Arcane Exfil Chapter 42

Cole ran through his spell array as he approached the mock structure they’d built using earth magic. Mack and the others were already up on the observation platform, having finished their own drills and ready to control the targets for the next runner’s turn.

Four rooms in a standard residential layout – the quintessential close-quarters urban nightmare that had been breaking armies since Stalingrad. Dummies were positioned throughout the playing field, some marked as hostiles, others as civilians.

Three days of consistent practice had turned mental enhancement into background noise, but integrating multicasting in practice? That was the real test.

Mental enhancement was active, thoughts running faster than baseline while physical enhancement quickened his muscle response. All he needed now was at least a couple other spells to assess his limits.

In a situation like this, the spell choices were pretty obvious, even if plain. First, Cole shaped a small earthen wall that reached up to his upper chest – a portable headglitch solid enough to stop incoming small arms fire and basic offensive spells. The next two spells reflected magical versions of standard equipment: flashbangs and smokes.

He held a light concussive blast ready above his right shoulder. And if shit hit the fan and he needed to pull back, he kept a water-and-heat spell combo in the back pocket, contained in a barrier, and primed to turn the room into a steam bath if needed.

With his arsenal ready, he stepped forward.

Cole moved through the breach point with his revolver up and spell array held steady. His earth wall shifted with his weapon as he swept the first room. A horned dummy in the corner took a round center mass while his spells held steady through the shooting sequence without a hitch. Hard to tell if it was the magic training or just the fact that room clearing had been drilled into him long before he’d ever seen a spell.

Either way, this claustrophobic shitshow was where amateurs died and professionals proved themselves.

The moment he entered the second room, a dummy leapt from under a mound that was supposed to represent a bed. It lashed at him with an earthen sword, defying a conventional understanding of speed. If Cole were unenhanced, he would’ve gotten sliced up. Good thing he’d kept his physical enhancements up and running.

Cole stepped back and put a single round from his revolver into center mass. The round turned the target into earthen fragments, which was exactly why the Celdornians ran these drills with sword and shield instead of firearms.

It probably made sense from their perspective – why waste expensive ammunition on training when steel would do the job? But from his perspective, the overkill was well worth the familiarity. Sure, they’d have to master medieval combat techniques eventually – situations where firearms weren’t practical were inevitable – but why not leverage superior technology while they had it? Eventually, they’d need to upgrade this kingdom’s manufacturing base to produce some 1911 analogues, but until then, he’d stick with what worked.

The third and fourth rooms fell the same way, hardly even a footnote. By the time he cleared the structure, the magic felt as natural as breathing.

Cole let the constructs dissipate as he stepped outside. The others had gathered up, already lounging around.

Miles sat on a supply crate, casually maintaining three spells – fire, ice, and earth, all lazily orbiting above his palm. Nothing tactical, just some solid practice via magical fidgeting, kinda like spinning a pen or bouncing a stress ball.

“… helpin’ out with the vacuum tube stuff for the radios, and y’know what she called me?” Miles was saying as Cole approached. “She called me ‘good man.’”

Mack snorted. “What, not ‘good boy’ instead?”

“Nah.” Miles tried to downplay it, but Cole caught the hope underneath. Poor bastard was completely gone for Lady Kathyra. “Hell, I wish. Now, it ain’t no ‘good boy,’ but it’s a step, ain’t it?”

Cole dropped his gear and grinned, settling into the conversation. The perfect opportunity lay before him. “A step toward you calling her ‘mommy’, I assume?”

“Well–” Miles stammered, breaking into a smile.

His casual spell array collapsed instantly, all three constructs dissolving like smoke. Miles stared at his empty palm with the expression of someone who had just dropped his car keys down a storm drain – annoyance mixed with self-recrimination.

“How old even is she?” Ethan asked, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“A hunnid forty. Elves, right?” Miles started rebuilding his fidget spells.

Cole went for the kill. “Yeah, looks like you’re gonna have to call her ‘grandmommy’ instead.”

“Fuck y’all,” Miles muttered, but he was fighting back a grin. His rebuilt spell array flickered as he tried not to laugh.

Mack was preparing what would undoubtedly be another devastating observation when Ethan’s expression shifted, head coming up. “Hey, ain’t that Darin?”

Cole followed his line of sight and sure enough, he spotted Darin hauling ass across the training ground, sweat soaking through his shirt. He looked like he had run a whole marathon from town – a weaker analogy, given the existence of physical enhancement magic, but an apt one nonetheless.

Cole jogged up to meet him.

“Sir Cole,” Darin sputtered, skidding to a halt. “The port survey – I’ve found something amiss,” he gasped, still fighting for breath. “Went straight to Intelligence. Sir Warren wants you deployed immediately after a briefing.”

Immediate deployment, huh? The phrase had a way of turning pleasant afternoons into life-or-death situations with remarkable speed.

“What kind of something?” Cole asked.

Darin straightened, getting his wind back. “The shipping accounts, sir, they don’t quite square. I’ll explain as we go, but Warren supposes it’s tied to that Kidry business. I cannot say I understood his meaning entirely, though he was quite certain you would comprehend it.”

Of course it fucking was. Problems had a way of metastasizing when no one was looking, like cancer or congressional committees. But… at least they were finally making some headway.

“Yeah, message received alright,” Cole said, shouldering his pack. “Lead the way.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

They crossed the compound toward the Operations Center. Darin kept pace despite having just sprinted from town. Only a serious issue could explain such determinism.

Darin pulled a small notebook from his jacket, flipping through pages of neat, elegant handwriting. “I was conducting the warehouse survey as you requested, Sir Cole. Taking measure of the goods – their origins, their values, what moves through our docks. I’ve gotten the kaff beans, but I confess, sir, I encountered ledgers that gave me considerable pause.”

He found the page he wanted. “A shipping company claiming to move military rations and preserved foods. Common fare, by rights – goods that ask little of warehouse and handler alike.”

“Doesn’t sound too special,” Ethan observed.

“One might presume so. Yet when I compared their warehouse contracts against the manifests, the accounts struck me as rather curious. They’ve purchased premium preservation magics: climate wards, purity enchantments, contamination protections. Such is the manner of treatment reserved for, say, volatile compounds or perhaps even rare medicinals.”

Mack frowned, sharing a look with the rest of the group. “And they used it for military rations? For fuck’s sake.”

“Yes, and that’s what set me to wondering, sir. Provisions for the field are made to last, even in the worst of weather. You might leave the stuff in a bog or on the line six months running and yet find them unspoiled. What sense is there, then, in wasting spells on food that was never intended to require it?”

Cole didn’t want to believe that the demons had somehow bypassed Celdorne’s improved security, but here they were, staring right at a damning contradiction.

“The cost of preservation alone swallows near all the profit these shipments might bring. Aye, it eats the whole of it, sir. They lay out more in enchantment than the goods themselves are worth. No sensible tradesman would carry on in such a manner.”

“‘Less that cargo ain’t what they’re sayin’ it is,” Miles said.

“Just so. I looked more closely at the particulars,” Darin continued. “What struck me most was this: I’ve some acquaintance with the men at the docks, owing to my survey work. They tell me these ships dock with unusual speed, pay well for the favor, and their crews scarcely linger. They take on provisions and are off again without delay. Not until today had they sought to import any freight.”

“How the fuck did they even get a ship?” Mack muttered, tone leaning rhetorical. He addressed Darin’s comment directly, “Seems like they’re racing the clock, tryna get their goods out before any of the inspectors swoop down.”

“How much cargo are we talking about?” Cole asked.

Darin might not have known about the Kidry deal exactly, but the look on his face suggested he didn’t need to. He had already connected the dots. “Enough to sustain a company for a week, sir. Or if the cargo’s of another sort, it might well spoil half the garrison’s stores in the city.”

“Did you get a look at the actual goods?” Miles asked.

Darin shook his head. “The warehouses remain fast shut, sir. I thought it ill-advised to press further than a cursory inquiry might warrant. Those present were outwardly courteous, though there was something in their manner that set me ill at ease. They answered plainly enough, yet gave the distinct impression of men not… well, not wholly in step with the world about them.”

Cole had to know. “Like they were possessed?”

“Perhaps, although they retained agency uncharacteristic of what I’d consider to be ‘possessed.’”

With a city as big as Alexandria, Cole couldn’t dismiss the possibility that there were still some demons lurking about – mimics who didn’t participate in the castle ambush. Still, if they’d managed to possess people in the city already, then why hadn’t they done anything yet? That left the idea of cultist cells, which Warren had mentioned during their first arrival here.

Unlike mimics, these were normal human beings, not a lick susceptible to the nullification fields that kept the important areas safe. Hell, there could be cultists in OTAC right now, and they probably couldn’t tell. Even if they presented less of an offensive threat than powerful monsters, they were still more than capable of bringing the entire country down through tricks like these.

This was anthrax with a demonic twist. From what Cole could gather, the freight most likely consisted of the poisoned goods that went missing at Kidry. The preservation magic suddenly made perfect sense if they were dealing with some kind of biological agent that needed specific conditions to stay viable until consumption.

“Good work,” Cole told Darin as they entered the Operations Center. “Thorough and professional.”

“Much obliged, Sir Cole. Even so, I confess some concern we may lack time to forestall whatever these folk intend.”

An aide brought them to Warren. Time to find out exactly how fucked this situation was going to get.

Warren stood over a central table, maps of Alexandria’s port sprawled across the surface. Elina was already there, mid-conversation with some analysts from the intelligence wing.

“Gentlemen.” Warren said, inclining his head. “You’ve been apprised of the situation?”

Cole nodded.

“Good. You shall be sent to investigate.” Warren pointed at a ship’s design, likely the one the so-called ‘merchants’ used. He dove right into it, “The vessel bears, by our estimation, no more than twenty souls – scarcely sufficient for a trading crew. As for the warehouse…” He paused, eyes locked onto a set of warehouse schematics. “The day staff numbers ten, perhaps a few more.”

Twenty to thirty hostiles then, maybe more if they had friends. They were decidedly outnumbered – terrible odds, but only depending on what they were facing.

“What are we up against?” Cole asked.

“Cultists, by all indications. Men who have cast their allegiance with the Enemy. The wretched and disaffected, drawn by promise of vengeance or dominion. Some may bear arms with a soldier’s hand, but most, I warrant, are no better than a common criminal. Their arms shall be rudimentary, their magic – if present at all – scant and feeble, and among them, no semblance of discipline.”

That bumped their odds up quite a bit. Against what amounted to untrained civilians, they could easily clean house – should that be their objective.

Warren, though, had different plans. “Your task is to observe, and to report what may be known of their strength, their arrangement, and the nature of their cargo. Commit no force unless compelled by necessity.”

“Necessity, like if they try moving the cargo?”

Warren frowned, grim but determined. “Then you shall act as prudence allows. I shall have a unit ready to support you within an hour of your arrival. If you move early, you do so unsupported. The morning detail would have entered before first light – ten, perhaps fifteen souls. Whether they are taken, scattered, or gone of their own will, we cannot yet say.”

Because what was an op if it didn’t have fucking civilians thrown in the mix? Fate couldn’t make it too easy for them.

Miles sighed, “Rules of engagement?”

“If you go to observe, see that you are not seen. But should action be required, let none within that compound escape. However… Despite what judgment your conscience may wish to render, it is of great import that you take prisoners. These wares came out of Kidry, from within the Wastes. How they were transported and how the cargo functions are mysteries we seek to end.”

Cole couldn’t agree more – except for that last note at the end. “How the cargo functions… you don’t want us to destroy the cargo?”

Warren shook his head. “I share your very fears. However, if we are to rescue those yet ailed by possession – and those not yet affected, study of how their affliction came to be shall be necessary.”

Like keeping weaponized smallpox around just to develop a cure. Cole didn’t like it – not one bit, but he got the gist. “Understood.”

Warren gave a deep breath, ready to wrap it up. “You are free to make use of the armory, though I expect your own arms will answer better at close quarters – being, as they are, of a more temperate make. I believe your guns are currently with Lady Kathyra’s researchers. God be with you, gentlemen.”

Right. Cole had forgotten about that; he’d been ready to breach in there with a nice, familiar rifle. But his AK was fucked, and the other weapons were on their last mags. Still, Warren had a point. As long as they hit their shots and use magic wherever possible, they’d be able to make it last.

“Understood. We’ll handle it.”

First things first: weapons. They filed out, heading straight for the domain of elven grandmommies.

“Scout and report,” Ethan muttered as they walked. “Been a while since we did anything that civilized.”

“Aw, c’mon, don’t jinx it,” Mack replied. “You know these things never stay simple.”