FIC: Chosen Twelve (18/?)

Angel looked around the Highlands. It was a bleak place, rolling moors interspersed with wild-treed copses under a grey, stormy sky. Yet for all that it made his heart sing and a rare smile tug at his lips.

It had been a long time since he'd been somewhere that so reminded him of 18th century Ireland.

"The place is wet. Wet and cold." Angel shot his son an irritated glance. "What that educated nose and you hadn't noticed?"

Angel shook his head. "I suppose you'd be happier if it was all beaches and bikinis?"

"Depends who's wearing the bikinis, if it's you not so much." Connor grinned. "Faith on the other hand."

"Behave," Angel reproved even as he found himself returning his son's smirk with one of his own.

"A group approach from the north," Illyria coolly reported. "Perhaps they wish to make battle."

Angel smiled wryly. "Let's give them a chance before summarily decapitating them, shall we?"

"As you say vampire," the hell-goddess replied. "Their existence and yours is a matter of supreme indifference to me."

Yeah, Angel sighed inwardly, he could just feel the love. His eyebrow arched slightly as he felt the ground begin to tremble underneath them, whoever was approaching was coming in fast and in large numbers. Angel looked up towards the hill just ahead of them, dew gleaming on its lush grass. "Let's go up there and greet our hosts."

Angel's eyes widened as he cleared the hill to see what must have been close to three score riders heading towards them. It wasn't their number that surprised him, rather it was the men's sheer animal bulk, their brawny muscles were covered in bear or wolf cloaks, but nevertheless he guessed that every single one of them dwarfed him in height, the largest four or five of them close to seven foot in height and still hefty with it, massive hammers or battle-axes strapped to each and every one of their backs.

On the whole, not people a wise man would want angry with them.

Angel smiled devilishly. Ach, but his da had always said he wasn't wise at all. Digging his heels into his horse's flanks, he started down to greet the newcomers. "Stay here!" he roared at his companions.

Faith looked left and right as Jager Zware led her, Xan, and Bellator into a dark alleyway, something starting to tingle in the back of her neck. "Guys," she slowly said, "we got a proble-." Suddenly the fat bartender waddled to the left, diving into an until then unseen alcove, a door slamming shut behind him even as wood panels slid down in front and behind them, cutting their possible escape routes off.

"Shit," Faith started towards the alcove only to freeze when all the shutters on both sides of the alleyway's third-floor windows shot open and crossbows poked down at them.

Fuck, mice in a cheese trap had more options than they did right now.

"You've been gone a long time Bellator Proelium, some even thought you were dead, and then you return here claiming to be from the rebellion. I'm afraid we're going to have to be sceptical about this."

Faith turned her head and examined the man in the third floor window behind and to her left. He was short but bristling with energy, dark almost magnetic eyes, brown hair streaked on the edges with silver, and a craggy, lived-in face. "By the abyss Kamper Kraft," Bellator swore as he punched the air. "You know me, you know I'd never betray the Keenest Blade!"

"The same was said of Malus Bellum," Kraft sneered.

Bellator's cheeks mottled with rage. Faith idly wondered if he was just about to have a stroke. "Tell me you do not think to compare me to that ape!" Bellator roared.

"Bored now." Faith mumbled as she leapt at the wall in front of her, heels pounding into it three stones up. The air all around her whistled to bolts as she used the impetus to fly into a backwards somersault up and at the Keenest Blade's leader, slapping away any and all projectiles that got near her before reaching up and behind her, grabbing Kraft's tunic and yanking the stunned soldier out of the window. "Quit struggling," she muttered as she ducked an elbow, "you've pulled." Upon landing, she yanked the soldier in front of her, guarding from any more bolts.

"My men can still shoot your companions," the soldier commented when he realised he couldn't get loose from her arm around the neck, his right arm twisted up his back.

Faith had to give him props for his even tone in nothing else. "Yeah, but then I'll snap your fuckin' neck and start on theirs, and this is why Bellator's here. 'Cause he believes that with my people helping you, your rebellion has a chance." She released her grip and shoved the warrior away from her. "But only if everyone pulls their weight." Faith stared challengingly at the rebel, leaving the next move firmly in his court.

"How did you," Kraft looked from the wall she'd leapt off against and then up at the window he'd be leaning out of, "do that?"

"Lil film called The Matrix-." Faith scowled as she snatched an arrow out of the air. "Damn it! I'm coming up there to rip someone's prick off if you don't stop firing them at me!"

"Cease fire!" Kraft roared. "We should go to our hideout and discuss our alliance."

"First smart thing you've said."

Wood's heart caught as he looked around the camp, the sea of tents and empty, desperate faces poignantly reminding him of refugee camps he'd seen on the news from places like Darfur and Sierra Leone. Then the sadness began to turn into something hard, bitter, a cold rage building inside him. He might not be able to solve the problems of the Sudan and Sierra Leone, but these people he could help.

"This is a grim place," Groo muttered beside him, the hybrid unconsciously echoing his own thoughts.

"That it is," Wood nodded.

"Duka says there are several of these camps, filled with those who do not agree with the Emir's edicts or blame him for the fall of Shem," Groo continued. "A fertile ground from which to draw our recruits."

"Yeah," Wood suddenly scowled before turning towards the tent behind them, "but it's not enough."

Mate Dane's eyes narrowed as a rider thundered down the hill to meet them, surprised at the man's daring. The stranger was tall for non-Highlander, with a decent build for someone not of his people, strangely styled black hair, soulful dark eyes that contrasted with his pale skin, and a square jaw. Dane knew from the way the man carried himself he was a warrior, but to approach over fifty Highlanders took either bravery or insanity, maybe even a goodly helping of both. "Quinlan," he glanced at his second, "ride with me." He looked towards the rest of his troops. "Only follow if the riders at the top of the hill make a move down here."

"Greetings," the stranger began.

"You take a chance," Mate interrupted with a growl, "coming to our lands. Strangers are not welcome here and will be dealt with summarily."

"That's not what I've heard," the handsome stranger replied, "I half expected to be met by the Purge."

Quinlan Trayn bristled beside him. "Allow me to strike him down for his impudence!"

The handsome stranger grinned. "Son, don't hunt what you can't kill." The mystery man looked towards him. "Are you Mate Dane?" After a second he nodded, suspicious eyes still intent on the mystery man. "I'm Angel," 'Angel' ignored Trayn's snort, "we're here to ask your help fighting the emperor."

"Help?" Dane shook his head. "Help against the emperor? We don't need anyone's help."

"Yes because you're so free aren't you?" Angel shook his head. "We travelled the Border-Lands to meet you and I'm not going back without your men-."

"You presume much!" Trayn barked.

"Hush," Dane raised his hand. "You travelled the Border-Lands in such small numbers? How did you manage that?"

"The Ferals?" Angel shook his head. "There's more fearsome creatures."

"Such as?" Trayn challenged.

Angel flashed a hard smile. "Me for one."

Dane stared intently at the mystifying warrior. "Very well, bring your companions down. We'll make for camp." He looked around. "Only hurry, we have to get out of here before the Purge come."

Kraft's eyes burnt into the back of the sultry brunette who'd so easily captured him as they rode to their camp outside the city. What manner of demon was she to move with such speed, to have such power in so slight a frame?

"Ha," Bellator rumbled a laugh beside him. "I'd stop looking at that lass in such a way. If she doesn't decapitate you, her feller will."

"No," Kraft shook his head irritably, "she's a beautiful doxy, but that's not my concern. What manner of demon is she? No woman or man could do what she did! Is she a conjuring of the Emperor's?"

"No," Bellator's eyes sobered. "'Tis a strange story, the strangest I've ever heard."

Kraft's mouth dropped open as he listened to Bellator talk, the old soldier's words drawing a picture of a fantastical world quite unlike the one they lived in. When the man finished speaking, he laughed. "Maybe with such warriors by our side we'll have a chance," he decided.

Jabari half-rose when the tent's entrance flapped open only to relax when he recognised the entrants as his new companions, then stiffened again as he noted the near-murderous look on Wood's face. "Friend Robin," he rumbled, "what ails you?"

"What ails me?" Wood shook his head, eyes hard. "Shouldn't your question be what ails the people in this camp? I've seen the latrine lines too close to where people live and eat, the ill people, the looks of desperation. Something needs to be done."

"I'm aware of this," Jabari said before glancing towards the trio of leaders sat with Duka, "that is what we're discussing here."

"The time for discussion is over," Wood replied. "We need action, fast action before more people die of starvation or disease."

"What do you suggest?" challenged Duka.

"We kill the Emir." The tent broke out into shocked talk, talk that Wood cut over. "You've got two choices, either take this camp and flee north, or we take the Emir down and take his entire army north, and give your people their homes back."

Jabari sighed. In his heart he'd known this was the only option, the Emir had never been one to listen to reason. "Very well, Duka, friend Robin, will you accompany me?"

Ka Tra looked up at a creak in the corridor outside his room, hand edging towards his sword lying on the bed beside him. Could this be the night that the invaders caught up with him?

He relaxed slightly when the door opened and a trio of his fellow Bladesmen strode in, each moving with the silken grace required of their order, each wearing their twin blades around their waist. "We have news, good news," greeted Kal Ra, his lean face shining with excitement, "word has reached us of an incident at House Flash-Dagger, a bar wrecked when Protectors attempted to accost some women."

Protectors. Ka Tra almost growled at the mention of this recent abomination. Before the invasion whatever its internal struggles, each house had managed itself seamlessly, ensuring that crime was kept to a minimum. But now, with the fall of their civilisation, crime was rife, gangs laughingly calling themselves 'Protectors' or 'Defenders' running extortion rackets, gambling dens, and brothels through many of the Houses.

Yes it would be funny if wasn't so tragic.

However galling the Protectors were though, he had more pressing matters. "Why is this important?"

Kla Ra smirked. "The reports say the group included two men with 'Death-Notices' on them, Parhean rebels." Kla Ra paused. "It's further rumoured the group are looking for alliances."

Ka Tra shook his head. "We're Ishanti, we stand alone."

"Then you'll die alone," he blinked as the seer limped in, his fellow Bladesmen respectfully parting before the old man. "The time of insularity is past, nations must stand together, fight together to be strong." The seer shook his head. "The great force for good I foretold? Some of their number travel with these rebels, they seek to aid should you only let them."

Ka Tra pursed his lips. "Where do the rumours say the group was heading?"

"To the west, towards House Stern-Shield," Ala Kra replied.

"Then I need you to gather your men and send them out to the other groups," Ka Tra decided. "Tell everyone to add for Stern-Shield, tell them to head in small groups and be unobtrusive. For ourselves we leave for their in the morning."

Pello Quaero stared around the wrecked inn, pleased that the appearance of his robed warriors had cowed the inn's inhabitants into a deathly silence. His questioning had revealed the female had passed through here and confirmed rumours of the girl's powers. Truly intriguing.

Pello savoured the terror on the inn-owner's face. "The girl had help here you say?"

The inn-owner nodded. "My bart-."

"This place has helped the enemies of the Emperor, our god made flesh," he intoned. "Burn this place down. Sentence is passed."

Willow felt her eyeballs and neck, but especially her eyeballs, ache as she stumbled back to the inn where she was staying, another fruitless lesson with Zauber Lerher over and done with. Tears of frustration burnt her eyes. It was so unfair, she'd spent so many years learning magic, and now she had to do it all over again, only faster than before so she could help her friends who so desperately needed. Even Giles was faring better in this new world than she was, slaying some sort of legendary assassin.

Not that she envied him or anything, she told herself as she turned a corner, her ankles starting to ache on the unused to cobbles, she just wished things could be easier. "By all the fires," trilled a high-pitched voice to her left. "You have the touch."

"I beg your pardon?" Willow turned to the left to see a grey-haired woman with bird-like limbs and crooked teeth staring intently at her.

The woman giggled. "I'm Ladrans Kuru and I have some knowledge of magic. Would you like to come in dear, perhaps we could talk?"

Willow nodded, strangely compelled. "Of course, I'd love to."