Zyr: Ravine
The Frade Market was nestled in a thin ravine shooting off the central iron mine. Before it morphed into a smooth tunnel leading to homes and hovels, its walls arced out from the narrow market floor as a gradual V before opening up to Pormos’ mustard sky.
So little natural light filtered down through this crack in the earth that an enterprising Dkor set up polished sections of steel and glass along the opening’s rim; and as the Orb tracked across the sky, mirror-keepers would slowly ply their muscles to the gears and cogs, follow the blazing ball of light, and beam its reflection downward where dozens of smaller mirrors set into alcoves continued the relay. In this method, one mirror at a time, the Frade Market operated without a single generator or battery, which would only get stolen by cursed Vijari anyway. Although it was within the Dkor tendency for practical thinking, it was a luxury no other city had copied.
Beneath this lattice of pure white light, a cloaked Pterri commando silently slid through the throngs of Dkors filling the market. Zyr easily sidestepped miners meandering about their business between shifts as he scanned the stalls and storerooms cut into the ancient rock. His helmet rotated through the spectrums—thermal, magnetic, delta, visual—on a regular basis as he hunted the Vijari assassin Larasab.
“Are we sure she’s going to show, Zyr?” Vena’s voice lapped against his ears, bringing him back from the patrol’s tedium.
“The tactical evaluator said she was in this sector. She’ll come to us. Out of curiosity, if nothing else. We made enough noise during insertion.”
“May we be faster on the draw, then.”
“Agreed.”
Two Dkors locked horns, bellowing obscenities as each tried to throw the other to the ground. Avoiding them, Zyr glanced down and saw a flattened basket of imported greens—something worth fighting over on Pormos.
“Not much different than us. Fighting over scraps,” Zyr muttered.
“Careful, comrade. Others may be listening in,” Vena quietly reminded him.
Zyr nodded to himself as he continued walking down the market floor. Although this patrol was well on the far side of monotonous by this point, it was curiously peaceful as well. The mine’s clanking, grinding, and even blasting was oddly rhythmic. Aside from the odd fights, or screams from the whipping post, the market generated a type of white noise that left him alone with his thoughts, which centered on how he should best deal with the assassin and her band of followers. Orders were to kill them all, of course, but it could be useful to have a Vijari assassin or two in his debt for future use, if he could ensure it. There would eventually come a time when someone needed to die and he couldn’t personally slip them the blade. Perhaps even Larasab herself would be interested in—
“She’s here. Cover. Now.”
Zyr dashed to an empty stall, swiftly rolled over the counter, and crouched under the thick stone.
“Where? Are you sure?”
Vena sent the coordinates. He heard his squadmate’s breathing quicken into a rasp.
“I think so. It’s Vijari shaped, and I can make out a Fortuna Skull Piercer. Her preferred rifle. Has shredder and poison mods.”
“But is it her?”
Vena paused. Even the rasping in Zyr’s ear went silent as his squadmate stared at the possible target through a high-powered scope.
“It’s crouched behind a mirror. Scanning,” the sharpshooter muttered. “Overlaying X-ray and color enhancement. Yes. The facial tattoos are a match: they’re yellow and running straight down from her eyes. Do I engage?”
“Is she alone?”
Zyr could hear the rocks crunching under Vena’s boots as the other Pterri scanned the area.
“Affirmative,” Vena said. “I don’t see any other targets along the wall—just mirror-keepers.”
“Has she marked me?”
The pause here was longer. Zyr could imagine his squadmate taking Larasab’s position, rifle angle, posture, and even temperature into account as she arrived at an answer.
“Affirmative.”
Zyr realized how close he had come to getting a titanium slug in his head, and his skin crawled. If the Vijari had gotten that close without him realizing it, she must be good. He needed to be better now.
“Permission to engage, sir?”
It took a moment for Zyr to realize it was the second time Vena had asked that.
“Negative. Observe for the moment.”
“Sir?”
Zyr heard the confused tone and wracked his mind thinking how he could get the Vijari out of this alive and still come out on top. Was there a way? There had to be. He was Zyr, after all. He could do anything.
“Has she marked you?”
He needed to buy a little more time.
Dkors were thinning out on the market floor now. Given the mirrors he could see, their angles, and the light’s thinness, the day was coming to an end.
“No. She has not marked me. Her attention is on you. Do I engage? The shot is clear.”
Not that it mattered, Zyr thought to himself. The tactical evaluator said nothing about minding civilian casualties.
The thought instantly crystallized in his mind. It sparkled both in brilliance and simplicity.
“Engage in 30 seconds. I will provide a distraction to ensure full success.”
“That’s not needed, sir, I—”
“That is an order.”
Vena went silent, and so did Zyr. While his squadmate lined up the shot, surely with her finger carefully curled around the trigger, Zyr relaxed, called upon his Spell ability and reached out to the tons of stone surrounding him. He could feel its weight, the tension of gravity holding it together, and brushed the stress cracks left behind from the tunneling. Not much iron was left here, it was true, but so much potential remained.
Zyr breathed the word so quietly Vena couldn’t be entirely sure she’d actually heard it.
“Engage.”
Two sections of wall collapsed, streaming down toward the market floor in twin avalanches of boulders and cracking sheets of stone. Mirrors caught in the path skipped atop the sliding masses, but quickly went under, while the screams of mirror-keepers never made it past the debris burying them.
Vena’s shot shattered the mirror rather than Larasab’s head as her own alcove plummeted to the ground. Traction and muscle memory from boot camp allowed her to stay atop each boulder that barreled down, and she was, effectively, able to tread rock in order to keep from going under and getting crushed like the dozens of working Dkors below.
Zyr was in motion before the first pebble was loose. He pushed through the wall behind him, opening a path ahead as he churned his legs and arms, using his Spell and mastery of base materials to propel himself through solid rock. His visor had a lock on Larasab’s position, and Zyr angled himself through the earth, rocketing himself forward like a torpedo through its tube. When his fingers brushed the outer layer of rock, Zyr blew it apart, sending flechettes of solid stone through the air and blasting the Vijari out into thin air. Arcing her back, she quickly flipped around, facing her new opponent. Shouldering her Skull Piercer, she snapped off a shot at the Pterri commando leaping out overhead.
Zyr countered, absorbed the shot with one palm, and fired it back out with the other. The round cracked against the Skull Piercer’s stock, and the rifle flew from Larasab’s grasp.
She fell, tumbling through the air, clutching for her weapon as it spiraled away from her into the thick dust. Larasab twirled, righting herself as she dropped toward the hard stone floor, and easily landed among the scattered dust and debris. A long, curved knife that had spilled more blood than most armies appeared in her hand.
Landing behind her, Zyr fired a blast to Larasab’s knee. The Vijari dodged, leapt, spun, and brought the knife around in an overhead slash. Zyr stepped back, watched the blade slice through empty air, and slammed his fist into Larasab’s nose. Blood fountained out, coating the assassin’s lips. She staggered back, righted her stance, and smiled at her attacker.
Cocking his head, Zyr looked upon the Vijari’s chipped teeth that would be as yellow as her tattoos if not for the tint of blood across them. She was made of sterner stuff than he’d been told.
As this thought crossed his mind, Larasab tossed a small pouch into the air between her and the Pterri commando. Zyr countered, immediately shooting it down with an energy blast. It exploded into a ball of hot, white fire. Zyr’s visor went nearly black to protect his eyes as he flinched away from the supernova. Stumbling forward, cursing himself for shooting flash dust, he tried keeping his focus on Larasab. Where was she?
He crouched down, ears and helmet amplifiers pricked for the sound of a knife slashing through the air. The first titanium round struck him between the shoulders.
She’d found her rifle, he realized.
A second snap shot plowed into the base of Zyr’s neck, buckling the armor plate. He dove forward.
A third round cracked into hard stone, burrowing into the wall right at head height.
Coming back up, throwing knife in hand, only clouds of dust and broken rocks were in front of him. Switching to infrared mode, Zyr could see puddles of heat running across what was once the market floor, and he considered pursuit.
Then Vena began shouting over the radio.
“What in the fleet’s function just happened?”
Twin gunshot wounds meant Zyr didn’t need to make his voice hoarse to sell the lie: the pain was already doing that.
“She got away. Had a bomb in the walls,” he took a long breath and hoped Vena would buy it. “She knew we were coming. Had it all prepared.”
“This is the last time someone gets to know we’re coming. Do we pursue?”
“Affirmative, comrade.”