The Deian War: Conquest (3 page)

   She padded up to his side and nestled her head against his flank, a sign of her contentment and affection. They might be demi-gods, they might be warriors of a war so old and so important that love should seem irrelevant and tiny, but neither of them thought so. They knew their love was th
e only thing keeping them going and without it, they would lose everything else important to them; things like hope.

   Before Lupus could say something else, a legionnaire in the battledress of the 617th approached them. It was Sabre, the first in command of the Guardian legion that belonged wholeheartedly to
him. Though soaked by the rainfall and returning from the forces assaulting the front of the Phantoms’ last camp on this world, he was far from breathless. If anything, the news he carried invigorated him. Lupus would have been impressed, but the feats and abilities of the legionnaires long ago ceased to surprise him; he knew they had been forged by the energy of gods long gone, so it hardly seemed alarming how superhuman they themselves were.

   “My Lord” Sabre
began, his wet hair stuck against his head and covering his ears. The shaggy beard that he had grown over the recent months helped to keep his face warm he argued, yet there was no sign of him ever being cold anyway.

During the
dragging time on this particular world, fighting through the dank forests of its continents, there had been little time or reason to keep hygiene and appearance a priority. Attacks were sudden, merciless, and unforgiving. The enemy didn’t care whether Sabre of the 617th had shaved that morning or not, so why waste the time when it could be used to be more alert? This time, though, it was the Guardians that were making the decisive, killing strike.

   Lupus shifted his head away from Calla to look upon
the Commander.
Speak, Sabre
.

   “Our forces have forced the Phantoms up past the ridgeline, Sir
e. We have secured the top and are laying down heavy fields of fire against the encampment. The enemy is massing for a counterattack, with armour units at their rear, though the Apostle Gaia is bringing as much of the ground mass to act as protection as she can. If we are to act, my Lord, now is the time”.

   Unable to bring their own armour support to the assault
due to the mire, the Guardians had left the Warhounds behind. A simple, blunt hammer blow to the enemy would not be enough in this case. A flanking action was required and the Lion and Whitewolf were about to lead that risky manoeuvre.

  
Is the Phantom lieutenant in the camp, Commander?
Calla asked, her voice no longer private but public for all to hear.

   “Yes, my Grace. It appears he will not flee” Sabre smiled.

   Lupus turned to watch the lines of legionnaires behind them. Thousands of men and women were arrayed in formation, ready to bring death and destruction to the enemy and finally liberate Fernus from the war. Though the world was a tough one to inhabit, a surprisingly large number of humans had been determined to do so. There was only one continent they chose to settle on, however, and only one starport to share between the cities. It had made the relief effort extremely difficult; the Guardians could not simply bombard the attacking enemy without ruining their singular access for deployment. It had taken three months alone to plan, instigate and finally complete the clandestine takeover of the starport.

  
Now, after months of pushing the enemy back into the dark depths of the forests, allowing vast swathes of the human population to retreat to the starport and be evacuated in the process, the climactic battle was being fought. The Phantoms were being organised by a tenacious creature, one that had deigned to signpost their position with flocks of human dead as ominous messages of defiance and mockery to the Guardians.

   The men and women of the 10th and 617th looked through the rain with grim resolve etched on their faces.
They had helmets to wear, but they wanted to enjoy the smells of the forest and the odours that the rain lifted from the floor before waging into the choking fire and smoke of war.

This war
had taught the Guardians a lot, shown them things they never thought they would see and come to understand and now that it was time for them to remove the blighted stain on this human world, they had never felt more convicted and righteous. They would do this grim task so with satisfaction. They would do it with honour and nobility, but with a bloody vengeance all the same. It was war justice. It was fair.

   Confident in the Guardians’ morale and poignantly aware of their resolution to be victorious, Lupus gave
Calla one last look, a knowing one that told her everything was going to be alright and then he gave Sabre the command. The legionnaire looked over his shoulder at a female legionnaire in the battle lines, nodding at her once.

   Aurelia saw her Commander’s gesture and raised the banner she bore in her hands above her head, waving it proudly to signal the attack. The fabric flapped in the wind, the numbers of the 617th embroidered on it rippling in the soft wind, the rainfall making the sewn-on lion
’s head appear to growl in its hatred of the enemy. As the legionnaires yelled their battle cry, the sound of the real Lion’s roar filled the forest for miles around.

   With a chorus of “Retyr, Auranair!” the legions followed the two Apostles as they sprung from the edge of the forest line and charged towards the Phantom camp, annihilation of the enemy their intent, victory for the humans their cause. The sheer sound of their assault, the power of the demi-gods come to slay the enemy, made even the monsters that filled children’s nightmares halt for a moment and consider fl
eeing to fight another day, but they were out of time. Their deaths were upon them already.

   THE ATTACK ON the Phantom camp went better than expected. As Lupus paced through the ruined pits and shallows that the foe had used as temporary homes, for their base was no conventional staging ground, he couldn’t help but feel pride for the Guardians. Whilst the forces under Gaia’s command had thrown up a wall of diversion, he and Calla had speared into the enemy’s flank with a force so large and shocking that the enemy was overwhelmed in mere minutes.

   With the trap sprung, the frontal assault had moved up and into close combat alongside the flanking forces. Though this action only bracketed the Phantom camp on two sides, there was nowhere for the enemy to run even if they fell back into the forest where they weren’t assailed by the legions. The woodland
behind them soon ran into mountains so hazardous and sudden that, although not a daunting prospect for the enemy, provided a mitigating obstacle to the speed of any retreat. If they did run, they would be chased down and hunted to extinction anyway. They would fight and die here regardless of where they went.

   Fires littered the ground where groups of
devii had employed their halberds at the first sign of the legions’ charge, sending spears of flame from their metal blades through some dark sorcery into the advancing Guardians. Dozens of men and women clad in black armour, some outlined with the purple of the 617th, others with the white of the 10th, were boiled in their protective plates as the Phantoms used what little opportunity they had to blunt their assault. It wasn’t nearly enough.

   Lupus could still hear the faint echo of
holo-blades clashing against the steel of the enemy as the two lines smashed together, thousands of legionnaires flooding into and enmeshing with the horde of beasts and deformed paradigms that comprised the last bastion of enemy resistance. He would have shuddered at the memory of the Gore Prince that thundered through his lines, but he had shed his fear of the Phantoms and all their forms after the fall of Pheia had broken his capability for surprise and horror.

   It had taken him only moments to slay
the giant Phantom. He had to credit Calla’s contribution as she tore into the creature’s armoured legs, snapping at its exposed areas and bringing it to its knees even as Lupus shouldered it to the floor in an undaunted, ferocious barge. He could still feel its blood drip from his teeth as he wrenched its head from its shoulders and threw the obtuse, snarling body part away from sight.

   The death of the Gore Prince seemed to signal the end of the whole conflict. As the two Apostles finished
off their shared prey, looking to one another for any sign of injury and heartened to find none, their earthly sister joined them in time to see their brutal combat efficiency.

   “Well met, my kindred” Gaia bowed her head. Of all the
Chosen, her Apostolic form remained the most human. That being said, her leaf-green skin and flowery hair set her apart as anything but. Her lips moved with a natural grace that was entirely justified given her form’s talents; the manipulation and control of the natural elements and earth.

  
Any meeting between us is well met, sister,
Lupus replied.

   Walking alone through the ruins of the camp now, he pictured the way he must have tried to smile at her to show how truly he meant those words. He hoped his eyes did his words justice, yet he found himself pained to know that his form could never truly display the kind of love
and peace that he wanted it to; instead, he imagined it only showed rage and strength.

   A legionnaire of the 10th walked past him and saluted, bringing her right forearm to her left breast, hand clenched in a fist to display the solidarity and strength of the legions
and he gave responded in kind. He had changed his form back to his human self after the battle, seeing no need for the part of him that was made for war now that the conflict was over. Still, something had plagued him, something in his spirit that had been bothering him increasingly over the last two years. He could never seem to identify what it was.

   Understanding his need for space and self-scrutiny, Calla had
not said a word of challenge as he morphed and told her where he would be. Instead she offered him her hand on his left shoulder plate, a placating gesture that she hoped would help to calm his mind. Though they had won a great victory here and she could see that he was satisfied with it, she knew better than to ask why he was troubled. Likewise, Gaia could understand his desires to be alone, even when the legionnaires were busy with their victory cheers and celebrations.

  
Lupus found himself at the edge of the camp limits. He looked into the dense forest and he knew that direction could only lead to the treacherous mountains. Yet, for all the Phantoms’ thirst for slaughter and death, even if it was their own, he could not understand why not one of them had decided to retreat and ambush them. At the least they could hide, wait for the legions to leave Fernus and attack the humans again. As he walked closer to the thickening trees, his arms crossed over his broad chest, he sniffed the air as though his human form’s senses were as attuned as his Apostle’s. In truth, they nearly were.

   Over the course of the Abodian Campaign, fighting side by side with his fellow Apostles, he had noticed his talents and powers begin to grow and strengthen. As the Lion, his body was faster and more agile. His claws were sharper, his mane was thicker, his roar was more powerful and his teeth were like razors edged with diamonds, able to slice through any armour the enemy could wreath themselves in. What startled him, though, was that as a human he was developing as well. His sight was sharper, his hearing keener, and his sense of smell…well, it had become so profound that he often thought he had changed form and become the Lion, but in fact he would always find he still wore his natural human flesh.

   The others had grown in power too; both were becoming stronger and fiercer and more capable, but it seemed as though he was leagues ahead of them. Nothing could shake his admiration and respect for either Gaia or Calla and their physical prowess, but there was a vanity in him that whispered to his ego that he was superior. He was the First Apostle after all, so was it any surprise that he was the deadliest, the he was the best of them all?

   He quickly cast those thoughts aside as he caught a whiff of something in the forest ahead. It didn’t smell
right, like it belonged in the forest. He had experienced that sensation too many times not to be curious and without conscious effort he was soon walking ahead into the trees.

   Behind him Sabre, who had kept a careful distance behind him
called out, wishing to know where he was heading. Lupus gave no reply, but the way he fingered the hilt of the sword strapped to his back worried the Commander. As the Lion faded from sight into the gloom, the legionnaire felt a shiver run up his spine. He couldn’t explain the Lion’s actions; the battle had been won, the enemy exterminated and yet his lord’s behaviour was making him nervous to the point of battle-readiness.

   Knowing he couldn’t stop the Apostle if he tried, Sabre ran to find the one person he knew who could help, the one woman he had grown to trust above all
the rest; the Whitewolf.

CALLA COULD SMELL the Commander’s approach before she could see him. Though his run caused the wet mud to stain his fatigues and mask his odour, the effect was only minute to her. She could tell that Gaia, who stood nearby trying to nurse the burnt husk of a tree back to life, was a little late in noticing him. Either Calla’s sense of smell truly was highly attuned as a result of her Apostle form, or her sister was simply more worried about the state of nature around them than the sentient people in the area.