Hunter's Need (39 page)

For some time, only Kalen Brenner and his army of rebels stood between the one remaining Gate and the rest of Ishtan. The rest of Ishtan seemed quite to content to let it remain so.

But they took in the refugees who couldn’t fight.

Sometimes, they even sent back supplies.

When they remembered.

Xan finally reached the door and met the gaze of the soldier closest to him. The man looked Xan over from head to toe and then a smile of camaraderie lit his face. “I don’t think I need to ask if you have combat experience, do I?”

Xan just shrugged.

“You do have combat experience, right?”

He gave a curt nod and was waved inside. He didn’t sit. He took up a position with his back against the wall. He wasn’t the only one. A handful of others were doing the same, guarding their backs, even now, when they were in the one safehold this territory had. One by one, each of them met his gaze. A quick glance, a nod, and then they all resumed their survey of the crowd.

Xan settled in beside them and started his own survey. It was a sorry lot of people, that was for certain.

As more and more people packed in, he gripped his blade tighter.

What in the hell had he gotten himself into?

 

 

I
T was standing room only. Close to three hundred, she figured. Fortunately, a good twenty percent of the number consisted of soldiers who’d made the decision to return east. They’d served at Sacril, one of the rebel outposts, and when Kalen made the decision to call them back, most of them had decided they’d just as soon join the convoy.

Syn would be glad when this was over. She’d been glad when she could give her troops a clear, direct focus—the demons. She’d be glad when she no longer had to balance and juggle numbers to figure out how to provide the safety the refugees needed without compromising the safety of the camp and without cutting back on the efforts to secure more of their land.

In short, she’d be glad when this day was over.

It was hard enough maintaining order in the post-war chaos, but dealing with a bunch of lost and scared civilians had her wishing for a dark quiet room, a hot bath and a big, bottomless glass of frostwine.

Later, she could get the dark quiet room, and probably even the hot bath. She needed that hot bath, too. If nothing else, it might ease the raw ache of cold settled inside her. She was always cold these days, always chilled. Nothing helped for long.

The frostwine would do a decent job of warding the cold off for a while, especially if she could have it with the bath. But that particular luxury was one she didn’t have. One she probably wouldn’t have again for years to come.

She followed along behind Bron and Kenner, letting them clear the way while she took in the last group of refugees. The last . . . it was hard to even consider that idea. For as long as she’d been here, there had been refugees arriving at the camp. Most had come seeking to serve in the army, but over the past year or so, that number had slowed to a trickle. Too often now, those arriving at the camp had requests for “security” while the refugees tried to rebuild. Or food. Shelter for a few nights. Aid in rebuilding their homes.

The rebel army’s resources were stretched thin as it was and these people wanted Kalen to give them yet more.

Those with half a brain had abandoned this area years earlier. It seemed as though the only ones who remained were those in the base-camp—the rebel army. Except that was far from the truth. Every week brought in more refugees, many of them so gaunt and thin, it hurt to even look upon them.

She didn’t need to ask their stories.

She already knew.

They fled to the mountains, fled to the north, to the south. They couldn’t go east—this was their home. Going east, to them, seemed too permanent, some kind of unspoken acknowledgment that they had given up. They had to stay. They wanted to rebuild. They just needed some help . . .

That was the story.

In actuality, they needed their heads examined.

It would be years before these mountains were completely safe again. Maybe longer.

And the typical soul just wasn’t equipped to fight the demons that crept out in the night. So they ended up at the different outposts, or right here at the base-camp, begging and pleading for help that the army couldn’t keep giving.

Something had to give.

She knew Kalen had made a wise decision, but that knowledge didn’t make her job any easier.

With her men at her back, Syn forged her way to the front of the hall. Bron and Kenner took their respective places on either side of the dais as she strode up the steps, the soles of her boots making deliberate thuds on the wooden floor.

With every step, she felt more and more eyes cut her way. Slowly, the dull roar of voices faded down to a muted murmur as one by one, row by row, the refugees took note of her.

She could move without making a sound when she wanted to.

But she didn’t want to at the moment. She was here to make an impact. She stood a good head shorter than most of the people in the room and although she was strong, she knew she didn’t look it.

But Syn knew that attitude made all the difference.

And attitude she had in spades.

She stopped in the middle of the dais and linked her hands behind her back. It was loud, people whispering to one another, looking all around, staring at Bron and Kenner with wide eyes, and then up at her with confusion.

“My name is Laisyn Caar. Around the camp, I’m known as Captain. My superiors call me Syn.” She lifted her voice, knowing it would carry through the door and even out into the common area in front of the west hall. Most of the talkers fell silent.

“Let me make a few things clear right up front.” Now just a few were whispering.

One of them was a woman sitting next to the man who’d caught her eye yesterday. She was leaning over him, all but climbing into his arms trying to get his attention. Syn dropped off the dais, talking as she went.

“This is a military base. It may not be recognized as such to those out in the rest of the world. But that is how we see it. That is how we run it.” She took her time, making her way up the aisle, occasionally looking at some of those sitting down and watching. As she passed, those still whispering fell silent.

All save one.

She drew her culn from her belt and twisted it. Immediately, the metal baton expanded to three times its size. It was now nearly as long as she was tall, and solid.

She used it to tap the shoulder of the only person still talking.

“And that means, when I am talking, every last one of you will shut up.”

The brunette turned around and stared at Syn with irritated eyes. “Excuse me—”

Syn lifted a brow and repeated herself. “When I am talking, every last one of you will shut up.”

The woman went red. Then white. “Who in the hell—”

Somebody next to her jabbed an elbow into the woman’s side. Syn pretended not to see it. “What’s your name?”

“Vena Saurell.” She glared at Syn, a disdainful look on her face. “And who are you? The commander’s personal assistant?”

Syn smiled. “No. I’m one of his captains. I’m third in command and I have the authority to have you hauled out of this camp, this very second, kicking and screaming, should I chose.”

“Like hell.”

Syn glanced toward the door. The two soldiers standing at ready stepped inside and flanked Vena. “I’m going to start from the beginning. My name is Laisyn Caar. Around the camp, I’m known as Captain. My superiors call me Syn. Let me make a few things clear right up front. This is a military base. It may not be recognized as such to those out in the rest of the world. But that is how we see it. That is how we run it. And that means, when I am talking, every last one of you will shut up.”

Still smiling her nice, pleasant smile, she cocked her head and said, “Now, Vena Saurell. Are you going to shut your mouth or should I have my men escort you out of the camp?”

“You can’t make me go out there alone. It’s not safe.”

“No. It’s not safe. And yes, I can.” She wouldn’t. She’d just have the woman tucked away inside a dormer, with the door locked, until she could be placed on tomorrow’s convoy. She’d done it before and she had no problem doing it now. “Now, am I clear?”

Vena glanced at the two soldiers flanking her. They didn’t look at her. They stared straight ahead, just like a good soldier should. Then she looked at Syn and nodded, slowly. Something ugly flashed in her eyes but she fell silent.

“Good.” Syn twisted her culn and it folded back in on itself. Tucking it back into the loop on her belt, she returned to the dais.

There always had to be one person. Always one person had to challenge her. After all these years, Syn was almost used to it. But it still annoyed the hell out of her. She focused on those sitting on the right side of the room. “Are there any among you that has any sort of real combat experience?”

A few lifted their hands. She nodded and then focused on the other side of the room. “Every one of you told the men at the door you have combat training—is that correct?” Some nods, a few muffled affirmatives. Back in the back, her newest, dearest friend Vena just glared at Syn. Smiling at her, Syn asked, “Vena, I take it that means you have real combat experience?”

“I—” She opened her mouth to say something, then snapped it shut. Either somebody had gouged her with an elbow again, or she was growing something more than just a brainstem. Instead of saying anything else, she just nodded.

Damn
. Syn would much rather just get that woman off of her base.

Looking back at the nonfighters, she asked, “Are any of you healers, witches, psychics or medics?” There wasn’t a witch among them—Syn had already looked. It didn’t surprise her, but it was disappointing. They needed more witches. Unfortunately, though, witches, as a whole, had the common sense to get out of a bad place when it was clear the bad was only getting worse.

There were two medics and one psychic. She made a mental note of their faces and then selected the others who’d claimed some combat experience. She gestured all of them to the front and then looked at the remaining civilians.

“This is a military camp,” she said, her voice soft, but firm. “We’re still fighting a war here, even though the Gate is gone.”

Something about the gravity of her voice had them stirring uncomfortably in their seats. Syn could see it.

Her gut twisted as she went on. “As of today, a new policy is going into effect. The army is making the demon threat its new focus—until that threat is contained, it will be our only focus.”

People started to whisper among themselves and some of them were watching her with outright hostility.

“We’ve called our men in from the outposts. Sacril and the other outposts are being abandoned for the time being. We will no longer maintain them.”

“But—”

Syn lifted a hand. “Please, let me continue. When I’m done, if there are questions, I will answer them. In the past month, attacks on the outposts have increased. Attacks on the eastbound convoys have increased. Attacks on our hunting groups, our scouts, have increased. The demons are becoming more aggressive, more violent. The army’s focus must be containing that threat.”

“But we’re safe here.” This came from a middle-aged woman, her voice soft, her eyes censuring.

“We don’t have the resources here to feed, protect and see to an additional three hundred souls,” Syn said quietly. “And if we allow non-fighters now, then in a few weeks, we have more coming seeking refuge. As of today, the only civilians allowed in the camp are those who can provide us with certain useful skills—namely, witches, healers, medics and psychics. Since none of those apply to you, you’re being sent east tomorrow on the outbound convoy.”

Voices rose.

She lifted a hand and cut them off. “This isn’t up for discussion. I’m sorry. But we’re not here to play bodyguard, we’re not here to provide security for you while you rebuild your homes. For the next few months, probably the next few years, the mountains will be too dangerous for civilians and we don’t have the manpower to offer you any kind of protection, not if we want to concentrate on eliminating the current threat.”

“What threat?” one of the men demanded. He stood up, glaring at Syn. “The Gate is gone—we don’t have to worry about raids anymore. We just need some help . . .”

Syn shook her head. “You need more than
some
help. Every last one of you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have abandoned your homes and gone to Sacril. You come to us seeking shelter, or food, or hoping we can provide you with some sort of bodyguard detail while you rebuild your homes. One of the last confrontations with Anqar decimated nearly half of our forces. We have roughly fifteen hundred able-bodied soldiers and we’re already stretched thin—we can’t possibly provide the security needed to every last soul that asks. It can’t be done.”

“But this is our home,” he gritted out.

“I know that. And I am sorry. But this isn’t up for discussion.”

“I want to talk to the commander.” He glared at her.

Syn angled her head to the back. Kalen Brenner had quietly slipped in just a few minutes ago. His timing, as always, was impeccable. “Feel free. There he is.”

The man turned around. Kalen strode forward and stopped in front of him. “This is your home,” he said, his voice flat. His gray eyes were not unkind, but there was nothing soft in that gaze, nothing yielding. “I’m aware of that. It’s mine as well. I can fight to protect it. I can fight to protect your land. I can fight to clear it of the demon infestation. But I can’t do that if my men and I are playing bodyguard for all the civilians who want their homes rebuilt.”

“But . . .”

Kalen shook his head. “There are no buts. If you want your home rebuilt that badly, then do it. I can’t force you onto the convoy tomorrow—I won’t force anybody. But I can force you out of my camp. If you want safety, go east. Find a life there. This isn’t the time to rebuild here.”