When he steps forward to offer me his hand, I accept it immediately. “I’ve heard much about you, young lady.”
He winks at me and then casts an amused glance back at Bastien. From the corner of my eye, I can see the tension along Bastien’s shoulders. “Illyria, I would like you to meet Otto. He is the keeper of the wall.”
“A job to be proud of, I’m sure.” I dip my head in greeting and offer him a smile. I like him and the crinkles of years of laughter that gather at the corners of his eyes.
“The pleasure is mine. I would be happy to give you a tour, if you like.”
Bastien steps between us and claps the man on the arm. “Another time perhaps, Otto. We are tired from our journey.”
“Of course.” He leans around Bastien and gives me a wink. “I’m sure you’ll drop by sometime.”
There is a distinct skip in his step as he turns and walks back toward the wall as the doors shut with a resounding boom that echoes through my chest. When Bastien turns to look at me, I simply glare back. “He wasn’t causing any harm.”
“You don’t know him like I do,” he mutters and moves past me. I can see the sag of his shoulders and realize it wasn’t my weariness he spoke of, but his own.
A tiny sliver of guilt settles into my stomach, but I ignore it as I turn to follow, not wanting to be left alone with Niyah as a companion.
“We house over a thousand soldiers here at any given time,” Niyah says as she notices my wide-eyed gaze as we move away from the wall toward the heart of the base. Long two-story rows of wood and brick buildings span out on either side of me. Even rising onto my tiptoes, I can't see the far end of the base.
Everything is handmade but finely crafted all the same. Whoever originally built this place had skills I can easily appreciate. No concrete sidewalks, flickering electricity, or humming generators. I feel at home here.
As we walk between a row of buildings, their windows clothed in plastic, sheets, and other tacked materials to keep the winter winds out, we emerge into a wide-open courtyard. There is no grass here. It has been long since removed by the pounding of feet and movements of machinery. Snow drifts against the buildings, but farther out into the yard, it has begun to melt, leaving great puddles of mud and standing water.
In the distance, I can see large domed buildings that sit on a small rise. Great black openings within the front of the structures reveal trucks and two Sky Ships. Large blue barrels with evidence of a growing rust epidemic can be seen in a storage building leading to what I can only assume to be a landing area. Dirt roads lead to and from this location, winding through the base.
Everywhere I look, black-clad soldiers are busy at work—some doing minor repairs on buildings, others carrying heavy loads of linens from one squat concrete block structure and into one of the housing buildings.
The scent of food still lingers in the air as we pass by an outdoor lean-to. It has no walls, only steel beams holding aloft a wooden roof. Rows of benches and tables rest beneath. A large group of men still sits in this space, their empty bowls forgotten.
“This is where we train our new recruits, along with our special forces,” Bastien says. I can hear the pride in his voice and I almost smile. It wouldn’t surprise me if he trains personally with each of the groups. “These men are the best we have. Kyan knows I like a challenge.”
And a reason to escape, I think absently as I look at the training field. Nearly five hundred men stand in square-like formations. It is a sea of black, each man bending, twisting, and shouting commands. They move with one fluid motion as they take to an obstacle course made of ropes, a climbing wall, weaving through barrels and sloshing through mud. I recognize Bastien in their movements.
Some men stand in a row nearest me, laser guns tucked into their waistbands as they aim for wooden targets. Others use small pistols, holding them with two hands to steady their aim.
I turn at the sound of clanging metal and see two men surrounded by a large group of soldiers, swords drawn and flashing in the sun. I move forward, enraptured by the sound. Their bodies glisten with sweat, naked apart from rolled pants that rise above their knees. Their muscles ripple and stretch as they dip and lunge, rolling to their feet to parry the next attack.
“They use real swords?” I’ve never seen one before, but now I want one.
“They aren’t widely used, but some of the men prefer hand-to-hand combat as opposed to lasers.” Bastien looks over at me as Niyah speaks. We both know I fall into that category as well.
I’ve always had a thing for knives, serrated and lethal. Guns are good at long range, but I prefer the heat of battle, up close and in my face. Reckless, as Eamon would say. I prefer to think of it as being personal.