“If they don’t have electrical means of communication, it’s highly likely they will have a bird shifter of some kind to relay messages,” Fenris said, looking worried.
“Yeah, but even if they do, it’ll take a while for him to deliver the message and then get an answer,” Annia said. “At least a day or two. That’s more than enough time to get the information we need.”
It took us another thirty minutes to emerge from the tree line, and as soon as we did the guards stood up straight at the sight of us. The two guys on the roof trained their bows in our direction, and I was glad that we had a shooter on our side as well. Annia might not have had the eyesight of a shifter, but she was still damn good with her crossbow.
“Stop right there!” one of the guards stationed on the ground shouted, stepping forward. He was a human, with short black hair, and like his comrades was dressed in a long-sleeved khaki shirt and pants. The only bits of color were the red band tied around his upper arm, and a medal pinned above his heart that was shaped like a drop of blood. A hand went to the hilt of his sword, testing the blade’s clearance, though he didn’t draw. “Hands in the air!”
We halted immediately, doing as he said. I wasn’t worried about the vulnerable position – my reflexes were faster, and I could slice his arm off with a chakram faster than he could draw his sword. Of course I had my magic too, but I didn’t want to give that away since I was posing as a full-blooded shifter.
Seeing that we’d obeyed without hesitation, the guard relaxed fractionally, though his fingers didn’t stray from his sword hilt. “What business do you have out here in Coazi territory?”
“We came to join the Resistance,” I called back.
The guard cocked a brow. “Did you now? All by yourselves?” He looked skeptical. “New recruits must be vouched for by current members of the Resistance, and they never come to this particular place.”
“I was given directions to this camp by my uncle, Rylan Baine,” I told him. “As you can understand, he’s a little too busy to bring us here himself.”
The two guards exchanged a look – Rylan was an officer in the Resistance, and well known. “Rylan Baine’s niece, eh? What’s your name?”
“Mika Baine,” I lied smoothly, using the name of my cousin Melantha’s daughter, who I’d rescued from the Shifter Royale just days ago. It was better to use an actual family member’s name than to make someone up – Rylan would have to ascertain Mika’s whereabouts, which would be difficult since Solantha was in an uproar, and would buy us extra time. “These here are my friends, Felix Lamos and Anaris Maren.” I gestured toward Annia and Fenris, who were standing to my right, without lowering my hands.
“Well it’s nice to see some new faces,” the other guard, a handsome blond with green eyes, spoke up for the first time. “Especially women, as not too many of those come our way.” He sent Annia a wink, and she gave him a flirtatious smile. “I’m Private Willis, and this here is Sergeant Brun.”
“Be that as it may,” Brun growled, shooting his fellow soldier a look that said he didn’t appreciate being introduced, “we can’t just take your word at face value. We’ll have to bring you three to the captain so he can decide what to do with you.”
I shrugged as well as I could with my hands in the air. “Fine by me. When do we get to meet him?”
Brun sent Willis to fetch two more soldiers, then left them to guard the entrance to the town along with the archers while he took us to the Captain. Our hands were tightly bound in front of us with thick rope, and we were herded up a wide street flanked with two-story brick-and-wood buildings, every third of which was a crumbling ruin. The better-preserved houses had been patched up by the Resistance, newer pieces of cedar wood standing out against the older siding, and bits of plaster and glue were smeared around the edges of windows that had been replaced. The windows were small and covered with a film of dust, and none of the buildings had signs out front, so there was no way of telling which, if any of them, housed the prisoners we sought.
The soldiers led us into a two-story cabin that looked like it had seen better days, the siding worn rough by sandstorms and who knew what else, and the porch railing leaning sideways. The floorboards creaked under our feet as we were led onto the porch, and we stood under an awning that looked ready to collapse on top of our heads as Brun knocked on the door.
“Captain Milios?” he called. “It’s Sergeant Brun.”
“Come in,” a deep, brusque voice answered.
Brun turned the wooden doorknob, and the door creaked loudly as he pushed it open. We followed after him into a small, rectangular room that had probably served as the house’s kitchen and living area, judging by the wood-burning stove in the left corner. The empty, rickety-looking shelves on the walls would have once housed pots and pans as well as cooking supplies.
On the opposite side of the room was a large, rough-hewn desk covered with piles of paper and a typewriter that looked like it was on its last legs. Behind the desk sat a sturdy-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and a weather-beaten face, who I could only assume was Captain Milios. His thin lips and hard, dark eyes told me he was not the cheerful sort, and I doubted he would show us any mercy if he found out who we really were.
“Sergeant.” Milios narrowed his eyes. Like his soldiers, he was dressed in khakis, but he wore three blood-drop medals on his breast as opposed to the single one Sergeant Brun displayed. His medals were also gold rather than red, which I imagined went with his higher rank. He scowled at us before returning his attention to Brun. “Who are these people?”