Tail of the Dragon

by Timothy Reihm

  Chapter 29

  The group stopped just before the entrance to the grove, arranged in five lines of five, spaced a single arm span apart. They turned in unison to face their commander, who followed alongside Barman. Each wore an expression of serious and resolute professionalism. Barman knew that he had to give them more information than he had, before he could expect them to step through the gateway.

  'Brothers, I want you to understand what you are up against on this mission. We are after an individual more violent than any you have ever known. He is a desperate fugitive who is stronger than you, has knowledge of things that you probably don't know exist and is not constrained by ethics or conscience. I did not realize how dangerous he was until some of my best operatives were seriously injured while in pursuit of him. This criminal has committed all manner of atrocities, including murder.'

  Though the expressions in the audience changed little, their eyes showed that they understood and were prepared to face this danger. He looked at Metron and saw that, he too, stood ready to serve.

  'Metron will give you your tactical orders. I have information that our fugitive is here. We have tried to contact the representatives on Yabler and can't reach them. I assume they and the planet's inhabitants are in danger,' Barman said and motioned for the captain to step forward.

  'You know and understand the rules. We secure the perimeter of the grove first. No one breaks formation. We have brothers on that world and an entire native population is depending on us to get this right. We move with caution and as a team.'

  He pulled out a small hand array and used it to project the auragraphic signature of the fugitive.

  'First priority- your safety. Second- keep the natives safe. Third- rescue our brothers. Fourth- secure the target. No one takes risks. We go through on my command.'

  As Metron gave the signal, Barman noticed that the trees suddenly flickered. For a moment they seemed to vanish, as if they were some hologram being switched off and on in rapid succession. He was about to call a halt, but the first line had passed onto the path. Row by row they disappeared in front of him. Finally, he and Metron walked through the screen.

  He felt the tingle on his skin and the sensation of free fall. His foot reached out expectantly, seeking that first solid step onto land, but it wasn't there. His stomach lurched violently. He was falling into a blinding light. He clenched his jaw tight to keep from screaming.

   

  'I did it!' he yelled, causing a massive winged exodus from the surrounding branches.

  He had theorized and hoped, but scarcely believed it had worked. That simple tool had freed him of the constraints of the Kingdom. He was liberated, able to craft this world any way that he chose, with no directives or prohibitions.

  He would help turn this backward little planet into an empowered and developed gem. He would teach the natives to use technology to improve their lives and show them how to make proper use of their resources. He would unite the tribes, develop trade and transportation, foster learning and creativity. These creatures could finally have the chance at a real life. They would worship him as a god.

  Of course there was always the danger that the Kings would attempt to reacquire the planet. He would need defenses and the total loyalty of the natives and a better means of harnessing the dark energy. And there were his arellian prisoners. He would either have to find a way to insure their obedience, or get rid of them. It might be possible to use the spire to do one or the other, but that issue could wait. There was so much to do. He turned and started away.

  Screams of terror stopped him in his tracks. He spun around and his heart froze. The trees were there, just as if they had always been. Rows of battle guards tumbled to the ground before the gateway in a tangle of weapons and limbs. They looked dazed and frightened. As one group started to rise, another row fell out of the path on top of them. Then he spotted Barman, tight jawed and stumbling, eyes focused on him.

  'There he is,' Barman yelled.

  The panic that gripped him melted in an explosion of rage. He charged, bending to grasp the hilt of the black spire and yanking it from the ground.

  'I will destroy you all!' he screamed, sprinting toward the confused heap of arella, dark shaft held aloft like a lance.

  In a brief instant, the jumble of bodies transformed into a disciplined formation. It happened so fast that Barman hardly registered it. They moved as if they were parts of one creature. The squad closed on the enraged fugitive, splitting neatly into a V-pattern, like jaws opening to devour.

  As the gap narrowed the group stopped and, as one, raised their shields. As before, they fused, creating a wedge that the dangerous arella sprinted into. As the outer edges pivoted to close the box around him, the spire collided with the shield wall.

  A flash of white, hot light swept across the field, followed by a rolling concussion that sent everyone tumbling away from the impact. Barman watched, with horror, as bodies flew through the air. Then the wave hit him and he too was shoved backward, crashing to the ground beside where Metron crouched, absorbing the force.

  For a moment he could see nothing but pale yellow. His ears rung and his eyes were sticky and dry. The air blew hot across his skin and he was strangely weak, as if something had drained him. As his vision cleared he saw Metron charging toward the writhing bodies.

  Barman stumbled to his feet and followed awkwardly. Others around the field were rising. He scanned the scene, searching for their target. He couldn't see him. He started running down the hill, panic beginning to rise in his stomach. Had he been outmaneuvered again? He spotted a blackened depression in the earth, where the explosion had occurred. He slowed and walked to the edge, looking in to the charred bowl. At the bottom lay the fugitive, not moving.

  He turned and watched Metron completing a check of his arella, who gave him a signal that everyone was fine. The shields had obviously done their jobs. Where had they gone? He looked around, aware that not a single silver rectangle was visible. A number of swords lay scattered on the ground, but far fewer than there should have been. He peered back into the pit. No sign of the stick he'd been carrying.

  Barman knelt beside the fugitive and grasped each wrist, securing restraints on both. As the manacle bonds fused together, the captured prisoner’s eyes opened and he screamed.

  ‘Nooooo!'