The Everburning City

Act 1, Part 6, Chapter 1

Valen

"Captain!"

Mildred's scream was hoarse and raw, stripped of the sort of carefulness people put into even a single heartbeat before they do something. It was the kind of scream Valen had let loose when the fires bloomed inside his grandfather's school, the kind Hendricks had screamed when Darius Tulwar was pulled down by Gloamtaken on the causeway from the Last Wall.

Valen understood that scream, even before his head spun around and he was looking back down the street. He already knew why Mildred yelled, his mind already recalling the trouble with the fuses. Mildred was good, having her and Fauth stand at the same level in their mechanics specialty was nearly absurd, and the young soldier was already working towards ranking in demolitions and artillery. If she couldn't get those fuses to light, odds are no one sort of Vincent could have.

Which meant the Captain had something else in mind, when he ordered them to run.

Captain Dremora was standing in the middle of the street, a Salamander in each hand. The guns were pointed towards each building on his left and right, as if he was making himself into some sort of bridge. Strangely, Valen realized the stance was also used in signal flags, and was often a short-hand way of saying 'stand clear'.

A half-dozen Gloamtaken clung to him, biting and scratching and trying to drive him off his feet. One was trying to bite through the collar of his padded coat into his neck, another was scratching at his face — blood and other fluid now dribbled down beside the captain's nose from one eye.

Rhavin Dremora looked up, the one eye he had left met Valen's gaze, and the Captain of the Cadavalan Rangers smiled.

Fire erupted from the barrels of his guns, and the buildings flanking the captian tore themselves apart. The captain was flung forward, along with the Gloamtaken clinging to him, and all of them disappeared behind a cloud of black dust.

Valen wrapped his scarf around his mouth, put his hands up to shield his eyes, and ran into the cloud of smoke as it washed over them. He crouched low, and took slow, blind steps forward, as if he was trying to sneak through the dark, not shifting his weight until his lead foot found purchase. His eyes stung, the air tasted like smoke and rock, and his hands were so coated in dust it felt like he had slipped-on mittens full of ash.

Another six steps in, and something grabbed him by his outstretched arm. Valen braced his arm and his held, not knowing who or what had seized him, but rested his other hand on his knife. The first pull didn't say much, it could be someone trying to pull him away from the wreckage, and it could be a creature trying to kill him.

Valen didn't know for sure, didn't draw his knife, until whatever it was tried biting his arm. The padding held; tore a little, but held. His knife didn't meet as much frustration, as the creature went limp and slid away into the blackness. Valen closed his eyes back into slits, and stumbled forward.

He could barely make out a shape by his feet. Someone lying on the ground, but the white scarf billowing in the wind was distinctive enough for Valen as he crouched down. A quick brush of his hand over the body, finding the knife and the sword belt where he should, confirmed what Valen had wanted to find, and dearly wished he hadn't.

"Captain," Valen said, not expecting an answer. He reached, nearly blinded by the smoke and dust, to lift the captain's fallen form onto his shoulder. He moved both hands to the captain's sides, rolled him up onto his shoulder, and pushed himself up.

He walked for what had to be at least a solid minute, taking slow and careful steps though a street he couldn't see. Any piece of broken stone or building debris would find him completely unawares, and carrying the captain would mean his mistakes were badly punished. And he didn't have the time it would take to heal from a sprained ankle. This invasion could be over by then, one way or another.