Warden's Fate

by Tony James Slater

  Kreon swore. “Are its weapons active?”

  “Powered up, but not tracking us,” Kyra confirmed. “It’s not derelict, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Be ready to take evasive action,” he ordered. “And find us some cover to set down in.”

  Kyra flicked her eyes at him. “You’ve seen the size of those turbolasers, right?” She tapped her console. “If they decide to fire, a bunch of trees and rocks aren’t gonna save us. Better hope they’re broken.”

  “No,” Kreon said, his voice dark. “The owner of that vessel maintains his fleet meticulously.”

  “Owner?” Tris leaned for ward to get a closer look at the viewscreen. The crimson hull of the ship did look disturbingly familiar. “You don’t mean…?”

  “Indeed. Only Demios has the arrogance to paint an entire warship.”

  On Kreon’s advice, Kyra kept her course steady as the vast red hull grew in front of them. A veritable shoal of nestships twisted and surged around them; Tris hoped the implied threat of retaliation would keep the cruiser’s guns at bay.

  By the time Kyra set them down in the dubious shelter of a rocky outcrop, the cruiser was all they could see on the forward viewscreens. From this angle it was even more intimidating, blotting out the sky with its heavily armoured bulk.

  “How the hell did they land it?” Kyra muttered, as she unstrapped from the pilot’s seat.

  “With difficulty,” Kreon observed. “Let us hope they are disinclined to launch it again.”

  “I’ll stay with the shuttle in case you need a pick-up,” Ella said from behind them.

  Tris opened his mouth to protest, then realised how that would look. Ella was doing her bit for them, in the best way she knew how. No point trying to spoil it.

  Kreon looked at her, and grunted his acknowledgement.

  Kyra, unsurprisingly, said nothing.

  The Empress and her followers touched down all around them, the trailing tentacles of their nestships splaying out to support them. In seconds the aliens had disembarked, leaping from apertures that irised open in their ships’ bellies.

  Tris took his time gathering his weapons and adjusting his environment suit; he was keen to have as many friendly Siszar out there as possible when he made his appearance.

  It can’t be Demios though, can it?

  Tris had last seen the man back on Atalia, at their trial for the murder of High Warden Erekasten. Since then Demios had invaded Homeguard, causing the ancient palace to be destroyed, and had encouraged Sera to wipe Earth clean of life using the Planet Forge. He’d also had Kyra tortured… and his fleet had inflicted the damage to the Folly that Askarra was still trying to repair.

  But all that seemed ages ago. As far as Tris knew, Demios hadn’t been involved in their struggle with the Lemurians. In fact, Oktavius had said he was in hiding…

  As they trooped down Nightshade’s ramp, he mentioned that to Kreon.

  “The man is a viper, but he is not lazy,” the Warden replied. “I suspected that he had more than recuperation in mind, but time to conduct an adequate investigation has been scarce of late.”

  Lord Balentine was last down the ramp. “Could it be deserters from his fleet perhaps? Or have the Siszar captured one of his vessels?”

  “No.” Kreon’s tone brooked no argument. “Only Demios himself would have the audacity for such a scheme. Sydon’s Name, that man is like a noxious weed.”

  Balentine gave a small but pointed cough. “Really, Kreon?”

  Kreon eyed him warily, then blew out a frustrated breath. “Very well! By PO-Sydon’s Holy Trident! Verily, I doth declare this foe to be our erstwhile colleague Lord Barandemios Volkans, Prince of Silban and former Custodian of Atalia! Whitherto thinkest thou we should repair?”

  Balentine had the grace to look embarrassed. “Fair enough Kreon, you’ve made your point. I just think the boy needs to learn manners, as well as alien disembowelment.”

  “Then he’s got the wrong master,” Kreon snarled. “Let’s go!”

  It took them several minutes to reach the cruiser on foot. Tris wondered if such a massive ship even had a boarding ramp; it didn’t look like it was designed to land in a field. He couldn’t see daylight beneath it, so perhaps its weight had made it sink into the ground. Kreon limped along on his right, with Kyra stalking angrily on his left. Lukas brought up the rear, toting the kind of weapon that Blas would have relished.

  Still, for all his formidable crew-mates, Tris was glad to see the Empress and the hulking form of her consort moving in to join them. Despite being injured so recently, the massive male gave no evidence of being hurt; Tris couldn’t even see the wounds, which had looked serious enough after the battle.

  He ate well during our meeting, and is recovering quickly, the Empress agreed. Our regenerative powers are far greater than your own.

  Tris didn’t doubt it; he was reminded of the squirming limbs that had attacked them on Admiral Benin’s battleship. Even cut off, they’d seemed to possess a mind of their own.

  They do, she explained, one brain for each limb. It still amazes me how you can function with only one.

  Dozens of her followers had spilled from their nestships, surrounding them in ever greater numbers. They moved like gigantic spiders over the open ground, placing each limb-tip one at a time in a sequence as creepy as it was mesmerising. All around them smaller aliens teemed, along with a surprising number of humans. Most of the people were dressed raggedly, but bits of spacesuits and scraps of armour were scattered amongst them. Whilst many held brutal-looking knives, more than a few were toting laser rifles.

  These are the humans who live here? Tris asked.

  They are.

  They have guns, he pointed out.

  They have whatever amenities they can scrounge from the human ships we dump here.

  They have ships too? Don’t they try to escape? Or rebel against you?

  One would hope so.

  As they grew closer, he noticed a settlement of low huts surrounded by a log palisade. Sitting beside the ship, it looked like a model from a museum display. But the Empress led them in the opposite direction, towards what at first appeared to be an extension of the ship. As they neared, Tris could see it was more like a row of man-high crates arranged into a wall, all painted in the same garish style as the cruiser. Armed and armoured men stood on duty atop the makeshift barrier, their livery also matching the ship. Their weapons, however, gleamed black and deadly.

  “Soldiers,” Tris said to Kyra.

  “Yeah. There’ll be hundreds of the bastards,” she replied. “You don’t think Demios flew that thing here himself, do you?”

  Tris glanced around at the Siszar flanking them, and hoped they were enough of a deterrent. “Do we have a plan?”

  “Yes,” she said, leaning in close to him. “You distract them, and I’ll run around behind them.”

  “But what—” Tris started, before he realised it was a joke.

  “The Empress says he’s open to challenges,” she added, tapping the hilts of her swords. “I dunno how he’s beating the Siszar, but he’s going to soil himself when he sees me coming.”

  Tris took some comfort in that. Demios, for all his schemes, was a man — one they’d met, and defeated, before. They’d brought all of his grand plans down around him in flames, from the assassination of the High Warden to his bid to remodel Earth.

  That’s when it hit him. “He’s not here for the Siszar,” he said quietly. “He’s here for us.”

  Kyra massaged the hilts of her swords, and said nothing.

  Up ahead, a gap had been left in the crates. The soldiers guarding it stood aside as Kreon reached them, allowing the whole procession to enter what turned out to be a wide square, surrounded by the crates on all sides. There was only one other entrance, a similar gap in the far side — and the whole place was thronged with young green Siszar.

  And right in the centre of it, wearing a suit of gold-accented crimson armour, sat Demios.
/>   His lackeys must have dragged a chair down from the bridge, Tris mused. A comfy one.

  Odd how, at times of crisis, his mind seemed to wonder about the most inane of things.

  Demios stood as they approached, an odd extension to his shoulder armour making him look a bit lopsided. His chair was on a kind of dais, allowing him to see over the crowd of aliens.

  The young Siszar parted, scurrying back to press against the walls as the Empress and her consort moved forward. Her followers poured in behind them, their huge size and gnarled hides a marked contrast to the juveniles.

  Demios ignored them completely.

  “Ah, my Lord Anakreon!” His voice, smooth as silk, was enhanced by speakers in his armour. “Welcome to my temporary throne room. I’ve been waiting for you. I must say, it’s taken you long enough! Had a little argument with the Lemurians, did we?”

  Kreon glared up at him. “Regime change is a lengthy process, as you are no doubt aware. Or you would be, had you ever succeeded at it.”

  Demios clapped, a slow, mocking sound to match the derision in his voice. “Well done, my Lord. You have been busy, selflessly sacrificing yourself for every poor, downtrodden wretch in the galaxy. It must be exhausting, being so self-righteous. Whereas I, on the other hand, have been cementing alliances. Building a society you might say, rather than mindlessly destroying one. And so here we are; you, surrounded by the same hopeless bunch of amateurs, and me…” He spread his arms, referencing the might of the cruiser above him and the endless horde of Siszar that were climbing the tall crates to get a better view.

  “They will not save you, Demios.” Kreon’s voice dripped venom. “You are nothing but an impediment to me; an irritating obstacle that must be removed before I can proceed. This galaxy, and all life within it, will fall to the Black Ships — yet you occupy yourself with petty power struggles and politics! Where did you go wrong, Demios? What twisted childhood forced you into becoming this? A Warden without a cause. A warrior that hides behind lackeys. A spoiled, rich bully with nothing better to do than harass his superiors.”

  Demios mimed shock. “My my! Such a damning indictment! Rest assured my Lord, I shall go out immediately and make amends for my terrible transgressions.”

  Just hearing that word sent a shudder through Tris. So the wily bastard knew exactly what they’d been through, in the Lemurian uprising? Why doesn’t that surprise me? Demios seemed to hoard secrets like dragon’s gold, and the web of spies on his payroll probably dwarfed the rest of the Wardens put together.

  “The truth, old man,” Demios continued, “is that your pathetic struggles are at an end. Your days of crying disaster to the Council and having them rush to do your bidding are over.” He grinned, a look of sadistic delight coming to his face. “I have finished the Council. I have all but eradicated the Wardens. What’s left, Kreon? A handful of crippled old men, just like you. This feeble boy.” He turned his gaze on Tris. “And this murderous bitch.”

  Tris saw the hatred in his gaze as he looked at Kyra, and was confused for a moment — before remembering that Demios’ son had been on the battleship she’d destroyed.

  Kyra said nothing, though Tris could feel her emotions roiling beneath the surface. She was reaching the end of her patience, he could tell; very soon now, violence was going to ensue.

  But Demios hadn’t finished speaking.

  “None of you will leave this system alive,” he said, his grin widening. “It’s taken me a while, but I’ve finally found someone who can kill you, Kreon.” He spread his arms wide. “Lot’s of them, actually!”

  Kreon turned slowly, as though taking the young Siszar in for the first time. “You honestly believe so? They are welcome to try.”

  Up on the dais, Demios laughed. “Oh, Kreon! Always so dramatic. But brawls are terribly messy. And much as I’d like to watch you torn apart, I fear that pleasure may be denied me. You see, my loyal friends here will be following you wherever you go. Anytime there’s an opening, you’ll find them waiting. You can’t hide behind your pet starfish forever.”

  Kreon’s gaze was unwavering. “The same could be said of you.”

  Demios chuckled. “Oh, but I don’t need to! I have an entire legion of my finest troops with me, and more firepower than a thousand of those shuttles you arrived on. I have an army, Kreon. And a navy, as it happens. But why waste them?” He gestured at the Siszar, the boldest of whom had started to press forward, surrounding the humans and their allies. “These young men do so love to fight. And I don’t even have to pay them!”

  Kyra’s swords were already in her hands. “Alright you scrawny gasbag, I’m sick of listening to you. Are you coming down, or do I have to come up?”

  Demios didn’t get a chance to respond.

  Tris caught a flash of apology from the Empress — just as her consort barged forwards, knocking Kyra aside like a rag doll. She hit the ground hard, but luckily the floor inside the stacked crates was bare earth. She was up again in a flash, swords out, anger flashing in her eyes. Tris knew her mood had turned deadly. But it was too late; the Empress’s consort had taken her place.

  FIIIIGHT! he bellowed, the mental challenge as deafening to Tris as the physical roar that came out of him. Kyra took a step back too, though she managed to keep her guard up.

  And Demios, looking not at all perturbed, stepped down from his dais.

  His armour moved silently, betraying its quality — but it was no match for raw Siszar aggression.

  The consort thundered forward like a freight train, limb-tips pounding the ground, gathering momentum—

  Until Demios struck.

  The blast that shot out of him was invisible.

  Even so, Tris felt it like a slap; it rocked him back on his feet, his mind exploding into a thousand shards of white-hot agony. He didn’t even notice the glaive slipping from his fingers as his hands came up to claw at his ears. Whatever it was, it burned like fire in a part of him he couldn’t reach.

  It hit the Empress’s consort like a bolt to the brain.

  Huge limbs seized under him, and he collapsed to the ground, tumbling the last ten metres like a leathery boulder.

  He came to rest at the foot of the dais, curled up like a withered spider.

  Dead.

  Demios glanced nonchalantly down at the body. He hadn’t even bothered to close his helmet visor. Cruel delight shone from his face.

  He placed one steel-clad foot atop the consort’s twitching limbs, assuming the age-old pose of the triumphant hunter.

  “Next?”

  20

  Demios took his foot from the dead consort and cast an appraising glance at his corpse.

  “My biggest yet,” he observed mildly. “I think I’ll have his head mounted in my study. Or whatever that sack-thing with a beak is, anyway. Ugh! I bet it smells revolting when you cut it up.”

  He was taunting them, Tris knew; the Empress, her rage burning within her like a supernova, knew it too. Her own species found great honour in a glorious death; sought it out, even. To defame a warrior so potent was as close to blasphemy as they got. Fortunately, she had experienced the needless cruelty of human beings, and was inured to it.

  Tris could do nothing to help. The after-effects of Demios’ weapon caused the mental equivalent of sun-spots. His brain felt scrambled; the worst headache he’d ever experienced hit him like a hammer to the forehead. He glanced around blearily, to see Kyra reeling like a drunk. She righted herself, bringing her swords up again, but Tris knew she had no way of wielding them. She could no more use the Gift right now than he could; it was like that blast, whatever it was, had blown all the fuses in his brain.

  And it wasn’t even aimed at me.

  “Back,” he hissed to Kreon. “Back to the ship.”

  The Warden also looked shell-shocked, but he nodded grimly.

  Lukas, who’d been trailing them on the way in, now strode to the fore. He’d picked up some pretty sweet armour of his own at some point, not that Tris was in a
mood to appreciate it.

  “All right, show’s over,” the big man called out, a surprising ring of authority in his voice. The weapon he carried was substantial. He didn’t level it at Demios, he merely held it up suggestively. “Unless you want to throw down right here? I don’t know about you pal, but if this mob kicks off I wouldn’t like to be in the middle of it.” He jerked his thumb at the seething mass of tentacles behind him. When no response came from Demios, he leaned the heavy rifle on his shoulder. “We’re leaving.”

  “But of course.” The renegade Warden seemed not at all perturbed. “I’d say you had a fifty-fifty chance of making it back to your shuttle. Perhaps the same again of making it into orbit. Where you go from there… well. At least you won’t be starved for company. And if you do make it back to that Elder person, tell her I’ll see her soon.” He made shooing gestures. “Go on then!”

  Tris didn’t need the Gift to tell how much he was enjoying this. He just wants us to suffer.

  The Empress’s followers, starting to recover themselves, seemed to pick up on this vibe. They shuffled closer together, forming a tight phalanx with the Empress and the humans in the centre.

  One of Demios’ red-armoured riflemen stepped in, raising his weapon, and the nearest Siszar lashed out hard enough to crush him. As he crumpled to the ground she lunged, biting his head off with her beak and swallowing it, helmet and all.

  If it was a threat, it worked wonders. Both the soldiers and the younger Siszar backed away, not confident they could win an outright engagement. The Empress’s followers seemed more dazed than Demios’ youngsters, but there was no denying the sheer ferocity of the adults.

  Tris managed to recover his glaive, brandishing it feebly as he retreated with Kreon and Kyra behind him. Lukas stayed at the front, keeping his eyes fixed on Demios. It suddenly occurred to Tris that there was more to the big man than cartoons and massages… but that would have to wait. He could barely keep his thoughts straight; conversational ability was a long way off.