Night fell over the camp, a dark blanket that smothered the last tendrils of light peering over the horizon. Marcus waited for his new team, standing just past the eastern guard post, his torch a beacon in the darkness. He watched his flickering shadow dance back and forth.
Viggo was the first to arrive, and nodded a silent greeting to Marcus. He was dressed in the traditional field medic’s uniform, save for a unique blue sash across his chest. It stood out against the muted brown tones of the leather jerkin. A small traveling bag hung casually from one shoulder, and a modest blacksmith’s hammer was fastened to a loop on his belt.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a metal flask. He took a quick swig before offering it to Marcus, who declined. Viggo shrugged and stowed the flask away.
They waited in comfortable silence until Rykker finally appeared. The device he had been working earlier that day floated over his shoulder, smoldering flames within the core casting a radius of warm light around him. Marcus was in awe. He wasn’t sure what was allowing the thing to fly. He could see why the military paid the artificer well to outfit them.
He had also brought his silent companion. A great behemoth, standing at least seven feet tall with broad shoulders. He was humanoid, at least, but his body was forged from a stone-like material. It almost looked like armor, but it covered his entire body. Or maybe it was has body? He wore a dark purple cloak, tattered with what seemed like decades of wear, and kept the wide hood up, obscuring his face. Still, Marcus could see his eyes, perfectly oval, glowing with a yellow light. He carried a comically large warhammer. In his hands, the shaft seemed small.
The odd pair approached, and Rykker gave a wave. “Is this everyone? Hmm. Less than I would have thought.”
Marcus nodded. “The smaller the crew, the easier it is to get in and get out. That device casts a fine light. How long does it last?”
“As long as it needs to,” Rykker said with a shrug.
The non-answer irked Marcus, but he ignored it. “Well, it seems to give off enough light for the rest of us.” He doused his torch. The light the device gave spread into a wider radius and was more even than a standard torch.
They headed east, away from the camp, towards the forest that would take them closer to Valla. The ambience of the camp faded into the night, giving way to the buzzing sounds of nature. The familiarity and comfort of the quiet night was a farce, a deception—for they now drew closer to enemy lines.
“So... that thing knows how to follow you?” Marcus pointed at the floating device that trailed behind Rykker.
“That thing is my engine. And of course it does. It’s keyed to me,” Rykker said.
“Well, I hope you can dim that light.”
On queue, the light within the engine reduced to a candlelight glow for a moment before flaring back to torch strength. Rykker made a showman’s gesture towards the floating engine.
“Neat trick,” Viggo said, although he didn’t look impressed. “Why doesn’t every soldier in Ilris have one of those?”
“Limited availability,” Rykker said, as if that explained anything. “By the way,” he jabbed a thumb towards his companion. “This is Sev. He’ll be coming along with us.”
“Hello,” Sev said, raising his free hand in greeting.
Marcus blinked. He... could talk. He’d heard the camp rumors of the autonomous machine that looked human but wasn’t quite human, but hearing him speak was another matter entirely. “How did you create him?”
”Create him? I didn’t create him. I found him.”
“You... found him?” Viggo said. He eyed Sev with a mixture of curiosity and confusion.
“Exactly,” Rykker said, and left it at that. They walked in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. “My inventions are just that, clever manipulations of science.” He brandished a small black device in his hand. Turning a dial on it, the lights on the engine changed in intensity. “Just clever, useful, tricks. But Sev here, Sev is much more than that. He’s a living being, although he doesn’t need food, water, or sleep like we do. I can’t tell you where he came from, and neither can he.”
None of them had much to say to that.
The forest at night was a dark place. Now, the treetops blocked even the moonlight, and their only source of light became the floating engine. It would be a significant trek before they reached the location specified on Vincent’s map.
Marcus studied Sev as they hiked. It was nearly impossible to read any emotion from his flat, stoney face. Underneath his yellow eyes, an angular line bisected his face in a caricature of a grin. He seemed to be unperturbed by the conversation about him. From what he could tell, Sev wasn’t bothered by anything.
Looking at the rest of Sev’s body, he got the impression that whoever had created Sev gave him the rough features of a human, but abruptly stopped when they had to fill in the details. He stepped through the trees softly and with care. It made Marcus wonder how well he knew how to use that hammer he carried. The thing looked like it weighed nothing in his grip. Marcus decided he didn’t want to ever find out what it was like to be on the other side of it.
They marched through the trees for hours with nothing but the dim light of Rykker’s engine to guide them. As they ventured deeper into the forest, the trees grew denser. The terrain became more rocky. The land to the west of Valla was rife with canyons created by meandering rivers and streams that wound their way towards the sea. The going was slow, as Marcus had decided to avoid well-known trails to minimize their chances of coming into contact with Antuzan forces. Although their destination was just outside the perimeter established by the enemy, there was always the chance of running into a scouting party.
For awhile, the only sounds were the quiet crunching of their boots on forest detritus. It reminded Marcus of a time long before. Two decades ago, when the Antuzans had first crossed Plys sea and waged the first war against Ilris for the glory of Odeth, he had been a fresh recruit. He lost his hand on a similar night, in a similar forest.
Viggo eventually broke the silence. He had found some sourleaf and was idling chewing on a piece. “I’ve been giving this some thought, and there’s one thing I don’t quite get. How are we actually supposed to find this tunnel? In the middle of the night? In the dark? I’m assuming it isn’t just out in plain sight.”
Without turning to look back, Marcus said, “We’re close to a river system that cuts through the forest, running east to west towards the coastline. My bet is that we’ll find an entrance to the cave near the river or down a stream offshoot. As for finding it in the dark, well, I didn’t say it would be easy.”
“I thought we were looking for a man made tunnel,” Rykker pointed out. “Why does it sound like you’re looking for something natural?”
“The passageways weren’t carved out from scratch. There had to be some existing cave system to begin with. The main entrance has since been destroyed, but there’s a chance other natural openings exist.”
“Huh,” Viggo said, a note of surprise in his voice. “You are strangely familiar with caves.”
“Yeah, well, where I grew up, if you found yourself stuck out in a cold blizzard, a fire wasn’t always enough. You had to know how to find shelter from the elements.” It had been a long time since Marcus last thought of home. And far longer since seeing it. He realized that the thought of it did not sting so much as last time. Perhaps someday he would return. Though that prospect was less likely now, he thought grimly. The north was a long ways from Valla.
“Where are you from?” Viggo asked.
”North of Northhaven. A small village you wouldn’t of heard of, far into the hinterlands. It’s called Tatun.”
Rykker gave a low whistle. “I can see why you decided to enlist and come south.”
“It had its charm,” Marcus sighed. He even smiled a little. “But you’re right, of course. Not much to do up there but fight and—”
“Fuck?” Viggo snorted. He spit his used up sourleaf onto the ground.
“Freeze. I was going to say freeze.” Marcus shook his head, chuckling.
Rykker laughed. “I’m sure that place had as much charm as—”
Marcus held up a hand for silence. Up ahead, he could barely make out the faint sound of water. “Do you hear that?”
“Aye. Water. Sounds like the river,” Viggo said.
“There’s something else. I hear voices up ahead.” Sev’s voice startled Marcus. His inflections were unique, if slightly unsettling, and his speech was clear and precise. There was a slightly monotonous, inhuman quality. It was as if he learned to speak like a human by reading instructions from a book. “Three, by the sound of it.”
“I don’t hear anything.” Viggo cocked his head towards the sound of the river.
“My hearing is quite good,” Sev said. “There are three humans near the river. Conversing, but I cannot make out what they are saying. Their accents are strange.”
“Antuzans.” Shit. Why was his luck always so poor? He was afraid that this would happen. He always hated what came next. “It has to be.”
Marcus motioned for them to crouch down. They huddled in the brush, and he could see their hesitation.
“Can we sneak past them? Use the river to mask our sounds?” Rykker had dimmed his engine as soon as Sev spoke, but there was still enough light for Marcus to see the doubt flash across his face. He’d probably never been in a fight. Not like this, anyway, where the other side just wanted to put you back into the dirt.
“We can’t. It’s too risky. If the Antuzans find out what’s out here...” He shook his head. “No, there’s only one way this ends.”
He looked at his new companions as the doubt across their faces solidified into resolute masks. They had no choice but to fight. Marcus watched as they readied themselves. A crossbow appeared in Rykker’s hands. Viggo hefted his hammer, giving it a quick twirl. Sev simply stood, warhammer still grasped in one hand.
On Marcus’ command, they crept forward, towards the river. Rykker and Sev moved around to set up a flanking position parallel with the beach. Marcus and Viggo approached head on. As they got closer, Marcus finally heard the voices. Their rough accents confirmed his suspicions that they were Antuzans. Raucous voices carried over the rushing of the river. The four of them stalked all the way up to the edge of the riverbank, just out of view.
Peering through the bushes, he saw a meager campsite. Three soldiers were clustered around a lively fire, which was their only source of light. A blackened pot hung from a spit over the flames, and the smell of strong spices wafted through the air. They were laughing loudly.
“I tell you true,” a large man with a thick, dark beard was saying between fits of laughter, as if he had just told a joke. “The hound followed me all the way to Kephi before he realized his mistake.”
As their laughter died, one of the other men, who was much younger—No older than when he himself had first enlisted, Marcus thought—leaned in to check on the pot. “The stew is almost ready. You’re going to like it. It was my mother’s recipe.”
The first man rolled his eyes. “You’ve said that already. Let us taste it already!”
He forced himself to tune their conversation out of his mind as He readied himself. They would charge, on his mark, into battle. Closing his eyes, he honed in on his breathing. He had fought countless times before, and an eerie calm always came over him in the moments just before. He mentally said a small prayer. Not to any god in particular, since he wasn’t all that religious, but it always felt right to him. One never knew when a battle would be your last. He took a deep breath, straightened, and then stormed into the clearing.
As always, the tunnel vision took him. He was on the bearded man in seconds. His target’s eyes widened. Before he could react, Marcus sent his fist into the man’s jaw, the metal of his prosthetic colliding with a sickening crunch. This was his advantage. The man stumbled backwards, clutching the side of his face.
Next to Marcus, the clang of steel began as Viggo engaged with the young man who was tending the fire. He managed to pick up one of the spears that had been lazily cast on the ground. Viggo swung his hammer in a wide arc and made contact with the shaft of the spear, splintering the wood. The man discarded the broken half and stabbed the still-good half towards Viggo, but he danced backwards, surprisingly nimble. Using his momentum, he lunged forward, bringing the hammer down in an arc, bashing into the man’s skull. His foe crumpled, landing in the fire. The pot toppled, emptying its contents of boiling stew all over the sand. The scent of strong spice filled the air, burning in Marcus’ nose.
A sudden impact hurled Marcus to the ground. The bearded man straddled him, a wild look in his eye. Dark blood matted his beard, and one of his eyes was nearly closed shut, red and swelling. Marcus was barely able to stop the dagger from reaching his throat with his good hand. It hovered mere inches from him, but he held the man’s arm at bay. He strained, using all of his strength to push the man back. But his enemy had leverage, and bared down with his weight. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, pushing with everything he had. Then there was a crack and the pressure lifted from his chest. He looked up to see Sev standing over him. He offered a hand, and Marcus graciously took it, stumbling to his feet.
Looking around, he surveyed the aftermath. The three Antuzans lay, unmoving, in the sand. Sev had also taken out the third soldier, evidenced by the state of his caved in chest. Though Marcus also noted two crossbow bolts protruding from the man’s soldier.
He grimaced as a thought came to him. “We have to hide the bodies. More scouts will eventually come around, and they’ll know we were here.”
Rykker surveyed the scene with distaste. “You bury. I’ll... keep watch.”
Marcus sighed, unable to argue, and pulled a pair of foldable shovels from his pack and tossed one to Viggo. They were intended to be used on potential tunnel entrances, but they’d do just fine for this purpose too. “We should get digging.”
The last bit of earth was packed down, leaving no trace of the Antuzans. Marcus wiped dirty sweat from his brow. He eyed Viggo, who looked equally as haggard. “I think I’ll take that drink now.”
Viggo proffered his flask, and Marcus took it, downing a large gulp. The liquid burned with a bitter taste all the way down his throat. Nothing like the warm, sweet licorice drinks they had in the north. No, this was a drink with a singular purpose. To dull the pain. It did its job well.
“It’s time to go,” he said. “It’s still early, but we’ve got a lot of searching ahead of us.”
He groaned as he stood. Pain crept up his spine, a dull, deep pain. He wasn’t quite old enough to feel this kind of ache, he thought, but the Antuzan had hit him hard. He’d feel it for a few days at least.
They made their way back to the riverbank, and quickly set about destroying the campsite. They tossed the spears into the river, hid the pot in a bush, and kicked sand to cover what was left of the campfire and spilled stew. The faint scent of spices still permeated the air, intermingled with the smell of blood.
“Damn shame about that,” Viggo said. “I know we’re supposed to hate them, but the spices they get from the free cities make their food smell downright divine.”
“That boy had said it was his Mother’s recipe...” Marcus trailed off, biting the words off before he could say more. Why even bother going down that train of thought. It was a pointless endeavor to find guilt in killing his enemy. Even if that enemy was just a boy. A boy cooking his mother’s stew.
His jaw tightened, and he set out down the river without another word. He could hear his companions follow, though they did not respond to his comment. He silently thanked them.
Attempting to clear his head, he focused on the task at hand. The river ahead began to carve a small canyon through the land. That was a good sign. They were in the right place, at least. He could see bands of light colored rock along the canyon walls as they approached, barely noticeable in the dim light of the engine. Another good sign.
“This looks promising,” he said to the others. “We’ll split up, each take one side of the river. Rykker and Sev, you take this side, Viggo and I will take the right. Any offshoot creeks or streams, travel up them for a few minutes before heading back. If you find anything strange, odd patches of vegetation, small cracks in the earth or along the canyon walls, and, most importantly, if the running water of a stream simply vanishes into the ground, let me know. Those are all the strongest signs of cave formations nearby.”
They all nodded. Viggo surveyed the canyon walls that lay ahead. “Teldur smite me if I thought I’d spend my time in the military searching for a long lost cave in the middle of the night to save a city under siege.”
“All part of the job description,” Rykker called wryly as he waded through the waist-deep water. Sev trudged along beside him, uncaring as the current pushed against his legs.
They spent the next several hours meticulously combing the riverbank for signs. Marcus became frustrated at the sheer quantity of creeks that bisected the river, leaving them with a large amount of ground to cover. He also became increasingly paranoid that they would miss the signs due to the darkness. The task before them was daunting at best, impossible at worst. The combination of skill and luck it would take to find what they were looking for—if there was anything to find at all—was disheartening.
Their torches could only provide so much light, and the flickering caused shadows to occasionally dance along the canyon walls, like river ghosts come to haunt their path. He missed the steady light of Rykker’s engine.
Still, they marched on. Eventually he and Viggo returned from exploring a particularly frustrating creek to find Rykker, standing triumphantly on the other side of the river.
“I’ve found a stream that is vanishing mysteriously into the ground,” he said with a broad grin, parroting the words Marcus had said earlier. “Is that what you’re looking for?”
They stood at the edge of the flowing water as it receded, and Marcus could see that they were close. The stream was only a few yards across, but had a strong current. A disappearing stream almost always led to a cave system. It was now just a matter of finding a way in.
“Follow me,” he said, and continued onwards.
They came to the top of a small ridge, and slowly made the descent, navigating the steep cliff side. The dark made difficult, but eventually they found themselves in a small clearing, surrounded by a half-moon ridge that partially encircled them.
Marcus, giddy with excitement, walked the edge of the clearing, scanning for a possible way in. The last time he ridge walked was with Sen. They had been so young then, and reckless, caught in a blizzard in the dead of winter.
His eyes methodically traced the canyon. Up and down, side to side. He’d find it. Eventually. He was never wrong about these things.
During that fateful winter, he and Sen had found refuge in a cave that was just barely big enough for the two of them two huddle together and light a fire. That was all they needed back then.
There! His eye caught a fissure in the canyon, about two meters up, large enough for a small child to squeeze through.
He let out a holler. “Here! I’ve found it!”
His companions came over, and Viggo gave a low whistle. “I’ll be damned. You actually did it.”
“Looks a little small, though,” said Rykker.
“Well it’s our best bet,” Marcus said. He walked up to the fissure and felt the air inside. Cool, and there was a slight draft. Hopefully that meant it didn’t just dead end. “Just be glad there’s still any openings after all these years.” He frowned slightly. The rock looked too hard for the shovels to be effective. “Hey—uh—Sev? Do you think you could give me a hand with that hammer of yours?”
Sev nodded and stepped up to the crack. Marcus retreated to give him a wide berth. He hefted the greathammer with both hands and swung the weapon in a wide arc, making contact with the side of the fissure. With a deafening crack, the rock exploded, causing rubble and dust to go flying.
“Hope no one heard that...” Viggo mumbled.
The opening was now wide enough to allow even Sev to fit through. They stared into the darkness that even Rykker’s engine could not penetrate.
“On second thought, I’ll just stay here and wait for the Antuzans to come along. I think I prefer them to whatever is waiting for us inside that cave.” Viggo took another swig from his flask.
“I’m with the medic on this one,” Rykker said. “I’ve led archeological digs before, but wandering into a dark tunnel, in the dead of night, surrounded by enemies seems like a death wish. What if there isn’t anything on the other side, and when we return they are waiting for us?”
“Yes, it does seem quite dangerous,” Sev echoed. His eyes seemed to glow even more intensely, like warning beacons.
The darkness did not frighten Marcus, but there was some truth to their words. If they became lost inside, and followed the tunnel to a dead end, they might not find their way out. Or worse, in disturbing the tunnels, they caused a cave-in and became trapped for good. He sighed.
“You’ve come this far, and you knew what you were signing up for. There’s nothing to do now but keep pushing forward. It’s our mission.”
“It’s your mission,” Rykker said. “I just came along because I was bored. But going in there...” he trailed off.
Could he really ask that they plunge themselves into the darkness at the whim of his old friend and commander? His mind flashed back to the day twenty years ago when he had asked his troops, his friends, to follow him into battle. And look how that turned out. Still, this was different, right?
“Look, I know we barely know each other. But you just have to trust me. The fate that waits for Valla is far worse than whatever we’ll find in this cave. Whether you’re coming or not, I’m going to keep going.”
With that, Marcus set his still-lit torch onto a rocky outcrop and hoisted himself up to fissure. He picked his torch back up, and with a deep breath, stepped into the cave.