Myke Cole - Shadow Ops - Control Point

“They must be flying a search pattern,” Britton said. “It’s the only reason they would be going that slow.”

Britton was grateful for the thick clouds that had blown in while they slept. Little moon and even less starlight penetrated the forest canopy, leaving a black sea whose rocky bed was dotted with the gnarled columns of tree trunks. Night was thick around them.

“All right.” Britton used his best command voice, loud enough that the group winced and snapped their gazes to him. “Nothing more to be gained by hanging around. Let’s get this show on the road.”

It is challenging to make a study of the effects of Latency on genetics. For one thing, Manifestation is extremely rare, and it is rarer still for two Latent individuals to mate and produce offspring under conditions that can be monitored for the purpose of scientific study. That said, there is promising statistical evidence to indicate that the children of Latent parents are much more likely to Manifest, and to do so at a very early age.

— Avery Whiting

Modern Arcana: Theory and Practice

The gate yawned across the clearing, eight feet high, its shimmering static surface offering a glimpse of the palisade wall in the distance. Long triangular banners draped down its surface, hidden in the darkness. Britton knew they were crudely painted in the likeness of a bird skull, striped red and orange.

“Heptahad On Dephapdt,” Marty whispered, his voice grave. “Sorrahhad. Much fight.”

Britton turned to the enrollees. “All right, the folks behind those walls may look just like Marty, but they are not friends. We get caught by these guys, and we’re done. But if we keep together, keep quiet, and keep moving, I’m confident we can get past them unnoticed. It’s a chance, but as rough customers as these folks are, they’re a cakewalk compared to the SOC, and it’s a far better bet than staying here. Everybody tracking?”

Swift nodded. “Peapod, I need you at the rear of the group, keep folks moving,” Britton said. She nodded and took up her position.

“All right, let’s do this.” Britton turned and stepped through the gate. He was briefly swamped by the intensity of his senses but shrugged it off, sighting the palisade wall and scanning the darkness for any movement. All was cloaked in shadow. Torchlight flickered from the turret that the creatures had repaired long since the rocket from one of the raiding Apaches had destroyed it. A new wooden structure jutted from one of the towers like some kind of cancerous growth, braced by roughly hewn crossbeams, crowned with a peaked slate roof. Its sides glistened wetly.

A water tower, Britton thought. They don’t want their Pyromancers busy putting out fires. They want them ready in case we come back.

Peapod ushered the last of the group through. They stood gaping at the giant palisade wall, pointing and whispering to one another. Britton shut the gate quickly and began herding them away from the fortress. Tired and injured, the group made slow going. Wavesign’s cloud pulsed with chunks of ice and hail, his terror magically palpable.

“It’s amazing,” Swift whispered to Britton, running his hands over the saw-toothed grass.

Britton put a hand in the small of his back, pushing him along. “Later. If we’re caught here, it’s going to get ugly.”

Swift slapped the hand down. “All right, all right. I’m moving.”

Britton opened his mouth to say something, and all words fled.

Directly before them, just a few meters away, a rickety tower had been erected. Wooden crossbeams supported a slate-covered platform some thirty feet from the ground. Above the platform, three logs rose, lashed together to form a crossbar.

A massive Roc sat astride it, black talons gripping the tree-trunk thickness tightly. Its feathers were fluffed outward against the cold, making it look even larger.

Not a crossbar, then, a perch.

Of course. It’s a watchtower. They want to be able to warn the main stronghold if another flight of Apaches comes in.

The group froze at the sight, but the giant bird had already sighted them; it cocked its huge head at an angle, and a single unblinking golden eye, the size of a dinner plate, fixed them.

About its neck clung a Goblin, his face buried in the creature’s feathers, body entirely covered in white paste.

For a moment, both Roc and human stood in stunned silence, broken only by the wind whispering over the grass and hissing through the wooden tower slats.

Then the Roc shrieked, spread massive wings, and exploded off the perch, circling over them.

A horn sounded, deep and sonorous. Britton remembered it blowing when the helo force had swept over that same fortress with him on board.

“Run!” he cried, pulling at the group, hauling them away.

They scattered as the bird swept low. It made a pass, claws reaching out to snatch at Swift, but Pyre pumped his fist, sending a gout of flame to singe its underbelly, forcing it to rear back, wings beating strong enough to sweep a gust of wind that knocked the group to their knees.

Britton could hear the fortress gates creaking open in the distance.

Peapod stood forward and placed her hands on her hips, concentrating. The massive bird recovered from the burn and dove again, straight at her, huge talons reaching.

Then it paused, and Britton felt a surge in Peapod’s flow as she Whispered desperately, competing for control over the Roc with the Goblin Terramancer on its back. The giant wings beat the air, and it swung its head side to side in confusion, crying out in alarm. But what little practice Peapod had ever had in Whispering was no match for the Goblin. Britton could see sweat breaking out on her forehead, her teeth gritting. Cries sounded from the fortress, and Britton saw that three more Rocs had taken flight, moving toward them. It wouldn’t take them long to arrive.

He stepped alongside Peapod, reaching out for the Goblin’s magical current. It was difficult to pick it out from all the others around him, but eventually he felt it, a foreign flow in the midst of so many familiar ones. He focused, Drawing the magic hard to him, then Binding it to the Goblin’s flow, cutting it off. In an instant, Peapod’s Whispering won out, and the Roc hurled itself skyward, righted, and launched itself toward its brothers as they winged toward it, shrieking a battle cry.

Peapod blew out her breath, placing her hands on her knees. “Whew, that was close.”

Britton panted, nodding. “Where’d you learn to Whisper?”

“A bug here, a sparrow there when folks aren’t looking. You figure it out.” Her voice was hoarse.

Britton smiled. “Good thing.”

The smile faded quickly. Even if they ran now, they would never outdistance the pursuing birds, and Britton couldn’t Suppress three Terramancers at once. Even if they could defeat the Rocs, it would slow them enough to bring the entire Goblin tribe running to the attack.

He spun on Marty, who was busy gathering up some of the enrollees cowering beneath the tower.

“Marty! Which way is your tribe?” Britton asked.

Marty blinked at him for a moment before pointing out across the field toward a long line of snowcapped trees. Britton sighted the line, imprinting it on his mind. He turned and opened a gate back on the clearing.

“Everybody move!” he shouted, grabbing the nearest of the group and nearly throwing him through. All came quickly this time, and Britton shut the gate behind them just as the first sweeps of the Rocs’ wings sounded nearby.

The group milled around uncertainly, some collapsing in the grass from terrified exhaustion.

“Now what the hell are we supposed to do?” Pyre said. “We’re right back where we started!”