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They were alone. No other Taurans would dare to enter the arena. It was forbidden. Other Elite had arrived, brought by one of the three whilst the others readied themselves. The new arrivals provided a cordon of fear and a guarantee that honour would be preserved.

“How many Elite are there?” asked Eldrid, staring at the rough circle of armoured bodies.

“I do not know Lord,” replied Gorkus, stretching his muscles, “I only know of these.”

“I am a Sargeant, not a Lord,” protested Eldrid, but Gorkus just smiled.

“How the f**k are we going to get out of this?” gruffed Eldrid, ignoring Gorkus’ mute reproval.

“Lord?” Gorkus seemed puzzled.

“They can just kill us, whatever happens…” Eldrid indicated the rest of the Elite.

“No, they cannot,” replied Gorkus, “this is a matter of honour between myself and these three. The others cannot interfere.”

“And after?” asked Eldrid, fingering the rifle he still held in his hands.

“When I win, they will accept the judgement and let us leave,” replied Gorkus.

Eldrid wanted to asked him what would happen if he lost, but decided that the answer was probably obvious. Also, undermining the Elite’s confidence at this stage of the proceedings seemed counter-productive.

“Okay,” he said, slapping the newly revealed man on his huge shoulder, “but remember we have other business pending.”

Gorkus nodded, “I will quickly teach them some manners Lord, and then we can be on our way.”

“Very well,” said Eldrid, “but make it a lesson they never forget.”

With a small bow Gorkus stepped forward, beckoning his three foes onward.

Eldrid knew that this was stupid. He counted at least thirty Elite making up the circle and knew that there were others beyond. Somehow though, he trusted Gorkus; the big man had sworn his loyalty and so far had not let him down. It was strange though, no sound came from the armoured ranks. Similar gatherings of Church Guard soldiers would have brought forth playground exuberance; cheering, name calling or shouts of encouragement. Here, only an expectant silence gripped the crowd of onlookers and Eldrid unconsciously held his breath.

Chapter Six

Cadaen City
Caer Seus
Fortress Worlds
Second Church Protectorate

The truck travelled relatively smoothly along the pock-marked roadway, its stabilizers compensating for the uneven surface. Captain Franc glanced sideways at the Tauran driving, uncomfortable with the knowledge that a short time ago they had been enemies. The Tauran was unusually clean, his uniform a drab brown which clashed incongruously with his red skin. Small horn buds poked through curly hair adding to the non-human appearance.
 
“I don’t bite,” said the Tauran, grinning, his teeth startlingly white against his skin.
 
“Hopefully not,” muttered Franc, looking back to where Eldrid and the Elite flanked the vehicle.
 
“Elias,” said the Tauran, “my name is Elias.”

Franc frowned, unused to such courtesy from his enemy.

“We are not all bad,” continued Elias, “the madness is less obvious in our class.”
 
“Your class?”

Franc was curious in spite of himself.

“Tauran society has many layers,” said Elias, “although the majority, I have to admit, is made up of crazed killers. You have the Elite, a conundrum in themselves, and the Known like me. We are little more than slaves, bound to our masters by oath and the threat of death. Our skill and knowledge is recognized as a valued commodity.”
 
Elias watched Franc’s reaction before continuing.

“Those of us lucky enough to be owned by the Elite are at least fed and watered."
 
“What?” Franc was shocked, and then he noticed Elias’ grin. “I take it that you, unusually, have a sense of humour?”
 
“Not unusually,” replied Elias, “but it’s normally well hidden.”

“So, you had to come?” asked Franc, “when your masters changed allegiance?”

“Oh no,” said Elias, “we came gladly. Gorkus and his people may be strange, but at least they talk to us.”
 
Elias was still laughing as he edged the truck clear of the city limits, changing course slightly as they neared the outskirts a wood.
 
*

The truck rolled to a halt, taking advantage of the cover provided. They needed to rest, not all of the Church Guard were in the best of health and Eldrid needed to pace them.
 
“Get your men down,” he said to Gorkus, “we need to make better time. The Church Guard will have to ride in their place.”
 
“Yes Lord,” said Gorkus, before moving to carry out Eldrid’s orders.

“Lord?” asked Franc who had stepped down from the truck’s cabin.

“A long story, Sir,” said Eldrid, saluting as he noticed his Captain.

Franc held out a hand, “I never thanked you for saving us.”

“No need, Sir,” Eldrid said, “you would have done the same for me.”

Franc did not answer. Deep down he knew that he would not have gone back for Eldrid. His first duty was to reach whatever remaining Church Guard there were, and continue the fight. There was no room for sentiment, yet Eldrid’s priority had been different.
 
“Why did you come back and save me?” he asked.

“I promised the General,” said Eldrid simply, as though that were reason enough.
 
“And your duty to the Church?”

Eldrid laughed, “I joined the Church Guard because your uncle asked me to, not because of a misguided sense of faith.”
 
Franc’s angry retort was cut short as Medina scurried back to join them. He ignored Franc, adding to his anger.
 
“Taurans in the woods, Sarge,” he said looking back over his shoulder, “and coming this way.”
 
“It looks as though I still have some work to do, in order to keep my promise to the General,” said Eldrid, motioning Gorkus to his side. “I think it would be best if you kept going, Sir, and left me to deal with this.”
 
Eldrid’s use of his rank somewhat calmed the Captain, yet he could not feel but that his authority was being usurped.
 
“It is up to me to decide…” he began.

“No,” said Gorkus, joining Eldrid, “our Lord has spoken. You will obey.”

Franc’s retort died on his lips as the other Elite arrived to hear Eldrid’s commands.
 
“Medina!” shouted Eldrid.

“Sir!” replied the little man, gripping his rifle tightly.

“You and Walsh help the Captain,” and as Medina started to protest, “now!”

“Sir!” said Medina, glancing disdainfully at Captain Franc, “but remember you still owe me that beer.”
 
“You’ll collect,” said Eldrid, smiling and putting his arm around the soldier’s shoulders, “but not if you let anything happen to the Captain…”
 
“Understood…Sir,” said Medina, motioning to Walsh.

“Take the truck, Sir,” said Eldrid to Franc, “we’ll catch up.”

Franc nodded, tight-lipped, and turned away. He would deal with Eldrid later.

Two of the Taurans climbed from the back of the truck, dragging one of the heavy bundles from its back. They unwrapped it carefully as the vehicle moved off. Eldrid watched Elias as a disassembled suit of armour appeared piece by piece before him.

“You can’t go into battle underdressed, Lord,” he said smiling.

“This one,” grumbled Gorkus, “has already talked too much.”

Elias continued smiling and began to select pieces.

“How the hell do you expect me to wear that?” asked Eldrid, “Two of me wouldn’t fit into it!”

“Watch Lord,” said Elias, placing one of the pieces against Eldrid’s leg. His fingers moved deftly, pressing against the ermour which seemed to melt and flow, adapting to Eldrid’s smaller dimensions.

“What is this?” he asked in a tone of surprise, “Magic?”

“Tech-no-lo-gy,” quipped Elias, receiving a buffet across the back of his head from Gorkus, “…Lord.”

Looking closer, Eldrid saw a row of small depressions in the metal which reacted to Elias’ rapidly moving fingers.

“it seems as though it’s alive,” he commented, as piece after piece covered his body.

“It is,” agreed Elias, but not in the way you expect.”

Eldrid felt a strange revulsion as his helmet snapped into place. Perhaps it was better not to ask.

*

“Enough!” snapped Franc, switching off the engine.

“Lord?” asked the Tauran driving the vehicle.

“I said enough!” snarled Franc, “and I am not your Lord!”

He leaned out of the open window by his side, “Medina!”

“Sir?” asked Medina, jumping down from the rear of the truck.

“I refuse,” said Franc, “to continue with this charade. We are at war with the Taurans and we will not lead them to where the rest of our men are. Get these Tauran scum out of my sight.”

“But the Sargeant said…” protested Walsh, leaning over the truck bed to speak.

“I, not the Sargeant, am in charge here,” spat Franc, “and you will do well to remember that, soldier!”

Walsh jerked back as if struck and Medina opened his mouth as if to speak.

“Yes?” asked Franc, as the other Church Guard moved to obey him.

“Nothing,” said Medina, “just that as Walshie said, Sargeant Wild will not be happy.”

“You will address me as Sir,” roared Franc, knowing that he was over-reacting, but unable to contain his anger.

“Sir,” drawled Medina, watching the Taurans as they were roughly bundled to one side, “and now what do you want us to do? Shoot them?”

Franc ignored the surly tone and climbed back into the cab, “Obey orders, soldier. That is what I expect you to do.”

Medina saw Walsh kick a bundle free o the truck and deliberately ignored the pistol handles protruding from within. Walsh stared at him questioningly, and Medina shook his head slightly. Now was not the time, but as soon as they could they would leave this mad fool and join up with their Sargeant.

Happy with his small victory Franc gave the order to leave, ignoring the forlorn figures by the roadside. Walsh and Medina surreptitiously moved away from the other Church Guards, making sure that their weapons were close at hand. Darkness would soon enough and they would return and pick up the Taurans.

*

David stared after the retreating truck. He was a slave and as such understood the concept of ill-treatment. That did not mean that he had to like it though.

The Captain reminded him of the officers within the Tauran command. Hatred was common, and those without protection were always treated badly. Those other two, Medina and Walsh, were different. They had left pistols, although David was not sure of how effective he would be with one of the weapons. He and his companion must protect their Lord’s property, whatever the cost.

Perhaps their Lord would deign to remember them? They could but hope.

Living Tiny Armor. Nice!

Chapter Seven

Fatua Forest
Cadaen City
Caer Seus
Fortress Worlds
Second Church Protectorate

The sound of twigs breaking underfoot alerted an already skittish David. Unaccustomed to camping outdoors, the Tauran technician stayed close to the roadside, building an overly large fire. The writhing flames cast flickering shadows on the undergrowth, adding to nerves already overstrung by fear.

“What was that?” asked David of his companion, expecting no reply but reassured somewhat by the sound of his own quavering voice.

The noise came again, this time accompanied by bestial grunting.

“Only an animal?” asked David hopefully, clutching his pistol more tightly. He looked wildly from side to side, praying for help, but seeing none. His fears were more than founded, as a group of Tauran warriors shuffled from the darkness. It was their grunting and wheezing which had alerted him and David knew that the night did not promise to be pleasant.

“Die!” he screamed, closing his eyes and firing his pistol.

*

“Shots,” said Walsh, stopping in his tracks and pointing ahead.

“Really?” gasped Medina, resting the butt of his weapon on the floor, “I’d not noticed.”

With a grin, Walsh started running again, leaving Medina to catch up.

They had slipped away from Franc’s encampment once full dark had fallen, preferring their new Sargeant to the increasingly erratic Captain. Their careful route had paralleled the main road, but now they abandoned stealth for speed. Walsh was unsure whether it was Eldrid in trouble, but found it more likely that their new Tauran companions had been caught by the enemy. Whatever the truth, he and Medina were now committed.

Rounding a bend in the road, Walsh saw a group of Tauran soldiers advancing on David. Of the other Tauran Known, there was no sign. David’s resistance would not last much longer, especially as it seemed to consist only of emptying the auto-pistol’s magazine as quickly as possible. Did he have his eyes shut?

The boom of Medina’s rifle was followed shortly by the shattering impact of the expelled round, which smashed the lead Tauran spinning to one side. Walsh waded in with his own weapon, placing careful bursts of fire into their enemies’ backs. The element of surprise was quickly lost, but as he dived for cover, Walsh noted four prone Tauran bodies, with a fifth crawling away into the brush by the roadside. This was less than satisfying, as he counted at least eight more standing.

“Whose idea was this?” asked Medina, sliding to an untidy stop by his friend’s side.

“Yours,” replied Walsh, between careful bursts of fire, “and if you don’t mind me saying, not one of your best.”

Medina laughed, as he blew one more Tauran off his feet. The sound of approaching vehicles entered into their world of sound.

“Ours?” asked Walsh.

“We aren’t that lucky,” grunted Medina, firing again, “maybe we should’ve stayed with Franc after all.”

Walsh ignored his statement, knowing it for what it was. Neither he nor Medina could go back now, they had made their choice.

The anger overcame Eldrid the moment he saw his men in trouble. It evolved into rage as he realized how outmatched they were. This rage overwhelmed him, causing him to forget all else but the Tauran’s destruction. Strength flowed through him with each stride, augmenting his already peaking adrenalin. He raced ahead of Gorkus and the other Elite, astonishing them with his speed and ferocity. Eldrid carried no weapon, his pistol tossed aside in his blinding fury before beginning his mad charge.

“Lord,” cautioned Gorkus, aware of the suit’s innate abilities.

Elias had not lied when he hinted at it being alive. Tauran shaman’s chanted and sacrificed, whilst the armorer’s tamed the metal. These unholy priests added something; wove energy, summoned spirits or even imprisoned demons within the metallic folds. Whatever it was they did within their secret chambers worked, embuing the technologically advanced suits with something akin to sentience. Gorkus and his kin were free of powerful emotions; logic, reason, honour and duty bound them. Eldrid was something else.

Battle madness Eldrid had heard of, but never experienced. Now it possessed him. He felt lighter than air and capable of anything. The auto-cannon rounds were abysmally slow, seeming to hang in the air, giving him more than enough time to avoid them.

Passing one Tauran warrior he casually reached out, cupping the man’s chin in one hand and savagely twisting with the other. An audible crack signaled the abrupt end of the Tauran. Effortlessly, he tossed the corpse aside and leapt atop the nearest truck. He wrenched the barrel of the auto-cannon round and downwards, sending shells into the cabin, shredding men and machine.

Momentarily satisfied and with a massive twist of his shoulders he ripped the weapon free of its mounting, holding it lovingly as he turned it on its previous owners. He hardly noticed the cannon’s enormous recoil, as he walked the gun across a second truck. The Elite finally caught up with him, their massive blows denting and shredding metalwork.

Inanimate objects would not sate Eldrid’s hunger and he leapt from the truck and raced towards the remaining Tauran soldiery. All of them must die, and he would take care of it personally.

Cadaen City
Caer Seus
Fortress Worlds
Second Church Protectorate

Fold space groaned as the huge transport craft exited into real space. The two guarding Tauran frigates passed unnoticed through the hole rent in the protesting ether as they charged to take up their protective positions. Artur-Ap-Naib heard the news of their arrival whilst he was supervising the torture of prisoners. A priest and soldier writhed screaming before him, as he searched for directions to the remaining Church Guard positions.

He left them in the tender care of one of his minions and hurried to the control room where a holo-message was patched through to his personal console.

“Ap-Naib…” drawled a familiar and hated voice.

“Ap-Ban,” he sneered in reply, “your duties seem to have been reduced to ferrying my troops. How fitting...”

“Laugh if you will,” replied his peer, “but my stay here is short. I was asked to make sure this cannon-fodder reached you, and then I have to leave for a much more appropriate assignment.”

Seething inside with a desperate need to know, Ap-Naib somehow restrained himself. Rivalry was all in the back-stabbing, corpse-climbing world of the Taurans and he refused to give Ap-Ban even the smallest of victories. Their Master favoured Ap-Naib more and would tell him when appropriate. It still galled him though.

“What exactly did you bring me?” he asked calmly, the disappointment in Ap-Ban’s eyes giving him some small comfort.

“Two more regiments, one of infantry and one of armour. That should be enough even for you.”

“No more Elite?” Ap-Naib asked innocently, knowing the answer would clearly state his Master’s intent.

“No, our Master said that these were sufficient,” Ap-Ban said depreciatingly, “and that even you would know what to do with them.”

Ap-Naib’s smile startled his tormentor, it was certainly not the expected reaction.

“Oh,” said Artur calmly, “Of course I know what to do with them, I’m just surprised he never shared his real plans with you.”

He was gratified to hear his rival’s curses just before he cut off the signal.

Chapter Eight

Fatua Forest
Cadaen City
Caer Seus
Fortress Worlds
Second Church Protectorate

General Franc checked the readouts from the scanning equipment again; an almost manic habit now they neared Tauran-controlled areas. The General’s command vehicle stole quietly through the night, the other three lighter vehicle humming along behind. His nephew had insisted on coming, even picking his own crew. That in itself was a message to take note of, any malcontents readily identified for future reference.

Long-range data was still unavailable. The Taurans could easily have found and tracked their base if there was too much data traffic. The General preferred more old-fashioned and safer methods of information gathering for now. He was in fact saving his more sophisticated equipment for the right occasion. To use it now would be as a minimum wasteful and could even be suicidal. From what his nephew had told him, Eldrid may well have found an advantage they could use.

Gut feel and previous actions made the Sargeant useful to the General’s eyes. These Elite had proven a bane in the Church Guard’s skirmishes with them. Now that they had some of their own, maybe they could even up the contest a little.

“Sir?” whispered his driver.

“Yes, Cohen,” he replied, “what is it?”

“Not sure, Sir,” said the young soldier, “there’s something not quite right. These local readings don’t make any sense.”

“Tell the others to hang back,” commented the General, peeking over the soldier’s shoulder, “we’ll take a look ourselves.”

They were nearing the intense stretch of woodland. To their left was a small range of hills, and to their right a depression in which river water pooled, forming a makeshift lake. The heat sensors flickered hot and cold, indicating something; indistinct yet threatening.

Behind them, the three other air-cars took up a defensive position. General Franc watched on his board as their weapons systems activated.

“Okay, son,” he said, “take us in slowly.”

“Yes, General,” replied the driver, inching his controls forwards, “all weapons tracking.”

As they cleared the last full cover, the lake began to steam. Gouts of water erupted skywards as an Attack Shuttle surged from beneath the lake. From the nearest hillside rockets arched down, peppering the surrounding area.

“Get us out of here,” shouted the General, it’s a trap!”

In the second vehicle, Capitan Franc watched awestruck as the shuttle burst clear, water streaming down its sides.

“Sir, do I fire?” asked his driver, “Sir?”

“What?” asked Franc, still dazed.

“Do I fire Sir,” the man asked again, urgency tinging his voice.

“No.” said Franc.

“No?” queried the man, shaken by his Capitan’s response.

“Are you deaf?” screamed Franc, “someone needs to survive this debacle. Now move!”

His excuses sounded weak, even to his own ears, but Franc’s ego would quickly turn his actions into prudence. None of the other vehicles followed, despite his screamed orders. Instead they powered forwards, their auto-cannons firing in a futile attempt to distract the Shuttle. Tauran troops broke from cover, howling their challenges as they rushed to intercept the fleeing vehicle.

“Fire!”

Now the Capitan was anxious, brushing his driver aside and taking control of his car’s weapons. He fired indiscriminately, clearing a path through the rapidly closing circle. Once again he had survived, leaving his Uncle and his men behind.