Wild Sun

by Ehsan Ahmad

  Vellerik looked around for something—anything—to block with. Blood was leaking from his right hand, and one of his fingers seemed to be hanging by no more than a strip of skin. He clenched his fist, tried to shut off the pain.

  “What shall I take off first?” hissed Marl, whose own right arm was hanging limply by his side. The disruptor lay on the ground not far from Vellerik’s sidearm.

  Still retreating, Vellerik tried to turn to the left—back toward the weapons—but Marl cut him off.

  “Well, Captain? Scalp? Ear? Nose?”

  Sonus could have taken the rifle and helped the old soldier, but he could not be sure the Vitaari would let him go. If his compatriots at Mine Three needed him, he had to get there now—while these two were occupied and before reinforcements could arrive.

  He crawled away, using the shell for cover, then got to his feet. He scanned the wrecked ship for any sign of another threat but saw nothing. It was difficult to run, but his leg didn’t give way until he reached the second vehicle.

  Grimacing as he picked himself up, Sonus pulled out the ID and held it against the left hand of the soldier’s abandoned shell. For several terrible seconds, the sensor did not react, but then came the reassuring beep. He opened the cockpit door.

  “You. Who are you?”

  Count Talazeer crawled across the sand toward him, one eye open and bright, the other closed and encrusted with blood. His forehead was terribly blistered, and one ear had been burned beyond recognition.

  Sonus felt no shame at seeing the Vitaari so injured, only a grim satisfaction at eliminating the Viceroy and showing Talazeer what it was to suffer.

  “We have met. Not long ago.” With his next words, Sonus surprised himself: “I am a free man of Corvos.”

  With that, he climbed into the cockpit.

  The Count couldn’t move any farther, but he stretched out his hand. He coughed, and watery black blood slid down his chin.

  “I will crush you all,” raged the Vitaari. “Every last one of you.”

  Vellerik did not feel strong. Not for the first time that day, he wondered what toll the drugs had taken on his reactions. He was badly injured, but he had been badly injured before.

  As the Drellen came on, darting and feinting, Vellerik could barely keep track of the blade. The sand was splattered with thick gouts of his blood. He tightened the fist again, but it felt almost as if his life was draining out of him.

  Marl turned to the side, sword still out in front.

  Vellerik felt himself stumble.

  Marl was not slow to see the opportunity.

  As the blade arced toward him, Vellerik threw up his injured hand: it wasn’t much use to him now anyway.

  The sword sliced through the flesh of his forearm and rang as it struck bone.

  Pain splintered through his head, but Vellerik forced himself on. The sword was stuck. He threw himself forward, grabbed a handful of the Drellen’s cloak, and hauled him close. Marl was still trying to retrieve his blade, but now Vellerik had gripped his injured arm close to the shoulder. He shifted it up to the bullet hole and squeezed.

  He feels the pain. Not me.

  Not me.

  For all the surprising power he could generate, the Drellen was no match for a large Vitaari at close quarters. Vellerik pressed his fingers down, felt them break through the scaly skin.

  Marl’s black tongue slithered out from between his teeth. His neck was spasming.

  Vellerik felt whatever passed for Drellen blood covering his fingers as he squeezed through the skin and felt bone.

  Marl gave up on his sword.

  Knowing what was coming, Vellerik let go and swung a punch at him. But the Drellen would always be quicker. Marl’s good hand caught him across the throat, claws tearing out skin like a raptor.

  Vellerik tottered backwards and almost fell.

  Marl gave a brief glance at his crushed arm, then raised his good hand. Two of the green claws were dripping black blood.

  “You see, Captain, I always keep two of them long—for such occasions.”

  A dark fog encroached on Vellerik’s vision. His throat was now as wet as his hand.

  No pain. Fight.

  Fight!

  Using his left hand, he clutched the handle of the sword and levered it out of his arm. Stars exploded in his eyes, but he somehow stayed on his feet.

  Vellerik tried to raise the sword.

  Marl walked toward him.

  Fight!

  Vellerik slashed at him, but the Drellen avoided it easily.

  “Death is close, old man. I could make the end easy for you. Then again...”

  Marl leapt at him.

  Vellerik saw a flash of sky, then teeth close to his face.

  He felt a claw tear into his cheek, then into his head, then into his throat again. His skin was torn again and again until the pain fused into a single, suffocating wave. Then it just seemed to go away.

  He saw Seevarta on the island, waiting for him. He was swimming toward her, but his head kept sinking below the water. With his last glimpse, he saw her waving. He fell into the black depths. He knew there was no way back.

  He fell deeper and deeper until there was only darkness around him.

  32

  Cerrin hauled herself toward the light. Though she was shocked to hear the shouts of the people beyond the wall, the noise from the compound was even louder. There had been two more blasts, each one sending earth down onto her. Twice she had laid there alone, hands over her head, fully expecting to meet the same fate as Sadi. But this section of tunnel was not directly below the compound and had remained intact.

  The brightness of the morning was equally shocking. Kannalin took her arm and helped her out. She looked first to the right: if they came, the Vitaari would exit the gate and approach from that direction. She saw only the broad figure of Trantis standing behind a tree, watching for them.

  Kannalin shook his head as he gestured down the slope. “We never even thought of it—a lot of the Palanians can’t swim.”

  At least two dozen people were in the water, most using smaller lilies as floats to get them across. Three children were lying on the plants, being pushed across by adults.

  From what Cerrin could see, roughly half had crossed to the other side, a quarter were on their way, and another quarter were still on this side of the river. Those on the far bank were barely visible amongst the dense scorra bushes.

  “Too slow,” she said between gritted teeth.

  “Where’s Sadi?”

  Cerrin told him. Then she spied a prone figure lying in the grass about twenty feet away. Kneeling close by it was young Yarni.

  Cerrin ran to them. Serras was on her side, gray hair across her face. She could hardly keep her eyes open.

  “It’s my heart, girl. You young ones best leave me here.”

  “No.” Yarni grabbed her wrist and tried to pull her up.

  Cerrin put out a hand to stop her. “Can you swim?”

  Yarni nodded.

  “Down to the river. I’ll see you on the other side.”

  The girl was still holding Serras’s arm. Cerrin pried her hand away. “I’ll bring Serras with me. Go now.”

  Yarni ran away down the slope.

  Cerrin was relieved to see Esteann and her group helping the weaker members across. Torrin was hauling a child up onto the far bank.

  Serras put her hand to Cerrin’s face. “You are a strong one, girl. I always knew you would...”

  Serras said no more. Her hand fell across her chest and her eyes became still.

  “Cerrin!”

  Kannalin pointed along the wall. A lone Vitaari had appeared and was watching them. At that distance, it was difficult to see if it was a guard or an administrator. The figure retreated and disappeared.

  Cerrin pulled her spear off her back. “Kannalin, bring those.”

  He followed her down the slope with a bundle of spe
ars.

  Once at the river, she was horrified to find several Palanians—four women and one man—still hesitant about entering the water. She grabbed the man and spun him around. “Unless you wish to die by having your arms and legs torn from your body, you will get yourself in that water.”

  She pushed him off the bank. As he stumbled into the river, the women followed. About fifteen men had stayed on the near side.

  “They’ll be here soon,” she told them. “We have to make sure they fire at us”—she gestured at the river—“not them.” Then she pointed at a small copse of trees halfway between the water and the wall. “We’ll use that for cover. Take a spear. If you think you can do some damage, throw it. If not, wait until you’re in close.”

  Without waiting to see who would follow, she raced across the slope toward the trees.

  It seemed to take an age to discern the metallic walls of Mine Three from the sprawl of the Great Forest beyond. The apparently endless swath of green gave Sonus great hope: surely anyone who sought refuge there had a chance of escape.

  He checked the display again. The shell had been drawing fuel from the reserve tank for a while. From what he could work out, he had less than five minutes’ flying time. Forcing himself to ignore the ever-growing pain in his back, he brought up the tactical display. First, he checked—as he had at regular intervals—that nothing was approaching from the rear. Then he focused the scanners on Mine Three and magnified the images.

  With the tower and much of the compound ablaze, the scene was not unlike what he had left behind at Fourteen—with one obvious exception. The armory door was open, and several shells were marching out. As he closed to within a kilometer, Sonus turned his attention to the assault cannons, which still had more than three quarters of their ammunition left.

  primary weapon>select target

  Cerrin snatched a glance over her shoulder as they approached the trees. Though grateful for the help, she could not believe how slowly some of the men were moving.

  “There!” Trantis was the only one ahead of her.

  A squad of six Vitaari guards ran out from behind the wall, every one armed. The rattle of their weapons was not as loud as the impacts. Shards of wood flew past Cerrin as she made for the nearest tree. Trantis was slow to seek cover. The Palanian’s big frame saved Cerrin’s life.

  As bullets tore through him, she rolled under his collapsing body and came to rest behind the tree. Half-expecting the deadly hail of metal to come straight through, she found the trunk was thick enough to protect her.

  A cry from her right. She turned in time to see Trantis hit a second time. The bullet blew half his head away and knocked him onto his back. She turned and saw two of the men running back toward the river. The Vitaari cut them down.

  She looked left. Those who remained were cowering behind the trees like her: there seemed to be no realistic alternative.

  Kannalin got to his feet, darted forward a few steps, and launched his spear at the cluster of Vitaari. By some miracle, he scrambled back into cover unharmed as bullets tore up the grass behind him.

  Cerrin peered out and saw one of the Vitaari had picked up the spear. Another, bigger guard snatched it away and broke it across his knee.

  Unlike the others, Stripe did not have a helmet on. He threw the two ends of the spear away, then retreated several steps and gestured for the others to lower their weapons. His fingers flicked across the controls, then he raised his rifle and aimed at the copse.

  As Cerrin ducked down, a whole section of turf was torn away and the air burned hot. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her side, staring at the ruined stump of the tree. The remains of the trunk landed, showering the ground with twigs and berries. That was when she realized she couldn’t hear anything.

  Her face felt warm. She touched it: it felt tender, like she had strayed too close to a fire.

  A hand gripped her arm.

  Kannalin helped her to her feet and dragged her behind the fallen tree. Two Palanian men quickly joined them. Kannalin’s mouth was moving, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. She looked back. The others were lying on the ground, clothes and skin singed and torn. Only one of them was moving.

  Kannalin grabbed her again and pointed in the air above the compound. She was astonished to see he was grinning. Then she saw why.

  A combat shell was hovering above the compound, cannons aimed downward. Once the blooms of fire ended, it turned toward the river.

  Cerrin had almost forgotten about the mysterious Palanian who planned to steal a shell and turn the Vitaari’s weapon against them.

  Thank the gods and ancients.

  As their faceless ally came over the top of the wall, the cannons bloomed again; these shots Cerrin could hear. Fire tore up the ground and the Vitaari fled. All except Stripe.

  One of his compatriots had been hit: the guard dropped his weapon and flailed around like a man in the dark. As the combat shell kept firing, Stripe darted behind the injured Vitaari and pulled him down on top of him.

  Cerrin’s hearing was returning. As she, Kannalin, and others got to their feet, she heard the whimpering of a man lying a few yards behind her. His throat was a ragged mess of flesh from which blood was bubbling.

  She heard cries from the Vitaari as the shell continued firing. Two more fell, then another.

  Kannalin cursed. Cerrin realized he and the other two men were watching the shell. The machine was shuddering as impacts struck its underside and rear. Then she saw Stripe, kneeling beside his dead compatriot, firing at a range of no more than twenty yards.

  “Move, man!” yelled Kannalin.

  Sparks flew from the shell, then a piece of it fell to the ground. The vehicle swayed one way, then the other, then tipped forward.

  The two Palanian men charged, leaping the branches of the fallen tree. They ran across the slope toward Stripe, each holding a spear.

  Stripe saw them late, but in time. The first man was blown clean off his feet by a shot to the chest. A puff of blood flew up as the second Palanian was hit in the head. He careened to the ground and slid to a halt only a yard or two from Stripe.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, the Vitaari turned the gun on the shell once again. More fragments of metal were blown off the vehicle as it veered away, just catching the high branches of the trees on the island. It lurched down again—hovered for a moment while the jets blew into the water—then dropped straight into the river.

  Stripe gave a jubilant roar and held his weapon in the air.

  Before Cerrin could stop him, Kannalin was already off and running. “No!” Her voice sounded distant and weak.

  Stripe turned his weapon on his new target. He fired a brief burst but Kannalin threw himself to one side, then into a neat roll. The Echobe warrior sprang instantly to his feet and kept going. Stripe re-adjusted but did not fire again. He looked down at his gun, then pressed something.

  It’s empty.

  Though she was unarmed, Cerrin ran.

  So did Kannalin, bolting straight at the Vitaari. Stripe plucked another magazine from his belt.

  Cerrin made sure she ran past the two dead Palanians. She bent down and took a spear from one and a knife from the other. She pulled the blade out and kept running.

  Kannalin drew back his spear and charged.

  Realizing he was out of time, Stripe dropped the magazine and awaited his foe. Kannalin drove the spear at the Vitaari’s neck.

  It almost seemed Stripe would not react, but at the last moment he moved with lightning speed. Using the weapon like a club, he swatted Kannalin away, striking him on the shoulder and knocking him into the air. He hit the grass ten feet away.

  Cerrin saw the familiar smile.

  “Ah, Longlegs. I’m going to enjoy this!”

  Cerrin had the knife in her left hand, the spear in the right. At ten feet, she threw.

  Stripe used the rifle again and timed his swing to perfection, batting the
projectile away.

  Cerrin was almost on top of him.

  She leaped, moving both hands to the hilt of the knife. Stripe’s arms were still across his body from the swing. His smirk faded as he realized he couldn’t get them back in time to defend himself.

  With her loudest battle cry, Cerrin buried the blade between the Vitaari’s eyes. The knife stuck there and she held on, one scrabbling foot lodging itself in Stripe’s belt. The black eyes both seemed to turn toward her, then the great frame toppled backwards. As the Vitaari hit the ground, Cerrin rolled away.

  Lying on her back, chest heaving up and down, she looked at the hilt sticking up out of the silvery flesh and the black blood rolling down the tattooed cheek.

  “Not as much as I will.”

  She heard a groan behind her. Kannalin was coughing and seemed unable to move.

  “Need a hand?” Cerrin looked up and saw Esteann standing over her, together with three of her Palanian friends. Torrin was with them, too. All five were soaked.

  “Reckoned we couldn’t just leave you,” said Esteann. “Not after you got us all out.”

  Cerrin stood. “Help him.”

  As Torrin and the others hurried over to Kannalin, Esteann pointed down at the river. Only the top and the two hands of the shell could still be seen above the water.

  “It’s sinking. Looks like he’s alive but he can’t get out.”

  Cerrin wrenched the knife out of Stripe’s head and wiped it on the grass. Beyond Kannalin, she could see a robed administrator at the gate, watching them. In the compound, at least five separate fires were still alight. The tower had disappeared.

  “Collect all the weapons and ammunition you can carry. I’ll see you on the other side.”

  She ran down the slope.

  Sonus had never liked water. And having achieved more than he’d ever dared hoped for on this day, he thought he deserved a little more than to drown in here alone.

  The shell seemed to be dead. There wasn’t a single display on or even a light. And if there was a manual override on the cockpit door, he couldn’t find it. Outside, water was now lapping at the window. Inside, it was up to his chest.