Kicking open the gates, still red-hot from the fiery explosion, Draz was the first to burst into the lobby of the administrative complex, leading his army behind him. Clad in steel and covered in the colorful emblems of the various leaders who had pledged allegiance to him, the raiders dispersed, following Feda and Souzan. Elites armed with rotary cannons, commanded by Draz’s bastards, advanced from behind, quietly reminding any ambitious or cowardly fool of the price of disobedience.

  The leader himself wore a simple leather jacket, loose green trousers, and boots. Save for armored sleeves reaching his forearms and connected by automatic ammunition feed belts to a container on his back, Draz was completely defenseless, and his clear eyes scanned the darkened hall with suspicion, noting the locations of fallen debris.

  Paikan had won the first battle with similar equipment. Draz had no intention of being left behind.

  Not a single spark escaped the holes left by the explosions in the ceiling, and the power cords tangled and slapped against each other. The vestibule was an oblong hall extending toward the main complex. Wooden counters, where clerks meticulously recorded taxes and the opening of enterprises, lined the walls, creating distinct, convex sections. Between them were alcoves where attendants confirmed wedding permits after checking the records. Above the alcoves were balconies for waiting guests of high rank. The statue of Paikan, supporting the chief overseer’s observation balcony, seemed to pierce trespassers with the mocking gaze of its crystal eyes.

  Stepping across the black-tiled floor, Draz noticed the absence of even the most basic terminals on the counters, though rolled-up papers, covered with data to be entered into the databases, still lay in the cabinets. But no traces of blood stained the floor, and the cries of the terrified clerks didn’t interrupt the sound of marching feet.

  “Feda, slow down,” Draz ordered, striding straight for the doors leading inside. Souzan had already sensed something was wrong and halted her advance.

  The tiles bulged under Draz’s heel, and he stamped, redirecting the momentum of the nascent explosion. The floor around him rippled, exploding in an uneven semicircle toward the governor’s calm smile. Plans were plans, not navigation books to a perfect route. It’s even more amusing this way.

  A red beam of the scope touched Draz’s chest, but a bolt of incandescent energy had already passed him, melting a stone vase and splintering the marble railing of the balcony, turning the belly of the hiding sniper into a lump of slag and burning flesh. Souzan hurled grenades in a fan, detonating the mines planted in the central passage, and Latke’s two dogs growled, sensing movement.

  From behind the pillars, inside the balconies, and from the alcoves, thin blue laser beams lanced toward the group, causing six raiders to stagger and collapse in smoking heaps of sprawled limbs. In contrast to a normal raid, the wounded and dead were immediately pulled back to safety, while the rest opened furious counterfire, completely disregarding the leader’s safety.

  There was no need.

  Draz leaped upward, grabbing the edge of the broken ceiling, spotting the hiding enemies on the first floor and the scattered squads on the second. The administration’s personal guard and their allies. Instead of the usual red and gold armor with purple coats thrown over it, they were clad in form-fitting, flexible exoskeletons designed for stealth operations and reinforced with armor plates.

  At his whistle, the dogs rushed to hunt, hugging the walls for safety, and the twin muzzles of the dispersing cannon stopped above his knuckles. The shot sent a cloud of fast-moving shrapnel flying, turning the balcony and the idiots on it into a pulverized, bleeding mass.

  The hounds squeezed through the grenade explosions that threw back the attackers, ignoring the laser beams scraping their unusually thick hides, and smashed through the counter, knocking several defenders off their feet. One swipe of a paw bent an exoskeleton leg, drawing a cry of pain from the loyalist’s mouth. The man hesitated for a split second, and the jaws closed on his head, first crushing his skull, then biting off everything above the neck. The second dog pounced on another defender, burying its muzzle in the woman’s pelvis as she shrieked in agony. Chunks of steel and human bones flew in all directions.

  Landing with a crash, Draz lunged at the nearest enemies, exposing his back. No one managed to take advantage of this; Feda and Souzan finished off the soldiers who had risen from cover and taken the bait. A single wave of Draz’s hand transformed the three hapless victims into a bloody mist. He spun, moving at top speed, his perception peaking, freezing the raised dust particles to a crawling state. Control! The opposition had tried and failed. Laughing, Draz turned into a cruel deity from senseless legends, punching chests, shooting, and tearing bodies in his path, using his strength to open a path forward for his troops through this trap. Sensing the changed situation, the unknown commander gave the order, and the loyalists retreated to the passages in the walls, disappearing into secret corridors.

  Another trap. In these narrow passages, full of traps and barriers designed to block pursuers, his soldiers would be slaughtered like children. The defectors reported this, providing precise maps. No problem, any resistance could be flushed out of cover later. Preparation, strength, and strategy. Nothing will stand in the way of his destiny.

  “For the kingdom!” Draz roared, leading the soldiers. “Any rebel who dares stand in our way will be trampled! Everyone to the databases! Administrators, welcome the guests!”

  He smashed down the inner doors, opening fire on the next barricade, feeling his heart pound with excitement unmatched by any arena duel.

  ****

  When they met with Chernogor, their unexpected detachment was much reduced in number. Yeshua had dispatched most of the scattered troops to assist the injured civilians, since the guards were nowhere to be seen, and several raiders had disappeared into the shadows, intent on finding their bosses. The innkeeper went to heal his arm and keep an eye on his acquaintances. The mutant porcupine introduced himself as Bahran, deciding to stick with the crusaders along with the others, intending to leave Rabor as soon as possible, citing Draz’s overly suspicious behavior as the reason.

  Ruda swallowed this proposal through a creaked throat, realizing its wisdom. Instead of putting out fires and evacuating civilians, the guards disappeared from the streets. Floodlights above the ruler’s fortress brightly illuminated the nearest streets, briefly plucking crowds of frightened people from the darkness, demonstrating unexpected mutual assistance. The top of the administrative complex disappeared. An entire army, assembled from a ragtag group of various gangs, stormed the building, and who could say what Draz would do to those he hadn’t summoned for his obvious betrayal? Commands rang out from the fortifications, demanding everyone remain calm until order was restored in the city.

  Chernogor and Ney were waiting for them at the appointed location, a small alley off the main road. Clutching the groggy Rustam to her chest, Ruda reported what had happened to the commander. The freed slaves waited in the alley, looking at the crusaders with curiosity and disbelief.

  To Ruda’s intense disgust, she spotted the ‘purchased’ raiders escorting civilians and armed with cheap machine guns. One of them even dared to salute Farrin with two fingers, touching the spot where the hood of his gray jumpsuit revealed his scarred forehead. Bahran loomed over the insolent man, forcing him to shut up and begin muttering apologies.

  “Acknowledged,” Chernogor replied curtly, checking his pistol and drawing his long blade. “Hand Rustam over to the farmer. He’ll look after the boy, freeing both your hands.”

  “Sir,” Ruda complied nervously, handing over her charge.

  “Don’t worry, girl,” Insectone said cheerfully, and only now, to her shame, did she realize he was a man. The mutation had completely altered him, removing any hint of humanity. Like most of the freed, he wore a cheap gray suit designed for rock climbing, offering little protection from the wind. In his case, the protection was minimal, due to the cut-out holes for his six arms. A broken mandible gave him a lisp when he spoke. “I’d rather die than abandon the little one behind.”

  “Forget it,” Ruda said sternly. “We’re all getting out of here together.”

  “Armed slaves. Unusual behavior for Latif’s servants. Are you planning to overthrow the bastard and get a prize from the Oathtakers for returning the kidnapped ones? Is that why you jumped into the arena?” Farrin asked.

  Under the visor of her helmet, Ruda blushed deeply, feeling Ney’s mocking gaze on her. He would never let her forget this humiliation. With behavior like this, she would never become a knight.

  “Will you take us in?” Farrin smiled. “Come on, you’ll probably need a crew to operate the train, and I, with my betrothed...”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Stop mocking me, Farrin,” Bahran hissed.

  “Kiss my ass, I chose you,” the black-haired woman with a streak of gray tossed. “We’re looking for someone to join. Things have been dire these past few months.”

  “So much so that you’re willing to fight by our side?” Ney asked ironically, standing next to Ruda.

  “Not for you, for pay. Otherwise, you’re right. We’re going to die anyway, so it’s better to die young in battle,” Farrin replied.

  “Let’s discuss the share,” Ney agreed, continuing to play the role.

  What is he getting us into? Ruda composed herself. They needed allies for a successful escape. The raiders could be killed or captured later. Entrusting her lover to whisper to Bahran, she quickly checked the rest of the group. The crippled captives were being helped along by Abnormals, and a boy of about six who had lost his legs and an arm was being carried by a Troll, who was speaking—it couldn’t be called humming—in his ear, ‘Don’t Think of the Past, Drive to the Future,’ a song that had gained national popularity about a year ago and served as the unofficial anthem of the defenders of Stonehelm in the final days of the war with the Chosen Prince.

  Every child and teenager had been given much more substantial armor, though many hadn’t been properly fitted, forcing them to move awkwardly in the suits. The wounds had been treated, and she didn’t know how much Chernogor had clarified the situation for the rescued men, but several hands touched the crusader’s pauldron in gratitude, and an aura visible only to those who had taken the Oath shimmered in the adults’ inspired eyes, reminding them of home.

  “Are you alright, little fawn?” Ney, having finished the conversation, tapped the dent in her helmet.

  “Not even my ears are ringing,” Ruda replied proudly.

  “That’s so.” Leaning closer, he whispered, “I much prefer your talk of survival to fatalism.”

  “Sir, you’re not at all surprised by our adventure,” she heard Yeshua.

  “Not now, Yeshua,” Chernogor replied, checking Ruda’s weapon. He removed the clip and pulled the trigger, listening to the sound of the autoloader. Satisfied, he handed the weapon to his subordinate.

  “We’ll talk later.” Yeshua narrowed his eyes.

  “Attention! Residents of Rabor!” The loudspeakers along the streets gave off a screeching sound, replaced by Latke’s gruff voice. “The criminals have committed a heinous crime, daring to attack the guards, disregarding our hospitality. It’s possible they were behind the explosion. Anyone with information on the whereabouts of the traitor Ruda and her accomplices will notify me immediately. The rest of you, stay home and do not interfere with the governor’s efforts to restore order. Any looting will be punished by death.”

  “That beastly bitch!” Ruda gripped the pincer’s handle, glancing at Bahran and Farrin.

  Davinia reached Latke, spinning a sweet tale, undoubtedly placing the blame on the crusaders. Should she strike first? Having become enemies of Draz, they’ve lost all advantage, and the slightest betrayal could endanger civilians. Why hasn’t Chernogor given the order yet? The commander peered out onto the main street, indifferent to the obvious danger among them. I won’t let the children die or be enslaved. I’ll get them out at any cost.

  “Look at this; the doggie spoke the truth.” Bahran spat a hissing gob of bile onto the stones. “Draz really is eliminating everyone who didn’t swear allegiance to him during the hunt for terrorists. First, he plans to get even with you for his defeat, and then he’ll get us.”

  “We need to get out,” Farrin said tensely. “That explosion. It was his doing.”

  “What?” Bahran turned to her.

  “There are no terrorists. Draz is simply eliminating any threat to his power,” Chernogor said. “It’s not hopeless. Draz’s main forces are probably guarding the route to Paikan, his fortress, and besieging the administrators. That means there’s a smaller garrison at the southern gate. After me.”

  Chernogor led the group through the narrow, winding alleys of Rabor, built between the cheerless, unitary dwellings. Yeshua took up the rear, accompanied by several bandits; the children were placed in the center of the procession. Ruda and Ney covered Chernogor’s back while he cautiously peered around corners, checking the route for sudden ambushes.

  Twice he signaled danger with gestures, and the entire long line of people slowly retreated, crossing into another passage to make a detour. The commander never failed to lead them into a dead end, and Ruda admired his knowledge of the area. In such a short span of time, he thoroughly explored the nooks and crannies of Rabor, weeding out any boastful exaggerations or lies from the inn’s patrons.

  She scanned the road and the houses with a trained eye, ready at any moment to swoop down and knock out a curious onlooker emerging from a door or slit a guard’s throat. The asphalt was rough beneath her feet; the buildings seamlessly blended together, creating the appearance of a single, solid rectangle, torn from the jaws of some unknown beast. The gray surfaces of a gray world triumphed here. No trace of the townspeople’s own culture or individuality was to be found anywhere; shop signs, the slave market, and the arena remained the most colorful specks in this dreary realm of the ordinary.

  After moving to the Land of the Oath, her father purchased an abandoned estate in a rural village located seven kilometers from the nearest town. Later, having broken the shackles of melancholy caused by the incident, Ruda learned the true price of such a house: it was far beyond the family’s means. Dad received a subsidized price in exchange for a three-year contract to work at a mine located in the long mountain range separating the Land of the Oath from the territory of the rapacious Reclamation Army.

  At the time, she foolishly considered it a kind of slavery. The memory brought a smile to Ruda’s lips. Dad loved the position. After the opening of a new mine, he was promoted to foreman with a very generous salary. In his absence, the family patched up the dilapidated dwelling, rearranging the rooms and furnishing a home for the youngest members.

  One day, after pulling Dahel out of the bath by the ear, stuffing her mouth with porridge, loading her lunch, checking her textbooks, and escorting the little sister to the school bus, Ruda heard it. Ringing. Dozens of bone amulets jingled in the morning breeze, driven by the wind, while a procession of villagers, led by a priest, held aloft a bone horn with holes drilled into its sides. A sharp current of air rushed into one end of the horn and spiraled along, unleashing a cannonade of triumphant roars imitating various animals.

  Enchanted by the crude and unusual musical orchestra, she stood and watched, embarrassed when the priest approached, asking if they had awakened the family with their animistic venerating of those who had departed this world. This branch of the religion believed in the reincarnation of souls in nature, teaching its disciples to exercise moderation in drawing on the planet’s bounty. Ruda fell into conversation with the priest, not noticing how she began to describe the rituals of her former homeland. She later backed up her words with action, earning enough to buy fireworks for New Year’s.

  A year ago, Ruda and Ney attended a party for mutants who had migrated from the far west, taking part in a wild dance in which the participants wore nothing but scraps of clothing found in the open field, tied together with rope, that served as a dance floor. Attracted by the sound of hundreds of feet pounding the ground and the cheerful exclamations of the young people, reporters filmed the entire scene. The next day, the patriarch of the Schwarzendruber family, purple with suppressed anger, arrived in person to scold Ney for his inappropriate behavior.

  There was nothing like this in Rabor. Where the raiders donned a variety of clothes and spoke with a dozen accents, the locals remained cowed and obedient, adhering to a single way of life. She had a sneaking suspicion that the interiors of the dwellings were identical, down to the exact number of floorboards. The vile sacrifices had to be stopped, but people weren’t machines. By removing any chance of self-determination and reducing existence to an unchanging, boring routine, Paikan or Draz had created a stagnation deprived of the opportunity for prosperity.

  At a fork in the road, she heard voices ahead and touched the commander’s hand. He nodded, stopping everyone. The adults completely sealed the children’s helmets, and Insectone clamped his hand over Rustam’s mouth to prevent the slightest noise.

  “...West, not east.”

  Davinia. The blood boiled in Ruda’s veins with the desire to grab this scoundrel by the head and smash her face into the asphalt until her skull cracked and her brains splattered. Not only had she harmed Rustam, but now she was hunting the other children.

  “We have orders,” came a dry reply from around the corner.

  “Is this what you plan to tell the governor when we lose the fugitives?” mocked Davinia. “When he gives you the order to jump into the smelting furnace for failure, will you jump yourself, or will you need help?”

  “Watch your words, dog witch,” a third voice interrupted rudely.

  A squad. More than two. Will they be able to kill everyone without making a noise? Ruda wasn’t sure. Retreating now is too risky; they might be heard. Taking a detour further east risked passing too close to the factory, which had shut down for the night, its guards illuminating the nearby streets with floodlights.

  “Why, have I bewitched you, handsome?” Davinia laughed. “Guys, the murders happened in the western part. That’s where I clashed with those vile boors incapable of appreciating the jewel that graced them with its presence. Then they sent us to comb the east, wandering through these stinking corridors.” Something struck the wall of the house, and a moment later, Ruda heard a gunshot. She prepared to rush at the enemies when Ney grabbed her hand. “Not a peep! They’re not here. Do you know why we were sent here? Latke doesn’t have any fondness for me.”

  “Then why did she order us to follow you?” the first voice asked doubtfully.

  “There’s a prize for the capture of the fugitives. Fewer people, a bigger slice of the pie for the rest. See my little nose? It can sniff out our lost ones with astonishing ease. So why is Latke turning me down, sending his bloodhound on my trail, and pushing us here?” Davinia insisted. “Friends, we have had our differences. But we must not let that interfere with our chance to gain our master’s favor. Come on, come on, decide. Reward, glory, and honor, or ridicule and empty pockets?”

  “We were ordered to apprehend the trespassers,” said the owner of the first voice.

  “You want to defy Latke?” There was concern in his partner’s voice.

  “Who do we serve, Latke or Draz?” asked the first voice. A chorus of voices supported him, confirming the correctness of Ney’s decision. “Lead on, Davinia. And remember, the integrity of your skin also depends on our success.”

  “Success is my middle name...”

  Ruda waited a few seconds, breathing a sigh of relief. The Wolfkin knew of their presence. Historical records told of an instance where members of this tribe sensed the heartbeat of a crusader coming from the depths of a chasm. The Wolfkins themselves were crossing the chasm at that moment, some eighty meters above sea level. They descended, slaughtering and capturing most of the ambush squad. Only the intervention of the magister turned the battle in the Oathtakers’ favor.

  These Abnormals’ senses of hearing and smell were rarely matched.

  “Whose side is this woman on? Ours or the enemy’s?” Ruda muttered.

  “Perhaps hers.” Chernogor nodded toward the wall, drawing the Crusaders’ attention to the bullet hole.

  She gulped. The bullet had pierced the concrete block, creating a series of radiating cracks on the surface.