Warden's Fury

by Tony James Slater

  Too bad… The boy really had shown promise lately.

  More interesting was a low table off to one side. Kreon had noticed it on arrival and paid it no heed — now he saw that it was a repository for evidence, and suddenly it took on a far more interesting dynamic. A pair of guards were carefully arranging exhibits in a transparent case atop the table, as though this really was going to be a trial. The exhibits consisted almost exclusively of the weapons Kreon and his crew had been carrying when they’d been captured. Kyra’s swords, Tristan’s glaive, even the heavy staff topped with the gravity-controlling orb. Kreon calculated the distance. Once his cuffs were released, he would have only seconds to achieve his kill. Using the staff would make things easier, but not if he died trying to reach it. Fortunately, the Aegis was still embedded in his neck. He had many studs and nodes implanted all over his head and body, and the doctor had resisted the urge to start cutting them all out.

  Still… Kreon looked around as guards began to file into the room. A raised plinth ran around the perimeter of the space, and over twenty guards took up positions atop it, covering their captives from the higher ground.

  Twenty of them… with more to come, he felt sure. The Aegis could withstand multiple hits, but it sapped his strength to power its abilities. He was already weak from his confinement, and couldn’t remember if he’d been fed or not. Would it be enough to see him through?

  It had to be.

  Gerian had to die for what he’d done.

  Kreon would make sure of it.

  Judging by the hovering drone-cams dotted around the fringes of the room, this was to be a show trial. Kreon had no problem with that. He could play his part, mount a spirited defence, if he felt it would offer him the opening he required. His arguments would make no difference to the outcome, but that was never in doubt. The Lemurians wanted to make an example of him, as they had with Àurea. They’d stripped as much information as they deemed useful from his brain, and now they were gearing up for a propaganda spectacle.

  Kreon’s jaw clenched in determination. They would get their spectacle alright.

  They seemed to be waiting for something, however.

  The individual in charge, a large, jowled man whose holographic nameplate read ‘Supreme Magistrate Otonus’, twitched towards the far doors every few seconds. Whatever — or whomever — he was waiting for, it either made him irritated or nervous. Possibly both.

  Kreon didn’t waste the time he had. His team were there, ready to die by his side. His transceiver went to work on their restraints as soon as they came within range, and was close to cracking them in spite of the extra security. He knew both Tris and Kyra could be relied upon to act when the opportunity presented itself, though without his pendant he was left unable to coordinate with them telepathically. He trusted that their cuffs falling away would be enough to prompt them into action. Even unarmed, their combined skills were considerable. They should be enough to occupy the guards while he made his strike…

  If proceedings would ever get going.

  While he waited, he pondered the message on the wall of his cell. It was a note to himself, but from what altered state he couldn’t remember. Had he killed a guard, or an Assessor even, and used their blood to send himself a message? Some vital piece of information lay encoded in the cryptic choice of words, he was sure.

  If he could just unlock the meaning he’d been trying to convey…

  It would achieve precisely nothing.

  He was still going to die today; he couldn’t see how anything could change that.

  Still, the mystery niggled at him. With nothing better to do, he indulged himself for a few minutes, pondering the various possibilities.

  He knew he’d hit the right translation when his heart skipped a beat. His breath quickened as adrenaline coursed through him. It had been right there in front of him, though Sydon only knew how. The secret lay in the conjugation of the Akkadian verb ‘to be’. In literal terms, it meant ‘to exist’ — so pronounced in the definite, it became ‘alive.’

  The dragon lives…

  It was a message with only one possible meaning.

  And it turned his entire world upside down in a split second.

  How he could have come by this information he couldn’t fathom, but it changed everything.

  Unless it was the delusional ravings of a madman.

  The creaking of the main door snapped him out of his reverie.

  These doors swung inwards, like the gates of some old castle — a certain degree of theatricality had been built into this room.

  But no architectural trick could be as dramatic as what he saw when the door cranked fully open.

  It was Sera.

  Without waiting to be invited she stalked into the room, the whirr of tiny servos accompanying her every move. Although her head was bare, she wore her heaviest suit of armour; a fully-sealed, power-assisted behemoth that dwarfed her slender frame. Stark white and battered from decades of heavy use, on anyone else it would look cumbersome and workmanlike, yet Sera managed to carry herself with grace regardless. Across her back she wore that sword of ridiculous proportions; her expression was one of impatience as she strode down the aisle between empty spectator galleries. Tris, who was chained closest to her path, visibly cringed at the sight of her. Kyra held her nerve, staring out defiantly, but it was abundantly clear why Sera was here.

  She’d been hunting them.

  And now she’d found them.

  “Lady Serafine,” the Magistrate began — before squinting at her approaching silhouette. “Are you armed?” he sounded incredulous. “Guards! Why is she still armed?”

  “Don’t blame your underlings, Magistrate,” Sera told him, arriving before the dais. “They expressed a desire to disarm me. I merely discouraged them.”

  “You cannot be allowed to bear weapons in this chamber!” the Magistrate spat.

  Sera regarded him cooly. She spread her arms slowly. “And yet here I am. I have come as requested, but my fleet is heavily engaged and my time here is scant. If the presence of my weapons offends you, you are more than welcome to try and take them.”

  “Yes, well…” The Magistrate cleared his throat. “We will not keep you any longer than necessary, Lady Serafine. However, you expressed an interest in these… individuals.” His flabby arm swept out to indicate Kreon. “We have arrested them on charges of murder and treason, and their trial will commence shortly. Would you care to be involved?”

  Sera turned, and the look she directed at Kreon was filled with cold triumph. “These people are my subjects,” she said returning her attention to the magistrate. “I stand ready to carry out whatever sentence you deem appropriate.”

  The Magistrate exchanged glances with the officials seated either side of him. “Very well. If you wouldn’t mind identifying yourself for the viewers?”

  A camera drone drifted down in front of her and she addressed it coldly. “I am Lady Serafine Arkangelus, High Warden of Atalia and Protector of Earth.”

  “Excellent,” the Magistrate applauded. A similar drone descended in front of him, and he introduced the defendants, using the same accolades Gerian had used on Pentali Prime.

  Kreon looked around, scouring the assembled officials for Gerian’s face. Though several more had appeared in the last few minutes, the Assessor General was not amongst them.

  Which was probably for the best, as the glimmerings of a plan had started to form in Kreon’s head. His transceiver had finished decrypting all three sets of handcuffs, and he suddenly wanted very much to live. At least until…

  His mind shied away from the possibilities.

  Not yet. Focus. There is a way.

  The Magistrate had finished his introductions, and had launched into the laundry-list of crimes Kreon and his crew were accused of. With that done, there didn’t seem to be much cross-examination scheduled. It was a show trial after all, the verdict a foregone conclusion and every stage scripted and choreographed. The Magistrate off
ered up their weapons of evidence, citing the ‘heinous alien technologies’ with which these ‘fake ambassadors’ sought to advance their cause. Kreon grasped that the Lemurian’s institutional xenophobia extended to all aspects of alien culture; their religion had decreed it thus, and the people had no choice but to comply.

  Kreon almost salivated at the contents of that evidence table. He doubted he could defeat Sera, even with the aid of his staff and pendant, but all three of them fully armed, working in concert, might have a chance.

  Of course, they were still surrounded by dozens of what Kreon had labelled Palace Guards, as denoted by the quality and aesthetic appeal of their wargear.

  It was all going to come down to one moment; the fates of his entourage, and quite possibly the fate of the galaxy at large. He had precisely one chance…

  Assuming the Lemurians believed in granting a condemned man his last words.

  It wouldn’t be long before he found out.

  The Magistrate was already pulling a thoughtful face, which Kreon assumed was meant to signify his deliberation. There was no jury, unless the handful of nodding officials sat either side of the Magistrate comprised it.

  There was a sudden lull in the proceedings. Silence reigned. Kreon risked making eye contact with Kyra, and found such compassion there that tears welled up, unbidden.

  She doesn’t know…

  And if he didn’t time this perfectly, she never would.

  “Guilty.” The verdict was delivered in a voice thick with distaste.

  An official who’d been acting as ringmaster stepped forward, then turned to face the nearest camera drone. “And what is the sentence, Your Honour?”

  The Magistrate took a few seconds to allow the silence to deepen — clearly for dramatic reasons. “Death.”

  The single word rolled out across the silent court room like a gunshot. Kreon noticed a camera drone angling in to catch his reaction, and wished he could swat the bothersome thing with his grav-staff.

  The Magistrate stood now, an effort which set his jowls swaying back and forth. “The Lady Serafine, High Warden of the Lantian People, has answered our call for justice. She has chosen to be the executioner of these criminals, the better to uphold the special relationship between our two peoples.”

  Sera nodded grimly at the Magistrate, pointedly ignoring the camera drone that zoomed in for a close-up.

  Drawing the enormous sword from her back, however, was a move so cinematic it was destined to become a fan-favourite. The blade was almost as long as she was. The razor-sharp edge glittered in the light, sending spangles dancing across the polished stone floor. It looked insanely heavy, yet she hefted it in one hand, twirling it in a lazy circle as though playing to the audience.

  Kreon found himself holding his breath, as Sera turned to face him. He looked her full in the face, and saw anew the traces of madness in her eyes. Recent events had not been kind to Sera; she had always been inclined toward vengeance, for any slight on what she perceived as her honour. Now, with everything that had happened between them, he knew his chance of appealing to her was non-existent.

  Nevertheless, he had to try.

  His one chance depended on it.

  Sera crossed the floor to stand directly in front of Kreon and the others. The massive sword had an oddly hypnotic quality, as though such awesome potential for carnage demanded attention. She raised the sword now, in a high arc, as though invoking the gods to witness her actions.

  Then she stepped towards him, her armour whirring as she came.

  Kreon had wondered who she would choose to execute first. Would she save him for last? Or leap at the opportunity to end his life as soon as possible? Now he had his answer. He felt Tris recoil next to him, clearly bracing himself for the blow to fall. It would go hard for the boy, watching his friends die right next to him and knowing that there was no escape. Kreon had put every effort he could into preparing Tris, but there was no way you could train for this.

  Kyra, to her credit, moved not an inch.

  But she owed Kreon no allegiance. Not really. She was nothing more than a mercenary in his service; her long and violent history must have eclipsed this moment many times over.

  It was an odd thought to have as his last, but it came to him unbidden: who was Kyra, anyway?

  32

  “So it comes down to this.” Sera’s expression was cold as space. “There was a time when I honestly thought you would join me. The galaxy is changing, Kreon, and I am changing with it. You have always clung so desperately to what was, to the old and the vanishing. Your strategy was doomed from the start. And now, time has finally caught up with you. There’s no room in this new galaxy for you, Kreon. Not like this. Trust me when I tell you — I am doing you a favour.”

  She hefted the sword, light rippling off its gigantic blade. Kreon heard the slight whine of gravitic repulsers, and knew they allowed Sera to wield the sword as though it were practically weightless.

  The perfect executioner’s weapon, just as she is the perfect executioner.

  It all tied up so neatly.

  No-one wants to die at the hands of a stranger. There’s no sense to it, no poetry.

  This had the steely ring of fate about it. He was almost tempted to succumb.

  And yet.

  Slowly, he drew himself straight and stared up at her, making eye contact. His gaze bored into hers, imbuing his words with every ounce of intensity he could muster.

  “Ingumen,” he said, pronouncing the name like a talisman. “You must see her.”

  “What?” Sera’s lip curled back in disgust. Clearly she’d been expecting poetry, too. “What the hell are you raving about?”

  “STOP!” the Magistrate yelled. “Stop the recording!”

  Kreon ignored him. “Ingumen,” he repeated. His eyes never left Serafine’s. “You must see her.”

  Sera’s gaze wavered. She lowered the sword and glanced up at the dais. “Who is this Ingumen?”

  The Magistrate looked disconcerted, raising his hands palm up to indicate confusion. “I have no idea? The old man is delusional. It happens, unfortunately.”

  “No.” Sera turned to face him, the sword point gouging a tiny circle on the polished floor. “This man is my enemy, but he is no fool. Ingumen. Who is that?”

  The Magistrate sighed in obvious frustration. “I believe she was a terrorist, the leader of a rebellion we are actively putting down. She was arrested at the same time as these… people. It’s possible they knew one another.”

  Sera considered this, eyes bright, head tilted slightly to one side. “Then I would like to see her. To thank her for the role she played in bringing these people to justice.”

  The Magistrate shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Ingumen was executed some days ago. Treason carries the death penalty here, as I’m sure it does amongst your kind.”

  Sera’s tone grew frosty. “Be careful, Magistrate. I appreciate that you consider yourself superior to my people on account of your racial purity. I understand that you are sullying yourself just by dealing with me. And I’m sure that here, in the centre of your power, you believe yourself to be in control. But understand this: I am one of those people you hold in such contempt. I care nothing for your beliefs. I am more than your equal. And I will kill you where you sit if I believe for one second that you are withholding something from me.”

  Her speech seemed to fluster the Magistrate. He conferred with a colleague behind a raised hand for a few seconds, then nodded to one of the guards flanking him.

  “Very well! I will have the girl brought up,” he said, “as you insist. But you must understand that her execution has been carefully staged as part of the ongoing campaign against her followers. We are still extracting information from her, but it is vital that her existence remains a secret.”

  Sera sneered at him. “You fear an uprising from her followers? You fear a loss of power in favour of them? Perhaps I am dealing with the wrong fact
ion.”

  It was the Magistrate’s turn to get annoyed. “Lady Serafine,” he said, her name dropping from his lips like a curse, “our forces have already been deployed in support of your aim. Am I to construe this as a renegotiation of our contract? Because my information suggests our aid is critical to the success of your mission.”

  Sera glared back at the magistrate for a few seconds, then plastered a fake smile on her face. “Our contract is sound, Your Splendiferous Opulence.” Sarcasm dripped from every syllable. “But that blade cuts both ways. I promised your people access to Earth, on the grounds that you help to win her for me. If I am forced to complete that task alone, I will look less favourably on any attempt you make to establish a presence there.”

  The Magistrate’s need for a response was obviated by the reappearance of the guard. Kreon’s gaze stayed riveted on the doorway behind the man, hope and fear warring inside him.

  The Magistrate beckoned, and the guard came forward. The figure he led wore a stained grey jumpsuit, streaked with blood. A hood covered her bowed head, and the slump of her shoulders said defeat. She limped along behind the guard, her hands bound in a simple rope. He brought her to the centre of the room, then forced her roughly to her knees. The end of her lead rope he tossed contemptuously on the floor; it was obvious from the girl’s demeanour that any fight had long since been beaten out of her.

  The guard stood back as Sera strode over, dragging the huge sword lazily behind her in one hand. Kreon saw the Magistrate wince at the scraping sound, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the kneeling figure.

  Sera approached her with caution. Kreon would have expected no less; Sera predicted a ruse of some kind, as he would have had their situations been reversed. Finally, satisfied that no threat lay lurking in the damaged girl, Sera stepped forward and pulled off the hood.