by Jay Key
“The outskirts of the village of Horteyaya.”
“Okay, Mister Grundar—”
The cat bucked.
“Miss Grundar?”
It meowed, affirming Duke’s correction.
“Take us to Horteyaya.”
Nothing. The feline turned to Duke with a look of confusion on her face.
“She doesn’t know what we’ve named these places,” Ja’a reminded the bounty hunter. “Try this.”
She cleared her throat.
“There is a village west of Orbius’ fortress. You know the fortress that I speak of?”
The grundar loosed a throaty growl.
“Can you take us to the westernmost rim of that town—and make sure no one sees us?”
The grundar exchanged roars of varying decibel levels, relaying Ja’a’s message. They flapped their wings in unison; the squalls generated from the motion almost knocked the riders from their steeds. They leapt into the Neprian clouds as they headed towards Horteyaya—or wherever it was that the grundar thought Ja’a had commanded them to go.
Chapter 33
Camps
THE FLIGHT OF THE GRUNDAR was actually pretty smooth, all things considered. It wasn’t executive platinum on a galactic cruiser—but it wasn’t coach on an Oscavian Cavehopper, either. For his first foray into feline flying, Duke scored it a solid B+. The team waved goodbye as the majestic creatures vaulted into the night air soundlessly. With a single flap of their silvery wings, they were propelled beyond the bounty hunter’s range of visibility to become one with the starry backdrop.
“We don’t have much time,” urged Ja’a. “If we are to go around Horteyaya and into the shadow of Orbius’ fortress, we need to move swiftly. And silently.”
No one countered her order. Why would they? She’s right. The grundar had travelled speedily—and had certainly been superior to the alternative of walking—but the evening was already reaching a mature stage and they had ground still yet to cover. The team crested the hill that had hidden their descent. They lit no torches for fear of being seen. The light from the nearby village would have to suffice. For now.
The slinking and slouching reminded Duke of too many recent events—from the grasslands outside of Dre’en, to the hallways of their hotel imprisonment by the Neprian priests, to the witnessing of Lo’n’s ultimate betrayal. He wasn’t a fan. He was almost looking forward to a straightforward confrontation with Orbius. Even if his Orb controlled everything and must be respected.
The village of Horteyaya wasn’t walled like Shud’nut. Maybe walls are a Southern thing, pondered Duke. The individual dwellings seemed to be larger and more rugged than the tiny huts outside the city walls of Dre’en; they were boxier with clean lines and smooth edges. Cubes with a slender rectangular door. All were the same color, height, and shape. Not the elegant kind of simple; the boring kind of simple. It was as if they were mass-produced. Duke wondered if anything from Toby’s art retrospective could have brightened these places up.
“A typical Northern settlement,” whispered Vernglet over Duke’s shoulder. “It reminds me of home.”
“A bit on the—” Duke searched for the word. “—simple side, don’t you think?” It was difficult for him not to call them “drab.” Or worse.
“Why would we want our quarters to be exciting? Isn’t the point to provide a place to sleep in and keep the elements out?”
“I guess. In many cultures, beings put their own individuality into their houses. Different colors they like. Big paintings on the walls. Swimming pools. You name it. It’s been done. I heard that Sprinkles has a taxidermied three-headed ice wombat in his bathroom.”
“I don’t know this Sprinkles but it sounds interesting. However, I like these abodes. Call me old-fashioned.”
“Have it your way.”
Ja’a halted the company as they approached a clearing. It looked similar to the area outside of Shud’nut, with one major exception. Wooden pens taller than two Neprian priests were scattered outside the entrance of a cave.
“The mine,” said Vernglet as he pointed into the mouth of the cave.
Duke ignored him. He couldn’t help but fixate on the goings-on in the pens. In the wooden coops were Neprians. Dirty, unwashed, hygienically-unsound Neprians. Each one covered in mud and indistinguishable muck; their hair matted to the point it looked like it was carved from stone. On their faces were downtrodden, vapid expressions, vacant eyes barely ever looking up from the equally filthy pen floor as if eye contact was a capital offense. Sadness didn’t do it justice. Down-on-their-luck was way too nice. They were simply beaten.
“Ishiro, are you seeing this?”
“What did you think we meant when we said we were slaves to Orbius?” asked Ma’n, noticing Duke’s shock.
“I thought they took a few of you down in the mines for manual labor. A few guards here and there. Not ideal, but not this.”
“Maybe in Shud’nut,” said Bu’r. “It’s a Southern town out of the immediate sight of Orbius. They’re going to be much more by the book here in Horteyaya.”
“They don’t want Orbius to stop by for a quality control check and see anything that could be misconstrued as leniency,” Vernglet chimed in. “That would be very bad for all.”
Duke sat crouching behind a bush, his mouth agape. Sure, he had heard of this type of treatment. But a few paces away, he could see it. Hear it. Smell it. It made him sick.
He reached for his pulse pistol. Vernglet stopped his hand. “This is not the way.”
“What are you talking about? Look at ‘em.”
“I know. If you shoot now, you will spoil the plan. You will take a few lives and save a few. But Orbius will know that we are here. The element of surprise is our greatest ally.”
“How can you let this happen?” Duke’s emotions caused his voice to increase in volume. Ishiro’shea tapped him on the shoulder; Duke returned his voice to an acceptable level. “How can you let your people do this to other living things?”
“I am guilty, Duke. I cannot run from what I’ve done or—or, more accurately but no less damning, what I let happen. Orbius has corrupted us all and the servitude to his rule has clouded any chance at rational thoughts from my people. I cannot defend this, nor can I expunge my past—I hope my small part in this cause will at least show that some of us are capable of changing. I wish for a time when that will be important, because it will have meant the demise of Orbius.” Vernglet’s face twitched and his eyes flickered.
His voice waned. “I don't deserve a second chance for everything that occurred under my watch in Dre’en. It shouldn't have taken a trip to Sansagon for me to realize the full extent of what was happening. But it did. And if I can help you stop this, then maybe I did something right in this life. And the next generation of Neprians—both races—will have a chance to live in peace.”
Overhearing the conversation, Bu’r interjected. “I wish my friends back home could see this. They wouldn’t have treated us the way they did.”
Ishiro’shea put his arm around the beefy rebel to comfort him. Duke could tell that Bu’r carried the weight of his people’s rejection, and that it was slowly crushing him.
Three priest guards emerged from the cave carrying wooden rods longer than the javelins that Duke was accustomed to seeing in the hands of the Northern folk. The last third of each pole was dotted with sharp tacks and barbs. Not enough to kill, but more than enough to produce the desired outcome of the prodder.
“No,” Duke said to himself.
The priests inserted the rods into the pens and began shouting. The slaves squirmed and tried to move but they were packed in so tightly that they ended up falling over each other and being subjected to more pokes and slices. The priests increased the frequency and the force of the strikes and, with each violent episode, they increased the width of their smiles. Despite their confinement, the prisoners still lunged for an unattainable freedom, scratching and clawing their fellow detainees to flee the re
ach of the pointed tip of tyranny.
It was impossible for Duke to separate the pain-riddled screams of those being caught with the javelin’s point from the agonizing groans from the slaves being crushed by their fellow prisoners. It was a single amorphous bloodcurdling wail that burrowed deep into Duke’s mind.
Vernglet’s expression mirrored those of the prisoners. He looked at the ground.
“I hope you see now why my decision was to leave and separate myself from Orbius’ influence. I was in Dre’en for far too long. Setting up altars and having kids clean pots and pans was much different than what I experienced here.”
Duke wanted to understand. Vernglet wasn't that good of an actor. He also knew the timing was suspicious and made for textbook spy work. However, he gave the priest the benefit of the doubt. He just hoped it was more than simply proving Po’l wrong that was driving his faith.
They trekked until the sun began to turn the northern sky a radiant orange. The sounds from the mines were but a faint memory, but Duke knew it would take much longer to erase the images of what he had seen in Horteyaya. As they continued, their surroundings provided less and less cover.
“There. Do you see it?” said Vernglet, pointing to a ridge on the horizon. “That’s directly outside of Orbius’ palace. Beyond the hills is a steep decline into a ravine. In that ravine is the fortress—and farther out is the heart of Sansagon.”
Ja’a turned to her team. “We made it. Now we must finish this.”
The team cheered—but not too loudly.
“Let us all rest before our final push. Vernglet, you have led us honestly and without deceit. We are grateful. Now, we must ask you for one last favor.”
“Yes, noble Ja’a of the Southern landmass.”
Duke rolled his eyes at Vernglet’s incessant formality.
“Help us strategize a way to enter Orbius’ fortress and dispose of him before he can use the Orb to wreak havoc upon us.”
“I would be honored. And I happen to have an idea.”
Before Vernglet could continue, a black speck appeared in the sky to the south. It was growing and growing—or rather, it was getting closer. It wasn’t long before it was easy to see what it was—a grundar.
“Surely they didn’t change their mind and are coming back to eat us?” asked Duke.
“There’s only one, so I doubt that,” replied Ja’a. “And, it looks like it’s carrying something. Or someone.”
“It appears much too small to be Fazeek,” chimed in Vernglet.
“And Fazeek doesn’t ride his cat like he’s taking a nap,” said Duke. “Whatever is on that flying feline, it’s unconscious.”
“Fazeek could be unconscious. Or what if he’s dead?” retorted Vernglet.
Before Duke could answer, the huge cat hit the ground with a plodding gallop and came to a halt a few paces before the group. It lowered its body to the ground. From its back rolled a beaten, bloody body. The thud sounded painful. The living corpse looked up.
“The bastard was right,” the injured passenger said through bruised and swollen lips.
Po’l.
“Quick, get him some water,” shouted Ja’a.
Ma’n and Bu’r rushed to the injured Neprian’s aid.
Duke walked over to the grundar and placed his hand on its nose. It purred softly.
“Thanks, girl. You did good. You don’t know how happy I’m going to be to hear Po’l admit he was wrong.”
The purr rose to a muted roar and then the grundar was off the ground and heading back towards the battle.
Po’l was sitting upright, downing liquid from Bu’r’s canteen. “I just flew on a grundar. And there was some giant skeleton that said he knew you. And Orbius’ army… it’s... heading south. Lo’n was leading us right to them.”
“Wait a second,” interrupted Duke.
“Yes?” moaned Po’l.
“So you were wrong about Vernglet?”
“No time for this, Duke,” hissed Ja’a.
The Nova Texan extended a hand and helped Po’l to his feet.
It can wait.
“Good to have you back, old friend.”
Chapter 34
Smuggler's Door
“VERN, WE TRULY COULDN’T HAVE done this without you.”
“I’m glad to help, Ja’a. This passage through the ridge and around the ravine isn’t even known to most. It was a smugglers’ tunnel long before Orbius rose to power.”
“It must be the tunnel that He’j mentioned,” remarked Bu’r.
“It is not,” countered Vernglet.
The rebels’ faces contorted with confusion.
“He’j did not find this tunnel. Nor any tunnel.”
“I don't understand,” said Ja’a.
“Lo’n was deceiving you. In the off chance that you didn't fall for or survived him leading you into the teeth of Orbius’ invasion force, you would have been sent into a side entrance that was already laid with a trap and a dozen-plus soldiers.”
“So He’j—”
“Yes. He'j did try to go in through the front door.”
“Suicide,” whispered Duke to Ishiro’shea.
“He was a fierce warrior,” said Vernglet.
The group fell silent, absorbing the priest’s words.
“So this smuggler’s tunnel,” said Duke, attempting to refocus the conversation, “it drops us right into the fortress?”
“For the most part. It opens up into an attic chamber of a supply closet, just off one of the halls leading into the throne room.”
“Great. I’m guessing that Orbius will be there, in the throne room?” asked Duke.
“That is the most likely scenario,” replied Vernglet.
“And soldiers? Will this supply closet be guarded?” asked Duke.
“I don’t remember it being attended.”
“But you don’t know for sure,” noted Po’l.
“No.”
“I think it’s a risk that we have to take,” replied Ja’a.
Everyone nodded in agreement, including Po’l.
The voyage through the cave system was unexciting. Its lack of use was apparent. Pools of stagnant water dotted the uneven path. A few holsters for torches jutted out intermittently from the passageway; Duke lit each one as they moved farther along. Surprisingly, they encountered no smugglers’ traps. Duke thought this was odd—but then again, it was odd that Vernglet knew of a secret passage into Orbius’ fortress that the almighty Orbmaster wasn’t aware of. The bounty hunter began to talk himself out of believing Vern, but then thought better of it. His internal struggle grew fierce. I’ve been on Team Vern from the get-go—best not abandon him now.
Time was hard to determine in the darkness of the tunnel, but Duke thought it was likely still in the early part of the morning when they approached a cylindrical room that marked the end of the passage.
“Wrong turn?” asked Duke.
“If you want to get into Orbius’ house uninvited and without him knowing, Mr. LaGrange, then this is definitely not a wrong turn.”
Duke puzzled over the convoluted response for a moment, then replied, “Good.”
Vernglet Wip approached the wall and then began to caress it.
“It’s here somewhere,” he said to himself. “I think it’s right—”
A loud click echoed through the chamber. A panel, until now hidden in the stone, swung open.
“—here,” concluded Vernglet.
He grabbed a ladder from within the opening, placed it on the cave floor, and started to unfold it. It appeared to Duke that it was the perfect height to reach the top of the room. But then what? There isn’t a door, or at least a noticeable one.
The priest struggled to bring the ladder upright.
Po’l limped over, still suffering from his wounds sustained during the battle with Orbius’ army, and helped Vernglet lift the ladder and lean it against the cave wall.
“Thank you. It’s heavier than I remember.”
�
�Wait, Vern,” began Duke. “Were you a smuggler? I thought you were a farmer before becoming a priest.”
“I had many jobs before I served Orbius. Bringing in goods that were misguidedly outlawed by Togg’s government to Sansagon for purchase was one of them.”
“So... a smuggler?”
“I preferred ‘merchant of exotic and hard-to-come-by goods.’”
“You continue to surprise me.”
“I also sold crop insurance for a time.”
“Not as surprising.”
“Okay, now what?” interjected Ja’a, cutting off Duke’s conversation with the former smuggler.
“My apologies,” said Vernglet. “Memory lane can be quite the detour.”
“Is there an opening beyond our sight?” asked Ma’n.
“It’s beyond everyone’s sight. You have to activate it with a special code.”
“I’m not following,” said Po’l.
Duke was about to offer a retort that would have assuredly been ill-received, but Ishiro’shea tapped his shoulder forcefully. He’s probably right, thought Duke.
“At the top of the room, where the wall meets the ceiling, there is a small inset. It won’t be visible until you’re up there—it’s well-hidden from anyone that might have accidentally stumbled into the caves. You have to know where to look. I positioned the ladder so that when you ascend, you will be led right to it.”
“Then what?”
“Inside are five circular holes and a pile of brightly-colored pebbles and stones. You must place the stones in a certain pattern. The door will unlock. Then you have to remove them in another particular order and the door will open. It will remain open for exactly the time it takes to sing ‘Sansagon the Beautiful.’”
“How long is that?” asked Duke.
Vernglet broke into a rendition of the patriotic tune. It wasn’t the Nova Texan planetary anthem, but it was catchy.
“Okay, so we have about a minute and a half,” Duke said to Ishiro’shea.
“What’s the pattern?”
