Though he would have preferred to be on the front line of battle, Muert's followers had insisted that he be moved to the rear for safety. "A leader is only good to his army when he's alive," they told him. He'd never asked to be any kind of a leader; that had been Keilan's doing. Still, her purpose had been noble, and she had a way of convincing him that her ways were best. How this was best, he couldn't see, but usually when Keilan dug her heels regarding a subject, she wound up being justified in the end. Hopefully, this would be one of those times.
As he launched another arc of electrical energy over the crowd and brought it down upon Truce's supporters, one of his closest friends appeared at his side. Leuwin, an average-sized man with a scruffy beard of brown and a nose that looked as though it had been intentionally put on sideways, wiped sweat from his brow and needlessly brushed off his pants before addressing Muert. The combination of screams and cries and blasts and explosions forced him to nearly shout into the big man's ear. "Boss! We're doing well so far! Early assessments estimate that they've lost nearly double the men that we have. Karoth said that one of Truce's men actually tried to surrender to him before he died!"
"Died?" Muert repeated, looking back at Leuwin in shock. "No, Leuwin. Any who wish to surrender must be allowed to live! Murdering the defenseless is Truce's game, not mine. Do you understand?"
Leuwin looked momentarily shocked before he nodded in agreement. "Yes, Sir!"
"Spread the word!" Muert ordered, firing a series of smaller fireballs into the air. "Tell everyone up front that we will hear the plight of any who wish to walk away from Truce!"
"Right away, Boss!" With another nod, Leuwin disappeared into the crowd. The man had been close friends with Muert since before they'd landed on Terranias, a talented tactician and able to hold down more mugs of ale than Muert could even bring himself to look at. He was someone Muert had known he could count on from the beginning of the whole ordeal, and yet another reason he hoped the entire thing could somehow be brought to a peaceful conclusion.
"Sir!" another voice called. Muert glanced to the left to see Jarvaad weaving through the throngs toward him. A solid man in his late forties, Jarvaad had a black mustache that always managed to draw a person's stare. Thick as a cat's tail and reaching nearly the entire span of his face, it was a common target of his young son's hands. "Sir," he said again as he reached Muert, "there are rumors amongst the men that you have gathered an arsenal of weaponry. Is this true?"
It was partially true, though he hadn't done it alone. During the journey to Terranias, Muert and Vultrel had managed to collect a large number of Vezulian uniforms and laser pistols, along with an assortment of knives and swords. It wasn't nearly enough to arm every one of his followers, but some help along the front lines would be better than none. "It is," Muert answered, "but I don't know if I can get to them. They're on deck twenty, hidden inside the storage closet of an abandoned office. If I had known this whole thing was going to explode today, I would've made arrangements to have them available."
"If we can get you to the lift, do you think you and a group of men could retrieve them? We need all the help we can get."
"Maybe," Muert answered, "but I can't leave you all down here alone."
"We are soldiers fighting for what we believe in," Jarvaad told him, smoothing the long ends of his mustache. "Though you lit the fires inside us, they now burn without your tending. We can hold our own just fine."
Silently, Muert begged for a way out of the cargo hold. It wasn't that he wanted to get away from the battle—leaving his people behind wasn't exactly something he would be proud of—but he wanted to find Keilan and Sienna to ensure that they were alive and well. And even if he sent a group to retrieve the weapons without him, they would not be able to carry much without his large arms and strong back to shoulder some of the weight. "Get a team together, then. Inform me when you are ready."
"Yes, Sir!" Jarvaad saluted with a smile. He vanished into the crowd nearly as quickly as Leuwin had.
Screams pierced the air with every blast, and fires raged in several areas where crates and blankets had been set ablaze by errant streaks of flame and smoldering debris. The opposing sides had begun to merge as the fighting intensified, blending together where the front lines of each faction pushed forward. The soaring balls of fire and arcs of electricity began to diminish as more soldiers were drawn into the hand-to-hand struggle. The cargo hold was filled with grunts and shouts, cries and curses, blood and sweat. For every man that Truce's allies lost, they took one of Muert's. Soldiers were falling, Kyrosen were dying, and neither side seemed to be making any progress.
To the left, Jarvaad appeared again, his eyes meeting with Muert's just long enough for the two to exchange nods. The man stroked his mustache with a smile before turning toward the lift and screaming something Muert couldn't make out. Several of the men and women involved in skirmishes near the door dropped to the floor, and Jarvaad made a long sweeping motion with his hand, launching a wide wave of pure energy toward the standing troops. One by one they were sent skidding across the floor, momentarily clearing the path in front of the lift. Jarvaad's eyes turned expectantly toward Muert.
With one last look over the crowd, the burly Kyrosen started plowing his way toward the lift. Shouts floated in his direction as enemy soldiers spotted him, but he refused to take his eyes away from the lift. Jarvaad and his group of men stood in a half-circle formation in front of the doors, blasting away at Truce's followers so that the path would remain clear for Muert. A brilliant yellow aura to the right attracted Muert's eyes, and his heart nearly stopped as a giant stream of energy that almost resembled molten rock burst from the hands of a Kyrosen who sat atop one of his comrade's shoulders. Before Muert could react, Jarvaad launched himself into the air, arms and legs spread far apart so that his body might take the brunt of the blast. Instinct clashed with duty as Muert screamed out, arms reaching for Jarvaad while his feet propelled him toward the now-open lift doors. His fingers barely grazed the back of his comrade's vest before the churning energy engulfed Jarvaad with a thunderous roar. Muert screamed and leapt for the lift as the man's body was thrown into the wall like a child's doll.
When he opened his eyes, Muert was lying beside the lift, and the group of soldiers standing guard had expanded to surround him. Next to him, a burned and bloody Jarvaad looked up at him with wide eyes. "Go, Boss," he whispered. His entire body was little more than a smoldering and charred corpse, but he still had a few moments of life left. He visibly struggled to speak, watery eyes wincing with every word. "Free us from his reign. Allow us to be who . . . we really are, not the mindless killers . . . he's made us into." With an exhausted groan, he slumped back against the wall, eyes eternally staring into nothingness.
"Boss," a woman called from the wall of Kyrosen protecting him. "We'd better get moving."
"Right," Muert reluctantly agreed. He took one last look at Jarvaad before rising. "Your death will not be in vein, my friend."
Including himself, seven people piled into the lift. Muert pressed the button for the twentieth deck, and the doors quickly slid closed. The ride was silent as each member mourned not only for Jarvaad's passing, but for the many others who had given their lives thus far. Muert had hoped and prayed that such casualties could be minimized, but that had already proven to be wishful thinking. The only thing that would curb the bloodshed would be a swift solution, and such an answer didn't seem to be on the horizon.
The sight that greeted them when the lift doors opened on level twenty didn't help to lift their spirits. A group of as least twenty-five of Truce's Kyrosen, each armed with rifles and those in front surrounded by magical shields of electrical energy, blocked the corridor less than ten paces away. The foremost man, an old childhood enemy of Muert's named Axian, motioned them forward. "Nice to see you, Muert," the muscle-bound man said with an awkwardly pleasant smile. Dangling black hair ran to his shoulders, and his vest strained to fit over his burly physique. A long scar ran
from his right ear to his mouth, and another lined his left forearm. "Word has it that you're the one who started this mess. You and that little rodent of a wife."
Muert's hands balled into fists, but that only caused Axian's companions to focus their rifles on him alone. "What are your intentions?" he asked, getting right to the point. The seven of them slowly exited the lift and lined up beside one another across the width of the hallway. "What will you do with us?"
Axian flipped his hair away from his face arrogantly; the man had always been overly proud of his looks. "As the leader of the insurrection, I'm sure Truce will want you kept alive for questioning. He's on his way down here as we speak, and I can assure you, he is most displeased."
"I'll no longer submit to his selfish will," Muert said through tight lips. "I'd sooner die."
"Then it will be arranged," Axian responded. Excitement coated his voice. "After the Boss interrogates you, that is."
Muert's fingers twitched as he forced himself to remain calm. Every urge within told him to blast his way through the man, but submission to anger was a trait of Truce's, not Muert's. The Kyrosen on either side of him seemed anxious as well, some openly sneering while others continuously glanced at Muert for instructions. He shook his head slightly in hopes they'd recognize it as a signal to stay quiet and calm. The right opportunity would present itself as long as they were patient.
Axian's soldiers bound Muert's arms behind his back and shackled his ankles, then proceeded to the same to the rest of the group. They were led down a series of corridors before arriving at what looked like a conference room of some sort, where they were thoroughly searched before being shoved inside. Two long brown tables had been pushed together in the center of the otherwise plain room, and seats with blue cushions surrounded them. Muert was ordered to sit at the head of the table, while the others were simply told to sit wherever. Once everyone was inside, the door was closed and locked. Each prisoner was guarded by two or three soldiers with the exception of Muert, whom Axian watched personally.
"You think you're some kind of hero, don't you?" the cocky Kyrosen asked, sitting casually on the table beside him. "Trying to liberate people from an oppression that doesn't exist?"
"You know as well as I that Truce went too far with the human boys," Muert answered quietly. "What happens when there are no foreign races to experiment on? Who will be his test subjects? Will it be us? Our children?"
"I'd gladly give my life to Truce if it meant that the Kyrosen race might live on," Axian sneered. "Some of us take pride in who we are."
"And some of us see need for a change," Muert told him. "Plenty of races out there live by peaceful means. There's no reason why we cannot do the same."
Axian leaned beside Muert's ear and nearly hissed. "Peaceful means are for the weak. They try to avoid confrontation because they know they aren't strong enough to prevail. But we have always prevailed. We are strong, and we use that strength to our advantage! There is nothing wrong with that!"
Now Muert met his stare, eyebrows raised in surprise. "We've always prevailed? Then tell me, why is it that we were stranded on Terranias for so long? Why have our numbers dwindled as they have? Why is it that there are no races or factions out there who are willing to help us? It is because the Kyrosen have become heartless murderers, dishonest thieves, and merciless destroyers."
Axian straightened and turned away with a laugh. "You say those things as though they are a dishonor to our race! We are who we are because we have no other choice. It is how we survive. It is all we know. You have taken part in it yourself, so don't act so innocent, Muert. We are who we are, and you are the same."
"I was like you at one time," Muert admitted. "I'll not argue that. But I have made the choice to change my ways, to alter my path, and to lead my family toward a brighter future. The dangers presented to my daughter by her own people are astounding and terrifying. I cannot continue to expose her to this reckless and violent environment. I can't watch our people continue to drag the name of the Kyrosen through the mud. It is time for something better. Something more noble."
Abruptly, Axian brought his rifle around, hitting Muert across the face with the butt of the weapon. "It is you who drags our name through the mud, traitor. The beautiful sunshine lifestyle that you seek does not exist for us. We have been shunned by the universe for generations, and that is what forces us to do what we do. If Truce weren't about to order your execution for treason, I'd almost encourage you to go out there and try to make it on your own. You are nothing without us, Muert! Truce will show you what it means to be a true Kyrosen, this I promise to you."
"I'd rather die as a man than live as the monster that Truce would have me be," Muert responded calmly. Looking over the rest of the friendly faces around the table, he added, "We all would." They nodded in unison.
"That is one wish," Axian began, his smile returning, "that I can assure you will be granted." He backed toward the door as he spoke, pointing a threatening finger at Muert. "When I return, it will be with the true boss of the Kyrosen at my side. Be careful what you wish for, traitor! You might just get—"
In a flash, the door slid open behind him, and a shining blade burst through his chest. His rifle fell to the floor as he gurgled in wide-eyed agony, then he, too, dropped. The hall behind him was empty, but Muert recognized the sword lodged in Axian's back. It was one of several that he'd put in the storage closet for safekeeping. Some of Axian's soldiers began filing into the hallway and looking back and forth before heading off in one direction or the other in search of the killer. Before long, there was only one man guarding each prisoner, and Muert knew it was up to him to make the first move.
He stood with a roar, charging his fists with powerful energy so that the steel bindings around his wrists were blown apart. The act put him in the targeting scopes of the remaining guards, but the rest of his allies made certain that not a single shot was fired. They jumped from their chairs and loosed their own magical blasts, some of fire, some of energy, shattering their shackles in a sequence of flashes that seemed to disorient the enemy soldiers. The split-second of confusion during which Axian's men seemed torn about who to shoot first gave Muert's team the opportunity to go on the offensive, and they took full advantage of it. A few carefully directed gusts of wind threw the enemies into the walls, and a couple of stiff punches sent them to the floor. Muert instructed each of his soldiers to grab a rifle before he crouched beside the open door. The others followed his lead, gathering beside him with their newly-acquired weapons raised.
The face that finally came through the door was not the one Muert had expected, and he quickly raised his hand to signal the others not to fire. "Keilan!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "I was so worried. Are you hurt? Where is Sienna?"
She carried a Vezulian rifle in each hand, and her face and hair were dusted with soot as though she'd gotten too close to an explosion somewhere along the way. "I am fine, my love," she said. The rifles clacked together behind him as she wrapped her arms around his middle. "Fortunately, I managed to get a few things from the stash before Truce's supporters found it."
Her words immediately slipped to the back of his mind as he repeated his second question. "Where is Sienna?"
Keilan glanced nervously through the doorway before whispering softly into his ear. "I cannot say for fear it may be overheard by the wrong person. But I promise you that she is safe, and I doubt she'll see any more of this bloodshed."
Not knowing where she was put a cloud over his head that wouldn't be escaped until he had her in his arms. Still, Keilan's point was to be considered. Whatever kept Sienna safe was best. "I thought I told you to find safety as well."
Keilan smiled at him as though he were the biggest fool in the universe. "I am Kyrosen, am I not? The other women are fighting alongside their men, and I intend to do the same. Besides, I knew that Truce's soldiers would start searching every room for Vezulian soldiers and weapons once they took control of the various decks. I wanted
to try and salvage something from the stash before they discovered it."
Now, her statement registered. "They found it?" he repeated in dismay. "We came up to retrieve what we could. Is it all gone?"
"All except what I've got on me," she responded, pointing toward the two daggers latched to the front of belt and the pistol and sword tucked behind the back. "When I saw them lead you in here, I made sure to grab an extra one of these from the guards outside." She handed him one of the rifles and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. "The others will be back soon, I fear. We must move quickly."
Without the weapons that Muert and Vultrel had gathered, there was little point in being so far away from the battle. The only thing to do was to take the weapons they'd recovered from Axian's men and return to the cargo hold. Poor Jarvaad died for nothing, it seemed. Muert sighed heavily and glanced into the hall. There were a few fallen bodies—Keilan's work—but it was otherwise clear. "I have failed our people," he said, motioning for his group to follow.
"You've failed no one," Keilan told him. "In life, there are victories and defeats. Things happen that no one can predict, and all you can do is adapt and learn from the experiences."
"How do I explain that to the others who follow us?" Muert asked, hugging the wall of the corridor as they crept toward the lift. "They are expecting me to return with an advantage that will push us toward victory."
Keilan grabbed his arm and stopped, turning him halfway toward her. "So give them something better." That devious smile that he'd come to fear crossed her face as she gazed up at him. "Give them Truce's head on a platter."
Eye of the Tornado Page 16
