Warden's Vengeance Page 6

  Àurea beamed up at him. “Ana is short for Anakreon Serafine.”

  “Oh!” Kreon ran a hand over his bald scalp, perhaps to hide his surprise. “Anakreon! Ha ha! But surely that’s a rather… masculine name for a little girl?”

  Àurea mugged a thoughtful expression. “Really?” she said. “I never thought so.”

  4

  Relocating more than two-hundred scared and injured civilians on over a dozen vessels of different sizes was more complicated than Tris could have imagined.

  Somehow they pulled if off in less than an hour, but only because Sera activated her flechette launchers and told them she was going to ‘cleanse the Atrium’.

  The Siszar left too, the Empress assisting her wounded colleague back up to his ship.

  They screeched back out through the hole in the Atrium wall, and were soon in orbit.

  We will continue the fight, the Empress sent to him, the strength of their telepathic link undiminished by the distance.

  Not this time, Tris replied. We’ve decided to cut our losses. Looking after these refugees is our priority for now.

  Her reply was sharp. You misunderstand. WE — my suitors and I — will continue this fight. Once they learned about these bases, where others of your kind have been attacked, their desire to join the fight was kindled.

  It won’t make a difference, Tris pointed out. Most of the attacks are already over. There’s no way you could reach the bases in time to help anyone.

  You misunderstand again. They care nothing for the lives of these humans. They only wish to fight, to pit themselves against a worthy adversary. This battle has proved to them that the Lemurians are worth fighting. They hunger for it now, beyond my ability to control them. They will go, whether I accompany them or not. Such is the grip that bloodlust has over my people. The wave of emotion that accompanied her thoughts came across as shame.

  If you go, will you try to protect any civilians you come across?

  If they do not fight, they have nothing to fear from us. But I will do as you ask, my grub.

  Tris was pretty sure he’d been upgraded to larval status last time they spoke, but he was prepared to let that slide for now. If you go up against a fleet of Lemurian ships by yourselves, he warned, it could be more of a challenge than you can handle. Impossible, even.

  The mental impression of that rotting stink accompanied the Empress’s reply. For a human, perhaps!

  But they could kill you all!

  EEEEEEAAAAAAATTTTTT! The guttural roar crashed into Tristan’s head like a baseball bat. He felt that pressure again, then an oddly slimy sensation as his Siszar battle-brother ransacked his mind in search of images.

  The alien eventually settled on a can opener, ripping through a bulging tin. When it burst open to spill its contents they were… wriggling pink worms! At least three different laughter-stinks assailed him, making him gag.

  The soothing touch of the Empress’s mind reclaimed him, salving the pain from the male’s rough handling. I will correct one more misconception before I go, she told him. Our motivations are different to yours. My suitors do not fight for conquest. They fight to win a glorious death! After all, what more is there?

  Tris wasn’t sure if he should answer what was blatantly a rhetorical question. Erm… how about growing old gracefully? Relaxing in a rocking chair? A peaceful death at home in bed, of natural causes?

  Your species is so alien to me, she admitted. I forget all the ways we are different. My kind exist until we are killed. We do not die of natural causes.

  Tris did a double-take. What? But… that means you could live forever…?

  Only until someone kills us. In my society, that is as certain as your ’natural causes’.

  Something occurred to Tris then. He realised it had been bothering him for a while. How old are you? I asked you once before but Kyra interrupted.

  The Princess is a wise one. You would do well to heed her.

  You didn’t answer the question, Tris reminded her.

  Very well. But it can be hard for one so small to grasp. I have many thousands of your human years behind me.

  Tris felt his jaw drop slightly. And… no-one has killed you yet?

  Even in mental projection, the stench of her laughter was overpowering. Cheeky grub! Have you not seen me fight!

  The memory of her coming to their rescue on the derelict battleship sprang to Tristan’s mind; of her ripping the enormous alien cyborg in half with her bare limbs…

  Fair enough. Good hunting!

  He knew he’d said the right thing when a spike of savage pride accompanied her final message.

  We will meet again, my grub! I will bring you many corpses to feast on. And we shall talk of demons!

  And she was gone.

  Tris was left shaking his head in confusion.

  Man, the Siszar say some weird goodbyes!

  Tris and Kreon were the last to leave. The Warden was flying, so Tris sat beside him at the shuttle’s nav station. “You did well today Tris,” Kreon said, firing up their engines. “How many do you think you killed?”

  Tris shrugged. It was not his favourite topic of conversation. “I dunno. A lot.”

  “Indeed.” Kreon eased the shuttle up, and pointed it towards the exit. “You continue to amaze me. Your fighting ability is not commensurate with your training.”

  “Ahh… that’s a good thing, right?”

  “It is when we’re being overrun by psychotic cyborgs.”

  “So, yeah. I guess my dad taught me good.”

  “No, Tristan. Your father’s skill at arms was unparalleled — even Sera would have thought twice before attacking him. But you were just a boy when he trained you. That cannot account for the expertise I witnessed today.”

  “Kreon, man, I hate to burst your bubble but I almost died today! If the Siszar hadn’t leapt in…”

  “Regardless. I have seen an entire platoon of hardened commandoes shredded in seconds by Transgressors. Few men alive could withstand such an onslaught, much less triumph against it. You may have noticed, I’ve made it my business to surround myself with the most potent warriors in the galaxy. Kyra, Blas, Loader… Sera… there are few opponents these individuals could not subdue. But I never once suspected that the same would be true of you. It is an… unexpected benefit.”

  Tris felt a tightness in his stomach. Kreon was never this talkative. Not unless he had an agenda. “Is this where you tell me what you really need me for?”

  They cleared the docking bay, rocketing out into space. The rag-tag group of cargo haulers and shuttles ahead of them pinged onto the tactical display like luminous green confetti.

  Kreon sighed. “Yes, Tristan. What you need to appreciate is that, all this is but a prelude. When the Black Ships attack, there will be no survivors. I believe your father knew this — even though their existence was mere legend in his lifetime. And I am certain the Lemurians know this. If we are to continue — if our species is to make it past this period — we must discover what they know! We must understand the nature of our adversaries, if we are to determine a method of defeating them.”

  Tris gazed out into space, feeling cold for no reason. “You need me for this? How?”

  “I need you to go into the Portal, Tristan. Not the one you have used before; the one on Arixia, that leads directly to the Black Ships’ dimension.”

  Tris slumped back in his seat, his mind reeling. All this time… I should have known.

  “Arixia…”

  He hated that place. The sense of evil oozing through that gate, the barren wasteland left behind by the Black Ships… and the derelict battleship that had drifted above it, filled with anguish and madness.

  “There’s a Portal on Oracle,” he said, remembering their trip to the Lemurian holy world. Also not amongst his finest memories, but at least the trap that had awaited them there was more conventional.

  “You are correct, Tristan.” Kreon sounded encouraged — perhaps because Tris wasn’t curs
ing and threatening to run away.

  This had been a long time coming, but he’d been psyching himself up for it. Kreon rattled on about sacrifice every chance he got — it was pretty obvious the Warden had been buttering him up for something.

  At least it was just stepping through a Portal…

  “What is it like? On the other side, I mean.”

  “I have no idea. The only first-hand account we have is from your father. Mikelatz made it through and came back whole — to my knowledge the first and last person to have done so.”

  “Oh. Right. What happened to the others?”

  “Your father’s team killed each other, then tried to kill him. But he was a formidable warrior. He narrowly escaped with his life.” Kreon paused to make a course correction, and Tris could tell the old man was working up to something.

  “Since that time, everyone I have sent through that Portal has returned possessed. The mindless rage of the Black Ships has claimed them, and I have been forced to dispatch them myself. Apprentices, trained by my own hand… yet none of them were strong enough to resist the madness.”

  “Other apprentices? Like me, you mean?”

  Kreon turned to look at him. “There were none like you.”

  If that was flattery, Tris wasn’t going to let it distract him. “How many apprentices have you had? In total?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Seven… Are any of them still alive?”

  Kreon’s brow creased in concentration. “Three still are, I believe.”

  Tris shit a brick. “Three! And does that include me?”

  Kreon looked at him. “That depends on whether or not you are alive.”

  “I feel alive,” Tris retorted.

  “Then yes.”

  Kreon brought the shuttle in to dock with Wayfinder.

  Although Tris felt a little bad about leaving Àurea and her mother to handle the refugee chaos on board the Folly, he was desperate to see Ella again. There had been so many moments in the last few hours when he’d been sure he would never lay eyes on her again.

  He resolved not to tell her that, though. He was a bit tired of being the object of pity; poor-little-Tristan-we-hope-he’s-okay. After what he’d just been through, he felt like he’d earned a bit of recognition for his efforts. Not full-on respect; not from veteran combatants like Kreon and Sera. But a tacit acknowledgement from his girlfriend that he wasn’t going to die every time he stepped outside on his own would be nice.

  Argh! Maybe he was overthinking it.

  After all, he felt ridiculously overprotective of her — and she was one of the most feared assassins in the galaxy. And over a hundred years older than him…

  If they had Facebook in outer space I could legitimately change my relationship status to ‘complicated’.

  Ella was waiting for him in the docking bay.

  Tris half expected her to make a scene, and was braced for a dose of Kreon’s double-barrelled disapproval. But instead she kept a respectable distance, leaning in for one swift peck on his cheek.

  The reason became evident when she drew back, wrinkling her nose.

  Tris looked down at himself, to see an inch-thick layer of gore encrusting every part of him, some of it still gleaming wetly. “Oh. Sorry,” he said. “No time for a shower.”

  But the luxury of a shower would have to wait. They headed to the bridge, to get an update from the Folly — and inevitably, their first distraction was already waiting for them.

  High Warden Oktavius had left a holographic message requesting that he be updated at the earliest opportunity. Given Kreon’s flagrant disregard for authority, to say nothing of his personal disagreements with the man, Tris was surprised he chose to return the call straight away.

  Though perhaps appearing covered in blood would underscore the point that they weren’t hanging out in the middle of the Lemurian Empire for a holiday.

  Oktavius answer the call immediately. Disapproval showed in every line of his emaciated face; his lips were pressed tightly together. Tris couldn’t remember seeing him any other way.

  “Lord Anakreon,” he started. “I believe I am overdue a report on your activities.”

  Tris made sure to keep to one side, well off-camera, as Kreon replied.

  “I was under the impression that you didn’t read them.”

  “Not when I’m in the middle of a siege, no. But right now I need every scrap of information I can get. Our forces here have been massacred, Kreon, and the remainder are still scattered across the galaxy. I’ve had to ask your little band of mercenaries for help in protecting Earth, at the same time as withdrawing our own operatives from their assigments. Diplomats, negotiators, protection details… I’m recalling every Warden on active duty to Atalia for reassignment. We have to get a handle on this now, before the Order is wiped out completely.”

  Kreon didn’t seemed impressed. “And you wish me to return for what? To sit at your side like a dog and prove the Wardens still have teeth? Our Order has endured for ten-thousand years, Oktavius. It won’t evaporate overnight.”

  “You may well believe that, but the Priesthood has long considered themselves the rightful guardians of Earth. I have information suggesting they are studying our recent struggles. If they were to move against us, we have neither the strength of arms nor the political capital to defeat them.”

  “Pah! Assassins hide in the shadows, Oktavius. Scheming is a way of life for them. They covet Earth, but they have no interest in becoming her guardians. They have always had their place, as we have ours.”

  “And yet their star is rising, even as ours is diminished. They hold influence over large segments of the government. Their power stems from fear, whereas ours came from respect… but there is precious little of either for the Wardens right now.” He shook his head. “At least that traitor Demios has crawled back under whatever rock he came from.”

  “His family’s rock, you mean? The one with all the gardens and palaces? My heart bleeds for him.”

  Oktavius frowned at the camera, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I take it this argument is leading towards your refusal to return?”

  Kreon spread his arms. “I’m a little busy, Oktavius. I know you don’t believe this threat is as serious as I do, but I am determined to uncover the truth about the Black Ships. Nurturing our Order is a futile gesture when these things can drain the life from the entire galaxy.”

  Oktavius took a breath… and for a wonder, didn’t yell. “No, you’re right,” he said instead. “There have been two more attacks since Arixia. Two more planets wiped out completely. They were both remote, but in different regions… there seems to be no pattern to their attacks. They can strike anywhere, and fade away before we even know what has happened.”

  Kreon’s voice softened. “Atalia will be a target for them. As will Earth.”

  “So you said.” Oktavius sagged back in his chair, looking exhausted. “Be that as it may, there is nothing I can do in either case. I can no more abandon Atalia than I can evacuate the Earth. Not much is holding us together right now, Kreon. This place, and the unity of purpose it represents, is the only thing we have left.” He cleared his throat. “And speaking of what little we have left, how fares your apprentice?”

  Kreon glanced sideways at Tris, inviting him with a raised eyebrow.

  Tris stepped into camera range. “Hi Oktavius! I’m good thanks. How are you?”

  On the screen, Oktavius shot him a sharp look.

  Kreon held up a mitigating hand. “Forgive the boy, Oktavius. I’ve had scant time for teaching him manners. But he has just survived a protracted combat against an army of Lemurian Transgressors. I’d say that counts for more than courtesy.”

  “Transgressors?” Oktavius’ eyes went wide. “What the hell are you doing out there Kreon? May I remind you that a Lemurian armada came close to annihilating Atalia and everyone on it a short time ago! I’d appreciate it if you do not antagonise our most dangerous adversary at a time like this!”r />
  “Apologies, My Lord.” Sarcasm now dripped from Kreon’s words. “Next time, I shall simply allow them to kill me.”

  Oktavius stared back with a face that said he was considering the merits of that idea. Then he sighed. “Enough bickering, Kreon. Complete your mission, whatever it is you’re up to, and get back here as soon as you can. I need your authority to help recreate the First Circle. You realise there’s only six of us left? We need to elect enough members to have a functioning Council. And then we need to start recruiting.”

  It was Kreon’s turn to look weary. He ran a hand over the metal studs on his scalp. “Apprentices?”

  “Apprentices,” Oktavius agreed. “We’ll invest the ones that are sufficiently advanced, and allocate a new crop of candidates. I want every Warden that can still walk and talk to be training their replacements. That way, if things go bad, there’ll be some fresh blood to buoy us up.”

  Kreon seemed visibly shaken by this decision. “It’s that bad then? I honestly didn’t realise.”

  Oktavius’ expression was grim. “It’s that bad. Come home, Kreon. Fast as you can.”

  And the hologram disappeared, replaced by the trident-on-concentric-circles logo of the Wardens.

  With the call over, Tris watched the tension drain out of Kreon. The Warden looked old; it had been a difficult day for all of them.

  “Wow. Oktavius doesn’t sound too happy.”

  “The High Warden never is,” Kreon replied. “I believe it is a prerequisite for the position.”

  “You reckon he wants to make me a Warden now? I think I’m ready.”

  The look Kreon turned on him was priceless. “Ready? Tristan, the minimum period of apprenticeship is a decade. Although you seem to excel in combat situations, and have gained substantial battlefield experience, there is more to this life than fighting.”

  Tris couldn’t help pushing. “Like, fancy dinners and stuff?”