by Scott Moon
Part of Seccon’s soul died at the peddler’s words.
He hated secret weapons and the generations of misery that always followed. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Elof stepped back and tightened his mouth. “Then you are a fool. What kind of man would murder the Emperor without the power to usurp him?”
Seccon grabbed the peddler’s shirt and drove him against the parapet. “Is that what you think this is about? Do you believe I want to rule the Commonwealth?” He thrust the man down and stepped away. “If there was a weapon that would keep me alive, I would use it. I am only concerned for my survival and few locals to whom I have grown attached.”
Elof stood and arranged his clothing. After a moment, he removed a twisted gold medallion from his neck and placed it in a pouch.
“Can you help me with that much?” Seccon asked, glancing at the jewelry to see if it might match his own secret coin.
Elof nodded grimly. “Yes. I can take you into the First Base. Not even Jorgo will be able to reach you, but your simple friends will probably go half mad when they see the electric lights and flush toilets.”
“You will be rewarded.”
“A good merchant requires most of his payment up front.”
“A good merchant stays alive,” Seccon said. “I don’t like to make threats, but remember who you are talking to, Elof.”
The peddler looked like a wolf about to pounce, afraid of recent pain but not for long. “There is nothing your villagers have that can pay this debt. Bring me something by morning or I will see that Ivar turns you out.”
Seccon watched him walk away and waited until he was about to enter the stairwell of the curtain wall tower. “Talk to your superiors.”
Elof stopped and turned his head just enough to see over his shoulder.
“Because they are going to tell you to do what I say.”
Elof the Peddler, the Magiske Oje, the man who thought to bully the former Chief Strongarm to the Emperor, snorted and went through the doorway.
Seccon started brainstorming for anything of value that might appease the peddler in case the bluff didn’t work.
9
DAWN
SKY CLAN VILLAGE
GRENDEL 0473829: SURFACE, MOUNTAIN PASS 83D2B
MISSION CLOCK: n/a – FUGITIVE
Elof, the dirty snake, was gone in the morning. A tall, broad-shouldered Dane with keen eyes and big hands stood over Seccon as he ate warm porridge from a bowl in the common square near the paddocks. The stranger’s dark brown eyes and facial structure belied his red-blond hair and pale skin. Seccon recognized the man’s lineage immediately. He might be a soldier, but his older brothers and sisters were probably in the House of Lords. The man was a new human of the Commonwealth, full of state-of-the-art Internals linked flawlessly to a broad genetic foundation.
There was nothing of Elof’s furtiveness in this man. His confidence nearly insulted Seccon. The suggestion of a good-natured smile almost caused Seccon to provoke the man with an insult. The soldier reminded him too much of his wife. He didn’t seem to know the meaning of doubt and the world basically sprinkled rainbows and riches on his every step despite the deadly intensity just under the surface of his eyes.
There wasn’t much space in this part of the trading post fortress. The soldier and the assassin breathed on each other for several heartbeats.
“Would you like some gruel?” Seccon asked.
The warrior smiled. “Looks real good.”
“You stand like a FALD,” Seccon said.
“That’d be the First Division. I stumbled into the Sixth.”
Seccon searched for and spotted the other Sixth Armored-infantry Lightning Division soldiers. There were eight, not including the leader, each dressed as a local mercenary. “How long have you been on the surface?”
Fey moved near enough to hear the rest of the conversation. “One week. The FALD Reavers are off the mission on account of Aefel.”
Seccon wanted to ask several questions along that line, but Fey was already exerting her charming personality on the mercenary.
“Did your mother give you a name, merc?” she asked.
“Call me Jon Black.”
“I don’t like that name,” she said.
Jon Black, or whatever his real name and rank were, made eye contact with his two fire-team leaders, then looked at Seccon. “My squad is ready to move. Get your people ready ASAP. I don’t have time to explain.” He winked at Fey.
“We are not his people,” Fey said as she frowned at Jon Black’s facial expression and stepped in front of him.
He looked down on her. “If you don’t come with him, you will die.”
Fey opened and closed her mouth twice as he walked away with his men. She whirled on Seccon as he stood and put away his bowl.
“I am packing. You should do the same.”
“We will talk to Gunnarr and my brother first,” she said.
Seccon nodded as he finished his preparations to flee the trading post. He hadn’t planned to stay long. “We will talk to them, and then we will all leave. Do the right thing, Fey. Convince your people to be ready to move before an hour passes.”
For several precious seconds, they stared at each other. Her nostrils flared once. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Snow began to fall.
“Meet me at Ivar’s tower. Wait to talk to Gunnarr until I get there.”
She strode toward a group of older Sky Clan women and spoke to them in low, urgent tones.
Seccon went to Ivar’s tower and waited for Fey. He listened to Gunnarr, Sveinn, and Ivar talk of fights and battles and boar hunts. There was time to eat some of Ivar’s good cheese and hard bread, drink a small cup of wine, and watch curtains of snow falling beyond the tower window. Impatience to get moving gnawed at him. Contrary to his outward appearance, his heart galloped and sweat formed on his brow. He resisted the impulse to wipe his forehead or speak.
Fey strode into the room with her bundle over her shoulder. Gunnarr and Ivar seemed to notice Seccon’s travel gear for the first time and looked back and forth between them.
“Are you running away with the singer, sister?” Sveinn asked.
“We are all leaving. Right now,” Fey said.
Gunnar laughed. Sveinn studied Seccon carefully. Ivar looked grim.
“You are serious,” Gunnarr said. He turned to look at Ivar and stopped when he saw his friend’s somber expression.
“Jarl Hurlach sent hired swords to escort you to the Valley of Lights. He is practically the king of the Jarls. I swore that I would assist his men,” Ivar said.
“I have met King Hurlach,” Sveinn said. “He wasn’t as tall or warlike as I expected.”
“Yes, Sveinn, we all know who he is,” Gunnarr said, his eyes still on Ivar.
“I met him.” Sveinn stood with his chest thrust out, offering defiance that Gunnarr would never tolerate if not distracted.
A moment passed and Gunnarr’s frustration slowly turned toward Sveinn. “Know your place, udenforstaende.”
“I’m no more an outsider than you, Jarl Gunnarr.”
The young Jarl snorted, then laughed. “I remember when the old man brought you and your sisters. Ask Fey; she was old enough to remember.”
Seccon moved between them, gently but firmly guiding the angry and stunned Sveinn back a step. “There is no time for this. The people of Sky Clan need their Jarl. We are counting on you.”
Gunnarr gathered his people in the barn. He stood shoulder to shoulder with his audience, waiting until he had everyone’s attention. Seccon waited for him to offer an explanation or negotiate, but the young Jarl held his tongue. Sveinn and Fey stood near.
A dozen boys and girls hugged themselves just beyond the door as snow fell and wind increased. Several of the villagers cast nervous glances at the weather.
“Jarl Hurlach has sent men to escort us to safety,” Gunnarr said.
“We’re safe enough here until the storm break
s,” a voice said from the crowd.
“These men will protect and guide us. See to your families. Count everyone. We are leaving.”
Jon Black and the other soldiers watched from the yard without flinching when the wind blew snow in their faces. During the calm between gusts, fat snowflakes tumbled down over the curtain wall and between the gate towers. The mountain peaks were hidden in storm clouds.
Jon Black’s squad led the way. Others flanked and followed as terrain allowed. The exodus from the Klak Mount Trading Post was like a procession of unhappy ghosts with numb fingers.
Seccon fell in stride with Sveinn. “Gunnarr did well. I thought there would be an argument.”
Sveinn scanned the mountain trail, straining to see half of the marching villagers in the bad weather. “He wanted to give an explanation and ask the elder women for token advice. I told him not to do that.”
Snow blew inside of Seccon’s hood. “He might have offended them.” He adjusted it and peered around to check the positions of the Sixth Armored-infantry Lightning Division soldiers. Every SALD unit did their jobs with precise professionalism.
“A problem for another day,” Sveinn said. “When this journey is finished, I will leave the clan.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Gunnarr believes me to be an outsider. I will leave.”
“What about your sisters?”
“They will find husbands. It will be some time before I can support and protect them.”
Seccon thought rapidly. He hadn’t expected this wrinkle. “Let me accompany you. I can write your chronicles.”
Sveinn didn’t answer, yet his demeanor was not insulting. Without a mentor, he was still developing command presence that impressed Seccon. Suddenly, all of his decisions seemed right. He wished Casia were here to witness his vindication.
Dan Uburt-Wesson had no right to usurp the throne from this child. As incredible as it seemed, this primitive world had developed the Blood Royal’s character in a way that promised natural leadership. This was what it meant to live and grow without excessive technology and a broken social class system.
For the first time in his long career, Seccon actually believed in the concept of the Blood Royal. This boy wasn’t some prince or future kingling; he was a modern-day King Arthur. The land and the people would prosper as he prospered.
Sveinn watched him sideways as they walked and smiled. “Are you writing my chronicles already, Sangerhinde? Maybe you should wait until I do something.”
Seccon thought he should laugh, but he was still caught in a powerful epiphany. “That is sound advice.”
The day passed slowly. It was difficult to tell if the sun was shining or the moon was arching across the velvet night. When it wasn’t snowing, heavy gray clouds glided low and fast like the ghosts of angry dragons and sea monsters.
Many times, they stopped to rest and adjust the pack harnesses of the animals. Twice, Gunnarr ordered hot meals prepared and consumed. Then, when Seccon quit thinking about his mission or the women in his life, the sky cleared to reveal a valley of blue, green, and white splendor.
Silver mist retreated from evergreen forests and rivers that cut through foothills. Water dashed around rocks topped with snow and rimmed with moss on the sides. The sun came out. Seccon took a deep breath of hope.
At the end of the valley were several waterfalls that seemed unreal in their power and beauty. The people of Sky Clan told stories of the magic place ahead of them. Ivar had called it the Valley of Lights.
The day was old when they reached the water’s edge. Jon Black and his squad led the way around the lake and behind the waterfalls.
10
DAY
FIRST BASE
GRENDEL 0473829: SURFACE, VALLEY OF LIGHTS 83A1A
MISSION CLOCK: n/a – FUGITIVE
Borghild did not recognize the strength of the fortress walls beneath the moss and ancient grime. She didn’t appreciate the height and thickness of the fortifications or understand that the granite had been quarried far away and airlifted to this location. She had no way of understanding that First Base could be sealed against the environment or that the foundation had been cut out of living rock with laser precision.
Seccon winced as she slapped him again. He continued to walk, but she easily kept pace. Hunching his shoulder against repeated attacks, he struggled to find words that might appease her. How could he explain? Would she even care what was at stake?
“You care more about Fey and her siblings than me.” Tears welled in her eyes. “You despise her, but you still went to save her. That is what I don't understand.”
“I know you can handle yourself,” he said, wondering if he was speaking to Borghild or the shade of his wife. “I am no good with these types of words. I’ve only known one woman before you.”
“Then go back to her.”
“I can’t.”
“I feel sorry for her. She must be mad with the way you treat us.”
“She’s dead.”
Borghild hesitated, shifting her body as if to retreat while holding his eyes with hers. “Well, I’m sorry.”
Seccon pulled his cloak tighter. The sun was shining, but the air hadn’t warmed. He looked again at the towering gates and the people camped on this side of the moat.
“Why do I bother with you?” Borghild asked. “I am an outcast for you. Living with a stranger and no children to show for it.”
“Children take a little more time than that.”
“Do not mock me, Sangerhinde. Who was this woman before me?”
Seccon took a deep breath. He wanted to explore the base and speak with Jon Black, the unofficial liaison for whoever these people were who had saved Sky Clan. Twenty years ago, he would not have hesitated to turn away from Borghild.
He was too old and soft.
“She was my wife for thirty seasons. We never had children. I loved her and she died.”
Borghild was quiet for a moment, but he began to realize she was jealous. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or scream in frustration.
“Can you not make a child?”
“Damn it, Borg. I can make a child. Casia didn’t want any.”
“What would she think of me?” Borghild asked in a low voice.
“I don’t think the two of you would get along. Other women resented her.”
Borghild made a sound and crossed her arms. “Do I look like she did?”
“No.”
Jon Black’s squad started directing villagers through the gate in groups of four or five at a time. Just inside the portcullis there was a modern scanner that checked individuals for weapons, contraband, and certain contagious diseases.
“Is that why you like me so much, because I am different?”
“You know why I like you.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.” The word surprised him, but he was glad he said it. Some of his tiredness slipped away. “Come inside the fortress with me. I want to show you what my wife was like. Maybe you will believe that what we have is unique.”
Borghild stalled, but then smiled curiously. “We are both widows, it seems.”
Seccon nodded and touched her arm, but his eyes were on Sergeant Jon Black as he approached. “Can you tell me any news?”
“Jorgo the Giant took the high pass with all of his strength. He is in the adjacent valley making camp. I’ve got to give it to those Hawk Clan dudes. They’ve got no quit in them. The high pass is dangerous as hell.”
“What is he doing over the pass?”
“Looking for you, I guess. Or Aefel.”
“Or both?” Seccon asked.
Jon shrugged. “Could be. Are you worried?”
“I won’t be once we are inside of First Base.” Seccon said the words but didn’t feel them.
11
DUSK
FOOTHILLS
GRENDEL 0473829: SURFACE, VALLEY OF LIGHTS 83A1A
MISSION CLOCK: n/a – ROGUE OPERATOR
&n
bsp; Aefel left the trail of Seccon, the Sky Clan, and the Sixth Armored-infantry Lightning Division soldiers. Two of the soldiers he recognized from training exercises and others he had seen on various campaigns. None wore uniforms or bore insignia, but tattoos didn’t lie and Aefel recognized their unique way of patrolling. They were good, every bit as competent as his own FALD unit. He smiled as he thought of Paul talking trash to their squad leaders and became terribly homesick for his team. His big friend would have said they SALD out, and would have groaned when one of them replied that Paul and Aefel had FALD down.
Thinking of Paul, Cathy Mic, Landon, and the others sent shivers of loneliness through his body. He shouldn’t think of them now. This wasn’t the first time he dealt with separation from his unit. He needed to focus on his task. For the moment, he needed to leave Fey and her siblings and move away from the locally dressed Commonwealth soldiers protecting them.
Keep an eye on my new family, you SALD out dogs.
He didn’t understand how he could be ordered to kill the Blood Royal and these men and women were sent to protect them, unless it was a trap. In that case, he had little time and less hope. No decision could be made or plan executed until he learned the identity and purpose of the third force in the area. He counted himself as representing FALD. Jon Washington Black and the other soldiers he knew represented SALD. The third group were the soldiers with NGO unit markings that he continued to encounter when it was least convenient.
This last group had attacked Sky Clan village after the orbital bombardment of the village. He thought the NGO forces would kill Sveinn and the others on sight, including Fey.
From a distance, he saw the NGO leader and a small unit approach Jorgo the Giant and his thanes. Each of the soldiers wore an odd series of metal bands and links around their necks. Others kept the decoration on their arms as well. It almost looked like they were afraid of a Carosn Device, like the techno-charms worked.
