Ugh! She didn’t know which creature had more disgusting habits; men or aliens.
“Grog’s here,” she announced, wincing at the complaint from her backside as she strode up the ramp.
At the top of it, she spied a tiny yellow bead on the floor. Closer inspection revealed it to be one of Lukas’ stupid candy snacks from Earth… ‘Em-an-ems’, he called them. He spent half their last journey offering them to her repeatedly, until she’d threatened the shove them up his ass one at a time. Of course, he’d hinted that he wasn’t entirely against such a notion…
The door leading back into the rest of the ship was open too, and she found a couple more of the sweets on the deck just inside.
What the hell is this? Breadcrumbs?
The corridor dog-legged ahead of her before opening into the lounge, and it was there she got her answer.
The plastic bag that contained his favourite snacks had fallen to the deck, spilling brightly-coloured circles everywhere.
Lukas was sitting on a bench not far away, slumped over.
A length of metal pole protruded from his abdomen; it had gone through him with enough force to pin him to the bulkhead behind him.
His eyes were closed. Blood dripped from his mouth, which had sagged open.
All this she took in in a second, whilst fighting the urge to scream.
The clay pots slipped from under her arm, shattering on the deck and adding their contents to the mess.
“Lukas? LUKAS!”
He didn’t respond. Didn’t move a muscle.
“What the fuck is—”
And then the far door slid open, and a lithe female form stepped through it.
“Oh, Kyra,” said Evie, tutting sarcastically. “You really do have the worst taste in men.”
25
A flash of pain woke Tris.
Not his pain, and not a physical pain, either. A lance of emotional agony that pierced his mind so violently that he came awake screaming.
Kyra. Their thoughts had been in each other’s heads so often he recognised them by feel. She’s in trouble. He knew it instinctively, and his brain began churning through the sequence of events that would lead up to him helping her. He reached out a hand to wake Ella…
But she wasn’t there.
“Lights,” he called, and was momentarily blinded as they came on. Blinking through it, he looked at the empty expanse of bed next to him. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but his hand registered that her sheets were cold.
His train of thought hit a brick wall at that point. No Ella? He quested out for her with the Gift, knowing as soon as he started that it was a futile attempt. She’d always been able to hide from his talent; her and her sister both…
And suddenly, he had an inkling of what was going on.
Evie’s here.
That would explain Kyra’s state of mind.
And Ella’s disappearance…
It also meant that he had to get out there now.
“Kreon!” He followed up the shout with an echoing thought, the result of which was the crash of something heavy hitting the deck.
Are you okay? he asked the Warden.
I was asleep. I fell out of bed.
Tris felt annoyance with the words; he’d put a bit too much strength into his wake-up call.
Too bad. Kyra’s in trouble.
That sharpened Kreon’s priorities. Where is she? Can we reach her?
Tris cursed inwardly. His first reaction, on finding Ella gone, had been to hunt for her. He hadn’t even checked in with Kyra yet.
Is it Evie? he asked her, crossing his fingers for a response.
Not now, she snapped back at him. This bitch is mine.
A flash of her surroundings came through with the response; she was running through Nightshade’s cargo bay, and out down the wide, blood-stained ramp.
She’s by her shuttle, he told Kreon, but I don’t think she wants our help.
Inevitably, the Warden replied. However, she is a member of my crew and not vice versa. Arm yourself Tristan. We will assist her immediately.
Tris had pulled his clothes on during the exchange. Jamming bare feet into his combat boots he grabbed his glaive from the bedside locker and sprinted from the room. He was at the hatch in seconds, hit the release, and leapt off the ramp before it had finished extending.
He pushed the mystery of Ella’s disappearance to the back of his mind, concentrating on Kyra’s predicament. She was still outside, he could tell; she was stalking around Nightshade, swords out, searching for any sign of her attacker. Evie hadn’t followed her out; now the assassin could be anywhere… Tris kept his contact light, not wanting to distract her.
I can hear you Tris, Kyra’s mind hissed at him. You’re like a herd of pakorams tramping through my head. Leave. This. To me.
I can’t. Kreon’s coming too.
He felt a wave of disgust, before Kyra forcibly broke their connection. Tris swore. It was clear she was taking this personally, but why she’d refuse help he couldn’t guess. Was she afraid he’d get hurt? That wasn’t like her…
He spent a few moments agonising over whether or not to wait for Kreon, before giving up and setting off towards the village gates at a run. Startled villagers turned to watch him go, but he ignored their questioning glances. Nothing they can do to help us now. Not against Evie…
And he’d been responsible for too many deaths already.
He made it as far as the gates, when it occurred to him to approach with caution. He glanced back, to see how far Kreon was behind him. There was no sign of the Warden yet.
Damn it! Only a handful of seconds had passed, but he felt the urgency bearing down on him. Come on, Kreon! He glanced back at the shuttle again—
Just as it disintegrated in a massive fireball.
The blast wave rolled out, shaking the huts and buildings surrounding it. People fell in shock, or threw themselves into cover as a deadly rain of shrapnel peppered the village. Flames licked from the wreckage, starting small fires everywhere they touched. Tris stared, aghast, at the burned-out shell he’d been sleeping in a few minutes ago.
Kreon was still inside…
The thought hit him like a hammer-blow, and he frantically searched for the Warden’s consciousness.
He found nothing.
Kreon? Kreon, man, you’ve got to be there!
But as far as Tris could tell, he wasn’t.
Not anymore.
Oh God. Oh God! What the hell do I do?
Indecision paralysed him. On the one hand, Kreon could be dead or dying. On the other hand, so could Kyra. His legs felt like dead logs, still rooted to the spot.
Shit shit shit!
Every instinct screamed at him to run back, to scour the burning wreckage for signs of life. Yet still he hesitated, ducking reflexively as shards of debris crashed to earth all around him. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe. He had one emergency exercise on standby for just such an occasion. What would Kreon do? he asked himself.
Well, that’s a no-brainer.
The villagers would rally quickly, and do all they could to stop the fire, and save anyone involved. Tris was neither a firefighter, nor a doctor.
But he could still help Kyra. And Lukas was bound to be with her. And he was a doctor… assuming he was okay.
Guilt weighed heavily on him, making his body sluggish, as he turned to go. Did running away from Kreon make him a traitor? Abandoning his master in his hour of need?
What would Kreon do? Easy. He’d save Kyra. At all costs.
Forcing his legs into action, he headed off towards the sleek form of Nightshade.
The black hull was barely visible in the darkness. His glaive was in his hand, and he squeezed it to extend his reach. No point in getting caught unawares; he wrenched his mind off the situation back at the village, and tried to focus on the night around him. Kyra was out here somewhere, possibly hurt…
And so was Evie.
As Nig
htshade grew in front of him, reflected flames dancing along its edges, he slowed to a walk. There was no cover around here, unless you counted the shredded remnants of the Siszar army. The tree-line was close though, less than a hundred metres away. Glancing in that direction, he thought he saw a flash of movement.
Kyra?
She was in amongst the trees now, running. Fleeing, he realised; she was hurt. She hardened her thoughts against him, perhaps not wanting to be distracted. She must be as mentally exhausted as I am. And she relies on the Gift to control her weapons…
Without intense focus and concentration, she could never beat Evie.
Which meant she was in trouble.
When a gunshot rang out — the unmistakable sound of the Vanguard rifles he’d been firing all night — he knew that things were coming to a head.
Making his decision quickly, Tris sprinted for the trees, leaping over the remains of last night’s fallen.
Distance was hard to judge in the dark, but he reckoned he’d be across the open ground and into the forest in under a minute.
Then a shadow rose up in front of him and he skidded to a stop.
Before he could issue a challenge, the figure extended an arm. Something flew towards him, and Tris got his glaive up just in time. With a metallic ‘tink,’ whatever it was ricocheted off into the night.
What the hell…?
But the figure wasn’t waiting for him to recover. Lithe and feminine in shape, she threw more of the objects in rapid succession. Tris felt his hands move almost of their own accord, his blade intercepting the projectiles as fast as they came.
But the figure was advancing, and even as Tris swatted the last of her missiles out of the air she sprang for him, a sword appearing as if from nowhere.
He blocked the blow, though its power drove him back. She swung again, recovering her posture faster than he’d thought possible. Her attacks were relentless, flowing into one another with perfect precision. He put everything into his defence, only holding her off because his weapon was double-ended. Still, it was like she was analysing his every move; the second he faltered she was on him again, coming in from what she had clearly identified as his weak side.
Some quick footwork saved him, and he parried whilst leaping back. He’d thought to give himself more space, but she was too fast, pushing forwards and stabbing towards his chest. He just met her blade, deflecting it so barely that its tip carved a line of fire across his shoulder. Then she pirouetted, using her momentum to bring the weapon around again. Tris blocked it with the haft of his glaive and took another step back, desperately needing to gain some breathing room.
Fortunately his attacker broke off, dropping into a stance just beyond his reach. With his eyes adjusted to the lack of light he could make out more of her features; a dark-haired woman, more heavily built than Ella, but wearing a similar form-fitting bodysuit. Definitely not Evie — her demeanour was all wrong. As his brain started making connections, she took hold of her sword’s hilt with both hands and twisted — and suddenly she had two swords, one in each hand.
He couldn’t see her face, but he’d have sworn she smiled at his reaction.
Then she launched herself towards him, raining down blows whilst pressing ever closer. His glaive became a blur as he deflected the strikes, but he had zero time to counterattack. She moved like lightning, darting in to slash at his ankles before leaping up for a mighty overhead blow that sent shockwaves down his arms when he blocked it. He was panting for breath, his shoulders burning with the effort as blood drops flew from his elbow with every move. He ducked beneath a savage slice and managed to get a straight thrust in, but she danced backwards so easily it was like she was teasing him. Sweat dripped into his eyes and soaked his shirt. The exhaustion from earlier was back in force, and at the worst possible moment.
But she paused for an extra second before attacking again, and it gave him just enough time to plant his feet. As her first sword swept in he reversed his glaive, taking the hit on the long handle. His own blade curved up to meet her second one edge-on — and the impossibly-sharp Kharash metal sheared straight through it, leaving his attacker holding a useless hilt.
For the first time in the last few minutes, Tris thought he might actually live through this.
The woman sprang back, ceding him the space he so desperately needed.
But she was far from defeated.
Her arms came up again, and more of the tiny metal slivers sailed towards him. The glaive felt heavy in his hands as he hauled it back and forth, catching the deadly shards not a millisecond too soon. She moved off, circling him and varying her rhythm. He turned with her, feeling increasingly desperate. One miss would be the end of him — he knew it from the intensity of her barrage. Killing him was just a chore for this girl. Because his brain had finally finished stitching the dots together. Another Priestess! Here…
Which meant she hadn’t come for him.
She was here for Ella.
And she’d blown up their shuttle on the off-chance.
The futility of it all stung him.
First Kreon, and now him… they were meant to be saving the galaxy. Instead they’d been reduced to collateral damage.
Anger flared up inside him, that this psycho would dare to endanger their mission — would destroy everything, when they had fought and sacrificed for so long…
All for their goddamned reputation.
The assassin flung another blade. Tris blocked it just in time, but his aching muscles overextended the move, leaving him open. As his glaive swung back to intercept the next one, he knew it would be the last.
Kreon was gone.
Kyra was out there somewhere, hurt and hunted.
And Ella…
Ella would be the next to die. Just as she’d predicted.
The strength he put into moving his weapon took it through its target and way beyond.
The knife, or whatever it was, spun away, leaving his body twisted and hopelessly out of position.
This was it.
He was going to die.
And that thought pissed him off no end.
His fury hit boiling point, tearing out of his throat in a roar. A red veil dropped across his vision. Letting the glaive fall, he slapped at the incoming projectiles with his bare hands — and with a pure, naked rage like nothing he’d ever felt.
And one by one they rebounded, swatted from the air before his fingers even reached them.
His attacker faltered, not quite sure what she was seeing.
Something roiled and surged within Tris. With every drop of his pent-up anger, he punched her; punched at her, driving a spike of raw aggression right into her.
And twenty feet away, the assassin doubled over from a blow to the gut. The force of it lifted her off her feet, hurling her body into the darkness.
Tris collapsed on the scrubby grass. His ears were ringing; his vision blurred in and out, in time to the pounding of his heart. He was shaking, trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps…
But he was alive.
What the hell was that?
He was too winded to think about it.
By the time he’d recovered enough to search for his assailant, she was gone. He couldn’t be sure where she’d landed, but he knew the rough direction. Tracks would be impossible to see, so he didn’t have a whole lot of choice in the matter; he had to carry on into the forest, and just pray she wasn’t hiding behind the first tree, waiting for him to blunder past.
I hit her hard, though. Or whatever the hell I did… No way she’s just shrugging that off.
Which was probably why she’d fled, instead of chopping his head off while he lay panting on the ground.
He made it over the last swathe of open ground without incident, now hyper aware that death could be lurking just out of sight. Under the trees it was darker than ever. He blinked rapidly, hoping his eyes would adjust, but he was forced to admit that he was way out of his element here.
Which is
exactly how assassins like us…
Keeping his glaive up, he moved as quietly as he could into the forest.
The Gift told him that Kyra was off to his left, and moving further away. As for the rest of the people nearby, friend or foe, they were all too good at guarding their minds for him to find them.
He cursed himself for not making some kind of pre-arranged signal with Ella. Now they were both out here, stumbling around in the dark — not that he could ever imagine her stumbling. He just hoped she’d recognise him before she opened him up.
Silence was impossible; the ground was spongy underfoot and littered with twigs and branches. Even if he’d been able to see what he was walking on, he wouldn’t have dared devote any attention to it. He kept his eyes up, sweeping from side to side, stopping often to check behind himself.
Still, he saw nothing of his next assailant.
Strong arms wrapped around him from behind, one hand clamping down on his mouth so hard he thought his jaw would be crushed. His glaive was stuck uselessly out in front of him; he squeezed the handle to shrink it, struggling to remember how best to strike an attacker behind him.
“Shhh!” the barest of whispers came in his ear.
It was Ella.
“Thank God!” he hissed back at her. “How did you find me?”
She released her grip on him, stepping around so he could see her. “I’m afraid the art of stealth is a bit lost on you.”
She put her finger to his lips to forestall more conversation, then beckoned him to follow her. She pointed to his eyes, then to herself, and he replied with an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Apparently she couldn’t resist that, and struck a sultry pin-up pose with her hands in her hair, before setting off deeper into the forest.
She moved with the grace of a leopard on the hunt, making almost no sound despite the treacherous footing. The rifle on her back had been rubbed with mud or something, to stop it glinting. Her outfit blended into the shadows, making her difficult to see even from his distance. It made him glad he’d worn a dark jumpsuit instead of a white t-shirt. When she held up a hand to stop, he froze — then watched in fascination as wires snaked from her cuff, quickly expanding to wrap the exposed hand in metal. He’d seen her wield this weapon before, to deadly effect; it was a good job she’d remembered to take it off before grabbing him.
Warden's Fate Page 31
