Path of Their Own Ch. 01

Standing in the center of the unloaded goods, Flak scribed his record of the supplies surrounding him. There was a long list of material ranging from walkie-talkies, to claymores, to a box full of complete, two-man pup-tents. But of all the things they had found, what excited him the most—aside from the cartons of Lucky Strikes—was the Jeep sitting behind him.

Despite the scratches and damage to the body which included one cracked headlight, the vehicle had a full tank of gas and no visible structural damage. A mount for an M60 was in front the passenger seat and a mounting for a .50-caliber machinegun stood in the middle of the vehicle. Whether it started or not was a question he would find out soon enough.

The other contents of the C-130's cargo had included food, water, ammunition, but that was just in the standard-looking crates. Several other boxes were marked classified, and cracking them open revealed more unusual items. Computer parts, mechanical gizmos, devices that looked like oversized mine-detectors but for some reason didn't pick up metal.

There was also thousands upon thousands of rounds of unmarked ammunition in a variety of calibers and the weapons to shoot it all. Varieties of submachine guns, assault rifles, shotguns, handguns. Almost anything anyone could ask for. There was even that missing .50-caliber Browning to go on the Jeep.

As Flak finished writing down the contents of the last box on his notepad, there was one question he couldn't help but wonder.

"Who the Hell asked for all this?" he muttered as he set his writing tools aside and pulled an AK-47 out of a nearby crate.

It had some Soviet markings, but the serial numbers were removed and it was in near pristine condition, signs which probably meant it wasn't a war trophy or captured off the North Vietnamese. There were also spare magazines for it and unmarked bullets that chambered perfectly. Shaking his head, he cleared the weapon and returned it to its box with a scowl.

"This could've been for arming either local guerillas or Special Forces," he commented, thinking aloud.

"Problems, Staff-Sergeant?" Galen asked as he and Petra started a pile of crates that were filled with items they couldn't use.

Flak glanced toward the paratrooper and closed the lid to the crate. Sighing and mentally swearing at it all, the Marine grabbed his notepad and went over everything he wrote down.

"Good news is, we have enough here to survive for weeks or months and arm a platoon. Even have spare bullets for target practice. Bad news, unless your magic storage trick is feeling mighty strong, we don't have the means to take it all with us. Jeep will run out of fuel, and two horses won't have the muscle. We would need to set up a base-camp. Somewhere safe that preferably isn't underground."

In a matter-of-fact tone, Galen responded, "Actually, I know a place."

Flak looked up from his list with a skeptical look. "Oh?"

The Private nodded, "When my Herc' went down, only survivors were me an' Sergeant Polson. And while I went and got myself caught up in that business in Reddin,' he decided to settle in with a Neko tribe in the forest. He has all the extra weapons and ammo from our plane an' if there's anywhere to store this stuff, it'd be there."

A deep frown arched over Flak's brow. "And you trust the tribe?"

"They're good people, Sergeant. And Polson is there to safe guard everythin'."

The Marine didn't lose his hard look as he turned his focus to Petra, the bipedal feline taking a seat with Felyn on some of the boxes. His lips tensed as he recalled their conversations in Redding's dungeon and how primitive most other tribes were compared to hers. He didn't want to leave these new goods somewhere and come back two months later to find it all rusted away.

Although if an Airborne NCO was willing to throw his roots down with them, they couldn't have been all bad. Leaving everything with another Earthling was a better solution than hiding it all and hoping for the best.

"Alright," Flak grumbled, turning back to Galen. "How far is the tribe?"

"Bit better than a day's walk into the forest, less than that with the wagon an' the Jeep. Petra and Celia know the way."

"Okay, that solves the storage issue. We just have to get it there. How much can your magic trick make disappear?"

Looking to the boxes around them, Galen quirked his mouth and struck his left hand up into a glow. "Let's find out."

He walked straight to one of the boxes filled with the most weapons. In a blink of an eye, it was gone, along with two others. A cloud seemed to flash in the back of his eyes, his eyelids dipping like they were trying to force him asleep. He sucked in a deep breath to stave off that invasion of fatigue and flexed his still-glowing hand.

Masking the physical effects on his body, Galen went to a fourth, only for it to spark something the moment it vanished under his touch. He felt a pin prick in his chest over his heart that was sharp enough to make his face wince. The glow in his hand faltered, but quickly regained its steady light as he pushed the feeling aside and moved on.

When the sixth box of the non-crew served weapons vanished, a cold sweat began to break out on his brow. His lungs constricted in his chest like a belt was fastened around his lungs to force him take a sharp, shallow breath. Fighting to get his fill of air, he felt a familiar tingle in the back of his mind and turned his head toward the source.

Felyn was on her feet and moving straight toward him along with both Flak and Petra.

"Galen," the Empath called out in a concerned tone.

"You alright?" the Staff-Sergeant prodded.

"Fine," he stated, though his exasperated voice betrayed his words.

A critical stare focused on the sweat on the soldier's brow, Petra warned, "Galen, don't push yourself."

The Private let out his lungs and grabbed an ammo crate, making it vanish while gritting his teeth. Storing bullets didn't seem to take nearly as much a toll on him as storing weapons. Under the narrowed gaze of his three companions, he kept making the wooden boxes disappear, one after another until he had ten put away. It wasn't all of them, but he was at his limit.

When that last box vanished, he had blinked and grabbed his chest, trying to pull what felt like a knife buried to the hilt in his sternum as the strength faded from his legs. Before he could drop to his knees, Petra's arms came around his chest, holding him up before Flak grabbed onto him and dragged him to the Jeep. Together they got Galen into the passenger seat as he started drifting from consciousness.

"What's wrong, Private?" he heard Flak ask.

Blinking tears from his eyes and planting a hand on the dashboard to steady himself, Galen wheezed, "I f-f-found my limit."

He drew in a long, pained breath and looked at Flak as more sweat broke his skin. "We gotta get... to the Willher village. I'll be fine 'til then."

Galen turned his eyes back to the metal dash in front of him even as he heard Celia's voice. In the next instant the Elf was at his side, hands on his cheeks to turn his face to her. Her body's golden glow had intensified as those enchanting white eyes of hers peered into his. He could almost taste her worry as she checked his condition and placed a glowing finger to his forehead.

"You took in too much, Galen," she whispered as he felt a uncomfortable shift within his body. "But it's not dangerous yet. Why would you risk your health?"

"I didn't want anything dangerous left in the open. I took in all the weapons I could, and the 'magic' that feeds them so they couldn't be stolen when we go to the Willhers."

She blinked at this revelation. "We're going back to the Willher village?"

He gave a weak nod. "To store the supplies with Michael. Everything we can't take ourselves."

Celia paused as she pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, the look on her face growing no less concerned. "Okay. And then we seek out the first of my lost sisters?"

A grin crept up on Galen's chapped lips. "Yes. And bring them home to your clan."

Holding his gaze for a few short seconds, Celia quickly offered a smile of her own before giving him a kiss. "Thank you."

She turned to Petra and in calm tone, spoke in Nekonian tongue. "He will be fine if we reach the village in a day. Any longer can be dangerous."

"What'd she say?" Flak asked, noting the change in language.

The Neko crossed her arms and looked into the forest that bordered the yellow plain. "Galen can survive as he is for a day, but it would be best to make haste."

Grumbling under his breath, Flak nodded and inhaled on his pipe. "Alright, then we're not wasting any more time. Let's get the last of the weapons and ammo loaded into the wagon and get that fifty on the Jeep. I want it mounted and ready to rock. The kit that I pointed out that we can use, load it into the wagon as well. The rest we burn. You know where this village is?"

Petra nodded. "Yes."

"Good. You and Felyn take the wagon to the village while I'll go on ahead with Galen and Celia in the jeep. If he's on a countdown then I'm not wasting time."

"That contraption moves?" Felyn asked, her tone skeptical.

Flak frowned at the Drow, though he kept his mouth shut only because of her unfamiliarity of Earth's technology. That didn't make him any less inclined to wipe that skeptic look off her face, however.

He circled around the vehicle and climbed into the driver's seat. One foot pressing the clutch he turned the starter switch and the three Raskan women jumped as the motor roared to life. Throwing the gearshift in neutral, he looked to the Drow and said, "Yes, it does. One more example of how many years ahead my world is compared to yours. Now let's get this shit loaded and get moving."

..................

A gavel came down on a wooden sound block three times. With the loud raps echoing much louder than the idle chatter, the circular hall fell silent.

Rows of private booths three deep circled the entire room with a podium in the middle where a Human male in a fine, red suit stood stroking the length of his brown beard. His dark eyes traced around the room to the different people gathered on this day and mentally took count of who was missing and who was present. To his relief, few proved to be absent as everyone from nobles of minor kingdoms, to ambassadors of the non-Human nations, to the Empress herself had, for once, all come to this meeting.

With the attentions of dozens planted upon him and awaiting his words, he straightened his back and lifted his chin. An Elven woman at his side took the signal to press two fingers to his adamsapple. He felt magic warm his throat and his resulting voice was powerful enough to be deafening for the both of them were it not for the magic protecting their hearing.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the League of Lords, the second meeting of the year is now is session. I, Speaker Gerald Delix, and the Giran Empire welcome you all to this hallowed hall to discuss the issues that threaten our people and our ways of life. Beginning this meeting, the league welcomes First Ambassador to the Night Elf clans, Alanei Beree Takiloniid."

A slender woman with pale blue skin rose from her seat as a white light illuminated her booth. Solid blue eyes narrowed on the gathered nobles below jet black hair wound tightly in a bun. She smoothed the front of her white robes and waited as the floating light before her turned yellow, signalling her to speak.

"Nobles of the League, you are all aware of the drought that is plaguing southern Astiko and northern Royer. Of the crops and livestock being lost because of the unusual lack of rain. Our shamans have discovered that the abnormal change in weather is not a natural one."

There were mumblings throughout the room, but the yellow light did not disappear from the Night Elf's booth even as others stood up to question. The man in the middle of the room motioned for them to sit down before giving the Alanei the signal to continue. With a nod of thanks, she did so.

"Our best sorcerers and sorceresses have discovered old magic radiating from southern Giran, affecting the winds that carry the rain clouds south. But the magic does not centralize around any one location, it is deliberate and mobile. The clan elders believe our crops failures are the machinations of a group seeking destruction upon the southern people."

The Elf took a seat as the light in front of her turned white, then extinguished. Across the room, a woman dressed in a blue silk dress with her brown hair put up in a curly pony tail rose from her seat. The white light appeared before her and her vibrant green eyes gleamed in its glow as the speaker introduced her.

"Empress Chaylee Ormund of the Giran Empire, you have something to add?"

The light turned yellow.

"Yes, Speaker Gerald. It has come to my attention that during this time of recovery and reconstruction after my Empire's civil war, several bands of raiders have been taking advantage of the chaos that my late uncle had wrought by preying on our rural towns and farms. Attacks are increasingly common in the south, but now the north has found itself being raided as well, particularly around the barrier-mountains that separate the Roaring Peaks of Astiko and the Marching Hills."

Some voices of concern were raised as she finished but many of the gathered appeared taken off guard by the news. This was somewhat surprising to the Giran ruler as she had made no attempts to cover up or hide the attacks. In fact she had been putting out bounties for information about who was causing her people so much grief.

How had the other nobility failed to notice?

Empress Chaylee hardened her tone of voice and continued, "Raising further questions are the reports I've received about unusual weather starting to effect these raided, northern lands. I do not believe this to be a coincidence. The Giran Empire agrees with Alanei Takiloniid in that the change in weather is of someone's design, and I will also state the conclusion my investigators have drawn. That the raids and drought are not unrelated."

Seeing several nods of agreement and looks of suspicion coming from the nobles who had come from the affected areas, the Empress took her seat. As she did, a man across the room from her rose from his seat, buttoning up the front of his black overcoat over his white tunic. His sharp, yellow eyes met with the Empress' for a moment before shifting to the announcer who was acknowledging him. Running his fingers through his slightly shaggy, black hair to sweep it to one side, he raised his bearded chin and waited from his introduction as the white light appeared before him.

"Count Vibraen of Koatchei, have you more input for this discussion?"

In front of the count the light changed, "I do, Speaker. My people have been monitoring this situation for some time and I have some details and reports to bring before the league. Besides the impending famine that this unusual weather will bring..."

There were several voices raised about the room, but Gerald struck his gavel to silence them. Restlessness arose in the gathered and several servants were sent from the room. Some leaders even began writing on paper while their seconds prepared hot wax for seals. Despite the distractions, the speaker raised his voice to allay the rising tension in the room.

"Count Vibraen, no one has spoken of a famine."

The man scoffed. "Because few here have the nerve to acknowledge what is coming. My own crops are having failures, as are those of my Elven and Draconic neighbors. It seems that the one nation that still maintains sufficient supply to feed itself at this time is the one that is currently expanding its military. The same one with whom I share my eastern border. With whom we all share a border."

There was a buzz about the room. Many eyes began to shift among the gathered leaders, drawing in on the young Girani Empress. Hands clenching around the hem of her dress, Chaylee focused her intensifying glower squarely upon the Count just as his was fixed to her.

"One cannot help but notice that since the end of Giran's civil war, not one regiment of troops has left it to assist the forces of Galaeus. My army is barely half of yours and yet I've dispatched nearly a half-thousand men in the past year alone. Does the demon threat challenged only by the son of a Goddess not concern the Empress?"

The light went out in front of the Count, and amidst the rising voices of the present lords, returned to Chaylee as she stood from her seat.

"Do you have a response, your Grace?" Gerald asked.

"I do," she stated into the yellow light. "Do not forget, Count, the destruction that was wrought upon my people by my uncle's men both before and during the civil war. My people are still rebuilding and the furthest thing from their minds is marching off to another war in a faraway land. Until such a time comes that my people can afford to send troops again, only those who volunteer will be sent on the journey to that abyssal place."

There were grumblings among the league at her words; she could see the lords whispering to their aides and advisors. Even without knowing the specifics, she could hear the suspicion from them as they spoke. She commanded the largest Empire in Astiko and held the most resources of any country at her beck and call. In her Father's era, she doubted anyone would have spoken to the Emperor in such a tone because of the weight of the hammer he could bring down on any of them.

But now her country was weakened, and they knew it. Her uncle had done far more damage than he ever could have imagined.

"As for my military," she growled, her gaze returned to the Count that had angered her so, "yes, I am rebuilding it. Many of my troops had no intention to remain in the military once our war was won and I had no intention to force them to stay. But now with your 2^nd and 5^th Guard Divisions and 1^st Cavalry positioning themselves outside our border, along with the raiders raised within, my country is in need of its sons once again and I will have them prepared."

She sat down and the light before her went out. Below her, a stubby man half her height with a full, thick, brown beard descending nearly to his waist stood up with the light in front of him.

"Master Stalwen," the Speaker introduced.

"Aye, the Dwarves o' Adamine want to raise their concerns o'er th' need of yer surface campaign. If it be demons you're killin', you must not be killin' many, or you're startin' to run out. We been sendin' our troops fer a near fifteen years, and fer all the troops we send, we tend ta get ten times their weight in loot when they come back. Enchan'ed metals, charmed jewels, blessed items, all the things the men scavenge off the dead demons that we can forge and work wit' ta produce the magic weapons, armor, and trinkets all you surfacers demand so damned much.

"If there were a real threat in th' East, we would still be seein' those shipments. But that ain't the case. We barely see a tenth of what we were bringin' in last year, which is barely a fifth of what we brought in five years before that! Our men return tellin' stories of how they were turned around at the Death-Iron gate. And those 'hat made it past that have no stories of battle to share. That tells's Galaeus did his job, and we can stop sending good men to die. And so, we Dwarves propose that the treaty of Trinik be suspended and put up for review. At least until this coming famine either strikes or passes and you sky-lovers can get yer damned politics in line."

There was an instant uproar as the yellow light extinguished, so much so that not even the smashing of Gerald's gavel on its sound block could bring the league to order. With his Elven assistant pressing her hand to his throat again, he projected his voice far louder than the room of nobles could.