Kam’s level of excitement rose in conjunction with the lowering of the shuttle’s ramp and at one point Cornelius had to physically restrain him from rushing forward to welcome his brothers. The turret mounted auto-cannons which swivelled to cover him and the onrushing Sir Frederic and his men gave him pause for thought.
“Wait!” he growled as the ramp came to a halt and a group of Taartun warriors rushed out to secure the area.
Deliberately, Cornelius turned his back on the newcomers and raised his arms to try and slow down the enthusiastic Knight. With a spray of dirt and stone Sir Frederic appeared, narrowly missing the still hopping Kam as he hauled his mount to a halt.
“Well met, Cornelius,” said Frederic politely, as he raised his visor, “how are you feeling?”
Cornelius grinned as he saw the muzzle of Burns’ rifle trained on him, “Just fine Freddy, although Kam here seems to have been struck down with a severe case of Restless Legs Syndrome.”
“He’s back,” grumbled Burns sliding gratefully from his own mount, “snide little shit.”
“Love you too,” replied Cornelius blowing the soldier a kiss, “but enough of frivolities, it seems as though the never-ending threat of war has finally arrived and in numbers.”
Burns jerked his head towards the nervous-looking Taartuns, “Friends of yours?”
“Not sure,” mused Cornelius, “they might be…”
“And the Demons?” asked Sir Frederic, cautiously insistent in his doubts.
“Definitely not,” said Cornelius, “as well as those others. They seem rather unfriendly to me.”
“They burned and destroyed my village,” snarled the Knight.
“Well not our friends then,” said Cornelius quietly, anger tinging his words, “and we’ll just have to make sure that we do something about that.”
“First things first, though,” he said as he rubbed his hands together, “we need to ascertain if these Taartuns mean harm or just wish to worship the ground I walk on.”
“You’re not going to do…magic, are you,” asked Sir Frederic in a stage whisper.
“Not unless they start first,” replied Cornelius as he turned and made his way forward, “or at least until they piss me off.”
Burns shook his head and trailed behind the diminutive figure, “Told you he was back,” he muttered as he checked the magazine on his rifle, “and things can only get worse from here.”