Nasuada smiled. "Of course. And I take it that your decision to help Eragon with his scar was also because of your rider, despite his self-acclaimed disinterest in all suffering around him? And I suppose that you killing an infamous band of slavers was also on his orders?"
Raia bristled. Not because of the human's particular choice of words, but because of the truthfulness of them. Nasuada held wisdom rarely seen in her age; of course she was right. She knew that this war could take months, if not years to resolve. Spartan was not the type of person to switch allegiances and neither was her Mistress. If she were to keep living on as she was doing now, she would have to stay with the Varden for a long time.
And she didn't want to be all on her own during that time. Serving the group of rebellious warriors was one way of getting their trust, but she wasn't yet ready to actually and openly support them. So she worked from the shadows, gathering enough courage to take some action…and searching for a person that could look beyond the irrational and burning hatred for her kind.
So far she had not found that individual yet. There were so many things that she wanted to experience…and there were so many things that she would never be. But she would not yet accept that; the knowledge that there was even one individual out there who didn't care for what she was, was enough to grant her the strength to keep going.
"When Spartan told me to stay with the Varden," she gave her reply, choosing her words with great care, "he told me to keep them safe. I can not keep them safe if I must scurry around like a wretched Ra'zac. If helping Eragon is what it takes to improve my standing, so be it."
"I see," Nasuada softly said, staring at the Shade with a calculating expression. "Is there anything else you want to say?"
"Only this: keep a close eye on your surroundings, daughter of Ajihad. Your father has not survived this long without being careful…and he has most likely never had to worry about true attempts on his life in Farthen Dûr. "
"Thank you, Raia," Nasuada started, but then she paused. "Eragon killed Durza, granting him the name Shadeslayer. Spartan has a complete collection of names, based on his abilities. You need such a name too, if I am to call you more often. I take it you do not wish for the men to know your name?"
"You take it correctly."
"Think of it," the Varden's leader then decided. "I shall give it some thought too. Until then, I must ask you to leave. I have lots of things to do."
Raia nodded. "Of course, lady." A smile played on her lips when she saw that a shiver ran down the woman's spine and then she left again. So she needed a name? 'Shadeslayer' was quite the famous name, as not many people could kill her kind. Two people thus far had managed this feat; a Rider and a powerful elf. It wasn't that Eragon was so special, but more that he had been exceptionally lucky…and being friends with an elf like Arya helped too. It had taken a combined effort of the rider, his dragon and the elf to bring down Durza.
Spartan had managed to do so twice on his own, yet he was not called Shadeslayer, as he had not truly taken her life.
What was it that defined her? Her hatred for mankind? Her ability to take other people's lives? It would hardly do her any good if she walked around calling herself 'Bane of men'. If she were to take a name, it would be one that defined her as a person. And the thing that set her apart, like Eragon having killed Durza, was the fact that she was the only Shade that still possessed the mind of a human.
Perhaps she could find something in that.
~0~
Even though he had left the festivities behind him, he could still hear the enchanting voices of the singing elves reaching out to him. Arya had disappeared somewhere, Eragon and Saphira had joined the elves in some massive feast and Aeraleth was with them too. For a war-ridden land, the various races were very quick to throw parties. To Maine, such activities were a waste of time and resources. He wasn't going to play nice with these elves after they had nearly attacked and seriously belittled him. Even if they hadn't, he wouldn't have taken his helmet off anyway, meaning that he would have stood at rigid attention for the entire length of the event. No, he would much rather be alone. He felt disturbed for some reason; as if there was something going on around him that he just couldn't explain. It was frustrating.
He marched through the forest until he had placed at least five-hundred meters between himself and the elves. He had thought them to be wise and disciplined; creatures of intelligence and magic. Magic they were, but the rest? They were a disappointment. They behaved erratic and acted with needless complication in their lives. Their customs were harder to understand than raw Covenant glyphs and their minds were as hard to understand as human minds were.
Maine didn't lie to himself. He was longing for a return to the old; to fight against a foe that, despite always winning the greater battles, could be defied with every single little conflict. He missed living his life in such a way that he understood what was happening to him: win the war one mission and engagement at a time. He didn't long for free time or a life of peace.
No, of course he wanted peace. Peace meant an end to the years of suffering that his kind had been put through –and peace would mean his own end. He was a Spartan; a tool for warfare. He existed to win wars and when the war was over…nobody would need him anymore. The missions that ONI had been giving to the Secret-Spartans had grown increasingly rare and simple; they were running out of Insurrectionists to beat down and Parangosky had been forced to move with extreme caution, lest she forced mankind into another war.
He could have felt the end of his usefulness coming. What was waiting for him after the war? A life as a civilian? No Spartan could ever life as a normal person. It was impossible. He could not imagine the true Spartans living a normal life and he could not image the Secret-Spartans –with their fits of aggression and mental problems- living a normal life.
He heard a small branch snap, roughly forty meters to his left. Upon closer investigation, it appeared that he hadn't been all alone in the forest after all.
"Arya."
"Spartan?"
He faced the black-haired elf, who was sitting on a fallen log underneath a different tree, with moderate suspicion.
"Why are you here?" She asked him. Her voice sounded…off. Distracted…troubled…weak.
"I heard something," he answered truthfully, "and I came to investigate."
"Leave me be Spartan…I have no desire to be near you now."
The way she made the word 'now' sound indicated that something was troubling her. Why wasn't she with the rest of the elves? With Eragon? Why was she here, all alone?
"Why are you-"
"I said leave me be!" She snapped at him, louder than she had ever sounded.
Maine didn't know what to do with her. Aeraleth wasn't there to assist him and when he was on his own, he only knew how to kill people. That was the sole reason why he would not be able to function in a time of peace…and he refused to allow that to happen.
So he started thinking. Sifting through every single fact he knew about the elf in less time than it took a human to blink, he stumbled upon the way she had spoken to the queen. She had been disowned because of her desire to help her species deal with the other species as an ambassador –as the egg-courier. She had lived all on her own for seventy years and even he could understand that, for a normal person, being so long without your kind had to be unpleasant. And there was more. She had been tortured by Durza –a Shade- for weeks. Even though the ways that the people in this country employed to torture had to be…primitive at best…her ordeal could not have been pleasant. She was carrying a burden with her that had caused many a soldier to be driven to suicide. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder they called it. Arya had to be suffering from PTSD…and without proper psychiatric help, she would only sink deeper into a manic depression that would ruin her life. Even though she was an elf, she would suffer by her own mind.
Without really intending to, he opened his mouth and started talking in a quiet voice. "You should talk to someone."
She raised her head and looked at him with an expression that wouldn't be unfit for a Zealot about to skewer a Spartan with its sword.
But he didn't give her a chance to talk. "Nobody can deal with the memories of torture on their own. At night, you will relive it." Then he quietly added, "You already have."
Arya opened her mouth with an angry expression, stopped herself and then put on an impressive mask to hide her emotions. "What would you now of torture?" She sounded like he was a child telling her to suck it up; like he was offending her in the most terrible way.
He knew plenty of torture. Five years after his Augmentation Procedure, the UNSC had caught wind of a large Insurrectionist presence on some backwater planet. Apparently, they had been smuggling lots of supplies –and narcotics- with other organizations that ran a large black market. The UNSC didn't know enough exactly which planet it was and their Intel on the Innies had been shabby at best. To send in the marines or the Spartans would be a stupid waste of resources so Parangosky in all her wisdom and glory had decided to send in a Secret-Spartan with a tracking beacon to stow away on one of the pirate-ships. He had deeply infiltrated their ranks without his MJOLNIR, as ONI's nasty habit of sending Spartans without their suit had already developed. However, the Innies had been tipped off by someone. A source had told them that UNSC personnel would be infiltrating them and in a manner of hours, they had found him.
"Enough," he said and remembered how people liked it when someone was near them. He stepped closer to Arya –refused to look her in her eyes- and pondered over his next course of action. "First-hand," he quietly added. He understood that this was something very private to be talking about, but he had to face it: to this world, both Arya and Eragon were more important than he was. And more important than that; he could save the elf from years of mental suffering with just a few words of his own. His desire to remain quiet was not worth seeing another person's life being ruined. After the things he had done, he had lost the right to want things for himself. And…protecting people was his sole purpose in life. If he could protect Arya from herself, as a true soldier, should he not help her?
The elf faced him again. "You told my mother that you had more experience than her in war. She believed you."
So?
Arya looked down again and fumbled with a fallen leaf, crumbling it in her hands, which had grown white with the amount of pressure they exerted on the little leaf. She really did not look happy. Even her face looked disturbed now; her eyes looked like they were about to be filled with tears and through her parted lips, he could see her gritting teeth.
Then…"How did you cope?"
…how had he coped? Simple: he hadn't. Not truly, anyway. His training had prepared him for normal torture, but not the way those crazy Insurrectionists had lost their mind. As ow zHo
he had looked no older than seventeen at that point, the then-current rebel leader had been happy to try some of their own…conditioning programs...in an attempt to break him and convert him to one of their own soldiers. When after two days he still hadn't broken one bit, said leader's eagerness to inflect harm had quickly and inexplicably turned into an obsession that had scared all but his most messed-up followers away. He had then skipped the more subtle manners and instead turned to the most extreme manners of conditioning, seeking to take away from him every single thing that provided him with happiness and joy and deeply corrupt that.
"The psychiatrists said that I needed to talk to others about what happened. Said that talking eases the burden."
"Did you?"
"…no."
It had taken ONI ten days to trace his beacon back to the Insurrectionist outpost. It hadn't been the most happy period of his life…and neither had it been the Innies'. He had constantly broken out, murdered their personnel before being captured by all sorts of traps and nasty devices. At the dawn of the tenth day, he had lost himself completely to what would be his very first fit of aggression. He had absolutely slaughtered all their personnel, even the ones that hadn't been responsible. After that, he had killed three members of the ONI personnel sent to retrieve him. According to later interviews with Mental Health Specialist Sunfield, he had gone completely feral.
e He He exhaled quietly when he remembered the days with sudden clarity. ONI had been forced to bind and shackle him like a wild animal and pump him full of drugs to contain him. And not they feared that he would hurt himself.
But despite having endured everything that the Innies had thrown at him, the psychiatrists had concluded that he had still broken down in some way.
And he couldn't blame them. After all, the fits of aggression had started back then. And they had not stopped, not ever.
"Why haven't you-"Arya whispered, but the fresh memories frustrated him. He didn't want to talk anymore.
"If you don't trust your mother or your own kind, talk to Eragon."
The elf nodded gravely and stood up, no longer staring at him in disgust or anger. Before she left though, she had one more thing to say. "Spartan, you bring Aeraleth so much unhappiness. If you would not touch or ride her, at least be there for her. With her."
And with those words, she left.
Maine felt a shiver run down his back and he wondered why he had broken. His training had started when he was…four? Five? He had had years to train his body and mind and shutting out pain was one of the first mental skills that he had learnt, together with mediation and…well, the indoctrination. He should have been ready for all sorts of ordeals…although not even ONI could have predicted that such a vile person had been behind those Insurrectionists. The men who had laughed at the memory of shooting unarmed civilians had shuddered when their leader had revealed what he was going to do to Maine. Of course, that revelation had been a part of the torture itself. Tell the victim your methods…show the victim the instruments of your methods…use your instruments and methods on the victim. Those were the three steps of normal interrogation and torture techniques.
He didn't really know what to feel more ashamed of: his sheer lack of discipline in his aggression-fits, or the fact that the memories still seemed to plague him…
A few minutes later, the Spartan had made his way back to the feast. Arya was sitting next to Eragon instead of the queen and despite Islanzadí's obvious dissatisfaction with that, the young elf didn't seem to care.
The elves were greatly interested in both of the dragons, but the closer the Spartan got to his partner-of-mind, the more he could feel that her feelings were not at all positive. He had been constricting their mental link more and more lately and that should stop. They were partners after all…and she had been there for him always.
He concentrated on the link and immediately felt the results when Aeraleth's full emotional burden came crashing down on him.
'Aeraleth.´
She took a minute or two to answer, during which he stood in the shadows that her body casted in the light of the fire. Finally, she relented and replied, but she sounded strangely calm when she did. ´Maine. Where have you been?'
Perhaps it was the elves constant singing that affected her? 'I was away.'
'But now you are back.'
'Yes.'
'Why?' Her voice took a sudden aggressive quality.
'I encountered Arya. We talked. I told her to seek help. She…pointed me at your own needs.'
She uttered the dragon-equivalent of a sigh. 'I asked after the reason of your departure. Your absence hurts me, do you not know that?'
'No,' he replied, feeling a small stab of guilt. ´Were the elves mean to you?'
Much to his surprise, Aeraleth snorted and a plume of smoke exited her nose, powerful enough to knock a bowl of vegetables into a brown-haired elf's lap. He looked shocked, but his friends laughed. 'Mean? Elves? They treat me like I am their queen. It is interesting.' Her voice quickly lost its humor though. ´Why do you always leave me? I can understand you not riding me…or not even touching me…but will you not even stay with me?'
He gently placed his gauntlet to his flank and, when she didn't shudder or pull away from the cold metal, told her, 'We're in this together. I needed to remember that. I do now.'
'Do you really?'
He made a mental note to take off his gauntlet and inspect the strange symbol on his hand when they were alone. After he had done that, perhaps he could also…do whatever it was that people did when they touched others to show their affection. How would a dragon appreciate his physical contact anyway? On her nose? Her tail? The top of her head?
It didn't really matter. He would find a way. He always found his way. 'I won't forget it.'
'Is that a promise?'
'That's a promise.'
~0~
"It has occurred to me that the Secret-Spartans are different form the II's in another aspect. It is probably because of their rather cruel augmentation procedure, but I have seen several strange mental disorders arising that are in no way a direct result from the drugs. Math-011 for example is unable to read facial expressions. Helia-009, Maine-007 and Simon-006 are all prone to sudden mood changes that vary in intensity and Arminal-002 has difficulty talking. It has also occurred to me that these traits are not positively contributing to anything at all."
Mental Health Specialist J. Sunfield, 10th of April, 2547