Tamerlane saw the familiar, flickering firelights of the camp he knew so well, but something else equally expected was missing . . . noise. Not the usual whine of the wind and other forest sounds he’d heard all throughout his long, exhausting trek back, but the haphazard bustle and scramble of a camp gone mad. Chaos was the state of things when he’d left. He liked it and now found he sorely missed it.

More than this, just the basic talking and other general signs of life were also missing. Something was wrong. His first infuriating thought was Wferium managed to sway the entire camp in his absence, packed them all up and left along with that bastard Jason. That would be a failure of untold proportions. Why? He’d returned for no other reason than to claim leadership of the camp. He’d assumed Wferium was dead, but he couldn’t know for sure, which aggravated him to no end.

Visions rarely came to him. It was a secret he kept close to his heart, but unbeknownst to him, one most already either knew or suspected. He molded his life around gossip and other tactics of espionage to compensate for this weakness. What he learned he surmised and what he surmised was the likely events of the future. It was simply keen observation, which most thought him incapable of, but then that was the idea. He’d wanted to throw everyone off.

He’d been erratic and unpredictably violent and perhaps crazy. To an extent this was all a cover. It was fun, though, because this was who he wanted to be. He embraced the lifestyle. It was everything Wferium wasn’t, at least as far as he could tell. Recent events made him wonder, though. She had this glint of fury in her eyes and a hint of the maniac he’d so deftly feigned. She’d been alive far longer than him, but never liked to discuss her past. Tamerlane didn’t really know all that much about her, except she’d always rubbed him the wrong way.

He’d grown to loathe her. Of course, this was well known, but what they’d only suspected was his jealousy. Not for the camp. Everyone knew he wanted the camp, but he’d done a fine job of hiding his respect for the woman. Though she’d seen him as less than his heritage, which was equal to hers . . . they were both of the ancient line. He expected the preferential treatment he’d gotten all his life from the lowly humatrans, but that never came. In fact, she treated him no better than them. She saw him as their equal, not hers.

That’s when the first seed of hatred took root. It was well cultivated, too; fed and watered on a regular basis. It received more than its share of misery, which was far healthier for it than the sun could’ve been. He’d grown to loathe sunny days if only because Wferium loved them. He paid close attention to everything she deemed precious and important and made a point to feel and do the opposite. He wanted everything to do with her, but showed it by pretending he wanted nothing to do with her. He was obsessed with Wferium.

He supposed she knew all this, being able to read his thoughts and all, but that wasn’t always the case. He was of an ancient line, no matter how much everyone seemed to deny it. Sure, he was very low on the totem pole, but he never let that negate who he was. He had status and deserved to be treated as such. If proof was needed, he could provide it through lineage. If proof of abilities was required, he could sometimes come though on this as well.

In fact the one thing he’d actually gotten good at was blocking thoughts, but it was more than this. He’d developed the ability to mimic thoughts. In other words, he could plant fake thoughts to be openly read, while completely hiding his real rotting ones. He’d never known anyone who could do that. He was quite taken with himself for it. It was the one thing, if nothing else that made him feel both special and deserving of his lineage; perhaps even more deserving.

He figured Wferium should’ve seen this in him and taken him into her personal confidence as an advisor or maybe as a favorite. At the very least he’d expected her to get jealous. None of that happened. At first he blamed himself for this. After all, the whole basis of the skill was deception. If he was as good at it as he believed, then how could she have ever known it existed? Well, it was either that or it wasn’t so special after all.

How was he supposed to know whether or not other ancients could do it? Was he really all that special? Was the only thing that made him feel worthy of his lineage all a lie? If so, then what was his life really worth? Instead of falling into a deep depression, which Wferium may have sympathy for, he chose the other route . . . rage. His attitude and unpredictability began to manifest as real. It wasn’t a long fall. Even when he was faking it, he embraced it. He thrust himself into the role and acted it to perfection. Why shouldn’t it become real? He really had no idea if that was a conscious choice anymore. It just seemed to happen. It changed him and he saw it for the better.

It was then Tamerlane graduated from being the yin to Wferium’s yang. He decided she’d be better off dead than humiliated. He put all his efforts to that end and hid such thoughts from her. Or at least he believed he had. He must’ve. That sort of plotting wasn’t something the ancient would tolerate. She would’ve acted. She would’ve killed him, seen to his death or at least banished him. None of those things happened. Instead she simply continued to tolerate him, perhaps wondering, hoping that he’d come around to seeing things the way she saw them.

That was never going to happen. She wanted him to see himself as a servant of the camp. She wanted him to believe the path to leadership lay in sacrifice to those under you, but it didn’t. That was just plain stupid and hypocritical. Tamerlane wondered if there had ever been a time when Wferium hadn’t had her own agenda stashed away somewhere. Maybe no one else saw how undecided she was about everything. Maybe no one else caught all her half-truths, but he wasn’t stupid enough to buy her shit. Not anymore. Not like he had in the very beginning.

Of course, she was probably dead now. He certainly hoped so and chided himself for not having been there to witness it. He chided himself further for not having foreseen such a monumental occasion. In his mind, if anything ever qualified as a cause for celebration, that was it. Her long awaited end was a thing to relish and his mouth was watering in anticipation of it.

He was almost there too, but everything was so damned quiet. He’d begun to doubt this desired result. He’d begun to believe the ancient bitch had gotten the upper hand, just like she always had. Well, fuck her! It wouldn’t be enough this time! He’d kill her himself! If she’d gone then he’d track her down and end the miserable bitch. Not himself, of course. DOE would be a blessing compared to the pain that would surely course though his veins after killing an ancient, but he’d definitely see to it.

Originally, his plan required his crew . . . all five of them. The others in camp? Well, let’s just say things didn’t end well for them; not death as much as misery, but still. Tamerlane was never terribly good at making or keeping long term goals. He had a touch of ADD. He supposed that’s what kept him down this long. He figured the camp would’ve been his years ago had he been more organized. Hatred and fury tend to unravel well-kept plans in favor of ones more impromptu, but then these weren’t always so bad. They were hard to anticipate. They’d contributed to his aura of unpredictability.

After receiving Aryl’s orders to reroute to the bridge, HIS plan took precedence. She told him she’d meet him there, but nothing else, naturally. As Wferium’s right hand bitch, she didn’t think he could be trusted. So he was on a need to know basis. Well, he knew enough. He knew, if not a when, then a where and it would be private. After all, Wferium was suspected dead, so that’d place Aryl in charge. She was the only obstacle still in his way. His final hurdle, so to speak.

Tamerlane decided only minutes after the call that she wouldn’t make it back to camp, but suffer a horrible accident. Of course, it wouldn’t be that simple. He’d heard stories of others who’d tried to kill her and they didn’t end pretty, but he had five followers to make the deed a reality. Naturally, she’d have her lackeys, too; tagging along and kissing her ass. He’d never known her to leave camp without an escort. She didn’t seem to need one. Maybe it was all about messengers she could send back like some damned pigeon. If so, it was all the better. Fewer people needing to die was always a plus. After all, who was he to lead? An army of ghosts?

Killing was a hard thing. It required planning, which everyone knew wasn’t his strong suit. Yet that’s what made it all so brilliant. Just like an unruly child who finally, inexplicably obeys, it would throw them off. Of course, Tamerlane’s desire for a coup was well documented, but turning those ideas into workable plans had never happened. No one would expect him to do so now. So, he’d reroute to the bridge, as ordered. He’d wait for Aryl at the bridge as ordered. After that he decided he’d be the one giving the orders.

This wasn’t something he could keep to himself for more than one reason. The first and most obvious was his men needed to know what to do when the time came. They wouldn’t fight him. No. On the contrary they’d begun to show dissent at his lack of action. They’d embrace the idea. The second reason revolved directly around that idea.

Tamerlane wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it. He needed to brainstorm. He decided to put a spin on it. Instead of making it appear as a lack of leadership, he’d simply make a show of how much he valued their opinions. Maybe a few would actually believe that shit. Maybe he could undo the nasty dissent now festering. It worked and all the rumors said he was stupid.

“So, what of it? Any ideas? I’ve got my own, but that doesn’t mean they’re best. I want to hear yours. All of yours. How should we end Aryl’s miserable life?”

Marcus spoke up, “Sweet as that sounds, what about the boy?”

To that, Delacroix Alcitrev, who might’ve had some French in him, said, “Fuck him! Who the fuck cares about him?! He’s not the one we’re after!”

Xavier made a move towards silence. “Course. You want Meraine. We all want that bitch, but if she’s near she’ll hear you. Keep it down.”

Arden was suddenly worried. Not to be confused with being scared, though he was that too. He wore fear like a second skin, aside from an acute tendency to stutter, which only worsened with added stress. Actually, most were shocked he spoke up at all. “She . . . She didn’t have any w . . . weapons, I . . . I mean guns, d . . . did she? You’ve got . . . You’ve got to know we’re going to be s . . . sitting ducks on that s . . . stupid bridge. She could pick us off and pre . . . pretend its target pr . . . practice. I’ve s . . . seen her sh . . . sh . . . shoot. I . . . I’m not itching to . . . to be in her s . . . sights.”

Delacroix made scoffing sound full of unabashed derision. He was completely, disgustedly used to Arden‘s stuttering and would‘ve killed the idiot were it his call to make. He didn’t much like Xavier either. “God damned pussies! I fucking dare that bitch to try and take me out! I don’t give a fuck if she hears me! You hear me little bitch! You just fucking try to kill me! And if you can, I hope you enjoy the DOE!”

Xavier nearly made another move to quiet Delacroix, but thought better of it. Not that he feared the man. If she heard, then she heard. There wasn’t any changing that now, but that French bastard’s braincase made a much nicer target than his own. Not that she’d actually kill him. She was much smarter than Delacroix gave her credit for and he’d likely die for that misconception.

As for himself he was keeping low, which really was quite easy since he was a smaller man. That’s where he prided himself. People’s misconception of Xavier gave him the upper hand when needed. He supposed it even helped him now. People left him alone, thinking he wouldn’t have any solid input, but that just gave him much needed time to work things out in the smartest possible way. It gave him perspective. Most of all it allowed him to continue watching his surroundings, which only one other person was actually doing.

That would be Takei, whom Xavier highly respected. He was quiet and contemplative, but even Tamerlane stepped aside when he got down to business. He knew how to make his Japanese heritage proud, but that made Xavier wonder. It wasn’t exactly a thing of pride to follow a self-obsessed idiot. His own reason was simply perspective. In any case, Xavier didn’t really consider himself part of this group, much less Tamerlane’s groupie. He was his own person, in charge of himself, and waiting patiently for ripe opportunities from the shadows.

He was also an unintended student of Takei, who rarely spoke, but was constantly aware of, well, everything. In that regard, there was no formal gesture of acceptance from either one of them. He wasn’t even certain Takei considered him his student. In a way he supposed he wasn’t, but he watched the man closely. His lessons were all about observation and they were valuable.

Takei was an ancient in his own right. Well, at least Xavier thought he was. He acted like it. Of course some ancients are driven insane by the seemingly endless life, but they didn’t usually last long. The few he knew, for sure anyway, were nearly possessed by experience and wisdom, which was necessary for maintaining a long life in this day and age. This was something that practically exuded from Takei’s pores. It was also something Tamerlane was seriously lacking.

The bottom line was simple. He was here because Takei was here, not Tamerlane. Xavier supposed Takei was here because either Tamerlane actually had something to offer or there was a lesson to be learned. If so, Xavier didn’t want to miss it. Whatever his reason, Takei was far too wise to not have a good reason. That’s what made it wise for Xavier to be led by an idiot.

Xavier really didn’t know if seeing to Aryl’s death was wise or not and certainly didn’t look to Tamerlane for answers. Instead he was watching to see how Takei would react to it all, but he didn’t. He acted like he hadn’t even heard a word anyone said, including the little he’d said himself. Was he just going with the flow? What happened, happened? Or was it something else entirely? Was Takei really an ancient? Was he busy reading minds? Did he already know how everything was going to turn out? Was that why he seemed so incredibly unconcerned?

Well, Takei hadn’t wasted any time in following Tamerlane into the forest after Meraine, so he had to assume finding her was something of value. Or maybe he knew they’d be rerouted. After all Takei usually went his own way. Following Tamerlane just seemed to be the right way to go over the past few months, but Takei wasn’t a man to shy away from a goal. He didn’t seem scared of anything. So if Takei really wanted to find Meraine, he wouldn’t have been sidetracked from it. That meant one of two things. Either finding Meraine wasn’t really all that important . . . just a means to an end. Or getting rerouted would take them straight to her and Tamerlane didn’t even know it.

If that was the case, Takei wasn’t saying anything about it. Likely he just couldn’t care less what Tamerlane thought, but it was possibly because Takei wanted to speak to or capture Meraine, not kill her. Whatever his reasons, there was very little chance they were worse than Tamerlane’s motives. So he’d made his choice to stay silent. Even to the point of having regretted speaking at all. He’d only done so to fit in. Meraine had never wronged him. Either way his thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

Tamerlane screamed derisively, “You fucking idiots! Who gives a fuck about Meraine or Wferium’s little moron?! The chance we have now is so much more important! Don’t you understand?! We can take the camp! With Wferium out of the way, Aryl is in charge. With Aryl’s death we can take the camp! And we will NEVER have a better opportunity to do it! So get it together!”

Everyone seemed taken aback, but likely for different reasons. Obviously Takei didn’t give a damn or had simply seen it coming. Xavier did the same because, aside from mimicking Takei, also didn’t give a damn about “taking the camp”.

Marcus seemed to think Tamerlane was some sort of Guru and followed him around like a fucking puppy. Arden just didn’t want to die. It didn’t matter what they did, he just didn’t want to die. That meant anything dangerous worried him stupid. It was a wonder he was still breathing. Probably even Tamerlane wanted the whiny bastard dead, but there was strength in numbers.

Delacroix was the source of all anger. Namely, he was more or less Tamerlane’s twin. It was something of a support group. If Tamerlane felt any joy or happiness Delacroix was there to bring him back to the fucked up reality of their situation. And vice versa, except for the fact Delacroix seemed pissed at birth and still hadn’t gotten over it. If anyone had the phantom title of Tamerlane’s general, it was Delacroix. He remained as the unnamed second in command in Tamerlane’s unwritten law.

Both Marcus and Arden were just about as terrified of Delacroix as they were Tamerlane. It was a constant thorn in Delacroix’s side that, no matter what he did, he couldn’t affect Takei in any way. He’d tried once and later was extremely grateful it had been a private encounter. He’d made a move to take Takei down to prove his dominance. Delacroix walked with a limp for the rest of the week. No one knew why and no one was talking. Eventually it was forgotten, but Delacroix never tried again.

Delacroix did manage to eke out a little obedience from Xavier, whose resolve at the time wasn’t quite as solid as Takei’s, but that had since changed. It hadn’t quite worked out in the same way though. Xavier did refuse to take orders from Delacroix, but got the shit kicked out of him for it nearly every time. He won on occasion, but it was always temporary. Still, he never gloated because Takei never had about anything. Delacroix eventually learned there wasn’t anything he could do, so begrudgingly left the man alone, but chose to ridicule every word that came out of his mouth. This pathetic revenge made Delacroix feel smart and in control.

Still, when the order came down from Tamerlane, Xavier would obey so long as Takei did. It was infuriating to Tamerlane, but so far, on this particular mission, it didn’t seem to be a problem. Tamerlane waited a moment to see if there would be any response, but soon realized they felt none was required. Idiots! He’d already asked them for suggestions and now they just stood there as if his “speech” wasn’t over yet. All he was doing was getting them back on track with what really mattered.

“Suggestions?! Anyone?!”

Delacroix grunted in like a good general, “Sir! Do you know how many are with Aryl?!”

“No. Sorry. But expect at least three. The bitch always has an escort. And also expect that bastard Sebastian. He‘d fucking die without her. Or maybe she‘d fucking die without him. I forget.”

“Yes sir! What of the three with her?!”

“Well, they’ve got to die. I’d take them on if they’d join, but that’s doubtful. Maybe they’ll side if they see Aryl die. That’s a possibility, but first they’ve got to be captured. So far they all believe we’re on the same side. Let them think that and lure them in. But not Sebastian. He‘ll never side. End him.”

“Yes sir! May I suggest we use the elements and freeze the bitch to death!”

“Yes! Yes! Of course! That’s a fucking awesome idea!”

Marcus nearly raised his hand as he spoke with another idea, but was interrupted by Tamerlane.

“Shut the fuck up, Marcus! It’s not my fucking fault you didn’t come up with that idea!”

Marcus did as he was ordered. No one else said anything.

“So, let’s keep walking. We’ll get to the damned bridge and capture the four of them. Then we’ll let Aryl’s groupies watch her and Sebastian die. Then we’ll give them the simple choice of joining my ranks or joining the dead. Let’s go.”

If Takei had an opinion about this plan he wasn’t showing it. For the most part the group had momentarily stopped to discuss the change in plans. Takei had stopped as well, but that was the extent of his recognition to anything anyone had said. Xavier followed suit, aside from the one time he’d spoken. Both Tamerlane and Delacroix pretended not to care, but the intense lack of interest spoke volumes. Their silence infuriated the two, but they’d let it pass as they’d always done. At least they were still following. They didn’t always. Sometimes they didn’t like Tamerlane’s orders and simply chose not to obey them. They wondered what made this mission so damned worthy of their participation. Should they be honored? Well, they weren’t.

As they walked, nothing could be known from the void named Takei. Still they walked and they did so in silence, whether it be in meditation, out of fear or fury. The group was split into three different parts, which may very well have complimented each other if used correctly, but the odds of that were extremely slim. It was more likely they’d cancel each other out in an exquisite parody of death, which seemed so real it just couldn’t be faked. Silence kept the sides at bay. It was the only thing that could.

Eventually they all reached the bridge, which was slippery and crusted with layers of defiant ice. It seemed only the railings made the crossing possible, but that wasn’t why they’d come, or at least not why they were here now. That was true for most of them anyway.

Takei wasn’t stopping. After a moments pause neither did Xavier. That was, of course, unacceptable. Delacroix was the first to notice and said as much.

“Where the fuck do you two think you’re going?! Tamerlane ordered us all to wait here! You got something better to do?!”

Tamerlane noticed. “I’ve got something better for you to do! Stay or die! You can take the same exit that Aryl and Sebastian are gonna take if you’re so inclined! You just need to fucking choose. Right the fuck now!”

There was no click, though a weapon had been raised. Instead the crisp spark of an energy signature resonated. Everyone knew the sound meant electrified plasma was about to disintegrate certain important body parts. There was a distinctive hint of worry on Xavier’s face. Not that anyone could see it with his back turned. Not that he was going to turn around. Not unless Takei did, of course. He hadn’t expected him to, but then he’d never really been sure Takei even wanted him around. Was he following the man around because he wanted to or because he was wanted? Did it matter?

How could it not matter? There weren’t any easy choices left. Not that he’d ever had many of those, but this could very well be his final decision. Live or die. He desperately wanted Takei to say something, anything. Even a whisper might reassure him on this impromptu path he’d chosen. Though, he wasn’t even sure if this was possible. He’d never once heard the man actually speak. Maybe he couldn’t. No matter. Even a hand on his shoulder or a look in his eye would’ve been enough.

None of that happened and Takei never broke his stride. He wasn’t walking fast, just steadily. He wasn’t trying to get away as much as he was certain he was going to. It wasn’t even that really. To get away from something meant there was some sort of restriction of free will. There were no ties to bind Takei. There was no imposition of will he adhered to. No. Takei was his own master and, as much as he’d tried to prove otherwise, Tamerlane knew it. Everyone knew it and it wasn’t the first time he’d walked away without a care. It was just the last. He wasn’t returning this time and everyone seemed to know it.

However, that was just it. That’s what made everything so critical. That’s what forced Tamerlane to resort to the threat of death. That’s what helped Xavier to make his decision. He never broke his stride. Sure, Takei might barely know he existed or this might be the final test in his unorthodox training. It didn’t matter. His choices were simple. Live or die. To elaborate, live in utter misery and torture with people he despised or die happily knowing he’d made the right decision. That was if Tamerlane even pulled the trigger.

From the first moment, Xavier had known which decision was right. That was never the issue. No. The issue was all about death. Was he willing to die for what he knew was right? Or live, with the resulting quality of life being less than that of an animal. He decided that it was. It really wasn’t much of a test after all. Then without another word, Tamerlane pulled the trigger.

Takei seemed not to notice. Though, Xavier didn’t stop, he flinched as he closed his eyes in preparation for the coming pain. Tamerlane may have been a lot of moronic things, but he was a damned good shot. He wouldn’t accidentally kill him. No. He’d do it right and make the torture last. He didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word mercy. Xavier knew that first hand. Delacroix wasn’t the only one who’d beaten the shit out of him. They took turns like it was some sort of game, but he knew that’s all he had to look forward to if he stayed. So he’d die some horrific death. It was the lesser of the two evils.

Death didn’t come. He knew it wouldn’t. Yet neither did pain. Actually, very little happened. The gun fizzled and died. It wasn’t self-renewing. The charge could’ve expired. Any number of things could’ve happened. Anything involving electrified plasma was intricately complicated. Be that as it may, it wasn’t the first time Tamerlane had used one. It wasn’t even the first time he’d used this particular weapon. It was his favorite; his baby. He loved the damned weapon more than he’d ever loved any other person. That’s what made the fizzle so tragic for Tamerlane.

The fizzle or misfire or whatever happened also proved the source of the deafening silence that followed. All anyone heard was the wind in the trees and the soft, uninterrupted footsteps of Takei and Xavier. Though they weren’t in a hurry by any means, they were getting farther and farther away with each passing second, each of which seemed like an eternity. Tamerlane’s crew waited anxiously for their leader’s orders, while Tamerlane, himself, chose instead to detox his weapon in the hopes of finding the problem. He knew he could. He knew every part of the weapon intimately.

However, the process of searching, by definition, took time and that was the one thing they were running out of. Delacroix wanted to say something or at least tap Tamerlane on the shoulder. The man may have been on edge, but it wasn’t as if he could get shot for it. Even so, he’d known better and didn’t try. As tough as he was, he knew Tamerlane could take him, with or without a weapon. He knew this because he had. There was a time when Delacroix cared very little for all members of the ancient line and fought with Tamerlane for leadership. Who won that battle went without saying.

Still, the decision wasn’t an easy one. Surely, Tamerlane wanted the two deserters stopped, but he may have wanted to do it himself. To act without Tamerlane’s orders never ended well . . . at least not for Delacroix. It seemed to work just fine for Takei. Delacroix envied the man. Surely, Takei could’ve taken command if he’d wanted to. It would’ve been easy too. Takei taking down Tamerlane probably would’ve been just as easy as Tamerlane besting Delacroix.

Takei wanted none of war or leadership, which Delacroix respected. He had no interest in killing such a man, but he wouldn’t hesitate if given the order. It took some time, but that order did come. With an impatient glance from the innards of the weapon to the deserters to Delacroix, Tamerlane suddenly screamed at his men.

“Wha . . . What the FUCK are you morons waiting for?! Huh?! Is it fucking tea time?! TAKE THEM DOWN!!!”

Without another word Delacroix took out his barber. The name may have been stupid, but the result wasn’t. It sported three barrels, each fully stocked with bullets molded to a point and barbed like an arrow, but in multiple places. The barbs provided maximum pain when it came time to remove them. It wasn’t always necessary, but if the victim got away, then at least Delacroix would have the distinct pleasure in knowing his gift of pain was one that would keep on giving. Of course, it required a certain precision so as not to inadvertently kill, but that was all in the wrist and the reflexes, which were two things Delacroix was rather adept at.

Just as the plasma influx was Tamerlane’s favorite weapon, so too was the barber for Delacroix. It was less technical and more bare bones. Just the way he liked it. It didn’t require a charge of any kind. Less advanced meant less chance for fuck ups. Not only that, but with a click he could fire one, two or all three barrels, because each one had its own safety switch. Only the primary was unlocked right now. It was rare to use all three because it drastically increased the odds of death, but simply having the option made him feel safer.

Also being an excellent shot, Delacroix took aim and fired. The barbed bullet exploded from the barrel and flew straight at Xavier’s upper right thigh. However, the bullet never connected with it. On the stupidest of all coincidences, a crow swooped down right then and took it in the chest. The bullet ripped straight through in a spray of blood and continued shredding the cold winter air. Its course had been slightly altered by the crow’s trajectory and the bones shattered on its way. The bullet made a soft but sudden sound as it buried itself into the deepening layers of snow.

The crow was instantly dead and because of it Delacroix knew the pain would soon start. If it was any consolation to him the bird had shot forward in death, skimming his original target in the left arm, but only with its feathers. No one could even be sure Xavier had felt it, doing little to appease the humility of it all. There was a moment before the pain hit when Delacroix could’ve taken another shot, but that bit of time was taken up by incredulous disbelief. Then the pain doubled him over as the youthing began. Naturally, it wouldn’t last long, an hour at most, but he’d be out of commission for that entire time.

Delacroix wasn’t the only one who was shocked. Marcus and Arden were as well. Though, they’d snapped out of it when Tamerlane, still tinkering away, ordered them to pick up Delacroix’s gun and try again. Neither had guns of their own. Tamerlane wouldn’t allow it. These were groupies who added to his cause only by adding numbers to his posse. They were too unreliable to be trusted with weapons, but the situation had changed. Not only that, but if they missed and killed one of the deserters, then it would still all be worth it. A deserter and a moron both dead was a win, win in his book.

As expected, Arden did nothing. Frozen with fear far more than the weather, Tamerlane was shocked that the man, if he even qualified for the title, hadn’t wet his pants. He had, after all, done that before. Fortunately no one was around at the time. That kind of embarrassment came with a high price tag. Namely, if only to save face, Tamerlane would’ve had little choice but to see to his death. It was a fair penance that Arden really couldn’t have said no to.

However, Tamerlane’s pet, Marcus, came running forward after a moment and scooped up the barber, which he’d never before used, much less touched. It put him in awe simply looking at it. It took him another moment just to convince himself he was actually holding the hallowed weapon . . . and he was going to get to use it too! It was fucking amazing! It was the best he could ever hope for. There wasn’t any way in hell he was ever going to get to fire Tamerlane’s crown jewel.

Then Tamerlane screamed at him, “Fire the damned thing, you fucking idiot!”

Marcus did just that, but it was impulsive, or perhaps more of a sudden reflex to being yelled at. He was used to the abuse, but not when actually holding the barber. That was a special occasion he was trying to savor. For the briefest of moments he’d forgotten everything else. Where he was, who he was with, what was happening and most of all what he was supposed to be doing. Tamerlane had rudely jolted him back to reality and the shot had gone wild, wedging into a tree.

Then came more yelling. “What the fuck?! Why did you fucking do that?! Aim first you mother fucking moron!!!”

Marcus wanted to aim the barber, but not at the deserters. What a golden opportunity to kill Tamerlane once and for all. No, he chided himself. How could he even think such a thing? Tamerlane was a great man. He was of the ancient line. He was a man to be revered, just like all the ancients. Of course, he hated being screamed at, but he deserved it. He just kept fucking up. It was a miracle, a gift, a blessing, whatever, that Tamerlane still kept him around. He should be honored to be in his presence. He should be honored to perform every order given. For this brief transgression he felt ashamed. That was all well and good, but these feelings took up valuable time. The deserters were getting away by fucking walking. Tamerlane was not a patient man, so he screamed again.

“AIM AND FIRE YOUR FUCKING WEAPON OR I SWEAR YOU WILL NOT SURVIVE THE NIGHT!!!”

This time he did. He wanted to live and the deserters sure as hell weren’t about to kill him. He aimed at Xavier, but took a while to line up his shot. It wasn’t as simple as Delacroix made it look. Delacroix himself was a distraction, cringing in the fetal position, grunting in abbreviated pain. It seemed every time he’d lined up a shot the man would involuntarily kick him in the shin. It didn’t hurt that bad, but he stepped away. Finally, he pulled the trigger and the barbed bullet erupted out of the chamber. It was a wide miss to an increasingly small target. The kickback knocked Marcus on his ass, with a shoulder that was going to bruise. It earned a sudden response from Tamerlane.

“IMBECILE!!! GIVE ME THAT FUCKING GUN!!!”

Marcus hadn’t so much given it as it was brutally jerked out of his hands. His finger, having gotten caught in the trigger, was wrenched back until it bled. It came loose, but with a fee of flesh. Not a lot, but the blood flowed. It didn’t matter though. In this day and age, who hadn’t suffered much worse, but it still hurt some. Pain was pain and blood was still blood. However the damage lay mostly in the surprise of it. If loyalty had been lost it couldn’t be seen. If Tamerlane had given a damn about losing Marcus’s loyalty it couldn’t be seen.

Surely, Marcus got what he deserved. His shot should’ve been more accurate, but practice was hard to come by when banned from handling firearms. Through the pain he did wonder what exactly Tamerlane had expected? For that matter what had Marcus expected? Not to be punished for things he had no control over? No. That was asking too much. A dissent was building, but he hadn’t known it. If Tamerlane knew it, he couldn’t have cared less. Knowing that only made it grow faster. Marcus wore a scowl on his face attributed to the pain coursing through his finger, but that wasn’t the source at all. It was hatred fed ravenously through fear.

Tamerlane hadn’t noticed, though he did make a point to continue Marcus’s punishment at a later time. At the moment he had more important business to attend to. He brought the barber to bear on the nearly vanished targets. Not that they’d gotten so far ahead by mere walking, but the whole terrain was covered with rolling hills. Takei and Xavier were disappearing over the short climax of the nearest one. There was no point in pulling the trigger now. The shit had hit the proverbial fan and distorted the god damn picture!

“Hey! You fucking bastard! Arden! Bring those assholes back here. Dead or alive, I don’t give a fuck! Just go and bring them back! AND DO IT FUCKING NOW!!!”

Of course, even as the impulsive words were being yelled, Tamerlane knew better. Arden wouldn’t do anything. Arden never did anything. He wasn’t about to start now. Not unless he had some serious motivation. He just happened to have the perfect thing. He aimed Delacroix’s barber directly at Arden’s crotch and presented a riveting argument.

“If you don’t start running, you won’t need this!”

The message was well understood, but the desired result wasn’t. It was the first and almost certainly last time Tamerlane would ever actually look at Arden’s stunted third leg. Especially with what happened next. Though Arden wore more than one layer of pants, a spot began to darken and quickly grew into a streak that ran down his leg. Disgusted, he quickly glanced at Arden’s face with a look that screamed “What the fuck?!” and was greeted by another one that was petrified with terror.

Tamerlane would’ve simply blown Arden’s dick into a bloody mess that really would’ve stained the little girl’s panties, but he couldn’t be wasting anymore time. The other little pussy was too damned busy nursing the boo-boo on his finger. The only other man in the group who actually wore a pair of balls was stuck in the god damned youthing process from a mother fucking crow! So, Tamerlane had to do it all himself! He fucking knew that’s how everything would turn out eventually, but now?! Why fucking now?! What the fuck ever!

Tamerlane couldn’t even see the two deserters anymore. They’d gone over the rise, but he knew they weren’t far from it so he broke into a run. It was more of a sprint. Whether purposely or not, he wasn’t saving anything back for the return trip. He’d have to walk back. What else could he do? He may have been the strongest, fastest and most deserving person in the group, but he was still only flesh and blood. The walk to the bridge had taken hours. It was exhausting for the most experienced hiker. Tamerlane was tired. He had to dig deep into his reserves just to catch up with the two assholes.

Still, he was fast, likely faster than anyone else could’ve been. Yet fast was relative. The path to get to the bridge was not well traveled. Though still easily distinguishable, the path beyond it was worse. The whole arduous process wore him down all the more. It was no wonder Takei and Xavier hadn’t made a run for it. No. They’d made a walk for it . . . and it god damn worked! How the fuck could that have worked?! It was almost like they’d known it would. Was that even possible? On the rare occasion, Tamerlane, himself, could get a few glimpses into the future, but he hadn’t seen this coming. How could they? Both were normal fucking humatrans!

Things became decidedly worse as the snowy plain turned gradually into a snowy incline as the hill rose, as hills always do. So Tamerlane slowed his pace a bit. He had little choice in the matter. His feet were starting to feel like lead. Then after little while longer, lead with rivets drilled through them and planted deep into the frozen ground. Well, he figured he must’ve been strong to rip them out with every pain staking step. Then the rivets grew longer and went deeper. It didn’t help that the legs supporting the leaden feet felt like they were made of rubber. Then soon after, jelly.

Even so, he’d almost reached the rise. Just a few more impossible steps and then he could see them. Then maybe get his ass kicked because he was in no condition to fight. Well, he still had the barber. But it felt so god damned heavy, as if he’d been carrying a fucking elephant this whole time. He knew he could still pull the trigger. It was his only and last hope. He couldn’t even throw a punch.

Then Tamerlane poked his head over the rise and for a moment saw nothing. He’d expected a boot to the face, maybe. It’s what he would’ve done, but that never came. Nothing came. It wasn’t exactly easy for anything to come in the black of night. He’d been wearing his binoculars set to night vision this whole time, but they didn’t seem to be helping any longer, so he made an adjustment to thermal. Then he saw them. They were so small and so far away. Then they disappeared. They were gone over the next mother fucking hill!

That was it. The chase was over. He could do no more. His quarry had gotten away by fucking walking! Tamerlane would’ve collapsed if he wasn’t already lying in the snow. He was propped up and aiming the barber, which now suddenly gave way, devoid of its long awaited purpose. So was Tamerlane. A part of him knew he’d garnered no real loyalty from Takei. That same part of him knew, but denied, that this day would come. That eventually Takei, perhaps with Xavier in tow, would just disappear forever. The man had just been tagging along with the camp and with him as if they were busses he’d transferred to. He’d finally reached his stop and gotten off. Now, finally now, Tamerlane realized he wasn’t the one using Takei. Takei was the one using him.

This sudden fact would’ve infuriated him if he’d had the energy to do so, but he didn’t. All he could do was lie there. That’s exactly what he did for a good ten, twenty minutes, though it felt more like an hour or two. He knew getting down would be far easier than going up. That was the benefit of gravity. With what little energy was restored from the short break he’d managed to roll over. His plan was to slide down the hill, but that wasn’t working. His boots weren’t exactly aerodynamically inclined, nor had his pack didn’t come equipped with a sled. It wouldn’t have mattered, since he’d left it back at the bridge, having scrambled through it for tools to fix his beloved plasma influx.

So he sat there for a minute longer before deciding to adjust once again and roll down the damned hill. Sure he’d be fucking dizzy by the time he reached the bottom, but he’d soon recover and there really wasn’t anything for it. There weren’t any trees in the way. This path had been cleared long ago, maybe centuries ago. He had no idea where it led to because, like most everyone else in the camp, he’d never been out past the bridge. Like most everyone else in the camp, he’d never had cause to. Wferium led them in from a different direction. It didn’t matter. He held the barber tight to his chest and pushed off with his foot to begin his roll.

The ride was quick and disorienting, but largely uneventful. In that sense, it was much like a carnival ride, which he’d been on once when he was much younger. If he hadn’t been so exhausted, if he hadn’t failed, if his mind wasn’t full of other plans, well, it might’ve been fun. Yet not now. Now he just laid there, covered in snow, shivering and for a couple minutes, completely unable to move, much less stand. What else was there? Crawl? That would make quite the impression for those who remained in his posse. In his condition, it was possible he might’ve considered it had he been alone.

No. He had to stand. He must walk back with his head held high, because he still had men to lead. He still had a workable plan. He could still kill Aryl, Sebastion and whoever else needed dying. He had to now. He had to make up for this fucking loss. To save face, no one else had to know about it. He’d just lie. It would work. Sure it would work, but first he had to get back to the bridge and without crawling.

It took a long time, but eventually Tamerlane managed to stand, but only with the help of the barber as a crutch. He could see the others now with his thermal vision. He could see too much time had passed. Not that he could discern who was who, but all three of them were standing. One or two were hunched over on the railing, but all were standing. That meant that Delacroix’s youthing pains had ended. That meant Tamerlane had been gone for well over an hour. That meant he had to get back before others began their own thoughts of desertion. It probably wouldn’t matter. Delacroix would keep them in check, gun or no gun. He still had his hunting knife which was just as persuasive.

Tamerlane figured they could probably see him now. He hoped no one had seen him rolling down the hill. It showed a lack of dignity and pride. The odds of being seen with night vision were slim, but far more likely with thermal. He never gave Marcus or Arden the time of day, so had no idea what kind of gear they sported. Delacroix had thermal, but he’d been a little preoccupied as of recently. Either way it didn’t matter. He’d just say it was a command decision. Rolling got him back to the bridge faster. He’d point out that true leaders took advantage of their environment and things like gravity. It would work.

To say those things he’d have to actually get back to the bridge, which meant walking. Walking meant stepping forward. Stepping forward meant he’d have to lift his lead foot. He was ashamed to even think it, but that wasn’t exactly easy anymore. Still he did it, one after another. Each step proved harder than the last. He figured it was a miracle he hadn’t fallen over where he stood. Each step slowed and balance was best maintained by constant movement.

Tamerlane eventually arrived at his destination. He was only gone a little over two hours, but it felt more like three or four must’ve passed since he’d left. Everyone stared as he neared, so he mustered what energy remained to stand and walk proud, which was easier free of the deepest snow. He’d already returned to night vision and knew who was who. Delacroix seemed alright, but wore a disgruntled expression that screamed silently of bad fucking luck. That and he was probably a bit sore. He should join the club. Marcus’s finger was bandaged now, as if he cared, and seemed if nothing else, bored. Arden looked rather uncomfortable with pee frozen to the inside of his pants. At that, Tamerlane cracked a smile.

Delacroix was the first to speak. “Sorry, sir! Damned fucking crow! I won’t let you down again!”

“I know. I know you won’t. It’s not all shit though. You killed us dinner. Go and grab it.”

Now Delacroix smiled at the silver lining on the dark rain cloud overshadowing his last few hours. “Sir! Yes, sir!” As he began he added, “Sir! If I may be so bold! I know you caught the fucking deserters! But how?”

In a weary, dismissive tone, Tamerlane answered, “You’re idea, Delacroix. Wounded them and left them to freeze. I stayed to make sure. That’s what took me so long.”

Before Delacroix could respond, Marcus spoke up. “But how? It took you well over an hour just to get back.”

“God damn it you little bitch! We were fucking talking! You want a second finger shaved?! I can accommodate!” He faltered at the sudden exertion, but recovered using the bridge’s railing, playing it off as a simple slip on the ice, which was quite treacherous.

Marcus said nothing more, but knew what he saw. Time passed on the bridge and there was little else to do but watch and wait. He’d timed Tamerlane and things didn’t add up. Regardless of the distance, he hadn’t heard another shot fired. He would’ve too. He had excellent hearing. It was obvious Tamerlane was lying. Takei and Xavier had gotten away. The only question was why no one else saw it.

Maybe Arden knew better, but did it matter? So Tamerlane lied. He had to have a good reason for it, right? Everything Tamerlane did had purpose, right? He was a leader, right? He deserved to be in charge, right? Of course he did. So he lied. It was his own fault for pointing it out. He should’ve known better. Marcus told himself he wouldn’t make that mistake again, but remained unconvinced.

Arden never said a word. He knew Takei and Xavier escaped. He was silently kicking his own ass for not having the guts to join them. He tried to console himself as there was no way he could’ve known such an incredible thing was even possible, but what then? Did he have the guts to try it here and now? No. Of course not. How could he? He hadn’t had the guts to simply walk away when Tamerlane was gone and Delacroix was youthing. How could he possibly have the guts now? Of course, he beat himself up for that too.

Now he worried. He knew there would be a price to pay for failing to obey Tamerlane’s order to bring the two back. Awww fuck! He suddenly thought. That was his big opportunity to join Takei and Xavier and never return! Why the fuck hadn’t he taken it?! God! He was such an irredeemable idiot! Every single time Tamerlane called him an idiot or a moron he was only telling the truth! That’s exactly what he was. One day the time would come when this fear would cost far more than a few pairs of pants. He tried not to think about that. It was too damned scary.

So what did he do?! He pissed his pants?! Was that supposed to help somehow?! Now he just stood there frozen with it! He was so damned embarrassed! If he wasn’t so terrified of death he would’ve prayed for it. He knew the whole area reeked of the sweet smell. Death might be coming soon anyway. That might be the price for disobedience. God! He hoped not. It was so dark and so cold, especially around his legs, but he didn’t want to die! He’d do anything if death was his only other choice! He’d do anything if death was the cost of not doing it. He had to let Tamerlane know this before he’d made up his mind to kill him.

So Arden stuttered out the revelation. “T . . . T . . . Tamer . . . Tamerlane, sir. Please, please don’t kill me. Please don’t. I . . . I . . . I promise. I . . . I’ll do anything you want if you’ll just let me live. I’m so, so sorry for not obeying you. I was just so scared. So scared. Please don’t kill me.”

Tamerlane wanted to interrupt. He wanted to tell the moron it was too late. He had to die now. It was one of the things he’d actually considered . . . many times. With what had happened he was itching to do it now, if only to make him feel better about recent events. He couldn’t afford to, though. His numbers were too low. He was a strong believer in power through numbers. They were only four strong now, not six. Were they ever actually six strong? Did it even matter? Whatever. He let the idiot finish. Why not? He rarely ever spoke anyway. Why not let him finish a sentence?

Tamerlane had already decided not to kill Arden or anyone else, but if he believed otherwise, well, he could use that. Perhaps the threat would inspire the moron actually do something, instead of freezing up in fear. After all, he needed everyone he had left if her was going to capture and kill Aryl. That plan was still a go, but it would only work if he resumed control of the situation and calmed everyone down. Cooking and eating the crow would help with that, but if there wasn’t enough for Arden or Marcus that was just too fucking bad. After all, little girls didn’t need to eat as much as full grown men. Right?

“No. You’re fucking dead. I’d slit your throat myself if it wasn’t for the fucking youthing!”

Before Tamerlane could continue, Arden resumed his begging just as he knew he would. After all it always helped to sweeten the pot with a little fear. Maybe that’s why he kept Arden around. The air was always ripe with the sweet scent of fear. He actually missed it when he was up on the hill.

“N . . . N . . . No. N . . . No. P . . . P . . . Please. Please no. I . . . I . . . I promise! I . . . . I fucking promise! I’ll do any fucking thing you want! J . . . Just please, please don’t kill me!”

Tamerlane was thoroughly enjoying himself despite the fact he could barely stand; despite the fact that at the moment even moronic little Arden could take him down, if only he knew and had the required nerve. Feigning nonchalance, he continued to lean up against the bridges railing and tried to casually brush the snow from his clothes, even though much of it had already melted, soaking his outer layers. He needed a fire. Good timing, he thought.

“Really? Well, I suppose you couldn’t actually stop stuttering, could you?”

He waited for a response, but none was coming. How could it? The little bitch would have to stutter to give one, but it was all fun and games.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. No matter. Build me a fire then. Do it quickly and quietly. No questions. No complaining and don’t ask anyone for help. Not even Marcus. Do that and I’ll let you live at least until morning. K?”

“U . . . U . . . Uh, y . . . yes. Yes sir.”

“And no fucking st . . . st . . . stuttering, God damn it! If you have to stutter then don’t fucking talk! Do you f . . . f . . . fucking got it?!”

“U . . .”, Arden started, but stopped himself.

Now annoyed more than exhausted, Tamerlane said, “Just give me a thumbs up. K?”

Arden was even shaky with that, but did it. Then he stumbled over himself to go and find some wood. It was, of course, another prime opportunity to just run away, but somehow he knew he wouldn’t. If anything, he’d miss being told what to do. He knew he was a sheep, designed by nature to follow. All on his own, he’d likely die out in the wilderness.

Marcus watched and waited, wondering what his fate would be. He soon found out.

“Marcus, once that fire’s lit, it’ll be your job to cook the damn bird. You can start by plucking all the frozen feathers off, chopping off the head and feet. You know. Prepare the damned thing. Get busy.”

Delacroix had already started plucking, but now gladly stopped and tossed the bloody thing in the snow at Marcus’s feet. Without a word, he picked it up and continued the job.

“Delacroix. I need you on lookout. Project Aryl Extinction is still a go. We don’t need the deserters. We never did. I need to fix my plasma influx. Then I’ll join you.” With that, Tamerlane handed the barber respectfully to his unofficial general and added, “When you see them coming remember to welcome them. We’re supposed to meet. We need to use that to throw them off guard. K? Don’t worry about missing your shot. It wasn’t your fault. Shit happens. It’ll be fine.”

Duly reassured, Delacroix yelled, “Sir! Yes, sir!”, and then went about his duty.

<><><><>

Time passed and things calmed down as Tamerlane knew they would. It took too damn long, but Arden finally lit the fire and it eventually roared. It would speed things up to give Aryl a smoke signal even though he knew she wouldn’t need one. In the meantime they cooked the crow and ate it. As his warmth and strength returned Tamerlane felt slightly generous, so allowed both Arden and Marcus a bite or two of meat. It was no surprise both he and Delacroix ate much better. Arden and Marcus compensated with their own jerky and other such rations.

It was strange the two hadn’t become friends, being equally abused, but both saw the world in a different light. Marcus saw Arden as ranking lower than himself. It made him feel somewhat like a lieutenant, instead of just a foot soldier. It made him feel powerful, special and important. Treating Arden as anything near equal would destroy that feeling. While Arden was put off by that approach, he’d accepted it and believed in it. Somehow he knew friendship just wasn’t an option, though he sorely needed one.

Sometimes Marcus even gave Arden orders. He was never told to or granted any degree of authority. Even so, whenever he could, Marcus chose to delegate his own responsibilities to Arden and he did them, so long as the orders weren’t screamed. Fear was a factor. Marcus possessed the ability to frighten Arden, but then who didn’t? Yet too much and he’d be too scared to do the job he’d been delegated. So, Marcus went easy on the swearing and screaming, which Arden appreciated. Since it wasn’t official, these delegations could only be done in private. In other words, Marcus was stuck with cooking the crow. When Arden’s fear had subsided, he cracked a smile at this. In response, Marcus openly stole a bit of Arden’s meat. Arden’s smile disappeared after that.

It seemed mere seconds before the crow stringy meat disappeared. This proved good timing as soon afterwards two men approached the bridge . . . Manning and Todd. Both Tamerlane and Delacroix picked up their respective weapons, but it was only a trained reflex to possible danger. They had no intention of using them. Not yet anyway. They were still waiting for Aryl and Sebastian to show, who should’ve arrived first, not last.

Problems arose the second Tamerlane recognized the two men. Both Manning and Todd were loyal to Aryl. That in and of itself was a problem, but other issues existed, just as there would be in any silent, unannounced war for supremacy. Tamerlane despised the two. Even though he’d expected at least one of the two men to show up, he’d hoped to see Ben or Kyle instead. They would’ve been much easier to tame and were actually on Tamerlane’s conversion to do list.

Tamerlane had hopes of replacing the loss of Takei and Xavier, but there was little chance of that now. Actually none, once he’d thought about it. Even if they agreed to join Tamerlane’s posse, it would be a ruse, which was sometimes a prerequisite to a trap, most likely ending in his untimely death. No matter what the two said, they could never be trusted. That was plain enough when both men approached cautiously with guns at the ready. Not stealthily, though. There was no need for that. They were here by Aryl’s orders. They’d been expected and for the briefest of moments were all on the same team.

Manning and Todd knew better. Technically they weren’t part of Aryl’s team anymore. Wferium certainly wasn’t in charge. Regardless of how either might feel about it, Sarafyn was running the show now. Tamerlane’s posse took to chasing Meraine before critical events unfolded. To them, Sarafyn could’ve existed as a myth or just another one of Wferium’s lies. Ever since the two could remember, Tamerlane scoffed at authority figures. He’d already had too many issues with the other two ancients. The odds of him accepting and following anyone new were very slim. The only way to keep the fragile peace was to keep Tamerlane in the dark until it could no longer be avoided. These weren’t orders. They were just common sense, which was something both Manning and Todd had quite a bit of. Both agreed to keep the secret shortly after parting ways with Aryl and Sebastian.

All that really mattered was the woman Sarafyn predicted would cross paths with Tamerlane’s team. Whether they’d seen her or not, it was obvious she wasn’t here now. That was alright though. Aryl made it clear . . . the details were up for interpretation. It was why she’d branched off. Everything would come to pass as it should. Yet something else was wrong. Skipping the greeting, Manning asked about it.

“Where are Takei and Xavier?”

Tamerlane didn’t want to tell him. It wasn’t about the two walking away. It was about the blatant lack of respect. No. It was more than that. Manning talked to him like he was a lowly soldier in Aryl’s army. Manning talked to Tamerlane with expectant authority as if he were over him and far more important. He’d rather just start the festivities, but he’d lost men and the two who remained weren’t worth the skin they wore. No. The odds were poor at the moment, so the charade must go on. So Tamerlane responded with a poorly acted attempt at a submissive tone.

“Dead. Frozen to death.” That was it. The bitches didn’t need or deserve any more details.

Todd responded first. “That’s unlikely. Takei’s an ancient. And skilled. Maybe Xavier’s dead, but for Takei, death doesn’t come so easily.”

This was spoken as simple fact. If it was ever hidden it apparently hadn’t meant to be. Tamerlane simply hadn’t talked to those in the know, though he’d certainly tried. He’d asked many people, but then maybe they’d all lied, quite convincingly or maybe dismissively. He couldn’t really tell. Suddenly he hated them for it, even though some were already dead and rotting. No. They were dead and frozen. The rotting would come later.

Tamerlane had to act as if he’d already known this. Too bad Manning and Todd weren’t stupid. Both took note of the shock that washed over his features, no matter how briefly. Still they listened, curious just what Tamerlane’s response would be.

“The ancients die too. Go and see for yourself.”

It was a ruse to get them to turn their backs. It didn’t work.

Todd answered again, trying to both avoid a trap and catch Tamerlane in a lie. “No. Takei’s been through far more winters than you or I. He wouldn’t have just frozen. What happened to him?”

Tamerlane was pissed, but tried not to show it. “He fucking deserted! I had to shoot him first! K?!”

Todd wanted to say, “And now you‘re going to die for it.”, but thought better of it as he was fluent in bullshit and this was obviously a lie. This wasn’t a pissing match. They weren’t here to start a war. They’d finish one if needed, but they had to try and prevent a war. There was an endgame here bigger than all of them. They had their orders and took them seriously.

Instead he said, “Xavier, too?”

“Yes. Fucking Xavier, too. He was with Takei. He deserted, too. I couldn’t have that.”

Both Manning and Todd knew they’d gotten away and silently wished them both the best of luck. The seed hunter camp was not the military Tamerlane wished it was. People came and people went. Takei arrived as a drifter and remained one. Xavier simply followed in his footsteps and Takei allowed it. Maybe he was lonely. Who could know? Takei almost never spoke.

It was a mystery why Takei joined ranks with Tamerlane. None of it made any sense and it worried Aryl. Still, nothing was done about it. The reason for this had little to do with free will, as Wferium wasn’t worried. That was then. Wferium was almost certainly dead by now and the camp was hurting. These two things only served to increase Tamerlane’s power, which was in turn increased by Takei’s decision to join him. That was because Takei was held in high regard. He’d always been respected far more than Tamerlane ever was.

Of course it helped that he wouldn’t be ordered around or bullied. He only went along with orders if they made sense to him and he agreed, which with Tamerlane’s faulty judgment didn’t happen all that often. Still his very presence was a boon to the wayward cause. Now he was gone and likely for good. Whatever happened next, Takei’s and Xavier’s absence could do nothing but help Aryl’s cause. So they’d both chosen to let the sensitive subject die and move on to more important matters. Weapons still trumped handshakes on all sides. There was no trust here.

This time Manning spoke. “Have you seen a girl?”

Tamerlane was grateful for the new topic, but clueless as to the new one. “Girl?! What?! You mean Meraine?! How the fuck could we?! Aryl, our fucking boss, had us reroute to this stupid bridge!”

Manning wanted to pull the trigger of his strategically aimed gun, but thought better of it. It was aimed directly at Tamerlane’s thigh, but then most of the weapons were aimed at legs, with the exception of Delacroix’s barber, which was aimed at Todd’s arm. During standoffs guns were no longer aimed at vital organs. Itchy trigger fingers often invited DOE.

Todd was the calmer of the two and so spoke in Manning’s stead. “We’re not sure. It was predicted to happen.”

Tamerlane didn’t know about Sarafyn, so answered, “Are there doctors for ancients? Maybe Aryl needs to get her foresight checked! I’ve already told you, no fucking ‘girl’ has come by this god forsaken bridge! K?!”

This response, at least the first part of it, brought a smile to Delacroix’s face, which in turn brought a frown to Manning’s. Tempers were rising. They were quickly running out of things to talk about, but Todd still held out hope of avoiding bloodshed.

“By your own admission, Aryl is your ‘boss’. She’s our ‘boss’ too. We all need to follow her orders. We’re supposed to wait for her here, with you. We don’t like it any more than you do, but orders are orders. She should be here shortly and when she arrives she’ll demand more respect than you’ve given us. I trust you know the price for failing to give it?”

Incredulous, Tamerlane responded, “What?! What fucking ‘price’ would that be?! Huh?! You must mean Wferium’s justice! Right?! I’ve always disrespected Aryl and I’ve never paid any price for it! At least not from her! Things were different with Wferium, but . . . Hey! What the fuck happened with that bitch anyway?!”

Manning’s trigger finger was getting itchy. Todd’s temper was rising now too, but tried to remain calm. “Wferium made some bad decisions. Yes. But she was our leader and deserves respect, even if she’s no longer in charge.”

“Cut the shit you’re shoveling, Todd! Is Wferium dead or alive. We need to know who’s in charge!”

Todd wasn’t happy, but felt Tamerlane had a right to know certain things. “She was alive when we left her, but she is definitely not in charge anymore. You need to obey Aryl now.”

“Like hell we do!” screamed Delacroix. “You’ll find that Tamerlane is in charge now! Lay down your fucking weapons or pay the price of disrespecting Tamerlane!”

That didn’t happen. What did happen was a silent stalemate. This was going nowhere fast. Something had to be done. Both parties were thinking this, more or less. On the one hand, Todd was trying to buy time enough for Aryl and Sebastian to arrive. It would even the odds and maybe Tamerlane didn’t know Sebastian was with her. It helped that Marcus and Arden were unarmed and more or less useless.

On the other hand, Tamerlane and Delacroix both wanted to speed things up before Aryl arrived. The idea was to see to all their deaths, which was going to be much harder if they had to deal with all four of Aryl’s party all at once. It was better to stage the coup in pieces. It really was unprecedented luck that Aryl hadn’t arrived with them. That was something they had to act on and soon. If they’d all arrived together, it’d be four against four, but those odds weren’t close to being even. Here and now was the only way.

Marcus, himself, still battled his own demons. Half of him still respected Tamerlane, while the other longed to be free of him. Whatever the case, he didn’t want him dead. He couldn’t really explain why, but some things just couldn’t be put into words. The silence only compounded his worry, so he broke it.

“Please. Please don’t hurt him.”

It was near to a whisper, but heard well enough with the loudest noise being the crackling of the fire. The question was whether or not everyone understood him. Tamerlane was annoyed by the interruption, but thought Marcus was trying to protect him. This garnered no favor. It only brought contempt. The idea being that Tamerlane needed this intervention as a plea bargain of sorts. Obviously Marcus didn’t think Tamerlane could protect himself or handle the situation on his own. The insinuation was offensive.

Like everyone else, Todd was well aware of Marcus’s puppy dog loyalty to Tamerlane, but he also knew the man was sorely mistreated, despite his continual efforts. He knew it was only a matter of time before Tamerlane’s abuse destroyed the unwarranted and undeserved loyalty. If that time had finally come, then it was quite possible he was asking Tamerlane not to hurt Manning or himself. It didn’t really matter. It proved the distraction everyone was waiting for. It was also ironic, because that quiet plea for nonviolence was everyone’s queue for the war to officially begin.

Manning fired his gun first, directly into Delacroix’s upper right thigh. Manning’s gun was called a sleeper but was nowhere near as innocent as it sounded. It was basically a gussied up tranquilizer gun redesigned for humatran anatomy. It fired tiny darts, not bullets. Each one, as per the gun’s name, contained a powerful sleep aid designed to render the target unconscious in under a minute and for up to three hours. The danger came from what happened while one was sleeping, which was never pretty.

Being well versed in weaponry, Delacroix knew precious little time remained to react. In response he fired his barber. Not that it did any good. It was Marcus’s distraction that allowed Manning to fire first and it was the sudden forceful pain from the dart which distracted him further. This and the close proximity allowed Manning to use the butt of his gun to physically alter Delacroix’s aim. It was by mere inches, but proved enough. The barbed bullet tore through both layers of Manning’s pants, yet left barely a scratch.

Delacroix moved to fire again, by which time, Manning had moved the barber even further away. Not that it mattered. Something was suddenly wrong with his leg. The sharp pain faded quickly, but now he was losing all feeling in it. A familiar tingling sensation perhaps, but he could barely stand. He’d gotten another wide, useless shot off, but that was it. A second later his right leg buckled and he collapsed into the snow. That would mark the second time he’d fallen in the snow that night from something unforeseen.

Tamerlane was faster if only because he remained weak and couldn‘t stand much longer. He had to get this shit over with and quick. He’d eaten and regained a bit of strength, but the charade of sounding and acting strong, not to mention standing without support, had drained him. The sudden tension and perhaps anticipation had caused him to lose his focus.

He’d managed to fix the outflow problem with his plasma influx. It was just some coagulated junk. It was a rare problem, but inevitable. The intricacies of the plasma required the gun, which was more of a rifle, to be cleaned at least once every six months. That time had come due at just the wrong moment and he’d been too distracted by current events to remember to clean it. It was fine now and ripe for testing. He pulled the trigger before Todd, who’d always been more reluctant towards violence than Manning.

The trouble was the range. The results were always more deadly at closer range, but the real trouble came as Tamerlane fired twice and jerked back as he did so. The recoil of the first shot combined with a weakness he was unaccustomed to. He’d lost his balance and regained it, but in so doing gripped the trigger again.

Todd’s eyes suddenly went wide with pain, as his pants, skin, muscle then bone began to disintegrate from the electrified plasma. Shots at normal range rarely ever went so deep, but after jerking backwards, Tamerlane’s second shot was to Todd’s stomach. This meant death and it was only a second later they’d both realized it. Todd dropped his gun in shock. His irreparably damaged body followed in short order.

Tamerlane would’ve had time enough to put Manning out of commission too, but two things stopped him. First, the obvious shock that youthing was near and possibly DOE. The other reason was simply NOT to repeat the same mistake. Any chance of him surviving hinged on NOT killing Manning too. Instead, Tamerlane went for his knife during the short time he had left, but his weakness made him sluggish in the attempt. He knew he’d failed upon the sudden pinch of the sleeper in his leg and the voice that followed it . . . Manning’s voice.

“You fucking bastard!!! You don’t deserve to sleep through the youthing! Damn it all to hell!!!”

Manning held his sleeper on Tamerlane for no other reason than it made him feel safer. He desperately wanted to shoot him in the fucking eye or throat, but he wouldn’t. He wasn’t about to kill him. He didn’t know for sure he’d DOE if he had, but he’d surely end up too young. None knew what Marcus and Arden would do unsupervised.

The worst of it was Tamerlane wasn’t going to die. Well, he might, but he wouldn’t DOE. No! Fuck! He couldn’t die! Who felt pain when asleep?! For all his maturity, Todd’s years weren’t even enough to make Tamerlane a child! Todd was only AA22 and Tamerlane, for all his stupidity wasn’t really all that young. He was EA45, but he was also AA45. He couldn’t have done better if he’d planned it. He was going to sleep through most of the youthing and come out smelling like a brand spanking new EA23.

Yet it didn’t happen exactly like that. The youthing was a primal pain. There was nothing known to man that could resist it with any real degree of success. No form of painkiller had any effect without a massively dangerous dose. Sleep aids seemed to be impotent as well. It had been tried time and time again. Just not by Manning. He had no idea, but realization dawned when the screaming started. Tamerlane’s screams made him smile, despite his friend’s death.

He didn’t have to survive this. There were other ways to finish a man. That would’ve been his plan except for a minor hitch. Both Marcus and Arden were holding up handguns they’d rummaged out of Delacroix’s pack and both aimed directly at Manning. Then Arden spoke, the trademark stutter gave him away.

“Th . . . Th . . . Things . . . Things are hap . . . happening. Ar . . . Aryl’s the b . . . boss. I . . . I . . . I know. B . . . But I won’t . . . I won’t let you k . . . k . . . kill T . . . T . . . Tamer . . . Tamerlane.”

Manning stared at him incredulously. “He killed Todd! I’ve fucking got to! Maybe you’d understand if you had a friend who was murdered right in front of you!”

“Y . . . You m . . . mean like my m . . . m . . . mom, y . . . you f . . . fuck . . . fucking bastard?”

“Your mom? Your mom was k . . .” Then after a knowing pause and a certain glint in Arden’s eye Manning continued. “Now don’t do anything stupid, Arden. I didn’t know. O.K. I’m sorry about your mom. O.K. But you know Tamerlane has to die. You’ve got to know he wouldn’t save you. When has he ever? He needs to die.”

“I . . . I . . . I know. A . . . A . . . And he w . . . will. B . . . But not by y . . . you. He . . . He’s Aryl’s r . . . re . . . respons . . . responsibility. Y . . . Y . . . You know. D . . . D . . . Death without c . . . cause and all that sh . . . shit.”

“I DON’T FUCKING CARE, ARDEN!!! SO MAYBE ARYL WILL PUNISH ME FOR DOING HER THIS FAVOR!!! WHATEVER!!! I’LL PAY THE PRICE!!! TODD IS DEAD!!! TAMERLANE KILLED HIM!!! TAMERLANE NEEDS TO DIE, AND HE NEEDS TO DIE HERE AND NOW BY MY HAND!!! I NEED THIS FUCKING REVENGE AND DESERVE IT!!! AND YOU FUCKING KNOW IT BECAUSE YOU NEED IT FAR MORE THAT I DO!!! PLEASE TELL ME IF I’M FUCKING WRONG!!!”

Before Arden could answer he heard a stutter from a voice not his own. “D . . . D . . . Don’t you fucking, OH MY FUCKING GOD IT HURTS!!! DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE . . . AAAAAAHHHH . . . D . . . DON’T YOU . . . LET . . . ANYONE KILL ME!!!”

The searing pain coursing through Tamerlane’s veins was a terrible thing to hear, but for Manning it was positively symphonic. “Shut up you fucking prick!!! Take your fucking medicine!!! I’ll give you the rest momentarily!!!”

It was right about then, whether accidentally or not, that Marcus, not Arden, pulled the trigger that ended Manning’s life. His aim was better this time. With less pressure he’d time enough to line up a shot. Being at close range also helped. The bullet hit Manning right in the nose and caved it inward so it was sandwiched between the bullet and Manning’s brain, but only momentarily. It was soon allowed to rush free out the back of Manning’s skull along with half of his brain. The gun was powerful and death was instantaneous. Manning never felt a thing, but Marcus soon would.

Whether he knew it or not, Marcus was going to DOE. Manning was too old and Marcus was too young. The ages didn’t balance with luck the way Tamerlane’s and Todd’s did. Then in a wide eyed moment of pure, but silent shock the pain went through him, back and forth, like barbed wire stitches through a lung. Then he collapsed onto the ground. It was not going to be a quick death. The screams tore into the once serene night. The typical campfire horror story was given flesh and made all more real by the eerie jerking shadows given off from the flickering flames.

Delacroix was spared this by the blissfulness of sleep, but the same couldn’t be said of Arden. The fear he’d momentarily pushed away slowly crept back into his soul, like a wolf to its den. He soon fell to his knees and broke the not so silent night with a stuttering scream all his own.