Conducting interrogations was not entirely within Alter’s wheelhouse, but he felt as if he was getting the hang of it. There was a certain reliable pattern to proceedings that he appreciated. Ask a question, receive no answer, the knife gets dug in a little more until there’s a flinch, receive an answer to the previous question. Mix it up every now and then to keep their captives on edge and behold, a steady stream of information.

  As it turned out, these men knew a lot more about the local situation than they had initially let on. Most importantly, they were in the right place. Ahead lay a burgeoning hive of rebels, agents and other men under the thumb of Oliver’s uncle. Additionally, the weapons shipment they had been tracking had indeed arrived by torchlight late yesterday evening. As for the two men themselves, they were in fact hunters from Kingspool. Hired as watchmen, they were making nearly double the amount of money per week than they would make in their usual trade. Other than that, they had no outstanding loyalties. Queries as to how many men were occupying the base resulted in rough estimates ranging between twenty and sixty. With the arrival of supplies, the base was beginning to commence local operations. As such, there were always groups coming and going using a handful of semi-hidden paths. There was another watch post, however it was covering the opposite approach and was manned by similarly employed locals. The men were confident that their fellow hunters wouldn’t risk their lives to reinforce the base should it come under attack.

  After a brief consultation with his fellows, Alter called a halt to the questioning. Knife sheathed and weapons lowered, the hunters were given their marching orders. Allowed to keep their equipment, minus the signal flag, they were ordered to move five hundred paces in a straight line away from the base and without coming across Farfield and the horses. Go home, never come back. After accepting this rule, along with promises made to not support such enterprises again and to testify should it be required, the hunters left. The marksman team watched their faithful exit for a while before rejoining the squad once they were happy that their orders were being adhered to.

  “I know it looked like I was alright with that. I wasn’t. That just felt wrong.” Whim reported firmly once all were in earshot.

  “You were only playing a part, we all recognise that. They didn’t seem like bad guys, and they certainly weren’t ‘the enemy’. It’s always going to be harder when you don’t have that dehumanising degree of separation.” Riptide responded gently, a sentence falling somewhere between reassurance and justification.

  “I know, I know. It’s just … I don’t want to be the guy you automatically call on for this kind of thing.” He shivered.

  “Hearing you loud and clear.” Alter patted him gently on the back. “Come on, let’s go take a look at this base we’ve heard so much about.”

  “We should stay away from the path for now. It’s only a matter of time before someone realises that their sentries have gone silent.” Pavejack warned.

  “We’ve got a good couple of hours of daylight left, that’s plenty of time for some reconnaissance before they notice they’ve not come home.” Boats answered airily as he squinted up into the sky.

  “That doesn’t mean we should risk bumping into one of those parties they mentioned that are moving through the area. Prepare yourselves for a hike, mind your ankles.” Alter announced with a dry chuckle.

  The grumbling that met his statement was deemed survivable and so they began their approach. They moved in a ragged line as they skittered, skirted and scrambled their way across the boulder field that lay between them and their target. Only once they had squeezed and forced their way through a cleft in one of the larger vision-obscuring rocks did the base come into view.

  The structure itself made full use of the terrain. It sat atop a steep-sided bluff whose smooth, curved sides had been worn into shape by a river long since departed. One side was reachable by a gentle, grassy slope across which the trail passed. This accessible end was blocked by a thick wooden wall, however the cliffside was left unfortified. From their vantage point they could see a number of tents, along with a handful of more permanent looking wooden structures. A small number of figures could be seen milling about, although no further details could be gleaned from this distance. Finally, a small watchtower emerged from behind the wall where a lone sentry kept a disinterested vigil across the lumpy landscape.

  “Nice of them to keep the sides open.” Boozehound remarked as they studied.

  “I struggle to see how they could house sixty people at a time in there. Maybe the numbers we’ve got are off.” Walross added.

  “Nah, there’s enough space in there, this perspective is skewing your perception.” Boats corrected as he stared intently through the scope.

  “I think it’s safe to assume that the cliff reaches all the way around. Do you think climbing up as an infiltration route is feasible?” Riptide pondered.

  Boozehound shook his head. “If we were free climbing then maybe. But trying to carry our equipment with us? Not happening, not without a lot of noise, and certainly not without plentiful daylight.”

  Alter sighed. “Front door it is, then.”

  “Are we going to simply push through? Like the fort in the Badlands?” Pavejack asked.

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  “Probably.” Alter conceded as he scanned the rest of the land in view. “There’s plenty of overwatch spots we can take advantage of. We could try to draw them out, in theory.”

  “You want to lay siege to the place?” Whim laughed. “You’ve been in medieval-land for too long, man.”

  “It’ll need to be quick. Remember, they’ve got additional forces coming and going. We don’t want to find ourselves sandwiched.” Riptide warned.

  “Then I’d say the Badlands comparison is pretty accurate. Come on, let’s see if we can’t work our way around and get a different, better angle.” Alter waved them into motion.

  Together they began to cut their way across in order to get a proper look at the wall and the assumed gate it held. This plan was not flawless, within two minutes of their attempt each man froze as the red light flashed.

  “Pulse.” Alter growled urgently through clenched teeth. “Bearing?”

  “Negative, instantaneous.” Riptide answered as he swung his weapon towards the nearest skyline.

  “It’s the sentry! Fucker’s got good eyes.” Boats called after raising his scope towards the base.

  “What’s he doing?” Alter demanded as he looked for a place to break line of sight.

  “His jaw is moving at a thousand miles an hour and his eyes are locked on us. We’re rumbled.”

  “Get into the rocks for now. After me, quickly!” Alter ordered as he spotted a gap in the rocks that curved back towards the direction they arrived from.

  The squad bolted for the gap which fortuitously carried on through to the other side. On Alter’s orders they split into their teams and moved in opposite directions to regain a view of their opponents. He led his team on an urgent charge across the rocky ground, vectoring away from the wall-side before deciding on a relatively smooth-topped rise. Weapons ready they crawled upward until their heads began to poke over the top. The sentry was still at his post, head swivelling as he scanned the area with intense purpose. He was not alone, though. Another man stood alongside him, something about him cast a sense of unease amidst the as-of-yet unspotted team.

  “Team Two, report.” Alter thumbed his radio into life.

  “Getting eyes on now.” Riptide answered. “We’re pretty exposed here, not sure how we can stick our heads out before we’re spotted again.”

  “Do what you can. We spy a second man in the tower, do you notice anything else from your angle?”

  “The gate has just been closed, that’s about it for new info. I guess they’re bunkering up while they decide what to do?”

  “The second watchman’s got green eyes.” Boats reported calmly, a hint of curious wonder in his voice.

  “And that’s relevant how?” A stressed Walross hissed angrily.

  “No, I mean his eyes are literally glowing green right now.” The marksman added urgently.

  Alter stared intently at this new figure, overcoming the strange feeling he got as he did so. Sure enough, a faint jade light emitted from his undetailed face. Something in his mind twigged and for a moment he was standing near the gates of Crestvigil as they dealt with the Unrepentant. The gnawing in his stomach lurched and twisted as the light began to intensify.

  “That’s a Sirrithae Soul Kindler. Team Two, they’ve got their eyes on you, break contact immediately!” He shouted.

  The light continued to grow, and a faint line akin to that of a laser pointer began to form, headed arrow-straight towards where the other team was situated. An area perhaps five metres squared began to glow in a similar manner before there was a sharp crackling explosion. The illuminated area suddenly burst into a thousand shards and fragments and a short blast of wind rustled the clothes of Team One.

  “Engage, engage!” Alter screeched. “That fucker doesn’t get to play!”

  Pavejack needed no further encouragement as the LMG roared into life, sending a vicious stream of lead slamming into the wall just below where the Kindler was standing. The inaccuracy of the initial burst was enough to send both them and the sentry diving downward and out of sight. A sight punctuated by a frustrated stream of expletives as the fire continued, the wall was soaked in bullets in the perhaps vain hope that a lucky shot would punch through the timber and score a fortuitous hit.

  “This is Three!” The radio sprang to life. “Two and Eight are out of action! Disengaging!”

  There was a moment of strained quiet as they processed the message.

  “How bad?” Alter asked quietly, wide and angry eyes still staring intently at the vacated watchtower.

  “I don’t know, their vitals were shielded from the blast but both are unconscious at this time. Standby.” Boozehound answered, his voice concerned but professional.

  “Why didn’t you take him out?” Walross turned to Boats angrily.

  The Scotsman was oddly peaceful, his eye still firmly connected to the scope. A look of confusion spread slowly across his face as he registered what had been asked.

  “I don’t know.” He answered with uncertainty. “The more I looked at them, the less I wanted to hurt them. I couldn’t pull the trigger.”

  “Schei?e, don’t tell me you’ve started growing a conscience now.” The German laughed incredulously.

  “Keep your eyes on that tower!” Alter snarled. “You see one wisp of hair poke out, you send it to hell. Hold position here, I’m going to go and see what happened for myself.”

  Alter stalked his way along the safe side of the ridge. He knew that if Boozehound wasn’t panicking then his friends were not in immediate danger, so his time of arrival made little difference. He attempted to better regulate his breathing as he progressed and his mind fought to wrangle what he had just seen. They were facing a person with, for lack of a better term, laser eyes, and perhaps the ability to make people reluctant to hurt them the more they look at them. The solution was simple enough, get the drop on them and gun them down from a suitable distance before they can react. But they were already two men down, who knew if they would be presented with such a golden opportunity.

  Gods above, he hated it when they could fight back.