Rebel Prince
Page 28
The sizzle of that unseen barrier had knocked him flat. He’d used his disrupter on it, set on low for fear of rebound. It had failed to break down the barrier, but the invisible force had scattered the weapon’s energy along the curve, illuminating a sort of bubble over the entire place. That had inspired the idea of using the laser pistol to carve a hole. It had worked, although the hole closed back up quickly, so quickly that it had singed his hair and his left hand as he dashed through. He had wondered for a brief moment how his quarry had gotten through, but didn’t let it stop him. He had been so close he couldn’t bear to wait any longer.
And now, he had his prize. The key to everything was in his possession.
He should just kill the woman, he thought. She was a nuisance. Even though she had settled into silence at last, something about her mere presence irritated him. He glanced at her, although he kept his disrupter trained on the boy prince. It niggled at him again, that feeling he’d missed something.
He suddenly realized they were almost to that blasted barrier. “Stop!”
The two obeyed. At least they realized who was in charge, Mordred thought.
“Enough of this. Where is it?”
“It’s right over there,” the prince said, gesturing rather vaguely toward the trees.
Mordred eyed him suspiciously. “How did you get past the barrier?”
“Same way you did.”
Fury spiked in him. Did this Triotian take him for a fool? “You dare lie to me? You have no laser pistol.”
The prince met his gaze. Odd, he’d thought Triotians all had green eyes, but this one’s were blue. A legacy from his mixed parentage, he supposed.
At last, it struck him. The niggling became a full-blown explosion in his mind. He whirled to look at the woman. The structure of her face, her impudent grin, her arrogance . . . her eyes.
Eyes the color of jade. Eyes he had seen before.
The eyes of the man who had orchestrated their defeat, their ouster from this wretched planet.
Dax.
“You’re his,” he breathed in shock. “You’re the spawn of that devil with the flashbow!”
She met his gaze with an infuriating ease, not a trace of fear or even trepidation in her face. It was so clear now, he cursed himself for not having realized before who she was. He had faced her father in the last battle for Galatin. The damned man had blasted Corling’s own ship out of the sky with that rattletrap converted cargo ship of his. He and the general had fortunately been on the ground at the time. He had never seen Corling so enraged, and he had thought ever after that that had caused his downfall. The rebellion on Arellia had been Corling’s last chance at redemption, and his fury at the loss of his ship to a former skypirate had clouded his judgment.
Mordred had spotted Dax later, on the ground, and had nearly taken the man out himself. Would have, had Corling not insisted they continue the siege of the Council Building. A fruitless effort, Mordred could have told him. Whoever was inside, coordinating the defenses, was clearly a pure fighter. A tactician of no small talent. And fearless. Only later had he learned the man was one Captain Tarkson, a young Arellian, amazingly. And clearly a much better warrior than Corling himself.
That had been his real mistake. He should have relieved Corling of his command. The troops would have followed him, he was sure of it.
“Reminiscing?” the woman asked, her tone so sweet as to be sickly.
He gave a sharp shake of his head. He had no time to give to shock. And it was dawning upon him that his triumph had just been magnified. Bringing the Sovereign the Prince of Trios was one thing, but add the daughter of the man who had driven them from their stronghold on Arellia? He would sit at the leader’s right hand, become his closest confidant, with more stature than he had ever dared hope!
“My father drove you off this planet once, don’t think he won’t do it again.”
The woman’s snide tone sliced through his pleasant vision like a laser pistol through cinefilm. He snarled a vicious curse at her.
“Or maybe,” she said easily, as if merely discussing the weather, “I shall do it for him.”
His fury broke loose. He raised the disrupter to her. His finger tightened on the trigger.
Something hit him. Hard, fierce, square in the back. He staggered. Went down. The prince, on top of him. How had he worked up the nerve?
He twisted, trying to raise the disrupter. His foe pressed him back with shocking power, so hard he could barely breathe. Where had such strength come from? He fired his weapon, even knowing it would go wild, hoping the shock of a disrupter fired so close would terrify this princeling. And yet he never lessened his grip, never even flinched as the weapon went off bare inches from his head. The blast hit the screen, sizzling along the curve, lighting it up.
The prince struck him in the face. His ears rang. He was as much stunned by the power of it as by the actual effects of the blow. And another blow, even stronger. He clawed back, flailing, uncertain if he was doing any damage. For the first time he thought he might have underestimated things. He might have to settle for bringing in the man’s body. Again he tried to maneuver the disrupter.
Something hit him in the gut, hard. The woman. She had kicked him. Fury raged through him. Why couldn’t he simply shake off this vermin? He struck out with one hand, hoping to draw his prey into releasing his weapon hand. The man didn’t even wince. He absorbed the blow as if it were no more than a tap.
This was impossible. Next to himself, Mordred, this princeling was nothing, a foolish relic of a more foolish tradition. These rebels had merely been lucky, and aided by the assignment of fools like Corling to crush them. And yet this one had him down. Rolling in the dirt like a common foot soldier.
The woman, the spawn of that piece of galactic trash, kicked him again, a fierce, solid blow to the belly.
Rage swept him. Enabled him to land a sold blow this time. And a second. And he took great pleasure in the blood that now flowed from his adversary’s lip and nose. It had been a long time since he’d fought on such personal terms. He preferred the distance and scale of large bombs and torpedoes. But there was a certain satisfaction in this. Especially now that he had freed the hand that held his weapon.
And then the woman struck again. She kicked the disrupter out of his hand with even more force. The weapon went flying. It hit that invisible barrier, sizzled and popped. It fell back, blackened and useless.
In the moment when he himself would have gone in for the kill, the prince released him. He grabbed the woman, and pushed her through the barrier, despite her protest. The surprise of seeing her go through it without even a spark immobilized Mordred for an instant. And in that instant the prince followed, just as unscathed.
Mordred scrambled to his feet, bellowing his wrath. He ran at the barrier. Screamed as it seared him. He drew back, reaching for the laser pistol at his waist, ready to cut a hole in that infernal screen. In that instant an arm shot back through the barrier, yanked the weapon clear of his belt, then pushed hard against his chest.
He fell back. Stumbled. Realized what had happened. That he was unarmed and trapped.
On his knees, he howled. It seemed to echo back at him from the barrier, and his own rage filled his ears.
“THAT WAS MORDRED, and you left him alive.”
Lyon looked at her, and his voice held that same deceptive calm it had in the cave. He seemed oblivious to the blood trickling from his nose and lip, and she used her own sleeve to mop at it.
“Did I?” he asked mildly.
She stopped. Her gaze narrowed. “Didn’t you?”
In answer, he merely held up one hand.
She stared at what he held. The laser pistol Mordred had threatened them with.
“That’s what you reached back to grab?”
He nodded.
He nodded again. And the true brilliance of what Lyon had done struck her.
“Did you know he couldn’t get back out either, without it?”
“I wasn’t sure until the disrupter hit it and bounced back.”
“And that quickly you decided on this course?”
He shrugged. “He will singe himself to pieces, bit by bit, trying. He will die slowly, painfully. And a short distance from the treasure he sought, without ever knowing. A more fitting end than a clean death for such as he, is it not?”
She flung her arms around him. She was prouder of him in this moment than she had ever been. He held her, grinning. She looked up at him. Opened her mouth to speak the words she hadn’t gotten to finish when Mordred had interrupted them.
An explosion echoed up the mountain. For the second time in this day, the ground shook beneath them.
They both turned. A pillar of smoke arose from below.
Another explosion. More smoke. And then more of each.
Galatin. Under attack.
Neither hesitated. They ran toward the battle.
Chapter 39
“YOU HAVE TO go back.”
It nearly ripped her heart out to say the words. Rina wanted nothing more than for him to stay with her, to stay safe, away from the chaos that had erupted below. They could not see from here; their view was blocked by trees and the rock of the mountain itself, but she knew the sounds too well. Soon clouds of smoke would rise, and likely already citizens had fallen. Galatin was, once more, under attack.
Tark had given, given, and then given more to this world, near unto his life, and they despised him for it. To ask him to give again, when he was battered and scorned, was beyond the pale.
And yet she knew she must. She had spent enough time now around the palace, had been on the edges of discussions of the council, and most of all had heard the king and queen’s impassioned discussions with Dax and Califa, and she knew that Trios would fight, just as they had when Arellia had first followed them in rebellion against the yoke of tyranny.
And if her world fought, she must fight. And since she could not, not until she completed her true mission, she must do the only thing she could. Galatin must hold until assistance arrived. Tark was their best, perhaps only hope. She must release Arellia’s finest warrior to do what he had to. No matter that it left her bleeding inside.
“They will hold,” he said, then amended it. “For a while. We must find the prince. And Dax’s daughter.”
“I will find them.” Rina’s mouth tightened as she looked up the mountain. They were close now—they had to be, they were near the summit. “As I should have done before now.”
The sound of explosions continued. She could feel the ripple of them under her feet.
“You were . . . distracted. For my part in that, I am sorry.”
Her head snapped around. “Don’t you dare say that. I am not sorry. I could never be sorry.”
“I was speaking,” he said with deceptive mildness, “of getting you involved with the watchers.”
“Oh.” Abashed, her temper ebbed. “You still must go. The attack has begun.”
“This is more important just now.” She nearly gaped at him. Had Tark, the warrior down to his soul, truly just said that? “Did you really think I could regret what has happened between us? It may be foolish, it may be the wrong choice for you, but Eos, Rina, it—and you—are the most extraordinary thing that has ever happened to me.”
“And that is unforgiveable. On Trios you will find things are much different.”
He drew back slightly. In reaction to her assumption that he would be going to Trios?
Or to her assumption he would still be alive to go anywhere?
“You listen to me, Bright Tarkson, I mean what I said. You come back. If you get yourself killed I will make your ghost miserable for eternity.”
He blinked. Then, unexpectedly, he grinned. “So if I die, you’re going to haunt me? Backward, is it not?”
She didn’t care how ridiculous it had sounded. It was a small price to pay for that grin.
Another explosion, the largest yet, echoed up the mountain. Regretfully, she knew they could no longer stand here and talk of what she most wanted to speak of. And as much as she wished he would not go, she knew he would, so it might as well be now, in the beginning, before the Coalition made it impossible for him to even get there to fight.
“You must go,” she repeated. “They need you.”
“And I,” he said slowly, “need you.”
From this man, it was a stunning admission. Both of his own feelings, and perhaps more importantly, his right to them. It was a small step, but it was a step, and for now it would have to do.
“I will stay alive, Rina. We have much to discuss, you and I.”
He grabbed her then. Pulled her hard against him, and kissed her. The heat that exploded between them obliterated, for a moment, even the sound of the attack.
And then he was gone. Since she had told him to go, feeling so bereft seemed silly, but there it was.
She took heart from the knowledge that the hero of Galatin would fight again, and the Coalition had a big surprise coming.
SHAINA THREW out a hand as she skidded to a stop, halting their headlong race down the mountain.
“There is someone approaching.”
Lyon came to a halt beside her. “Danger? Or someone fleeing the attack?”
“I don’t think so.” She didn’t clarify which, so he assumed the no was for both possibilities. She glanced at him. “Check your shiny rock.”
He grinned at her, suppressing a wince as the action tugged at his sore mouth and nose. He pulled the orb out of his pocket. It appeared as before—cool, with that odd sheen on the surface. No dull, bluish pulse. “It agrees.”
“But it might be wise to see them before they see us, even so,” she said.
He agreed, and they stepped off the path and back into the trees, where they could see but not be seen.
“Be nice to know what the real range is on that thing,” she observed as they crouched behind the low branches of a tall groundsweeper tree.
“When there is no screen involved? Yes.” He looked down the mountain. A spiral of smoke was visible even above the trees now. They had made rapid progress now that they were going downhill. “We may learn that soon.”
“If it reacted as it did to one man, it’s going to burn a hole in your pocket before we ever get to Galatin.”
“I may wish for an off switch, with enemies all around,” he agreed. “We should have a plan. Just wading in without one isn’t going to be much help.”
Their first instinct had been to hasten back to Galatin, and they had set off at a run. The first thing that occurred to him was to make their way to the Council Building, where the last great battle for Galatin had taken place, but once they got closer, circumstances might dictate differently.
“Let’s deal with whoever this is first,” she said. “Then we’ll figure out—”
She broke off suddenly as a figure darted quickly from the cover of one boulder to another, taking care even though the battle was far below.
“What in Hades?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” Lyon answered, his mind racing at this sudden, unexpected appearance. He looked at Shaina, whose brow was furrowed. She shifted her gaze down the path. It appeared empty, not a flicker of movement.
“Might as well let her know we’re here,” he said.
Shaina nodded. She lifted two fingers to her lips and let out the piercing whistle that, to his lifetime annoyance, he had never been able to match.
“You didn’t need to be so
loud, I’m right here.”
Shaina whirled, and Lyon’s head snapped around as a petite female with a short cap of Triotian blonde hair stepped out from behind the large rock barely fifteen feet away.
“You’ve lost none of your stealth, I see,” Lyon said with a wry grin.
Shaina, a little to his surprise, ran to her, enveloping the woman they’d thought of as both sister and aunt in a welcoming hug. He supposed it had something to do with the way she’d left things on Trios. He followed, giving Rina a hug of his own. She had ever been there for them, and was the bridge between them and his or Shaina’s parents, on those occasions when one was needed.
“Did he send you?” Shaina asked.
“Not exactly,” Rina answered. “He was coming after you himself, but I thought it might be less . . . volatile if I came instead. Your mother agreed. He surrendered.” Rina grinned. “She’s the only one who can consistently beat him at anything.”
Lyon was glad to see Shaina smiling widely despite it all. He took her hand and squeezed it in support. She looked at him, her gaze lingering for a moment, and that smile curved her lips, that soft, gentle smile that was so unlike the wild, reckless companion he had always known.
“Well, well,” Rina said, crossing her arms before her as she studied them both. “So it finally happened.”
Shaina sucked in a breath and lowered her eyes, and Lyon thought he saw a tinge of color in her cheeks. His cool, unflappable Shay, self-conscious?
“Is it so obvious?” he asked.
“To one who loves you both and knows you well? Yes.”
Shaina looked up then. “We have so much to tell you.”
“I’m sure. But—”
“There’s a battle on,” Lyon said. “And we need to get there.”
“Yes. So I suggest we get moving. I don’t know what the status is down there, so we’d better be on watch for Coalition scouts or patrols on the way.”
“We’ll have warning.”
Rina glanced at Shaina. “No, even more warning,” she said. “He’s got a fancy rock now.”