CHAPTER FOUR
The evacuation warning was so subtle that at first Daulo Sammon didn’t even notice it. He was still lying in his recovery room bed, wondering what the gentle warbling meant, when a doctor hurried in, his mouth moving but no sound coming out. “What is it?” Daulo asked. His own voice sounded odd, deep and strangely distant. “Speak up. Speak up.”
The doctor came to a halt beside the bed, his hand reaching up to touch something in Daulo’s right ear.
And suddenly the warbling exploded into a howling roar.
“Ahh!” Daulo gasped, grabbing for his ears.
The doctor was faster, doing something else with his ear that brought the howl down to something much more manageable. “Apologies,” the man said, his voice carrying easily over the din. “Your hearing hasn’t fully recovered. That’s an evacuation order. We need to leave here at once.”
Daulo frowned. Then, suddenly, it all flooded back in on him. That first, failed counterattack against the invading Troft forces—his own severe wounding—doctors and drugs and foggy images of faces and noise and fury—
“Come,” the doctor snapped.
With another jolt, Daulo realized that the tubes connecting him to the feeders and other devices by his bedside had been removed from his arm. “Where are we going?” he asked as the doctor swung his legs off the bed and slid wraparound shoes over his feet.
“To a departure area,” the other said, steadying Daulo with one hand as he pulled over a wheelchair with the other. “We’re leaving the city.”
“Now?” Daulo looked at the dangling tubes as he settled into the chair. “But I’m not healed yet.” A sudden, horrible thought blew away some of the cobwebs still filling his brain. If this was as good as he was ever going to get— “Am I?”
“I don’t know,” the doctor said, and Daulo had to grab for the armrests as the chair suddenly took off toward the door. “It all depends.”
“Oh what?”
“On how long the Trofts let us live,” the doctor said grimly. “Hang on.”
Daulo had expected the corridor outside to be buzzing with activity as doctors and attendants wheeled out the sick and injured. But to his surprise, the two of them were the only ones in sight. Thankfully, the alarm that had been rattling his room was also barely audible out here. “Where is everyone?” he asked, grabbing for the armrests again as the doctor took a corner way too fast.
“All those who remain should already be gathering at the staging area,” the doctor panted. “But there was someone who wished first to say farewell to you.”
Whether from the fresher air, the lack of medicine being pumped into his body, or the sheer adrenaline-driven fear caused by the doctor’s reckless driving, Daulo’s head had mostly cleared by the time they reached their destination. It turned out to be a medium-sized conference room equipped with a table, a dozen chairs, and a line of blank monitor screens. Seated at the table were three older men, while six younger men dressed in the gray Djinni combat suits stood silently at the ready around the room’s edges.
The three older men looked up, and with a jolt Daulo realized he knew two of them. One was Moffren Omnathi, special advisor to the Shahni and a legend among the Qasamans. The other was Miron Akim, who with the rank of Marid was overall commander of the planet’s entire Djinni combat force.
“Daulo Sammon,” Omnathi said gravely as the doctor wheeled Daulo’s chair up to the table. “My apologies for bringing you here instead of letting you go directly to your departure area.”
“No apologies needed, Your Excellency,” Daulo said, making the gesture of respect and throwing a furtive glance at the unknown man. From the look on his face, it was clear he wasn’t happy with this interruption to their meeting. “But what is this departure area business? Why is everyone leaving in such a hurry?”
“The invaders are destroying Sollas,” Omnathi said, “and that destruction is nearing this area.”
Daulo winced. No wonder the doctor had been in such a hurry. “Then you’re right, we’d best get moving,” he said, glancing down at his robe and recovery jumpsuit. “It would be very embarrassing to die looking like this.”
“No fears of that,” Omnathi assured him. “Some of the earlier refugees were met with violence, but the later groups have been allowed to leave unharmed.” He gestured at Daulo’s clothing. “And more suitable travel clothing is waiting at the departure area. The doctor will help you change before you go.”
“Thank you, Your Excellency, that will be very helpful,” Daulo said, a small relief trickling into the simmering darkness of fear and uncertainty. At least they weren’t going to be shot the moment they reached the outside air. “My apologies for the impertinence, but may I ask why exactly I’m here?”
“Marid Miron Akim and I wished to say a final farewell,” Omnathi said. “You and your family have served Qasama well, and we wanted you to know how grateful we were for that service. May God watch over you, and may you win through to see your village again.”
“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Daulo said, again making the sign of respect. “To both Your Excellencies,” he added, this time including Miron Akim in the gesture. “But if we’re all leaving the city together, it would seem to me that your farewells are premature.” He frowned as a thought occurred to him. “Or won’t we be traveling together?”
“Our paths will lead—” Omnathi’s lip twitched “—along different roads. When you and the remaining civilians from this sector depart from the subcity, the invaders will learn the location of one more hidden passageway. With that knowledge, they’ll undoubtedly enter to explore for data or useful items that may have been left behind. We will remain behind to make one final assault upon them.”
Daulo looked at the six gray-suited men standing silently against the walls. “What, six of you against the entire force of invaders?”
“Seven,” Akim corrected calmly. “Though I’m a civilian, as Marid-commander I also count myself among the Djinn.”
“My apologies, Marid Akim,” Daulo said. “But I fail to see how one extra Djinni will tip the military balance. In fact, I can’t see how you can accomplish anything but a waste of all your lives.”
“Your impertinence is not welcome, villager,” the third man said brusquely. “These men are warriors of Qasama. They’ll attack the invaders because it’s their duty to do so.”
“Their duty is to die uselessly?” Daulo countered.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve said your farewells, villager. Now leave.”
There was something in his tone and manner that told Daulo the smart thing to do would be to close his mouth and obey. But just as he had thirty years earlier, when Jin Moreau came to Milika and asked for his help, he ignored the quiet warning. “Not until I understand why you’re doing this,” he said firmly. “I’ve faced the invaders’ weapons. You may be able to kill a few of them, but you can’t prevent them from ultimately winning through. Is there something in here of military value that can’t be removed or destroyed?”
“No, nothing,” Akim said.
“Then why not just leave with us?” Daulo pressed. “Out in the forest, you can regroup and choose a better time to resume the fight.”
“You will be silent, and you will leave,” the third man repeated, and this time there was no mistaking the authoritative anger in his tone. “Or I will order you to stay and fight alongside them.”
Daulo snorted. “And who are you who presumes to order me and the Djinn?”
The man drew himself up. “I am Shahni Dariuz Haafiz.”
Daulo felt his tongue freeze against the roof of his mouth, a sudden swell of horrified panic washing over him. Dressed in civilian clothing, bereft of the elaborate robes of office, he hadn’t been as instantly recognizable as he would normally have been. “My most sincere apologies, Your Excellency,” Daulo managed, bowing over in his wheelchair and hastily making the sign of respect.
“Your apologies are tardy and not accepted,” Haafiz growled. “Now leave us as you were ordered.”
Daulo straightened up. The doctor was starting to pull the wheelchair back from the table, and once again the smart thing to do would be to simply go.
But there was something in Omnathi’s expression… “Forgive the further impertinence, Your Excellency,” Daulo said, grabbing the wheels and bringing the chair to an abrupt halt. “But I still fail to see why these men are to be needlessly sacrificed.”
“Your impertinence is not forgiven,” Haafiz bit out. “Nor is your understanding required or sought. Your only task is to obey the orders you’ve been given.”
“The Djinn cannot simply leave with you and the others, Daulo Sammon,” Omnathi said. “Their combat suits will instantly identify them to the invaders. If they try to leave, they’ll be cut down instantly.” He looked at Haafiz. “And their lives will be even more uselessly sacrificed.”
Daulo stared at Omnathi, then at Akim and Haafiz. Were all three of them blind? “Then why not have them simply remove the combat suits?” he asked.
“Impossible,” Haafiz said. “Without their combat suits, they are nothing.”
Akim and Omnathi, Daulo noticed suddenly, were watching him closely. “Your forgiveness, Your Excellency, but that’s simply not true,” he said firmly. “Without their combat suits—without any weapons at all—they’re still warriors of Qasama. As you yourself said only moments ago.” He looked into the eyes of the young man standing behind Akim. “And as such they’re too valuable to our world to be needlessly thrown away.”
Haafiz sniffed contemptuously. “Are you of the Shahni now, Daulo Sammon?” he demanded. “Do you now make the law for Qasama?”
Daulo grimaced, looking around the room. The six Djinn stood stiff and proud, their expressions those of men ready and willing to die for their world and their people.
But as he looked deeper into their eyes, he could also see that they, too, saw no honor in dying in a useless ambush that would serve no genuine purpose.
And they were young. So young. No older than Daulo’s own son Fadil.
What had happened to Fadil? With a flush of surprise and shame, Daulo realized he hadn’t even thought to ask.
But this wasn’t the time for that. There were other young lives balanced on the edge here. Somehow, he had to find a way to save them from this madness.
He looked at Akim as a sudden flash of inspiration struck him. “Of course I’m not of the Shahni,” he said. “I’m a citizen of Qasama, wounded while defending this city, who desperately needs help escaping.”
One of the Djinn stirred but said nothing. Akim’s expression remained unreadable. “Are you asking for our help?” he asked.
“This is ridiculous,” Haafiz snapped before Daulo could answer. “Doctor, remove Daulo Sammon and take him to the departure area. You, Marid Akim, will deploy your Djinn as ordered.”
“That may not be possible, Your Excellency,” Akim said, his eyes still on Daulo. “Daulo Sammon is one of the leaders of his village. The provisions of the war act clearly state that warriors must assist such leaders wherever possible.”
“When it does not interfere with other duties,” Haafiz said. “Don’t quote the law to me, Marid Akim. I wrote the law.”
Daulo had a second flicker of inspiration— “And if I come under that provision,” he said, “it would seem to me that a Shahni of Qasama would be even more firmly under Djinni protection.”
“I don’t need their protection,” Haafiz spat. “I’ve given them their orders, and they will obey them.”
Abruptly, he stood up and leveled a finger at the young Djinni behind Akim. “You—Djinni Ghushtre—by order of the Shahni you’re hereby promoted to Ifrit and given command of this unit. Escort Marid Miron Akim and Senior Advisor Moffren Omnathi to the staging area and prepare them and your Djinn for combat.”
“Wait a moment,” Daulo said, frowning as he focused on the deep age lines crisscrossing Omnathi’s face. “Advisor Omnathi is to be part of the attack? Why?”
“Djinni, you’ve been given an order by a Shahni of Qasama,” Haafiz said, ignoring Daulo’s question. “You will carry it out.”
Ghushtre hesitated, his eyes flicking uncertainly to the back of Akim’s head— “What about me?” Daulo put in, trying one last time. “I’m a village leader. What about you, Shahni Haafiz?” He waved a hand behind him. “For that matter, what about the rest of the civilians at the departure area? They’re city dwellers—once outside the wall they’ll be helpless. Where will they go? How will they find food and shelter? They need an escort of trained warriors.”
“We need no such escort,” Haafiz scoffed, his eyes still on Ghushtre. “Travel supplies are available at the departure area, and there are straight and clear roads to Purma and the towns and villages around it.”
“There are still the dangers of the forest,” Daulo pressed. “And those of the invaders.”
“Ifrit Ghushtre, I give you one final chance,” Haafiz said, again ignoring Daulo. “Obey my order, or be executed where you stand for treason.”
“There will be no executions,” Akim said firmly. “Nor will there be any such charges against my Djinn. I am the Marid, and decisions of discipline are mine. All honor or shame is ultimately gathered to me.”
Haafiz glared down at him. “And your decision, Marid of the Djinn?” he demanded.
Akim’s eyes flicked down to Daulo’s wheelchair. “Daulo Sammon, are you able to walk?”
“For short distances, yes,” Daulo said. “But my strength and stamina aren’t yet fully returned. I don’t know how far I can go before they give way.”
Akim grunted. “For now, stay in the wheelchair—you should be able to cross most of the city in it. Djinn, your first priority is to escort Shahni Haafiz and Village Leader Daulo Sammon to safety. Accordingly, you are ordered to remove your combat suits—”
“Miron Akim, I warn you—” Haafiz began.
“—and report to the departure area,” Akim said, his voice deathly calm. “Collect what food and water is available and assure that the civilians and medical personnel are prepared for travel. Moffren Omnathi and I will follow in a moment with Shahni Haafiz.”
“Marid Akim—”
“You have your orders, Djinn,” Akim said. “Carry them out.”
There were twenty civilians, including five women and three children, waiting in a tense atmosphere when Daulo, the doctor, and the six Djinn arrived at the departure point. Accompanying the group were two other doctors and three medical attendants. As Omnathi had said, there were plenty of changes of clothing available, and within two minutes the Djinn had stripped off their combat suits and transformed themselves into six more civilians.
Daulo had also changed into more appropriate travel clothing, and was helping one of the Djinni load water bottles into the small carrier bag beneath his wheelchair, when Akim, Omnathi, and Haafiz arrived. Akim looked tense, Omnathi seemed oddly calm, and Haafiz looked like an afternoon thunderstorm looming on the horizon waiting to explode in all its fury.
But at least he wasn’t threatening anyone. At least not at the moment. In fact, he didn’t seem inclined to say anything at all.
Ten minutes later, with two of the civilian-clothed Djinn in the lead and Haafiz glowering right behind them, the group filed up a long ramp and through a door out into the open sunshine.
Into a ruined city.
Daulo looked around, his heart sinking, as the doctor wheeled him along the silent streets. Omnathi had said the invaders were destroying Sollas, but Daulo had had no idea how deep and thorough that destruction had been.
The southern part of the city, the part their group was traveling through, was still relatively intact, though there were numerous cracks and ridges in the pavement. But as they passed the wide avenues leading northwest, Daulo could see mounds of rubble to the north where buildings had once stood. Further north, beyond the rubble, were places where there was nothing but gaping holes, the devastation half concealed by a haze of dust or smoke.
Occasionally, he heard one of the others in their group murmur something to a companion, most of the comments edged with sadness or shaking with anger. But mostly the only sounds were the shuffling of feet through gravel, the creaking of the wheelchair as it moved across the uneven terrain, and the crackle and thud of the distant and ongoing destruction.
Aside from themselves, the only living beings in view were the invaders.
From the way Omnathi had talked, Daulo had expected the Trofts to be standing right at the exit as the refugees emerged onto the street, stopping each in turn and checking them for weapons, contraband of whatever sort, and Djinni combat suits. To his mild surprise, the aliens instead kept a cautious distance, watching warily but never approaching closer than fifty meters as the little clump of humans made their way along the deserted streets.
From a tactical point of view it seemed dangerously careless. It also made Daulo wonder what the whole fuss back in the conference room had been about.
The refugees had covered about half the distance to the city’s southwest gate when he found out. As the group rounded a corner, they abruptly found themselves surrounded by a double ring of Trofts. The aliens in the inner circle gave a single order—“Humans: halt”—and then proceeded to do a quick search of everyone, including taking brief but thorough looks beneath the men’s robes and tunics. The outer ring stayed well back, their lasers trained on the humans, until the search was over. Then, as silently as they’d descended on the refugees, the aliens withdrew, returning to doorways, alleys, and the other places where they’d apparently been standing their unobtrusive watch.
The group had made it another two blocks before an odd thought suddenly struck Daulo.
Why was Haafiz still with them?
He stared at the back of the Shahni’s head, frowning as his chair bumped its way down the street. One of the Trofts’ first objectives in their invasion had been the Palace, with the clear intent of capturing or neutralizing Qasaman’s leaders.
Yet now, with one of those Shahni standing a meter away, they’d failed to take him. Could the aliens really be so careless or gullible that a simple change of clothing could deceive them?
“Clever, wouldn’t you say?” Omnathi murmured from beside the bouncing wheelchair.
Daulo looked up, startled. “Excuse me?”
“The invaders’ tactic of waiting until we were well away from the exit passage before searching us,” Omnathi said, nodding behind them. “By letting us first get out of sight of the subcity exit, they were able to avoid the risk of a coordinated attack from that exit or others nearby.”
Daulo thought about that. “Unless they happened to pick a spot for their search that was in view of another exit, one they knew nothing about.”
“At which point such an attack would have given them the location of another exit,” Omnathi said. “All warfare involves risks. The goal is to balance potential losses with potential gains.”
“I see,” Daulo said. Jin Moreau, he remembered from all those years ago, had also been able to think that way. So had he, once, at least to a limited degree.
Right now, though, that gift seemed to have deserted him. Probably it was the medication still flowing though his not-yet-healed body.
Maybe that was why he couldn’t figure out why the Trofts hadn’t plucked Haafiz from the midst of the group.
“Tell me, Daulo Sammon,” Omnathi said into his thoughts. “When we leave the city, where would you recommend we go?”
Daulo felt his eyes widen with surprise. “You’re asking me, Your Excellency?”
“I am,” Omnathi said, and Daulo was startled by the sudden dark edge to his voice. “Our friend up there, he whom we will not name in public, may think nothing of a brisk walk to the next town down the road. He might even make it all the way to Purma before the supplies ran out. Unfortunately, for some of us that isn’t a practical solution.”
Belatedly, Daulo noticed the slight limp in Omnathi’s step. How old was the man, anyway? Somewhere in his eighties, certainly, possibly even in his early nineties. A long, wearying trek to the next major town or minor city along the Great Arc was out of the question.
There were, of course, a number of smaller towns along the road that would be much easier to reach. But given the quiet and apparent lifelessness of the Sollas neighborhoods around them, Daulo suspected that all of those towns were already filled to capacity with earlier refugees.
“The problem is that all the towns along the main road will probably have all the newcomers they can handle,” Omnathi continued, echoing Daulo’s own unspoken musings. “In addition, the invaders will most likely maintain a presence there, certainly in the larger towns. I’d prefer to avoid any additional scrutiny.”
“Understood,” Daulo said. “I suppose that leaves only the outlying villages. But travel through the forest carries its own set of risks.”
“True,” Omnathi said. “Though the forests are safer than they were even ten years ago. So you think one of the forest villages would be our best hope?”
Daulo frowned. Had he said that? “They’ll certainly be less crowded,” he said cautiously. “Though I’m not sure how many of us a single village could take. Even this close to Sollas, most of them are pretty small.”
Omnathi was silent for a few more steps. “Do you know anything about a village called Windloom?”
“Yes, I think so,” Daulo said, searching his memory. “It’s about thirty kilometers northwest of Sollas. Decent-sized place—maybe nine hundred residents—on the bank of the Westfork River.”
“That sounds correct,” Omnathi confirmed. “I gather you’ve visited the place?”
“A few times, but the most recent was several years ago,” Daulo told him. “They support a small artists’ community which makes metal and carved wood jewelry and trinkets, mostly for sale to the citizens of Sollas. At one time they bought some of the more exotic metals from our mines.”
“Do you think they’d accept strangers into their midst?” Omnathi asked. “Especially city dwellers?”
“No,” the doctor pushing Daulo’s wheelchair said.
Daulo twisted his head around to look up at the other. “Your pardon?” Omnathi asked.
“If you’re thinking of dragging us all into the forest, the answer is no,” the doctor said firmly. “We have women and injured men who need the kind of medical facilities that can only be found in a town. A real town, not some dirtback village.” He looked down at Daulo. “So does this one, for that matter.”
“The nearest sizeable town is Tazreel,” Omnathi said. “Nearly forty kilometers away. Windloom’s closer.”
“Tazreel has proper medical facilities,” the doctor countered. “And it lies along a wide, well-maintained road that predators have learned to avoid. There’s also a way station about halfway from Sollas where we can rest for the night.”
“And the invaders?” Omnathi asked. “They’ll be certain to be watching all such towns and way stations.”
“I seriously doubt the invaders will have the resources to examine each individual refugee,” the doctor said. “Besides,” he continued, lowering his voice, “you wouldn’t need to stay in Tazreel for long. You could commandeer a vehicle there and go to Purma or anywhere else you wished.”
“If there are still any vehicles left, and if there’s still fuel to run them,” Omnathi said.
The doctor sniffed. “It’s still better than a village.”
“Perhaps,” Omnathi said. “At any rate, you must do whatever you feel is best for your charges.”
The doctor’s mouth dropped open. “My charges? But you’re—”
“Your charges,” Omnathi said firmly. “I hereby place you in command of this group of refugees. As for my companions and me, we shall attempt to join up with Daulo Sammon’s friends in Windloom.”
The doctor looked down at Daulo, then back up at Omnathi. “If that’s your decision, I will obey,” he said. “But I strongly advise against it.” He gestured a hand up and down Omnathi’s body. “Especially for a man of your years. One never knows when immediate medical care will be required.”
“Perhaps it would be more proper for a man of my years to graciously step aside and allow what medical care still exists to be given to the young,” Omnathi said. “But I appreciate your concern.” He gestured ahead. “For now, though, I suggest we concentrate on getting safely through the city.”
From somewhere to the north came a muffled crack and the stuttering rumble of yet another building coming down. “A point well taken,” the doctor said grimly. “Watch your step there.”
Fifteen minutes later, they reached the southwest gate.
There were more Trofts standing guard there, and Daulo felt himself tensing as the little clump of refugees approached. But to his relief, the aliens merely stood by watchfully as the humans filed between the vehicle barriers that had been set up.
Daulo half turned in his chair as they passed through the gate, moved by some obscure impulse to have one final look at the once-proud capital of his world.
One way or another, he doubted he would ever come here again.
* * *
The sun was low in the sky by the time the group reached Bay Grove Road, with no more than two hours before dusk and perhaps two and a half before full dark. There, Daulo’s doctor made one last effort to persuade Omnathi to continue on with them to Tazreel. Once again, Omnathi quietly but firmly declined.
“Now what?” Haafiz demanded in a low voice as they watched the rest of the refugees disappear around a bend in the road.
“Daulo Sammon?” Omnathi invited.
“What?” Haafiz cut in before Daulo could answer. “You’re putting him in charge?”
“I am,” Omnathi said calmly. “Daulo Sammon had been to this village. More than that, he’s the only one among us with extensive forest experience.” He turned to Daulo and raised his eyebrows. “Daulo Sammon?”
Daulo grimaced, running his eyes over the group. Six young Djinn, warrior-trained but unarmed. Two old men, plus one more—Akim—who years of dosing himself with enhancement drugs had prematurely aged. And Daulo himself, still recovering from near-fatal injuries. With the daylight rapidly diminishing, the plan looked a lot less feasible than it had in the bright sunlight inside the Sollas wall.
But it was the forest or the Trofts. Under the circumstances, razorarms and baelcras were still the better bet. “It’s still almost twenty kilometers to Windloom,” he said. “There’s no way we’re going to make it that far before dark.”
“I don’t suppose there are any way stations as there are on the real road,” Haafiz growled.
Daulo shook his head. “There weren’t the last time I was there.”
“But there’s a large flood-control culvert under the road about five kilometers ahead,” Akim said. “It’s large enough to accommodate all of us, and we should be able to get there while we still have enough light to put together some sort of barriers at the ends to discourage predators.”
“A culvert?” Haafiz echoed, sounding outraged. “You expect me to spend the night in a culvert?”
“Not at all, Your Excellency,” Akim said courteously. “You’re welcome to remain outside in the forest instead.”
Haafiz glared at him. “There will be payment for this day, Miron Akim,” he said, his tone dark. “And for you as well, Moffren Omnathi.” With an effort, he straightened up. “If this is our path, let us get on with it.”
“Very well, Your Excellency.” Akim half turned and gestured to one of the Djinn. “Kavad, you’ll be first on wheelchair duty. The rest of you, screen formation.”
“And watch for danger,” Omnathi added as they all set off together. “In every and all directions.”
They headed off, Akim and Omnathi in the lead, a glowering Haafiz a few steps behind them, Daulo and Kavad bringing up the rear. The rest of the Djinn formed a sort of moving circle around them, their eyes continually sweeping the landscape.
And as they reached the edge of the forest and continued on beneath the canopy of branches and leaves, Daulo found himself wondering if this really had been his suggestion, the way Omnathi had said.
And wondered, too, how exactly Akim knew about a culvert five kilometers up a lonely forest road.