The morning stretched into a grueling monotony.
Beyond the veiled mist of the hidden grove, the sky, heavy with Silence, gradually changed from a shy purple to a dull gray over the delta. The sun appeared as a faint, watery blur behind the perpetual smog, providing no warmth but a hazy light that revealed the ruins of the Iron State’s base.
Orion sat cross-legged, his back against a large stone, trying to keep his breathing shallow. The knot of scar tissue in his lung tightened with every expansion of his ribs, a constant ache that radiated up into his collarbone.
To distract himself, he watched the light and counted the minutes as they passed, aligning the sun’s slow crawl with the internal clock of his CC.
He had to wait until the early afternoon. Twenty-four hours. An hour less, and his healing potion might turn his liver into mush. It might not, given who had brewed it; there was a real chance the impurities were significantly less than in a regular one, but he couldn’t risk it.
When he grew too bored to keep his mind on the passage of time, he dragged himself to the edge of the grove, spying on the ruins.
Without the central command, the machines initially milled about in chaotic, leaderless circles, sometimes attacking falling rubble and at other times falling inert.
But their basic programming proved resilient. As the morning wore on, Orion observed a shift in the swarm’s behavior. The larger Centurions, with more complex processors, began emitting strange pulses, to which the scattered Crawlers and Walkers responded by breaking off from their aimless paths and falling into line behind the brass behemoths.
They were forming packs. Autonomous groups, consolidating their numbers. Once a pack reached critical mass, the Centurion would pivot, its optical sensors locking onto the southern horizon, and they would march.
"They are really moving toward the forest," Esmeralda noted.
The vampire sat a few feet away, knees drawn to her chest, pale fingers absently tracing a frayed edge of her dress. She watched a cluster of Walkers as they disappeared into the southern fog, and sighed.
They’d all hoped the machines would fall idle, perhaps even attack each other, but that wasn’t what was happening.
“It must be their baseline directive," Orion rasped, keeping his voice low to spare his chest. "If the command core is unreachable, they are likely programmed to proceed to the location of their closest enemy. Given that the path to the eastern border is much longer and that there is only water or their own forces north and west, south is the only option.”
Garrick walked over, chewing on a strip of dried, salted meat pulled from his supply pouch, handing them one each. The adventurer looked rough. Dirt and sweat had dried on his skin, highlighting pale scars from Verner’s spells. A healing potion had set him to rights, but until he could be seen by a dedicated healer, he’d have to contend with them pulling with every movement.
He squinted through the barrier, scanning the ruined ravines. "The bulk of them are slow," Garrick said, chewing the tough meat. "The Walkers need flat ground, and the Centurions weigh too much brass to move quickly through tight passes. Only the Crawlers could do that, but they’ve been caught by the rest and are tagging along. But I still don't see the Mage Killers.”
"They are already gone," Erethemor rumbled from the edge of the spring. He splashed cold water over the fresh scales on his shoulder, wincing as the chill hit the sensitive areas. His regeneration had to be quite powerful, given that he’d taken the brunt of Verner’s attacks and looked almost no worse for wear. "I watched them form up before the sun broke the fog. They don't need the Centurions to guide them, and they move twice as fast as other units. They took the riverbed straight south.”
Orion sighed. The third-generation Mage-Killers were sleeker, faster, and armored in Silence-alloy. If they reached the Ironwood Forest before the army realized what they faced, the casualties among the border patrols would be catastrophic.
He wasn’t particularly worried about them getting too far, since there were too many powerhouses watching the forest, but they’d do a lot of damage before they were put down.
“We need to get ready to leave if we want to overtake them," Jordan said, methodically running a whetstone along the length of his broadsword. The rhythmic shhhk-shhhk of the stone against steel had been the sanctuary’s only constant sound for hours. “If we can even do it, we have to move soon.”
"The machines are a problem," Orion agreed quietly. He shifted his weight, wincing as a spike of pain shot through his ribcage. "They will kill people, yes. But Verner is the real issue. If it’s true that an Archmage has been planning with the Iron State and trying to coup the High Council, getting that information out will have to be our priority. We cannot stop for anything.”
"The kid is right," Garrick agreed. “The Speaker needs the intelligence more than he needs our swords on the front line. We’ll have to move fast and avoid engaging the swarm unless they force our hand. Our mission is no longer to fight them.”
As they began preparing, the hours ground away. The pale glare of the sun reached its zenith directly above the thick smog layer and began its slow descent toward the western coast.
Finally, Orion received the notification from the CC. He still checked to make sure, but it was true. The twenty-four-hour lockout had expired.
He unclipped the small leather pouch from his belt with stiff fingers and drew out the second glass vial. The dark liquid sloshed thickly inside. He bit the cork, spat it onto the moss, and drank the potion in a single swallow.
The process was not gentle. The alchemical agents hit his stomach and instantly flash-boiled into his bloodstream. Orion gasped, his back arching off the stone column, and his vision went white.
The scar tissue that had plagued him dissolved, breaking down at the cellular level, only to be violently rebuilt. He felt the fibers of his organ knitting together, the capillaries expanding, and the flesh sealing perfectly over the puncture wound.
He tipped forward onto his hands and knees, coughing violently into the moss. He expected blood, but only clear saliva hit the ground.
When the pain faded, he was left with a surge of vitality. Orion drew a breath, and the air filled his lungs, deep and unobstructed. The tightness was gone.
He pushed himself up, moving much more smoothly now, and stood straight, rolling his shoulders. The strength had returned to his limbs, and he could tell the healing had taken root.
Yet as he reveled in the crisp air, a phantom pull lingered beneath his collarbone, an echo of the blade Verner had driven into his back. The flesh was whole, but the memory of betrayal remained.
"You look better," Esmeralda observed, rising gracefully to her feet.
“I feel better," Orion confirmed, testing his glasses. Fortunately, the Arcane Overlay booted up cleanly, with the static absent. His connection to the Field was stable now that it was no longer fighting the shock of a battered body.
I don’t think I was in danger of dying after the first potion, but I certainly wasn’t fit to fight. If Mom hadn’t filled my pack with potions, I might have had to try some more unconventional measures.
"Then get your stuff," Garrick ordered.
The team gathered their meager supplies. They filled their canteens at the crystal spring, securing them tightly to their belts. They had few rations beyond seemingly infinite dried meat, but water would keep them moving, and everyone’s Body was high enough to prevent starvation even if they went without food for a week.
As they finished the last check, Jordan walked toward the rear of the alcove, stopping before the tree that now served as Daus’s tomb.
The strange tendrils had fully integrated into the bark, leaving only the wooden relief of the young druid’s face pressed into the trunk. There was no sign of the mother-seeds that enhanced the illusory ward keeping the sanctuary hidden, but since they hadn’t been spotted, they could only assume they were working as intended.
Jordan knelt, resting a gauntleted hand against the bark. He bowed his head, murmuring a quiet prayer in the tradition of his holy order.
Esmeralda stepped up beside the Paladin, her expression unreadable, and briefly pressed her pale fingertips to the wood. Erethemor offered only a snort, but his eyes held respect, and nobody had expected him to be sentimental.
Orion looked at the wooden face and felt only a small sadness. He would have preferred Daus to live, yes, but as far as deaths went, this wasn’t too bad. He’d be able to watch over the forest’s rebuilding once the Iron State was driven out.
With their respects paid, they formed up at the edge of the alcove. Through the shimmering mist, the delta stretched out, teeming with remnants of the Iron State.
"The riverbed is too good a choke point to risk," Orion said, projecting a scaled topographical map of the region into the space between them. "The Centurions will be using the dry channels to corral the Walkers. If we follow it, we will eventually run into a marching column.”
“Yeah, we’ll have to avoid it," Garrick decided, pointing a thick finger at the cliffs running above the delta. “We'll take the high paths. It’s exposed, and the wind will batter us, but I saw no group climbing, which means we should be able to stay above their line of sight and avoid most of them.”
"It took us seven days to get here via the most direct route," Jordan noted. "The cliffs will add miles.”
"We won't stop to map patrols or clear outposts," Esmeralda countered. "We are all Tier Three; we have the stamina to keep up a march. We’ll just have to run until the sun sets, sleep for a couple of hours, and run again through the night.”
Orion wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. He was the weak link now that Verner was gone, but there really wasn’t another path they could take.
“Let’s go,” Garrick said, stepping through the veil.
The moment Orion crossed the boundary, the pure air vanished, replaced by the caustic wind of the northern wastes. The Silence immediately coated the back of his throat, and the temperature plummeted twenty degrees as the wind howled down the sheer rock face.
Ignoring the desolation beneath them, Garrick turned right, found a steep path carved into the cliff's side, and began the climb.
Orion found his footing easily enough despite the rough surface. He leaned into the climb, his muscles burning as he pulled himself up. The exertion tested his newly healed lung, but the tissue held firm, expanding and contracting without issue.
They quickly reached the top, pulling themselves over the edge of the cliff.
The high vantage point offered a sweeping, unobstructed view of the wastes. To the north, the smoking crater of the Iron State laboratory sat like an open wound in the earth, venting dark plumes of alchemical exhaust skyward. To the south, the slate-gray desert stretched endlessly toward the horizon, a barren expanse of fractured rock and dry riverbeds.
Occasionally, when the wind pushed the Silence fog aside long enough, groups of machines could be seen moving.
No one spoke, though they all knew they were in for an ugly few days if they wanted to get ahead of the tide.
Garrick loped along the cliff's edge and set a punishing pace designed to chew through the miles without burning out their reserves.
The others followed easily, and although Orion had to resort to [Gravity Step] to avoid tiring himself, he was still able to keep pace.
We’ll get there in time. We have to.