“Don’t these people support you already?”
“This will eradicate their fear,” Alessia said. “And allow them to become heroes.”
“Fine line between a hero and a martyr.”
“Prashant says we all must sacrifice.”
“And what happens if the Romans influence them first?”
“Our men will filter into the village and deliver the water buckets, along with the message,” Alessia said.
“And if someone drinks too much?”
No answer from Alessia, but that was enough for Keene. Just one of Prashant’s sacrifices for the greater good. Overwhelming support would be necessary to siege the estate, attack the well-trained Roman legion.
Casualties were just a fact of life, here in the end times.
He hadn’t been reticent at all about holding Keene’s life in his hands. No—Prashant was paranoid, worried that his own hidden agenda would falter. Both he and Cladius had schemed for years, pitted against one another in a game of shadows.
Keene stared at an inchworm dragging itself past. It was making better time than they were. He scratched in the dirt with the tip of his combat knife. Following Prashant’s lead made him uncomfortable. Love didn’t blind him to some of the man’s more glaring character flaws. Beneath the charismatic and well-polished exterior, there was much hidden.
Whether that was good or bad, Keene couldn’t tell. But he did realize that this man—Cladius’ liaison to the locals—had become very good at obscuring his true intentions. Hiding in plain sight.
He nudged Strike and whispered in her ear. “I don’t trust Prashant.”
“That makes two of us,” she said.
“Quiet,” Alessia said, her voice hissing through the still plants. “They’ll hear us.”
“How many guards up at the well?”
“Two. I’m waiting for them to turn.”
Thoughts of the ice temple and the world’s impending implosion flooded Keene’s thoughts. His body itched to start moving. It wasn’t nervousness, but the lack of action that was bothering him.
Hell, he might rather be shot at.
“There,” Alessia said. She began scrambling on her belly through the tall grass. Keene gritted his teeth and followed, feeling the dirt rake over his elbows. Shambhala might’ve looked idyllic and pristine, but its soil was still littered with sharp rocks, just like any other place in the world.
She popped up and fired a shot from her bow. A muted crash followed. Keene emerged from the stalks to find himself face-to-face with a Roman Centurion. The soldier looked down at his fallen comrade, then to Keene.
Keene swung the blade towards the man’s neck, but the soldier ducked and caught him with a right hook to the stomach. Keene grimaced and wobbled, taking another blow to the cheek. The world began to blur.
He heard the soldier cry something out in Latin. Attack? Under attack? To arms?
These were some tough sons-of-bitches. He flailed with the knife, but whiffed. Keene clenched his abs, expecting another punch to rocket into his midsection. Instead, he heard a knife schwing past his ear.
There was a slight gurgle. The cries for help stopped.
Keene saw the man’s armor glint in the mid-afternoon light as the soldier fell to his knees, clutching his ruined throat.
“Figured you could use a little help, partner,” Strike said. He looked up, his vision coming back into focus.
“I had him just fine.” Keene held his arms out to steady himself. He blinked and stared at the well. A roar entered his ears. He turned his head slightly, toward the estate on the hill.
An army of red-plumed helmets was already coming down the incline, swords drawn, footsteps perfectly coordinated. A dozen deep, ten wide. Over a hundred well-trained soldiers, the surviving remnants of a once magnificent Roman legion that, many centuries ago, stood over four thousand strong.
Except these weren’t cast-offs.
These were the best of the best.
And they were headed towards Keene, led by two black-armored men who projected another level of terror entirely.
“All done,” Alessia said. She held up the empty pouch. “We have little time.”
“But your men won’t be able to deliver the water.”
“That is not my place in the plan, and thus I will not worry about it.” Alessia began running through the tall grass, past Keene and Strike.
“Maybe Prashant fed her the berries already,” Strike said. “Christ.”
The stomping grew louder, bearing down on the well. The soldiers made no indication that they would break rank or accelerate. Discipline was their strongest attribute, serving them well for centuries. No reason to abandon it now.
Keene broke into a dead run after Strike, following the trampled stalks left behind by Alessia’s hurried footsteps. Even she had become sloppy in covering her trail at the threat of the Romans. Something told Keene that this was a product of some nasty close calls.
The trail suddenly ended in the middle of the field. Keene almost ran into Strike’s backside.
“She’s gone,” Strike said, her eyes searching the ground. “Into thin air.”
A whisper came from the dirt nearby. “In here.”
A patch of grass shifted slightly at the roots. Keene hurried over to find a trapdoor camouflaged by the grassland. It was cracked open merely a sliver. He lifted the cover and leaned forward, catching sight of a short ladder. At the bottom of the brief drop, Alessia stood in rapt conversation with Prashant. It was easy to recognize him from the glow of the soft tunic.
“I guess we’re going back underground,” Keene said, whispering back to Strike. “Watch your step.”
He slid into the hole, his feet searching for the first rung. Keene awkwardly managed to position himself, then descended the ladder. He set his feet on the ground and looked up to find Strike gliding down like a feather on the wind.
Show-off.
Keene stared at his surroundings. Another tunnel, hand-dug, fitted with dim candles. Prashant must have smuggled them back from his visits to Tillus. There must’ve been a whole network of tunnels beneath the valley. Now Keene understood where the fork led. The ground shook above, then stopped.
“They will find us soon if we do not give them something else to worry about,” Prashant said. His luminous eyes gave no hint that he was worried. “You have taken care of the water?”
“Some good it’ll do,” Keene said. “What with martial law breaking out.”
“It is done. If you are indeed the last hope Alessia claims, this step will prove your worth.”
Keene could tell Prashant didn’t think much of him or Strike. Not that Keene cared. If this man wanted to save his beloved—Keene watched as Prashant took Alessia’s hand and rubbed it with reserved reverence—then he’d have to learn to trust outsiders a little more.
“Man, you’d think we were with Cladius,” Keene said. “Nice greeting.”
Prashant said nothing in response. He gave Alessia a brief, passionate kiss, then ran down the tunnel. After he disappeared, she turned around and tried to punch Keene. Thanks to his new training regime, Keene saw it coming and ducked.
“A little respect wouldn’t kill you.” She panted angrily and reared back to launch a second blow. “The things he’s done, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” Keene said, watching the closed fist with a detached caution. It was early yet, and already the revolutionaries were splintering into factions. That had always been the problem with rebels.
They tended to be rebellious.
Keene met her gaze. He understood. But old wounds and sacrifices wouldn’t help them now. He stepped forward into the tunnel and began walking. He heard footsteps behind him, which meant that Alessia was really pissed about something. A weak jab bounced off his shoulder.
Keene turned around, blocking the tunnel. Alessia tried to slip by, but he held firm. “What now?”
“I go first,” Alessia said. “Prashant will act
as if he has captured me sneaking in to the estate to save my father.”
“That’s the plan? They’ll kill you.”
“Our people will come to save me,” she said, and tried to get around Keene. He adjusted his arms to stop her progress. She struggled to move his elbow by pushing against it, then backed up, quickly notching an arrow in her bow. “If not, I’m already dead. Move.”
“What do you need us to do?” Keene said.
“My appearance will draw the Centurions towards the estate. Our remaining members will rally the townspeople and attack the estate. This will force Cladius to draw upon most of his men from all over Shambhala. The Diamond Dragon will be left unguarded.”
“You want me to sneak into the temple while you twist in the wind.”
“Secure the temple by killing any guards left behind and we will have won the battle.”
“Not if you die,” Keene said. “Then what? You can’t sacrifice yourself. This prophecy thing doesn’t really work without you, apparently.”
“Then it was our best shot, and we took it without hesitation.”
“I don’t doubt you want to die,” Keene said. “But one question before you commit suicide.”
“No more questions. Move.”
“Do you really think killing yourself will bring him back?”
The arrow wavered slightly, but it still remained ready to fire. “Don’t act like you know me.”
“What are you, twelve?”
“She just lost her father, Keene,” Strike said. “Jesus Christ.”
“I’ve lost almost everyone that ever mattered to me. My parents died in the revolution, sold out by someone to make a quick buck. The first woman I ever loved tried to destroy a world I hated. My best friend went insane. They’re all dead.” With a deft movement, Keene spun in the tunnel and snatched the bow from Alessia’s hands before she could respond. He threw it behind him and then blocked the tunnel again. “It hurts like a son of a bitch sometimes.”
“Just let me go.”
“And I wandered around for a long time, struggled to find my way,” Keene said. “But here’s the thing, Alessia.”
She took a knife from her belt and cut him along the forearm. His hand dropped, and she rolled past. He reached to grab her, but she was already on the other side, reaching for her bow. Before he could close the gap, another arrow was notched and she was backing away, more cautious after having underestimated him the first time.
She reached into her pocket and threw a piece of paper on the ground.
“You can wait a half an hour,” Alessia said with a strong voice that did little to belie the fear and pain beneath. “If I’m not back…”
Then she tore down the tunnel, disappearing in the direction Prashant had travelled ten minutes before. Keene leaned against the crumbling dirt, clutching his wounded arm. A knowing smirk was painted on his face, but it wasn’t smug.
He knew when someone was lost from experience.
And that woman was about to drown at sea.
Strike came up beside him and said nothing for a few minutes.
“You think we should wait?” Keene said finally.
“I guess,” Strike said. “What were you going to tell her?”
“Nothing,” Keene said. He looked down at his blood-stained arm. The cut wasn’t deep, but it stung.
“We got half an hour, the way I look at it.” Strike sank into the dust and sat cross-legged.
“I was going to tell her that I had time to sort it all out,” Keene said. “But right now, she doesn’t. And I would’ve been better off if I could’ve let people help me.”
“Good advice is always the hardest to follow.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
He sat down in the dirt next to Strike and they waited.
Thirty minutes passed, but Alessia didn’t return. Footsteps pounded on the ground above.
Keene bit his lip and smiled.
“What?” Strike said.
“She was never coming back,” Keene said. “The thirty minutes was so the berry water could take effect and the guards would return.”
“She was making sure we’d have to go to the temple,” Strike said. “Instead of following her.”
Keene rose and began walking down the tunnel, towards the hidden entrance in the field.
He looked at the crumpled note, which was a map to the Diamond Dragon.
Time to follow the plan.
Even if it was a bad one, it was the only one they had.
22 | Let it Burn
Carmen Svetlana returned from across the city carrying a bulky ham radio from one of the UCD’s ancient storage units. She struggled to hang on to the rusted metal casing as she travelled up what seemed like a thousand stairs.
“Linus,” she yelled through the closed screen door. “Help me out here.”
The door opened a crack, and Linus stood there with a stupid look on his face. “What do I do?”
“Get out of the way.” Carmen staggered by and collapsed in the center of the dirty floor. The room shook for a moment, and it looked like the precariously stacked boxes would tumble. But everything stabilized and Carmen got to her feet.
She began dragging the radio towards the study. The screws on the bottom dug into the floor, emitting a horrid scratching noise.
“You’ve been gone a couple hours,” Linus said. “Thought you got into trouble.”
“And you didn’t come running?”
“I was going to, but then you came back.”
“Bullshit, tech wizard.” Carmen hoisted the radio onto the desk. “You think you can hook this up?”
Linus looked at the jumble of antennas and wires and shrugged. “Sure, no problem.”
Carmen loomed over his shoulder while he fiddled with the ancient equipment. True to his word, Linus had the apparatus operational within ten minutes. He tuned the dial to the frequency 462.462 and a burst of static crackled over the tinny speakers.
“Not bad,” Carmen said. She pulled out her phone. “It should be around four in the afternoon there.”
“There’s only eight hours left before…?” He swallowed audibly.
“Before the world ends in fire and brimstone.” Carmen clasped her hand on his shoulder and gave it a little shake. “Better hope you hooked everything up right, tech wizard.”
Linus gave her a worried frown and flicked a series of scuffed chrome switches on the front of the radio. The static gradually diminished into a gentle hum occasionally punctuated by snippets of words. Linus played with the volume knob and the words became audible.
“I think it might be a distress call,” Linus said.
“Thinking isn’t quite good enough,” Carmen said. “Can you clear it up?”
“With this equipment?” Linus batted one of the taped-together, rusted antennas with his index finger. “You’re not giving me much to work with.”
“There’s something in it for you,” Carmen said with a seductive bat of her eyelashes. “If you do a good job.”
“Like what?” Linus said, his shaky voice trying to play along.
“Like not dying in eight hours.”
“Jesus Christ, Carm, I can’t concentrate as it is.”
“Oh, you thought you were getting laid?”
Linus fully extended one of the antennas and the feed picked up for a moment, the looped message coming in clear. Then it was swallowed up by what sounded like an angry swarm of bees. He rushed over and flipped the main switch, plunging the room into silence.
Linus rubbed his ear and stretched his jaw. “See what I mean about the equipment?”
“You had it for a second. Go back.”
“They’re all gonna die if we can’t help them.” Linus played with his dangling black hair, sweeping his bangs out of his eyes. “And you give me this—this shit to work with, a bunch of photo copies and a goddamn fairy tale.”
He kicked the floor, where a number of papers were still side-by-side. A swirl of white spun about
in the dust. Linus continued his tirade, walking over to the avalanche of files.
“Don’t do it, Wade, I swear—”
The stack came thundering down with a rollicking crash. Linus continued ripping at the cardboard even as the mass of boxes threatened to cover him. The top box toppled off the mountain and hit him in the head. He went down in a heap, covered by a corrugated paper wasteland.
Linus’ voice seeped out through the cracks. “Damn that hurt.”
Carmen, initially inclined to help, was stopped by a paper fluttering through the air. She snatched the sheet before it could be buried in the rubble along with Linus. She ignored his low-pitched groans.
She smoothed out the redacted memo on her thigh.
“A little help?”
“Shut up.” She skimmed the redacted paper, searching for meaning. The only thing legible, besides a few random articles and commas, was the headline which had originally caught her eye. REGARDING THE TILLUS WATERWORKS.
She ripped the pile off boxes off Linus and shoved the sheet in front of his face.
“Just give me a second.”
“Your tantrum might have given us a lead,” Carmen said.
“I can’t read it,” Linus said, rubbing his jaw. From his expression it seemed like he’d been mortally wounded, even if his skin bore no sign of actual injury. “I thought you read all this stuff already.”
“Do I look like a machine?” Carmen kicked one of the boxes against the wall, papers exploding into the air. Linus tensed on the ground. “I’m a field agent.”
“Junior field agent,” Linus said, getting to his feet while shaking off some dust bunnies.
“Just try to find this damn file. Unredacted. You have backdoors into all the government agencies, right?”
“Too much to do, Carm,” Linus said with a sigh. He reassumed his post in front of the radio and reached out to play with the buttons again. Carmen came in and blocked his motions.
“Uh-uh. This first, tech wizard.”
“Stop calling me that. Makes me sound like I’m Gandalf or something.”
“I thought you’d love that.”
“Yeah, because chicks dig wizards,” Linus said. “Give me that.” He snatched the sheet and began looking it over. Then he slid his chair through the rubble and started tapping away at the workstation in the corner.
The Diamond Dragon (Kip Keene Book 4) Page 12
