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PM:A 009-415 "Ceol". Cyrus. Midnight.
Spectrum ghosted along the high battlements, heading west. On the street below, a patrolling fist of legionaries rattled past without an upward glance. Within the barricaded city streetlamps and lighted windows glowed steadily. Laughing voices and faint music carried through the chill air.
Outside the walls the world was dark and still. To the south, the ruined skirts of Cyrus tumbled down into the bay; to the west, the broken houses and fallen walls merged gently with the scrub. On the southwest tower a torch flared, illuminating a uniformed figure. The figure took a moment to watch the flame catch before lobbing the burning torch over the parapet into the empty street outside. Immediately a rustling, scratching, wheezing clamor began in the darkness. The uniformed figure hefted a heavy crossbow and sighted down into the street.
Corpses emerged into the light, arms outstretched, their glassy eyes fixed on the smoking torch. The soldier fired into the shambling crowd, five times in quick succession. The noise died down. The soldier removed an empty magazine from her bow and reached over her shoulder for a fresh one.
"Kenna MacCreer," Spectrum called.
"Oi," the soldier replied, "I ken yer an-sin. De's th' name on ye?"
"Please address me as Spectrum. I am here with an offer of employment."
"Oh, aye?" the girl said. "Cannahaeweit, I've a dreuchd aready." She slotted a full magazine into her bow and snapped the clamps into place. One last zombie was crouched over the torch, gurgling, trying to grasp it between her amputated stumps. Kenna hauled on the arming lever and fired a bolt into the back of the dead woman's head.
"Very well," Spectrum said, turning to leave. "I will inform the Tower of your decision. Good morning to you."
"Th' Tower?" Kenna repeated. "Feith!" she cried, following after him, "I dinnae ken. De o th' dreuchd?"
Without breaking stride, Spectrum said, "You have been recommended for inclusion in the Academy by Thedra Shepard Locke."
"Mi, a bhith a sgolar? A prentice?" she asked, breathlessly. "Aye! Yae!"
"Indeed?" he replied. "Come this way. We leave at once."
"Feith, ya ponce," she said, slinging the bow across her back, "Dinnae wake Ned an' I'm needin my kit, ya saoil?"
Spectrum turned to regard her, one skeptical eyebrow held high. He retrieved a smooth, colorful stone from his sleeve and examined it gravely. "Our window for extraction will expire in four minutes."
"I'm greas," she said, grinning, and turned back to her post. "Ned!" she shouted, "Ned, ya scunner! I'm leavin a dol th' city, a-nis tha's yer post."
She shinned down the ladder to the street amid Ned's bewildered objections. As the girl dashed toward her barracks, Spectrum turned to inspect her work outside the wall.
The torch had burned low and guttered fitfully. Three more zombies had drifted out of the darkness toward it and were milling aimlessly together in the uncertain light. Spectrum waved a hand, extinguishing the torch; the wandering zombies dispersed and six corpses were left, sprawled across the flags. A heavy bolt protruded from the brain of each.
Spectrum considered that this, at least, was promising.