Accompanied by the roar of their engines, six vehicles thundered down the ramp, racing through the canyon back into the valley. Operated by simple automation controlled from the lead buggy, the five trucks sped through the steam without losing a speck of rust from their bulging sides. The heat scorched the rotting remains, impaled on short spikes or stuck to armored wheels. Hearing a hissing sound, Rustam glanced back, seeing leaking ocular fluid trickling down the exposed flesh of the impaled head.
I suppose no one will guess it belonged to a slave trader. His stomach didn’t twist. The sight of inhuman cruelty no longer disgusted him. Instead, relief came from the knowledge that their cover was secure.
Ney stood behind the buggy’s turret, surveying the surroundings for any human movement. The deadly temperature didn’t cause him the slightest discomfort. Chernogor sat in the passenger seat, filling the cabin with the bluish smoke of a mild narcotic from a pipe in the corner of his mouth. His barbaric armor was adorned with jingling pieces of gold and bone, replicating the appearance of the former overseer.
Yeshua hunched over the wheel, frowning and stealthily casting predatory glances at Chernogor. Rustam wasn’t sure if all of this was part of maintaining their so-called legend. He stood, sandwiched between the two men, holding a shotgun. The tip of the pincer tapped his shoulder, causing a clanking sound, and the man leaned over, frantically pulling a piece of gum from the glove compartment.
“Here you go, mistress,” he said in a tense, anxious voice. Then he whispered, “Is that correct?”
“So far, accurate.” Ruda slapped him across the helmet, causing his head to jerk back. The artificial muscles tightly wrapped around his neck absorbed the unpleasant impulse, preventing any discomfort. “Stay in character, brat. If you don’t let us down, I’ll start trusting you.”
“A so-so reward,” Rustam grumbled.
“Not enough? Then how about permission to hit me as hard as you can? No tricks, one free hit,” Ruda whispered ingratiatingly.
“I hear and obey, my illustrious mistress!” Rustam agreed. Even the helmet speakers, distorting his speech into a guttural rasp, couldn’t completely dampen his joy. “Would you like to quench your thirst?”
“Be silent while you’re spoken to, weakling!” She kicked him in the back.
Chernogor chuckled, blowing a smoke ring. The commander’s eyes began to glaze over, and his pupils dilated, much to Rustam’s agitation.
The convoy entered the storm-filled valley, charging straight toward the main gates of Rabor. A wheel shattered a stray log, and their buggy lurched slightly to the left from a strong gust of wind. Without blinking, Yeshua stomped down, bringing the vehicle back down to earth, and continued driving as if nothing had happened. Splinters, from small stones to head-sized boulders, pummeled the exterior of their compact transport.
Rustam’s heart sank when he noticed a stone block the size of a door hurtling toward them with an arrow’s speed. He tugged Yeshua’s shoulder, gesturing frantically.
“Don’t interfere with the steering, slug,” the crusader hissed in a rough, completely unfamiliar tone.
“But we’re all going to turn into pancakes now! We must...”
Ney leaned toward the approaching projectile, holding onto the roof of the car with one hand. His fist flashed, too fast for the boy’s eyes, and suddenly cracks covered the slab, emanating from the deep gouge left by his knuckles. The rock exploded, showering the rising man with streaks of sand.
“Wow,” Rustam couldn’t resist.
“Want some?” Chernogor offered drunkenly, thrusting his pipe in.
“No, Master.” He was certain the mouthpiece of this abomination was carved from a human femur, and he didn’t want to touch it.
“Your loss.” Chernogor leaned back on the seat, ignoring the protesting creaking. “See those gray thingies?”
Glancing toward the cliffs, Rustam noticed a smoother surface in the mountain and several dark lines against it. The lenses helpfully zoomed in, revealing platforms fenced with wooden stakes and railings.
“That’s where the serfs live. Oh, they have huts in the valley itself, but when a storm approaches, they dismantle them and all hide in the shelters, sleeping huddled with the livestock,” Chernogor chuckled wickedly, perfectly imitating the behavior of a drunken overseer. “They can’t read or write, but severe trials have burned out all their weakness and given them a beastly ingenuity. If you happen to get lost and encounter them, listen to every instruction they give you, little one. They may be simple-minded, but they know the area like no one else.” Chernogor blew a stream of smoke into his visor. “They are hospitable to guests, as long as they maintain decorum. The crusaders will have reliable allies in them.”
“And who are the crusaders?” asked Rustam, catching on.
The old man smiled, continuing to chatter as if nothing had happened, describing the valley’s structure, the effects of the electromagnetic storm, and the several drones left to monitor the trail they had taken to reach this place. In his rapt attention, Rustam didn’t notice how time had flown, and they arrived at Rabor.
A wide, spacious bridge overhung the vile moat. Large-caliber turrets and several missile launchers aimed at the vehicles with a gentle hum but did not open fire upon receiving their identification codes. Up close, the wall looked not like a stone structure but a solid union of concrete pressed with various metals. Open mouths belching bright orange flames adorned its surface, and on either side of the bridge stood two statues protected by force shields.
One depicted an arrogant giant with slicked-back hair and a leather jacket, brazenly greeting the newcomers. The bronze surface of this figure had been carefully cleaned of dirt and shone thanks to the lighting installed in the pedestal. The second sculpture, a shorter man with outstretched arms, clad in dark armor bearing a strangely familiar crest of a flowering tree and adorned with snakes devouring their tails, lacked a face.
A small door near the gate opened, and a man with the flaming maw emblem on his shoulder pad emerged. He was followed by a squad of eight men in standard exoskeletons, glistening as the wind caught the slits of their thick cusack hide garments.
“To the feast?” shouted the first guard, towering a full meter above the others and holding a small cannon. Rustam assumed he was an Abnormal. “Fuck, bite my dick off, Latif’s scum. Are we really inviting even such scum to the party?”
Chernogor spat out his pipe, put on his helm, and walked outside, joined by Rustam. Brazenly, without hurry, he approached the guard, delivering a heavy elbow to his companion’s helmet. The kid instantly lowered the shotgun, leaning forward slightly.
“Don’t risk your precious organ by tempting fate,” Chernogor said, extending his hand. Silver flashed between his fingers, and the wrinkled guard grinned behind his visor, accepting the handshake. “We’re uninvited.”
“But welcome, if you don’t cause any ruckus.” The guard hid the bribe. “And don’t worry about my rod. Was shot off a year ago. Now I have an actual vibrator in there. All the guys love that little baby.”
“No doubt,” Chernogor joined in the laughter. “You won’t have any problems. We’re in trouble again. That tribe we were allowed to punish? All fled, the festering maggots. And we’re short-handed, so Latif forked out to buy meat to fill the holds.”
“No food, no hunting,” the guard said without sympathy. “There is justice in the world, after all. If it were up to me, I’d beat your leader to a pulp... But Governor Draz knows best. I don’t recognize you.”
“There’s been a reshuffle.” The commander shrugged. “Is there room for our beauties inside?”
“Oi, Brent! Is there any space left in the slaughterhouse?!” The guard turned to the open door, not at all afraid of a random attack.
“Nope, Sarge. Everything’s packed to the brim. We barely fit the weapons,” a shrill female voice screamed from inside.
“Well, here’s your answer.”
“How about another look, as a favor for a good new buddy?” Chernogor smiled, pulling out a small pouch.
“You can stare until the feast’s over; it won’t change the outcome. I trust Brent.” The guard yawned, not taking the money. “Put your trash a little to the east, right by the wall. There are stakes and chains there. Even though the storm isn’t particularly fierce on that side, you'd better secure your carts if you don’t want to get skin cancer digging them out of the muck. And get inside. Got any explosives, wrinkled mug?”
“It’s time to get your own.” Chernogor smiled, and the guard burst out laughing, slapping him on the shoulder pad.
“For a scumbag who serves Latif, you have manners. Have you considered changing masters?”
“Always open to new horizons.”
Wrong. Rustam panicked, sweating. You can’t just agree so quickly; Latif would never risk giving his henchmen the money for a purchase without being sure of their loyalty. This is a test! His breathing quickened, and he cast a pleading glance at Chernogor, wondering how to get his attention without arousing suspicion.
“Calm down.” The commander’s fist slammed into his helmet, knocking the man off his feet. “Your slut is in no danger. The boss’s vindictive,” Chernogor complained, ignoring Rustam’s rising voice. “We’d gladly defect, but I still have a couple of milk suckers there. It’s a shame to lose them.”
“I understand,” the guard said sympathetically and barked an order for the others to form up. “Don’t worry, something could still happen. Keep your wits about you. Swift.”
“Brent.” Chernogor half-hugs the man, discreetly slipping him the second pouch. “I’d be grateful for an oversight of our steeds.”
“Is it a shame to help a polite guest?” Swift smiled, exposing a row of metal teeth.
The patrol escorted their convoy, showing the three crusaders how to secure the transport properly, and started the inspection while Chernogor and Swift sat together inside the guardhouse, reeking of alcohol and smoke, and began chatting about their youth, recalling how much more obliging the servants had been in their youth and how much more passionate both men and women had been in bed. Rustam played the role of footstool, trying not to fall over as heavy boots slammed against his backpack, which contained a generator, in time with the vulgarities being told.
The commander’s demeanor changed dramatically, smoothly flowing with the mood of his interlocutor, while he deftly slid from questions about his past, feeding Swift sob stories about his fictitious brood of bastards and admiring the gate guard. In just a few minutes, he had befriended a complete stranger, sharing generous drinks with his companion and calmly portraying the image of a common slave trader, cracking a few jokes when Swift searched the travelers for explosives.
Upon the crusaders’ return, the group proceeded through a passage to the so-called slaughterhouse, a titanic corridor leading from the gates into the city. Unlike the grimy guardhouse, this place was sparkling clean, and not a single stain covered the panels concealing the defenders’ firing positions.
Almost touching the stone, buggies and cars of all colors lined the corridor, filling the immaculate space with the stench of chemicals. A pack of wiry children, most of them younger than Rustam, meticulously worked with brooms and rags, cleaning up all the spilled puddles of oil and grease under the watchful eye of a warden holding a whip. When a young laborer squeaked, trapped under a truck carrying a siege weapon, the woman stepped forward.
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The whip didn’t strike. Face-to-face with Ruda, the two of them easily lifted the vehicle, and the overseer returned to her post, twirling her finger at her temple.
“Choke on it,” Ruda muttered, causing a burst of laughter that defused the tension.
Contrary to Rustam’s expectations, the exit led them into a small, open space separating the first wall. A second gate, as colossal as the outer one, loomed above them. The electromagnetic storm’s vortices didn’t reach here, and Swift gestured for them to remove their helmets as they made their way to a small wooden platform erected in the middle of the stone surface, exposed to fire from all sides.
A portly woman awaited them, wearing a heavy, fur-lined orange cloak draped over one shoulder over her armor. A jeweled fur cap perched low over her deep-set eyes. Steel-clad fingers of one tapped the butt of a rifle, while the other rested on the withers of the largest dog Rustam had ever seen.
This was the woman who had bought the captives, Latke. A crowd of armed men had gathered behind her, but Rustam was far more unnerved by the four dogs sitting quietly next to Draz’s tribute collector. Absolutely identical, down to the exact same ribs pressing against their reddish, furless hides, the dogs’ heads towered slightly above Latke’s. Their cheeks drooped; their eyes glowed with a dull greenish light, watching the newcomers in unison; wisps of steam escaped their mouths with rare exhalations. Their enormous paws looked capable of crushing a person with a touch, and their tall ears didn’t move.
These creatures didn’t look like animals. They behaved with more discipline than many humans.
“Did you raise me because of them?” Latke opened her mouth, croaking out a question. A faded scar ran over her pale neck. Swift nodded, and she stepped down, accompanied by the resounding thuds of the hounds’ paws. Veined eyes looked over the new arrivals, assessing them. “I saw you,” she announced to Rustam. The dog on the left whined. “Easy, handsome. Where’s Daulet?”
“With us,” Ruda said, touching the unusual short sword.
“Ha. Smartass. Be glad I despised that malignant biomass; otherwise, we’d have had your intestines for dinner. You’re much healthier than before,” Latke declared to Rustam.
“I’ve been promoted.” Rustam clutched the shotgun, trying not to tremble, knowing what was expected of him. “I have only my sister left. I can’t... stay behind.”
“And you left her alone in this lair? She’s probably dead already!” Latke laughed creakingly.
“You’re lying!” Rustam shouted, not noticing a dog’s colossal head appearing before him, sniffing him. Its wet nose easily pushed the boy back two steps, despite his power armor. “Go... good boy,” Rustam hiccupped, turning white with terror.
Up close, the creature looked terrifying, but he remembered how Latif’s negotiator had behaved, and he extended a trembling hand, touching the dog’s dry and incredibly tough forehead.
“Grab your sister and come to us,” Latke advised. “It’s her only chance of survival. Who speaks for you?”
“I do, my lady.” Chernogor took a step. “Please convey our deepest respects to Governor Draz.”
“Hm. Has Latif finally dug up someone with manners?” Latke drawled. “Buying or selling?”
Unsure of what to do next, Rustam continued petting the dog. The hound seemed to enjoy it. At least its head tilted to the side, exposing its neck, and its broad cheek shifted, demonstrating a long tooth thicker than his entire glove. Swallowing nervously, the boy scratched the creature, nearly peeing himself from the guttural growl.
“Buying. Times are hard,” Chernogor replied.
“Don’t judge by yourself.” Latke shrugged, pulling a terminal from under her cloak. “The tribute has been received; you may enter Rabor. Swift, back to your post. You’re with me; I’ll escort you to a vacant hotel.”
“We were planning to buy people and head back...”
“And I was planning to sleep peacefully until dawn. Nothing is perfect,” Latke creaked, heading for the gate. “The market’s closed until morning; the governor is celebrating.”
Then why did she come out to meet us? Rustam hesitantly removed his hand from the animal, and it brushed against him with its side, trotting after its owner. Latke knew for sure about the tribute paid; she accepted it herself. Their group consisted of five people, clearly posing no threat to the city. So why was she meeting with them? He noticed Ruda’s approving nod, breathed a sigh of relief, and pondered about how to voice his concerns without attracting attention.
The path leading through the second gate proved much shorter, and soon Latke led them into Rabor, which revealed itself as two sprawling settlements separated by a road large enough for a cruiser to pass through without impacting the residential buildings to the left or right. A jumble of wooden buildings cluttered the passage leading north. Each of these shacks advertised security for the pilgrimage to Paikan.
Extortionists. Rustam decided, looking around. Latke’s dogs formed a square around the group, leading them through the parting crowd.
The residential quarters, built on the slope leading north, rose slightly above the southern part. Draz’s palace, illuminated by dozens of yellow floodlights, stood proudly over the city like an eternal guardian. Except for a few spacious streets, Rabor presented the travelers as a dense, even suffocating, place where two people couldn’t walk shoulder to shoulder through the narrow passages between buildings.
Despite the late hour, the city was bustling with life. A group of mercenaries celebrated on the open balcony of a tavern, bouncers handed over beaten bandits to the guards, and a pale young man, accompanied by armed men, shouted at the top of his voice, announcing a recruitment drive. Tired after a hard day, the townspeople barely noticed the heavily armed raiders calmly shopping for cheap food at the many stalls located on both sides of the road. Several luxurious tents decorated with silk and exuding a sweet scent stood nearby. Ringing laughter emanated from within.
Rustam unconsciously reached for his cheek, running his hand over the rough scars. The locals had only a few such marks, and the most horrific were the scars of healed burns on a couple of workers. The visiting bandits were covered in more traces of healed wounds and ulcers than the townspeople.
Ruda’s hand darted to her pistol as a wine-stained bandit stumbled out of the tavern, bellowing curses at the maid. He jumped to his feet, reaching for his knife, when a hole appeared in the center of his head. Staggering, the man fell facedown. The guard who had killed him sheathed his weapon and called for a couple of cleaners to remove the corpse.
No one even screamed.
“The governor is capable of maintaining order in his domain,” Latke said, glancing at Ruda.
“I only wanted to show respect,” the crusader lied.
“Noted.”
“Incredible.” Yeshua’s jaw dropped as he walked, turning around. “I’ve heard rumors about Draz’s influence, but this... damn, he runs an ironclad regime here!”
“What’s the point of a wild existence like your boss’s? What’s the benefit of power if you have to live in constant fear of losing everything?” Latke asked. “A more dignified future for the master’s servants is being built here, where everyone already has a place.” She stopped suddenly, giving Yeshua a hard slap, leaving a red mark on his skin. “To you, he’s a governor. This time, you’re pardoned.”
“Is it true that you can live to old age here?” Ney asked.
“Yes. Veterans are honored and cared for. Their children fill the ranks of guards and soldiers. How’s the situation in Latif’s wagon?” Latke asked Chernogor.
“Volatile as ever.”
“Then think about...”
Hearing the sound of machine gun fire, she stopped at the corner, raising her hand. Four of her dogs immediately rushed toward their owner, surrounding her, and only then did Rustam notice a small group of guards trailing after them at a distance of fifty paces. A figure swathed in dark robes flashed through the passages behind the buildings, pursued by occasional gunshots. The fugitive weaved between corners, attempting to break into a closed door with little success. His arm sank up to the elbow as he struck the lock, but he was then forced to roll away, miraculously surviving the bullets that pierced the wood.
Turning around, he opened fire on the street, mistakenly believing his pursuers were firing from there. The townspeople screamed, creating a stampede in their attempt to escape.
One of the giant dogs slammed its muzzle, forcibly pushing its owner out of harm’s way. The bullets struck the red skin, tugging at it before falling out harmlessly. The animal’s hind leg caught a small vending stand, inadvertently breaking it and sending several rows of colorful bottles rolling along the sidewalk. A wooden sign fell on the merchant and her daughter, causing them to stumble.
Right into the middle of the gunfire. Rustam rushed toward them, realizing a second after raising his shotgun, using the weapon as a shield, that he didn’t want to see another family destroyed. He heard the scrape of shells against his sleeve. A muzzle flash bloomed in the alley opposite.
“Capable of maintaining order, yeah?!” Ruda barked, shielding Rustam with her back. A bullet ricocheted off her breastplate, and she stomped, scaring away the drunken onlookers.
Latke raised a hand, but the crusader was faster. Without removing her pistol from its holster, she fired from the hip, reducing the man’s steel-clad hand to bloody shreds and leaving a lone finger dangling by its nerves.
“But I...” the man cried out, backing away.
The dog lunged forward at the snap of his fingers. With smooth grace, the beast flew over the butcher, coiling itself into a ball to squeeze into the alley. The man didn’t even have an opportunity to take a step back before the jaws closed on his upper half, ripping his torso in two and obediently spitting out the still-twitching half, which convulsively tried to squeeze out words.
The mangled body fell facedown in a spreading pool of blood, hissing loudly as severed cables and leaking chemicals from his power armor came into contact with the liquid. The dog endured the electric shocks calmly and walked backwards with unflappable grace, returning to its owner. An occasional brush of its hide left cracks in the alley walls.
“Thank you... thank you, thank you, sir!” the sobbing vendor choked out, clutching her daughter to her chest.
“This is yours, I think.” Rustam handed her one of the uncracked cans, smiling and feeling the intense gazes boring into his back. “My sister. Boss, I couldn’t...”
“I don’t give a damn what you can’t do!” Ney immediately came to his rescue, grabbing the boy by the scruff of the neck and hoisting him into the air. “You belong to the boss! You dare threaten his property again, and I’ll personally stab you in the groin, you little bastard.”
“How will that preserve our investment?” Yeshua asked.
Ruda and Chernogor burst out laughing. Ney gave a concealed, encouraging smile.
“Stop!” shouts rang out. The hapless killer’s pursuers finally emerged from the alleys, followed by a dark-skinned man in an orange robe. He was clutching a bleeding wound on his shoulder. Noticing the corpse, the panting man stopped, surrounded by ten bodyguards. “That bastard killed the accountant!”
“Again?” Latke asked. “You’ve lost your third clerk in a week, and you’re wounded yourself. Enough of this disgrace. Recognize the incompetence of your guards and finally accept the governor’s offer.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” The clerk bared his teeth. “The killers always worked in teams, and every time we caught them, the soldiers murdered the culprits, preventing us from interrogating the rabble. I demand...”
“There’s no need for gratitude for restoring order to the streets.”
“You can earn gratitude for maintaining this order, won by Overlord Paikan. Or is Draz incapable of such a simple task?”
Latke kicked a rolling can, spilling its contents. “Oops. Look at this. Your helplessness cost a subject her property. Compensate for the damage, scribe.” Turning her back on the enraged man, Latke nodded to Ruda. “Proper shot. Kiddo, you heard my advice...”
The dogs growled, and Rustam unexpectedly saw a strange hand, covered in silver necklaces and precious rings, grab Ruda by the wrist, turning the crusader around. He hiccupped, staring at the completely fresh dog that had glided unnoticed toward the group.
This creature stood on two legs. Dressed in a loose, snow-white silk dress with a long cape draped over her shoulders, the stranger’s long, elongated face smiled, the embers of her piercing amber eyes glinting. She smelled of exquisite oils, a turban hid her long ears, and the natural black fur of her pelt was as soft as exquisite clothing. Gold chains caught the dress, shifting as she moved, forming beautiful patterns.
“Ah, rare flower of the wastes, why don’t you take care of your beauty?” The stranger sang in a caring, obliging voice. Long fingers, ending in loose skin gathered at the tips, ran across Ruda’s cheek, lightly touching the swellings. “Exquisite, rare legs, a little healing, and you’ll become a magnet for men and women. Ditch this pack and join my menagerie, my cloven-hoofed beauty. You belong to soft pillows, the passionate confessions of admirers, baths, and admiration, not to that rough butcher Latif...”
“Get lost.” Ruda shoved the mutant in the chest, failing to knock her down. “I thought all Wolfkins served as foot soldiers in the Reclamation Army.”
Wolfkin! Rustam frantically recalled Ruda’s words and Decimus’s stories after class. The Wolfkins were a stable species of Abnormals, preserving their biological traits from generation to generation. They dwelled in isolated villages, maintaining a matriarchal system, rarely interacting with outsiders. They revered strength and honored the Dynast, serving him as loyal troops.
Decimus called them all deranged cannibals, obsessed with the thirst for battle.
“Then you know nothing about us,” the woman laughed musically, opening her grip and covering her muzzle, full of sharp fangs, with her paw. “Cruelty and deadly rivalry are tiresome. I’ve always dreamed of something different, and my precious, my small menagerie, providing exquisite pleasure for a modest fee, serves as a key to unlock many doors inaccessible to a soldier’s boot.” She snorted, taking out a blue fan decorated with long-necked birds. “The day is approaching midnight. Consider my offer, gentle lady…”
“Don’t dodge the question!” Latke approached the Wolfkin, unable to loom over her despite her power armor. “I don’t understand why you were permitted to set up your brothel of freaks, Davinia, but people usually run from gunfire. Strange to see you so close to the site of the death of one of Rabor’s sons.”
“Allow me to clear up any confusion!” Davinia didn’t even blink as the snarling beasts forced their way between the two women. “The honorable lord of this city has granted me permission to work here in exchange for a generous and well-deserved reward. Regarding your suspicions, the third rule of investigation is to ask who benefits from the crime? In what way could I, a complete stranger in this glorious city, profit from such a vile event…”
“You dare?” The bandit gripped the hilt of her weapon, her face hardening into a mask of barely contained anger. “You dare imply the governor’s involvement, you miserable stray?”
“Perish the thought,” the Wolfkin gasped, continuing to fan herself. “I was merely explaining the basis for my innocence. I don’t know why you mentioned our perfect host. But if my impudent train of thought has somehow offended my dear friend, please convey my respects and an invitation to visit us for true relaxation and incomparable bliss...”
“Go to hell with your platitudes.” Latke charged through the gathering crowd of onlookers, leading the group. “Clear the meat, protect the clerk, and convey our laws to those who have come!” She shouted at a saluting guard.
“Your acquaintances aren’t particularly grateful,” Chernogor remarked, nodding at the indignant, wounded man.
“Don’t pay attention to the ravings of these fanatics,” Latke said. “They’ve lost their heads over the terrorist attacks and are spreading rumors about the governor, falsely claiming he intends to cause trouble by opposing Paikan. Ungrateful cretins. All manner of dangerous rabble manages to slip inside during a storm. It’s happened before and will surely happen again. The governor always acts in the best interest of Volnitsa.”
“It seems Rabor is also a very volatile place,” Chernogor said.
Ruda caught up with Rustam, reaching for her gorget. He caught a glimpse of a brown bead between her fingers before she crushed the strange object.
