Secrets of Silverwind
Richard L. Sanders
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012, Richard L. Sanders
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be re-sold for profit, however I (the author) don’t really care if you share it with others and give copies away to friends. In fact I am including no DRM on any versions of this ebook because I don’t really support DRM. Just keep in mind that at the time of publication I am an indebted student and every purchase is greatly appreciated. Thank you for your support and understanding.
1
He just wasn’t fast enough, no matter what he did.
Caythis leaned forward on his jetbike as it zipped above the rough, sandy terrain. He went into a hard turn and pulled the throttle wide open as he came out of it. A storm of dust flared up in his wake.
He was out of the canyon now and the wind hit him in full force, buffeting his bike. The chill couldn’t pierce his thick combat armor, but the gusts were strong enough that it was difficult to stay on course. He wrestled with the controls, refusing to slow down. He’d lost too much time already.
A wide sea of rocks and hazards could be seen in the distance, rushing toward him. He flipped down his visor and the computer in his helmet selected what it thought was the most appropriate spectrum. A heartbeat later, the sandy world around him was a stagnant green with nothing too bright nor too dark to see easily. Even the brilliance of the sun had been dimmed to a gentle level.
He continued his breakneck pace, ducking low. Leaning hard to avoid the first boulder. A spray of pebbles struck him in the head but bounced meaninglessly off his helmet. After a few minutes of deft, reckless maneuvering, Caythis blasted between the final two obstacles and into the open.
Andar City was in plain view now. What was left of it.
His heart broke at the sight through his visor: a burning green image of intense heat, masses of clouds rising from the molten ruins, and the skeleton of a once great city ablaze like a funeral pyre. He flipped open his visor and stared wide-eyed at the blackened sky. The air reeked of smoke and ashes flaked onto his bronze armor as he hovered forward.
Andar was lost…
Caythis had expected Andar to be on its knees, like Skyhaven, wounded but fighting for its life. Not so. Andar was gone. And so utterly wasted it could probably never be rebuilt. Countless thousands of people lost along with it. Innocent people. People who had never known Antares. Men, women, and even children. Burned to death in an unpitying and unflinching firestorm. An annihilation of this scale hadn’t been seen since the End of the World.
His grip weakened as he realized, as fast as he'd come, the wrath of Antares had been faster. That meant Caythis, and all of the others, had deserted Citadel in vain.
It was very dark now as he flew deeper under the blanket of thick smoke. A wall so dense even the sun couldn’t penetrate it. His bike skipped over some small hills and Caythis considered turning back. Thought about returning to Citadel to help them make their desperate stand against the revolution that was sweeping the four cities one at a time. If they would even have him…
He did not turn around, though. Somehow, as the dying fire-lit city drew closer, he simply couldn't find the strength to twist the bike around. Instead he hovered, thoughtless and stiff, unable to look away from the horror.
Until nearby gunfire caught his attention. He turned sharply to his left and blasted toward the fighting. Knowing it must be his own men—soldiers he’d convinced to desert Citadel, soldiers who had now engaged Antares’ rebels. Perhaps even Antares himself.
Caythis welcomed the chance to destroy Antares.
The popping of gunfire grew louder as his bike screamed closer. Caythis flipped shut his visor and took in the scene as best he could. His allies’ skirmish line had already broken and many were routing, the rest had dug in for better cover but were about to be flanked by a large force swinging around their southeast quarter. In the enemy’s ranks, Fallen enforcers could be seen blasting elemental magic. Sprays of water slammed like tidal waves, guided by enforcers in blue armor, and others armored in pearl-white shifted the winds. Together, the dozens of amateurs were constructing a makeshift hurricane.
Caythis gripped the sword behind his back. The handle stuck to his glove like glue and he whipped it out. With his other hand, he pressed the ring on his middle finger against the sword’s activation chip. Sparks flew down the coil and charged the rods, and after heating for a few seconds the two rods forming the blade lit up—charged with plasma. The visor blinked, adapting to the sudden brightness of the heat-source, and the blinding blade was dimmed to his eyes.
He took an attack stance and held the sword ready, just like he'd trained for, then pushed the bike in sharply toward the glowing green lights he knew were enemies. As he zoomed closer, he steadied himself and, at just the right moment, twisted hard to the left. The insurgents turned in panic as he blasted through their ranks. His blinding sword cutting them down stroke after stroke.
Dozens fell, and those who didn't—who lacked armor—were poisoned by the intense radiation.
It wasn't more than a few seconds of this before he took fire. Guns were turned, orders were screamed down the lines, and a storm of bullets slapped against his chest and helmet with enough force to almost throw him from the bike. The slugs bounced off his advanced armor leaving only bruises, but he was forced to abort his attack halfway through.
He withdrew about forty meters and held up his left hand. Raising his palm flat toward his enemies, concentrating his mind. The ring around his middle finger burned and on his hand an orb of fire formed. It seemed to glow bright green through his visor, and he braced himself for the intense pain.
In an instant of sudden agony, a jet of fire leapt from his hand and drowned the enemies before him. The people in his range scattered for cover but didn’t find much. He moved the stream from left to right, covering them, and in moments around two dozen rebels were scorched to death. But the process took a toll on Caythis, weakening him from the pain and draining his energy to the point of fatigue. Unable to continue the use of magic, Caythis dropped his palm flat towards the ground and the fire dissipated. He felt limp and spent, but the pain faded quickly.
He brandished his sword once more and brought his bike around the battle in a wide circle, searching for a target.
Caythis ignored the Fallen enforcers. They were amateurs—dangerous only when working as a group. The best way to deal with them would be to find their leader and eliminate him publicly. Chop the head off the snake. So Caythis looked for him, dodging attacks sent his way, hunting and hunting for his target. And eventually, in a storm of flames, Caythis spotted him.
Antares stood on the top of a nearby cliff, wasting Caythis’ allies who’d tried to set up a sniping position. He was a dull, dark green, much dimmer than the other people who leaked more heat. Antares had coated his crimson armor with some kind of black tar meant to limit the amount of heat he gave off. It helped conceal him from the superior eyes of an enforcer’s helmet, but it wasn’t enough. Caythis found the path up and moved in for the kill.
The disfigured dead burned at Antares’ feet by the dozens and the white glow of his sword bounced off his black visor like the shadow of a wraith. Caythis brought his bike down to bear and raised his sword, aiming for Antares’ head. His enemy held his ground and faced the attack with perfect confidence—his own sword raised and magic hand ready. Caythis braced himself and closed in.
Antares raised his palm and a spray of unstoppable fire flew towards Caythis like a web of a billion candles. Obeying instinct, Caythis jumped from his bike just before it exploded in a m
arriage of fire and fuel. He was blown hard into a wall of stone, landing in a crunch of cracked bones and damaged armor. With an outburst of pain, Caythis looked up. Antares loomed over him, walking closer with slow steps. Caythis, being a Fire enforcer himself, was impervious to the flames, but the force of his dismount left him bleeding inside, and every breath was agonizing.
With trained discipline, Caythis put the pain aside. He had what he wanted—Antares alone.
Caythis rose to his feet, holding out his sword which had stayed firmly stuck to his glove.
Antares stopped his advance. “You too?” His voice cracked over the speaker in Caythis’ helmet. It was a familiar voice, making it that much more painful to hear.
Caythis didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say. And for a moment they just stood there, facing each other, surrounded by a ring of scorching fire and the sounds of gunfire and screams. But, despite his pause, Caythis knew what he had to do.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” said Antares.
“You shouldn’t have started this.”
“Sierra, this was for Sierra!”
Caythis was sickened. As if she would have wanted this destruction... “How dare you hide your evil deeds behind her good name.”
“Please… don’t be my enemy, Caythis,” said Antares. “No one understands. I need you to understand…”
Caythis dismissed his plea. “There’s no going back, Antares. I can’t let you leave this place alive. We both know what you deserve.” Caythis looked into Antares’ visor, as if peering into his soul, and was not surprised to see that it was blank. Lifeless. Empty. Antares was dead inside, just like the bodies at his feet.
“It’s not my fault…” said Antares. “It’s not true. It isn’t true! I’ve only done what was forced upon me!”
Caythis steeled himself, tightening his grip around his sword. “Antares, you bring this upon yourself!”
At the perfect moment, Caythis sprang forward, flare of his sword trailed by sparks like a hot white echo. Their swords clashed hard. Hate and plasma locked against each other. Swinging madly, blow after blow, fueled by passion, disciplined by skill, a furious dance. Their hits crashed with so much force that the flashes pierced the protection of their visors--which refreshed constantly to adjust for the changes. Tears soaked Caythis’ stinging, bloodshot eyes but he pressed his attack. Forcing himself to forget the memories they’d shared together. Forgetting that Antares has once been family. Now all he could see was his enemy. A mass murderer. That’s all he was willing to see.
Their blurry movements were like glowing scribbles in the night sky, echoes of light. And, to any onlooker, their battle had overwhelming intensity, like a massive collision of two stars. And in that final desperate moment whatever friendship they once acknowledged was erased forever.
Some few surviving witnesses claim they saw Antares guide his sword into his friend’s heart. Others insist it was Caythis who slew Antares. Others still believe both of them live on. Even now. But whatever the lost truth might be, Antares never returned to lead his rebellion, which marched on without him. And Caythis never returned to defend Citadel, the city he swore to protect, which fell three days later. Five years have passed since then, and their bodies have never been found. And whatever became of Antares and Caythis remains a mystery.
2
She should have been here by now, something must have happened.
Zero paced the cement corridor for the thousandth time. A dirty yellow light bulb hung from the ceiling, shining a long ways in the underground. He squinted as he passed under it again, his arms fidgeting like a nervous tick.
"I'm sure she's fine," said Dave. He stood guarding the door, his smile stood out in contrast with his oily clothes and submachine gun. Despite his grim attire, Zero knew Dave for what he really was, a plumber, barely able to use the weapon in his hands. And certainly not fit for combat, almost none of the cell was. Civilians turned vigilante, Zero was one of only a few who knew how to handle himself. And he only intended to stay with them until he could find the people he’d lost. The people he belonged with.
Dave continued, “if Raven were incompetent, she wouldn’t be our fearless leader."
"What makes you think I'm waiting for Raven?" asked Zero.
"Please, I've seen the way you look at her. And who can blame you?" Dave whistled. His eyes searched for a response but Zero showed nothing. Of course he had feelings for Raven, she was the best of them. Her very soul seemed to radiate passion, loyalty, and a fighting spirit that rallied them all, time and again, in their desperate struggle. No matter how bleak things always were. The others fought for their cause, but Zero fought for Raven. And he believed she and her cell were his only chance of finding his way back. Which was why it was imperative she was all right.
He slipped his hand around the polished steel of one of his handguns, withdrawing it from his thigh holster. Making sure it was chambered and ready to fire. He kept both eyes on the farthest door. If the terrorists were coming, or the police, it would be through there. That was the only way into the belowground warehouse they used as a base. There were two other ways out, but no other way in.
"All I'm saying is that if I were single, I'd be all over that," Dave rattled on. Zero didn’t give him a second thought.
The door burst open and Zero raised his pistol. Lowering it instantly as Raven hurried through. Confident stride, long dark hair that matched her name, thin, stunning, and head-to-toe covered in camouflage, knives, ammo, and bullets.
"Welcome home," said Dave.
"What's the word?" asked Zero. Raven had gone to see one of their best informants, the kind of visit that never seemed to bring good news.
She turned to him, her eyes sharp and piercing. "It's much worse than we thought," she said, hurrying through the second door. Dave, her self-proclaimed second-in-command, was at her heels. Zero followed at more of a distance. Trying to guess what the newest crisis was.
"OK, everyone, listen up," Raven said firmly. Her eyes were steel like the carbine strapped to her back, and her soft angular features were a sharp contrast to her powerful presence and passionate personality. She stopped in the center of the room and all twelve of them clustered around her. Carpenters, janitors, technicians, even a psychologist. Not at all suited for the deadly hardware they packed, and it killed Zero to see their eagerness. These weren’t soldiers. And every single one of them would die, sooner or later, if they continued this fight. Yet if they didn’t, what chance did Silverwind City have?
"They're going to bomb a school,” said Raven. Her words sounded calm and impassive, but Zero knew it had taken deliberate effort. "We don't have a lot of time. We have to go to Irons Borough."
"That’s the poorest section of Silverwind,” said Alice. “The police have almost no presence there as it is.”
"Which is why we can’t tip off the government and sit this one out,” said Jakob.
"If that were our style, none of us would even be here," said Raven. "We don't have much time. They're going to strike from underground." The Rigilian terrorist cult, like their cell, was one of several groups to find the network of underground structures a useful maze to hide in, and navigate the city with very little restraint. Designed for industrial reasons, it had become a no man’s land, with police and civilians rarely setting foot except in secure locations. Which were becoming fewer and fewer all the time.
"Why?" asked Alice. "Why would they do such a thing? I don't understand why anybody… they're just children. How could this possibly help anything?"
"Because we're dealing with very sick people," said Dave grabbing some ammunition. “They believe their god has appeared. That he wants them to create chaos by any means, so he can take the city. Damned cultists.”
"Don’t worry,” said Raven, looking Alice in the eyes. “We’re going to stop them. You hear me? Those children are going to be all right.” She pulled the carbine off her back and clicked a magazine into place. “These underground wa
rehouses connect to a series of rooms that have furnace pipes running to that part of the Labor District. We think there are only six places they can plant explosives that would do the job. And we’re closer to all six of them than they are. They have a head start but if we move fast we should get there before they do.”
The dozen of them broke into teams of two and in a matter of a few seconds they’d coordinated which paths through the underground storage catacombs they’d each take. Zero pressed seventeen brass bullets into each of his extra magazines. It was a tricky process with gloves on, but, as always, he wore them to protect his identity. Even the other members of the cell, his friends, couldn’t be allowed to know what he was. It was better for everyone if the truth about who he really was remained secret.
He didn’t have time to arm to the teeth, but as he slid a metal clip into each of his handguns, he felt ready for a fight.
He wasn’t quick to find a partner, distracted by his preparations and concern he had boiling inside for the people he’d lost. Wondering where they were and if today would be the day he’d finally find them. Thinking about who he really was, he glanced at his own reflection in a glossy puddle of leaking water. The person staring back at him didn’t betray any of the anxiety he felt so strongly. So much depended on him--more than anyone realized.
He and Raven were the last to leave, pairing them by default. Her eyes narrowed and he spotted the hint of a smile at the corners of her lips. Their affection had evolved by accident and had remained as secret as possible, out of necessity. But Zero found it difficult to keep his eyes from following her, and when she was out there alone, which was often, he always worried about her.
He took point and she followed wordlessly behind him. They worked best together and often didn’t need to communicate to know what the other was thinking.
Secrets of Silverwind Page 1
