Blood Of Acacia

The battleground stank of blood and scorched essence. Bank coiled into the evening sky, a cloak over the remains of what formerly had been a lively border city near the Arvand Strait. Commander Ardan Veyron, leader of the Iron Legion, stood amidst the chaos. Around him, dogfaces climbed to regroup; their faces blench with prostration, their munitions slick with a spear. Ardan's hand tensed around the bow of his brand. The battle was far from over, but the pause gave him a brief moment to catch his breath. He scrutinized the horizon for any sign of the adversary. The Lutheran forces had retreated for now, but he knew better than to trust the quiet. Also, his fund buzzed. A weak vibration from his phone pulled him from his studies. Frowning, he pulled it out, the screen smeared with smut. An unknown number blinked on the display. He dithered. It could be important — a communication from the advanced-ups, perhaps intelligence on the coming attack. He swiped to hear the voicemail. What he heard made his blood run cold wave. "Daddy, help me. They said I can't go home. I'm spooked." The voice was soft, pulsing, slightly above a tale. A child's voice. A girl's voice. The sound of her heartbreaks broke through the static, and for a moment, the battleground noise sounded to fade into the background. Ardan's brows furrowed in confusion. This had to be a mistake. He didn't have children. Who was this girl? Was this some kind of cruel trick? Before he could suppose further, another announcement lit up his phone—a picture. His breath caught in his casket. The image showed a youthful girl, no older than five. Her big, brown eyes were wide with fear, and her cheeks were barred with gashes and bruises. She gripped a commodity in her bitsy hands — a tableware pendant shaped like an acacia splint. Its face was spoiled with dried blood. Ardan's heart stopped. That pendant was his. Six times agone, he'd given it to someone. ** Livia. ** The name hit him like a blade to the casket. Memories swamped back, unsought and grim. Livia, the woman who had saved him after the butchery of his family. She had pulled him from the point of death and nursed him back to life. They had spent a single night together under the stars, bound by participated pain and transitory stopgap. Before she faded the coming morning, she had taken the pendant — a memorial he noway allowed he'd see again. And now, this girl. Her face, her glimpses, indeed the way she held herself — it was each too familiar. She looked just like Livia. The consummation hit him like a blast. "She's mine," he rumored. Also louder, his voice breaking with emotion, "She's my daughter!" His outburst drew the attention of his dogfaces. They turned to him, startled by the raw intensity in his voice. Ardan didn't care. His mind contended as he erected together the fractions of the communication. Who had transferred this? Where was she? How did she end up in peril? Questions swirled in his head, but he didn't have time for answers. The only thing that mattered now was taking a chance on her. He gritted his teeth, his face a mask of determination. Without vacillation, he picked his crippled dagger into the ground and turned to his men. "To Luthara," he barked. "Now. No detainments." The dogfaces changed uncertain ganders. They were worn out, their bodies screaming for rest after the challenging battle. But the fire in Ardan's eyes left no room for argument. They jounced, fleetly moving to prepare for departure. Twinkles latterly, Ardan was seated in the cockpit of a combat copter, its blades roaring to life. The earth below quivered as the aircraft lifted off, heading straight for the heart of Luthara. The trip was tense. Ardan googled out the window, his jaw gripped, his mind contending with possibilities. He allowed the girl — Mira. That had to be her name. He replayed the voicemail over and over, learning every shudder in her voice, every syllable. He'd to get to her before it was too late. The airman's voice crepitated through the intercom. "Sir, we'll be entering Lutharan airspace in ten twinkles. What are your orders?" "Take us low and fast," Ardan replied. "We can't go to be seen." The airman jounced, conforming their course. Below them, the geography of Luthara stretched out, a patchwork of metropolises and nature. Nearly down there, his daughter was staying. Nearly down there, peril lurked. Ardan's mind drifted back to Livia. He hadn't seen her in a long time and hadn't heard a word from her since that night. Had she known about Mira? Had she kept her hidden to cover her? The study filled him with equal corridor wrathfulness and anguish. He didn't know whether to curse her or thank her. The copter jolted as it hit turbulence, snapping him back to the present. He couldn't go distractions. Not now. When they eventually reached the outskirts of Luthara, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the land in murk. The airman brought the copter down in a clearing near the edge of the megacity. Ardan jumped out before the rotors had stopped entirely spinning, his thrills hitting the ground with a thud. The megacity impended in the distance, its skyline a blend of ancient halls and ultramodern towers. Nearly in that maze of gravestones and swords, Mira was staying. And he'd tear the megacity piecemeal if he had to. He turned to his alternate-in-command, Captain Lorian. "Secure the border. No one gets in or out without my say-so." Lorian accredited. "Understood, Joe." Ardan jounced, formerly moving toward the megacity. He had no plan, no clear path forward. All he'd was a voicemail, a picture, and a gut feeling. But that was enough. It had to be. As he entered the narrow thoroughfares of Luthara, a strange sense of auguring settled over him. The air was then thick, heavy, and still with an unnatural stillness. Murk danced along the walls, and the faint echo of steps sounded to follow him wherever he went. Also, a sound. A faint tale carried on the wind. "Daddy" He sat, his heart pounding in his casket. The voice was faint, nearly inappreciable, but it was enough to stop him in his tracks. He turned, surveying the darkness for any sign of movement. Nothing. "Daddy," The voice came again, clearer this time. It was Mira's voice. He was sure of it. Ardan drew his brand, the blade flashing in the dim light. "I'm coming," he murmured under his breath. He followed the sound, his way quick and silent. The thoroughfares grew narrower, the structures high, their windows like empty eyes gaping down at him. The voice led him to a small alley, its entrance half-hidden by a worsening archway. The alley was dark, too dark. Ardan dithered at the threshold, his instincts screaming at him to turn back. But he couldn't. Mira was in there. He was sure of it. He stepped into the murk, his grip tensing on his brand. The air was colder then, and the silence was blaring. Also, from the darkness, a figure surfaced. It wasn't Mira. Ardan's heart sank. It was a trap. The hooded man beamed, his voice trickling with malignancy. "You should've stayed on the battleground, Commander." Before Ardan could reply, the numbers dived, and the murk swallowed him whole.