Going Feet First Ch. 06

Flak blinked as he glimpsed at the back of the room.

There was a crowd of people ducking in the rear away from the fighting. Rich people the best he could tell, from all the gold they brandished. Two were wounded. One of them a big man with a crown, and another who had too many decorations on his chest for the Marine to not be suspicious.

Get answers when we win, Flak thought, taking aim on his next target.

At the front of the room, Galen released Petra from his embrace, smiling as he said, "You have no idea how relieved I am to see you."

"I do, Galen," she replied. "But we should save this for later."

"Right, battle to win. Can you hold the door?"

"I can try."

"That's all I can ask," the Private said before he turned to the Commandant, who had been patiently shifting her focus between him and the door. "Jrastra, this is Petra. If she stays here to guard, am I clear to assist them?"

He looked back at the Drow and the new soldier moving into the fight behind them. There was a wave of empathic energy as the first Commandant closed her eyes, but a moment later they opened and she gave a nod in the affirmative.

"I can't sense any reinforcements nearby, we can hold the door. End this."

Galen didn't waste a second before he started moving. Running to the fight, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and, following the lead of the new arrival, drew his pistol. He cursed himself the whole way for not considering the low velocity pistol over his high-powered rifle at the beginning of a close-quarters battle.

"Private Martin, 101^st airborne!" he announced as he stepped up beside the grizzled soldier in the tiger-stripe shirt.

"Staff Sergeant Flaxon, Seventh Marine Regiment," Flak responded as he and the Private both gunned down another of the King's men each. "Introductions made, now move up!"

The two soldiers moved up behind their Drow allies, holding their pistols over the shoulders of the Elves and unloading the weapons on the soldiers in front of them. In moments the guard's line began to collapse, the Elves seizing the advantage and encircling their enemy.

Galen tried to keep into the fight, but without his sword he could only shoot at targets of opportunity. Flak, however, took notice of a spell caster backing up from the slaughter of his comrades. He would have none of it.

Sneering as he remembered his first night in this damned city, the Sergeant took aim and fired at the mage, hitting him square in the side to send him twirling around and hitting the ground on all fours. Pocketing his gun and drawing his knife in his right hand, Flak approached his target and grabbed him by the collar of his robe with his left hand.

"I fucking hate voodoo," he cursed, driving his knife down to the handle into the mage's back, his shoulder screaming in pain with the force he used.

Hissing in a low voice, Flak threw the dead body aside and turned around to see the Drow standing victorious over the last of the king's guard. Sheathing his knife, he moved off to the side of the room while massaging his aching wound. He found himself a spot against the wall closer to the exit and away from the bodies. With a sigh he leaned back against the stone and started scanning the room for the Private.

Dreek stood in the middle of where the chaos had been, breathing heavily, her arms shaking from the sheer volume of magical attacks she had absorbed. Dizziness struck her, and she nearly fell to her knees before Galen moved forward and caught her. When the Commandant had her balance again, the Private stepped back and noticed the Sergeant waving him over. With nobody else asking his attention, he went to meet with the newly-arrived Marine.

Rubbing her forehead to stave off the headache wrought by the overuse of her empathy, Jrastra turned away from the door of the hall and paced to the back of the room. There, half the squad had encircled the surviving dinner party while the other half tended to the wounded.

...

"Farok?" a voice called, pulling the Neko's attention away from the process of wiping down his blood-stained sword.

He turned to see the Assassin standing behind him, looking nearly as unscathed as she did the day he sent her out into Atzla. The two stared at each other a moment, but then the ex-Huntmaster ran forward, hugging onto her and pulling her into her chest. Petra was quick to return the embrace, breathing a happy sigh as she settled in familiar arms.

"It's a great relief to see you," he whispered in Nekonian. "When I found Teirie back in Atzla..."

"You know me," Petra replied, letting him go and taking a step back, a smirk stuck on her face. "I'm insulted."

"The ground was scorched to the bare dirt. What else could I believe?"

"I'm chaffing you, Farok," she chuckled. "In seriousness though, what are you doing here?"

"I was searching for you."

...

Flak stood with his arms crossed and a natural scowl to his face. He watched as the two Nekos fell into some discussion in their own language, but then shifted his attention to the Drow who encircled the surviving nobles and tended to their wounded. Somehow, the Army Private beside him was all wrapped up in the middle of some mess between some people, and now he was, too.

Leaning to the side to speak low in Galen's ear, the Marine growled, "Alright, Greenhorn, a new Devil Dog is in the game now. Names, groups, details. What the Hell kind of freak show did I just walk in to? You can start with the deal between the Drow and the assholes who run this joint."

Galen nodded, his posture straightening out as he unconsciously stood at-ease. "Yes, Staff Sergeant."

"Cut it to Sergeant, One Stripe."

Nodding, Galen replied, "Yes, Sergeant... Umm... yeah, the Drow you see have been at war with Reddin' for a couple years now, mostly on the defensive considering their home is underground and most of 'em hate the surface. Purpose of tonight's raid was supposed to end it by cuttin' the head off the snake, so to speak."

The two soldiers watched as a heated discussion broke out between Jrastra and the King, Flak nodding before asking, "The Drow here, I'm guessing, are some special surface unit, if their kind is a tunnel-rat type."

Galen nodded. "Yeah, these are a few members of a unit call the 'Sun-Kissed.' Jrastra, the one dealin' with the King there, is their leader. They call 'er 'First Commandant,' while Dreek there is Third Commandant."

"And who's the furball hugging Petra?"

"Farok. He was part of Petra's tribe." Galen paused a moment, frowning. "How did you meet her?"

"We shared a cell in the dungeon below," the Sergeant answered, earning a bewildered look from the paratrooper beside him. Flak shook his head and sighed. "Long story. One I'll share once we get out of this fuckin' castle and someplace that isn't made of goddamn stone. You must have one fuckin' amazing tale to tell as well, Private."

"I do, Sergeant," Galen responded. "Only it ain't done yet."

...

Including the two Commandants, eight Sun-Kissed encircled the royal family and their guests at the back of the room. Captain Devon and Knight Aius stood proud at their sides, unashamed of their treason. Clutching the stab wound in his belly, the King lay back in the arms of his wife as his gaze burned into the blood-red eyes of the approaching First Commandant.

She had a victorious smirk plastered to her face, her head tipped up so she could look down upon her conquered foe. Her shoulders were squared off to him; hands joined behind her back. Every little adjustment she made to her stance served only to inflate that dominant look she held so firmly. And it infuriated the King so easily.

"You come to my home, slaughter my soldiers, and terrorize my family..." he growled.

"This. Is. War," Jrastra stated coldly. "You started it, we will end it."

"By assassinating me and my kin? You will do nothing but invoke the whole city into a rage!"

"As you have with your ploy in our own territory? With the hundred men you sent to cut down the leaders of our forces and kidnap our princess?"

A wave of hurt struck the King, his eyes crossing and teeth clenching as the Empath's power pinched down on his mind.

"You sought to slay the heads of our homeland in one strike when were gathered for her royal welcome. This is the favor being returned."

"Killing us will only make martyrs," the King rumbled as a migraine tore into his skull. "My people will bring the stone down upon your heads and reclaim what we lost a hundred years ago."

"If we killed all who were here," Jrastra clarified. "But we won't. Because some of you were smart enough to know who would win in the end. Captain Devon, for one, and the men that follow him."

The hybrid officer grinned at the scowl he received from the ruler of Redding.

"As well as the other few who made this night possible," Jrastra chimed, her gaze shifting to the crowd behind the King.

Five people rose to their feet, and one by one they filed forward. The city's head merchant who presided over the trade that flowed in and out strode forward, followed by two men who controlled some of the larger residential districts and farming lands outside the walls. And finally...

"You cursed, little bastards," the King muttered.

Eyes glued to her feet, his daughter walked forward clinging onto her brother's hand, the younger of the two princes. The boy kept his chin up as he passed the man he called "Father" without even offering a word of excuse.

"Traitors," their older brother cursed, his sister clamping her eyes shut and firming her grip on the hand that guided her.

It was a fight to keep the tears from flowing down her cheeks and she knew the others were aware of that. Suddenly, her brother released her hand. She opened her eyes and looked up, finding herself face to face with Jrastra while her brother turned to face their family.

"Are we the traitors?" he asked. "Or are you? You all send our soldiers underground into the slaughter and for what? A little bit of land? Lost heritage? We are losing more than we would ever gain even if we won the bloody battles! We lose a hundred men so you conscript a hundred more! How long until there are no able-bodies around to keep the city alive?"

"Watch your tongue, Jackson," his father growled. "You don't know what we left in Oris. You don't know what we lost."

"We sure seem to be doing just fine without it!"

His father's face grew a deep red as he roared, "You fuc-"

Without warning his mouth clamped shut, his whole body breaking out into a violent fit. Eyes rolling back, King Benson shook in his screaming wife's arms just before she and their oldest son did the same. Eyes narrowed on the royals, Jrastra took hold of the princess' shoulder and pulled the girl away from the sight of her family succumbing to the effects of the deadly side of her empathy.

"Shhh, don't look. They can't hurt you anymore," the First Commandant whispered, keeping the girl's face pressed to her breastplate.

In moments it was over, the last of the King's guests staring in horror at the bodies before Keetle stepped forward. The force mage brought one hand up and swiped it to the side to send the corpses sliding into the corner of the room where two other Sun-Kissed were quick to pull some of the banners off the wall and use them to cover the remains of the king, queen, and oldest prince.

With the deed done, Jrastra took the princess' chin in hand and lifted her face upward so their eyes could meet.

The girl was crying now, the Commandant could see this just as clearly as she could feel its source. A touch of positive empathy transferred from the Drow to the princess, and near instantly that sadness surrendered to a weak smile. One Jrastra kindly showed in return.

"Many mothers will be thanking you for saving their children from the horror of war, your majesty. Remember that." She turned to Dreek, who now stood at full strength beside Keetle and Ssz'Vasbryn. "Third Commandant, take your squad and Galen on to the next target while I and Captain Devon settle details here with Redding's new rulers. Leave me two to tend to the wounded. When this is over, return to the castle courtyard and send for the captain to bring you back here. I'll ensure the gate is open."

"LEAVING SO SOON?!" shrieked a banshee's voice; half the lights in the enchanted chandelier above flickering.

Galen brought his rifle around and aimed at the door, Flak drawing his pistol and doing the same. Black fog washed over the floor from the hall outside as a chilling laugh echoed through the room. It became louder, the source cackling even harder as it went on.

A familiar wave of magic pulsed over the room, nearly everyone coming to a halt as though time itself had stopped. And then, just blinking into existence from the air itself, came the warrior in the brown cloak and black leather armor. She drew her hood back to reveal her long, silver pony-tail while a haunting grin curled up under equally haunting black eyes.

Haru looked about the bodies, warriors and wounded like a tourist in a wonderland. She noticed the Drow Commandants, untouched by her magic, tense up at her presence and prepare for a fight. It was only natural.

"You'll have to excuse my tardiness," the witch finally said, gaze falling upon Jrastra. "Xerivan and I kept running into pesky guards trying to find this place. Fortunate the weapon your surfacer there wields is so loud. Which reminds me..."

She turned to Galen, facing off with the soldier as he stood with his rifle aiming directly at the bridge of her nose. Frowning at the frozen soldier, she grabbed one side of her cloak, holding it up to reveal two holes in the fabric. "You see this? You and that damn little... thing on your hip did this. Do that again and you can sew me a new one."

Damn your stupid cape! Galen thought, trying to squeeze the trigger of his rifle through her spell.

"Why are you here?"

Haru blinked in surprise before turning on her heel toward that challenging voice. Dreek stood with her blade at the ready and a scowl that would turn a mortal soul to ice. The witch could only respond with a grin.

"Questions already? Sheesh. No greetings? No 'I will kill you for what you've done?' Or any pointless threats?"

The Drow leader just sneered. "I would know better. You cut down my Sisters and snatched the daughter of the Val'Sharess from the best of Faerssune without harm. If killing was your mission, Jrastra and I would be stuck in the temporal suspension spell that you cast."

"Fair enough... and I guess the reason for my presence is something anyone would want to know," Haru said, stroking her chin.

"But before I answer that, I would like to make this clear: I hate Drow. I hate your people, your culture, your underworld, the exasperating overuse of constants in your language," she sighed, that grin toning down into a fierce glare. "That said, I hate swindlers more. Especially when they get innocents roped into my business."

"Make your point," Jrastra growled.

"I'm a mercenary, simply put," Haru stated. "Contract is signed, I do job, client gets want, I get paid. But in every contract is one fine line I make very clear: No slaver business. That breaks Necela's fifth order: Shackles are earned, not forced."

Dreek narrowed her eyes, catching the witch unconsciously rub her wrists while her expression almost seemed... regretful.

"I stole your princess, this is true, but it turns out my client wanted her for a slave and didn't tell me at any time during our negotiations, and thus he voided the deal we made. Including the part about confidentiality and the other part that says I won't kill him after. With this in mind, I would like to extend an offer of my services, free of charge, to help rectify the damage done."

Jrastra huffed, one corner of her mouth arching up into a sneer.

"Your wit must be as bright as the Underdark, Surface Witch," Dreek growled. "If you think you can dare offer a peace with us after the blows you've dealt and headaches you've brought."

Haru cocked her head to the side, "I do dare, because for you to take the alternative would mean you to be assuming you had the power to deal with me, mortal. Either my offer is accepted, and we all win, or you deny it and deal with the unpredictable nature of a mercenary who has proven herself far too much for your kind to handle. And before you consider that option, note that Iim'treemay was in the hands of a certain Slave master, last I saw her. One that does have the ability to snap that uptight nut of hers. And while I was there..."

The witch turned to Galen.

"I saw Celia as well. Nice girl. Polite. Kind. Still waiting for her knight in shining armor. Though I'd prefer one with a couple scratches and dents. If his steel still shines, then his mettle has never been truly tested."

She snapped her fingers then, her magic releasing both Flak and Galen from the spell. The Sergeant immediately jumped back, training his sidearm on the witch while Galen lowered his rifle, his eyes wide as he asked, "Is she okay?! Are they both okay?!"

"For now," Haru answered. "Though you should hurry if you want to free them. Word is Fretheim wants to skip town, but nobody knows where he's going. He could go anywhere, find a place far off where nobody here will ever find him or his new slaves again."

"What in fuck is going on here?!" Flak growled, sidearm still trained on Haru.

"Shush," she ordered glowering at the Sergeant.

"Don't you fucking shush me-" he cursed before she snapped her fingers, once again trapping him in her magic.

"I'm trying to make amends here and you are being rude," she hissed before turning back to Galen. "So what do you say? Forgive me and join me in a little bit of revenge?"

The Private's lips pursed. He glanced to Jrastra and Dreek, but neither offered anything in the way of a negative or positive answer. Petra still stood frozen beside Farok, so any advice she had to offer was out of the question given the current circumstance. This was his decision.

"I want back what ya took from me," he demanded, but Haru just grinned.

"No. Remember what I said: Pretayus dies, and then we can discuss that."

He paused for a moment then, thinking as he stared down the mercenary. "You said you wanted to make amends... and that's helping us with our mission here in Redding?"

She shrugged. "In essence, yes. But I want my name cleared of any wrong doing when the report of what happened yesterday goes back to Xukuth'Che'el."

"That won't happen," Jrastra stated. "Those who lie to the Queen do not survive."

"Then be sure to let her know that this was just a little bit of a misunderstanding. The job with the princess was supposed to be politics. Ransom or coercion for some deal Fretheim wanted to work out and then ship the royal home after, but... Nope. So when that report goes back, just be sure to include how I helped correct this... mix-up."

The First Commandant stood silent for a moment, glaring at the Witch. Her empathy did not reach out, nor did any recognizable emotion play out on her face aside from anger. For one moment she looked to Galen, and the Private gave his opinion as a nod in the positive. There was a rising urgency in him now, which she could understand with the information they had been given. No more time could be wasted if this "Fretheim" was on the verge of slipping from her grasp.

"I will report everything that transpires tonight," Jrastra announced. "Play your role up, if necessary. But we waste no more time. Release your magic so we can move forward with this mission. Preferably Galen's new friend last, as he needs to be informed of the situation."