Cigdem stood up and began walking to the southeast, practically ignoring Arshay. “Thanks, scout,” he called back. “Fatih, Plato, with me. We’re going to do this quickly and with as little fuss as possible.”

“Captain!” Arshay called. “What should I do?”

Cigdem growled low in his throat – fool – and turned on his heel, staring down Arshay. “Stay right where you are, scout. You’ve done well, so just stay out of the way and try not to do anything stupid before we get back.”

It was an hour’s trek out to where the vehicles, including Cigdem’s ATV, waited. Fatih spent the whole journey whistling a jaunty tune to himself, while Cigdem tried to shut the song out of his mind. He imagined the marching-drum from back home pushing him along, too loud for Fatih’s incessant noise to disturb him. The drum became his heart. It kept him going. Eventually, they came to the spot.

Cigdem circled the ATV and climbed atop it, adjusting an attachment next to the saddle. “Detach those others,” he said to Fatih and Plato, as he snapped the attachment into place and fitted his rifle-spear so that it ran parallel to the ground, pointed forward. He extended the weapon to its full length and fanned the point, retracting the barrel just enough for protection in case of a ramming situation.

Plato walked to the larger vehicle – the carrier, parked among trees – and broke the tethers holding two more of the ATVs to the carrier. He climbed aboard one, and Fatih took another.

Fatih grinned. “This is going to be interesting. No mess, right?”

“No mess,” Cigdem confirmed as he revved up the engine. “Intimidation is the weapon which will ensure we don’t have to use our other weapons.”

The roar of the engine drowned out Fatih’s whistling on the way back to Etyslund.

They brought the vehicle to a stop again outside the village, where the troops were gathered. Cigdem turned to his arrayed forces, who by the time he came to a stop had all snapped to attention, salutes in progress. He made a downward motion with his arm, and they all dropped theirs. “Men,” Cigdem called out, careful not to let his voice boom but loud enough that all could hear him easily. “There’s little to say. We know this village is harboring Mirshalites. We’re going in to plant our flag and to take another step towards eliminating the most dangerous cult we’ve ever dealt with. Don’t forget that the Mirshalites want to destroy this world, to kill magic itself, and above all, to kill our Sun!”

Cigdem placed his foot on the pedal of his ATV and turned toward the village. “But of course, most of those in the village down below are not part of the cult. Most know little of those heretics’ true plans. So hold your fire and do not harm any civilians! We are not raiders, we are not bandits. We are the army of Invictus, sons and daughters of the Gaurl Core!” He raised his fist and allowed himself a grin, looking out upon the arrayed troops. “We will do this with honor! We will go hard, and harsh, but we will leave civilians unharmed! Now I want two flankers on each of these vehicles, and the rest of you on foot!” The soldiers moved quickly to obey, and Cigdem felt the vehicle beneath him sink a bit more on its suspension as he was joined by the bodyweight and armor of two more soldiers, each with their own service weapons brandished.

Now Cigdem allowed himself to shout, the bitterness and fatigue in his heart lifting as he raised his voice to the heavens. It was in these few and scattered moments, he reflected, when Cigdem truly felt pride in his service. He put his hands on the handlebars of his ATV and stared down at Etyslund. “Let’s fucking go, boys and girls!”

A whooping cheer went up, and Cigdem accelerated hard down the hill. The wind whipped in his hair and he couldn’t suppress a wild grin. The excitement made bursts of adrenaline rush into his reins as he blinked against the wind and struggled to see the village down below. The view from up here was incredible: he could see out beyond the fields and orchards, to the marginal land beyond the village’s agricultural borders. But the people were indistinct blurs through his reflexive tears. He thought he saw shapes rushing about, perhaps trying to avoid his charge. He did not care – the rush was too much, and besides, what were these blurs? People? Hardly.

Quickly, startlingly quickly, the village rushed up to meet him and Cigdem’s ATV struck the clay roof of a house, the tires crushing through weak building material and jolting Cigdem nearly out of his vehicle’s saddle. He held on, righting himself just in time to bring his vehicle to a sudden stop, turning around and taking in the scene around him. Faintly, behind him, somebody screamed.

That had gotten their attention, to be sure. Valers were running away from the point of impact, fleeing from the other ATVs as they approached. Fatih came next, then Plato, and the soldiers flanking Cigdem leaped off his vehicle at the same time as those flanking Cigdem’s two companions took foot themselves. From around the hill, Cigdem could hear the shouts of the other soldiers as they approached, the stomp of their boots on the ground. The Valers were starting to gather into a quivering semicircle away from the invaders. Cigdem glanced over toward the largest building in the town. It looked abandoned, near as he could tell. The second-largest, though, had smoke rising from its chimney, and in the doorway, Cigdem saw Zoe. She held out an arm to ward two young Valer women from the scene outside. Across the way, Cigdem made eye contact with Zoe, who gave a slight jerk of her head in the direction of the women she guarded.

Right. Those must be the Mirshalites. Let them think you’re helping them, for now…

Cigdem heard shouts all around.

“Who are they?”

“What’s going to happen?”

“Bastards!”

“They followed you! They followed you, you idiots! You’ve doomed us!”

“Get out of here!” With that last shout, an armored figure came shoving out from behind Zoe, staring straight at Cigdem.

Fatih, nearby, leaped off his ATV and detached his spear from its attachment, turning to the gathered Valers. “Hey, everybody! Listen up! This village is now under Invictus occupation, in the glorious name of the Empire! Cooperate with us and you will not be harmed! We are only seeking Mirshal!”

Whispers erupted among the crowd, and Cigdem stood up in his saddle. He affected a shrill, loud voice, and hoped his words would carry. “If any of you are hiding them from us, I’ll kill you myself!” he shouted, raising his rifle-spear and transforming it for better aim. He placed his hand near the trigger.

The man with the patchwork armor, now in front of Zoe and approaching Cigdem fast, raised his hands near his head. Fists clenched, he pumped his arms, and the bits of armor around his wrists shifted, the metal plates scraping against one another. Cigdem crouched down just slightly behind his ATV, shouldered his service weapon, and took aim.

“Eksha! Don’t try it! They’ll kill you!” Someone had shouted that from the tavern – a familiar voice. Cigdem was too focused on his target to recognize the source.

Arms grabbed him roughly from behind and he felt himself being dragged down toward the ground with unnatural strength. Cigdem turned his head and saw another armored man, with a lopsided grin and a tattoo on his neck, depicting a bear salient. “Buddy,” the man said in Cigdem’s face as he pushed him down to the ground, the tattoo shining. “You just ruined my day. I hope you realize that.” Cigdem’s feet collapsed under him and he tumbled to the earth, mud staining his face. He looked up at the tattooed man, who raised his gauntleted hands and a foot, readying for a strike.

Fatih stepped over Cigdem and struck with his spear, failing to break skin but knocking Cigdem’s attacker to the ground. Cigdem scrambled up to his feet and shouldered his rifle again, looking down the simple sights. His hands shook, as out of the corner of his other eye he saw Fatih and the other man scrapping in the mud, trading punches. The other soldiers were menacing the crowd, daring any other armed idiots to step out and make their move on the Invictans. Cigdem drew in a deep breath. Held it. Raised the barrel of his rifle an inch, aimed an inch to the right.

He squeezed the trigger.

When the smoke cloud cleared, Eksha lay on the ground, twitching in the dirt and clutching at sprigs of sparse grass. His blood and brain matter stained the wall of the gathering hall, painting the doorway’s edges. Cigdem spun his service weapon and turned to the fight between Fatih and the other guard, then set the spear-tip to the Valer man’s throat. “Give up,” he said. “You’re done.” The man held up his hands.

The guards dragged another man from the crowd, who stood limply in the arms of the soldiers. Cigdem turned towards that prisoner while dragging up the one who’d juts surrendered to him.

“Your names?”

Neither spoke.

“Your names!” Cigdem shouted, slamming his fist into the first prisoner’s face. That one covered his bloodied nose with his hand, and spat out, “Kalai!”

“Parshir,” the other said in a flat voice.

Cigdem nodded and saluted. “Kalai, Parshir.” He placed a hand on Fatih’s shoulder and stepped back, away from the two prisoners, but with his weapon still pointed at them. “The two of you are now my prisoners. Men, take them to that house.” He pointed to the clay building whose roof he’d driven over on the way into the town. “That will be their prison.”

“There’s a dead man in there, you idiot monster! You dropped his roof on him!” a woman shouted from the crowd.

“Dispose of the corpse, then,” Cigdem called back, starting to walk towards the building where Zoe stood. Fatih, with an almost-apologetic smile, stepped up to the two prisoners.

“Sorry, fellas,” he said. “You’ve got to come with me now. Orders are orders.”

“Oh, and make that woman remove the corpse!” shouted Cigdem, pointing into the crowd. The soldiers went and dragged out the woman who had shouted at Cigdem. She struggled against them until one struck her on the back of the head, and then she went quietly.

This is already going badly, Cigdem thought as he crossed the gap to where Zoe stood. Nothing to show for it… yet. He stepped over Eksha’s body, looked down at it as he passed. Eksha was no longer twitching – his hands fell open, palms down in the mud. Cigdem thought he could hear Eksha whispering, murmuring to himself. Or perhaps he was already dead.

“Step aside,” he said to Zoe, grabbing her by the shoulder. Looking past her, he stared down the two young women Zoe had identified as Mirshalites. The older sister’s eyes widened and she shoved the younger aside, then wrapped her arms around Zoe.

“They’re spies!” The older sister shouted. “Not refugees! They’re spies!” She struggled to drag Zoe away, back into the building, but Cigdem twirled the shaft of his service weapon and struck her on the head. She fell, clutching her injured forehead, and Zoe twisted away and out of the building. Cigdem stepped forward, grabbed the dazed younger sister by her collar, and dragged her out of the building, still pointing his service weapon at the older sister.

“You’re Mirshalites, aren’t you?” he hissed. “You’re coming with me.”

Zoe saw the older woman approaching, but before she could warn Cigdem, the captain had already been knocked to the ground, and the sisters were running. Zoe looked up and in a flash of recognition saw the face of one of the women she’d passed by playing cards earlier – a mere hour or two it had been. Marga, he thought, was her name. “Run!” she shouted to the sisters, and then dashed off herself. Zoe reached for Cigdem’s service weapon, but Cigdem grabbed it first. Zoe looked over to the center of the village, where soldiers were taking aim in their direction.

The two sisters – Hilda and Kamila – scattered, and so did Marga. Zoe dashed out in front, past Cigdem, screaming “Hold your fire!” She snapped her head over her shoulder to check on Cigdem – he was still pushing himself up, reaching for his service weapon. And inside, several of the former revelers had dropped their instruments and their alcohol and food. These kind, hospitable people were now wrapping their arms around the throats of Zoe’s fellow scouts, brandishing long and glittering knives. They grimaced menacingly at the Invictans.

Zoe reached out to grab Marga by the shoulder. Her fingers brushed the woman’s hair, trailed down her upper arm, but she couldn’t get a grip. She wished she had her service weapon on hand. She reached for her sidearm and fired. One bullet straight into Marga’s back at close range.