Eye of the Tornado

by Kevin Domenic

  "How long should we stand here? If anyone sees us—"

  "Relax, Merinah. Our disguises will suffice so long as our nerves do not draw unwanted eyes."

  "But don't you realize the risk we're taking? Truce will have our heads if he realizes what we're up to! Doesn't that frighten you?"

  "No more than the thought of my child being used in one of his inhumane experiments. Besides, if we can rally enough of the Kyrosen, Truce won't have anyone to support him should he discover our little insurrection. Come, let us return to the others. We will update my husband on our numbers at another time."

  "I don't know how you talked me into this, Keilan." The voices began to fade amidst quiet footfalls. "I agree that Truce is an unfit leader, but I don't know if . . ."

  The rest of the sentence was unintelligible, but it mattered little. Vultrel sighed as he returned his weapon to its scabbard. It seemed Truce had more trouble on his hands than a single infiltrator. Now the Kyrosen were revolting? The idea seemed as incomprehensible to Vultrel as the existence of the Blade of Kaleo. Regardless, it seemed the leader of the Kyrosen was a marked man no matter which way he turned. With Kindel Thorus on one side, his own people on the other, and Vultrel creeping up behind him, Truce had certainly cooked himself up a recipe for complete and total disaster.

  After giving the women a few more minutes to put distance between them, Vultrel returned to the computer terminal. He remembered Kindel mentioning once that he had placed Olock in charge of the Falcon Mist, and that meant that he could likely be found either on the bridge or in the captain's office. And if Olock could be located, there was a good chance he'd lead the way to Truce. Getting to the bridge would be another issue, but the grey uniform on the cabinet would make that task easier. Vultrel's original idea of destroying the Falcon Mist fluttered to mind; it was an idea he still intended to see through, but not until he personally made Sartan Truce pay for all of the pain he had caused. That brought Mateo's nagging voice surging to his ears, and Vultrel shook it away. The ridiculous creature had no idea what he was talking about. None.

  While the computer listing showed both deck number and room designation for each department, there didn't seem to be any maps available to indicate how to reach each level. Still, the lack of directions posed only a minor hindrance; a lift couldn't be too difficult to locate as long as he wore a Vezulian uniform. Hopefully the Kyrosen had not yet made their uprising known, else wandering the ship wearing the colors of Kindel Thorus could land him in the furnace before he'd even had a chance to explain himself. The women's conversation suggested that they were still planning their moves, but—

  The door slid open as Vultrel rose from the chair, and the muscle-bound Kyrosen he'd fought onboard the Refuge ducked through the opening. He froze for an instant when their eyes connected, then stepped fully into the room, allowing the door to slide closed behind him. As usual, he was shirtless save for the too-small blue vest that wrapped around his back and shoulders. Black pants covered his legs this time, and his greasy strands of blond hair had been brushed to a soft fluff. "You? What are you doing here?" the big man asked. There was no sign of the huge sword he'd nearly decapitated Vultrel with during their previous encounter.

  Still, Vultrel knew he couldn't be too cautious. He slowly drew his sword, unconsciously backing against the wall as he did. "I am a welcome guest of Kindel Thorus," he heard himself say. "I can go wherever I want."

  The Kyrosen made no effort to hide his suspicion. "Has he sent you to kill me?"

  "Maybe," Vultrel said, trying to make his voice sound relaxed. "That depends on what kind of information you can give me."

  A flash of what Vultrel thought might have been recognition sent the man's eyebrows rising momentarily. "You are . . . Arus' boyhood companion, are you not? Vultrel, was it?"

  Vultrel's hands tightened around the hilt of his sword. "What of it?"

  "Nothing," he responded, spreading his hands. "I was just remembering what Arus told me about you, that's all. He admires your talents, though it saddens him that you have allied yourself with Thorus."

  The words spilled from Vultrel's lips before he could stop them. "I owe my allegiance to no one." He immediately wished he could have the words back; he needed whatever leverage he could get. "I mean, Arus just doesn't understand me. That's all. Either way, it is no business of yours."

  Again, the Kyrosen raised his hands. "I did not mean to intrude. I was simply saying that . . . well, it's not important. My name is Muert, and I am not your enemy."

  Vultrel had to fight to contain his laughter. "Not my enemy? Could've fooled me. You seemed pretty intent on killing me back on the Refuge. Why should I believe you've had a change of heart?"

  "In all fairness, I was attempting to kill Kindel Thorus, not you. You stepped into my path, and I was forced to defend myself. I realize that you were simply protecting your captain, and I harbor no ill feelings toward you."

  "Well, forgive me if I don't trust you," Vultrel said through a twisted smile, "but I know too much about the Kyrosen to let my guard down so easily."

  "You know less than you think," Muert replied.

  Again, Vultrel spoke without thought. "I know that the Kyrosen are planning a revolt against Sartan Truce." He clenched his jaw to keep from saying any more.

  Muert was clearly dismayed that such information had somehow leaked. Still, he played the fool. "Really? How did you come to such a conclusion?"

  His innocent act was almost pathetic. "Let's just that your people aren't as tight-lipped as they ought to be," Vultrel responded in a near snarl.

  That brought a frown from the big man. "I shall have to see that they mind what they say going forward," he said softly, his unfocused eyes gazing at the floor. He murmured something else that Vultrel couldn't hear, then shrugged his shoulders and looked up. "Well, what is done is done. What do you intend to do about it?"

  This time, Vultrel held his tongue. It was clear that a war within the Kyrosen could help him in his goals, but he wanted to ensure that he was the one who eliminated Sartan. A brief alliance with Muert might give him the opportunity he needed to see that goal through, but could a Kyrosen, whether allied with Truce or not, be trusted? I just need them to create enough of a distraction to let me finish him off. Then I'll find a way to destroy this entire boat and send the rest of the Kyrosen to the Abyss along with him. The problem, however, was that Muert hadn't indicated which side of the Kyrosen conflict he had sided with. Judging from his response, it seemed that he was a part of the insurrection, but Vultrel had to be sure. "Why have your people turned against each other?" he finally asked, ignoring Muert's question.

  Eyes of green weighed him for an instant before he responded. "There are some who disagree with Truce's methods. Some who would rather live a more . . . peaceful life."

  Vultrel unconsciously eased his sword. "Are you one of them?"

  Muert sighed, bowing his head as though greatly shamed. "I am. In fact, you might call me their . . . leader."

  Fear mixed with hope and swelled within Vultrel. "And what do you plan to do once Truce is out of the way?"

  "I must admit, I do not know," he said with a dejected shrug. "My original intentions were to simply take my wife and daughter and flee, leaving Truce and his tyranny behind. It was my wife who coaxed me into adding to our numbers, and it was they who urged that we stand up to him and take control of the Kyrosen for ourselves. Somehow, I've become a traitor at the head of a growing insurrection when all I really wanted to do was protect my family."

  He seemed to be honest in his intentions, but that would certainly not be enough to convince Vultrel. Still, time was short, and options were limited. Taking a deep breath, he uttered words he'd never thought he'd ever hear himself say. "Would you consider an alliance?"

  The Kyrosen eyed him askance. "What reason do I have to trust you? Friend of Arus or not, you are allied with Kindel Thorus, and he wanted to see my people destroyed."

  "I am allied with Tho
rus by word only," Vultrel told him. "The only reason I remain as such is so that I may continue to enjoy the privileges he has granted to me as a guest aboard his starships. I owe him nothing, least of all my support." Similar points of view had been the only thing that had caused Vultrel to stand beside Kindel, and while they still shared at least that, it was clear that the man had gone mad.

  "A man who looks only after himself does not make an ideal partner," Muert said in a voice Vultrel didn't think he was meant to hear. Louder, he continued. "The benefits of an alliance would be clear for you, but what do the Kyrosen stand to gain aside from a young man who admittedly uses anyone he has to in order to serve his own goals? It seems to me all we'd be doing is adding an unnecessary and unstable element into our already dangerous situation."

  Vultrel pursed his lips and swallowed a few choice comments. "I have authorization access codes that allow me to freely wander the Black Eagle. I've already tried one here on this terminal and it worked, so I believe they'll allow me to move freely about this ship as well. Something like that could come in handy, wouldn't it?"

  "What makes you think we don't already have the right to go where we please? Kindel did give us the Falcon Mist, after all."

  "Please," Vultrel snorted. "I spent more than a week onboard Kindel's ship, training alongside his two most trusted assistants. I know very well that your people have been packed into the cargo holds like cattle. Only Olock and a select few others were allowed onto the bridge. The only reason Truce is there now is because he capitalized on Kindel's recent distractions. Before then, he was a prisoner onboard the Black Eagle. It's clear that the Vezulian Armada doesn't trust you, and they certainly don't treat you as equals. But with my connections to Kindel, I might be able to get you into areas of the ship that you wouldn't have gotten near before. The extra help couldn't hurt." He pointed to the folded grey uniform on the cabinet. "I assume that is to be your disguise?"

  "If it fits," Muert admitted. "It is what I came here to pick up. One of my associates managed to steal a few of the Vezulian style garments from a storage room."

  "I can probably get you more," Vultrel told him. "If we all get into uniforms like that, we can slowly begin to mix ourselves in with the rest of the crew, and that might shift the advantage in our direction, wouldn't you say?"

  "That all depends on how many you could get your hands on," Muert said, scratching his head. "At last check, our numbers were nearing the two-hundred mark."

  As surprising as that was, Vultrel kept his face smooth. "I'll see what I can find. Do you know who uses this office? Would it be safe to meet back here?"

  "As far as we've seen thus far, it is unoccupied. I cannot promise that, but I haven't seen any commanders come all the way down here as of yet."

  "All right," Vultrel nodded, sheathing his sword. "I'll go check things out. If and when I find some spare uniforms, I'll leave them here for you to pick up. Do you have communicators?"

  "No." Muert shook his head stiffly. "We can't risk detection, and if anyone stumbled across our frequency, we'd be exposed."

  "Very well. I'll leave you messages here, then. If you need to contact me for anything, write a note and leave it here. Just make sure it's vague enough that no one else will be able to figure it out."

  Again, Muert eyed him for an instant before responding. "I am uncomfortable with all of this," he said. "I don't trust you."

  Vultrel suppressed a sigh as he made for the door. "That makes two of us. Just keep Truce in your sights, and our goals will be the same. For now, keep rallying your people. We'll need as many as we can get."

  He slipped through the door without another word and headed down a barren corridor. With the authorization of Kindel Thorus in his hands and the support of at least some of the Kyrosen behind him, Vultrel's chances of eliminating Sartan Truce were looking better by the minute. The next priority would be to secure a Vezulian uniform of his own; the less attention drawn, the better. Authorized visitor or not, he wasn't going to be able to keep his presence quiet if he had to keep repeating clearance codes every time he was spotted. A uniform would help lessen that burden significantly, and then he could begin to move against Truce. He only wished that he could get Mateo's incessant nagging out of his head.

  Chapter 5

  The journey back to Terranias lasted nearly five days, but each day seemed to drag on as though the next would never come. Arus focused hard on his training, knowing full-well what awaited him upon their arrival. Excitement over returning to his homeworld was often drowned out by concern over what Kindel would do with the several hours he'd gained on them. There was a good chance that the people of Terranias would be wiped out before there was a chance to defend them. And it was all because of Arus. If he hadn't stolen the Lifestones from Kindel, the Blade of Kaleo might have remained dormant wherever Thorus had been keeping it. True, as Mateo had said, both the stones and the sword had to be recovered from his grip, but if any more souls suffered as a result of Arus' rash decision . . .

  Mateo seemed to have nothing but faith and confidence in their ability to stop the Armada. He spoke of their mission to retrieve the Blade of Kaleo as though it were a simple trip to the market for some bread. Well, perhaps not that easy, but certainly not quite as insurmountable as the reality seemed. Thorus had killed close to eighty battle-trained soldiers on Arynias as though he had been hunting trees, though the soldiers had actually been easier to cut down. He'd called forth tornadoes and sent lighting streaking wherever and whenever he wished, and now Arus, Kitreena, Damien, and Vultrel were supposed to stop him?

  Vultrel. How the young man could stand there and argue with Mateo about the existence of the Maker after everything they'd witnessed was incomprehensible to Arus. But it was clearer now more than ever that Vultrel had not only embraced his anger, but enveloped himself in it, driving him to new levels of paranoia and irrational behavior. And even after learning that Kindel Thorus planned to destroy his home planet, Vultrel had refused to concede any wrongdoings, and instead chose to remain, presumably, with the Vezulian Armada. If Arus had ever clung to any shred of hope that Vultrel might recognize his mistakes, might open his eyes, might disown the power-hungry taint that he'd allowed to cloud his eyes, such hope was certainly as dead as the man who had taught them both the value of honor and nobility.

  Returning home was going to bring back a lot of those memories, he knew. Hunting in the forest every morning, gathering fruit for breakfast, working on Master Eaisan's farm and spending every other free moment training. From memories of running through Trader's Square as a child, being chased by Katlyn and Melia—I wonder what they would think if they could see Vultrel now; they'd always idolized him so—to campfires at night and storytelling at the Festival of Souls, winter snowball fights and autumn stargazing; all the innocence of his childhood was already flooding back to Arus, and how much more it would fill him with both joy and sadness when they arrived. But the anticipation was tainted by concerns over the implant and how the people would respond to it. Such technology was forbidden on Terranias, yet there was little he could do to rid himself of the bloody thing. Would the people accept him in spite of it? Would his mother? Fears produced visions of his mother shoving him out of his own house, demanding that he leave and never return. I'm still Arus, Mother! It's still me! Please don't push me away!

  "Arus?" Kitreena's voice startled him. He turned away from the gym's viewport to see Kitreena at the doorway. The exoskeleton device had been removed from her wrist several days ago, and she looked as energetic and vibrant as ever. "Damien say's we'll arrive in about twenty minutes. Preliminary scans of the Terranias don't show any unusual atmospheric activity, so that's a good sign. Perhaps Kindel hasn't gone down to the surface yet. At any rate, we'll be launching as soon as we arrive. I'm going to go get my stuff."

  "All right." He nodded, turning back to the window. Twenty minutes. The five day journey had finally reached its last twenty minutes, and Arus had no doubt they would feel like
twenty hours. He was anxious to get moving, though why, he wasn't sure.

  Are you all right? Kitreena's voice floated through his head. She seemed to have finally gotten a handle on her telepathic abilities, though repeated attempts to communicate with anyone else had been fruitless. For whatever reason, she could only send her thoughts to him and read what thoughts of his were meant for her. None of that made sense to either of them, but then, Mateo had said there were things the human mind couldn't comprehend, hadn't he?

  Just a bit nervous. I know, it's silly. I've only been away from home for little more than a week; I can just imagine how you'd feel if you were returning to Lavinia. That, of course, brought to mind her royal heritage on Lavinia. A princess by blood, her parents had been king and queen of Aerianna, a beautiful country on her homeworld. F'Ledro had murdered them, and she knew that as a person of royal lineage, she would likely become the next target. The thought terrified her, as did the idea of having an entire nation looking to her for guidance, support, and care. According to her, if she ever went back, they might try to force her onto the throne, and that was the last thing she wanted. Records showed that another member of her family—a cousin, she had said—had been given rule, and they'd been doing quite well in her absence.

  It's all right to be nervous, Arus. We've got a tough job ahead of us, but Mateo says we can do it, and if the Maker believes in us, then we've got no reason to worry.

  That, in itself, worried Arus. The fact that the Maker had all but revealed himself to them was incredible enough, but that he trusted them to go to battle against a weapon whose power was never intended for mortal hands sent the fear of Kuldaan running down his spine. Kitreena continued to rely on Mateo's assurances to console him, but whenever Arus questioned her about the things he'd said to her, she had shrugged uncomfortably. "Doing what Mateo has asked of me is easier said than done," she had told him. "I can't just throw down years of built up anger and hatred in a single instant." If she couldn't even be sure of the things Mateo had said to her, how was Arus supposed to be confident in the words Mateo had spoken to him?