by Jay Allan
Cass shed no tears this time. Tears were for the weak. She buried her brother next to her father, and what fragile remnant remained of the girl she’d been died as she dug the grave. Then she went back to the forest refuge and began gathering recruits. The Grays were born in an open glade in the shade of the trees, amid the poor shelters and tents of a once prosperous people. The time for hiding in the woods was over, she had declared. The young people of the Galadan would strike back. All they’d possessed had been taken…so now they would become the takers. They would steal from others, as they’d been stolen from. They would kill if need be, instead of cowering, waiting for others to kill them.
And so it had been for two years now. She’d lost people in her raids, many of them old friends she’d known her whole life. But there hadn’t been another tear, not a single one. Cassandra Cross didn’t cry. There was no room in her life for weakness. None. And no place for doubting her decisions. Yes, it was risky trying to rescue their comrades. But that meant exactly nothing to her.
“Cass?”
She heard the voice, distant at first through her thoughts.
“Cass?”
She looked up. It was Elli. She got the feeling the girl had been there calling her for some time.
“Yes, Elli?”
“It’s dark out. Should we get ready to go?”
Cass twisted her head, stretching the kinks out of her neck. She pushed the rest of the old thoughts from her mind. The events of the past had brought her here. But now she had to focus on what had to be done now.
“Yes, Elli. Tell everyone we leave in ten minutes.”
The girl nodded. “Yes, Cass.” She turned and crawled down the pipe toward the others.
Cass reached down to her side, her hand moving over the pistol hanging there.
Yes…it was time.
Chapter Ten
Airship White Condor
Somewhere Over the Azure Sea
Northern Celtiboria
The airship shook, hard, the high winds too much for the pilots to offset. The weather was spotty, and Barkus had considered rescheduling the departure, leaving the following day, when all the forecasts called for a clear, calm day. But Carteria had been insistent. There would be no delay. The initial wave of ships would depart on time…carrying the first thousand soldiers to the Northern Continent. And so it had.
Barkus was edgy, nervous. He wasn’t fond of flying, and the turbulence had been uncomfortable for him. He’d already rushed to the bathroom twice, and he’d avoided all the food he’d been offered, and the drinks too, save for a few small sips of water. But it wasn’t his flying phobia that was truly stressing him out. His mind was deep in thought, and all he could see was trouble ahead.
He’d been outright scared to death when Ghana had sent him to Carteria’s court to request additional aid. The brutal Warlord was the strongest of Celtiboria’s dozens of feuding nobles, and his reputation for casual brutality was well known planetwide. Carteria had a history of taking terrible vengeance on those who let him down, and Ghana had failed in delivering on his promises to the Marshal. That was dangerous for him…but even more so for whoever was sent to deliver the bad news. Carteria had shot more than one messenger in his day.
But the Marshal had taken the news better than Barkus had dared to hope. There had been some anger, and his stomach had been twisted into knots as he stood in Carteria’s great hall, waiting to see what would happen. But he’d endured nothing more than a light tirade, and then he’d been sent to palatial quarters to await the Marshal’s decision. Much rode on that determination. Without additional support, Barkus knew Ghana was unlikely to prevail against General Lucerne…and a defeat in the Badlands would have been damaging enough under any circumstances. One coming after Ghana had spent ten million crowns of Carteria’s money and still lost would almost certainly prove to be fatal.
Barkus still remembered his relief after he’d been summoned back to hear Carteria’s decision. The Marshal had even been in a good mood. He’d assured Barkus of his continued support, and told him to advise Ghana that they were still allies, that they would always remain so. He’d felt a lightness, a relaxed feeling he hadn’t had since the moment Ghana had made him ambassador to Carteria. Success! With more funding from the Marshal, he was confident his master would overwhelm and defeat Lucerne and his stubbornly effective troops.
Then the hammer fell, and with it his spirits. He could still remember Carteria’s words, his cheerful, enthusiastic tone. “I have decided to reinforce General Ghana. Even now, twenty-five thousand of my troops are preparing to embark. We will defeat this upstart Lucerne together…and then we will unite the rest of the Northern Continent.”
Troops. The thought still troubled him. He’d been sent to secure financial aid, money that Ghana would use to increase his own strength. But that was not what he was bringing back with him. It was an army, its lead elements even now flying in the airships formed up around his own. And it was an army not answerable to him, nor to Ghana himself. Carteria had turned the defeat around on his ally. Instead of acting out of rage, of abandoning Ghana to his fate—or worse—the Marshal had recognized an opportunity to get a foothold on the Northern Continent. It was brilliant, a coup that Barkus hadn’t even seen coming. He understood now how Carteria had achieved his position. The Marshal was no great tactician by all accounts, nor an inspiring leader who extracted love or loyalty from his followers. But he was a ruthless politician and a master at using people, at making them allies and then pitting them against each other to serve his own ends. And he was expert at creating fear, at intimidating his enemies into making mistakes…and his friends into accepting anything he imposed on them.
Barkus knew General Ghana would be upset. There was no other way he could react. He had been allowed to contact Ghana, but he’d held back the full report, merely telling the general things looked good. The situation was too complicated to discuss over an open signal…and Barkus had no idea how Ghana would respond to the news, and no doubt that Carteria’s people would have been listening.
Carteria’s soldiers were coming to help Ghana’s forces, but Barkus didn’t fool himself for a moment that they would return home after the campaign was won. No, the price Ghana was paying for support was clear. He would share his gains with Carteria, become one of the Marshal’s minions.
He cursed himself for not refusing, for not finding a way to prevent Carteria from sending the troops. He knew that was unfair, a pointless waste of time. There had been no way to refuse the Marshal’s offer, no way that didn’t end very badly. Carteria was overlooking the wasted millions of ducats, the failure to secure the Badlands last season, as promised. By his standards, that was enormous magnanimity. If it had been thrown back in his face…that was something Barkus didn’t even want to contemplate.
Besides, it’s not like there’s a choice. We’re going to lose without some kind of support.
Even if there had been a way to refuse Carteria’s troops, the lack of any aid would have led to defeat at the hands of Lucerne. And for all the Marshal’s well-known brutality, there was probably a better chance of making a decent deal with him than with the sanctimonious Lucerne.
Yes, that’s how I’ll put it to the general. He understands the situation. He’d have rather had money from Carteria, funds to buy enough mercenaries to destroy Lucerne. But if the choice was between troops, and all that entailed, or nothing…well that was no choice. Not now.
* * *
“I held you back, Varn, because I have considered the operation in greater detail, and I wanted to have a final discussion on strategy with you, one I did not wish to trust to the vulnerabilities of long distance communication. When we are finished here, you will take one of the hypersonic speedsters. You should be able to catch up to the first wave of airships and be there when they land.”
“Yes, Marshal. Of course. As you wish.” Eleher stood silently, waiting for Carteria to elaborate.
“Varn, I believe w
e may have a greater opportunity here than we’d believed. I have reviewed the latest intelligence reports. The Northern Continent is extremely divided, and looking beneath the immediate surface, even greater weakness becomes apparent. Most of its Warlords control modest resources, and there is no true dominant power. I believe there may be an opening for us to take control, not just of the Badlands, but also of the entire continent…not years in the future, but now.
“Yes, Marshal. I am inclined to agree. Though I urge some degree of caution. There is opportunity certainly, but our knowledge of the Northern Continent, specifically the capabilities of the various Warlords, is partial at best.”
“We will be cautious, Colonel. You will proceed as originally planned. Your forces will serve alongside General Ghana’s army. You will see to the destruction of General Lucerne by whatever means. By all accounts, he is a man who cannot be suborned. And that means he must die in the Badlands.”
“Yes, sir. I agree. General Lucerne would never ally with us…and from what I have heard, he is a dangerous man. Allowing him to expand his power only assures us a greater fight down the road.”
Carteria nodded. “Then we are agreed. General Lucerne dies in the Badlands…whatever it takes. To that end…” He paused. “I am sending Zoln Darvon with you.”
Eleher hesitated, a cold feeling moving through his body. He knew all about Zoln Darvon. The man was a specialist. An assassin.
“He will be under your command, Varn. You can use him if you need him…or you can handle it your own way. But however you proceed, I want Augustin Lucerne dead, his army destroyed.” A pause. “And when the fight is over, you will waste no time. You will spread some coin around among Ghana’s top people, seek to prepare a smooth transition. Ghana himself is to die, of course—he failed me and I must make an example of him—but I want his organization as intact as possible. With their general dead, they will have no choice but to willingly join us.”
“Yes, sir.” Eleher’s voice was edgy, nervous. Carteria had dumped a lot on his plate.
“I will be mobilizing an expeditionary force while you are seeing to the Badlands campaign. As soon as you have secured control over the area, we will begin moving troops. By the end of the year we will have 500,000 sets of boots on the ground…and we will be ready to begin the conquest of the Northern Continent in earnest.”
“Yes, Marshal.” Eleher knew he was being given a tremendous opportunity. If he won the victory, he would be at the center of the invasion, one of the top officers in the conquest of the Northern Continent…perhaps even the commander, with full viceregal authorities. He felt a wave of excitement.
But there was something else as well, a coldness, a yawning pit of fear. Carteria had set his sights on the Northern Continent, and he’d laid out the promise of rewards and glory to his subordinate. But there was another side, a darker one. Once Carteria decided on something, he became obsessed with it. Varn Eleher had served the Marshal for years, long been one of his most trusted aides. But he knew if he failed, he’d likely end up on the gallows…or with Zoln Darvon’s blade in his back. It was dangerous to fail Carteria, and his long service was unlikely to save him if he was defeated.
He took a deep breath, sucking in the air slowly, trying to hide his tension. Things had moved rapidly over the past few days. The decision about whether to provide more financial support to Ghana had turned into a decision to send troops instead. And that had escalated into plan to kill two Warlords and seize control of the Badlands…and a new strategy, one calling for no less than the total conquest of the Northern Continent.
Eleher understood the importance of the operation. If Carteria was successful, if he managed to seize all of the Northern Continent, his power would be irresistible. The wars might go on for a few more years, the holdouts might dig in, fight to the bitter end. But in the end his master would achieve the goal Celtiboria’s Warlords had pursued for three centuries.
Carteria would be the master of Celtiboria, and he would place the crown of the planet’s ancient kings on his head. Carteria I, the ruler of the most powerful world in the Far Stars.
* * *
“You called for me, Marshal?” Ganz Jellack stepped forward, squinting, trying to see through the clouds of steam floating through the room. He was wearing his full uniform, and he could feel the sweat building up under his arms, on his back.
“Yes, Ganz. I have a mission for you.”
Jellack moved toward the sound of Carteria’s voice, taking another few steps before he saw the Marshal before him. Carteria was lying on his stomach on a cushioned platform, naked save for a towel wrapped around his torso. Two women—Jellack recognized them from Carteria’s cadre of regular lovers—were leaning over him, one on either side, giving him a massage.
Jellack stood at attention, hiding his revulsion at his master. Ganz Jellack had been an independent man once, a trader and entrepreneur, a financial genius well on his way to building a considerable fortune. Until Carteria’s armies marched through his homeland. The Marshal had seized the property of all locals who refused to submit to him…and he’d done worse to many. Jellack had a wife and two young daughters, and he had shuddered to think of what his resistance might cost his family. He’d briefly harbored thoughts of continuing the fight, of joining the small bands forming in the fringe areas, swearing to continue the struggle. But then his mind was consumed by images…of his wife and daughters assaulted, murdered, his home burned to the ground. Jellack the rebel had lasted a few brief, defiant moments. Then Jellack the husband and father took control, and he submitted to Carteria.
But fate had decreed the price of his family’s safety would be greater than the levy of half his wealth and the pledges of loyalty that the other notable inhabitants of his homeland had endured. Carteria had heard about Jellack’s success, and he’d offered the trader a place on his staff, charging him with no less a task than reordering the finances of the greatest war machine on Celtiboria.
The Marshal’s offer had been generous. To allow Jellack to sell his businesses…and keep all the proceeds. And he’d moved Jellack’s family to a large palace on the Golden Coast of the Southern Continent, for a millennia the playground of Celtiboria’s elite. Jellack’s wife lived there in unimaginable luxury…and his daughters were educated by a corps of renowned scholars. But he knew that their home, as gilded and magnificent as it might be, was a cage, his family little more than comfortable and pampered prisoners. Hostages, whose purpose was to guarantee his loyalty.
He stood in front of Carteria, watching as the Warlord waved his masseuses away and hauled himself up to a sitting position. Carteria had been a legendary warrior once, and while he’d never been a brilliant tactician, his physical prowess had been known throughout Celtiboria. But age and success had not worn well on the Marshal, and in recent years he’d put on considerable weight and spent less and less time sparring on the training field.
“Sir, I am at your command.” Jellack had been troubled serving Carteria at first, disgusted by his new master and the casual brutality of his regime. But that had faded quickly as he’d buried himself in his work. He spent little time worrying about moral considerations, though when he occasionally did, he was more likely to be disturbed at how quickly he’d become comfortable serving a master like Carteria. He always reminded himself he did what he did to ensure his family’s safety. But there was still something, deep, ignored most of the time, but still there. Self-loathing.
“I want you to go to the Northern Continent, Ganz, to the river cities. They are awash with mercenary units for hire, veterans fighters released from service after the Warlords of the western coast made peace.” Carteria shifted his bulk, swing his legs around and sitting up straight. “I want those mercs, Ganz. All of them. We will be invading the Northern Continent, and I want as much force in place there as possible.” He paused. “There is a very glutted market…and few potential paymasters right now. With enough coin, you should be able to hire at least 100,000 sold
iers.”
“Sir…I appreciate your confidence, but I am not a soldier, not really.” Jellack carried a colonel’s commission, but his role had never strayed beyond duty on the staff.
“Don’t worry, Ganz…your job is to hire the mercenaries, to build and organize them into an army. Varn Eleher will assume command before any real fighting occurs…and you will return here, to my immense gratitude for a job well done.”
Jellack wasn’t convinced. The idea of going to a foreign continent, to territory far from any Carterian holdings, was daunting. He felt out of his depth. And scared. But he knew there was no choice. Carteria was giving Jellack a great honor, at least in his own mind, and expressing anything but gratitude and acceptance would be dangerous. His mind flashed back to his daughters, images of them standing on the terrace of their waterfront palace, turning and screaming as the soldiers kicked open the doors and moved toward them…
“Yes, Marshal,” he said, hiding the hesitancy that tried to force its way into his voice, “as you command. I will begin preparations. When do you want me to go?”
“Now, Ganz. I have ordered five airships to be ready for you, as well as two hundred soldiers as an escort. You will draw whatever coin you feel you will need and be ready to leave at dawn.”
Jellack caught his objection before it crossed his lips. It was already late evening. He would have to wake his staff, choose the key ones he’d need to accompany him. And he had to find several million ducats and have it all loaded on the waiting airships. In six hours.
“Yes, Marshal. And again, thank you for your confidence. I will not let you down.”