Serial
22: Lies as white as snow
December,
18th 32 S.D. 09:51 Lake Lada, Central Plains
Something was very much out of order late that morning. Though winter had yet to lay its pale touch upon the land in the past few weeks, today the season was in full form. Yesterday the sky had turned bleak, gray, and overcast. Now snow fell thickly before them, silently dropping over the dormant fields far and wide. The storm gathered great, quiet intensity as time wore on. Flakes filled the air, their volume such that even the best of Sventa’s scouts could see little more than a few hundred meters, even with the aid of binoculars. It was an utter white-out which showed no signs of abating soon.
However, the weather itself was not the cause of unease. Rather, it heightened the sharp paranoia floating about camp. Henron was expected to launch their counterattack soon, but would it be today? Perhaps tomorrow? Next week or next month? Which of the three divisions would they strike? While Sventa’s morale had greatly boosted when they had defeated Henron in their first battle, the soldiers in the second division were still no less nervous about the combat yet to come. Many had never participated in organized bloodshed of any sort. On that morning, their intelligence remained blind essentially, and the austere, impenetrable stillness of the horizon did little to allay any apprehensions.
Their status, as it had been for three days now, was one of high alert. These anxieties and precautions, however, were not without merit, for on that day, Vitna Jas Henron, Core Lead of the fourth Henron Order, marched across the plains. Under his command, a force of some 1500 shields lead the way, behind which some 7700 armored swords followed. He could not have hoped for better conditions. His soldiers had left early after dawn yet prior to the ardent snowfall. As such, they had come a notable distance already before they were required to slow their advance. Helpfully though, the snow both deadened the sounds of their approach and veiled their encroaching image. The reduction in visibility would not only make it difficult for Sventa to judge the true size of his units, it would also further reduce the effectiveness of their sharpshoots. With Agnan Walls creating a moving fortress of a sort, the Core Lead couldn’t see how this was anything but a victory he was heading towards.
The wind blew against the side of Losha’s face, stinging her with icy droplets. Unable to see, she winced away, turning from the gust. It would probably have been worse if she hadn’t been wearing her Wolf of War pelt. Despite its rather exotic make and appearance, it really proved useful in colder situations such as the one her squad had undertaken. For the most part, it kept her head and upper-body protected from the inclement whims of nature. Her face, however, remained somewhat exposed. Her eyes fell to her right upon another sword, Yega Kelta Sventa. He noticed how she shied from the winter blast and laughed.
“You need one of these, Dansha,” he said, tugging at the beard that had started to bloom across his face. They were only a few years apart, and they had gotten to know each other quickly. Even though those from the house of Kelta were typically seen as farmhands, Yega had surprisingly deep knowledge about swordcraft. He’d shared a bit of that expertise during the drills they’d had a few days ago. Since yesterday though, the drills had been suspended in favor of regularly sending out patrols.
“I think I would simply deal with the weather instead,” Losha smiled.
Faima, up ahead, laughed once, loudly. “She would not want to mar her pretty little face now, would she?”
“Faima, focus on our job,” Tami said, squinting into the blank distance.
“Ksh. S****y time for a patrol. What do they expect us to find out here? The Kuata or the whole Henron army?”
“Keep quiet, all of you. We are scouting you know,” Bulmon said.
They crept along the grounds roughly two kilometers away from base camp. Normally they’d have patrolled even further, but with things as they were, command didn’t want any units getting lost or stranded. Already about ten centimeters of snow sat on the ground, and there was no indication that would cease to rise. For about another half an hour, they picked their way across the freezing land, walking in silence. At times, with whiteness on every side of them, it felt as if they had suddenly become isolated from all the world. Though they could scarcely see far in any given direction, they kept their attentions trained on their surroundings with diligence.
They were taking a brief break in their hike at the time Losha began to sense something. As they all stood near several trees, Losha turned to the east. There was nothing to see, of course, but her soul remained active. She frowned for a bit, at first not truly believing her earliest thoughts. Yet this inkling suspicion grew with every passing moment until at last it was something she could not ignore. She took two steps away from the group, crunching snow beneath her feet. If indeed she were not mistaken, she could little afford to ignore the sudden signs that approached.
“Dansha?” one of their sharpshoots called, yet Losha gave no response. Instead, she concentrated deeply for a time. She clearly registered the seras frequencies of her squad members, and after that, the faint signatures of thousands of Sventa out back west at camp. Yet ahead of them, she could sense something else. To her soul, it seemed hazy and indistinct, but for her seras to react to it, even slightly, whatever it was also had seras. Effectively, this indicated other souls, other people. Though these seras frequencies were weak and barely perceived, she detected thousands.
All at once, her breath stopped, its white trail evaporating into the frigid air. Her eyes darted down as she considered the significance of it all. None of the Sventa’s forces were as far as as the second division, therefore it couldn’t have been another contingent of their own soldiers. It was inconceivable to think that a group of civilians were here either. Even if she were detecting a small town of some sort, she doubted towns could move closer towards their position. As she focused, Losha grew more and more certain that this mass of seras frequencies gradually increased in its presence. By such minor degrees, the clarity with which she recognized them improved. She found herself facing the likeliest of possibilities and also the worst: the Henron army.
“Sa, Dansha, is something wrong?” Yega asked.
“She probably has to take a piss,” Faima said, taking some tobacco from Bulmon. “Just start walking, eventually we will not be able to see you, not that anyone wants to look at you anyway.”
“Is it the weather, or are you unusually cold today, Faima?” Yega quipped.
“Piss off wheat-boy,” she scowled.
“Sa, I love you too...”
“Henron...” Losha began, stepping back once and twisting halfway around, though her gaze still fell to the east. “Henron is coming!” she said. She tried to sound urgent, but she came across initially as if in panic. Everyone looked up at her, some in bewilderment, others in puzzlement.
“What are you talking about, Dansha?” Luri, another Header, questioned her.
Losha whirled around in full as she spoke quickly, yet as calmly as her nerves allowed. “A large unit of Henron soldiers are advancing this way from the east. It is a force of some several thousand.”
Bulmon blinked at her. He looked left, then right, but ultimately he sighed. “You sure you are alright? You did not seem like yourself so shortly ago.”
She realized how that outburst must have appeared to them, yet should couldn’t exactly disclose how she’d come to that conclusion. She knew the art of serialization would be revealed soon enough, yet Losha couldn’t expect them to believe or much less understand the principles involved. Her words would have at best been fantastical nonsense.
“Let me have a look,” Yega said. He stepped forward and mocked as if he were surveying deep into the reaches before them. “Sa! I see it! It is... nothing but snow...” Some of the squad laughed. Lenol frowned and fidgeted while Faima spat into the ground.
“This is a serious matter,” Losha insisted. “Their distance is roughly five times our own from base, putting them about nine or so kilometers away.” She estimated this based on how strongly she felt the seras frequencies.
“And how do you know of this?” Tami asked, not unreasonably. “None of us can see half a kilometer any which way. How can you be so sure of anything in this weather?”
“I simply just know. I am aware of their presence...” A brief silence descended upon them.
“Maybe she is clairvoyant or something,” someone whispered.
“Or perhaps she got hold of Zunba’s liquors,” another responded.
“Shrieks, I hope she is not right...”
“Field Lead, we need to warn the rest of the second division. With adequate time, we can prepare ourselves and prevent any unnecessary casualties.”
Everyone glanced up at Bulmon for a second. He shook his head negatively. “I cannot report anything unless we have confirmed it as a group. I do not know what makes you think the enemy is out there right now, but unless you can show us...”
Losha now herself scowled. As she’d thought, it would have taken a lot to convince her comrades. “I know it seems hard to accept my words, but there is truth behind them.” She looked to the west and started moving away from the squad.
“Hey!”
“Where is she going?”
“Dansha!”
But Losha did not stop walking, at least not until someone grabbed her by the arm.
“Hey, you b***h!” Faima cursed. “You cannot just go off on your own.” The woman caught her and wretched her around. “You talk some shrieking crappy nonsense and all of a sudden figure you can do as you damn well please?”
“I need not listen to you at least,” Losha said, rending her arm free of Faima’s grip. That, however, set off a deep nerve in the sharpshoot. Quickly and with surprising power, Faima slugged Losha in her face. The blow toppled her backwards, landing her in a heap of snow. A bunch of shouts rose up from the other squad member as they surged forward upon these two. Someone grabbed Faima, drawing her back while others placed themselves in between. Bulmon grumbled and swore as Yega helped Losha to her feet.
“Shrieks Faima. What the hell was that?”
Faima glared right back at her commanding officer. “Ksh! You were just going to let her run off. I did not see you moving to stop her.”
Bulmon eyed her but said nothing himself.
“You alright Dansha?” Yega asked. In truth, she was still a bit stunned, but her mind strayed not from its goal.
“If we do not warn the others... We will not know of their assault until they are right upon us,” Losha said, rubbing the sore spot on her cheek.
“Is she still on about that?!” Faima hissed, jumping forward a little, but her movements were restrained by others.
“No one is going anywhere for the moment,” Bulmon said as authoritatively as he could. “We will not report anything without concrete evidence, but when we do go back, I will make your concerns known to our Range Lead.”
“It will be too late by then. That is simply unacceptable!”
“And what exactly do you intend to do about it?” Bulmon asked, folding his arms. Several others closed in around her, ensuring she couldn’t repeat her escape. For an instant, Losha realized she wasn’t quite acting like herself; her choices had been too blunt and brash. She wasn’t carefully planning ahead. Patrols equipped every Field Lead with a flare-gun so that they could signal others whenever they encountered something, be it the enemy or a separate threat. She knew the red flares were used to signify the discovery of hostile forces. While it would have been impossible for her to obtain Bulmon’s flare-gun, nothing prevented her from emulating it with serialization. She could pull it off before anyone realized that something was even happening. What’s more, no one could really stop her.
“I can do this,” Losha said. All at once, a serialized orb of light formed before them. Having done various iterations of such a series in the past, she was able to cast it on the point of margins. It were as if a sudden, blinding ball of fire had appeared before them all. The intensity of the light immediately burned as everyone tried to shield their eyes. Yet it only hovered at ground-level for an instant. Shortly thereafter its creation, it rocketed high up into the air, swiftly ascending 200 meters or so. Like a crimson star, it pierced the sky before settling at its peak. There it sat, fixed with a glow so bright it shone through the storm’s thick snowfall. So vibrant was this orb that both the Sventa’s second division and the fourth order of the Henron army were able to clearly see it.
As her squad looked up at the fiery glare overhead, they remained too dumbfounded to react to Losha herself. Though many couldn’t even begin to explain how she’d done it, they didn’t come close to suspecting the powers of serialization. It all occurred so fast that some were still trying to digest these events. Regardless of whether Bulmon and the others believed her, their forces back at Lake Lada would begin taking the necessary steps for waging battle in response to her warning. However, Losha knew her work was not over yet.
“Field Lead, someone must inform command specfically about the danger approaching our way. I know the most details, and I am also the quickest among us. I will return in all haste.”
“Shrieks, Dansha... What did you do?” Bulmon growled as he continued to look up at the spot radiating above their heads. He then pulled himself out of shock and pointed at her sharply. “Apprehend her, immediately?”
However, those near Losha were both slow and too affected to catch her. She recalled the series she and Siersus had used to descend Mount Anhel on that dreadful night nearly two months ago. A brief, blue spark flickered underfoot as a surge of kinetic energy propelled her away from the squad. Leaping backwards, she landed a good five meters from everyone. She turned around before she could note their reactions; no doubt their faces bore utter disbelief.
“You must return as quickly as you can too. With the enemy’s movements, they shall be upon us sometime after noon.” With that, Losha dashed off; every step pushed her forward as if it were a great lunge, thanks to the series. Soon after she left, her image disappeared into the blurry distance, masked by the storm.
Two hours later, Losha found herself before the likes of a raging officer. The Prime Lead of Sventa’s second division, Levias Holvate Sventa, was some third cousin or another that she’d never met before. She hardly ever imagined to meet him like this, however, she was glad he could not penetrate her disguise as Dansha Sofos. Still, she wondered just how much this irate man was really related to her. Upon her arrival, she’d informed her Range Lead of the situation, at least the parts that didn’t involve her insubordination or the use of serialization. She also manipulated some of the details - such as their actual patrol distance from the base - to make it sound more plausible that they had spotted the enemy. She explained that particular one by saying they’d simply gotten lost in the snow.
Though she deceived to spread the truth, her lies had fulfilled their intended purpose. The base was already scrambling to arm itself when she’d come back alone after the whole flare affair. She had even been asked to give a direct report to the Prime Lead himself. From there, Levias has set about ordering formations, drawing up battle supplies, prepping strike forces, and sending out additional sentries. The second division was poised to march out and engage the enemy, at least, that had been true until Bulmon returned. His account contrasted greatly with Losha’s, and it highlighted several very serious infractions against her.
As a result of this revelation, shortly thereafter Levias rescinded his orders, although all personnel would continue on high alert. Losha once again herself sitting in the tent used by the Prime Lead and his Core Leads for military planning. This time, however, she was under arrest, and a livid Levias barked down at her, demanding to know the source of her insolence and gall. He - as he claimed - had been made a fool of for believing in what he called her “flights of fancy”.
While he roared at her, Bulmon stood off to the side. He tried to find a spot somewhere ahead into which he could stare blankly. As much as he felt Losha should have been disciplined, he was uncomfortable remaining there as it happened. He didn’t want to make eye-contac with her either. Still, it was hard to pretend he wasn’t there. Losha, for her part, stared impassively at her relative. Her concerns were largely on the battle that would ensue, the same engagement no one thought would happen.
“This is not a game, Sofos,” Levias sneered. “Our people are involved in a life or death struggle everyday to defend ourselves. Your actions are as idiotic as they are dangerous.”
She had suffered enough of the Prime Lead’s outrage and abuse already, but that single comment set her own tongue off.
“Defend ourselves? Surely not from our own madness. Who is it but ourselves that would trade the blood of kin for a few square meters of bushes?”
“I will not tolerate your defiant attitude among my soldiers,” Levias said, slamming his hand down on a nearby table, jostling several wooden tactical figurines spread over a map. “You deliberately raised a false alarm and even had us prepare for a fictional confrontation that you concocted. Do you know how damaging that is to morale, let alone out actual combat readiness?”
Losha crossed her legs; she couldn’t fold her arms due to the cuffs on her wrists. “Henron is coming. By my current estimates, they are a scant two kilometers east of us. We can still head off a surprise attack given our semi-mobilized status. Even though you gave the command to draw down, we are still more or less ready to go at a moment’s notice.”
“You deluded wench...” he hissed. “There will be no assault upon us no matter how you insist. I shall see you detained long after this war is over. When the Lady of Sofos and the Torom of Holvate hear of your reprehensible actions, they will...” He never finished his words; a great horn filled the air with its deep, whining note. The Prime and Field Lead looked up, as if an answer there would appear.
“Ver Holvate...” Bulmon began. “That is the...”
A number of shouts were raised outside as a rush of people suddenly burst into motion. Unseen to the three of them, a frenzy outside erupted as everyone jumped to assemble themselves. Confused by the meaning of it all, Levias stomped forward as if to exit. Before he cold do so, however, one of his Core Leads tore through the opening.
“Prime Lead! Sentries have spotted a large enemy force on approach. Confirmed to be Henron. Order: unknown. Distance: two-point-two kilometers as of 1300 hours. Vector: 105.”
Levias’ brow furrowed as he blinked harshly. He briefly looked at Bulmon and then at Losha.
“Is this some sort of conspiracy? A ploy?”
“No, Prime Lead. With the snow finally relenting, visibility has greatly improved. Our advance scouts noted a force between the ranges of 8000 to 10,000 strong.”
“Shrieks,” Levias said, running out in a huff. Seconds later, his booming voice could be heard relaying various directives outside. The Core Lead took his leave too, presumably to tail his superior. This left Losha and Bulmon in the tent alone. Bulmon shifted around, his eyes darting back and forth at the entrance, as if he expected the Prime Lead to return and dismiss him. Losha, however, stood up from her seat.
“Sa, shall we go now?” she asked. With another series on the point of margins, she used a quick, vast amount of targeted kinetic energy to rip her bonds asunder. To Bulmon though, it looked as if she had merely pulled them apart by pure strength. He could but stand there with his mouth open yet formed as if to speak. Losha, however, did all of the talking.
“It matters not how I knew this would come, nor your understandable disbelief.” She tossed the metal remnants of her restraints to the floor and turned to leave as well. She took a deep breath and gripped her left arm gently above the elbow.
“What matters now is that we go out there, to war.” Losha pulled the flap back and walked towards the awaiting field of battle.
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