Good Intentions (Chaos of the Covenant Book 6)

by M. R. Forbes

  Besides, they didn’t have time for that.

  Hayley, Olus, and the Republic didn’t have time for that.

  Jequn had told her they were on their own. Even with the Light of the Shard, even with the Covenant, even with the Focus, that remained as true as it had been the moment she said it.

  A loud ringing sounded from within the market. A loudspeaker blaring an alarm. She picked up a pair of shock sticks from a fallen guard and tossed them back to Bastion. She grabbed another pair for herself. The guards didn’t have guns. She doubted they ever needed them. Not with all of the Gifted Apostants around. They were armed to deal with wayward slaves. Normal slaves.

  Too bad they had to deal with her.

  They reached the exit, with Abbey taking the lead as they moved out to the gate.

  “Where’s Pudding?” Abbey asked, looking back at Pik.

  “There,” he replied, pointing.

  She came into view fifty meters from the gate wearing her monster-Abbey skin, with long claws, horns, and sharp tail. Abbey cringed at the sight of it, not wanting to be reminded of what she might have become.

  There was a commotion in the other direction, slavers trying to lead their wares back out of the gate and to their ships.

  “Queenie?” Bastion said. “What are you thinking?”

  She glanced at him. “I’m sorry, too,” she said. “I shouldn’t have let him do that to you.”

  She felt the anger flaring inside her. Would her fury affect the purity of the Shard’s Gift? Would the change begin anew? She didn’t know, and right now she didn’t care. She had tried to do it the Breaker way. She had tried to be subtle. She had let Bastion be humiliated for it, and that only fueled her anger more.

  Screw subtle.

  She reached out with the Gift, taking hold of the gate.

  “Queenie?” Bastion repeated, noticing when the gate started to shake, fighting against the motors that kept in in position. “I really don’t-”

  “Shut up and cover me,” Abbey said, concentrating.

  Phlenel reached the gate, leaping toward a guard that had come around the corner. She hit him hard, digging her faux claws into his chest as he fell back.

  “Oh, shit,” Pik said excitedly. “Did you see that?”

  Abbey didn’t look. She kept her attention on the Gate. She tugged at it, pushing her anger out toward it. A moment later, it started to move.

  “This is nuts,” Bastion said, ducking as a guard came at him, knocking the soldiers’ shock stick aside and jabbing his own into the guard’s neck. The guard shuddered and fell to the ground.

  “This is awesome,” Pik said, grabbing another guard and throwing him into a nearby wall.

  “Keep an eye on the Executioners,” Abbey said. “And watch out for Venerants.”

  “Venerants?” Bastion said. “Plural?”

  Abbey yanked again, and the gates increased velocity, coming back together as the slavers tried to hurry out. Once everyone was trapped inside, they were going to become prime targets.

  “Okay, have Ruby radio Keeper. Get the Covenant inbound.”

  “Aye, Queenie,” Pik replied.

  She turned her attention away from the gate as she felt a warm tingle on her left. She put her left hand up, pushing out with the Gift as a heavy metal crate launched toward her. It hit the sudden barrier, denting in and falling to the ground.

  “I’m still going with bad idea,” Bastion said, jumping out of the way as an Executioner charged toward him.

  Phlenel landed between them, silent as she caught the larger individual’s hands with hers, whipping her tail around and stabbing him in the eye. He grunted and reached for a sidearm, but she was faster, using his weight as leverage to lift herself up and over and raking her claws down his back. He fell over, blood pouring from the wounds.

  The ground shook as the gate slammed closed.

  Abbey drew the Gift back into her, spreading her hands into sharp claws, turning and facing the oncoming horde. There was at least one Gifted nearby, probably more. The Covenant would take some time to get here. This was her idea. She had to hold the line.

  She heard the sharp report of rounds being fired and felt a few of them strike her, piercing the Shardsuit and sinking into her flesh. She clenched her teeth, resisting the pain, using the Gift to push the shards of metal back out. She brought up her hands, catching the subsequent rounds, blocking them before they could hit her. She caught sight of the Venerant now, on the top of one of the stalls fifty meters away, hands lighting with flame.

  “A little help,” Bastion cried out.

  Abbey looked his way, finding him caught between two Executioners. The creatures towered over him, with large knives in hand.

  A hundred slaves stood nearby, their chains discarded, the slavers dropping them to attack.

  “Fight back,” Abbey shouted, throwing the Gift into the back of one of the slavers, lifting him and carrying him to the other, getting Bastion out of trouble. “Fight for your freedom.”

  The slaves looked at her. They were frightened. Trapped. They felt powerless. There were so many of them here. So many more than there were guards or Apostants or slavers.

  “Imp, get them free,” she said, at the same time she felt a burning heat on her back.

  She dove out of the way, narrowly avoiding the gout of flame that launched from the Venerant. She rolled onto her back, finding the Gifted Nephilim in the air, coming down toward her.

  She pushed herself up, leaping skyward to meet them. Their Gifts pushed together, creating a thunderclap of sound as they met, canceling one another. Abbey turned in the air, corkscrewing over the incoming opponent, slashing downward as she passed. She turned in the air, letting her momentum run out and gravity begin to pull her back down. The Venerant tumbled to the ground, hitting it hard. Phlenel was on them in an instant, removing their head.

  She hung almost static in the air for a moment, looking down on the market below. There were slaves and slavers and guards strewn throughout the stalls that made a circle inside the gates, at the center of which was a dais where the slaves could be sent for auction. There were three bodies there, motionless in ragged clothes. Slaves, humans, who had been treated so poorly they had died in this place.

  Her anger blossomed, and she spread her arms, her entire body alighting in bright, white flame. The Gift pulsed through her, so strongly that she could feel her skin thumping, her heart racing, every nerve alive.

  She looked away from the center of the market, back to the gates where her Rejects were standing. The fighting had taken a pause, and she saw that every eye in the market was on her. She also realized that she wasn’t falling. She was floating in the air, held by the Gift, cold and warm and soft and hard and flowing around her like a massive, illuminated cape.

  “Tell them to fight,” Abbey said. She was too far away to do it herself. “Tell them, damn it.” They only had one chance. One moment in time when the words and the deeds might be enough to trigger something in the broken.

  “Fight for Queenie,” Pik bellowed, his voice echoing across the market. “Fight for your freedom.”

  Abbey felt her heart lift.

  “Fight for Queenie,” Bastion shouted.

  “Fight for your freedom,” Pik repeated.

  Abbey let herself go, dropping back toward the stunned crowd. She landed hard, a cloud of dust spilling away from her at the impact, clearing an instant later.

  A small stone hit the slaver in front of her, tapping the side of his head. It turned slowly, finding the caster, a pathetic looking slave in dirty clothes, her hair a matted mess. He raised his gun toward her.

  A bullet hit him in the chest. Another in the shoulder. Another in the leg. His head turned again, tracking the source of the attack. Another of the slaves had picked up a fallen weapon and fired all the rounds remaining in it.

  The slaver took a step toward that slave.

  Abbey bounced forward, knocking his arms aside with the Gift and then slashin
g his neck with her claws.

  His head tumbled to the ground, separated from his body.

  Everything seemed to stop again; a second massive inhale as thousands of years of history seemed to fade in an instant.

  All hell broke loose in the best way possible.

  28

  “Master Tega will have your heads for this. All of you.”

  Abbey stood over the Apostant, one of the few she had managed to stop the slaves from killing outright. He was on the ground, his crisp clothes dirty and torn, his face smudged with blood from a cut on his forehead that had already healed.

  He was Gifted, but not powerful. Not compared to her. Still, she appreciated his spunk, if nothing else.

  “We’ll be long gone before Tega can get his fleet here,” Abbey said. “But that’s beside the point. You’re alive because I need information. The more freely you give me that information, the more likely it is that you’ll stay that way. Do you understand?”

  “Go frag yourself.”

  Pik moved toward the Apostant. Abbey waved him back.

  “Do you comprehend that all of these people here want to be the one to rip your throat out?” she asked, waving to the crowd. “The only thing stopping them is me, and I’m running short on patience.”

  “I’m not afraid to die for the glory of the Nephilim.”

  “Glory?” Abbey said, laughing. “There’s no glory in getting ripped apart by your former slaves.”

  “Embarrassment, maybe?” Bastion said.

  “Embarrassment,” Abbey said. “Maybe we should treat you the way you treat them?”

  She leaned over him slicing his clothes with the sharp end of her pinkie. His jacket and shirt fell away.

  “One of your parents was probably a slave once,” she said. “Or your parent’s parent. It’s so easy to forget where you came from, isn’t it?” She held her finger over his groin. “So easy to forget the humiliation?”

  He squirmed as the claw lowered to the top of his pants.

  “What do you want from me?” he shouted. “Who the frag are you, anyway?”

  “I’m the Queen of Demons,” Abbey replied. “The savior of the damned. I want to know about the Liliat Empire.”

  His frightened, defiant face softened in confusion. “The Liliat Empire? Why? It’s nothing. Less than nothing.”

  “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m the patron saint of less than nothing,” Abbey replied. “Because less than nothing can become more than something in an instant. All it needs is the right catalyst.”

  The Apostant stared back at her without speaking.

  “Would you prefer to do this naked?” Abbey asked, lowering her pinkie to the top of his pants.

  “We can string him up in the center of town, my Lady,” one of the slaves said. “I’ve always wondered - if you cut an Apostant’s member off, will it grow back?”

  The former slaves around them murmured in agreement.

  Abbey looked at the Apostant. “You know, I never thought about that, but it is an interesting question. Would you like to know the answer?”

  The Apostant shook his head.

  “Then tell me about Rezel.”

  “I’m one of Tega’s Barons. I only know what I’ve heard through conversation. Gossip over meals and entertainment.”

  “I can imagine what kind of entertainment,” the former slave said.

  “Our new friends are getting restless, Queenie,” Bastion said.

  “So am I,” Abbey replied. “Tell me what you know. I’ll decide how valuable it is.”

  “Queenie,” Pik said. “The Covenant is here. Keeper says the Apostant’s ships have all gone to FTL. We’re not going to be a secret for much longer.”

  Abbey looked skyward. The Shardship was visible through the daytime haze, a nearly round ball that looked like a small moon from here.

  Another murmur went up through the ranks of the freed slaves as they laid eyes on the ship.

  “That’s impossible,” the Apostant said, seeing the ship. “Gehenna is a myth.”

  “Afraid not, pal,” Bastion said.

  “Tell me what you know,” Abbey repeated.

  “Not much,” the Apostant said. “There’s a rumor that Prophet Azul has been raiding the Empire, sending unmarked ships to hit Rezel’s border holdings in an effort to weaken her.”

  “To what end?” Abbey asked.

  “Prophet Thraven forced us all to agree to a cease-fire before he went to Shardspace in search of the Glory promised by the Father. We’re forbidden to capture any new holdings or declare war against one another in his absence. He’s promised to focus the strength of his Gift on any who defy him.”

  “But that doesn’t stop you from pecking at one another?”

  “Azul is one of Thraven’s sworn Disciples. He bends the rules, knowing that he has Thraven’s favor. Besides, Thraven is no friend to the Liliat Empire.”

  “Then why didn’t he crush it?”

  “I can’t speak for the Prophet. I’m sure he has his reasons.”

  “Do you know when any of these raids are going to occur?”

  “Of course not.”

  Abby straightened up. She kept her eyes on the Apostant, who didn’t dare move.

  “Are any of you from Azul’s territories?” Abbey asked, turning and looking at the freed slaves. “Did any of you belong to the Prophet Azul?”

  The former slaves began talking to one another, passing the question back.

  “They can’t tell you anything,” the Apostant said. “Unders aren’t privy to the interests of their superiors, except when they’re directly serving them.”

  Abbey ignored him, waiting while the crowd communicated. A few seconds later, a lane parted between them, allowing a group of a dozen slaves to come forward.

  “We were brought from Tashael,” one of them said. He was the oldest among them, but couldn’t have been more than eighteen. “We were surplus from the factories there.”

  “Were you delivered by slavers?”

  “No, my Lady. Azul’s slavemaster delivered us directly for auction.”

  Abbey’s eyes passed over the freed slaves. Most of them were twelve or thirteen years old at best. Children not much older than Hayley. She couldn’t imagine what the Apostants or the slavers might have been waiting to do to them.

  “Would you be able to pick out the ship you arrived in?”

  “Yes, my Lady. It landed with the others outside the gate.”

  “I don’t know what good that will do you,” the captured Apostant said.

  “That’s why you’re laying there half-naked, and I’m standing here on top of you,” Abbey said. She glanced back at the crowd around her and then backed away. “Get up.”

  He stayed on the ground for a moment, looking at the same crowd. They looked back at him, a perfect target for their anger.

  “I said get up,” Abbey said again.

  The Apostant slowly got to his feet.

  “Take him as a slave,” one of the freed prisoners said.

  “Yeah, work him to the bone.”

  “Drink his blood,” another one shouted.

  “String him up,” another said.

  “The exit is that way,” Abbey said, pointing at the gate. She had opened it again after the fighting ended. “Go. Walk away.”

  A new murmur went up through the assembly.

  “What?” the loudest of the former slaves said. “You’re letting him go? You can’t. He’s ours.”

  “He’s unarmed,” Abbey said. “Defeated. I understand you want him dead. I understand why. But if you torture him, if you kill him, you’ll never be any better than they are.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be better,” the man said. “Maybe I want justice? Maybe I want revenge?”

  “Do you want revenge, or do you want to be free?” Abbey asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can never set yourself apart from them by being them. Forget about this one. Come with me, a
nd we’ll save millions of lives.”

  “What if I don’t want to come? What if I want him dead?”

  “You’re a free man,” Abbey said. “I can’t stop you.”

  He took a step toward the Apostant.

  “But keep in mind that Tega’s going to hear about what happened here, and he’s going to send part of his fleet in response. You don’t want to be here when he arrives. None of you do.”

  The former slave stared at the Apostant, but he stopped advancing toward him.

  “Okay,” he said at last. “You’re right. Frag him. Whatever Tega’s going to do to him for not stopping this or not dying is going to be worse than anything we can do, anyway. If you’re going up against the Prophets, I want in.”

  “What’s your name?” Abbey asked.

  “Herschel,” the man replied.

  “Herschel, gather anyone who wants to leave the planet and get them onto the ships outside.”

  “Queenie, I don’t think most of them can read, never mind fly a starship,” Bastion said.

  “I’m aware of that, thank you,” Abbey replied. “Can you do that for me, Herschel?”

  “Yes, my Lady,” Herschel replied. “I’ll get it done.”

  “Okay, I want you and Helk to help him. We need to get these individuals on the ships and get out of here as quickly as we can. I want to avoid a confrontation with Tega if possible.”

  “Aye, Queenie,” Pik said.

  Abbey turned back to the Nephilim Apostant. “Why are you still standing here? I told you to walk away.”

  “The Under is right,” the Apostant said. “If Tega’s Honorant finds me here alive, he’ll do worse than repeatedly cut off my manhood.”

  “I don’t know, I can’t think of anything worse than that,” Bastion said.

  “You just aren’t being creative enough,” Abbey said. “You’re saying you want to come with us?”

  “I’m saying my options are limited,” the Apostant said. “And being your prisoner seems a lot less painful.”