Chronicles of the Invaders 1: Conquest
leading figures. Many believed that Thaios relayed negative comments back to his uncle—which was true. Many also felt that he was being groomed for leadership only because of his uncle’s influence, which was, again, true.
    “Alert the guards,” ordered Thaios. “Reinforce the detail at the main gate.”
    A siren blared. Six Galateans emerged from their guardhouse, weapons at the ready, and loped toward the entrance. They were halfway across the central square when a whistling sounded from the night sky. Moments later the first mortar shell landed among them, killing three of them instantly. Another shell followed while the garrison was still reeling from the shock of the first, and the Galateans who had survived the initial blast were killed by the second.
    Caught between trying to find the location of the mortar and monitoring the approach of the truck, which was now visible to the naked eye, the guards concentrated on the most immediate threat. The truck was traveling without lights, but the Galateans’ night-vision lenses picked up its shape and the shadowy outlines of two people in the cab. Without waiting for further orders, the guards commenced firing on the truck. It crossed the central line of the road as the first bullets struck, then accelerated, heading straight for the gates. The doors on either side of the truck opened and the two humans jumped to safety as the vehicle struck the gates.
    The force of the impact knocked one of the guards from the wall beside the gate. He lay sprawled on the ground, one leg twisted at a grotesque angle, his damaged skull leaking fluid through his nostrils and earholes. His companion had managed to hold on to a metal support strut, and although shaken and driven to his knees was otherwise unharmed.
    He was still rising to his feet when the truck exploded.
    The massive gates were blown from their hinges, one of them landing on the nearest interceptor, crushing its cockpit. The second gate landed on the roof of the main guardhouse, cutting through the tin like the blade of a knife, trapping inside the building those that it did not kill.
    Gunfire erupted from the surrounding fields. Thaios’s eardrums had burst as a result of the explosion at the gates and he was in agony as he tried to organize his surviving troops, shouting orders that he himself could hear only as distorted noise. The remaining guards on the walls returned fire, but now there were humans moving past the burning wreckage of the truck, and a concentrated burst of automatic fire knocked the guard from the watchtower. A human was standing at the door of the ruined guardhouse, spraying the interior with bullets. Thaios drew a bead on him and fired a single round. The man twisted and fell, but before Thaios could pick another target, he felt a hammer blow to his shoulder, and a great burning followed. The bullet had passed straight through his upper body, and the wound was already pumping dark red Illyri blood. He retreated to a corner by the ruined guardhouse. There was a dull explosion behind him as the trapped guards used a grenade to blow a hole in the rear of the building. Thaios summoned them to him, and from behind the ruined walls of the old fort they fought the insurgents, dark figures that darted and weaved and were only occasionally illuminated by the flames of the burning truck. A second great explosion rent the air as the remaining interceptor was blown up, and Thaios and his soldiers found themselves under heavy fire. One of the Galateans fell, then another and another, until at last only Thaios was left standing.
    The shooting stopped. All was quiet for moment, until a voice called out to Thaios, “Surrender! Surrender and you won’t be hurt.”
    Thaios examined the digital read on his pulse pistol. The charge was almost empty: only one shot left. He could have attempted to pick up another weapon from one of the fallen Galateans, but he could see the insurgents working their way around him. If he

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