The Old City

0.10: Costly Miscalculations

Firkaan glanced around the square to see Rhys at the entrance to Mirkwood, setting up his cannon while two others pulled driftwood patchwork off nearby buildings to set up another barricade. Around the corner, Pernita had finally brought squad four to the edge of the road.

Seven of the Black Phoenix archers were still in position, arrows notched, ready to fire as soon as anyone moved from their alleys. The two his own archers had shot hung limply, dead over the iron railing.

Can't delay any longer, I suppose...

Firkaan took a heavy breath and stretched as a grey fur engulfed his arms and legs. Claws extended from his fingernails and glistened like razors in the rising sunlight. His eyes narrowed to a slant and fangs protruded from his elongating maw. This marriage of wolf and man stood just over seven feet, heightened by forelegs that propelled him upward and provided tremendous force. His heavy breath turned into a deep growl and the taste of blood, already on the periphery of notice came into perspective. He smelled his prey.

Rhys and Pernita had watched this transformation with a mix of fascination and horror. Firkaan gave them both nod as he propelled himself out of the street and into Verusian Square. His new form took the archers by surprise, and they lost their one opportunity to track him and shoot. By the time they had refocused, he was halfway across the square and Rhys's cannon was in place.

But it was not yet necessary. A single leap brought Firkaan to the roof. The frozen archers were helpless as he grabbed bow after bow, crushed them between his claws, and threw them off the building. Without a glance at the mangled corpses beneath him, Firkaan raised a fist to the air then triumphantly opened his palm.

Rhys knew the signal and loosed the cannon upon the stronghold. Firkaan jumped to another building as the stronghold's side exploded and screams echoed throughout the square. He nodded at Pernita, who then moved the fourth squad's barricade forward.

It was going too smoothly.

Everything is wrong. These guards shouldn't have be here...and where the Hell is Granada even after we took care of everyone outside? It doesn't make sense.

Even Firkaan's sharp eyes couldn't make sense of anything inside the dust and rubble of the stronghold.

This isn't right. Granada isn't here, which means our intelligence is wrong. He's at another base, but if anyone else in Silver Bear crosses that freak...

I HAVE TO FIND HIM.

"I'm speaking now to anyone still alive in that shithole!" Firkaan shouted. "If you stay that way, come out with your hands up and surrender to my squads. If you'd prefer to die, Pernita would be happy to oblige. Truly, you'd make her day."

"Please come out fighting!" Pernita interjected.

Firkaan jumped down and with one eye on the rubble, released his transformation as he walked toward his people. "How many do you think are still in there?" he asked.

"A couple dozen?" Rhys suggested. "They definitely had more people than expected, right? I heard they might have four men on the roof, not ten."

"I doubt they have that many. It was too easy, like they baited us here. Like they knew we were coming. The archers were a bluff to keep us away for as long as possible and buy time. If there were many more, I'd hear them."

"What do we do then?" Rhys asked. "We can't clear the building until the dust settles, and they have an entrance to the Underground. They could easily scatter."

"We can't let that happen. Rhys, you stay topside and make sure anyone who comes out complies with my order just now. Make an example of the first one who doesn't. Send four guys through our Underground entrance and pick off anyone who tries to escape. When the dust settles, send six men inside in teams of three to clear it and take control of any other exits we don't know about."

"I thought you said I could hunt them?" Pernita complained.

"You and I have bigger prey to hunt. Granada isn't here, so he's somewhere else. We need to find him before Marek does."

"You don't trust the Lord?"

"Granada is a bad matchup for them. Marek can find a solution, but it will cost us greatly." He stretched again and asked, "Can you keep up?"

Pernita scoffed. "Who do you think you are, Jarcier the Quick?"

They were about to head out when Firkaan realized another flaw in the morning's events. He grabbed Rhys by the arm and turned him around. "You said ten archers?"

"Yes, I counted again after I got to Mirk–"

His sentence caught as an arrow struck his throat with such force it pinned him to the ground.

"Pernita, after him!" Firkaan barked. "Everyone else, find cover!"

He covered Rhys's flailing body, cut the shaft of the arrow, and pulled him up carefully to get the arrow out. Rhys was losing too much blood even as their medic knelt next to them and tried to seal the wound with a spell. He gurgled, trying to release some final words. He reached out to Firkaan but his strength couldn't last. It fell to the ground and he died, eyes glazing over.

Firkaan took the boy's hand and squeezed, wishing he could have been just moments faster. He allowed himself a second to mourn and then regretted it, as he realized another mistake he had made.

"PERNITA, STOP!" roared Firkaan. He caught her as her blade was an inch from the archer's own throat. Annoyed, she obeyed and waited as Firkaan walked over. "We need him alive so he can tell us what the Hell we just walked into. Do what you want to him, but get truth."

The evil in Pernita's smile gave him chills and their prisoner soiled himself.

"My pleasure."