Chapter Twelve
Whiterock
The weather was cold and drizzly the entire way to Whiterock. Add to that, the terrain gradually became more hilly, which made for some difficulty in getting the heavily loaded wagons up the steeper parts of the roadway, slowing down their progress. Along the route, conversation was sparse, if at all.
Lucien said nothing about his uneasiness, which continued to gnaw at him during the trek. With his parents in close proximity, especially his mother with her Mutah hearing, he didn’t dare. Even if he’d felt like it or wanted to, Yulen asked for reduced noise as the miles went by.
“Don’t forget that these are not just Damaged. They’re also Mutah, which means they’ll be aware of us approaching long before we see or hear them,” the battle lord explained in a soft voice.
“How will we know if Whiterock is safe?” Paas asked.
“Good question,” Renken quipped.
“We won’t,” Atty admitted.
Mastin whispered, “What’s our plan if Whiterock is occupied? Do we try to take it back? Or do we go around and avoid any confrontation?”
“We’ll have to see what the situation is before we make a decision,” Yulen admitted.
They continued on for a few more hours, never stopping as a whole for a break, as was normal protocol. The only time anyone broke ranks was for a quick chance to relieve himself. They ate their rations from their saddles as the weather went from drizzly to a light but steady rain. Fortunately, being encased in their metal armor kept most of the moisture at bay. If they’d been wearing only their soft leather armor, everyone would have been soaked to the skin within their first few hours on the road.
It was growing dark when they topped a small rise. The compound lay in the distance atop another hill, barely visible in the fog. Lucien stared at the walled structure as Yulen raised his arm, fist clenched in the signal to halt.
“Shouldn’t we have been hailed by the outpost guard by now?” Mastin remarked.
In answer, Yulen glanced back at his men. Lucien saw his father look to the two seconds before eyeing him, then turn back to Atty. “Getting anything?”
She gave a quick shake of her head.
“What do you think?” Paxton queried. “Bad strategy not to man the outposts? Or maybe the compound fell.”
“It’s possible the compound lost too many men for the battle lord to assign perimeter guards,” Atty suggested.
“The last thing you should withdraw are your perimeter guards,” Yulen countered. “Even if your numbers are sorely depleted, you can’t afford allowing your enemy the opportunity to sneak up on you.”
“Dad?”
Yulen gave his son a quizzical eye. Lucien motioned toward the compound. “Why aren’t there any lights? There should at least be some signal lights along the top of the wall.”
The battle lord whirled around to double-check, as did those gathered nearby. If keeping a perimeter guard was imperative, lighting the compound walls was more so.
“Guess we know who’s in charge now,” Mastin remarked, silently confirming what they all were thinking. Whiterock was no longer under Normal control.
“Do you think they know we’re here?” Renken whispered.
“If there’s anyone there at all,” Echo wondered aloud. “Maybe it’s been abandoned.”
Lucien peered back at the troops lined up behind them. They moved in ranks of twos, sometimes threes, along the roadway. Because of the inclement weather, they didn’t carry any torches. Neither was there any moonlight to reflect off their metal armor. And they were too far away for the sound of the horses or their hooves on the packed earth to be heard. For the moment, they were invisible to the compound.
“Only one way to find out.” Atty slipped off her mare. To no one’s surprise, Echo also dismounted. She gave the young woman a curious stare. “I think should do this alone.”
“Not without backup,” Echo countered, making it clear there would be no further arguing on the matter. Seeing the woman’s reasoning, Atty gave a nod of agreement.
“We’ll retreat to the forest and wait for you there,” Yulen told her. Lucien watched him lean over his stallion to softly add, “Be careful, beloved.” His parents kissed, then Atty took off on foot toward the compound with the warrior woman right behind her.
The battle lord gave the signal to dismount. He then signaled to Paxton to take the rear squad of mostly New Bearinger soldiers and disburse into the woods on the north side of the road. Everyone else accompanied Yulen and Mastin past the trees on the south side.
They led their mounts deep into the forest, tying the reins to bared branches before returning to the tree line to wait. Lucien found a position where he could see the compound, and crouched down behind a pile of toppled trunks. He felt Iain approach but said nothing when the physician plopped down beside him.
“Anything?” His friend’s voice was barely audible.
“If you’re asking me if I can see or hear anything that you can’t, the answer is no.” Lucien glanced over at where the young man was pulling off his gloves with his teeth. “What are you doing?”
“I want to check your head wound.”
“Now? Can’t it wait?”
“It won’t take but a moment.”
“It’s too dark to see anything.”
“I don’t need to examine it. I just want to make sure the bandage is still dry.”
“It’s raining.”
“The trees are keeping the worst of the rain off of us.” Despite the near darkness, Iain’s irritation was evident.
Grimacing, Lucien carefully removed his helmet and turned around to let the physician do what he needed to do. A few yards away he could barely make out his father deep in discussion with Mastin and Renken, as well as a couple of captains of the guard. Like him, the battle lord had chosen a position to keep sight of the compound and not the road, leaving the route to be covered by his soldiers.
A pinprick of pain streaked through his head. Hissing through his teeth, Lucien ducked his head. “Are you done?”
“Sorry,” Iain apologized. “It’s still dry, thank goodness. You can put your helmet back on. I’d like to check your neck wound, but I’ll wait until morning to do that…Mister Grumpy.”
Lucien smiled, unable to help himself. It was a nickname Iain had tagged him with when they were kids growing up because Lucien had always been the serious one. The killjoy of the group of three D’Jacques children plus their uncle, who was also their age.
Iain started to leave, but Lucien placed a hand on his arm to hold him back. “Where are you going?”
“I was told Farger’s complaining of a toothache. I thought I’d go check on him while we were stopped.” The physician leaned closer. “Any idea when we’ll pitch camp for the night?”
“I have the feeling we won’t be. We may remain here on watch until Mom and the others return.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know.”
Iain gave a disheartened sigh. “I take it there’ll be no fires, either, to help dry out and get warm by.”
“’Fraid not. If Damaged have taken over the compound, we can’t let them know we’re here.”
“What if the compound’s empty? What if the Damaged overran it, then left?”
Lucien started to answer him, when Iain continued. “Or maybe the battle lord managed to defeat them, but he’s chosen to keep the compound in the dark to make it appear as if it’s been abandoned, and discourage any further Damaged from deciding to attack.”
It was a possibility that made sense.
“I think—”
A movement caught his eye. A shadow. Black upon black. A figure that scuttled from one distant tree to another. So quickly, it was almost impossible to tell if his eyes had played tricks on him. At the same time, those pinpricks of apprehension that had been plaguing him the entire time they’d been on the road became more pronounced.
“Luc—”
“Shh!”
Slowly, yet keeping his eyes on the area where he thought he’d seen the shadow, Lucien crawled over to the small knot of people where his father was located.
“—can’t take anything at face value,” the battle lord noted, then paused when his son joined them.
Lucien gave a little wave in the direction of the trees. “There’s something out there. I thought I saw something move.”
“You thought?” There was a slight emphasis on the second word.
Lucien steeled himself and tried not to let his father’s disbelief sway him. “I’m also getting… No, that’s not true. I’ve been having this feeling of uneasiness all day.”
“What feeling of uneasiness?” Renken murmured.
Lucien shook his head. “I can’t explain it.”
He sensed Renken turning to the battle lord. “Has Atty been getting any of those telltale antsy feelings, too?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Yulen admitted. “Luc, how many times have you supposedly seen something move?”
“Just once.”
Someone groaned softly. Someone else snickered. No one believed him. To make matters worse, Lucien was also beginning to think he’d been mistaken.
“My son, you may be hallucinating.” The despair in his father’s voice was pronounced, as if it was a portent of things to come.
Lucien started to turn to look at him to object, when the shadow moved again. This time it was closer. Not by much. A few yards at the most. But there was no mistaking the fact that it was slowly advancing toward them.
He reacted without thinking, drawing his dagger instead of his sword because it was less wieldy and not as likely to get caught in the tangle of thicket surrounding them. Although his battle skills were less than noteworthy, his tracking skills were top-notch, allowing him to swiftly advance on the tree where the figure was supposedly hiding behind without making a sound.
He focused his senses on his surroundings, and his ears caught the barely perceptible sound of breathing. Keeping low, he rounded the trunk and slammed his body against the figure paused there. At the same time, he pressed the dagger’s blade against the figure’s throat, and the enemy suddenly froze.
“Who are you?” he demanded in a low voice. “Identify yourself!”
The icy cold point of something metallic suddenly pressed against the side of his throat, exactly between his high collar and the bottom edge of his helmet. He knew it didn’t belong to the person he’d pinned to the tree, which could only mean one thing…
“Drop your blade, stranger. I’m only going to tell you once, or else I’ll slice your head off your body faster than you can move.”