“What’s the matter, Sergeant… Roke, isn’t it?” Kyra kept moving, closing the gap between them.
His eyes widened at the sound of his own name, which wasn’t displayed anywhere on his uniform. He kept his weapon trained on her, but she’d now approached to the point where its muzzle was only a few inches from her chin.
“I said stop!” he demanded — redundantly, as she’d just done that.
“I don’t want to fight you,” she said, a slight purr in her voice. “And you really don’t want to fight me.”
“You’re under arrest,” Sergeant Roke said again. “I have the authority to shoot you if you try to resist.”
“Yeah right. How many people have you actually shot? Personally, I mean. How many people have you killed?”
“I said—”
“I heard you,” Kyra snapped. “Gods, you guys are rude!” She struck a pose, one hand on her hip while the other fussed with her rainbow hair. “You can’t hurt us, you know. Watch this.” She waggled her fingers at him, as though she was about to perform a magic trick.
The man’s brow creased — he clearly wasn’t prepared for this kind of behaviour — and in that split-second of distraction, her other hand swept up, snatching the rifle from his hands. She used the momentum to spin on her heel, shifting the rifle to a firing position as she did.
Tris realised what was about to happen, and narrowly avoided flinching as she fired a pair of shots straight at him.
The orange bolts crackled as they hit the energy field generated by the Aegis, and ricocheted off into the forest.
“See?” she turned back to the soldiers, all of whom were staring at Tris, gobsmacked. “You might as well be pointing sticks at us. So let’s cut to the chase here. I really need to see your boss, and these Laugarren refugees are coming with me. You’re all welcome to tag along, but if you try to stop me, or even think about trying to touch my weapons, I will kill every single one of you.” And without further ado, she started walking.
Lukas glanced at Tris, shrugged, and set off after her.
Tris followed, noting that the Laugarren prisoners were approaching the soldiers in a more conventional manner, hands raised. The sergeant didn’t seem to know what to do; in the end, he bawled at his men to round everyone up, and directed them to form up like an escort. He moved to the head of the column himself, where Kyra gestured at him to lead on.
Tris’ stomach growled so loudly that he received a few startled glances. He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten; the Aegis drew its power from his own metabolic energy, and he was starving hungry. On the upside, he was getting plenty of use out of it.
That’s becoming a habit, he accused Kyra.
I know, right? she was awfully pleased with herself. Such fun! We should do it more often.
TWENTY
Twenty minutes later, even Tris could tell they were being led around in circles.
The escort were either lost themselves, or stalling for time… it wasn’t hard to guess which.
“No,” Kyra snapped, coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of a well-worn path. “No more games. I’ve got things to do today. And a little girl trapped in Laugarren who could be dying right now.” She pulled the Arranozapar free of her waist, letting them ripple in the sunlight before settling into straight blades.
The soldiers to either side of her had half-raised their weapons, but there was hesitation in their eyes. Tris could sense that they’d already decided to take his group back to their base — they were just doing their best to confuse the route.
“New game,” Kyra announced. “It’s called, I cut the legs off the next person to lead us astray.”
The blonde sergeant was staring at the swords, open-mouthed. “Are those…?”
“They’re a family heirloom.” Kyra gave them a flick, and the blades curled as they swished through the air. “They’re ten-thousand years old, and they will cut through anything.” The look she gave him left no doubt about what she was referring to.
He was spared having to reply by a crackle from the comm-badge on his collar.
“That’s okay, Roke. We’ve seen enough. Bring them in.”
Kyra’s head cocked as she listened to that, but she made no comment.
“Great!” Lukas said, pounding Tris on the back with needless force. “Maybe they’ll have some breakfast waiting!”
From the dubious looks the soldiers gave him, Tris didn’t think that too likely.
One man stayed with the refugees, to escort them to their new homes. The rest of them left the beaten path, picking their way between the trees. Tris kept his eyes on the ground; he’d twisted too many ankles doing this as a kid, and the last thing he needed was to wind up lame just before the fighting started.
They passed a pile of fallen logs that had obviously been used in construction at some point. Brambles twined over them, but metal fixings winked here and there. More evidence of old structures presented itself when he risked a glance up; thick cables dangled from some of the trees, and steel rings had been fastened around several trunks at different levels. It was all old stuff, though, stained with rust and verdigris. Snapped planks and half-burned logs peeked out from beneath blankets of moss, turning the forest floor into one big trip-hazard.
“I knew it,” Kyra said. “You’re set up in the old Commune. Where? Did you dig more tunnels?”
She was fishing, and Tris caught the answering flicker from the sergeant’s mind. He was too disciplined to physically look upwards, but his thoughts made it clear that they were headed that way.
One of his men rummaged around under a pair of rotting boards, and pulled out a handful of long metal batons. Roke gave him a nod, and the man stepped up to the nearest tree — a giant, with a reddish bole that would have taken five people at full stretch to reach around it. The soldier held a baton up to the tree until, with a sharp click, it snapped into place. It now protruded horizontally, a few feet off the ground. He repeated this process with another baton, then stood on the first to reach higher. Rungs, Tris realised — but for a ladder like nothing he’d ever encountered. The soldier was moving slowly around the tree, rising as he went. Behind him, he left a spiral of metal bars sticking out… and nothing else. No railing or safety net. The guy was already twenty feet off the ground, and had run out of the batons he’d started with. From now on, he found ones that had already been embedded, and just needed hinging down into place. A second man followed him up, demonstrating the technique as he went. It was a ladder — only one that wrapped around the tree in a never-ending corkscrew.
Cool! Tris was keen to give it a try. He offered to go next, and began the ascent with hands and feet on the textured metal treads. They gave just enough grip to keep him secure, and he swiftly moved up.
It wasn’t until he’d been climbing steadily for several minutes, getting right into the rhythm, that he thought to look down. The ground shrank away beneath him, impossibly distant, and he clung to the bar he was holding as a tremor ran through him. Shit, that’s a long way down! It suddenly occurred to him just how vulnerable he was. A stomach-churning drop surrounded him on all sides, with only the narrow metal rungs separating him from a horrible death. Not the best place for my hands to start sweating profusely…
Which of course they did.
I can’t even wipe them! His knuckles were white with the tension of his grip, but his legs didn’t feel strong enough to lift him. Oh god… I’m not going to make it. He glanced up, hoping to see some kind of platform — any evidence that they were nearing their destination. But the foliage rose all around him, merging into a dense canopy overhead. All he could see was more leaves in every direction… and the trunk of the tree itself, which vanished upwards.
“Don’t look down,” someone called from below.
That has to be the stupidest piece of advice ever.
But he sucked in a deep breath and convinced his limbs to stop shaking. These people must do this every day, he told himself, and if they
kept falling to their deaths, surely they’d have come up with a better solution. He freed his hands one at a time, switching them to the next rung ahead. Then he did the same with his feet… and a few moments later, he was moving again.
The first clue that he was nearing the top came from a tiny dark square in the ceiling of leaves. It was too straight-edged to be natural, and as he came around the tree once more, he saw the bottom half of the first soldier disappearing into it. It was weird, some kind of optical illusion — the man just vanished, liked he was going up through a portal. The foliage around him didn’t move an inch as it swallowed him whole…
Because it’s a hologram! Tris was close enough now to appreciate the effect. Directly above him was a platform or structure, but the entire underside was a holographic screen. The super-realistic projection featured layers of leaves and branches stretching up to infinity, blending in seamlessly with the surrounding vegetation.
He poked his head through the hole — now revealed to be a substantial hatch — to find a welcoming committee waiting for him with raised rifles. He climbed through anyway, ending up inside a long hall that had the feel of a starship’s cargo bay. The walls, floor and ceiling were metal panels with a reddish tinge; the overhead lighting was dimmed, presumably so the hatch wouldn’t be too visible from the ground. He resisted the urge to peer back out through the hole and see just how far up he’d come; his muscles and his bowels both told him it was a long, long way.
Kyra climbed through next, and the ring of soldiers backed off to give her space. A mutter ran through them as she stood up and dusted herself off. When Lukas came through, most of them stared in disbelief. All these people were slim, Tris realised, but not particularly muscular. Obviously body-building wasn’t a popular sport on Esper.
The remaining soldiers came up last. One of them had been pulling the bottom rungs out after them, and had made the rest of the climb with an armful of metal batons. Tris gave him a nod of respect, as he dropped them into a box beside the hatch and mopped the sweat off his brow. He pushed a button on the wall and the hatch closed with a hiss.
Then a door slid open at the far end of the room, and everyone in uniform came to attention.
A young lady stepped out, clad in the same green-brown camo pattern as her troops. Her garment was significantly better tailored however, accentuating her delicate waist… and she was gorgeous. Pale golden hair fell in curls either side of her face, bouncing as she strode towards them.
Tris gaped; she looked like Kyra in soft-focus. The hard planes and angles of Kyra’s face were smoother, more rounded in hers. There were only two possibilities for who she could be — and Kyra had made it abundantly clear that she’d never had children.
“Well, well, well,” the blonde lady said, coming to a halt in front of them. “If it isn’t the famous Kylimnestra of House Loreak.”
“Your Highness, Princess Giannissima,” Kyra made an elaborate bow.
The princess made a face. “Ugh! Issi, please.”
“And I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Kyra.”
“Why?” Issi’s face was clouded with honest confusion.
Kyra’s eyes flicked to Tris. “Because that’s my name.”
Issi raised an eyebrow, and the similarity was unmistakable. Tris had been on the receiving end of that eyebrow more times than he could begin to count. “Fair enough. You’ve been gone a long time, Kyra. I see you’ve brought more off-worlders with you. Servants? Or suitors?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
The princess let out a long-suffering sigh, and cast her eyes around the group. “I suppose you’re expecting me to feed and house these people? The big one looks expensive to keep.”
Lukas cleared his throat, but Tris kept his focus on Kyra. There was something about her posture…
“I do hate to impose,” Kyra said. “But surely, my own flesh and blood can spare a crust for three weary travellers? Hasn’t the legendary spy-master of Harrespil been expecting us?”
“Very well.” There was resignation in Issi’s voice. “Might I ask that you educate them in the proper forms of etiquette, if they are to remain here? That one looked me directly in the eye,” she flicked a finger at Tris. “And furthermore, they are to be bathed before they are brought into my presence next time.” She made a delicate sniffing sound, and pinched her perfect nose. “The same could be said of you too, dear sister. I find your… aroma most unbecoming.”
“Oh, Issi…” Kyra raised her hands, fingers spread wide, and advanced with menace. “You think you’re safe up here, surrounded by all these soldiers? You think they can protect you?” she shook her head. “You’ve crossed the line, this time. Don’t make me tickle you.”
* * *
Breakfast was taken all together in a wide mess hall. Bench seats for dozens of people were arranged in rows, though only a handful of camo-clad people were present. They served themselves from a stack of ready meals, preparing them in a row of devices that Tris recognised by now as standard galley appliances.
Princess Giannissima sat with them as they ate, proving herself to be as remorselessly sarcastic as she was beautiful.
“Why Harrespil?” Kyra asked her between mouthfuls. “That’s a bit morbid, even for you.”
Issi stuck her tongue out at her sister. “I thought about going with a unicorn motif, but oh wait! That’s already taken.”
“Harrespil…” Tris muttered. His dad’s memories provided the answer. “An… ancient burial chamber?”
“Close.” Issi squinted at him, as though noticing him for the first time. “The definition is a sealed box for dead people.” She turned her attention back to Kyra. “We built it to ship those Zortzigarrens you discovered down from the Ring. But you wouldn’t know about that, of course. You were long gone by then.”
Kyra ignored the barb. “They all came down?”
“Not all. Most. In her infinite wisdom, Her Royal Highness the Queen of all Esper decreed that the ones who wanted to stay up there could do so. The rest of them packed in here for the trip down, and landed just outside the city. Only, there was nowhere else for them to go. Nowhere they wanted to go, anyway. So they ended up living in here for the next few years — hence the nickname. Until one day, they just disappeared.” She made a magician’s ‘poof’ with her fingers.
“And went where?”
Issi’s voice turned mysterious. “Nobody knows.”
It was Kyra’s turn to deploy the eyebrow. “Really? Wow, some spy-master you turned out to be.”
“They went underground,” Issi snapped, “into those tunnels you spent half your damn life in. Okay? They’re still down there now, in the levels below the city. Our dear sister Vinni gave them a place on the ruling council, but they hardly ever bother with it.”
“And how is Queen Vinni?” Kyra had stopped eating, and her expression turned serious. “Is she… occupied?”
Issi’s face fell. “The whole city is. Everything’s locked down, we can’t get anyone in or out. I never thought I’d see it happen. Viktor’s back alright — and here you are, teleporting in out of nowhere to save the world again. I’d almost think the two of you had a deal going, if I hadn’t seen him cut your…” she trailed off, and looked away. Tris felt a surge of revulsion from her, and knew there was more to this story.
Kyra’s hands went to her hair, smoothing strands of blue and pink out of her face. “Do you have any more info?” she asked. “Anything about what he’s up to, and what he wants?”
The princess snorted. “You could say that. Let’s go to the bridge. There’s something you’ve got to see.”
The bridge of the Harrespil was a fairly plain steel box lined with consoles and viewscreens. No concession had been made to aesthetics; it was a bland, functional space, into which crates of gear had been piled in lieu of furniture.
Several men and women — oddly enough, dressed in civilian attire — manned the various workstations. Issi clapped once to get their attention,
and asked them all to take a break. They went willingly, though not without a few backward glances at Kyra, and the doors slid shut behind them. Leaving Tris and Lukas alone with not one but two members of Esper’s royal family.
Kind of wish I’d shaved.
Issi raised one hand, exposing a bracelet similar to the one Kyra had recently started wearing. She pressed the controls on it without looking, and the central viewscreen flared to life. “This has been running on a loop ever since they shut the gates,” she said.
The screen flared with static, and then stabilised into a head-and-shoulders image of a man in black armour. He looked to be in his forties, with military-short hair and a square jaw. A wicked scar dominated the left side of his face, twisting his mouth up and his eye down; numerous other small marks spoke of a lifetime spent fighting.
“Viktor,” Kyra breathed.
For a few seconds, the brutal-looking man on the screen merely stared into the camera; then, with a sardonic smile, he began to speak.
“Citizens of the Royal City,” he began, his voice surprisingly smooth and cultured for a mercenary. “Please do not adjust your newsfeeds! Some of you might recognise me as Viktor Eskilio, Captain of the greatest military force in this part of the galaxy. By now, you are probably aware that there has been a… transition of power. To me. If you look outside, you will notice a group of heavily-armed individuals patrolling the streets. These warriors are here for your protection. As such, they are authorised to use deadly force; any attack on them will be considered extremely impolite, and will end messily.” He paused to grin at something he clearly thought was hilarious. “You may carry on about your business as normal,” he continued, “providing you conduct yourselves with a modicum of grace. I have no wish to cause you unnecessary suffering. However, do not attempt to leave the city.”
He hunched forward, and the intensity of his gaze was unsettling. “Those of you who know me from my last visit will remember that I am a man of my word. You may also remember that my tolerance for disobedience is extremely limited. So, do as I say; continue with your lives. Be happy, and enjoy your good fortune. The city of Lehen, and the entire planet of Esper, is now under the protection of the Revenants.”
Embers of Esper: A Sci Fi Adventure (Warden's Legacy Book 1) Page 16
