Kingdom Of The Weak 191 Desperation

Around that time, Phoebe also asked a similar question, but the person she asked was hooded and robed in dark brown.

"You know the circ.u.mstances of the Iron Legion as well as I do, Amber Range. The three factions are struggling for supremacy even now. Aquila is hard pressed for support. Your friends' aid was most timely for him… too timely. Sepsius made a move, and thus, they are removed."

"Removed? They were betrayed? By us?!" Phoebe glared.

"Don't look at me like that. Sepsius betrayed them, not I."

"Yet you failed to aid them!"

"We are short-handed as it is. The war does not go well, and Lupus' faction is proven right by its course. He was the one saying we should stop trying to interfere with matters other than our own, abandoning all else outside of Itarim's cause, including the emanc.i.p.ation of slaves and the protection of the roads."

"But the Creed! The old oaths…!"

"That is why our faction still holds some sway. Yet here we are in war, and we are losing badly. Stretched too thin, Lupus says. We should have focused on growing stronger, on improving our own strength rather than sticking our fingers in everyone else's pies. His words now hold great weight in the council."

"We did right by our code!"

"Tell that to the gravestones littering Jupiter Hill. We had to bury others on Mars Hill. There is no more room on Jupiter Hill for new graves."

"But that's not the fault of the Code! It's because…" Phoebe hesitated.

"Go on. Tell me. Why is it that our armies suffer so?" the man invited.

"It is because your equipment and your tactics are obsolete." Phoebe said in a low voice. "Physical fitness, weapon skills and all your fancy formation training would avail you little against an airship's bombardment. Your magic cannons are the only real defense you have against the vehicles your enemies employ, and they are severely lacking in mobility. Fortified positions are your only real hope of a fighting chance in this war. Out in the open field, you're easy meat."

"So, studied some military tactics, have you?"

"Not really. I've just seen a few battles out on the Frontier. Better equipment makes a lot of difference."

"Equipment is a force multiplier, of little worth in the hands of the unskilled."

"Then train your forces to handle them. Isn't that what the Iron Legion is good at? Training?"
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"It is not that simple. Such weapons are not where our strength lies."

"You balk at upgrading your weaponry because your men are not skilled in the new arms?!" Phoebe wanted to throw something at him.

"It is not that simple!"

But it was. He spoke for twenty minutes straight talking about magic swords and different political agendas among the leadership of the Iron Legion but at the end of the discourse, Phoebe remained unconvinced. No matter what excuses he made, it all boiled down to the same thing; sheer stubbornness.

"Forget it! I'm going to find my friends myself!" Phoebe stalked out of there in a huff, and never spoke to the hooded man again.

***

Talia was captured.

Again.

How many times was it now? She didn't know. Drudging her feet, marching in line with her eyes fastened on her feet, her face covered in dirt, she felt like she'd gone back in time, as if the past few months, these past glorious months, had been nothing more than a dream.

As if she had returned to Fal'Herim, and her people were lifelong slaves to an uncaring king. As if today never mattered, nor had yesterday, nor would tomorrow, and the only thing to look forward to was the blissful oblivion of sleep at night. As if there was nothing more in the world than the ground under her feet, the harsh commands of those who held the power of life and death over her, and the next back-breaking, soul-crushing task they would demand her to do.

It could be worse. Prettier girls, cleaner girls, might have ended up with different sorts of tasks set by these nameless, faceless strangers with weapons. But Talia was in a visual mess by this point, covered with dush, ash, and sweat streaks from head to toe. A more civilized girl might have tried to clean herself off, tried to bathe somewhere, somehow…

But Talia was born a slave, and lived all her life at the whims of others. She knew how to keep her head down, how to avoid attracting attention, how to play dumb and to go along with everything as if she had never a thought in her head. It was safer; it was survival. It was the way she lived as a slave for endless years until one day, somehow, without warning or hope, everything had changed…

Yet here she was. Back in the dirt. Back to trudging along wordlessly, voicelessly, soundlessly.

"Bury them! Before their bodies stink up the camp!" that was the latest command given by their captors.

Talia barely flickered an eyelid when she saw the corpses to be buried. More than half of them were girls or women. Cleaner girls. Prettier girls.

Dead girls. Used, abused and abandoned in the dirt where she still walked, still lived, still remained untouched.

"Wait, don't!" the shout came from a familiar voice. There was the sound of whipping, and cries of pain.

Talia didn't so much as lift her head. Didn't even stir. That was one of her crew being whipped. She didn't know why, did not try to ask. She just kept her head down.

Harsh laughter floated about amid the screams. Then, more screams from afar.

"Airstrike!" someone shouted a warning.

Talia lunged. Before she even raised her head, before she even stirred herself out of her self-induced stupor, she struck. "Now!"

Behind her, men likewise leapt into action. Talia's own hands wrested a knife from the belt of her latest tormentor. It was buried in his guts once, twice, three times before slicing out his throat. Talia herself didn't even feel like she was fully awake yet, but she was desperate for time and opportunity, and would not waste even a moment of the chance.

Her crew likewise attacked; other captives, emboldened by the sudden uprising and their own suffering, also jumped into the fray.

"How dare you!" one jailor roared. "You sc.u.m just lie down and die…!"

But they fought. They fought tooth and nail, tearing at their tormentors with whatever little they had, with all the ferocity of men with nothing left to lose. They didn't stop to consider who they fought, how many, how well trained or equipped… it didn't matter. It didn't make anyone hesitate. All they knew was that they had a fighting chance where before they had none. It was all they wanted. It was all they needed.

Then the earth shook. Fire erupted all around them. Talia didn't know what had hit them, whether it was a spell, a bomb, or shots from a magic cannon, only that there was fire and smoke, and a high-pitched buzzing in her ears. She stumbled, dizzy, for a moment disoriented, wondering where she was, where she was supposed to be… because wherever it was, it certainly wasn't here…

[KarGoth.] The word stuck in her head when everything else spiraled out of coherence. [Dad. Mom. Izhan. Mindy. Remian…]

Suddenly, there was a flicker. Somewhere, something responded to that thought.

[Remian. Remian. Remian.] Talia echoed it, fumbling in the smoke, not knowing what she was doing, not knowing how, only knowing that somewhere, somehow, there was a resonance… [Remian…?]

A familiar voice without sound roared in her mind. [Talia!]

Talia seized it. That single word, that familiar voice; Talia threw her very soul into grasping it.

Sudden clarity flooded her. Talia opened her eyes to realize there were two men rushing at her with scimitars drawn. Around her were the bodies of friend and foe alike, none remained standing except for her. Her fist clenched around the handle of the knife she'd wrested from her dead tormentor. The world itself seemed to dim as she gritted her teeth. [If I die, I die fighting!]

[Talia!] Again, a flood of clarity. She found herself responding, changing her stance, balancing her weight on the b.a.l.l.s of her feet. She held up the knife like a sword…

[Remian? Remian?! What is happening?] Mindy's voice echoed in the empty air around her.

[I… I can't… break off! She's holding on too hard!] Remian's voice gasped. [I can't see anything else…!]

The men attacked. One on the left, one on the right, swinging at her from above, powerful strokes meant for her neck, for her waist…

Talia stumbled back, trying to hop away nimbly, but tripping over somebody's corpse. She fumbled, caught her balance with one hand on the ground, but the two men were closing in…

Remian's voice stammered. [I-I can't help her! She needs help, NOW, but I can't…!]

Mindy's voice roared. [Let me try!]

Sudden fire lit up around Talia. Actual flames flickered in the air around her, surrounding her like a sphere.

The two men fell back, befuddled, wary.

[What do we do? What do we do?!] Mindy gasped. [She's so weak…!]

[Well, sorry for being weak!] Talia protested. [It's not my fault I'm half-starved and exhausted almost to death!]

[She's outmatched. Physical strength, numbers, weaponry… they've got the advantage in every area! How is she going to fight them off?]

[What about technique? Song Chen…]

[Song Chen isn't here. n.o.body here has the kind of martial skill it takes to overturn this situation…]

[Wait, are you guys actually talking about getting help from someone else mind-to-mind?!] Talia protested. [How many of you am I supposed to have in my head?]

[As many as it takes!] Mindy barked back.

There they were, having no idea what was happening, how, or why, but that somehow, they were able to help her mind-to-mind. It was almost a natural follow-up to the circ.u.mstances that had them thinking of getting help from yet another mind somewhere else…

[Is there a range limit? How far away is Talia right now?] Mindy wondered.

There. She could sense them, sort of. They could sense her. Sort of. Roughly in that direction… and painfully far away.

[I can't stretch any more! It's all I could do to reach Talia, and I can't let go…] Remian's voice was pained.

[Then let me!] Mindy flared.