Chapter 38: High Elders

They were dropped off in a small room, the APC’s ramp leading down into it. The moment the last of them stepped off, it automatically closed and sped away. A door then slid down to cover the opening, leaving them trapped. Looking around, all Charon saw were four smooth gray walls of sheet metal, stacked on top of an equally smooth gray floor. The first person to speak was Emerius, his fingers inching closer to his sheathed swords by the second. "What the hell is going on?" His voice was calm, but his eyes were burning with fury. His gaze flicked between the four strangers, watching each of them closely. Uncertain about everything going on, Charon made a quick decision, moving to stand beside Emerius. ’I hope you were right about your powers working, Warden. We may need them any second now.’ ’Always.’ His summons response calmed his nerves just a little, but a glance at Liam’s huge frame reminded him just how outmatched they were. Darius, however, didn’t seem upset by the comments. "You are right to be upset. This is not how things are usually done, but the war has grown fierce. They must be concerned that one or both of you are spies." He sighed. "What I can’t figure out is why, though. You are not the first we have discovered; usually, they are brought before the High Elders and questioned, not thrown in the cells." Annie gave them all a worried look, her eyebrows knit together in concern. "This isn’t good. They might interrogate us, or worse." Looking at them all, Charon’s eyes locked onto Red. "Can’t they just ask her?" Both Annie and Darius shook their heads, the black-haired swordsman speaking. "No. Some of the other settlements have mind mages powerful enough to obscure other people’s thoughts. They would not know whether to trust you regardless." Charon shot them a look. "Then why did you trust us?" Darius leveled his gaze at him, gesturing at them both. "The moment you ran, we knew you were no threat. I have met many deceitful men, neither of you fits that category. Not now, at least." Liam groaned, his fist lazily slamming against the wall. "They could’ve given us some entertainment while they made us wait. " Annie nodded her agreement, sitting against the wall and sliding down till she was on the floor. "I would kill for some books right now." Liam’s face scrunched in disgust. "Books? Hell no! Give me some holo-vids, or a view of the fight pits!" Darius rolled his eyes before sitting on the floor, his legs crossed underneath him. He drew his blade with a ring and laid it across his legs, flat. Emerius watched him for a moment, his fists tensing in anger before he exhaled, drawing his own blades and sitting opposite Darius. He placed them to his sides and tilted his head forward. Charon watched them in confusion before Annie explained. "Meditation. A lot of swordsmen do it to calm themselves and think things through. Something about it resonates with them." His mind briefly flashed to when Emerius had told him that elements often connected with specific weapons, like his soul element and the scythe. ’Guess it goes a little deeper than just the weapon itself.’ He laid his head back against the cool metal wall, his mind in turmoil over everything going on. Suddenly, a fist banged on the metal wall, followed by a brusque voice. "Stand clear!" Charon practically jumped away, the wall folding away a second later. On the other side, no less than thirty armed soldiers stood, their guns trained on the group. Among their ranks were five men wearing small mech suits. ’He called himself a Panoplian.’ The one who had spoken entered the room, half of his men following. Their guns swiveled around as they cleared every corner, their eyes focusing on the weapons a second longer than anything else. Initially thinking they were scanning everything, Charon didn’t pay much attention to their movements until it became obvious they had a second goal. Surround Charon. With lightning-quick movements, one of the soldiers kicked the back of his knee, forcing him to fall. Another jerked the knife from the chains around his chest, and a third ripped the tome over his shoulder. He groaned in protest, the wind being knocked out of his lungs as his chest slammed into solid steel. ’What’s happening? Are they going to kill me?’ He opened his mouth to speak, to call to Emerius for help, but only a wheezing gasp came from his throat. One of the Panoplians extended his arm, firing two small darts out. Each hit one of his wrists, wrapping around them. They swiftly turned a bright blue and shot towards each other, causing his arms to be secured behind his back. At first, Liam and Emerius moved to get involved, but two dozen guns locked onto them, stalling any future attempts. With stiff movements, two of the Panolians reached down and hoisted him to his feet, their armored hands clenching his biceps in a vice. If he had any air left in his lungs, he might have screamed or struggled, but none was left; his face swinging back and forth as he struggled to reoxygenate his body. They dragged him just outside the room, the officer giving his companions no explanation before pulling his men out and closing the door. Once the door was closed, they spun him around and began walking down a narrow corridor. The soldiers marched in rows of five, their guns lowered to fire at a moment’s notice. The officer walked in front, leading them down twisting hallways. Red lights hugged the roof, flashing intermittently, along with the faint sound of an alarm. Throughout the two-minute journey, Charon didn’t see a single other person, the Panoplians roughly carting him from hallway to hallway without a single break. Eventually, they reached their destination, the officer stepping forward and flashing a holo-pad at a door. It chimed and slid open. Being dragged inside, his eyes grew wide as he saw tall walls draped in banners depicting a medieval castle. Bright yellow lights hung from the roof, illuminating a large ring with an opening leading to the center. The Panoplians released him, giving him a stiff shove forward. Catching the hint, Charon shot them a glare and rubbed his tender arms, grimacing at the bruises he knew were forming. His ribs ached from the previous impact, making every breath feel like a pinprick. Walking through the opening, he shielded his eyes with one arm and looked up, his mouth dropping open as he saw ten heads staring down at him. They were all old, the youngest being fifty at best, with gray hair and wrinkled foreheads. They watched on with mixed expressions of hope and fear, some of them leaning to the side to whisper to each other. At a loss for words, Charon just stared, stupefied, his words failing him as he tried to discern what was going on. One of them clapped his hands, the others falling silent as he stood and spoke. His voice was like that of an old oak tree, strong and sturdy, but weathered by time. "You are a long way from home, Animancer." Turning to face him, Charon saw he wore a trimmed mustache and beard, like a lumberjack. Although he was far past his prime, the telltale sign of muscle was still clear under his tight-fitting robes. ’Animancer... isn’t that the same thing Professor De Vale called me?’ Unsure how else to respond, he opted for the first thought he had. "What’s going on?" Instantly, they burst into whispers again, their tones too hushed for him to overhear. With a second clap, the aged man continued. "You have made it to our sanctuary, what many call the Fort. We are the High Elders of this settlement, and you are not someone we expected to ever see its walls." Growing more confused by the second, Charon’s breath caught before he spoke again. "I still don’t know what’s happening. My friend and I just arrived here, met one of your scout groups, and decided to come here to survive!" Forstalling any more whispers, the man Charon assumed was the lead tapped the desk in front of him and spoke louder. "Of this, we have no doubt. What confuses us, truly, is where your allegiances lie?" Completely at a loss for what he could be meaning, Charon raised his eyebrows, doing his best to look as baffled as he felt. It must have worked, as the leader tilted his head to the side and continued. "Do you follow the Archonians or the Imperialists?" Neither of those terms meant anything to him, so he just shrugged, slowly gaining confidence in the fact that nothing he had seen so far applied to him. "I don’t know what those things are!" This time, the whispers couldn’t be stopped, many of the others conversing with abandon as the beared man tried desperately to renew order. Eventually, he gave up trying, his hands coming together to create a huge sphere of silence. No sounds entered the sphere, except for the man’s voice. "Do you deny it then?" "Deny what?" The leader leaned forward and yelled down at Charon, the strength in his tone contradicting his age. "Do you deny being an Animancer? Do you deny being a soul mage?"