Fall of the Spectrum

Chapter Twenty, Part Two

It took every shred of self-control Gwen possessed not to let out a terrified whimper at the blurry expanse of ground far below, hugging the tree trunk as her gaze roved over the uneven pockets of darkness. Holes or rocks, there was no way to tell.

"Come now, Gwen," Forneus chided her, though there was humour in his voice. "You must know by now that I'd never let you fall."

"And you must know by now that fear is seldom rational," she shot back. Taking a steadying breath, she added, "Couldn't we have scouted from somewhere nearer to the ground?"

Even as she said it, she could see movement about twenty feet ahead, the whisper of scraping leaves reaching her ears despite the distance. When she cast a nervous glance in Forneus's direction, it was to see him put a finger unnecessarily to his lips, the silver of his eyes a stark contrast to the darkness pervading their surroundings. If she hadn't been worried about bringing unwanted attention to them from the figures patrolling below, she might have pointed out that his eyes would give them away long before her voice would.

Forneus edged toward her slowly, one hand held out to her. Without a word, Gwen took hold, and just as slowly, rose on shaking legs, bracing her free hand against the tree trunk. The figures were getting closer now, but judging by their idle chatter, they didn't know that she and Forneus were there. Still, Gwen's heart hammered against her ribcage, filling her ears with its frantic beating until it was almost impossible to make out what the figures were saying.

Forneus seemed able to hear them though, gazing intently as first one, then another reached the group of trees surrounding the elm they were hidden in. Seven figures in all stood in a semicircle, completely unaware that they were being watched from above. By a stroke of luck, one of them struck a match, bathing both his face and that of his companions in a soft, orange glow while he lit what smelled like a cigar. The subtle scent of vanilla wafted up to Gwen despite the distance between her and the ground.

Feeling a sharp itch in her nose, Gwen squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to sneeze. That was the last thing they needed, even if there were only seven of them below. She didn't doubt Forneus could take them down in five seconds flat, but with the way their luck had been going lately, she didn't want to jeopardize the mission either.

When the urge to sneeze faded, Gwen released a quiet sigh of relief, and returned her attention to the figures. Unfortunately, now that the cigar-smoker had put out the match, she couldn't make out any of their faces well enough to tell just what they were.

If only I could get a good look, I could take on one of their forms! And then when their backs were turned, Forneus could—wait. That's it!

She turned to Forneus, intending to ask him in a whisper if he could tell what they were with his night vision, when one of the voices below caught her attention.

"I hope they get here soon. I'm getting tired of just waitin' around."

"Yeah, I've been dying for a good fight," said another.

The first scoffed. "Against the daemon? Please." There was an exhalation of breath, and with the pale plume of smoke that followed, Gwen knew this was the cigar-smoker. "It'll be over before we've even warmed up. Now if the firebird were here..."

Gwen stopped listening. Dread filled her from the inside out, a cold, leaden sensation starting in the pit of her stomach and breaking out in gooseflesh across her skin. One glance at Forneus was all it took to confirm her fears. Somehow, Iris or Reeves—or whichever general Apophis had appointed to run this particular base—had known they were coming.

What do we do, now? Was it even possible to disguise herself as one of the common soldiers without arousing suspicion? Even if Apophis's forces didn't know what all of her powers were, there was still a risk involved. However large his army might be, what if all of the soldiers of this detachment knew one another by face and by name? Sure, they might look the same to Gwen, but if she used her Glamour to copy the form of just any creature—however common it might be—would they be able to tell she didn't belong there?