Blackhawk: Far Stars Legends I

by Jay Allan

  Her people had escaped—save Samis and those he’d led to destruction, of course—but they were in worse shape than they’d been since she had first led them into the Badlands. They were even short of basic provisions. She had sent a group of her people to Rhiombe with coin taken from one of their secret stashes to buy food and medicine, but now she realized how much a feeling of security she’d felt from their old headquarters, with its secret supplies and deeply-hidden tunnels. She felt like her people were naked now, out in the open…though on some level, she realized they were actually safer than they had been.

  She felt sadness for Samis, and anger too. The fool had gotten nine other Grays killed or captured. She had trusted him with an important mission, and he had let her down. She knew, of course, that Samis had a crush on her. He had no doubt thought he was subtle, but it had long been obvious. But Cass had always kept herself apart from the others. She was their leader, and though she lacked any kind of training, much of it seemed to come naturally to her, not the least of which was the realization that the commander was alone. Always.

  She’d scrupulously avoided even the hint of romantic involvement with any of her people…and if she’d ever chosen to relax this policy, it wouldn’t have been with Samis.

  It wouldn’t have been with any of them. I love them all, I would give my life to save them…but they are all boys.

  Cass had felt the crushing burden of command for too long, the guilt at every death, at each plan that failed. Her thoughts were filled with tactics, strategies…and responsibility weighed on her every sleepless hour. It had aged her, scraped away the last vestiges of the cheerful young girl she had once been. She was a warrior now, grim and deadly. Like Blackhawk.

  Blackhawk. Another source of her sadness now. He had gone—as she’d always known he would—but though his departure was far from unexpected, now that he was gone she felt the loss acutely. He’d become her lover, and she’d found a brief escape in his arms, in the deep stillness of the desert night. But there was more there too. He was like no one she’d ever met. She didn’t know much about him really, but she had sensed enough. He carried his own burdens, scars from a savage past…and she had connected with that part of him. She’d imagined a future she knew could never be, one where they helped to heal each other’s wounds. But that was just a dream. Neither of them had reached the end of their own struggles, and she wasn’t sure they ever would.

  And some wounds are simply too deep to ever heal…

  She took a breath, her thoughts drifting to events to the west, to the armies her scouts had reported were now on the march. She wondered if Blackhawk was there, with Lucerne’s army. Had he confirmed that Lucerne had not betrayed him? Or had he taken his vengeance, killed the general?

  Or perhaps he had failed. For all she knew, Blackhawk could already be dead. But she didn’t believe it. She knew it was nonsense, but somehow she was sure she would know.

  He is still alive…

  “Cass…” It was Jarvis Danith.

  “Jarvis,” she said, sounding groggy though she hadn’t gotten a moment’s sleep.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but the night scouts have returned…and they brought someone back with them. They found him near the old headquarters. It’s a miracle Ghana’s men didn’t get him first.”

  “Who is it?” She reached down, grabbing her jacket and putting it over her shoulders. She’d never gotten used to the temperature swings in the desert, how cold it could get even after a blisteringly hot day.

  “He says his name is Gaj Tryll…that Khal Thorn sent him.”

  She straightened up, paying close attention now. Khal Thorn was her best contact in the river cities…and his information had always been accurate.

  “What does he have to say?”

  “He won’t tell us, Cass. He says his instructions are to speak only to you directly.”

  She felt a sense of concern, a passing worry that this was some kind of trap. But Thorn had never given her cause to doubt him…and she had always paid him his due and then some.

  “Bring him in, Jarvis. I will speak to him.”

  “Alone?” Now it was Jarvis’ turned to worry.

  Cass reached down under the pile of blankets that made up her bed, pulling out a small pistol. She checked it quickly, and shoved it under her robe.

  “Yes, Jarvis. I will see him alone. Now.”

  * * *

  “Major, may I have a moment?”

  Barkus stopped. The phrasing was polite, but the tone was…unsettling.

  He turned, looking into the darkness. He could see one face, familiar. But there were others too, hovering back, just out of view.

  “What can I do for you, Largon?” Largon Kieves was another of Ghana’s longtime officers, a major like Barkus.

  “You can help me help the general, Jinn. Help the army.”

  Barkus felt his stomach knot. He’d known Colonel Eleher had been spreading coin around, but he hadn’t realized the Carterian had managed to suborn officers as close to Ghana as Kieves.

  “And how would I do that, Largon?” Barkus tensed, and the thought crossed his mind to resist, to strike first. But he let it pass. There were at least three others in the shadows, and probably more. He might take down Kieves, but the others would finish him.

  “The general is fatigued, Jinn. He is making poor decisions. We must save him from himself.” A pause. “Give me the data chip. And remain here…there is nothing to be gained by going to Lucerne’s headquarters.”

  “Nothing? What about peace? A negotiated end to this ruinous war?”

  “We will have an end to the war tomorrow regardless. Without yielding to Lucerne.”

  “So we yield instead to Carteria?” Jinn cursed himself the moment the words slipped out of his mouth. He didn’t suspect it would change things at all, and it was a foolish outburst.

  “The Marshal has been enormously helpful, Jinn. Without his aid, we would be facing defeat even now.”

  “And how much silver did he give you, Largon? What was the price of your betrayal?”

  “You always were difficult, Jinn. An idealist, a man incapable of reacting to change. You would follow your master to destruction…and do nothing to prevent doom. You and I are different. I understand that change is sometimes necessary.”

  “You and I are different indeed, Largon. I am a soldier, and loyalty is my creed. You are a blackhearted traitor, a man with no honor.”

  “This doesn’t need to go this way, Jinn.”

  Barkus took a deep breath. He’d served with Ghana since the day after his seventeenth birthday. That service was all he knew. He had lived by it. And he was prepared to die by it.

  “Yes it does, Largon.” His hand dropped to his side, fingers gripping his pistol. His eyes focused on Kieves, and he saw fear there. The other officer realized what was happening, and he reacted. But too late.

  Barkus’ pistol whipped upward, firing once…twice. Kieves fell back as the projectiles slammed into his chest.

  Barkus spun around, firing into the darkness, targeting the shadowy figures the best he could. He hit one, perhaps two…he was sure of that. But then he felt the impact, the first shot slamming into his shoulder, his body twisting hard. Then the pain.

  He stumbled, and his arm went weak, the pistol dropping to the ground. But he managed to stay on his feet…for another second or two. Then continued fire, the sounds of weapons discharging…and more impacts. A shot to his leg…then falling to his knees. Then another shot…in the neck. Gasping for air, blood filling his throat, pouring from his mouth.

  His vision was blurry. There were sounds, but it was a confused jumble, nothing intelligible. Then more pain. He’d been hit again. He couldn’t tell where, but then he felt himself falling, the impact, hitting the ground. Hard. Painful.

  His thoughts were floating around, images of his assailants…mixed with faces from long ago, family, old comrades. He was lost, slipping away…falling into the darkness.

&
nbsp; Chapter Twenty-Two

  General Lucerne’s Field HQ

  “The Badlands”

  Northern Celtiboria

  Lucerne let his body fall forward, seeking the cover of the table in front of him. He had to buy time. The guard outside…it was his only hope. He knew the sentry would respond to the shot, that he would burst into the room any second. But he had to survive, at least until then.

  He dropped hard, hearing another shot whiz by, just over his head. He was down on all fours now, in tenuous cover, denying Pellier a clear line of fire for the killing shot. The assassin would have to move, to get around the desk…and that would take time.

  Then the door burst open, and the guard came running in, his assault rifle leveled. But Pellier was no fool…he knew as well as Lucerne the soldier would come. He had moved quickly, toward the wall, around the corner from the small hallway leading in from the door. The guard saw that Lucerne was down and ran to him, reacting too late to the general’s warnings. Pellier’s gun cracked again. Twice. Two shots to the back. The guard dropped, hard. Lucerne felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. He knew in an instant the man was dead. But there was no time now to mourn one of his own. He was fighting for his life.

  Pellier lunged across the room toward Lucerne, his pistol out in front of him. There were alarm bells in the distance…the guard had given the alert before he’d rushed in.

  He’s not firing.

  Then: No, of course not. He needs me alive to get out of here now. A hostage.

  He gritted his teeth, his determination, his anger coalescing into a single thought.

  That’s never going to happen…

  He would die here if need be, but he would never let a traitor like Pellier take him prisoner. Never.

  Lucerne knew he could use Pellier’s need to take him captive. It was a tactical edge, the only one he had. He twisted, shielding his wounded side from the onslaught. He reached out, striking…a hard punch, just as Pellier reached him. He could feel the impact; he knew he’d hurt his adversary. But Pellier stood firm, absorbing the painful blow, striking back…then turning around behind him, shoving the pistol hard into Lucerne’s back.

  “Don’t move, General.” Lucerne stood frozen, his mind racing for a move that could extricate him before Pellier could pull the trigger. But there was nothing. “And you too, DeMark…stay where you are or the general dies. And drop the weapon.”

  Major DeMark had been rushing through the door, pistol in hand. His eyes locked on Lucerne’s, and then on Pellier standing behind him. He paused, not moving at all, but he didn’t drop the pistol.

  “Now, DeMark,” Pellier said, shoving his gun into the small of Lucerne’s back. “Drop that weapon or the general dies.”

  Lucerne shook his head. “No, Rafe, don’t…he can’t ki…oooph…”

  Pellier’s hand had come down hard on Lucerne’s wounded shoulder.

  DeMark stood still, watching. Lucerne shook his head again, and Pellier punched the injured spot, harder this time. Lucerne almost crumpled to the ground, but Pellier’s free arm slipped under his shoulder, holding him up. His other hand held the pistol, pressed right against Lucerne’s back. “Drop it. Now. Or I’ll blow off one bit of him at a time.”

  DeMark hesitated for another few seconds, unmoving. Finally, he let the gun slip out of his hand and drop to the floor.

  “Over, against the wall.”

  DeMark hesitated again. “Pellier, you’re never going to get out of here…you know that. Why don’t you make it easy on yourself? You know the general is a fair ma…”

  “Shut up and do what I say. Now…against the wall.” Pellier’s voice was ragged, tense. He was afraid, and it showed.

  DeMark moved slowly, his eyes darting around, taking stock of the situation each minute. Stopping again. “Pell…”

  “Now!” Pellier roared. “Or the general loses a leg in two seconds…”

  DeMark moved to the side. “Come on, Aton,” he said, keeping his voice soft, even. You’re trapped, and you know it. There is no escape. Let the general go, and we’ll let you leave. You can go to Ghana’s camp…wherever you want. But this is a dead end you’re on now.”

  “You think I believe that, Rafaelus? That you would just let me leave? After this?”

  “I wouldn’t,” the officer responded. “I want to see you on the ground bleeding to death, you stinking traitor.” His voice was hard-edged, angry. “But the general is more merciful than I am.”

  “I will let you go, Aton.” Lucerne’s voice was ragged…he was in a lot of pain. But there was sincerity there too. “Just put the gun down. I’ll give you a transport, you can take your things and go. Join Ghana…or head to the river cities. Go wherever you want.”

  Pellier hesitated, his grip loosening slightly. Lucerne was waiting for the right moment. His move would be hampered by his wounds. And any miscalculation probably meant death. Then he saw a flash of motion behind DeMark, at the doorway. A dark shadowy figure, rushing into the room.

  Lucerne saw the movement…another guard he assumed. He prepared himself. His guards were good, but Pellier was behind him, mostly hidden by his body. He would only need an instant to pull the trigger. His man would be hesitant to fire, to risk hitting him. And even an instant’s delay could be fatal.

  Then there was a loud crack, a single shot that took him by surprise. He tensed, twisting hard, moving away from Pellier. Then he felt something on the side of his face…warm, wet. Pellier fell away from him, dropping to the ground.

  He turned, amazed, staring down at the body of his captor, his hand moving to his face, pulling away, streaked with red wetness. Blood. Pellier’s blood. The officer lay on the ground, a red pool expanding around his head. What was left of his head.

  Lucerne snapped back around, looking at DeMark…and the man standing behind him, just inside the room, his arm still extended, holding a pistol.

  Blackhawk.

  His new ally was still alive. And he had saved his life.

  * * *

  Ghana sat at the makeshift desk, staring off into the semi-darkness of the tent. It was the eve of battle, late into the deep night. At dawn, just a few hours away, his soldiers would engage Lucerne’s army. He had no doubt his forces would fight well, but he was equally certain they would be pushed back. He’d used the truce to rearm and reorganize his army, but he hadn’t secured the coin he needed to hire more mercs…and his army unaided had already been thrice defeated by Lucerne’s veterans.

  Perhaps defeat would be a blessing, an end to this war. Lucerne is not a savage…there are worse men to have in control of your fate…

  But there would be no defeat, Ghana was confident of that. Carteria’s troops were half a day’s march back, and as soon as Lucerne’s forces were fully engaged, they would hit the enemy flank. Ghana had learned to respect Lucerne’s troops, and he wagered man for man they were more than a match for the Carterians…save for their equipment. Lucerne’s army was outfitted like Ghana’s…but the far wealthier Carteria had provided his soldiers with advanced weapons, systems Ghana, Lucerne, and the rest of their Northern Continent brethren could only dream about. He’d even heard rumors the Carterians had some imperial tech, weapons of a power that far exceeded anything of Celtiborian manufacture.

  When twenty-five thousand superbly armed Carterians slammed into their flank, even General Augustin Lucerne and his proud veterans would be defeated.

  Victory. So long sought. Yet not mine.

  He’d wrestled with his expectations. What would Carteria do once Lucerne was gone? He’d tried to believe his ally would continue to back him, but Bako Ghana was no one’s fool. In his heart he knew he would be the next to go. His mind bounced around, wondering which of his people Carteria had already bribed, who had been promised his place.

  He’d hoped his desperate gamble, his outreach to Lucerne would extricate him from the mess he’d created for himself. But there had been no word. None at all. Could Barkus have been turned…
had Carteria’s coin gotten to his aide?

  No. Not Jinn Barkus. He’s been with me practically since he was a boy…

  He wanted to believe…but he wasn’t sure. Everything was falling apart around him, and he didn’t know who he could trust. His rational mind said Barkus was solid…but he was beginning to doubt everything, even his own judgment. Still, one thing was clear to him. The Marshal would wait until the battle was over…he wouldn’t risk unsettling the army before the final fight. But then Carteria would have Ghana killed, either by an assassin…or at the hands of one of his own men. That would be the ultimate defeat, to be gunned down by one of his own officers.

  He didn’t know what to do. Not unless Barkus returned. Had Lucerne taken his messenger prisoner? Was Barkus waiting in Lucerne’s camp for an answer? Had some patrol or sentry captured him…or worse? He just didn’t know. But there was nothing he could do. Nothing but wait. And hope Barkus returned before battle was joined. Once blood was spilled it would be far more difficult to make the peace.

  Jinn…where are you?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Ataphor Basin

  “The Badlands”

  Northern Celtiboria

  The “Battle of Ataphor” – First Phase

  The dawn was clear, cold. All across the field, the sun’s first rays were touching the ground, bringing light, and the first warmth to drive away the night’s chill. It had rained the evening before, a rare bit of precipitation this time of year in the deep desert, and the sand was dark, wet. There were puddles in a few low lying areas, small stretches of open water that would not long survive the day’s coming heat.