by Jay Swanson
“You were right, Mal.”
“I wa–”
“They must be enemy agents of some sort.”
“Bran, how can we kn–”
“That makes perfect sense! They must be! We haven't found any in quite some time... how else would they have known to meet her when freeing those filthy prisoners?”
“Coincidence, perha–”
“No, Amalgus. There are no coincidences. Not where Renaults are involved. We must do something. I must do something.” He stood tall as the realization struck him. His bright blue eyes grew wide as his chest broadened in the moment. “I must save her.”
“Save he–”
“Yes, Mal. How better to win a woman's heart than to save her from the enemies that beset her?”
EIGHTEEN
“I'M NOT GONNA LIE,” SYKES WHISPERED THROUGH THE BARS. He had been leaning on them long enough to lose circulation to his left arm. Judging by the tone of in his voice he didn't really care any more. “This is a lot worse of a welcome than I expected.”
Sykes shifted his weight in the darkness. Keaton couldn't see it, but he could hear the sound of cloth on stone as it was dragged under the captain.
“Seems better than being summarily executed.”
“True enough,” Sykes agreed with the invisible voice. “Still, seems strange that we got cooped up like this.”
“At least we're getting food and sleep.”
“How long have we been down here?”
“Too long, to be sure. But how long that is... a week? Two?”
“And we're gonna live here for the rest of our lives?” Sykes managed a cough that was intended to be a chuckle. “I was planning on trying to start a garden before they moved me in here.”
“You had sunlight where you were?”
“No. Actually, I was gonna say this is a lot nicer than where I was. But yeah, dirt floor. Though I guess you do need sunlight...”
Keaton was glad to hear Sykes' voice. They had been too wary to talk earlier. He still felt uneasy speaking openly here. He knew the walls would have their ears.
“So you know how your aunt used to greet you?” Keaton didn't even know if Sykes had an aunt.
“My aunt from the mountains?” Sykes was quick to pick up. “Sure.”
“You told me about how when you brought her food she'd jump up and give you a hug.”
“Called me the most thoughtful of boys, as I recall.”
“I was thinking about that story. How you accidentally hurt her that one time.”
“Missing your own aunt, hey Major?”
“Yeah, thinking I should show more affection myself.”
“Prison will do that to you. Makes you think about all that stuff you wished you'd done differently.”
Keaton hoped that the whole conversation wasn't too obvious. “You thinking you should be more affectionate in the future too?”
“I just need to show more gratitude I think. I mean, especially as hungry as I tend to be around here, I think I'll be much more grateful in the future.”
Metal grated on stone as something slid in the wall above them.
A voice floated down from nearby. “I'd stop talking about attacking the guard when he brings your meal if I were you. He's liable to stop bringing you food all together.”
“Lucius?” Keaton could hardly believe it.
“Aye, sir,” he spat the word. “Though I don't really have to call you sir any more. I've surpassed you in more ways than one since you've been in here.” He laughed. “Don't worry yourselves in there too much. Merodach has plans for you, and they don't involve a firing squad. As much as I might try to convince him otherwise.” Lucius laughed again at the awkward pause that followed. Keaton hated that laugh. “You two shouldn't have come back. They even went so far as to send three times the backup you needed with Vasquez to draw attention to you, and you still managed to survive. More than can be said for Vasquez, I'd wager.”
“What happened to my men?” Sykes demanded. They had all been separated when discovered south of the city. They hadn't seen daylight since black bags had covered their heads, nor heard word of any of the others since.
“I didn't say Merodach's plans involved your men.”
Sykes exploded in the darkness. “You bastard! Where are they?”
“You should just be grateful you didn't have to join them. Let's leave it at that. As for you, Major, I think you'll find yourself envious of their fate soon enough.”
Metal scraped stone as the invisible window slid shut.
“Oh God...” Sykes slumped back to the floor. “I should never have left them.”
“You didn't know.” Keaton empathized with the captain. He'd lost men himself. It was among the worst things he had ever experienced. “You couldn't have. And in any case, it was beyond you to do anything about it.”
“I should have known...”
Major Anders Keaton let the point go. Sykes needed time to figure it out for himself. But time was one thing Keaton wasn't sure they had.
“We should just plug them full of holes and get it over with,” Lucius muttered as he stepped out of the observation room. They had hoped that once reunited, Sykes and Keaton would divulge what they knew to each other. But they were proving too crafty. Too self-aware. Even if they did try to make foolhardy attempts at speaking in code.
“Aye sir, why don't we then?”
“Orders, you idiot. Don't even think about it.” He put his gloves on as he lingered by the door. “We really should, though. They know too damn much. If they get out and talk to the wrong people...”
“I can do it myself, sir.”
“Would you– I'm talking to myself. I'm not talking to you. Why would I be talking to you?”
“Sorry sir.” The private's spine snapped straight as a prison bar.
“You see this star?” He pointed above the brim of his hat. “I don't just wear it because it makes me feel pretty. I'm a general. I don't talk to peons like you. That's what the chain of command is for.” He shoved his finger under the man's throat to drive his point home. “Think about this you idiot. Those men in there know too much. They've seen things and experienced things that put our city and her territory at jeopardy. Now, you're standing out here guarding them. In theory you shouldn't have access to such information, but for all we know you could have snuck in and heard them talking.”
The kid's spine went straighter still, if that were possible. So he had been curious.
“Point is, for all I know you're privy to the same information they are. Which separates you from their fate by... what exactly?”
The private shook visibly now. God, it felt good to have power.
“Exactly. About the breadth of your scrawny little neck. So you'd best keep your mouth shut when I'm standing here talking to myself. And the next time you think to tell me something, it'd damn well better be worth my time. Unless you'd like to share the fate of a couple of traitors.”
He smiled to himself as the private stared into empty space behind him. Anders Keaton. The man had been a spineless worm, never willing to do what had to be done. Always bound by duty. Sometimes necessity blurred the line. Sometimes you had to act in the interest of greater things than human rules could define.
He walked down the hall and through the prison in the sub-levels of the Southern Tower. The guards saluted him whether or not he paid them any attention. He liked it.
Lucius Vestus, General Lucius Vestus as it was now, spent some time reflecting on his old captain as the elevator returned him to his offices. The man was considered the perfect soldier by many. In fact, he was well loved both within the military and without. One of those rare men whose career and reputation managed to make him a memorable name, even as early as his training with Khrone's Hunters.
But what had coloring within the lines gotten Keaton besides a cold cell and a dark fate? Lucius had not only surpassed him, but surpassed everyone save Rast. That was fine with Lucius. Let the old man take th
e heat, he was en route to becoming a puppet in any case. The real power lay with Merodach.
Lucius smiled as he thought about the Mayor. He liked him. A lot, actually. The fat patriarch had proven to be a man after his own heart. Ruthless, but just. The whole plan unfolding would indeed be better for Elandir, though few would view the means as justified by the ends. At least not on this end of things. He saw it differently, however. Sometimes people made good choices, but sometimes those choices had to be made for them. Merodach also gave him room to move. Freedom. Trust. He could be loyal to a man like that. He could even die for one.
The elevator slowed, halted, dinged, and opened its doors. He stepped out into the offices near the top of the Southern Tower. There were so many things that could go wrong tonight, so many ways it could all go to hell. He had to hope that those slimy bastards Clive and Bill were as good as their word. And better. They'd need to pull a veritable miracle to fulfill their end of the bargain.
The thought made him smile even more. He had to get to his office before he burst out laughing. The fact was that all he practically had to do was sit and let the rewards come in. Even if tonight went poorly, he couldn't be directly associated with any of it. He could just condemn those who were and survive it in any case.
He hadn't sat down behind his desk before his phone rang.
“Vestus.”
“Lucius,” It was Rast. “What the hell is going on?”
“Just do as you were told, sir. Everything will go fine.”
“I haven't been the Premiere for more than five hours and already I think I'm screwing it up.”
“That's practically impossible,” Lucius was incredulous. For such a high-ranking officer, Rast wasn't proving to have as much spine as he had appeared to. “You just give your orders when you get the call and everything will go smoothly.”
“How can we trust those scumbags, Lucius? They talk like a couple of pirates.”
“I think they were pirates, sir.” The pause on the other end almost made Lucius guffaw. It was an excellent point, though one Lucius wouldn't openly concede to Rast. He didn't trust the pair either. “They've gotten us this far, haven't they? Besides, everything is in place. I've seen to it myself, sir, we're set. Tonight we get our war, and soon the Twelve will become One.”
Another pause. Rast was having second thoughts. For all the maneuvering and blustering he had done, this was a disappointment.
“We can get away with this?”
“Hell, sir, we won't be getting away with anything. Just play your role and forget everything else.”
“Bu–”
“Sir, the Mayor is on my other line.” Why wasn't his attendant picking up these calls? Worthless secretary.
“Oh. Very well then... carry on.”
“Thank you, sir.” Lucius flipped a switch as the Mayor coughed on the other end. “Sir?”
“Sorry, damn it all if I'm not catching a cold. Fine timing.”
“Yes sir, rotten timing. Sorry to hear it, sir.”
“Don't get cute with me, Lucius. I like you because you're honest and you don't kiss my ass. Don't start now.”
“Sir.”
“Everything in place?”
“Aye, as far as I can tell. Gredge has followed his orders, I think he's been sufficiently cowed. The eastern regiment has been moved into the city as discussed. Cram and the rest of their brass have been given conflicting reports from various sources, so they're plenty confused.”
“All sounds good,” Merodach sniffed audibly. “Bill and Clive?”
“They're your boys, sir. But last I heard they had our friends ready and thirsty.”
“Fine. They'll come through.”
“Sir–” Lucius wasn't sure he should proceed.
“Out with it.”
“Sir, to be frank, I don't trust those two.”
Merodach sniffed again, stifling what sounded like a cough. “Go on.”
“Sir, I know they got you out of the infirmary. That they've paved the way for all of this... hell, I was the one that gave them the keys. But it's just that. This is too perfect. They're tying up the Continent in a bow and handing it to us.”
“And?”
“They've got to have something going on the side, sir. They aren't even Elandrians.”
“I'm of the same opinion, to be sure, General.”
That came as a momentary relief. “Sir, what are they after?”
“I don't know yet. But you're here to keep an eye on them. You're among the few I can trust around this forsaken city any more.” He sounded genuine enough.
“Sir.”
“And Lucius.”
“Sir?”
“When tomorrow rolls around, be sure Keaton is prepped and ready for his part.”
NINETEEN
RAIN HAD SEEN FIT TO FIND ARDIN SOME FRESH CLOTHES. The set from the mountains had been so soiled and torn by the Dunmar's attack that it was considered a mercy just to burn them. As for this new garb, it was simple, gray, and fit well enough. Actually, of all the random assortments of clothing he had found himself wearing, these were probably the least strange to Ardin.
“We'll get you some armor before we head out again,” she had promised as her servants busied themselves about him. There had been a number of belts and straps around his legs and waist with the new clothes – though it felt more strange having a couple of girls dressing him. As for the straps, they were a bit uncomfortable at first, but after a few minutes he found the pressure to be a comfort.
The Fisherman was out of his armor and also in some fresh, gray material. Ardin hadn't ever realized how muscular the old man was. He was in fantastic shape for a man of his age. It took the serving girls some time to find leggings that he could actually fit into.
Now they sat talking. Ardin never thought sitting could feel so good. His feet were throbbing, but ecstatic to be floating off the other end of a stool. The slim gray boots he'd been given lay off to the side. Ardin hoped he wouldn't have to put them on any time soon.
“From what I saw outside,” the Fisherman was saying, “You have hundreds of armed men with you. Possibly thousands.”
“That would be a fine guess, yes,” Rain conceded.
“So why attack a group of slavers like that with only a small raiding party? You could have suffered far fewer losses, I would imagine.”
“True,” she said. “But speed and timing are always the determining factors out here. For one, we usually operate off of the most last-minute type of intelligence you can imagine. We heard about their movements today only hours before you came upon us.
“The other consideration is security. The more people we free, the more encumbered we are. These people can't defend themselves and, as there are so many now, they can't mobilize quickly either. We have had to cut our raiding parties back considerably since we began, both in size and number. I also have more and more who would rather sit back and guard than raid.”
She sighed. “I can't blame them, truth be told. The prison camps we are attacking are increasingly difficult to handle. Not purely in a military sense, either. It's taking its toll on my men to see so much suffering. The conditions are waking nightmares. I've had to send a number home to Islenda for fear of their minds breaking, and have lost a few besides.”
“You're on the verge of quitting.” The Fisherman put his cup down.
She looked at the bear-skin rug that lay between them, not willing to raise her eyes. The thing still had its head attached; the gaping jaws left Ardin a bit nervous. He wondered what the old beast's story was, and how many generations of Renaults it had been handed down to.
“I can't keep this up,” Rain said finally. “My brother needs me back in Islenda, and we're on the verge of becoming completely immobile. And my men nee... we all need a rest from this grisly business.”
“It's not a shameful thing to admit,” said the Fisherman softly. “The Demon's camps were true horrors when I was last here. None of us can go on forever, espe
cially not against such odds.”
Rain nodded slightly, but her stare remained fixated on the rug between them.
“Shill tells me you're blind beyond what borders you've been able to draw.”
“That's true.” Rain looked up finally. “It weighs heavily on my mind; we don't know what's brewing on the other side. With the appearance of more protected Dunmar, I think it's safe to say that the Demon's strength is moving closer every day. And now, with your coming... I fear the worst.”
“You should move,” the Fisherman agreed. “Very soon.”
“Tell me the truth.” Rain's gaze was directed at Ardin now, piercing. “Are you a Mage?”
The question caught Ardin mid-gulp, causing him to spew his drink back into the cup. “Excuse me?”
“Back near the coast today, you were able to heal yourself. And many of my men claimed they saw fire exchanged between you and the Dunmar. You have magic, don't you?”
“The lad–” the Fisherman started.
“I asked your 'apprentice,' dear Captain.” The edge to her voice effectively silenced the old man. “Ardin, are you a Mage?”
Ardin dared a brief glance towards the Fisherman before answering very slowly. “Yes and no...” It was his turn to stare intensely at her. “I am no Mage... yet, I guess you could say that I may be the last.”
“Don't be cryptic here,” she spat. “I've trusted you enough to bring you into my home. Speak plainly or hold your tongue.”
“I am speaking plainly,” Ardin felt calm in spite of the burning in his heart. Somehow this admission to someone he hardly knew made it all the more real. “I was not born a Mage, I was born in the hills outside of Elandir. A boy, just like my brother.” He sighed to mention John. “But then everything changed. My family was killed, and I was given these powers by a Magess whose time had come. I'm still human, but I... I guess I'm something else altogether now.”
Rain's eyes had grown so wide that Ardin was unnerved by her stare. She regained her composure quickly enough, leaving him wondering if he hadn't imagined it.
“I want to make one final excursion,” she said suddenly. “I can't go back to my brother without an accurate report of the enemy's strength, even if only in part.”
