by David Beers
Luna looked at her feet, doing her best to hide any emotion. She didn’t think the Ascendant was lying; Alistair had to be out there, or she would have been discarded. An army, though? Wanting to destroy the entire Commonwealth? Those were the things she couldn’t bring herself to believe. “How may I be of service, my liege? That is all I want at this point in my life—to help the Commonwealth grow stronger.”
“You say those words, and to a degree, I believe you.” The Ascendant nodded as he spoke the next few sentences. “Your actions do make me think you’re with me. Staying here. The message to your husband. Understanding the need for secrecy. However, I’ve never been married. I don’t know what that type of bond is like between two people. How strong is it? How far will one person go for the other?”
Luna looked up. “My bond with my husband broke when he traded in the Commonwealth. I have no allegiance to him.”
The Ascendant smiled, and Luna saw her fate in it. A nasty end, something she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy.
“Luna, I would like you to marry another. A young man from a family that rivals any but my own. His name is Hector, and your marriage to him will assure me of your allegiance to the Commonwealth and strengthen the Commonwealth in ways you can’t understand.”
It took all of Luna’s concentration to not attack the man sitting before her. Not to rip his eyes from his skull.
All she could do if she wanted to live and have a chance of seeing Alistair again was say, “Whatever you wish, my liege.”
Chapter Eight
The coming forces were no longer in the fourth dimension. Alistair didn’t have to force his mind into the atmosphere, then across membranes that separated the dimensions to see those who were coming to kill him.
All he had to do was look at the sky.
The force was so vast that he could see them from thousands of kilometers away. They lit up the night sky like stars.
A week had passed since he first saw the armada. Every waking moment since then had been spent preparing for the battle. He’d enlisted everyone from his council down to the tribal leaders of the gigantes.
The only thing he was sure of was that they did not have enough men or firepower to stop the invaders.
The force had dropped into the third dimension a day ago, and Alistair’s scanning equipment had been able to see everything that was coming for them. The Commonwealth had sent four dreadnoughts. There were twenty-five in the sky. They had stealth bombers that could enter the atmosphere from space, drop plasma, and return to the dreadnoughts to reload, thus keeping the dreadnoughts out of danger. Servia had spent a lot of time studying the force, and she thought, based on the shape of half the dreadnoughts, that they contained reinforced landing ships. That meant they could put boots on the ground, shoot back up to space, replenish the troops, and come down again. The dreadnoughts would not be harmed, and destroying the landing ships would be a problem.
The planet wasn’t equipped for this type of warfare. Sure, they had drones that could burn hundreds of kilometers of land, but fighting armed forces like this? The corporation that had ruled before had relied on commerce, knowing they made too many people too much money to need state-of-the-art protection.
His people were, for lack of a better term, fucked.
Alistair couldn’t think of a way out of it. He’d spent the last twenty-four hours alone, hoping something would come to him as it usually did when he had time to think. This time, nothing came. They didn’t have the spider ships that they’d used back on Pluto, so they couldn’t drill their way into one of the dreadnoughts. Their dreadnought would be blasted out of the sky if it attempted to rise out of the atmosphere.
There wasn’t time to call the Terram.
He couldn’t challenge the leaders to a duel.
Alistair had nothing.
He’d asked his council to sit outside with him. At the current speed and trajectory, the ships would land in twenty-two hours. Preparations continued while he thought, so nothing slowed down because of him, but he needed to tell those depending on his leadership that he was out of ideas.
They sat on one of the compound’s garden terraces. The planet’s two moons shone on either side of the sky, and between them, the new stars burned. They were bigger and brighter than they’d been the night before, and by tomorrow evening, they would be streaking through the atmosphere.
Thoreaux, Servia, Relm, Faitrin, Caesar, and the AllMother sat around a circular concrete table. Alistair had invited Nero, but the gigante hadn’t shown up.
The night was cool but not cold. The AllMother wore a light sweater, and everyone else long sleeves except Caesar, who sported a cut-off shirt, more used to the planet’s weather than anyone else at the table.
Alistair stared at the coming armada. “I don’t have any ideas. I don’t know how to stop what’s coming. I’ve spent twenty-four hours thinking and trying to plan, and I have nothing. The only thing I know to do is something that will surely end with us dying, and that’s to stand and fight. We will kill some of them. A lot of them, probably, but in the end, they will overrun us. If we could flee, I would, but we cannot. They will catch us, and at the expense of some of their army, kill us.”
He was quiet for long seconds, staring at the first enemies he didn’t know how to defeat.
“If anyone has any ideas, anything that might help, I’m open.”
No one spoke for thirty seconds, then Servia said, “Do you think we can beat them?”
He nodded but pursed his lips. “Based on everything you’ve given me this past week, they’re going to outnumber us three to one. They came to win and probably left their home planets open to attack because they’ve brought so many warriors.”
Relm turned to Caesar. “The rocs? Is it possible to enlist them?”
It might have sounded like a stupid question to those who hadn’t seen what Alistair had done, somehow communicating with an animal and forming a bond in the middle of battle. It wasn’t a stupid question to Caesar, either. “I’ve sent envoys. It’s hard to say what the rocs will do, but we’ve tried.”
“Even so,” Alistair interrupted, “they won’t make up the difference.” He looked at his council. “I know this will fall on deaf ears, but if you want to escape, now is the time. There are corvettes that can leave the planet within the next hour, and I doubt anything up there is going to chase you. I’ve already seen a few leave tonight, though I don’t know who it was.”
“I’d hit you right now if you weren’t so damn dangerous,” Relm stated.
The AllMother spoke, and it was obvious she spoke for the table. “No one’s going anywhere, Prometheus. At least no one at this table. If that was what anyone here wanted, they wouldn’t be here.”
“I know,” Alistair answered. He stood up, and Obs did as well, having been silent beneath the table the entire time. The drathe remained at his master’s side. “We’ve got a little less than twenty-two hours before they land. Spend it with those you love, or spend it thinking about a way out of this. I’m open to any and all ideas. Tomorrow, we go to battle again.”
“Ave, Prometheus,” those at the table said in a whisper. Some were looking at the coming force, others were staring at their hands.
His despair, their despair, was palpable.
Alistair left the table, prepared to go back inside and wrack his brain until he came up with an idea or was forced to suit up for battle. He was nearly at the door of the compound when he realized Obs had stopped. He turned and saw the drathe looking at the AllMother, who was on his heels.
The rest of the council remained seated, none of them appearing to pay any attention to the old woman.
“You have a few minutes for me, Alistair?” she asked as she reached down to pat Obs on the head.
“Of course. Want to go to my quarters?”
She shook her head. “No. I have another idea. Would you mind following me?”
Obs turned to look at his master. Alistair raised both eyebrows. �
��By all means.”
The AllMother led the way. They passed the table with the rest of his council. Relm gave him a questioning look and Alistair shrugged. He didn’t know what this was about.
She led him about a kilometer away from the compound until they were standing alone in a large field that looked like it had once been used for some kind of sports. There were little balls here and there, though the grass was high. The AllMother stopped in the middle and turned to look at him for the first time since she had started walking.
“Prometheus, I’m going to show you something, and you’re going to have to trust that it won’t weaken me to the point of no return. Do you understand?”
“No, not really.”
“Obs,” the AllMother said, “would you go wait for us at the edge of the field?”
The drathe barked and trotted away without looking at Alistair. “I think he would trade me for you in a heartbeat.”
The AllMother quickly rolled her eyes. “The animal would rip my heart out to ensure yours kept beating. I’m going to give you another piece of advice before I show you what I brought you here for. Keep him by your side during this coming battle. I have a feeling you’ll need him.”
Alistair looked at Obs, who was staring at him. He’d kept the drathe away from battles of late, partly because of terrain, partly because he loved the animal as much as life itself. He didn’t want anything to happen to him. “Okay.” He turned back to the AllMother. “Why are we here?”
“I’m going to attack you, Prometheus. Not as hard as I can since I don’t want you severely hurt before tomorrow, but I’m not going to take it easy, either. I want you to fend me off.”
Alistair chuckled. “You’re serious right now?”
Her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed. “Don’t forget what happened to the three Myrmidons who tried to abduct me back on Pluto. I wonder if they chuckled before I broke their bodies in half?”
Alistair’s laughter died. He remembered well the legs that had broken just because she’d willed it. “What if I hurt you?”
“That’s the whole point, boy. I want to see you try.”
The old lady walked two meters and raised her hand, palm out. She brought it back to slap him, but Alistair’s hand caught her wrist in the air. He didn’t press hard, only stopped her from making contact.
Their eyes met. “You’ll have to do better than that,” he said.
“Okay.” The words came from behind him, and a hand slapped him across the face.
Alistair released the AllMother as Prometheus tried to roar to the front of his mind, the unseen attack bringing out the killer. Alistair forced his other side away but quickly backed up.
He saw two AllMothers, both looking the same.
He felt the leg that kicked him but found himself—perhaps for the first time—too shocked to react. He fell on his ass.
Alistair looked at the third AllMother. He didn’t understand how it was possible, but he didn’t have time because the fourth’s foot kicked him in the back of the head.
Alistair rolled, knowing he had to get away from whatever in hades was happening if he were going to have a chance of figuring out how to stop it. He popped up on his feet and looked at the four in front of him.
The whisper came from right next to his ear. “Hello.”
Her hands hit him with flat palms, and he knew then she was using more than muscles. The former Titan rose into the air as if thrown by a gigante. He soared four meters before landing on his back and skidding through the tall grass.
Alistair didn’t wait then but kipped up and dropped into a crouch. He quickly spun three hundred and sixty degrees, checking all sides before looking at the growing number across the field.
More came into being every few seconds. They weren’t there, and then they were.
The group started walking toward him.
“I don’t want to hurt you!” Alistair called.
“Try.”
The word came from both sides of his head, and he felt four hands grab him. They tossed him as if he were little more than a child.
Alistair found himself once again in the air, and this time he would land between fifteen or twenty of the AllMothers.
Replicas, he thought.
He tucked his body and rolled. He kept the roll short, bouncing up and attacking the first AllMother he saw. He swung an elbow at her stomach but watched as its permanence disappeared in a cloud of fading dust.
He turned to attack the next one but caught an elbow in his face. Blood burst from his lips and dripped down his chin.
He couldn’t hold back the warrior then. Prometheus burst forward, and all he cared about was stopping this charade.
His speed increased, and gone was the fear of hurting the AllMother. Replicas fell to the left and right and he attacked, kicking, punching, head-butting—whatever was necessary to decrease their number.
Still more came. Somehow, every time he dispatched one, two replaced them. The old woman’s speed shouldn’t have been possible. Prometheus continued to push forward to cut through as many replicas as he could, yet the blows rained down on him, bruising his unprotected body and causing his ears and nose to bleed.
He couldn’t stop them all.
There were too many.
In the distance, he heard Obs whine.
Prometheus knelt as the blows continued. Using all his strength, he flung himself into the air, using his mind to propel him higher than he’d usually be able to go.
He shed the clinging replicas of the AllMother and did a backflip over the rest, then landed on his knee and looked up at them. He knew they would be on him again in seconds, and soon he’d have to tell them to stop. Tell her to stop because she was going to injure him.
No, he thought. What is she teaching me here? What am I supposed to learn?
It came to him, and he understood.
Kill the shepherd, and the sheep will scatter.
There was only one of her. The rest were just her mind playing its tricks—a powerful mind, yes, perhaps the most powerful to ever exist, but still only a mind.
Where was the real one?
Pro’s eyes scanned the oncoming crowd, knowing that more were appearing around him. It didn’t matter. None of them did.
Kill the shepherd, and the sheep will scatter.
He saw it, then. The smallest smirk—the only thing that marked her out from the rest, who stared with dead, empty eyes.
Prometheus barreled forward. Replicas came at him, but he lowered his shoulder, and his muscular legs shoved him forward.
He was on her in seconds, and he didn’t let up. He grabbed her by the throat and thrust her into the air. The old woman’s hands came up to his arm as the rest fell away, turning into that fading dust.
The fear he saw in her eyes forced Prometheus away, letting Alistair return.
He set her on the ground and took his hand off her throat. “Are you okay?”
The old woman rubbed her throat as she smiled at her protégé. “Yes. For a second there, I thought I might have overdone it once you grabbed me.” With her free hand, she brought his face closer to hers and checked his bloody lip and busted nose. “They’ll be sore, but you’ll live. You might want to stop by the med center before tomorrow morning to see if they can give you anything to take the swelling down.”
She stepped back.
“You’re a hard man to teach, Alistair. You’re wise, but sometimes you forget what you know. Do I need to say anything else, or has this lesson done enough to show you?”
He smiled, and his face hurt as he did. “This was enough. I don’t think any other words are necessary.”
The AllMother looked past Alistair at the drathe. “Sorry about that, Obs. I’ll let you take care of him now. Make sure he gets someone to look at his wounds, and don’t forget that you’re to go with him tomorrow.”
Obs barked, then came in a fast trot to meet his master.
The two of them watched the old woman walk aw
ay, still rubbing her neck.
Chapter Nine
Cristin de Monaham looked at the planet she planned to burn. She hated this planet, though she had not told anyone that. Cristin, a warlord in her own right, rarely told anyone anything she was thinking. This planet, with its lush forests and warm sun, was very different from the one she’d grown up on. To Cristin, this planet was the stuff of legend. Things her father had talked to her about when she was a child, the places she would conquer and the worlds she and her children would inherit.
At thirty-eight years old, Cristin had no children, and the only world she owned was the one made of ice that her father had handed down.
She had been told that life would be different, and it wasn’t until she grew to womanhood that she realized her father had been a foolish man in many ways. One of them was how easy he imagined the future would be. He had forgotten what everyone else on their home planet knew: life was not easy, and anything one wanted would have to be taken by blood and steel.
Cristin learned that lesson early when her father died and she was thrust into a war that would last too many years and cost too many lives. Well, perhaps not too many; when the war was finished, her position had been solidified both on her planet and off it. The lives had been well spent because the war had created a myth about Cristin de Monaham.
The Ice Queen.
Now she flew toward a man that she thought was worthy of more bloodshed. Defeating him would expand her empire, and with it, her family’s security.
That was the one thing her father had been right about—family. The rest of the universe could burn, along with everyone in it, but one had to watch out for one’s lineage.
The two men Cristin flew with were inconsequential. She had kept the peace established after their war because it had been profitable to do so. Now it was profitable to use their war machines to defeat this—