Глава 13

Sounds like a job for me.

I can do it too—

This is no time to be acting tough. I know better than anyone else here how terrifying those things are.

Your hand's still injured, Morgan. I'll be the one to work with Hannah.

I need someone else on standby to take over the attack if I don't succeed. Misery can only buy so much time for us.

I'll do it.

What about me, Vina?

Morgan... keep an eye on everyone.

Vina's plan is a simple one. Wait for the altars to fire, smash the core, cause a chain reaction.

All we need is an opportunity. And the opportunity has come.

They've taken aim.

The malice is sickening.

They could fire at any time.

Not exactly a great feeling to be in that thing's crosshairs.

Misery?

Whenever you're ready—

Do it.

Red.

The color on the deck flashes back before my eyes.

The demonic eye in the altar peers at me.

It is averted by a silver arc.

The dagger rips open the necks of a file of Sarkaz artillerymen, leaping back joyfully into Misery's hand.

Their hands slow for a moment as they reach for the core, continuing their movements from before they died under the pull of inertia.

A hammer falls from the sky, impacting lightly with the red wave.

Bang.

Vina is knocked back into the building like a comet.

No... Vina!

Half a second.

The altar activated faster than anyone expected.

*Cough*... *cough*...

The hammer embeds itself in the broken wall.

I can't see anything in the dust and smoke.

Watch out! They've replaced the artillerymen and are preparing to fire again!

The hammer is gone by the time I wipe the gravel from my eyes.

A figure climbs the outer wall swiftly, the hammer pulling her up like a pickaxe, the building trembling under every blow.

Dagda!

Dagda grabs the hand that stretches out from within the light.

Brick and stone crack and break under Vina's heels. She leaps into the sky.

The red wave has begun to build.

Everyone, take cover!

Get down, Morgan!

Hngh...

I look up in the storm.

She walks upon the rays of dawn, her golden hair burning.

She raises her hammer high, and it becomes one with the sun.

The wave is torn apart, rampant power streaking towards the core.

I lose my voice.

All that remains is the light that stabs at my eyes.

Vina! Vina!

The altars are still exploding! Look out!

She's fainted! Damn, the metal shards got into her chest! Someone help me out!

Bring her back! Don't let Originium dust into the wounds!

The Sarkaz are retreating!

Hannah! Look! Over there!

Battleships? Reinforcements? Really? Th-That's the standard of Duke Gododdin!

It's... it's over...

It's over! We bloody made it! We did!

Ben! Ben! Look, we're saved! Ben? Ben...

Those damnable devils are trying to run! After them!

I should add another entry to the scout's journal.

'We survived.

In memory of seven fallen heroes...

Abigail, of Norport, civilian. Alexandra, of Chetleigh, civilian.

Henderson, of Auchterigg, soldier. Bentley, of Lynncardine, soldier.

Unidentified body.

Unidentified body.

Unidentified... (illegible)'

No one can be told what a battlefield is. You have to see it for yourself.

My friends and I spent a lot of time in Norport's video shop watching old movies, many of them war movies. There were story of heroes, but also stories of terror, depicted by directors with a sadistic streak.

I remembered that the four of us all had nightmares that night.

Even now, I seem to be drifting in a dream.

We took on a few soldiers who were still breathing when we passed through that valley. Oh, and the survivors have caught up to our column.

They're all Infected. As they should be, after spending a night in a corpse-filled crater.

You did disinfect properly, didn't you? You could have gotten Active Originium dust on you.

Where are we, Hannah?

I'm a little...

Don't worry, I have experience with large-scale Active Originium zones from my time in County Hillock.

We undertook the cleanup according to SOP.

The soldiers were conscripts under the Duke of Ashworth. They said that their company simply pulled out after the battle, without rescuing the wounded or cleaning up the battlefield.

Horn? Is Hannah angry at me because I acted on my own?

Why is she ignoring me?

He said he had a friend who had been crying for help by a shallow puddle all night. Couldn't turn himself over because his legs were injured.

He had drowned by the time we found him.

The puddle was ankle-deep. He would have survived if someone had just flipped him over.

I examined the area. Looks like they marched into a Royal Court trap. Some Sarkaz mercenaries must have sacrificed themselves by acting as bait.

There's something on my chest?

I can't breathe... Morgan... Morgan?

I feel something hot roiling in my chest.

But... how could they have gone down without a fight?

That's not surprising. Other than the strongest dukes, professional soldiers make up only a quarter of the armies of the other ducal armies, at best.

Most Victorian soldiers are conscripted, sent into battle after only a few months of basic training on how to use a crossbow or Arts Unit.

Frankly, if not for this war, the officers and soldiers may never have spoken to each other their entire lives.

Vina wouldn't like to hear it.

I hate this. How could you trust your back to someone whom you don't trust?

Why does nobody hear me?

I feel the taste of iron in my mouth, something boiling, rushing up my throat.

Mother never answered my questions. She said I would find the answer, someday—

*Cough*... argh!

Vina!

Take it easy, Morgan... my neck... I can't breathe...