And what was more, it didn’t hurt. Not a bit.
“By the gods,” Agrippa gasped as it slowly became apparent what had happened. He pointed to the dead aliens. “You—you did that.”
Tamerlane looked from the bodies to Agrippa and back down at his hand. He shook his head slowly. “No. How—how could I have—?”
You employ some new weapon against us, came the voice of the aliens, once more resounding within their heads, but it will not save you. Surrender now.
The Dyonari halted their retreat, regrouped, and began to advance once more.
“Try it again,” Nakamura ordered.
“What?” Tamerlane was taken aback by this. “But—I don’t know how I did it the first time, sir,” he protested.
“From a functional standpoint, there is little to understand,” Agrippa pointed out. “You pointed at them, and they burned.”
Tamerlane glanced over at him and saw that the big man’s expression revealed his extreme discomfort with all of this—but, for the moment, a weapon was a weapon, and they were desperately in need of one. He shrugged and nodded.
“Get behind me,” he said in a quiet but tense voice.
He raised his hand up before him and flames sprang again from it, flickering along the length of his fingers. He stared at it with widening eyes but resisted the panic that threatened to overtake him. It was a most disconcerting feeling to see one’s hand actually on fire—and to do nothing about it!
Still uncertain of exactly what he was doing, he raised the arm and directed it, gun-like, at the line of alien troops. The other two men stood a bit behind him and watched very closely.
The air around the charging Dyonari shimmered and then grew blood red. Suddenly flames erupted all around them, from the ground, from the air, and from their own bodies. It engulfed them in an instant, swallowing them up. The screams this time were almost overwhelming.
Tamerlane looked back at the other two men, his mouth hanging open and his eyes like saucers.
Nakamura’s mind was racing ahead of the others. “The expedition,” he said. “Our journey into the Above and the Below. That has to be it. Has to be. Something happened to you there.” He paused, then, “But… you didn’t go alone. That would mean—”
The general leaned past Tamerlane and reached out with his left hand, directing it at the remaining Dyonari. They had started to pull back a second earlier but were now hesitating, seemingly contemplating one last charge. Apparently reaching that decision, they brandished their long, glasslike swords and rushed across the battlefield.
Flames sprang to life on Nakamura’s fingertips, then flashed outward.
A sheet of flame filled the air in a circle around the aliens and closed in from all directions. They cried out both verbally and psychically, seeking a way of escape from the constricting doom, finding none. The circle of fire contracted smaller and smaller, tighter and tighter, until it washed over them, somehow taking root in their armor, boiling them inside it. Their psychic screams were muted somehow, this time. Or perhaps that mental sound was simply expected this time, and the humans were more prepared for it.
For the next few minutes, the three human soldiers searched the area for any other Dyonari troops, but found none. The battle was over, and they had won it—or at least survived it—but nothing was the same as it had been before.
Once they had gathered together again near the transport ship, Agrippa stood there in the open, hands on his hips, staring at the other two men—the only two other survivors of this portion of the battle. He regarded Nakamura and Tamerlane with pursed lips and a furrowed brow, seemingly uncertain of exactly what to think. There was appreciation visible in his features, and respect—but a degree of concern, as well, if not outright fear.
“Speak your mind, Colonel,” Nakamura ordered after several seconds of silence on everyone’s part.
Agrippa nodded. “I withhold all judgment on my part until I hear your story, General,” he said. “And,” he added, a second later, “it is increasingly apparent to me that you two gentlemen have quite a story to tell.”
9
The tide of the larger battle turned very quickly once Nakamura and Tamerlane discovered their newfound abilities.
Leading the First and Third Legion advance, flames blazing out ahead of them and burning the enemy where they stood, they routed the Chung forces with relative ease. The waves of interlinked and antigrav-supported hovertank units that descended from orbital transport ships like floating islands of steel were scarcely needed; the enemy had been for the most part driven off planet before the first one reached the ground.
Of the Dyonari, there was not a trace; none were seen again on Adrianople after the encounter in the valley. Presumably the “sound” of the psychic screams they had unleashed there had been more than sufficient to scare any others away forthwith.
Practical men above all else, Nakamura and Tamerlane made certain the battle was won and Adrianople liberated before they turned their attention to what seemed to them at the time the less important subjects: How had they come by this strange power—and what did it mean for the future?
“You must be right, General,” Tamerlane stated. “It was something we were exposed to in the Above. It has to be.”
“Or in the Below,” Nakamura pointed out.
“You were in the Below?” Agrippa asked, startled. He sat at the far end of the table, hunched forward, studying the two men. Till that moment he had worn a mostly neutral expression.
“We got the grand tour on that trip,” Tamerlane replied. “It’s…complicated.”
“I do not doubt it.” Agrippa reached out and lifted the glass that had been set before him, containing the finest of Adrianople’s vineyards, but he didn’t drink. “I knew, of course, about your rescue mission to save the Emperor,” he added, “but I had only heard he was lost in the Above.” He stared down at the tabletop for a moment, clearly shaken by the revelation. “You mean the Emperor was trapped in the Below? Down with the demons and the darkness and…?”
“That’s precisely what I mean,” Nakamura snapped.
Agrippa shook his head slowly in wonder and consternation. Distractedly he set the glass back down, untasted. “I had no idea.”
Unsurprised, Tamerlane chuckled at this. Nakamura did not.
“I had not thought to check the official reports of our actions there,” the general noted, sipping from his own glass.
“He means the propaganda version,” Tamerlane explained needlessly. “The version where the most interesting details were omitted.”
Agrippa’s bright blue eyes flashed from the general to the colonel and back. He nodded sharply. “I understand what he means. Please—continue, sir.”
Nakamura gave a very abbreviated account of the rescue mission to save the Emperor and the Ecclesiarch. He concluded with, “The gods alone know what sorts of radiation we were exposed to while we were there.”
“Radiation,” Agrippa agreed, “and who knows what else.”
Nakamura hesitated, then nodded. His eyes narrowed; he was watching the big man carefully.
“Science and scientific concepts seem to sort of… bend…in the Above,” Tamerlane said, feigning obliviousness to the developing subtext. “They beyond any recognition. Same in the Below.” He shrugged. “I guess there’s no telling what we got into.”
“Or what got into you,” Agrippa added somberly.
Both of the others now looked at him, regarding him uneasily.
“There’s no reason to believe this—this power—poses a danger,” Nakamura said, glancing at Tamerlane. The colonel nodded his agreement.
“As yet,” Agrippa stated.
They sat in silence for a long, uncomfortable moment, the only sounds coming from outside the tent, as the First and Third Legion units continued breaking down their equipment and loading it on the transport ships.
At last, Nakamura set his glass down and stood. “Colonel, we thank you for your assistance toda
y. And we thank Legion III too, of course. Exemplary performances, as always.”
Agrippa nodded once. He did not rise.
“Ezekial, if you would accompany me to the shuttle, I’d like to get—”
“Please, General,” Agrippa said with a smile that was suddenly cold, “stay a bit longer.”
“I’m afraid we can’t. Much work to be done—reports to file on the action today, unit evaluations to look over—”
“I will have more food brought in,” Agrippa suggested, slowly rising and moving around the table. His bulk seemed to nearly fill whatever corner of the tent he occupied. “We must celebrate this victory properly.”
“Most gracious of you,” Nakamura said, moving quickly toward the exit, “but I would prefer to—”
Agrippa looked away for an instant, receiving a private message via the Aether. Then he looked back at the two First Legion officers. “I’m afraid you can’t depart just yet—sir. They’ve arrived.”
Nakamura reddened. “Can’t depart? Have you taken leave of your senses, Colonel?” He glanced at Tamerlane, who shook his head very slightly, as if to say, I have no idea. He turned back to Agrippa. “Who has arrived?”
Before the blond man could respond, the broad flap of the tent opened and a man clad all in white strode in. He was dark-skinned—making for a sharp contrast with his uniform—with a blunt nose and broad cheeks. His immaculate uniform—seemingly part military, part religious in its stylings—sported slender gold braiding along the hemlines and across the chest. He looked more the part of a brawler than an officer—though in what army, Tamerlane at first had no idea.
Nakamura got the idea more quickly. “The Ecclesiarchy.” He looked from the man in white to Agrippa, who stood off to one side. “You called them.”
“I did. Sir.”
“You don’t trust us.”
“I followed protocol, sir,” Agrippa responded. “I trusted you would understand.”
Tamerlane got it. “You called the Ecclesiarchy—on us?” He started toward the blond colonel, anger flaring in his eyes. “You’re accusing us of—”
“Colonel Tamerlane!”
At Nakamura’s sharp exclamation, Tamerlane froze in his tracks. Agrippa, meanwhile, had not moved, not reacted in any manner whatsoever. That actually aggravated Tamerlane as much as anything else had.
“Colonel Agrippa witnessed the two of us engaging in the use of rather…unorthodox…abilities today,” the general stated. “And we have told him we recently visited the underverse—the Below—home to demons and other creatures of malevolent origins and intentions. By notifying the Holy Church, he merely did what he believed was right, as a soldier in the Imperial military.”
Tamerlane, scowling at the other man, reluctantly nodded and returned to Nakamura’s side.
The general turned to the man in white.
“Interesting new uniforms. Very…militant,” Nakamura noted, before addressing the man directly. “So—you’re here on behalf of the Ecclesiarchy, to debrief Colonel Tamerlane and myself, I take it?”
“I am Father Octavion,” the man said, “and I have been sent here to arrest you both. General,” he added almost contemptuously.
Nakamura started at this bit of information.
“You’re what?” Tamerlane exclaimed, moving toward the man in white. “On whose authority could you—”
“On the authority of the Ecclesiarch,” the priest snapped.
“If we are accused of a violation of a religious nature by His Majesty’s government, it is the role of the Inquisition to arrest us and to bring charges. Not the Ecclesiarchy.”
“The Ecclesiarch possesses all the authority he needs to detain you, General,” the priest replied sharply. “Please come with me.”
“That’s not happening,” Tamerlane snapped.
The man in white regarded him with open contempt.
“I’m happy to talk with the Church to explore exactly what has happened,” Tamerlane continued. “But I won’t be treated like a criminal over it.” He leaned in on the priest. “Particularly when whatever-it-is that’s happened to us happened while we were rescuing the Emperor himself!”
Nakamura stepped between them, raising a hand to restrain Tamerlane. “Octavion,” he began, clearly trying to sound warm and kind, “I have known Wallin Zoric—the Ecclesiarch—for many years. If I might speak with him, I’m certain we can resolve any—”
“Wallin Zoric has not been Ecclesiarch for nearly two months,” the priest said, cutting him off. “The old fool finally passed away—gods preserve his soul.”
Nakamura staggered back a step, shocked. “Zoric—dead? Then—who is—?”
“You will meet the new Ecclesiarch in due time, General. Now—again—I must insist that you come with me.”
The space outside the tent was suddenly filled with soldiers—soldiers in white uniforms. Of the First and Third troops, there was no sight.
Nakamura looked them over and exhaled slowly. He appeared to have conceded the situation. “Come on, Ezekial,” he said. “We can’t turn down an invitation from the Ecclesiarchy—particularly when it’s offered in such a friendly and collegial manner.”
Tamerlane scoffed at this but reluctantly he followed his general out of the tent. White-clad soldiers moved into position on either side of them. He looked back one last time and his eyes met those of Agrippa, now back in his seat on the far side of the table and brooding. The look he saw was not one of leering or gloating but of grim resolve, perhaps tinged with a bit of regret.
He really thinks he’s doing the right thing by turning us in, Tamerlane concluded. The fool.
The tent flap swung closed.
BOOK THREE:
THE COUNCIL OF ASCANIUS
1
Nakamura and Tamerlane tumbled out of the airlock and into the deadly void of space. Considering they both wore only their regular crimson smartcloth uniforms, this represented a serious problem.
Tamerlane thrashed about, spinning head over heels, desperately seeking and failing to find any handhold on which to grab. As the last of the air fled his lungs, he couldn’t help but reflect that he never would have dreamed he’d be murdered by a priest.
It had begun a short while earlier, as the Ecclesiarchy transport craft shot up out of Adrianople’s atmosphere and closed in on the Church’s massive cruiser where it orbited in its own flight path, a few thousand miles beyond the military fleet. The two ships docked smoothly, the smaller shuttle pulling alongside and locking onto a slender metal connecting tube that extended from the larger vessel.
The High Priest, Father Octavion, stood and moved to the hatch. He waited as the two First Legion officers he had arrested were helped up by Ecclesiarchy subordinates. The chains connecting the manacles at their wrists and ankles jangled noisily.
“Is this truly necessary, Eminence?” General Nakamura asked, his simmering anger scarcely restrained as he held the manacles and chains up where Father Octavion had no choice but to see them.
“I’m afraid that’s one of our regulations,” the warrior-priest replied.
“A regulation for handling accused heretics and convicted criminals,” the general snapped back. “Not high-ranking officers!” He breathed deeply, attempting to calm himself. “I can understand the Ecclesiarchy’s…shall we say, interest, in what the Colonel and I have been doing on Adrianople. In the course of winning the war there,” he added with no small sense of satisfaction. “But we have not yet been accused of anything, have we? Nor faced an Inquisitor or a military tribunal. Much less been convicted of anything. And, as I am the ranking officer of the Emperor’s forces in this theater, I do have some say as to how anyone—prisoner or not—is treated here. Do you disagree? Or have you some charge against us to level—now, at this very moment?”
The priest’s eyes narrowed as he returned Nakamura’s gaze. Then, with a smirk, he shrugged and stepped forward, unlocking and removing the manacles and chains from each of them. “Very well. It
matters not,” he muttered—and neither of the two soldiers bothered to ask him what he meant by that utterance. “Now,” he went on, “if the two of you will come this way, I will see you aboard the Karilyne’s Sword, the flagship of our local presence.”
“The flagship?” Nakamura repeated, surprised, as he rubbed at his wrists. “You mean you have multiple ships in this sector? The Church has never been permitted to do that—to operate more than one ship in a particular planetary region. Where did you—”
“That’s a question better left for the Ecclesiarch himself,” Octavion interrupted, “though I believe it is within the bounds of protocol for me to state that, well, things have changed.” He flashed a very-white smile at the general. “Now—this way, if you will, gentlemen,” he said again, nodding toward the hatch.
Tamerlane could practically feel the rage and frustration building within Nakamura and rising to the surface. But the general managed to keep it in check. He looked back at Tamerlane and angled his head toward the exit. “Fine. I have quite a few questions for him, actually,” he said.
“I thought you might,” Tamerlane agreed. “I have a couple more.”
Nakamura chuckled, though there was little humor in it. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go.”
They moved through the seating area and to the exit, sliding past the High Priest, who offered them a “you first” gesture with one hand, and out into the connector tube that led to the larger ship. Octavion in his immaculate white uniform entered the tube behind them.
The two soldiers reached the far end of the connector tube, where the hatch leading into the larger ship stood closed and locked. The lights in long panels along the sides of the tube were almost blinding as they reflected off the gleaming metal and white plastic surfaces. Tamerlane turned back, waiting for Octavion to join them and open the hatch.
The Shattering: Omnibus Page 17
