Crimson Ring Chapter 6

Raven jerked awake fully alert and unharmed, thanks to the potent healing of the gold elixir still flowing strong through in his body. A large amount of the tonic had burned away, indicating the level of damage he had needed healed. But he still felt a considerable amount left. And if he didn’t suffer too much more damage, the remaining amount would give him another bell or two of enhanced healing. That was a good buffer.

Ready to keep moving, he pushed up to a crouch and paused. Instead of dashing ahead, he looked around in confusion. Both the narrow corridor and the large room beyond it were gone. He was inside of a smaller room with the upper half of the wall missing just ahead of him. Beyond that, he saw the ochre haze of the daytime sky.

It was when he turned his gaze higher, toward the ceiling, that he made sense of things. The blast had collapsed most of the floor above. The corridor and room were both gone. Through the gaping hole that was once the ceiling, Raven could see that it wasn’t just a hole to the floor above. Rather, the blast had blown out the entire front face of the building from the top floor, halfway down to the second, and sent shafts of daylight streaking in through the thick cloud of dust.

By the sun…I might have overdid things a bit…

Raven rose to his feet and turned his attention to finding a way back up to the top level of the building. He found a narrow stairwell toward the opposite end of the building. This time, he took a more cautious approach.

Voices caught Raven’s attention before he reached the top. They were a mix of sharp curses and loud groans as more dust and debris hissed down from the places where the ceiling was still intact. It was the team. The fighting had stopped, and now it seemed they were picking through the destruction. He supposed it was time to join them for a proper introduction.

He reached the top and surveyed the unit from what was left of the once long corridor. It was six figures, each covered head to boots in a thick layer of dust and pasty, tan colored chalky paste. They stood fanned out in a wide semicircle around the enormous hole in the floor. When they heard the footfalls Raven didn’t bother trying to mask, they all turned to him in unison, each with expressions of open shock.

He dismissed the two faces he recognized, those belonging to Rail and Breacher. The tall mountain of a man that stood with the broad head of a metal war glaive resting casually over one shoulder caught his eye. He held the weapon in a casual grip with one hand, and let the butt rest on the floor near his boot. A massive shield, the style of which was unmistakably Kulthenian, was strapped to his thickly muscled opposite arm. 

The casual readiness of the man’s stance matched the assessing gaze he leveled at Raven. It told Raven all he needed to know of the man’s capabilities. He wasn’t just all show. This one was dangerous. It was the exact opposite of the feeling he got from the next team member that arrested Raven’s attention. It was a thin woman with wild hair and a distant expression. The few parts of her skin not covered by dust showed a deeper bronze tone than was the norm for the Sovereign Cities, indicating a likely Kulthenian mix. The woman was remarkable in the way she appeared to lack any potential for threat and danger. It was precisely because she would fit in better among teenaged youths than an elite strike team that made Raven weary.

The one man that he would have utterly disregarded was short and wiry, with raw fear plain on his face, even though his eyes were red and his lids low, as if it were an effort to stay awake. The reason Raven did not disregard this man, however, aside from the fact that he too had earned a place on the team, was the heavy vest draped across his shoulders, which was lined with vials, sacks, and various bulging pockets; telltale signs of an alchemist.

The last man fit the mold of elite corps officer better than any of the others. He was nearly of a height with Raven, with sharp features and a lean, athletic build. He stood with a confident, capable demeanor, and exuded an aura capability and readiness. So it was no surprise when he was the first of the team to shake loose his shock.

The man marched right up and stood chest to chest with Raven, then yanked the grinning skull kerchief down to around his neck to reveal his scowling face, making a disturbing juxtaposition. “Bloody damn sands, recruit. What the fuck was that?”

Immediately off to the wrong start, then. Raven leaned to the side and peered around the man in front of him to survey the scene for the first time from this level. Raven realized just how close he had come to bringing down the entire top floor.

Raven turned back to the man in front of him, stared into the hard eyes on the level with him, and shrugged. “I’d say a job well done.”

Someone behind the man tried and failed to choke down a laugh.

The man in front of Raven, no doubt the team leader, this First Sword Abon, went from mild anger to a barely contained rage. Less than a hands-breath from Raven’s face and still holding his eye, the man shouted, spittle flying into Raven’s face. “Do you have a damn problem, Mixer?”

“How did he know it was me?” Came the response in an exasperated whisper.

Movement front the edge of Raven’s periphery snapped his eyes around in time to see the tall woman—Breach—cuff the small man in the back of his head so hard a plume of dust shot out of his hair as he staggered forward and nearly fell through the hole in the floor. Breach turned back and looked at the back of the man standing before Raven. “No, Sword. Mixer here is just peachy.”

“Outstanding, Breach. Thank you for the confirmation.”

“I do what I can, Sword,” Breach replied.

“Feel free to remind the corporal should he have need of more corrective attention.”

“Happy to do so, Sword.”

Raven looked from Breach to Mixer—who moved to take up position on the wall opposite the large woman—and then turned his attention back to the first sword and nodded. “I get it. I might have gone a bit overboard.”

“A bit overboard.” The first sword’s frown somehow deepened as he breathed through what looked like a spike of frustration. “Tell me, recruit, have you ever heard of something called collateral damage?”

Raven frowned. “Hey, I needed to ensure the team survived. The team member I replac—”

The first sword poked a finger in his chest. “You don’t say a damn word about our lost brother. Frankly, it doesn’t matter why you felt the need to detonate alchemical munitions in a residential building amongst civilians, children and elders included. Strike team Dark’s first directive is to protect the people.” He moved the finger from Raven’s chest and pointed behind him, toward the hole in the wall. “We protect these people above all other concerns. Else, what the fuck are we doing here?”

Raven couldn’t think of the last time anyone had dressed him down in such a way. But this first sword resonated with him. He could only nod. “I have a lot to learn about soldiering, Sword.” Damn you, Carrion.

“Peace keeping,” the first sword corrected. “As in Peace Keeping Corps—with the emphasis on peace. The fact that you have no fucking idea what it is to swear the oath is the only reason I haven’t already decided to chapter you out of the corps. Yeah, the elite strike teams like ours take you recruits fresh off the streets. We train you ourselves, out here on the sand. We get recruits of various backgrounds, which is a benefit, no doubt. It makes teams versatile and dynamic. You, it seems, are particularly good at killing. Highly beneficial for some teams. But if you’re not equally invested in protecting, I don’t need nor want you in my squad.”

It took every ounce of discipline Raven had to just stand there and take the verbal dress down. But every word the man spoke was the absolute truth. The passion and emotion all focused on serving the people was the exact opposite of everything Raven knew of outer district corpsmen. Humbled, Raven could only offer a respectful nod of acknowledgment.

The first sword hesitated a moment, then returned the nod. “Good. Name, corpsman?”

Raven thought to use the alias on his official records. But went with the alias he felt most comfortable with, the alias he would soon leave behind. “You can call me Raven.”

The first sword grunted and gave him a once-over. “Nicknames are usually earned, recruit, given by the team.”

Raven grinned. “Trust me, the name was earned.”

The first sword narrowed his eyes. “Very well. I am First Sword Abon. There will be plenty of time to make proper introductions when we get back to garrison. For now, just know that I give the orders and expect them executed with all haste.”

Raven nodded.

First Sword Abon spun away to face the main body of the team again. “Anyone spot our target?”

“Check,” came a shout. It was the frail-looking squad mage. Breeze. “Most of him is over there.” She pointed deeper into the room, at one of the far walls. “I pulled him away from the other corpses and propped him up against the wall.”

The first sword grunted his frustration. “Mixer.”

“Yes Sword?”

“Inspect that corpse. See if there’s enough of it there to get a log.”

Mixer yawned long and loud, then slapped at his cheeks and shook his head, coaxing himself back to full alertness. “Right away Sword.”

“Try not to muck it up, Mix,” a deep rumble of a voice said. It came from a towering giant of a corpsman. 

Mixer sneered at the big man as he walked over to the corpse. “I’ll remember that comment next time you need my alchemy, Titan.”

The man named Titan chuckled. “Titan will never have need of your potions. This you know, alchemist.”  

Mixer shook his head. “You know, the regular peace keeping units treat their squad healers with the respect they deserve. Maybe that’s what they teach them in the basic corps training. Respect.”

“Will you just confirm the corpse before you doze off again, sunshine?” Rail called out. “And do let me know if you need to use any of your alchemy. I want to be far away before you do, at least a block—maybe two.”

Mixer threw his hands up with a dramatic sigh. “Not you too, Rail. Such a damn ungrateful team. All of you.”

“Ungrateful?” 

“Yes! Ungrateful. What other word should I use? Typically, when someone saves your life, pulls your unconscious body from under a collapsed carriage and patches you back up all pretty, well, they would expect an element of gratitude in return.”

Rail rolled her eyes. “You will never live that down, will you? That was my first week with the team.”

“Doesn’t matter, and no, I will not live that down. Saving someone’s life is kind of a big deal, you know.”

Rail shifted her hips and winked at Breach. “The way I hear it, it was Breach that saved my life.”

Mixer straightened and turned fully around to face the woman. “How does she get the credit?”

“Because it’s the truth of it,” Breach said, looking barely able to contain her laughter.

Mixer didn’t seem to recognize the gag. He threw up his hands and turned back to his examination of the corpse. “Oh, that’s just great. Sweat in my lab for bells for this sorry lot and this is the thanks I get. Sacrifice my hearing, my perfect hair, my smooth skin, my precious seed…”

Breach and Rail shared a look of equal parts shock and disgust. Breeze made a gagging sound.

“…my once soft and perfectly manicured hands, my—” Mixer paused, cocked his head to the side. “Yeah, we can run a log with what’s left of this poor bastard.” He straightened, placed a finger to his chin. “Where was I? Oh, right. My—”

“Outstanding,” the first sword cut in before Mixer could continue. “Someone take a flare and signal in the necrologue before I disband this damn team.” 

First Sword Abon paused, then swung his gaze back around to Raven. “Where is your uniform, corpsman?”

Raven shrugged. “Came straight over from supply quartermaster. Issued me my kit and told me my team was out on the sand. Didn’t want to waste time changing clothes.” He thumbed a finger out the window. “Uniform is tied to my saddle.”

The first sword grunted. “Consider the gear lost. The camel too, for that matter, if you tied it off around front. Order a new standard issue when we get back to garrison. At the very least,” he dug out a small wad of cloth from the thick leather belt at his waist and passed it off to Raven, “Tie off your kerchief. That’s what identifies team Dark. Left up to me, we wouldn’t have to wear the damn uniform at all.”

Raven walked up to the first sword and took the cloth from his outstretched hand.