Ancient Evil (The First Genocide Book 1) (26 page)

It was a triumph, or so Lucan was saying.

“It’s a triumph,” said Lucan. “Not a single
injury, except for a couple of troopers who tripped in their eagerness to gut
the filthy Ferals. This will be an important rung for us all on the ladder to
greatness.”

“Yes, Lucan. Now, can you organize a work
party to build a stockade or maybe a series of stockades? We may need a few to
contain this horde. Figure out how many we will need and have them built. If
you feel we can keep them under control, supplement the troopers with Ferals
for the construction.”

Lucan nodded and left, exuding annoyance at
Hael’s lack of interest in discussing visions of future glory. Publicly
broadcasting annoyance after speaking to a superior officer was impolite, even
if the commander was his little brother. It was not, however, an actionable
offence. Hael did not need to punish him for it, but he would need to figure
out how to deal with Lucan’s recurring minor insubordination at another time.

The first stockade was complete and had
been filled with the female, juvenile and infirm Ferals, and construction of
the second stockade was underway when Hael lifted his head and looked down the
canyon. A moment later he heard the sound of a horn.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

The triple blast announced the approach of
a friendly force. A single blast would indicate an approaching enemy, two
blasts would indicate an unknown force. The logic was that if a sentry was
killed after sounding his horn once, the approaching force was hostile.

An hour or so later a group of fifty
troopers led by a Witch Hunter and accompanied by a squad of ten Nightfeeders
carrying a plain red palanquin trotted into view. Even the Host eschewed
ornamentation in the field. Based on the escort and the fact that he traveled
by palanquin outside the City meant that the visitor was Host, and a highly
placed one at that. The palanquin was lowered at the edge of the camp;
apparently its occupant wanted to inspect the camp as he made his way to the
command tent. The door opened and Mi Balor, the Supreme Commander of the
Northern Campaign, emerged.

He was dressed in a red toga, his sigil of a
hand grasping a sword was embroidered over his heart in gold thread.

He was large for one of the Host, almost as
tall as one of the Guest, but much stockier. He probably weighed twice as much
as Hael. Hael could also sense the great strength of his mind, which indicated
that Mi Balor was an Adept as well as a Marshal.

There was a wave of motion through the camp
as Mi Balor approached Hael. Each trooper stopped what he was doing, dropped to
one knee and lowered his head as the Marshal neared him, only to rise and
continue with his task when the Marshall had passed by. Hael was no exception;
he took a knee and lowered his head.

Mi Balor broadcast in the formal tense for
all to hear.

Mi Balor, Supreme Commander of the Northern
Campaign:
Fa Hael, you have done well. This victory vindicates the faith
Minister Eligos has in you. I am sure this is the first of many victories.

Hael responded in the formal tense.

Fa Hael, Commander, Ninety-First Legion:
The
Marshal is most kind. I merely do my best to repay the Debt in an efficient
manner.

Mi Balor dropped into the familiar tense,
no longer broadcasting his rank, obviously pleased with Hael’s response.

Balor:
Efficiency, yes, perfect.
Preserving your troopers for future battles is the pinnacle of efficiency. That
is part of the reason I am here.

Mi Balor switched to the intimate mode,
sending his thoughts to Hael alone.

Balor –> Hael:
There has been a
sighting of another large group of male Ferals fifty miles to the west of here.
It appears to be even more warlike than this group; there are no females or
juveniles in this new group. Considering that force and the one you so ably
subdued here, our best guess is that we have a Messiah situation. I suppose it
is to be expected, what with the Time of Return approaching.

Hael –> Balor:
Messiah situation?

Balor –> Hael:
Ah yes, you are fresh
from the Academy and to your rank, so you probably have not been told.
He
paused, thinking for a moment, then continued.
This is classified and not to
be shared with anyone in your Legion. Understood?

Hael broadcast assent back to Balor.

Balor –> Hael:
Every once in a while
a Feral comes along and starts to preach about change and how things could be
better, that sort of nonsense. This Feral then gathers a following and starts
to stir up trouble. Goes right back to Rebellion, and their first Messiah,
Uruk. It appears we are now dealing with our ninth Messiah, and it looks like
he fancies himself a Warlord. We have also seen Artificers, Sorcerers and my
favorite which, incidentally, are also the most common, Explorers. Explorers
are the least trouble, as they just gather some followers and move on and we
rarely hear from them again.

Hael was astounded. There had been seven
other Rebellions. He knew the history of the Host as well as any in the Academy.
It was troubling to learn that some of it was false. If this had been hidden,
what else could have been hidden or misrepresented? He forcibly stopped this
train of thought and his control slipped. He broadcast his consternation for a
second before he regained control.

Mi Balor noticed his slip and was peeved.

Balor –> Hael:
Get a hold of
yourself, man. You are a Captain under my command and you embarrass both me and
yourself when you lack control. Think of your troopers. We do not want to lose
you to a challenger, not yet, anyway. That brother of yours, for example, looks
particularly hungry.

Hael –> Balor:
My apologies, Mi
Balor.

Hael mentally prostrated himself and opened
his shields to accept punishment if Mi Balor felt the need, desire or
inclination to reprimand him more forcefully.

Mi Balor looked around. The troopers were
watching him and Hael closely from the corners of their eyes, intrigued by the
exchange, even though they did not know what was being said.

Balor –> Hael:
Let’s finish this in a
more private location.

The thumps and shouts from the construction
of the stockades became muffled as Hael and Balor entered the command tent. Mi
Balor looked around disdainfully at the sparse furnishings. In front of a
fold-down table covered in maps was a worn wooden camp chair polished by the
backsides of generations of field officers. Off to the side of the tent was a
small cot that Hael spent a few sparse hours each night sleeping in. The
Marshal turned the chair to face Hael and settled into it like the Emperor
taking his throne. He looked at Hael expectantly.

Hael –> Balor:
Would you like
something to drink, my Lord Marshal?

Balor –> Hael:
Wine.

Hael sent a command to Bral, asking for
their best vintage. He then activated the wards stitched into the tent walls to
ensure that they were not overheard. The silver-stitched sigils on the north,
south, east and west walls flared briefly as they were energized. The sounds of
the camp cut off completely and the temperature of the tent dropped as the
wards became active. The wards were not really needed, as it was unlikely that
anyone would be able to intercept their mindspeech when communicating in the
private mode, but one never knew with the Ferals, as their mental strength
could be formidable. Also, the use of wards was mandated by the Ministry of
Havoc field regulations for meetings between senior officers. Hael did not want
to lose more face with Mi Balor by ignoring a simple, easily adhered to
regulation.

After waiting for what seemed to Hael like
a several days, Bral opened the tent flap and entered with a tray with two
silver goblets and a silver jug. He placed the tray on top of the maps and
quickly left. Hael poured the dark maroon wine into the cups and handed one to
the Marshal.

The Marshal took a sip. An expression of
disgust briefly flashed across his face. He then drained his cup and held it
out for Hael to refill.

Balor –> Hael:
Now, that we have some
privacy we can continue. Where was I? Ah yes, I need you to take your Legion
and catch this Warlord Messiah. When you catch him, I want him contained and
shipped to the City for questioning. I need you to strike camp now and march
west with all haste.

Hael –> Balor:
Understood, Marshal. I
will leave a token force to escort the Ferals we captured back to the City and
move on this new force.

Balor frowned at Hael’s response.

Balor –> Hael:
I do not think you
understand; you need every trooper at your disposal to face this force. We
cannot spare the manpower to guard your captured Ferals; we need to dispose of
them. You need not worry about the slave bonus. It will be paid even though
they cannot be transported to the City. Can’t have the troopers losing out on a
bonus because of this urgent need. Bad for morale, you know.

Mi Balor stood and the sounds of the camp
returned as he banished the wards. He strode out of the tent, and Hael
scrambled to follow.

Outside the tent he reached out and grasped
the Marshal’s elbow. The Marshal whirled to face him.

Balor –> Hael:
UNHAND ME.

Balor used Compulsion with the mental
sending. Hael snatched his hand back as if he had been burnt.

Hael looked around quickly, to see if they
had attracted any attention.

Lucan looked up from where he and a squad
of troopers were guarding the captive Ferals, and his eyes narrowed. The
captives were kneeling on the ground in rows of fifty with their heads bowed,
hands bound behind them. Lucan knew something unusual was happening and sent a
private query to Hael.

Bral, who had been standing to the side of
the tent’s opening, moved forward a little, radiating support and concern to
Hael.

Hael turned back to Mi Balor.

Hael –> Balor:
Mi Balor, I do not
understand. What do you mean by dispose of them?

The Marshal switched to the declarative and
to the formal tense.

Mi Balor, Supreme Commander of the Northern
Campaign:
I have given you an order, Captain. Dispose of your prisoners or I
will find someone who will.

The captives started to stir. Mi Balor had
not shielded them from his declaration. All activities in the camp stopped. The
troopers were exchanging glances, not sure how to react.

Mi Balor’s face flushed with anger. His
brow ridge became more pronounced as he frowned. He looked over Hael’s shoulder
at Bral.

Mi Balor, Supreme Commander of the Northern
Campaign:
You, boy. Kill the captives.

Bral’s face went pale, and he looked like
he was going to vomit. He shook his head.

The bright afternoon light seemed to dim
and Mi Balor appeared to gain more substance as he partially manifested his
Dread Aspect. He drew every eye like a lodestone. He bent his will toward Bral
and Compelled him to obey.

Bral struggled against the Compulsion for a
second and then jerkily drew his sword and started to walk towards the
captives, one slow step at a time, fighting to overcome the Compulsion. The
women and children in the completed stockade craned their necks to see what was
happening. Some of the children started to cry quietly, their delicate
shoulders shaking.

Hael was frozen by indecision.

His commission provided him everything he
had wanted. A bright path of glorious service lay at his feet. He was finally
in a position to start paying back a portion of the Debt. He was in a position
to make the world a more secure place. He was in a position to beat back the
darkness of Feral savagery. He would be able to make his parents secure. All he
needed to do was to stay on the path before him and follow orders.

Actually, it was worse than that. All he
needed to do was to keep quiet and do nothing.

His troopers were watching him closely,
some with hands on their sword hilts.

Bral was approaching the first of the
kneeling captives. His whole body was shaking with his fruitless efforts to
resist Mi Balor’s Compulsion. Beads of sweat sprung up on Mi Balor’s forehead.
He hooked a finger into the neck of his robe and fished out an amulet with a
blue stone in the center. Hael could feel Balor’s compulsion strengthen as he
made use of the amulet; it was a Lens.

Hael could not watch anymore. As
distasteful as it was, he would give the order to murder the captives.

Hael –> Balor:
Please, Mi Balor,
please release the Compulsion on my brother. I will give the order to the
troopers to dispose of the captives.

Balor ignored the implied invitation to
respond in the private.

Mi Balor, Supreme Commander of the Northern
Campaign:
No need, I have this in hand now. I will have the boy execute
them, all of them. Even now he resists me. He must learn the price of
disobedience.