by J. L. Lyon
“Who says that?”
“Everyone. She’s fought the grand admiral and lived. Her father fought him and died. I’d say that makes her better.”
“That ain’t even a proper comparison. Way I heard it—”
“Stop the chatter,” the captain ordered. “Ask the grand admiral himself when we bring her to him. Get her up. We’ll carry her out of here.”
At about that time Liz reached her destination, and she reached up for the bundle and pulled it down to her. It was clothing, shredded almost beyond recognition and covered in blood—her blood. But it was also heavier than a stack of clothing should be, and she reached desperately for the object concealed among the useless rags.
Ignis. She felt a familiar thrill as the cool stone of the hilt met her skin, like water to her parched throat or salve for her wounded back. This was the source of her power, and it was hers again. Fear fled from her, and she smiled. Let’s see how these Specters are with the sword.
She stood, blanket still clutched around her, and Ignis concealed within its folds. They did not notice her at first with the darkness and the excitement of their discovery, so she walked out from the rows of beds and into the warm glow of the lanterns. Still, they did not notice her. Liz rolled her eyes. So far she was not impressed.
“Doctor?” she said in a convincingly groggy voice. “It’s time for my meds.”
The three Specters turned on her, weapons drawn, just as she made a show of rubbing her eyes. Then she froze as if only just seeing them, screwing her features into a mask of shock.
“Quiet, girl,” one of the Specters said. “What are you doing here?”
“I…” she stammered. “I…was hurt. I slipped and fell. What happened to the doctor? I need—”
“Your doctor’s dead,” the other Specter—the lewd one—took a step toward her, Grace Sawyer forgotten. “Same will happen to you, unless you do what I say.”
The blanket “accidentally” fell down to reveal her bare shoulder, and she shrugged quickly to pull it back up, averting her eyes as if ashamed. “What do you want me to do?” You sick freak.
“For starters,” the Specter smiled hungrily, looking her up and down as he took another step toward her, “Let’s see what’s underneath there.” He motioned to the blanket.
At his words, the other two stopped to watch. Despite the rewards in store for the capture of Grace Sawyer, they were disappointed to be denied certain other spoils. But fate must have smiled on them. She could see the very same thought process in each man’s expression.
Liz feigned embarrassment and even managed a blush—a technique the matron had taught her—before pulling the blanket tightly to her body as if to hide herself—but of course, revealing more of her body’s contours.
“Drop it,” the Specter said, brandishing his weapon. “Drop it now.”
If she hadn’t been busy playing a part, Liz would have frowned. The man seemed the kind that would have had his hands on her by now. But he wasn’t close enough. Well, she would fix that. She let the blanket fall, moving Ignis behind her back as the shroud hit the ground and left her as naked as the day she was born.
The lewd Specter licked his lips, his eyes traveling down upon her breasts and then sinking even lower, his lust growing more powerful every second. He gave a low, perverted chuckle, then holstered his weapon—the fool—and came at her with his hands outstretched.
Liz sidestepped him before he could get his grubby hands on her, and before he had time to register surprise or rage, the white flame of her Spectral Gladius relieved him of his head. The other two cried out in shock, but it was too late for them as well. Her toes dug into the ground as she pivoted from the dead Specter’s headless body and launched herself at his companion. She skewered him before he could squeeze the trigger of his sidearm, then raised a leg to kick him off her blade and to the ground.
That left only the Specter Captain, who already had his Gladius handy, and he set himself into a defensive stance as she fell upon him like a tempest. Their blades crossed in a high-pitched song once, twice, three times, and then she ducked a blow aimed straight at her head. She spun on one leg as the Specter Captain followed through with his swing, and her shin connected with his leg just above the ankle. A fresh surge of pain pierced her, as the maneuver had likely torn free at least one set of stitches, but she ignored it. She had achieved her desired end.
The Specter Captain fell flat on his back with a grunt and she plunged her Gladius through his chest and straight into the ground. He looked at her in confusion as he died, but she felt no pity for the man. They deserved what they got.
“Hope you enjoyed the show,” she whispered. Then his eyes glazed over, and he was dead.
Liz withdrew Ignis from his body like Excalibur from the stone and straightened with some difficulty. She didn’t need to reach back to know there was blood pouring from one of the wounds again. Hopefully the bandages would keep her from bleeding to death. She stepped over to where Grace lay on the operating table, and saw that the doctor had been working on her leg. That meant she wouldn’t be able to move very fast.
A bundle of freshly pressed, folded clothes rested beside some boots near the commander’s head, likely for her to put on after she woke. Why, Liz wasn’t sure. Grace had a perfectly good uniform already. Sorry, she thought as she took the clothes. But I need these more than you do. She pulled on the black Silent Thunder uniform, grinning at the irony. Just a little more than a year and I’ve gone from green to navy, then to white and now to black. She was probably the only person in the world to have worn all four uniforms.
She and Grace were approximately the same size, though the top was a little tight across the chest—a fact that left her strangely satisfied. The cloth pulled slightly on her bandages, but there was nothing to be done about that. She retrieved her own weapons belt from the bundle of her shredded clothes and wrapped it around her, slipping Ignis back into place. They had taken her gun, so she took one off the fallen Specter Captain.
At about that time she realized that she had not heard the mortars in several minutes. She paused, listening to the sounds outside the tent: boots on dirt, guns clicking against the hips of runners, and the dull thump of packs on their shoulders. Then, almost on cue, the sounds changed. Derek Blaine was nothing if not precise. Mortars stopped, and death began.
Camp noises morphed into the sounds of battle: screams, the haphazard explosion of gunfire, and the high-pitched ring of Gladius upon Gladius. She had to get out of the camp before it was overrun by the Spectorium, and she needed to get the crippled commander out with her.
Liz knelt in front of the supply chest and opened the lid, taking her cue from the doctor’s assistant. A half-full bottle of epinephrine sat on top of a box of syringes, and she grabbed both before returning to Grace’s side. The sounds of battle grew louder as the fighting drew closer. They needed to flee, and quickly.
She removed the cap of a syringe with her teeth and inserted it into the bottle, pulling back the plunger to draw in the clear liquid. Then she stood over Grace and took a deep breath. This was not going to be a pleasant awakening. And what the commander would do if she recognized her, she couldn’t guess.
Liz gritted her teeth and stabbed the needle into Grace’s uninjured thigh. She depressed the plunger to deliver the adrenaline into her system, then withdrew the syringe and stepped away.
One, she counted, two…
Grace Sawyer sat up suddenly, drawing in a desperate breath and grabbing at her chest. Liz knew the effects of intravenous adrenaline all too well, as it had been part of her soldier training. Right now Grace’s heart would be beating so hard it hurt. She struggled to breathe at first, and when her eyes fell on Liz they were filled with suspicion and fear. “You,” she wheezed. “What did you do to me?”
That answers the question of whether she knows who I am, Liz thought.
The commander’s eyes swept the tent, making note of the dead, and followed with a sharp intake
of breath. Liz was on her in an instant, one hand pressed against the back of her head as the other covered her mouth and choked back her cry for help. Grace struggled, but Liz held on tight.
“Listen!” Liz paused so that Grace could discern the sounds of battle outside, and her eyes widened. She struggled more, but Liz would not let her go, not until she could be sure. “The Spectorium is here,” she explained. “They killed your people, not me. Then I killed them. Lucky for you, or they’d be carrying you back to Derek Blaine right now.”
Grace’s attention shifted again, this time to her left. Liz followed her line of sight and saw the deep sapphire hilt of the commander’s Spectral Gladius, and grimaced. An oversight on her part.
“Don’t try it,” she warned. “You can barely walk, much less fight. I’ve certainly been better, but you won’t stand a chance against me with that leg. So you can keep struggling against me until more Specters walk in here and probably kill us both, or you can let me help you.”
Grace paused and looked straight into Liz’s eyes, obviously still considering her chances if she grabbed that Gladius and made a run for it. But she knew the reality of her situation, and her suspicion melted into resignation.
“Alright,” Liz sighed. “I’m going to let go of you now. Don’t do anything stupid.” Grace nodded, and Liz released her. She paused for a moment to make sure Grace kept her word, then relaxed. “We have to get out of this camp. Right now.”
“I can’t just run,” Grace said. “I need to find Cren—” She had been moving her legs over the side of the bed, but suddenly grabbed hold of her head. Her breathing was still erratic, “What did you give me?”
“Adrenaline,” Liz replied, making note of a pack laying on the nearby table. Likely it had been the doctor’s. “His idea,” she motioned to the dead assistant at the entrance to the tent. She grabbed the pack and emptied it, then hastened to the supply chest. “Your body will normalize in a minute or so, but when you crash it’s not going to be pretty.” She rummaged through the supplies, looking for everything they would need: needle and thread, alcohol, bandages, Miracle Heal, pain killers, even a couple of body warmers…
“What are you doing?” Grace asked.
“I’m not going back out there unprepared.”
“The Wilderness? There’s no need,” Grace said. “Once we reunite with the others they will have supplies.”
Liz zipped up the bag and retrieved another gun from the fallen Specters. She held it out to Grace, who still sat awkwardly on the bed, “These ‘others,’ are they going to be at the center of the battle?”
Grace paused, “Probably.”
“Then that’s the last place we want to be. Take the gun, and I’ll need you to carry the pack as well. My back isn’t doing so well at the moment.”
“I won’t leave my men to fight alone while I run away.”
“You’re no good to them dead,” Liz argued. “You’re not much good to them at all right now, truthfully.” She held out the pack. “Time to go.”
“Why are you doing this?” Grace asked suspiciously. “What is it you want from me?”
A little gratitude would be nice, she thought dryly. “You know the quickest way out of the camp. I don’t. Now come on. I can help you walk.”
“I can do it on my own.” Grace attempted to rise, but her leg gave out under her weight and she pitched forward. Liz, having foreseen the event, was there, and caught Grace in her arms. She helped the commander remain steady, but also slung the pack over the other woman’s shoulder.
“You were saying?” she offered the gun again, and this time Grace took it—albeit bitterly. She grabbed Grace’s weapons belt and helped her put it on. “Once we’re out there, we might run into more Specters. Don’t try to fight them without me…we stand a much better chance if we stay together.”
Grace nodded.
“Which way are we going?”
“Northwest,” Grace replied. “We’re in the North section of the camp, but the Spectorium was tracking us from the Northeast.”
Liz grimaced as she placed Grace’s arm over her shoulder and then held on to the commander’s waist. The strain was like fire licking at her back, but there was no other way. Grace could not support the leg.
They walked past the dead bodies to the tent entrance, and Liz turned to her with eyebrows raised, “You ready?”
Grace could have been many things in that moment. Angry. Scared. Panicked. But the only word Liz could think of to describe her was determined. She took a deep breath, “I’m ready.”
Liz pulled back the flap, and the two of them emerged into the chaos of the night.
14
GRACE DID HER BEST to keep as much weight off Aurora as possible, but eventually her struggle to do as much as she could on her own became more of a hindrance than a help. So she leaned in as she might have done with a crutch, embracing her handicap and leveraging the most useful tool she had remaining: her eyes. Her companion had judged rightly that she would be useless with a Gladius, but not with the gun in her left hand.
Companion. It was strange to think of this woman in those terms. She had been there that day in the courtyard…the only woman there who was not a slave. She remembered because she had marked the disgust in her eyes and respected it, as she also respected a woman who had risen so high in a profession dominated by men. But she had not known then what the woman would become.
Elizabeth Aurora, Emperor Sullivan’s Chief of Command. Thus far Silent Thunder had not crossed paths with the Imperial Guard, whose movements were confined mostly to the Southern Hemisphere. But the Guard was made up of former Great Army soldiers, and she had had plenty of encounters with their kind. Aurora’s position made her the Derek Blaine of the Conglomerate, and that was not a pleasant association. Just because she hadn’t witnessed the woman’s cruelty first-hand didn’t mean it wasn’t there.
But what was such a high-ranking officer of the Conglomerate doing here, so far from her forces? And how had she ended up in the Silent Thunder camp? Grace felt a significant bulge under Aurora’s shirt—her shirt actually, she noticed—that felt like bandages. Coupled with her sharp intake of breath any time Grace shifted her grip across Aurora’s shoulders, she expected the woman was wounded, and badly. As they walked through the camp, Aurora became progressively paler.
Luckily, this section had not yet been hit hard by the enemy. Sounds of the battle reached them from its epicenter in the south, and with every cry and every singing clash Grace felt a pang in her heart. She should be there with them, fighting. Instead she was here, going against the flow of traffic as they attempted to escape. Few paid her any heed. All they saw was a wounded operative being led to safety. In her weakness they did not recognize their commander, for it was more than a woman they followed. It was Shadow Heart, and Shadow Heart did not bleed.
The atmosphere around them changed suddenly, and Grace tensed. The screams shifted from behind them to in front, much louder than anything she had heard thus far, and then she saw them. Five navy-clad Specters rounded the corner of the tent at the end of the row, the white spikes of their Spectral Gladii flashing before them in a storm of fury. Just in the few seconds since Grace had seen them emerge, three had died on the edge of their blades. She tasted bile in her throat.
“We have to do something,” she said.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Aurora replied as she attempted to steer them away from the oncoming Specters. “We are in no condition to fight them.”
“Alone, no,” Grace said, struggling weakly against her. “But together…maybe.”
“This is a job for your operatives, Commander,” Aurora said. “Where are they?”
“They were probably called to the south to engage the Spectorium’s main force and cover the evacuation,” Grace said. “These must be stragglers.”
Aurora hesitated, but after a moment resumed pulling her off the main pathway. Blades sliced the air, and more people died screaming. Her people. They were h
ers to protect, and yet she could not save them. What kind of commander did that make her? What kind of leader could turn his back in the hour of his people’s greatest need? Captains went down with their ships. They didn’t leave their passengers and crew to drown just to save themselves.
The doctor—dead now, she thought with a pang of regret—had explained the surgery and the recovery process clearly. He would go in and apply a special form of Miracle Heal directly to her fractured bone, after which the leg had to remain completely immobilized for 48 hours. Whereas before the surgery she could put weight on it with only minimal discomfort, now the leg was all but useless.
But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing I can do.
Grace released her grip on Aurora and pulled away, which unfortunately left her to fall hard on the cold ground. Aurora cursed and knelt to help her up, but she pushed the woman away, “Just go. I won’t leave my people to die. But I won’t ask you to die, too.” She drew Novus Vita and activated its fiery white blade. Aurora stepped away, hand on her own Gladius and eyes wide with distrust.
She’s a bit jumpy, this one, Grace thought. But she needn’t have worried. Grace deactivated her diamond armor and stuck the point of Novus Vita into the ground, using it like a cane to lift her back to her feet. The ground was just hard enough for the blade to support her weight, and she began to walk back toward the action, placing as little weight on the injured leg as possible.
“You’re a fool,” Aurora said to her back. “They’ll kill you just as easily as those people out there. You will die for nothing.”
Grace ignored her. She didn’t expect an officer of the Imperial Guard, trained by Alexander’s World System, to understand. To them, every subordinate’s life was expendable, and if they could not survive in their defense it was acceptable to abandon them. The culture of Silent Thunder was different. Grace had grown up on the stories of Jonathan Charity’s final charge into the Specter Spire. They had gone in knowing they would all probably die, and they had done it to save their comrades and families.
