“No.” Titus laid out what he wished for the hunters to do. “Your hunters are an asset I wouldn’t lose. Tell me if this is a risk too great.”
“You don’t want them to attack the reborn, just to track and pinpoint nests so that angels can strike from the air to eliminate entire nests in one blow?”
Titus nodded. “Should they come across lone reborn, they can feel free to eliminate the reborn—as long as such contact doesn’t present a danger to their own lives. At present, I’m less in need of ground fighters, and more in need of information.” Not many archangels would speak to a Guild Hunter with such openness, but Njal had fought beside Titus on the battlefield, resolute and tireless.
Titus knew that despite his attempts to stay distant from mortal friendships, Njal was a man he’d miss when the hunter passed from this world. “I need to use my resources more strategically.” Else, the reborn would keep feeding on the people of his land, decimating it.
“We’ve been reacting for too long—driven by our lack of numbers and the way the reborn continue to spawn.” Cut down one and two seemed to take their place. “But again, there’s no point in doing this if I end up losing a large number of highly trained fighters.”
“It’d be no more dangerous than going after a bloodlust-driven vampire,” Njal replied in his calm, thoughtful way. “I won’t send out the newer, less experienced hunters, but I have a strong complement of experienced hunters, even after the losses of the war.”
Pain carved deep lines into Njal’s skin, his serenity breaking into shards under the weight of it. “I’ll send them out in various directions, with the majority going south, but a dedicated group heading north.”
“Excellent. We can’t leave stragglers in the north to continue to breed—but instruct the ones going north not to engage even with lone reborn. It’s possible Charisemnon created a new strain limited to that region and we don’t know all the possible dangers. They’re to report any unusual sightings directly to me.”
A small lie, because he couldn’t tell even Njal about angelic reborn; some secrets were too deadly for any mortal. If a hunter ran across an infected angel, then Titus would work out a solution. Of all the mortals in the world, Guild Hunters were the most used to keeping secrets.
Njal grimaced. “Another new strain. If only Archangel Charisemnon had used his power to create cures instead of diseases.” He put one hand on the hilt of his sword. “I’ll make certain my hunters know their value is in the information they send back, not in taking physical action.”
“Good man.” Titus clapped the other man on the shoulder, careful of his strength. Njal was far stronger than his slender frame might lead an opponent to believe, his muscles ropey under the flawless night of his skin, but he was still human to Titus’s archangel.
“If your northern hunters run across other mortals, ask them to be polite and share that I’ve tasked them to assist in hunting reborn,” Titus added. “It’ll help spread calm on that side of the border. Charisemnon left his people in fear of me.”
A piercing look out of eyes that reminded Titus of a lion’s. “All archangels create fear in mortals. I’ve fought at your side, Archangel, but should your wings begin to glow, I’d sure as hell know terror.”
“Yes, but some fear is healthy—and some fear is crippling.” Titus didn’t wish for a cowed, quivering populace. He wished for one that respected his rule while continuing to grow and thrive.
“Understood,” Njal said. “I’ll make sure they know that, on this task, they’re also ambassadors of your reign.”
Taking off after a nod, Titus was aware of the Guild leader already turning on his heel to head inside, and knew Njal would dispatch the first teams within the hour. The man led the Guild partially because he was so ordered and practical. It was also why Tzadiq and Njal had been known to have a drink or three on occasion.
If Titus would miss Njal when he was gone, Tzadiq would deeply mourn him.
“Why do you maintain this friendship when you know it’ll cause you nothing but pain in the end?” Titus had asked before he, too, began to know Njal as more than the leader of the Guild.
Square-jawed face not prone to heavy emotions, Tzadiq had quietly said, “The same reason my son’s mate plants flowers even though their death is inevitable. Njal’s heart, his mind, they’re no less valuable for existing only for a moment in time.”
Titus had thought that way as a youth, but the pain upon pain of losing mortal friends had jaded that part of him. This war, however, had shattered the jaded distance, and though he remained wary, it’d become impossible not to see mortals as individuals once more.
Sire. The mental touch was strong, for Tanae had one of the biggest mental voices in his court.
Tanae, I’m in the air heading toward the citadel. Though he had the intention to keep going past it. Do you need me to land?
No—but I have good news. Her mental voice held a jubilant tone that had him worried for her; she was a brilliant trainer, but jubilation wasn’t in her wheelhouse. Seven relief squadrons have just flown over the border, courtesy of Archangel Alexander. They’ve quashed the vampire uprising on their side and thus have the capacity to assist us.
Titus was caught between a burst of joy and a frown; much as the assistance was needed and would help him rest his troops, protocol was for Alexander to speak to him directly about it first. And why had his people just let those squadrons pass instead of halting them at the bord—Oh, dear unseen Ancestors.
He rubbed his face. Who is commanding the squadrons?
Zuri and Nala are in joint command. Xander is part of one of the squadrons.
His sisters—and Alexander’s treasured grandson, both such clear indicators of friendship that it was no wonder they’d been waved across the border. Of course, Alexander was also probably having a good laugh at sending the twins to haunt him. He scowled. How distant are they?
They can arrive within three days if you wish, but Zuri has asked if you want them to clear reborn as they move; they’re well provisioned to do so.
He found himself smiling at the thought of his sister’s fierce countenance and equally fierce love, despite the sure aggravation to come. Yes. The north has an infestation—smaller than ours, but deadly all the same. But tell her to send three squadrons forward so we can use them to rest our own troops on this side.
Understood.
As Tanae dropped off, Titus allowed himself a deep breath and exhale. Seven extra elite squadrons—because his sisters would command nothing less—could well turn the tide in their favor.
Almost to his citadel by now, the sunshine liquid gold around him, he reached for another mind. Are you still at that bastard’s stronghold?
Yes, said a voice as strong as Tanae’s, though of a different timbre and resonance.
Titus overflew his citadel, kept on going.
In a dark mood by the time he landed in the inner courtyard of Charisemnon’s stronghold, he first greeted the outside guard, then stripped off his dirty armor and dunked his head under an external water pipe hidden in one corner. Any place that expected warriors to fly in and out on a regular basis had such areas.
He also used the water to wash off sweat from the top half of his body, as well as any reborn fluid that had gotten in under his armor. His pants were a lost cause, but he washed off his boots, too. Leaving his armor piled neatly to one side, to collect later, he contacted Kiama to find out Sharine’s exact location.