With his clothes wet and energy used, Jaden began to feel tired, and slipped slightly as he knelt down, crushing a small dead fern branch a little.
‘Did you hear something?’
One of the guards had roused, waving his torch all over the trees. Jaden had to remain as quiet as possible, completely still to avoid capture.
‘No, calm your nerves,’ scorned the second guard. ‘I won’t warn you again.’
There was a pause, and Jaden began to wonder at the cowardice in the voice of the first guard who had spoken. He was the smaller of the two, the one on the left. Everything about him seemed uncertain now. His posture was weak and actions fearful. This was not the kind of soldier expected in the Alliance. He was a man, just an ordinary man fighting in a military unit. He was not the monster of the stories, the bringer of death and hate. Maybe the Alliance soldiers weren’t as invincible as had been said, he thought; they were men after all, and as always, all men had their weaknesses. Why should these men be any different? But then, both had spoken his language. The first might have been from Lassah by his accent, but the second accent had been foreign. This meant the weaker of the two was perhaps new to the Alliance.
The first guard swallowed nervously. ‘Understood.’
‘Our replacements are coming, let’s go.’
The first guard nodded, checking one last time into the trees before following the other’s lead into the fort. Moments later, two more guards took up the post. Jaden watched on eagerly. It was a slight opening in their defence. For almost ten seconds, Jaden would have an opportunity to gain entrance to the fort. All that was left now was to wait until the guards changed over again. He had said he would be back by this night, but the other survivors had said they would wait until morning. He had time. Gathering some fist-sized rocks, he looked for the black device the man had planted ahead of him, and with a plan firmly set in mind, he rested his head against the dirt, getting what little sleep he could before the next change of guards.
In the coming hours, he would have his revenge.
Chapter Nine
If not to an ideal, to what can one grasp?
January 15, 997 R.E.
General Alkon Zaccarah walked forward on the fort’s wall, his hands pressing firmly onto the metal railing as he looked out over the wilderness. Beyond these few bands of trees were the many mud fields, broken houses and deceased—the fruits of conquest. He had ordered for these trees to remain, to give a glimpse of what it might have been like to live in these parts.
Someday, he thought. When his service to his nation was at an end, he could then find a place such as this, build a home and perhaps raise a family. It was a simple dream, a common desire among his men, but that day would not come for a long time, not while there were those that dared threaten the world still at large.
He shook his head slowly, staring aimlessly ahead. He had come a long way since the early days of the war, when he had just been a boy following his father around the military camps making routine checks and planning new assaults. In those days, the Resistance had not been formed, nor had the Alliance. In the home continent of Phaiross, the nations had been warring for many years with one another, some of the reasons petty, minor disagreements of religious belief and political gain, other reasons more significant, of pollution levels and agricultural rights. It was not until the fall of the great three nations of Phaiross that the smaller nations were able to band together to form as one, and give birth to the Alliance.
For the last decade, this was the only life Alkon had known; always on the road, never able to call a place home for longer than a few months at a time. Since his father was outcast, he had not even had a close friend to confide in. It was a lonely world, but it would only serve to drive him further toward reaching the goals set for him. He would ruthlessly conquer nations in a matter of months, even weeks, knowing that at the end, someday, when there were no more threats, he would be able to return home and live out his dreams.
‘Your desires are not met.’
He was startled by the voice. He had not heard any approach. He turned then to see the man standing behind him.
‘Kobin … how did you get—’
‘Your mind was elsewhere,’ Kobin cut him short. He walked past Alkon to stand on his left before putting his right hand on the railing, his left arm still in the sling. He stood silent a moment, looking out into the wilderness as Alkon had done, then said casually, ‘There is a place for dreaming, you know.’
Alkon hesitated, turning to face forward once more. There were many things he did not understand about this man. What he said seemed harmless enough, but his tone contained bitterness and rebellion. It was almost scolding. ‘Your apparent authority speaks louder than your words, my friend. Your place is not next to mine in these walls. I will have you removed if you continue.’