by Scott Moon
“Jorgo the giant coward!” Sveinn yelled, pushing past Seccon.
For a brief moment, Seccon considered yanking the boy backward, but stayed his hand just in time. Humiliating a boy who would need to lead his friends into real battle as adults would be worse than killing him here and now. He thought of Sveinn’s uncle, Emperor Dan Uburt-Wesson, in his prime. Before the madness of absolute power destroyed his reason, the Emperor had been a bold and decisive leader — his charisma unmatched and his ability to choose good councilors uncanny. For a time, he had held the Earth Systems Commonwealth in relative peace and definite prosperity.
Sveinn needed education and training. He needed a mentor and a guide. If he survived the year, he would find himself burdened with responsibilities few men or women could imagine.
Seccon spoke to Sveinn in a low voice, keeping his eyes on Jorgo. “Might I suggest a tactical retreat?”
“How would I do that, Sangerhinde?”
The answer was on his lips when he noticed a reflection in the distant tree line of the opposing mountain slope. One flash, and it was gone. Nature produced very few objects with reflective properties in this type of terrain. He accepted that what he saw might be the product of a warrior’s polished helmet or a woman’s hand mirror, but instinct warned him against complacency.
Sveinn stared at him impatiently.
Seccon studied the terrain and saw nothing. Then, just as he was about to give the young Blood Royal counsel, he saw a similar reflection far across the valley. Are they communicating?
“Do your worst, Jorgo,” Sveinn said. He slammed his axe against his shield. “Shield wall!”
Boys and girls tightened their formation and braced for the attack.
Seccon shook his head. Someone had been practicing in secret. Unable to decide if he was impressed or alarmed, he spoke quickly and just loud enough that Jorgo might overhear the words. “We must hold on for as long as we can. Aefel is hiding in the trees across the valley.”
The change in the Hawk Clan warriors was immediate. Seccon had suspected his words might evoke an emotional response from Jorgo. The half-giant brute that reminded Seccon of a genetically modified LTGE guard slammed his sword on his shield and stomped one foot at the same time. Frost exploded from the ground. The heat in his eyes was deadly. Veins throbbed on his neck and on the forearm not obscured by the shield that looked too heavy to lift. His sword hand trembled with white knuckled rage.
Seccon hadn’t expected the rest of Hawk Clan to express the same anger. Jorgo had been the humiliated leader, but as the scene unfolded, each warrior had a curse and a challenge for Aefel of Sky Clan. Several were already marching toward the distant tree line.
Jorgo thrust his chin at Sveinn as he walked backward to join the others. “I’m going to fuck your mother if you’re here when I get back.”
Sveinn laughed.
8
DUSK
KLAK MOUNT TRADING POST
GRENDEL 0473829: SURFACE, MOUNTAIN PASS 83D2B
MISSION CLOCK: n/a – FUGITIVE
Seccon ceased pacing the curtain wall and leaned on a parapet at the base of Ivar’s tower. The young albino seemed a reasonable leader — not easily impressed and very confident. He couldn’t resent the Lord of Klak Mount for making him wait. It was what leaders did. What he did resent was his inability to speak with the trader in private. The moment the man arrived at the gate, Ivar had spirited him into a private meeting. It was a situation that made Seccon’s nerves flutter in his stomach. If the Lord of this place understood who and what the peddler was and why Seccon needed him, things could become very difficult.
He didn’t know much about the man he sought, but his pre-assassination intelligence suggested the peddler was named Elf or something similar. Maybe he was an elf. At this point, Seccon wouldn’t be surprised. He began this misadventure with more information than his enemies would expect him to acquire by any means. His investigation had been both brilliant and totally insufficient.
He had learned shockingly little about the Emperor’s crimes and the numerous plots against him, yet he had taken action that could never be forgiven. He had broken his oath, betrayed his Emperor, and murdered him. Saving Sveinn and his sisters was the only thing he could do to redeem himself. Without modern resources and a modern sanctuary, he didn't stand a chance.
A gust of cold wind assaulted his face, handling him roughly as Casia might have if she were here, but not surprising him. He’d been standing here long enough to expect such treatment from the elements.
The view from the top of the pass took his breath away. Sheets of white covered much of the mountain pass, bordered by evergreen trees. Blue skies and wispy clouds stretched above the jagged peaks. Seccon had campaigned on many planets. The mountains on Grendel 0473829 put the mountains of most other worlds to shame. Most ranges were completely impassable without modern technology.
After carefully scanning the area for watching eyes, he pulled a pair of small binoculars from his tunic and searched the pass for signs of ESC commandos. What he found was Jorgo and his warriors fleeing the demons of hell, or so they must have thought the armored ESC troops. Jorgo’s search for Aefel had led him directly into an ESC company. The violence stunned Seccon, who had seen worse but forgotten the flavor of it.
Several minutes passed as he swept his binoculars across the ESC soldiers, double-checking his tally of their numbers and looking for anomalies in their equipment or the way they moved. He did this without thinking too much. Everything seemed to follow standard operating procedure for the ESC troops.
Then he noticed the emblem. In the place of ESC were the letters NGO.
He wished he knew what the acronym meant.
He was tired of war, tired of politics and intrigue.
A lone swordsman stopped running across a meadow buried under snowdrifts. Exhausted, he faced three ESC/NGO soldiers in full armor, head-to-toe technology that made them nearly invincible. The warrior raised his chin, staring at his enemies for a moment, then charged. His blade arched through the air, slashing savagely at the nearest foe. Bullets cut him down. He twisted and danced his way to the ground as a red mist erupted into the air.
“It took me longer than I expected to send Jarl Ivar away,” a voice said.
Turning, annoyed that he had allowed a civilian to sneak up on him, Seccon evaluated the short, well-dressed man of smiles and confidence. The trader wore several necklaces over his high-collared tunic. He had a belt inlaid with silver, kidskin gloves thrust through the expensive leather with rakish style. Seccon saw all of this, but his attention was on the glass eye. Few people on this planet could afford the expense of such a thing. Eye patches were more common. In a matter of heartbeats, Seccon was convinced the eye was part of the man’s cybernetic enhancements. The crude, outdated thing seemed to emit heat and a low vibration.
This was the man he was looking for. This was the man who understood the world that Grendel had become after being abandoned and what it had been in the early days.
“My name is Elof; some call me Magiske Oje.” The peddler stared directly at Seccon for several moments, motionless as a man could be. His breathing slowed to invisibility and he didn’t blink.
“Are you scanning me?” Seccon asked in the Commonwealth language.
Elof smiled.
Seccon felt the coin in his belt pouch and cursed himself for his show of nerves. Now that he had found the peddler, he wasn’t sure he could trust the man.
“Humans sit Humanum,” Elof said.
“Veritas nihil sine actione,” Seccon said, feeling power in the words. Truth is nothing without action.
Elof considered him a moment longer, measured him as thoroughly as the Emperor had been wont to do, and nodded. “Veritatem.”
“Ivar will not allow us to remain here indefinitely. Jorgo has twice been humiliated by Sky Clan. The next time he comes, it will be with all his strength and his best allies,” Seccon said.
“Should that mean s
omething to me?” Elof asked.
Seccon considered throwing him off the curtain wall.
“I thought a man of your reputation would have gathered additional resources by now.” Elof looked over his shoulder and even stepped to the edge of the wall to make certain a spy had not climbed up to eavesdrop. “If you don’t have it, then get clear of these natives. They will get you killed.”
Seccon watched the peddler’s every move. Realization dawned on him like a nuclear barrage on the horizon. Elof the magic-eyed peddler didn’t know about Sveinn, Fey, Ari, and Thrud.
Of course he didn’t. How could he? And if someone like this amateur spy understood the Blood Royal was sleeping with villagers, thralls, and sheep in a crowded barn, he would call in all his favors to capture them. Elof was a pure opportunist. Seccon knew the type.
“Cat got your tongue? Don’t worry. I know what you did and could care less about the reward.” Elof looked around one more time. “I want the weapon. Not for me. Of course you wouldn’t give it to me. I just want to be on the same side as the new Carosn Device.”
Part of Seccon’s soul died at the peddler’s words.
He hated secret weapons and the generations of misery that always followed. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Elof stepped back and tightened his mouth. “Then you are a fool. What kind of man would murder the Emperor without the power to usurp him?”
Seccon grabbed the peddler’s shirt and drove him against the parapet. “Is that what you think this is about? Do you believe I want to rule the Commonwealth?” He thrust the man down and stepped away. “If there was a weapon that would keep me alive, I would use it. I am only concerned for my survival and few locals to whom I have grown attached.”
Elof stood and arranged his clothing. After a moment, he removed a twisted gold medallion from his neck and placed it in a pouch.
“Can you help me with that much?” Seccon asked, glancing at the jewelry to see if it might match his own secret coin.
Elof nodded grimly. “Yes. I can take you into the First Base. Not even Jorgo will be able to reach you, but your simple friends will probably go half mad when they see the electric lights and flush toilets.”
“You will be rewarded.”
“A good merchant requires most of his payment up front.”
“A good merchant stays alive,” Seccon said. “I don’t like to make threats, but remember who you are talking to, Elof.”
The peddler looked like a wolf about to pounce, afraid of recent pain but not for long. “There is nothing your villagers have that can pay this debt. Bring me something by morning or I will see that Ivar turns you out.”
Seccon watched him walk away and waited until he was about to enter the stairwell of the curtain wall tower. “Talk to your superiors.”
Elof stopped and turned his head just enough to see over his shoulder.
“Because they are going to tell you to do what I say.”
Elof the Peddler, the Magiske Oje, the man who thought to bully the former Chief Strongarm to the Emperor, snorted and went through the doorway.
Seccon started brainstorming for anything of value that might appease the peddler in case the bluff didn’t work.
9
DAWN
SKY CLAN VILLAGE
GRENDEL 0473829: SURFACE, MOUNTAIN PASS 83D2B
MISSION CLOCK: n/a – FUGITIVE
Elof, the dirty snake, was gone in the morning. A tall, broad-shouldered Dane with keen eyes and big hands stood over Seccon as he ate warm porridge from a bowl in the common square near the paddocks. The stranger’s dark brown eyes and facial structure belied his red-blond hair and pale skin. Seccon recognized the man’s lineage immediately. He might be a soldier, but his older brothers and sisters were probably in the House of Lords. The man was a new human of the Commonwealth, full of state-of-the-art Internals linked flawlessly to a broad genetic foundation.
There was nothing of Elof’s furtiveness in this man. His confidence nearly insulted Seccon. The suggestion of a good-natured smile almost caused Seccon to provoke the man with an insult. The soldier reminded him too much of his wife. He didn’t seem to know the meaning of doubt and the world basically sprinkled rainbows and riches on his every step despite the deadly intensity just under the surface of his eyes.
There wasn’t much space in this part of the trading post fortress. The soldier and the assassin breathed on each other for several heartbeats.
“Would you like some gruel?” Seccon asked.
The warrior smiled. “Looks real good.”
“You stand like a FALD,” Seccon said.
“That’d be the First Division. I stumbled into the Sixth.”
Seccon searched for and spotted the other Sixth Armored-infantry Lightning Division soldiers. There were eight, not including the leader, each dressed as a local mercenary. “How long have you been on the surface?”
Fey moved near enough to hear the rest of the conversation. “One week. The FALD Reavers are off the mission on account of Aefel.”
Seccon wanted to ask several questions along that line, but Fey was already exerting her charming personality on the mercenary.
“Did your mother give you a name, merc?” she asked.
“Call me Jon Black.”
“I don’t like that name,” she said.
Jon Black, or whatever his real name and rank were, made eye contact with his two fire-team leaders, then looked at Seccon. “My squad is ready to move. Get your people ready ASAP. I don’t have time to explain.” He winked at Fey.
“We are not his people,” Fey said as she frowned at Jon Black’s facial expression and stepped in front of him.
He looked down on her. “If you don’t come with him, you will die.”
Fey opened and closed her mouth twice as he walked away with his men. She whirled on Seccon as he stood and put away his bowl.
“I am packing. You should do the same.”
“We will talk to Gunnarr and my brother first,” she said.
Seccon nodded as he finished his preparations to flee the trading post. He hadn’t planned to stay long. “We will talk to them, and then we will all leave. Do the right thing, Fey. Convince your people to be ready to move before an hour passes.”
For several precious seconds, they stared at each other. Her nostrils flared once. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Snow began to fall.
“Meet me at Ivar’s tower. Wait to talk to Gunnarr until I get there.”
She strode toward a group of older Sky Clan women and spoke to them in low, urgent tones.
Seccon went to Ivar’s tower and waited for Fey. He listened to Gunnarr, Sveinn, and Ivar talk of fights and battles and boar hunts. There was time to eat some of Ivar’s good cheese and hard bread, drink a small cup of wine, and watch curtains of snow falling beyond the tower window. Impatience to get moving gnawed at him. Contrary to his outward appearance, his heart galloped and sweat formed on his brow. He resisted the impulse to wipe his forehead or speak.
Fey strode into the room with her bundle over her shoulder. Gunnarr and Ivar seemed to notice Seccon’s travel gear for the first time and looked back and forth between them.
“Are you running away with the singer, sister?” Sveinn asked.
“We are all leaving. Right now,” Fey said.
Gunnar laughed. Sveinn studied Seccon carefully. Ivar looked grim.
“You are serious,” Gunnarr said. He turned to look at Ivar and stopped when he saw his friend’s somber expression.
“Jarl Hurlach sent hired swords to escort you to the Valley of Lights. He is practically the king of the Jarls. I swore that I would assist his men,” Ivar said.
“I have met King Hurlach,” Sveinn said. “He wasn’t as tall or warlike as I expected.”
“Yes, Sveinn, we all know who he is,” Gunnarr said, his eyes still on Ivar.
“I met him.” Sveinn stood with his chest thrust out, offering defiance that Gunnarr would never tolerate
if not distracted.
A moment passed and Gunnarr’s frustration slowly turned toward Sveinn. “Know your place, udenforstaende.”
“I’m no more an outsider than you, Jarl Gunnarr.”
The young Jarl snorted, then laughed. “I remember when the old man brought you and your sisters. Ask Fey; she was old enough to remember.”
Seccon moved between them, gently but firmly guiding the angry and stunned Sveinn back a step. “There is no time for this. The people of Sky Clan need their Jarl. We are counting on you.”
Gunnarr gathered his people in the barn. He stood shoulder to shoulder with his audience, waiting until he had everyone’s attention. Seccon waited for him to offer an explanation or negotiate, but the young Jarl held his tongue. Sveinn and Fey stood near.
A dozen boys and girls hugged themselves just beyond the door as snow fell and wind increased. Several of the villagers cast nervous glances at the weather.
“Jarl Hurlach has sent men to escort us to safety,” Gunnarr said.
“We’re safe enough here until the storm breaks,” a voice said from the crowd.
“These men will protect and guide us. See to your families. Count everyone. We are leaving.”
Jon Black and the other soldiers watched from the yard without flinching when the wind blew snow in their faces. During the calm between gusts, fat snowflakes tumbled down over the curtain wall and between the gate towers. The mountain peaks were hidden in storm clouds.
Jon Black’s squad led the way. Others flanked and followed as terrain allowed. The exodus from the Klak Mount Trading Post was like a procession of unhappy ghosts with numb fingers.
Seccon fell in stride with Sveinn. “Gunnarr did well. I thought there would be an argument.”
Sveinn scanned the mountain trail, straining to see half of the marching villagers in the bad weather. “He wanted to give an explanation and ask the elder women for token advice. I told him not to do that.”
