The Starlight Lancer

Chapter 111: Grudge

"Hatred is such a fickle thing, isn't it? It feels so powerful, but it is so utterly weak. Hatred can only exist when it is nurtured, when it is fed in an unbroken cycle. But all of its machinations, all of its attempts to last forever are so thoroughly undone by simple compassion."

—High Sendekka of Malagailan Oris Ebelad in a speech regarding the Canonization of Alorum

"Don't shoot!" Zaina said, raising her hands.

There was commotion throughout the defensive works. A familiar face popped out of a groove in one of the drillers—Ylasna.

This time, she recognized Zaina, too.

"Hey! I know her, she's one of us! Sweet armor, where'd you get it?"

"Long story," Zaina said. "Can I come over?"

"Sure! Way I see it, we need all the help we can get!"

Zaina breathed a sigh of relief. So far no one seemed to recognize the armor as that of a lancer—for now the ramifications could be put off. She approached one of the shovelers and climbed the machine. On the other side were a group of about thirty marked, each nervously holding scrapshots or birifles (and mostly holding them wrong); the others were spread throughout the defensive works, brandishing projectile weapons and fangs alike.

"Is Sivanya back?" Zaina asked.

Jyree, who Zaina recognized, shook his head, his expression grim. "We haven't heard anything for a few minutes now. But the fire's getting closer."

Zaina turned back toward the forest—it was close to being completely burned away. Whatever little hope of Sivanya or the patrol team making it back alive was fading quickly.

"Were you able to save anyone?" Ylasna called down.

Zaina frowned. "No. I didn't find anyone out there—the unmarked must have got them."

"Alert! Movement!" another unmarked from the top shouted. Ylasna turned and focused her birifle on the forest.

"Movement! I see it!"

Zaina waited to hear what was happening. Commotion stirred—Sivanya's name being thrown about.

Then, Tog's voice came over every radio, "Move the damn drillers in the middle—open up! Quickly, they're hurt!"

Zaina stepped back as the drivers hastily climbed into the two machines and turned them slightly, creating an opening wide enough for two people to walk through side-by-side. First came Rasmus, who was covered in bleeding holes—one of his legs had been blown off, so two others were supporting him. He collapsed to the ground once he was through and clear of the entrance. The two women supporting him dragged his unconscious body to a nearby tent.

Next came Sivanya, who was lending a helping shoulder to another injured member of the patrol group. Sivanya herself was relatively unscathed, but the warrior beside her was in bad shape; burns and bleeding shrapnel marks covered the left side of her body, and the only sound she uttered were frightened, pained moans, and occasionally asking for her mother.

Sivanya passed the wounded woman off to a group of marked, who promptly guided her off to the same tent Rasmus was taken to.

"Sivanya! Any more coming?" a marked man greeted her.

"No," she replied, her voice heavy with grief. "Everyone else is dead. We have to get ready—they'll be coming shortly after the fire burns out."

Sivanya scanned the crowd until her eyes fell on Zaina—in a single moment her face changed from confused to shocked, and then to pure hatred.