Freeforce: The Gryphon Saga

by L. E. Horn

  Disabling the giant’s collar took longer than it did with the human slaves, and Lianndra felt exposed as she worked. As she pulled her hands away from the Zraph’s temples and dropped to a crouch, she sensed something. She looked beyond the huge sleeping form, straight into the open eyes of a human soldier.

  Lianndra froze in shock. The man lay motionless in his bedroll, the firelight revealed the planes of a face framed by dark, shaggy hair. Although marred by a bruise across one cheek, the face remained handsome, with wide set eyes and a broad, chiseled jaw. It nagged at her, familiar yet not, and images swam through her distracted thoughts as her brain processed details. Then he shifted, and the light danced in the depths of his eyes—reflecting not just pale, but silver.

  OMG . . .

  It was like being struck by a lightning bolt. Electric fire sizzled along every nerve as she crouched motionless. She’d spent so long searching, thinking, and dreaming about him, and now here he was. She couldn’t move or speak.

  His stare pierced like an arrow straight to her heart. The man said nothing, but his brows drew down, throwing his eyes into darkness.

  Is it really him? He’s changed, but he’s older, it’s him, I know it. Why isn’t he moving? He doesn’t recognize me, she despaired. Then reality intruded. All he can see is a silhouette. Her pale skin would stand out in the darkness, so if any soldiers looked over, she would be exposed. But I must take the risk. She retracted the hair from her face.

  Lianndra saw the exact moment when he recognized her. Michael’s entire body jolted and then lay still again. She admired his self-control. He doesn’t want to give me away.

  She trembled, longing to speak to him. Her eyes scanned every possible route, but Michael was just too far away from any leafy cover for her to approach him. Lianndra had never felt so torn. How can I walk away now? But she had others to consider. At this moment, the fate of the entire initiative they’d embarked upon rested in her hands. With an aching heart, she conceded that the risk was too great. I will have to find another way.

  Lianndra closed her eyes and turned away. She retreated into the shadows of the Zraph’s body, pushing the hair across her face again. She shook from head to foot. Tomorrow night, she promised, we’ll figure out a way.

  Feeling as though she left a part of herself behind, she backed into the ferns and crept along in the darkness.

  The skies chose this moment to open up. Being out in the storms of Tarin was like stepping into a waterfall. Rain cascaded in a series of steps from leaf to leaf before finally hitting the soil. The entire camp ruffled like a bird shaking its feathers as soldiers awoke to pull their bedrolls to drier sites or merely tugged their waterproof covers higher over their heads.

  Heavy rain rolled off Lianndra’s hair, keeping her skin dry. She could barely see her hand in front of her face. For a moment, she considered heading for Michael but she knew the rain could end as fast as it began, leaving her vulnerable.

  Lianndra promised herself she wouldn’t leave this unit until they freed Michael. Whether he joined their small rebel group remained up to him. She was not the same woman he’d once known. With her modifications, she no longer qualified as human. Lianndra didn’t want to see the look in his eyes once the reality of her transformation became apparent. However, if she could at least free him, a part of her heart would be at peace.

  Lianndra reached the fringes of the clearing, pausing in the dripping undergrowth. She thought she detected movement behind her and startled as a tall form stepped into the shadows, not twenty feet from where she hid. She caught a whiff of damp male. Her heart skipped when it triggered a familiar, deep-rooted memory. Michael! But they might be watching him . . .

  He stopped within the trees, and a moment later Lianndra smelled human male urine through the rain.

  Doesn’t suffer from a shy bladder. She couldn’t help grinning to herself as she approached him. Trust Michael to come up with a natural excuse for wandering off. Still, the perimeter guards wouldn’t be far away. She needed to be quick and careful.

  Creeping close to his chosen tree, she crouched in the shadows of its massive trunk. He finished and paused as if listening for something. Lianndra counted on the heavy rain to keep her hidden from the guards. Closing her eyes, she retracted the hair from her face and arms. Then she stood, moving just to the edge of where the trunk caught the firelight through the foliage.

  A strong arm grabbed her, and she was no longer alone. “Lianndra.” Michael’s long arms pulled her into an embrace hard enough to make her wince. “I couldn’t believe my eyes.” He stepped back to meet her gaze. “I still don’t.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “What are you doing sneaking around? If the Fang catch you alone, killing you will seem a mercy.”

  He’d changed, grown taller and his body filled out with hard muscle. Even his face revealed maturity in the broad jaw and strong lines. No longer the gawky young man I remember.

  Lianndra gave herself a mental shake. I must do this fast. If he’s missed, they’ll use the collar to see where he is. She reached through the pouring rain to touch his face with her soft finger pads before leaning close, prompting him to bend lower to her. “Michael, I don’t have time to explain—do you trust me?”

  He didn’t seem to notice her claws, but he frowned at her question, no doubt wondering where it would lead. “Yes. I do.” The tone reassured her. Time might have passed, and they’d been through hell, but he was still his own person, not some Fang lackey.

  “I need you to let me do something,” she said as he bent closer to her, enabling her to whisper. “I can disable your collar.”

  Lianndra watched as realization dawned on him. “How—” He cut himself off, recognizing they didn’t have time for his questions. “That’s what you were doing to old Bradley. I wondered.”

  “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to. If the Fang catch you with a disabled collar, they will kill you.” Lianndra said.

  Big hands caught her arms before he bent to bring his face closer to hers. He whispered, “Do whatever you have to. Please.”

  She didn’t hesitate and went within. He flinched as she did so, his body instinctively rejecting such an intimate foreign invasion. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t this. She waited as he forced himself to relax, and continued as gently as she could, tracing the various nodes and building the scar tissue rendering them useless. Working on a conscious person wasn’t easy. Even with Michael trying to give her full access, he struggled to allow her to work unhindered.

  Finally, Lianndra withdrew to the surface cells, and healed the bruise spreading across his cheekbone. The silver pools of his eyes glimmered with astonishment.

  “You’re a Healer.” His voice sounded soft, his expression unreadable.

  What is he thinking? If he knew Healers, and most soldier slaves possessed some knowledge of them, he also knew about the changes. Her mind skittered away from those thoughts. She tried to tell herself she didn’t care if he rejected her. It wouldn’t matter so much if he was free, free to return home to Earth. Something I can no longer ever do.

  For now, she had to extricate him. “Come with me,” she said, unsure how she would make that happen with the guards surrounding them. “My friends and I are part of a rebellion effort started by a Fang group and supported by the Gryphon. So far, there are only a few of us, but you could join us.”

  Michael’s eyes widened as he absorbed her words, but he grimaced and shook his head. “I have friends inside,” he sighed. “How many collars have you disabled?”

  Good old Michael, loyal to his friends. He hadn’t changed at all. “I’m part of a small group of rebels with two Healers. We’ve only started to work on your unit,” she said quickly. “But we shadow each unit for a few days to disable as many as we can.”

  He seized on the idea and ran with it. “I can make sure my friends sleep closer to cover for the next few nights. Will that work?”

  Risky, and I’m sure Drake won’t like it. Even if she had t
o do it alone, she would. She wouldn’t leave Michael.

  “I’ll make it work,” she said.

  The rain started to let up. “You’d better go,” Michael told her, but he didn’t let go of her shoulders. “I can’t tell you . . . I can’t believe you’re really here.”

  Before she could react, he pulled her to him, kissing her swift and hard. Everything inside her seemed to melt. She breathed in his musky scent, feeling the racing thump of his heart. Then he pushed her away into the shadows before striding out of the underbrush toward the firelight.

  Seconds later, Lianndra moved through the canopy, pausing to watch a perimeter guard make his way to the camp. Once he moved out of earshot, she swung higher, heading for the forest giant where Drake and the others waited. Her heart pounded. What am I going to say to Drake? He remained their leader even though the collars no longer worked, but she knew if he ordered her to leave this unit behind, she’d refuse.

  Lianndra wouldn’t quit until she freed Michael. Then she would see where she stood with him.

  He kissed me. Lianndra touched her lips with trembling fingers. He knew I was a Healer, and he still kissed me.

  Michael hadn’t changed. He’d likely kiss a frog if it was his friend and he hadn’t seen it in a while.

  He kissed me.

  WELL, I WAS RIGHT. LIANNDRA sighed. Drake doesn’t like this.

  Shadowing a unit to perform nightly collar raids had become standard practice for the fugitives, but now that Michael knew of them, Drake became nervous about staying in the vicinity.

  “We can try to extract him tonight and be miles away by morning,” he said, but Lianndra could tell by the tone of his voice he knew she wouldn’t go for it.

  “We must disable more collars in this group. And Michael won’t leave until his friends are free.” Lianndra looked at Hannah, who sat beside the Aussie. “I won’t leave until Michael does,” she confirmed for him, in case he suffered any delusions.

  “Lianndra and I are so mobile they aren’t likely to catch us even if someone blows the whistle.” Hannah leaned into him as if trying to convince him through physical contact alone. “You and the guys can hang far enough back so you won’t get caught if something happens. There are too few of you to help us if things go wrong. Lianndra and I can make a better escape if we aren’t worrying about you.”

  Drake frowned. Lianndra wondered if it was a good move to remind him that if things go wrong, he couldn’t do much to help them.

  “We will never achieve much if we run every time there are risks,” Lianndra said. “I’m willing to do this, but I don’t want anyone else feeling they have to. I can do this alone.”

  Drake snorted and shook his head. “No. This is a large unit. The more collars we can disable the better. I can’t say I like the fact this Michael guy will tell our story to his friends. We can only hope he picks them with care. Be ready to run at the first sign of trouble.” He pinned Lianndra with a fierce stare. “And I mean that. Something even smells funny, you get out. Fast. No heroics.”

  Lianndra nodded, but her eyes slid away from his intense gaze. As long as Michael gets out too, then we’ll be gone so fast cheetahs won’t be able to keep up.

  THROUGH THE NEXT DAY’S TREK, Michael’s thoughts focused on Lianndra. Knowing what she and her rebel friends were up to also meant a restless night once they made camp.

  Michael controlled his impulse to look for her when he knew the Healers would sneak into camp. He’d cautioned his friends about it as well. The risks were high, but the result would be worth it.

  As long as we are free from the Fang, he thought.

  Curled up in his bedroll, he faced away from the firelight. He needed to sleep, so he could be ready when the time came to take on the Fang commander. Despite everything he tried, it would not come. He closed his eyes and tried counting to himself; lay on his back and tried to relax one muscle at a time; rolled onto his side, and blanked his mind of any thoughts. No matter what he attempted, his mind returned to memories of Lianndra like a compass to true north. Her green eyes and wide smile, her laughter as she raced a chestnut mare along the beach, her curves in the tight neoprene, the softness of her lips when he’d kissed her.

  Michael thought of her many times during his captivity, but now her proximity meant he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He finally let his memory loose, reliving the time they’d spent together back on Earth. Sometime during their visit to the giant redwoods, he drifted off.

  Perhaps the dream was due to the thoughts evoked by the giant trees or, more likely, because his tired brain followed a long familiar path. The dream, which wasn’t a dream but rather a memory, trapped him within it.

  The night air was thick, humid, and still as death. Moisture from the latest storm cascaded from the giant trees overhead onto the dense undergrowth, running along channels in the leaves to the edges, and off into space.

  The only sign of movement was the sound of wet foliage slapping bodies as they forced their way through, and the soft squelch of footsteps on soggy ground. Most men blended with the shadows, darker than the night, moving forward as one. The figures shared more than their age—they appeared equally tall, well-proportioned, and muscular. They carried their weapons and the heavy supply packs with the ease of long practice. Their camouflaged clothing blended into the surrounding jungle, the uniforms crisp and new. The light from the twin moons, sporadic among the swiftly scudding clouds, reflected off the weapons the men carried across their bodies.

  Weapons—therefore, soldiers. In the dream, Michael examined his hands. He held an old sword with which the Fang expected him to fight. Even though he kept it honed, it bore the notches of long hard use. Michael remembered wondering what had happened to the soldier who used it before him. The stories each notch could tell.

  Deep within the dream, Michael felt the stirrings of fear. Wake up, his dream-self spoke, you know how this ends.

  He sensed rather than saw his fellow slave soldiers moving silently through the vegetation. Any hesitation in their stride warranted a slight tingle in the collars around their necks, a warning to push on . . . or else. They knew too well the penalty for disobedience. They’d seen soldiers suffer when the Fang disagreed with a slave’s actions.

  Their Farr commander stayed behind them, safe between his lethal Bernaf bodyguards. Some Fang units were unlucky enough to have two Farr as part of their group. These men felt fortunate to have only one.

  The jungle thinned around them, the slaves becoming more cautious in their forward progress. More than once, a soldier twitched when his collar gave a minor correction to his actions.

  Michael hunched lower in the thinning foliage, squinting into the shadows. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

  In his mind, a desperate mantra ranted: it’s only a dream. Wake up! But a part of him objected—it’s not a dream . . .

  The clouds raced across the sky, driven by the warm, humid, air. When the clouds temporarily obliterated the moonlight, the ground under their feet rose before them.

  Even with his instincts on full alert, his dream-self startled when the giant alien appeared. It came from out of nowhere, a huge, six-limbed creature taller than a horse emerging from a bush the size of a small dog. The enormous sword it brandished possessed a reach easily twice that of his. He felt the air of its passing as he ducked beneath its swing, flinging himself sideways into the foliage. The sword tip caught on the pack, and he experienced a moment of panic as he squirmed to free himself from the arm straps.

  As always at this stage of the dream, time seemed to speed up, borne on the wings of his adrenaline. The whine of the few lasers Michael’s unit possessed lit up the night sky. He dodged another swing of the Gryphon’s mighty sword, only dimly aware of other big aliens fighting their way into his unit’s ranks. He heard the Fang commander through the slave collar. Attack! Kill!

  Regardless of how he felt about it, Michael had no choice but to fight. As a slave soldier in the Fang war, he
had no opportunity for negotiation. Gryphon were the Fang’s enemy. Michael knew if he didn’t attack the giant in front of him, he would die at the hands of his own commander.

  When the Gryphon stepped in closer on its next swing, Michael saw his chance. Even then it was dicey. The sword’s edge opened a cut on his arm as he ducked under the swing. He surged forward from his crouch and used the momentum of his straightening body to drive his sword deep into the Gryphon, piercing to where the great heart beat.

  He heard the air rush out of the big alien, and as the Gryphon collapsed onto Michael’s blade, time seemed to slow once more.

  Wake up, wake up, Michael’s dream-self chanted. I don’t want to relive this again. Wake up!

  Ignoring his pleas, the dream—or rather nightmare, continued.

  The Gryphon collapsed slowly, forelegs first, followed by the hind end as strength flowed away with its blood. The huge sword dragged the arms and torso down until the point buried itself in the earth.

  With its legs crumpled and barrel lying on the ground, the creature’s long head became level with his own. Colorful feathers held stiffly erect wreathed its head, the deadly hooked beak hovered only inches from his face. Michael looked past the beak and the long jaw to match his gaze with that of the Gryphon.

  Although the feathered mane and beak remained reminiscent of a bird of prey, the Gryphon didn’t have the cold, indifferent golden gaze of an eagle or hawk. Instead, the eyes reflected only a gentle wisdom. They were beautiful, fringed with thick eyelashes, glistening dark violet in the moonlight. As Michael’s heart pounded, the long, tufted ears came forward, and the beaked snout opened. He heard the tortured rasp of its breathing, and something that sounded like soft words whispered beneath the gasps for breath.

  He couldn’t help himself. Michael leaned closer, close enough to see the moon’s reflection in the Gryphon’s eyes and to smell the slightly spicy aroma of its feathery fur. He could also smell its lifeblood flooding the soil at his feet.