“I’m so sorry,” she said, touching his helmet.
She ran into the nearest building, her shoulders brushing walls thankfully standing in the right place, on ground that didn’t move. Shouting figures ran past, not recognizing her Armer plate in the darkness.
The Swallowing had taken the massive chapterhouse’s core, though not its sides. She’d thought perhaps she’d find a fallen external wall, but no such luck. Surely there had to be some way out that wasn’t through the only access at the front gate?
In a wrecked storage corridor, she passed Toornan, dragging a large bag. Dirt stained his face and his blonde hair was messed. He straightened when he recognized Armer head plate, the whites of his eyes bright and almost luminous.
“Terese?” He blinked dust out of his eyes. “People were shouting your name.” He gestured with an open palm at the oversized bag with a symbol of a curved stick. A medical emergency response bag. Terese grabbed his shoulders, looking him in the eye.
“I don’t have time, Toornan!” she shouted over the rumbling earth, echoing shouts and falling rubble. “They’ve been experimenting with chaos in Sumad Reach, and I summoned Polis for a Swallowing. They don’t know I’ve been working with you, so you’re safe. I have to go. I run or I die!”
The man’s eyes focused on her, his jaw dropping open.
“I charge you with the safety of the complement, Toornan. You have command, Missionary! Keep the apprentices and assistants alive and safe and get them home no matter what. You hear? Do everything you can to get back to Armer alive. Say nothing until you’re looking Holder Moorcam in the face.” She was screaming, shaking his shoulders, and she realized he was staring at the tears running down her face.
Toornan stiffened and saluted, eyes wide. “Armer keep you, Head.”
She released his shoulders and returned his salute.
Her name came echoing down the corridors, shouted angrily.
She kicked the locked storage room door behind him, breaking it off its hinges and sending it flying into the room. She picked him up and threw him in before running off. Hopefully, he’d have the good sense to hide a few minutes longer.
Footsteps behind her.
“Terese!” She turned to see Jools. Dust coated the Missionary’s face.
Jools bit her lip. “Come with me. I can talk to Keeper Deridden for you. You won’t make it out alive. All the gates are guarded.” The poor girl was beginning to cry.
“It’s too late, Jools. But thanks. I guess I’ll have to go out the front gates.” She’d have to plow through the gates and their guards. She spun and ran.
“Terese!” Jools called after her. Someone heard her name and the cry was taken up as more Seekers spotted her. The words ‘get her’ could have meant killing or capturing.
People stared as she bounded past, faster than any tram or loping wolf. Seekers who lunged at her were bowled over, leaving them swearing and cursing in her wake.
She sped to the entry courtyard, where she found a squad with loaded bolt projectors waiting for her. One of the squad wore male Armer missionary plate.
Bolts flew and the world slowed. Her thoughts cleared and organized themselves, allowing her to see all she needed in simple steps she’d normally never have time for. She swept the incoming bolts aside, maneuvering around them so closely that their passing buffeted her.
Sweep aside.
Redirect.
Dodge.
Sweep aside.
But she couldn’t avoid all the bolts of the storm fired at her. One took her in the shoulder but didn’t penetrate her plate. Another shattered her leg plate. She reared up and charged the gate.
The shortest route to freedom.
The guards had no chance to reload as she leapt, taking two of them with her, bursting through the barred doors, breaking them to shards. All three tumbled through the wreckage, out onto the street outside what had been Sumad Reach. The men screamed in pain and she clutched at her wounded side, which should have hurt. But she felt nothing, save light flowing from the stone. The two missionaries on the ground didn’t move, but apprentices, assistants, missionaries, heads and even a keeper spilled out the broken doors toward her, shockpoles coming loose and spears ready.
Hundreds of Sumadan citizens had gathered outside the chapterhouse. That Swallowing would have been heard for miles. There was utter, shocked silence as Terese rose and, in an eyeblink, took a standing leap onto a nearby building. Tiles broke under her feet as she landed. She checked the skyline from her high vantage. If the sun had just set in that direction, then south was… there.
The sound of dozens of small impacts came from below, at the building’s side, where a hail of bolts had missed her. She jumped over streets and houses in single leaps. Blocks away, colorfully-robed Sumadans stared as she landed on the hard-packed dirt street and ran rimward.
The Refugee Territories. HopeWall.
She used her Head’s dagger to cut the straps of her chest plate. It fell apart, the two halves giving a dull thud upon the dusty streets. She shed the leg plates easily, stopping briefly to give them to an astonished onlooker.
She kept the boots; they were good for running. Soon she was left wearing only simple trousers and a shirt, with a few simple items in her satchel. Sweat coated her.
She ran, holding the stone in one hand, warm and constant. Its energy would allow her to run for a long time. For without her Seeker plate, she was lighter.
And without that Seeker plate, she was a renegade.
Shadows In Fog
FireWall Book Two
Why are the Seekers obsessed with HopeWall? How did the four renegades end up there?
Zale and his three friends chase cryptic messages from the massacre to Polis Sumad, searching for answers. They land in the center of the Darkness’s plot to destabilise HopeWall.
But what could be of such interest at HopeWall, out in Polis Sumad’s forgotten wastes?
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