by Jo Zebedee
He stepped in front of Sonly and Kerra, shielding himself, and backed away from the platoon, firing as he did. The soldiers fell back, letting him trap himself; they were in no hurry. He neared the boardroom, and felt his mother ahead of him, her presence filling his mind, furious at the knowledge he, too, wasn’t helpless. He stopped.
“What is it?” asked Sonly. Her voice was strained, too high.
“The boardroom; they’re there. We can’t go that way.”
“My office has a balcony.”
It would take a hell of a pilot to lift them from a balcony. He glanced at Sonly and she was pale, her breath coming too quickly. Her hand was clutched against her side. “How bad is that?”
“It’s okay.” Her voice was faint and he reached out, snaking his arm under her shoulder, taking some of her weight. Her office it was – he had no option, he had to keep moving.
“Kerra, run and open your mum’s office.” Gritting his teeth, he followed, half-dragging, half-carrying Sonly. He pulled her into her office and kicked the door shut. She yelped at the sharp movement.
“Hold on,” he said. “We’ll be off in a moment.”
She gave a tiny nod. He glanced at where she’d been shot, saw the material burned away, the red, spreading burn beneath her hands, and swallowed, not knowing what to say.
“We’ll get a medic,” he managed. “As soon as we’re lifted off.”
They backed onto the balcony. Kare laid Sonly on the ground and nodded to Kerra. “Stay with your mum.”
He scanned the skies, praying Farran had picked up his thoughts and knew where they were, but the air was empty. Kerra knelt beside Sonly, pushing her blouse away from the wound.
Kare turned away, not able to watch, and faced the door of the room. He propped himself against the entrance to the balcony, his single blaster – half charged, only – primed and ready. His mouth was dry and he swallowed, wincing. He was still wearing his collar. He left it, knowing that every bit of power he wasted could cost when he needed it. The sound of blasts came from the corridor and he steeled himself, ready. The door started to give way.
It burst open. Soldiers spilled in – so many, one after the other, crouching, firing at him. Behind, stood his mother, the boy at her side, his eyes on Kare, never flinching.
Kare brought up a shield, knowing he hadn’t got it right, that he wasn’t using the mesh the way Farran had told him to, but he was out of time to practice. Immediately, the combined powers of his mother and son pounced on it, unpicking it. It was only Kare’s precise touch, his years of practice, that let him respond and maintain it. He could sense the Roamer minds fighting to sustain the power and could feel the mesh draining quicker than it could be filled.
He held on, grimly, firing until his blaster was so hot he had to switch hands. Where the hell was Farran?
The shield faltered and came down. A shot hit him, hard on his chest. He spun away, the force pushing him onto the balcony. Heat burrowed into his skin, the familiar smell of burning in the air, and then the pain hit.
Another bolt hit his shoulder. He went down, sprawling against the parapet wall. His son’s powers focused on him, paralysing him. His mother’s snaked out to join with him. There was nothing more he could do, the mesh was too hard to hold. Another bolt fired, and the world shrank to it coming at him. At least it would be over quickly. He yelled as it reached him.
It slid away, bouncing harmlessly back.
“I’ve got it.” Kerra glared at her brother and the Empress. “My power’s back.”
Kare pulled himself to his knees. Beside him, Sonly’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Her side was a mess, the burn deep, through the skin, to her soft tissue.
“Oh, gods.” He’d seen too many mortal injuries not to know what he was looking at. He forced himself to his feet and leaned on the parapet. He barely registered the pain from his own injuries, only the lance that ran through him at the sight of Sonly. He looked back at her, still deathly pale, and his breath caught in his throat. He raised his eyes to the sky.
“Farran!” he shouted with his voice and his mind, seeking the very last bit of Roamer power. “I need you!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“You’re sure it was Sonly’s office!” Lichio yelled.
Farran nodded, his hands darting over the control panel as he dodged shots, amazing Lichio with his skill, especially given that the ship’s repair board was still working on the battle damage. His accompanying fighters engaged the enemy ships.
The Roamer banked the ship, so it followed the line of the palace gardens. “Which way, le Payne? Come on; you need to guide me!”
Lichio looked forwards. Did he say port and starboard, or left and right? He wasn’t a pilot, he was a soldier – hell, he wasn’t even that, he was an Intelligence chief – and it was all he could do not to throw up. He swallowed against the nausea and it lifted until Farran banked again.
“Come on, le Payne! I’m running out of air space.”
“Ahead, and follow the palace wall. It’s on the left.”
Farran swore and Lichio glanced at him, his head swimming. “What is it?”
“The mesh is nearly gone. How far?”
“Just ahead.”
“Get to the hatch,” said Farran. Beside him, his Roamer co-pilot, introduced only as Fabrent, punched something on the control panel and a line of laser fired at a ship coming at them.
“What?”
“Get to the hatch. We can’t set down on a balcony, you’ll have to pull them in. Take a comms piece. There’s a cable beside the hatch – hook yourself. I’ll pull you up when you have them.”
Hook himself? Lichio gulped as Farran’s plan sank in. “The other ships?” he said. “Can’t they do the lift?”
“The other ships are keeping half of the Abendauii fleet off our ass.” The other half were engaged in combat with Lyle. “Move!”
I’m supposed to be in charge. Even as he thought it, Lichio was up and moving down the ship, still limping. He put the comms piece in his ear, and shrugged on a harness, hooking the cable beside the hatch to it. He made sure, this time, it was correctly secured – he didn’t want to relive the parachute fall. Not from this height.
“Ready?” Farran’s shout came down the ship, the desperation clear in his voice.
“Ready.” Lichio punched the hatch command and it opened. Wind buffeted him. The palace wall was meters away and he yelled as Farran banked, missing it by inches. The ship rocked as a shot hit. Showtime.
***
Baelan stared across the room at his father and sister. His father’s shield was gone, the invisible power he’d been pulling on vanished, but his sister’s held firm. He worked at it, unpicking the edges, the Empress beside him, and he could tell Kerra wasn’t as skilled, that the edges were fraying, but still she held firm. Where was she getting the power from? The Empress had said she could be discounted, that her power was small. The shield she was holding made that a lie. Another one, to add to all the others.
“Damn the girl.” The Empress’ power started to spiral, putting Kerra under so much pressure that she stepped back. Finally the shield began to falter.
“Now, Baelan! Focus on it!” the Empress shouted, and he took a step forwards, pulling every bit of power he had to the fore and ready. This wasn’t the time to question, or to doubt. If he pleased the Empress today, he might gain some freedom.
His sister’s eyes met his. “Don’t,” she said. Her eyes were hard, not pleading, and Baelan ducked his head from the intensity of her stare.
His father appeared on the balcony behind her, barefoot, his uniform blood-stained and torn. One arm hung uselessly by his side, the other clutched a blaster, but the charge had run down. He stared across the room, not backing away, showing none of the fear he must surely have. Again, that sense that he was impressive, without having to play with Baelan’s mind to make him seem so.
“Take them!”
The Empress increased her attack on Kerra’s shield. His sister’s face screwed in concentration – one push from him, and it would be over. His father would be taken, the tribes’ trust in Baelan restored. The Empress would be back in charge, the Lady he’d worshipped all his life.
His Lady, who’d hurt him and twisted the truth. If Varnon was killed, he’d have to stay with her. He remembered the pain when her mind went into his; how she never gave him any peace…
There was a shout from the balcony; Kerra had fallen back against their father. Soldiers were closing in on the balcony, firing steadily. Fear radiated from Varnon, a panicked knowledge that he was losing. At the front of his mind were Kerra and his wife. And Baelan.
A small gasp escaped Baelan. Somehow, his father knew what was happening to him, and he understood.
“Come with us!” It was Kerra, her hand outstretched.
He looked back at the Empress. She wasn’t the great evil – Varnon was. It was him Baelan had sworn to kill, not the Empress, his Lady. Yet, Varnon had never banned the tribes’ church, as they’d said he could. He hadn’t had the Tribal Quarter torn down. He had done none of the things it had been claimed he would. More lies?
“Baelan. Join me.” The Empress’ voice was as a master calling its puppy. There was no warmth in her eyes. She had been hurting him, treating him as less than a person. If he supported her, no one would be able to help him. Not Phelps, not his mother. Not the tribes who’d abandoned him to her.
He ran across the room, towards the balcony. He daren’t think – he couldn’t tell which thoughts were true, and which planted in him for someone else’s convenience.
“Cease firing!” The Empress’ voice rang out, and the soldier’s gunfire stopped.
He reached his sister and father. Slowly, Varnon straightened, never taking his eyes off the Empress. He backed away, each step stumbling and slow, until he reached the balcony. On the ground his wife lay, still and pale.
“Baelan!” The Empress strode forwards. “Remember your oath as a man.” Her eyes held his. “Take him.”
“Don’t,” said his father, his voice low, exhausted. “I won’t be able to get you back.”
She’d stopped firing because all of them were together, realised Baelan. Her whole legacy were at risk. Would she have stopped for him otherwise? He doubted it – if she cared for him, she wouldn’t have hurt him.
Somehow, Baelan managed to shake his head and take another step onto the balcony. “No, my Lady,” he said, and the words were torn from him. His tribe would never forgive him. He couldn’t return to them.
His sister was spent, leaned up against their father. Sweat sheened his brow; he was shaking and looked shocked.
Baelan, without thinking, let his power loose, the way he’d always wanted it to. It filled the space in front of him. He heard the Empress yell, saw her twisted face, and he laughed. She flung up a shield, hard and smooth. He wouldn’t get through it, but he didn’t care. At least he wouldn’t have to go back to her. He let the power rip.
***
Lichio leaned forwards. The palace flashed past until ahead, perhaps eight feet down, he saw the balcony. Two figures, one lying, one leaning on the parapet, were on it. He struggled to find the third and then spotted Kerra close to the wall, beside another figure, smaller than she was.
Lichio took a deep breath and leaned out of the ship, hoping he wouldn’t need the cable. Farran took them lower, amazing Lichio with his skill. He leaned out a little more. This wasn’t what had been planned: they were crazy to attempt it. A roof lift had been dangerous enough.
“Kare!” he yelled, and Kare looked up, either at his voice or the noise of the ship. Lichio stretched his hand down, his good ankle hooked for support, the cable holding him in position, and Kare lifted Sonly to him. She didn’t reach up, not even when Lichio yelled at her.
“Lower!” he shouted into his comms piece, sure it wasn’t possible, but Farran did take the ship lower, low enough he could see the strain on Kare’s face. Kare lifted Sonly once more. Lichio saw him grimace and noticed the laser burn across his chest. Still he couldn’t reach her, and he saw Kare look desperately around and shout something.
A shot rocked the ship, sending it plunging. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought his foot had become loose, but the ship steadied, him with it.
“Now!” he yelled. Farran couldn’t hold this position much longer.
Kerra ran over and Kare pointed up at Lichio. She clambered up to the parapet, terrifying Lichio, and, still facing the balcony, lifted her arm. Another figure climbed up beside her, and Lichio gasped when he saw his face. No denying whose child he was.
Lichio stretched a little more and grabbed Kerra’s arm. She was light and he was able to pull her up, twisting so she was in the ship.
“Get Baelan, too,” she said. “Dad says!”
The ship banked, coming around in a tighter circle than he’d have believed possible, and banked again, shaking Lichio like a doll. He managed to grasp the boy’s wrist, and pulled him in. There was no time for questions, not now.
Shots started from inside the room. Kare ducked and ran until he was in front of Sonly. A shot hit the wall beside them, sending a shower of masonry into the air.
“They’re barely shielded,” said the boy. He was gasping the words. “Too far; too many soldiers.”
Damn it, they’d be cut down in moments. Kare put Sonly over his good shoulder and reached up to Lichio. His hand was too far away to reach. With a curse, Lichio freed his foot and the cable dropped him from the ship. Bile rushed in him, almost as quickly as the ground came at him, but the cable stopped with a jerk. He brushed Kare’s fingertips with his hand.
A shot made the ship jerk. A laser bolt missed him by inches. He flinched as another bolt passed. Passed? The shots were going the wrong way, from behind their ship, aimed at the balcony.
“Kerra, can you take any of their weight?” He needed a quick lift, and Kare and Sonly combined would be more than just a handful.
“Some!” Her voice was faint, testament to how far beneath the ship he was hanging. He looked down, feeling dizzy, the palace gardens a blur of green beneath him. Somehow, he snagged Kare’s wrist, locking onto it. He dropped some more, the cable supporting his weight, and started to pull. Kare’s hand wrapped around his, tightening a little.
“Reel me in!” he shouted, but nothing happened. He swore, but couldn’t see the comms unit to tell if it was working.
Kare’s hand slipped. Lichio put his other out and grasped Kare’s wrist.
“Hold on, you bastard,” he said, not knowing if Kare could hear him. Kare’s fingers hooked on a little more. Loose shots were coming up from the balcony, shimmering around Kare and Sonly, but the ship was lifting now and they were diminishing. Below, a line of fighter-ships, holding position, fired at the balcony.
His arms were burning, the blood rushing to his head making him dizzy. Kare’s hand slipped and Lichio’s were too damp with sweat to lock on again. Even with Kerra taking the weight, he couldn’t hold them. Below, Kare’s face blurred in and out, grim and tired. Sonly hadn’t moved, but still Kare held her, not lifting his other hand from her.
Lichio looked behind him. “Cable!” he shrieked. "Kerra, pull me in!”
There was a jerk and he was pulled up, Kare and Sonly following. Sonly’s legs were flailing, unmoving, dead, and Kare looked deathly pale, blood running down his torso from where his skin had torn. Lichio reached the ship and grabbed for his sister, sure she was dead, taking her from Kare, who grabbed the line and half-scrambled, was half-hauled in. Lichio hit the hatch command.
“Go! Go!” he yelled down the ship, and knelt beside Sonly. Kerra pushed him out of the way, and he let her. Kare lay on the floor beyond, and Lichio crawled to him instead, knowing if he tried to stand he wouldn’t manage it, that the ship wasn’t steady around him. He wrenched his harness off and pulled his shirt over his head, pressing it down against
the wound on Kare’s chest. The ship’s drive surged as Farran took the ship into space and freedom.
“Le Payne!” Farran shouted through the ship. “Which of the great families have a credit as their logo? And a justice-scale?”
Balandt, thought Lichio, and Tortdeniel. “Why?”
“Because their fighters just saved our asses.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Kare swam back up to consciousness, his chest burning. The acrid, all-too familiar stench of burnt flesh hit his throat. He tried to cough but couldn’t, the pain too much. Black dots danced, threatening to drag him under again.
“If you’re awake,” said a voice beside him, “stay still. Kerra’s busy with Sonly; don’t take any of the power. You’ll live, at least.”
Kare turned his head and saw the blur of Lichio’s blond hair. Beyond him, leaning up against the side of the ship, the boy watched, his eyes round and shocked. Gods, what had he been thinking, bringing him? The child had been twisted by the Empress, he carried who knew what agenda. The last moments on the balcony came back to him: gripping Sonly with his good arm and letting Lichio pull him up; feeling the skin tear and knowing he was slipping. He tried to sit up, but Lichio’s hand held him down. He’d live… oh gods. He closed his eyes, and made himself ask, “Is she all right?”
There was no answer, and he opened his eyes. He turned his head and the cabin moved in sick waves. Kerra was kneeling beside someone. He blinked and his vision cleared so that he could see it was Sonly, lying still and pale, her blouse pulled up. He remembered the wound, how deep it had been – where it had been.
“Will she live, Lich?” His voice cracked and he had to stop. Lichio rocked back on his heels. His face was streaked with tears, making Kare’s heart jump. He’d lost her. A harsh sob, forced past the collar, choked him. Kerra let go of Sonly and crawled to Kare, putting her hand on him. He pushed it away.
He grabbed Kerra’s arm. “Keep trying. I need her to live. She can’t die, I need her, she needs me. Please, keep….”
