by Dan Koboldt
Chapter 34
Dead Man Talking
“Don’t lie to your audience all the time. Lie when it counts most.”
—Art of Illusion, May 3
Logan watched the last of the CASE Global mercenaries run over the crest of the gateway valley’s rim, heading south. Each carried a rifle. The Alissian army marching up this way was about to get a rude awakening. The mercs hadn’t even left a sentry outside the gateway. He shook his head at the total lapse in security as he shimmied out from behind the boulder he’d used to hide. This is what happens when I’m not running things.
Well, that was someone else’s problem now. The executives were no doubt falling over themselves to find a replacement for Kiara. Hell, they’d probably offer it to Logan once he finished his debrief. He’d be sure to tell them exactly where and how far to shove it.
He jogged up the slope to the cave itself and paused just inside the opening to let his eyes adjust. He shouldn’t rush this. He had to be deliberate and composed when he walked back into that air lock. Give his identification, answer the challenge questions. Do whatever it takes to avoid the gas protocol. The second they let him through the inner gate, though, watch out. He’d make a goddamn beeline for his girls and gut anyone who tried to stop him.
He took a few breaths to settle himself, then walked around the corner into the corridor, where he came face-to-face with a man holding a sword. “Whoa.” He held up his hands. Then he got a look at the other guy’s face and couldn’t believe it. There’s just no way. “You’ve got to be shitting me. Bradley?”
Quinn Bradley grinned and lowered the sword, though not entirely. He looked haggard, but his smile was the usual hundred watts. “Well, look what the cat dragged in! I thought you were dead.”
Nearly was, about six different times. “Likewise. What the hell happened to you?”
“Oh, man, you wouldn’t believe it if I told you. Kiara’s sister showed up and beat the crap out of me.”
“You saw Relling? Me, too!”
Bradley shook his head in disbelief. “She’s a piece of work, isn’t she? Took my comm unit and everything.”
Well, that explains that. Sorry, Mendez. “That’s not the half of what she’s done. She went native on us, and attacked our fleet as it headed south. Damn near wiped us out.”
“Do they know they missed one?”
Logan laughed. “I’ll send a memo later.” Man, it was good to see a friendly face after all this long. “What have you been doing all this time?”
Bradley shrugged. “Pretty much just running from one threat into the arms of another. Trying to stay alive.”
“You did that somehow.” Logan gestured at the sword. “And here you are, getting the drop on me. I’m almost proud.”
“Aw, thanks, coach!”
Distant gunfire echoed from the snow-covered valley. It sounded like the latest recruits had found some targets for their rifles. Probably shooting some fish in a barrel. “There’s a battle happening about half a mile from here. We’d better get back before any of that spills over here.”
He started into the tunnel, but Bradley held up a hand. “Ooh, hold on. About that.”
“What’s the problem?” Then Logan heard a man’s voice from deeper in the cavern. Almost sounded like singing. “Is someone else back there? Move aside!”
He stepped forward again, but Bradley took two steps back and raised his sword tip to Logan’s chest. “Sorry, man. You need to walk away.”
What the hell is he thinking? Then a dark thought intruded, and the more Logan considered it, the more it made sense. Bradley, so eager to get back. Dropping off the radar at a crucial moment. Back here at the gateway while someone was attacking. It all adds up, but I don’t want to believe it. “Wait a minute. Are you with them?”
“What? You’re crazy.” Bradley tried to play it off, but he’d waited just a second too long.
The realization hit Logan like a draft of cold air. “You are.” I tried to warn them, too. “Why would you do that?”
Bradley shrugged. “Got a better offer.”
“Good for you. Now get the hell out of my way.”
“No.”
What a fool. Logan shook his head, and drew the sword he’d borrowed from an unsuspecting foot soldier two days back. It didn’t have the lightness or perfect edge of a company-issued blade, but it was more than enough to mop the floor with Bradley. “You know how this is going to end.”
The walls shook suddenly, like a mini earthquake, showering both of them with dust from the roof. I don’t have time for this.
Bradley took a fighting stance, but his balance was off-center and his sword tip too low. “I think we should establish some ground rules for—”
Logan leaped at him and made a brutal slash, aiming at his neck. Bradley barely got his sword up to deflect it into the stone. But he was off balance and Logan hit him like a center tackle, shoulder-to-chest. The impact sent Bradley tumbling into the cavern behind him. He hit the floor and groaned. Logan walked in and spotted the source of the chanting, a bald guy in robes who sat with his back to the wall. His voice lilted higher, and the walls shook again. More dust. He could have sworn the gateway seized a moment. “What are you doing, Mr. Clean?”
The man didn’t answer. Didn’t even seem to hear him. Logan started over, but caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He whirled to find Bradley winding up with a knife. He sent it flailing toward Logan’s stomach, but Logan batted it aside with the sword. Amateur.
Bradley roared and charged him, swinging hard with the sword. Logan had to take a step back to find his stance, then deflected one swipe, dodged another. Bradley was fast, but unless Logan made a stupid mistake, there was no real danger. And I don’t make stupid mistakes. The air thickened, and a rumbling noise came from the wall around the gateway. It was time to finish this. Logan found his stance, predicted Bradley’s next move. Slide over. Parry. Wait for the opening. He jammed up Bradley’s blade with his own and shoulder-barged him against the cavern wall. The magician hit hard and kept his footing, but his sword went clattering down behind him, almost to the gateway. And the kid still wasn’t giving up. He eyed it like he might go for it. Bigger pieces began raining down from the ceiling. The distant rumble rose to a deep roar.
“Don’t be stupid,” Logan shouted. He circled to put himself between Bradley and his sword. “You can never beat me in a fair fight.”
Bradley’s shoulders drooped, and he took a long breath. “I know.” Then he looked up and actually grinned. “Good thing I never fight fair.” He held out his open hand and closed it into a fist.
Heavy air pressed around Logan. An invisible force pinned his arms to his sides. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t get his sword up. What the absolute hell? “What is . . . this?”
“Sorry, my friend. This is goodbye.” Bradley charged.
Logan couldn’t do a damn thing. They collided, and then Logan was tumbling over backward. The cool-air slice of the gateway washed over him for a long moment. Then harsh fluorescent light bloomed, and he fell against the back of the air lock. Earth-side. Suddenly he could move again. He climbed to his feet, but the gateway looked strange. Black lines spiderwebbed out from the middle of it, shattering the luminescence. Then the soft glow faded away, and Logan found himself staring at a featureless rock wall. He reached out and touched it—not quite believing his eyes—and felt only cold, rough limestone.
The gateway was gone.
Chapter 35
The Link
“If you have to show your cards, you’d better have the winning hand.”
—Art of Illusion, November 10
Quinn sank to his knees and stared at the stone wall where the gateway had been. He couldn’t believe how close that was. Wouldn’t have believed it, if the screaming pain in his back and shoulders wasn’t here to remind him. He fumbled to pick up his sword and half-crawled over to Moric, who leaned back against the wall like a drunkard. “You did it!”
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Moric hardly seemed to hear him. Quinn shook his shoulder. “Moric?” He ducked as another huge chunk of stone fell and shattered on the floor behind him. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.”
He grabbed Moric and tried to lift him, but the man was like a rag doll and Quinn’s muscles weren’t up for it. He fell back on top of him.
Moric’s eyes flickered open. “Is it done?”
“Yes, but this whole place is about to come down.”
“Leave me, and get out of here. Go, run!”
No way in hell. Quinn bent down and took his arm. “Come on, I’ll help you.”
They gave it another try. He got Moric’s arm over his shoulder and they started making stutter steps up the tunnel. The walls shook again, and sent a great pile of rocks showering down in front of them. They tumbled over backward to avoid being crushed. Quinn coughed, half-blind from the dust. It settled enough that he could see through the dimness. Boulders and debris blocked the way. “No!” He stumbled forward and tried digging through, but it was no use. Everything was wedged in.
He turned around and found his way back to Moric. “We’re blocked in. Can you take us out of here?”
Moric looked up at the ceiling. He tried to sit up, winced in pain, and sagged back against the wall. “I have nothing left.”
“No magic?”
“No.”
Quinn pounded his fist against the ground “Damn it!”
“You have to go,” Moric said. “Someone must tell them about the gateway.”
“I don’t think either of us gets to tell them anything.” He put his hand on Moric’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Moric tried to sit up. “You can take us out of here.”
Another avalanche tumbled down right beside them.
Jesus. Quinn shielded his head with his arm. “I can’t, Moric. I never learned how.”
“You already know how. Think!”
This is pointless. But he closed his eyes, and tried to remember what he could of the traveling spell. The tendrils of magic, joining one place to another. The magic pulsed inside of him with the memory. He felt the power growing. “But I don’t know where to go.”
“Yes, you do.” Moric fumbled for Quinn’s hand. He found it, and pressed it against his chest. Pinpricks of magic danced up Quinn’s arm and shot away into the darkness. It pulled his senses along like a cord. Pulled him, pulsing, to another place.
“The bond,” Moric whispered. “Do you feel the bond?”
The family bond. “That’s her?”
“Yes. Go to her.” Moric squeezed his hand tight. “And be good to her, Quinn.”
More thunder shook the walls around him. This time, it didn’t stop. The ceiling began to cave in. Now or never.
“Hold on!” Quinn shouted. He let the magic fill him, seized the invisible cord, and thrust them sideways into the darkness.
Darkness enveloped Quinn. Cold, consuming darkness. A pinprick of light appeared, infinitely far away. He stretched for it. The light grew. Widened. Stretched out until it consumed his entire world, and he spilled into it. He tumbled out onto the snow, with his sword in one hand and Moric in the other. They’d emerged on the snow-covered ridge behind Jillaine and Sella and the other magicians. He drew in a painful breath. I did it.
“Quinn! Father!” Jillaine half-fell into the snow beside them.
“He’s hurt,” he managed. That was a lie of omission, though. Moric was beyond hurt.
Gunfire echoed up from the valley. Distant screams. The clash of steel. Why are they still fighting? He struggled to his feet as Sella came over to examine Moric. He took one excruciating step toward the valley rim, then another. He didn’t want to look, but he had to.
He saw only carnage. Armor-clad bodies and bloody snow painted the valley floor as far as he could see. Hundreds of them. And still they fought in clusters and small groups. Struggled for life and death in the snow. They must not know about the gateway. More gunfire, down to the left.
“No,” he said. The magic boiled up from within him until it roared in his ears. He stumbled over the ridge and down into the valley. He was distantly aware of the glow about him, the firelight. The electric power of pure magic. His steps shook the earth. He lifted his sword. Lightning danced along the blade. “No!” He stabbed down into the snow. A great crevice shot forth. Light bloomed from it, and rocked the floor of the vale. Everyone tumbled to the ground. They followed the crevice to their eyes. Saw him towering like a giant, with the power of the world flowing through him.
“Drop your weapons!” he boomed. He felt their eyes on him. The soldiers, the mercenaries, the magicians. All of them. “Do it!”
The two words delivered a shock wave that knocked over the few who’d managed to stand again.
Then all across the vale, swords and rifles and spears tumbled to the bloody snow. A white heavy silence settled upon them.
“The gateway is gone,” Quinn said. And so am I.
He let go of the magic, and tumbled down into oblivion.
Chapter 36
Ghosts of the Past
“We should not underestimate the unifying potential of this world’s polyglossia.”
—R. Holt, “Alissia: Political Overview”
Veena told herself that she must, above all, be strong.
Richard is dead. She weighed the words in her mind and took their meaning, but refused to accept their reality. He couldn’t have died on the verge of victory over CASE Global. He couldn’t have died with so much work left to do. He couldn’t have died thinking that she regretted her choice. She wanted to scream, and to cry, but she could do neither. Too many people were watching.
She had to get out of the palace, at least for a little while. Clear her head. Everything she saw reminded her of him. She left the palace by the side-gate, with Belladonna as her shadow. Even with Richard gone, the Tukalu held up their end of the agreement. Veena hoped Valteron would still honor their side.
They took a long alley toward the merchant district, mostly to avoid the wide steps that led down to the city square. People had been gathering there since daybreak, clamoring for news. The death of Richard Holt remained a secret, officially speaking, but rumors were already circulating. They couldn’t put off the announcement much longer, no matter the uncertainty of how the people would take it. Veena could only pray that the transition wouldn’t be bloody. The scars of the last one hadn’t fully healed.
Belladonna grabbed her shoulder without warning and pulled her a step back. Three men emerged from a side-alley.
“Dahlia,” said the one in the middle.
Veena recognized the voice of admiral Blackwell, and relaxed a fraction. “It’s all right,” she told Belladonna. She took a step forward. “Admiral.”
“Is it true? Is the Prime dead?”
“Why should you care? You’re retired from Valteron’s service, if memory serves.”
Irritation flashed across his face, but then it disappeared, and he dropped his head. “I regret that. But Richard is my friend.”
He seemed genuinely sad, and Veena felt for him. He and the former Prime knew Richard even before she did. “He died saving our world.”
Blackwell sighed. “That sounds like him. Yet I fear what it means for Valteron.”
“I’ve spoken to his other advisors. We’re going to make the announcement today.”
The admiral didn’t seem to hear her. “The transition of power must be quick. And unambiguous.” He spoke a word to his men, who drew their swords.
Veena backed away as the men advanced. “What are you doing?”
“The people will choose me, but the name Dahlia is on too many lips for my comfort.”
“We can work something out,” Veena said quickly. “Talk it over.”
“Talking is your way. This is mine.” He nodded to his men. “Take them.”
His two henchmen came forward. Belladonna slid in front of Veena, a knife in each hand. “Run, Veena!”
Veena backed away slowly. She couldn’t believe that the admiral would dare try to harm her. Not until one of his henchmen slashed at Belladonna with his sword. The warrior leaned aside just enough for the blade to miss her. She closed the distance in a heartbeat, blades flashing. The man went down, his neck fountaining blood. The other man shouted and leaped at her. She danced backward.
The swordsman made a wide swing at her. She backpedaled but lost her footing and almost fell. The man snarled and raised his sword over his head to slash down at her. She pivoted and sprang forward, slashing upward. Opening a gash across his gut so wide that his bowels spilled out. She turned back and shouted, “Veena, go!” Then she stiffened, as a bloody blade emerged from her chest. Blackwell’s sword. He’d stabbed her from behind. Her legs gave out beneath her. Blackwell jerked his sword free and kicked her aside.
Oh no oh no oh no. Veena backed away in horror. Belladonna shuddered once, then lay still. Blackwell stepped over her like a man out for a stroll. His sword dripped blood as he approached Veena. She turned to run, but her cloak tangled her legs. She fell and hit the ground hard. Pain shot through her palms. She rolled over to find Blackwell standing over her. She scrabbled backward across the cobblestones, but it was no use. He was too fast. Too brutal.
“Sorry about this, Dahlia.” He raised his sword high and brought it down.
It came to a crashing halt five inches above Veena’s face. Another sword barred the way, held by a figure in a hooded cloak. “Let her be.”
Blackwell’s lip curled into a sneer. “This is none of your concern, sellsword.”
The man shoved back the admiral’s blade and advanced, putting himself between Blackwell and Veena. “I said, let her be, Admiral Blackwell.”
Blackwell pursed his lips. “So you know my name. I’d like to know yours, before I bring you to heel.”
The man lowered the hood of his cloak. “Julio Mendez.”
Oh my God, Veena thought. Julio.
