Warden's Fury

by Tony James Slater

  The sound of gunfire receded and it was oddly calm for a stretch; Enneas hauled Kyra with one hand hooked in her belt, his other keeping his rifle raised and ready. This part of the tower was undamaged, the steel wall panels still pristine. Kyra willed the insurgents to win through, but their window was closing rapidly. She knew from experience how long it could take to prise armoured opponents out of a reinforced hard-point.

  “That’s it,” Enneas said, sounding eager, “nearly there. When we reach the elevator, I want a perimeter ten metres in both directions. I don’t want to be delivering corpses to the Magistrate’s shuttle.”

  They picked up speed, the two newcomers dropping back to form a rearguard while the others pushed their floating cargo with purpose.

  “Fifty metres,” Enneas, reported—

  —when a huge blast shook the corridor in front of them, causing sparks to fly from the ceiling. A sudden barrage of wind and noise roared down the corridor towards them, spinning Kyra like a top.

  Outer wall must have blown out! She recognised the pressure change from when she’d first cut a hole in the Security Bridge. Hot on the heels of that revelation came another. Someone’s blasting their way in here!

  Smoke billowed down the corridor, the metallic din of falling rubble beyond it. And then came the unmistakable sound of blaster fire — followed a second later by the brilliant orange flares of the weapons’ discharge.

  Rescue? Kyra’s heart surged in her chest. Providing they don’t kill us first…

  20

  Enneas was clearly no stranger to this kind of setback. With a whistle and a gesture he brought his rearguard forwards, forming a battle line across the corridor. He shoved the two guards in the centre to their knees, staggering the formation for maximum efficiency.

  “Hold position,” he told them, his voice betraying no emotion, “and wait till you can see them. Firing blind will just give ‘em your position. Steady now!”

  He took his own advice, bracing his rifle against his shoulder and staring into the smoke.

  At first there was nothing; even the sporadic blaster fire had stopped. Then the smoke roiled, and two shapes became visible within it. Roughly rectangular, they grew to form human-sized shadows. One of the guards panicked, firing a salvo straight at the shapes; his shots made an oddly high-pitched sound as they ricocheted off their target.

  Shields! Kyra figured it out the same time Enneas did.

  “Shoot their legs!” he roared, unleashing a storm of fire at the floor below the shapes. But the smoke was clearing now, and glimpses of metal could be seen. The shields had joined to form a wall, and it was closing in. “Grenade!” Enneas shouted, reaching back for one.

  And then a powerful figure sprang from the smoke, clearing the shield wall in one graceful leap. Rifles blazed, but the figure twisted in mid-air, sliding between the bolts to land in a roll. The air around the figure rippled, leaving a shadow as it passed. The guards tracked the figure but it was on its feet again instantly, the distance between them closed. Two blades slashed out, describing great arcs to either side; the two standing guards fell, both decapitated simultaneously. The hazy figure either shrank or ducked, the weapons continuing on their trajectories; up and out they swung, circling back down in front — where each found a kneeling guard’s shoulder.

  In less than a second they were all dead.

  Enneas backed up, firing controlled bursts from his rifle, but the figure seemed to anticipate his movements. Its shape was hard to define; an ever-changing fractal, it dived into another roll as laser fire lashed the air above it. Before Enneas could shift his aim those terrible weapons swung up — chains with powered blades on them, Kyra saw — and sliced the rifle in half.

  To his credit, Enneas reacted fast. He let go of the useless grip of his rifle and drew his pistol in one move, the weapon already blazing as it came up. His opponent — Kyra took it to be a muscular man clad head-to-toe in form-fitting armour — was quicker still, sidestepping the fire and bringing a blade scything round to strike at his head.

  Enneas flung himself backwards, still firing, but one of the attacker’s blades swung up to deflect a shot that would have landed. Enneas let go of his handgun in the same instant the other blade sliced into it. He was still moving backwards, but with a flourish he produced Kyra’s Arranozapar, one in each hand. The black warrior paused, his chains spinning around him too fast for the eye to follow. The distortion around him made it hard to see exactly where he was. Then he struck — and to Kyra’s amazement, Enneas blocked the blow with a sword. Her stomach clenched; this was it. In the right hands, her swords could defeat such a weapon easily; Enneas had only to wait, to strike at the chains, and his attacker would be left holding nothing more threatening than a few links on a handle.

  Perhaps realising that, the man in black executed a complex series of moves, the chains winding around his body in a blur of lethal motion. Enneas held back, as Kyra knew he would, watching for his opportunity to strike.

  Then one chain shot out, the blade flashing like a spear straight towards Enneas’ chest. It was the moment he’d been waiting for. Taking a half-step back he turned his body out of the weapon’s path, bringing Kyra’s sword around to intercept it. But the blow never landed; the blade jerked to a halt mid-strike and was pulled back. Enneas’ sword clove nothing but air, and Kyra saw his expression change as he realised his mistake.

  Enneas had undoubtably trained with many weapons, but wielding two swords at once required a different mindset. He’d focused all his attention on the one blow, certain he’d found the flaw in his opponent’s strategy. His other hand, and the five-thousand-year-old sword it contained, had been forgotten — and as he brought it up, Kyra could tell he already knew it was too late. The blade was on the wrong side of his body, left there by the force he’d put into his twist.

  It was still there when the man in black brought his second chain-blade slicing down into Enneas’ skull.

  Kyra cheered silently as the pilot fell, blood pumping from the hideous wound. Her eyes could still move, and they followed Enneas all the way to the deck.

  Told you so.

  The man in black was finally still, his weapons snatched expertly out of the air and coiled. Kyra got her first look at him — and could hardly believe what she was seeing. Even as his shape warped and writhed around him, some details came into focus. The visor on his helmet was sculpted into a monstrous, demonic visage; needle-like teeth below glowing red eyes, hatred and fury etched into every line of its carving. Holographics emphasised the effect, with the creature alive and snarling one second, dead and decomposing the next. It was more than a little disturbing to look at; Kyra would have lost her lunch if her gag reflex was working.

  And if she’d had any lunch.

  Long day, she reflected.

  The figures that emerged as the rest of the smoke dissipated were wearing less impressive armour, though the man-high shields they carried made up for it. They rushed forwards, recreating their defensive wall somewhere behind Kyra. She heard the clang of them settling their shields, and felt a measure of tension drain out of her. It seemed dumb, but she’d been more afraid of being killed by accident than anything else.

  A pointless death… there was no honour in that.

  And then, for the first time, the forbidding figure spoke. His voice was harsh and grating, filtered by that fearsome mask.

  “Secure these prisoners,” he commanded, “then press forward. We’ll take this level and set charges before we move up.”

  Kyra stared down at the hideous faceplate and wished she could speak. Little help here?

  The lack of an answer made it clear that she was the only one with the Gift.

  Tell him to let us down, Kreon demanded.

  What am I meant to use? Kyra retorted. Eyebrows?

  Their mysterious rescuer, however, was thinking along the same lines.

  Taking a small hand terminal from a hatch in his armour, he aimed it at Kyra’s grav-sha
ckles and tapped an icon. The shackles died mid-air; Kyra fell like a sack of grub-flour, measuring her length on the deck next to Enneas. Her body tried to flinch away from the pool of his blood, but it was too late; the thick red liquid oozed around her nose and cheek. For the second time she felt the urge to gag, without having the ability.

  Rough hands grabbed her and turned her over. She tried not to think about the mess that was now making of her hair, as she stared up at the soldiers of the Ingumend. At least, she hoped that’s what they were.

  “Motor disruption only,” the man in black rumbled. From another hatch he produced a truncated golden cone covered with tiny fins — a scaled-down version of the weapon Gerian had been taunting them with. He pointed the cone end towards her and manipulated something at the base of the device. Kyra’s whole body spasmed, all her muscles contracting at once. The pain was unbelievable, like every piece of her was being stretched beyond breaking point. She cried out, but the only sound she made was a low moan as her jaw clenched so hard she thought her neck would burst.

  “UUUuuhhhhhh!” Her back arched, her calves contracting to pull her legs up behind her as she rolled over into the blood again. This time she got a mouthful, as her jaw released leaving her panting for breath. Slowly, the pain faded. Every muscle ached, but the only serious damage was to her shoulders. And her wardrobe; she could feel Enneas’ blood leaking in through the collar of her jumpsuit.

  Great. Now I’ll never be rid of that bastard.

  After what seemed like hours, but was probably just a few seconds, she’d regained enough control to roll over. She struggled to her knees, then all fours, and rose unsteadily. Her legs still shook, but the pain in her arms helped her focus. “Who are you guys?”

  The black-armoured warrior faced her, a good few inches taller than Kyra. “That is precisely the question I must ask you.”

  “We’re a delegation from the Lantian people. We—”

  “The Lantian group that was communicating with the attackers outside?” Surprise lifted the man’s voice. “You are all that’s left?”

  “We’re all that started,” Kyra told him.

  “Our source implied there was a formidable Lantian team in play.”

  “Yeah, well.” Kyra rubbed her aching neck and found it moist and sticky. “You haven’t really caught us on our best day.”

  “An understatement,” the man rumbled. “Or a deception.” One hand strayed towards the hilt of his weapon; the coiled chain-things hung either side of his waist.

  Use the phrase, Kreon suggested.

  “Oh yeah!” Kyra fought the impulse to run her hand through her hair. She cast her mind back to Mikel’s hologram, but a lot had happened since then. “Uhh… we don’t fear the darkness?” She locked eyes with the decomposing skull the man’s mask was projecting. “And I’m guessing you’re the nightmare that comes true.”

  The man stared at her, considering. It was impossible to read anything through the all-concealing mask. Then he turned from her abruptly. “Advance shields!” he barked. “Commander, I want a sit-rep. Call all teams for an update.” Then he turned back to Kyra and thrust an arm towards her. She looked at it, then gripped the forearm in an old-fashioned warrior’s greeting.

  “I am Ingumen,” the man in black said.

  “I’m Kyra,” she replied, shaking then releasing his arm.

  “I know.”

  Ingumen retrieved the cone device and turned it on Kreon, restoring the Warden’s motor functions as the grav-shackles lowered him gently.

  Kyra looked on in dismay as the Warden regained his footing. The shackles released his arms one at a time, before dropping inactive to the floor.

  “What the…? Why the hell didn’t mine do that?” she demanded.

  Loader’s drone issued forth from Kreon’s backpack. “ALI apologises for not thinking of it sooner.”

  With Tris still unconscious — and quite possibly comatose — Kyra decided to leave him suspended from the floating shackles. It was by far the easiest way to move him, but that feeling of vulnerability loomed large in her mind. “We could stick the Aegis on him?” she suggested.

  “Sadly not,” Kreon confessed. “The Aegis draws on the user’s own vitality to produce its effects. In his weakened state, deflecting a single shot could kill him.”

  Kyra swore under her breath. “Can we at least hang one of those big-assed shields in front of him?”

  Ingumen was conferring with the troops manning the temporary wall. Kreon glanced at him. “That depends on how keen our new friends are to part with one.”

  Ingumen seemed to sense them looking, as he turned and stalked back to them. The black-armoured figure was taller even than Kreon, though it was still hard to tell exactly because of the distortion field rippling around him.

  “You. Warden,” Ingumen snarled. “State your business here.”

  Kreon’s tone was icy as he replied. “My crew and I were tasked with retrieving a number of prisoners abducted recently from Berasko Station. According to our information, your forces were meant to aid us in our escape.”

  “Then your information is flawed,” Ingumen bit back. “As was your mission. There is no escaping this place; not for those who have been Committed.”

  “Wait,” Kyra chipped in. “You’re not here to rescue your operatives?”

  Ingumen turned the monstrous visor on Kyra. “I am here to repay the Keepers of the Faith for the lives they have taken. This facility will burn, and the tormented souls within it will be set free. This is the best we can do for our comrades.”

  “You’ll kill them?” Kyra was unable to keep the disgust from her voice.

  “They are already dead,” Ingumen declared. “Dismantled for spare parts, or worse. None who enter this place remain whole.”

  “This time it is your information that is flawed,” Kreon retorted. “We have already located these prisoners. As yet they are unaltered.”

  Ingumen rounded on him. “And what do you care about it, old man? Your people have no concept of the suffering mine undergo every day. You sit and watch us from across your border, but no help has come from the Lantians for nigh on a decade!”

  Men! Kyra swiped at the blood dripping off her forehead and pushed in between them. “Look guys, we haven’t time for a pissing contest. No offence.” She glanced at them both in turn. “But we can rescue those prisoners. They’re unconscious, but unhurt. And… unaltered. There must be grav-shackles stored somewhere in that cell block, and with those we can move them.”

  Ingumen stared down at her, his visor revealing nothing. “And you plan to push them back across the entire complex? Right now we hold the advantage. My soldiers have taken three floors of this tower and are poised to storm the upper levels. We’ll wipe out the command staff and set charges to destroy the entire place! What you ask would require us to abandon this mission completely.”

  “And what precisely is your exit strategy?” Kreon interjected.

  Ingumen turned to check on his men before answering. “We leave through the same tunnels we entered by. All other exits are too heavily fortified.”

  “Also flawed. Assuming you conclude your assault in the tower you must then fight your way back, reconquering the same territory twice. Such inefficiency will cost you many lives.”

  “We are prepared to die for our cause, Warden.”

  “Apparently so. I, however, am not.” Kreon adjusted his backpack, making the cables from his abdomen more obvious. “Loader? Please instruct ALI to move the Security Bridge to our current location.”

  If Loader’s confirmation beep surprised Ingumen, he didn’t show it. “The Security Bridge is en route. Your closest access point is fifty metres ahead.”

  Kreon’s staff still hung securely across his back; he stooped over Enneas’ body, liberating the Arranozapar swords and offering them to Kyra. “My escape route is vastly superior,” he explained, and I plan to avail myself of it immediately. I will extract as many prisoners as I can, but we a
lready have one casualty to contend with.” He waved a gloved hand at Tristan. “However, you are more than welcome to accompany us.”

  Ingumen took a step forward, his bulk swelling through the distortion field to tower over Kreon. Kyra tensed, ready for him to strike—

  “I will consider your offer, Warden,” he conceded. “But I must know the details. Your escape route. Where is it?”

  Kreon looked up at him with a tight grin. “It is a she. And her name is Wayfinder.”

  * * *

  Kyra was privately amazed that Ingumen had gone along with Kreon’s plan. It went without saying that the resistance leader wasn’t used to having his plans challenged mid-operation, much less by a complete stranger; the hostility he’d displayed towards Kreon was palpable. Yet somehow the Warden had pulled it off.

  Always does, the arrogant bastard, she mused. Maybe that was his secret? She’d seen Kreon use arrogance as a weapon on more than one occasion. She didn’t know if he even realised he was doing it. Then again, Kreon had been at this game a lot longer than she had. No wonder his arrogance was well-honed; he’d had three-hundred years to work on it.

  Their second trip through the Security Bridge, collecting Ingumend fighters as they went, had been considerably less stressful. Kyra had taken charge of Tris because she couldn’t help but feel personally responsible. Should have trained him better… should have reined in his eagerness… should have stayed in front of him…

  She knew it was ridiculous. In times of war, people got hurt. She’d done the best she could to get Tris ready for this kind of engagement, and by all accounts she’d done an excellent job. The kid was a natural; not even his exotic DNA could adequately explain his combat aptitude. It was wrong place, wrong time… and wrong opponent.