Abendau's Heir (The Inheritance Trilogy Book 1)

by Jo Zebedee

  “That’s the one thing I do know, Sonly. I love you, as well. As much as ever. And, Sonly, something I haven’t said to you, and should have done. I’m so, so sorry about Kerra. It must have been hard for you, losing everyone at once. I’m only starting to be able to think about her now; you’ve had to live with it for months.”

  “I miss her,” she admitted. “We had her for such a short time. There are so few memories to carry of her.”

  “I do, too. You know, that makes my mind up. She’s another one to repay the Empress for. We can’t pull out, not when we’re so close.”

  “Okay. We’ll do it, for Kerra.”

  “For all of them,” he told her. “If I’m going to do this I need, amongst other things, to sleep– but every time I stop, I panic. So then I start up again, and now I’m exhausted.”

  “Sleep here,” she said. “I won’t disturb you.”

  “I have nightmares,” he warned her. “Worse than ever. I had them in my cell. Beck used to kick me awake and boot me around the place to shut me up. Somehow, that didn’t cure me.”

  He paused, remembering the cycle of nightmares, the screams trailed from him in his sleep, the horror of knowing he’d brought another beating on himself.

  The cell door opened and his collar, tethered to the wall rings, stopped him seeing who was there.

  “Nightmare again? I’ll give you something to have nightmares about.” Beck laughed and drew back his boot, or lifted his whip, and Kare knew the trap had sprung again, the cyclical nightmare he had no way of breaking.

  Kare pulled himself out of the flashback, focused again on Sonly.

  “The few times I have slept, they’ve been awful. Worse than Dad’s,” he admitted.

  “Then have them. It won’t be the first time. I promise not to kick you, no matter how much noise you make.” She reached her hand up, and stroked his cheek, so gently it was as if he was a child, and it gave comfort with no demand. He found himself taking a deep breath, and then another. “Kare, I had no idea. Or, I did, but it’s worse, so much worse than I ever imagined. I don’t know how you survived, how you managed to come back.”

  “I know. I never imagined they’d do what they did.” Even through his father’s visions, his own dreams over the years, he’d had no idea. He’d been a fool. He stretched out on the blanket and found himself slipping into sleep. He heard, at one point, the sound of ships coming and going and thought distantly he should go and help Lichio, but sank further into sleep. As the battle waged, Kare slept, a healing sleep. He had no nightmares that night, curled up against Sonly, her hand on his forehead, comforting him, keeping him safe.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Kare sat up and looked around, trying to place where he was. It wasn’t until he saw Sonly that he remembered and almost groaned at how he’d broken down. She was still here, though; he took that as a good sign. He got up, as quietly as he could, but when he opened the door of the transport it disturbed her.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “I told Lichio I’d be back hours ago.”

  Sonly sat up, her short hair tousled, and Kare noticed for the first time that she, too, was thinner, her face older. It wasn’t just me. He stopped for a moment as he took that in; it was, he suspected, the first thing that had come through the wall of shock he’d been operating in. It wasn’t just him. It was her; and Silom, cast into a nightmare he’d no right to face, forced to watch Kare– who he’d promised to protect long, long ago– destroyed; and Lichio, who’d joined the army before he’d been old enough to know if he wanted to be a soldier, faced with something that had lurked in his nightmares, too. Enough stories about Omendegon circled the Banned, after all; he had to know what lay ahead for him if he was taken.

  “It’s okay,” said Sonly. “I checked while you were sleeping. Lichio said he was fine.”

  Kare stood in the door of the transport for a moment, enjoying the weak morning light flooding in from the hangar doors. His clothes were crumpled and he was grubby and hungry. To notice all this seemed a miracle to him; like he’d reconnected with reality for the first time in months. As he left the transport, Sam walked over.

  “You okay?” asked the doctor.

  “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “You’re not angry?” Typical Sam, always checking on others, keeping things running, the troops fed, the soldiers in one piece. “I pushed you into talking.”

  “I’m not. I feel like I can breathe again, think clearer.”

  “You know, it’ll take time. A lot of time,” warned Sam.

  Kare almost said that he knew more than anyone how long this was going to take. He felt better today, that was true, but still a million miles from the man who’d been taken to Abendau.

  “The voice of experience?” he said, instead.

  “Well, it wasn’t an uncommon thing to happen in Omendegon.” Sam paused. “And you faced more of it– everything– than anyone.”

  “I’m not making light of it. But it has helped, getting it out into the open: Sonly knowing. Sleeping. You were right, I was exhausted.”

  “Baby steps. Don’t rush it.”

  “I’ll take it as slowly as I can. For now, I’m going to get something to eat and a shower, if Lichio’s okay to sit on for another half hour.”

  Sam reeled back in mock horror. “You go get a shower and I’ll find something to eat, sir. I’ll send a runner to Lichio.”

  Later, Kare pushed his plate away. “Actually, for reconstituted stuff, that’s not bad. Maybe it was Dad’s cooking, or perhaps the food has improved.”

  “Maybe you’ve got less picky. Anything has to be better than Beck’s offerings.”

  “That, too.” Kare stood. “I’ve got to go. I do have a campaign to run.”

  On his way to the control room he stopped to speak to a couple of soldiers, letting them show him the preparations they’d made. They seemed glad of his attention, and lifted by it. He looked around the hangar, at the ships coming in from the battle, and a wave of sick fear crossed him. Had he made a hash of the campaign, and blown his one chance at taking Abendau? He pushed the doubts away, but could feel them lurking for the next chink to attack through.

  “We had a good raid last night, sir,” Lichio said as Kare entered the control room. “They launched an offensive early this morning, and I let them expose their lines a little before I responded. We’ve done a lot of damage and I’ve been keeping the pressure on. I think you might want to consider bringing the ground attack forward, sir.”

  Kare read through the detail, taking his time. “You did well, Lichio, thank you. Take a break; you have four hours, and then I need you back here. On your way through, send Silom and Lyle in to me.”

  He continued to read through Lichio’s data until they filed in.

  “You look better, sir,” Silom said, and Kare smiled.

  “Much better.” He pulled Silom to him, and embraced him the way he had done in the past: as his brother.

  “I’m sorry,” whispered Silom, and he sounded half the man he was. “I should have stopped them. I should have done something.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Kare said. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. Move on, Silom. I’m going to try to.”

  He stepped back as Silom wordlessly nodded, and it felt as if things were going back to where they should be, as if something that had shifted was mending.

  “To work,” Kare said. “Time to end your men’s boredom, Sergeant. Have them ready and convened in hangar one for two-fifteen. First five platoons go in at two-thirty. Once they’ve secured the walkway, the others follow to take the palace.”

  He turned to Commander Lyle, who looked at him, then Silom, and seemed relieved at the improved atmosphere.

  “Keep a continuous assault on the palace. I want your strafe fighters out at two o’clock. Focus on the walkway and its defences; clear it for the ground troops. Use lasers to take out the soldiers, plasma bombs for the fortifications. Hit them hard.
But keep the skywalk intact; we need it.”

  ***

  Kare swept his gaze across the force in front of him; they were as ready now as they could be. He caught Silom’s eye and Silom nodded to him, confirming everything was in order, and joined the waiting Lichio.

  “I never fell for it, Lich,” Kare said, conversationally, as they walked to the control room.

  “Fell for what?”

  “The very able number two act. I told Sonly, early on, that when you decided to get your act together, you’d be the best of the lot.” Kare stopped and looked with pride at the younger man. “You seem to have got it together. The first thing I’m going to do when this is over is promote you. You broke through last night and you’ve been running half this campaign while I wallowed in my misery.”

  “You had a fair bit to wallow through, sir.”

  “Still some more to get through. Anyway, your skills are right up there with your brother’s. I know Eevan was a treacherous shit, but he was a fantastic strategist; you’re easily his equal now.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.”

  “It’s deserved,” Kare said. “One other thing: you’re running things today, not me.”

  Lichio looked at him in surprise. “Where will you be, sir?”

  “I’m going in with the troops. There’re too many things still fluid down there; I’ll liaise with you from the ground. Plus, there’re no psychers there; we might need one.”

  “Have you told Sonly?”

  Kare laughed. “Lichio, do you think I’m totally mad? Of course I’m not telling Sonly. She’s on the comms unit, wheeling and dealing, but she’ll be down at some point– you can let her know then. I’ll be in the thick of it.”

  “Thanks,” Lichio said. “You fucking better promote me after this.”

  “‘Fucking better promote me, sir’; I haven’t done it yet, Captain,” pointed out Kare, with a grin. He pulled an armoured jacket over his combat clothes.

  Lichio looked at him, eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms. “Don’t you think you should put some boots on?”

  Kare shook his head. “I’ll be better barefoot, more surefooted.” He left Lichio and joined Silom, who nodded his acknowledgement.

  “Stay back, sir; I don’t want you disrupting platoon formations,” he said, and Kare reminded himself to tell Silom at some stage that he, too, had done a fantastic job. The difference was that neither had expected anything less.

  He listened to the air attack outside, waiting for the crack of light to appear as the doors opened. He checked the charge on his weapon and gulped some air in. Fear ran through him, heightening his senses, but it wasn’t the sick dread of Omendegon, but the honest fear of facing battle and he welcomed and embraced it. As the gate opened he saw, with surprise, the young soldier from the quarry beside him.

  “Sarge says I’m to come back here with you, sir. He says he doesn’t want you to get killed on his watch.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Private Perrault, sir.”

  A private. A survivor. “I’m going to have to promote the lot of you,” Kare muttered. “Sonly won’t be happy; it’ll cost her a fortune in uniforms.”

  Kare heard Silom’s order to advance and looked across the skywalk to the palace. The closed gate waited at the other end, and heavy fortifications were in place where the walkway widened. There were bodies and rubble from the air strikes. The first of his soldiers moved to a defensive position, firing across, whilst the next squad moved past them. The Empress’ soldiers, with their stronger fortifications, returned fire. He saw his first soldier fall, then another, and reminded himself he had to attack some time, and he couldn’t do it without losses.

  A shot hit close to Kare and he brought a shield up. He moved forward, standing up, not seeking to turn from the shots aimed at him, and the lasers and bullets bounced off while he cast out and looked behind the gate. The entrance hall was full of soldiers, many more on the stairs. His men would be slaughtered when– if– they reached it. Kare ignored the gunfire and concentrated on the scene inside. He felt the dimensions of the room and extended his psyche towards it. A shot hit his shield and it gave a little and then reformed, as it always did.

  You know what you’re doing is impossible. He looked around, sure Sam must be standing behind him, his voice was so clear. Seeing no one but Perrault, Kare shook his head. He snaked his power to where he needed it, and flexed in the familiar fashion.

  Nothing happened. Kare stood, shocked. His power had failed. Pain seared across his thigh, a burning agony familiar from Omendegon. He fell to the ground and rolled away from another beam. Frantically, he tried to bring up a shield, but nothing happened. Arms grabbed him and pulled him behind some rubble. His leg was a searing mass of pain. He realised it was Private Perrault who had saved him and was now crouched beside him, firing.

  “They’ve reached the gate, sir,” Perrault told him. “The sergeant, he’s like a lion.”

  “We have to stop him,” Kare said. Another shot clipped his shoulder and he gasped. “There’re thousands waiting in there.”

  The private stood, but Kare pulled him down, knowing he would draw their fire. The soldier fell on him with a cry of pain, a huge wound on his chest where the laser had burnt through his armour. Kare looked to see where the shots were coming from and saw a squad of the Empress’ soldiers opposite them. He brought his gun round to fire but his shoulder was slow and sluggish and he felt tired, so tired. A shot hit his side, and he cried out at the godawful pain and realised this one wasn’t caused by a laser, but a bullet, ripping through his skin. Warm, sticky blood flowed from it.

  Perrault tried to shield him. He wasn’t worthy of such loyalty; squads of the Empress’ army were coming, encircling him and his men. He'd given them days to get into position. Another shot came at the young private, this one aimed at his head, deadly, and something moved within Kare: a reflex to protect his own. The shot touched the hastily built shield, and bounced off.

  I brought them this far. We should all be dead already, but we’re not; we’re here.

  Slowly, through waves of hideous pain, he pulled himself to his knees, ignoring the shots, and looked at where Silom’s soldiers were. Without thinking what he was doing– or how, or why– Kare reached out and pulled at the ceiling of the hall. This time there was a muffled thump and screams. He pushed the squads on the walkway to the edge and over into the gardens below, clearing the way across.

  “Can you walk?”

  Perrault shook his head. Kare pulled up from his knees, the pain almost crippling him, and held his arm out, hauling the private up. They moved across the walkway, Perrault’s arm draped over Kare’s shoulder. Kare half-pulled, half-carried Perrault, limping badly, his teeth gritted against the pain, head swimming as Perrault’s pain hit him, and the private’s sure knowledge that he was dying. Twice his vision blurred so badly he had to stop, but at last he made it to Silom’s platoon. Silom moved out from the shadow of a ruined parapet as they approached, looked at their wounds and swore softly.

  “It’s looks worse than it is,” lied Kare, and Silom didn’t argue. He took Perrault and propped him against the wall. Kare shifted onto his good leg and it felt stiff. He touched his trousers and they were wet with blood. Whether it was his, or Perrault’s, or both, he couldn’t tell. Another wave of dizziness hit him.

  “There’s more behind the gate,” Silom said. “I think we should pull back; we’re taking too many losses, sir.”

  “Behind the gate’s taken care of,” Kare said, his words slow.

  Silom glanced at his cousin. “Are you able to do something with the ones in front?”

  He reached his arm out and snaked it under Kare’s shoulders. Kare looked at the metal barricades, but they kept moving as his vision blurred. The pain sent sick spasms through him. He tried to flex his psyche, but nothing happened. He reminded himself they were here because he’d done the impossible, and something clicked in his mind. He focused on the barriers, p
ushed out as hard as he could, but was too weak. As he crumpled, Silom lowered him to the ground and propped him beside Perrault.

  Kare moved his good arm, clenched his hand on Silom’s, and gave a tired nod.

  Silom nodded back. “We’ll do it the hard way then,” he said. He pulled his hand away.

  “Engage,” Silom ordered. His soldiers formed back into their platoons and began firing on the enemy in front of the gates to Abendau palace. Kare sat, Perrault leaning against him. In a moment he’d have to heal himself. For now, though, it was peaceful just to sit and watch the battle. The port guns and cannons razed the palace walls and Silom’s troops were shooting at the fortifications. He’d done enough; they were breaking through. Kare’s eyes closed as his blood dripped onto the ground, spreading out amongst the corpses.

  ***

  Later, much later, the call came through to tell Lichio the palace had been taken and the last defenders were being routed. That it came from Silom and not Kare compounded his worry at the lack of communication during the battle. Beside him, Sonly listened, her face strained.

  “He’ll be all right,” said Lichio, knowing he was lying. If it was all right, Silom would have told him, or Kare would have been on the comms unit, laying out an insanely long set of commands for him.

  Sonly’s face was strained: not fooled. “Ask him,” she said. “Now the battle’s over. Ask. Is Kare alive?”

  Lichio nodded. “Sergeant,” he said.

  “Go ahead,” said Silom.

  “What about the colonel?” Lichio couldn’t bring himself to say his name.

  There was a pause, and Sonly trembled against him. He moved his hand and put it over hers, squeezing slightly.

  “He’s hurt.” Silom’s voice echoed in the small control room.

  “Is he dead?” asked Sonly, and Lichio shushed her.

  “Sergeant, how badly?”

  “He was bad. You can send the medics in now. The palace is secure.”