Shadow Soldier (The Shadow Saga)

by J. L. Lyon

  “Spoken like a true deceiver,” 301 raised his Gladius into battle-ready position. “But there’s no reason to stall any longer, Commander. I will stop you, even if it costs my life to do it.”

  Jacob at last unclipped Glorificus from his side, “If that is what you wish. You are either very brave or very unwise to challenge one of Four original wielders of the Gladius, Shadow Soldier.”

  “I think you’ll find I’m up to the test.”

  The commander laughed, “Even if you get through me, what then? Can you take on five others on your own?”

  “Not on my own,” 301 smiled.

  Derek Blaine emerged from the darkness on the other side of the Fusiosphere, swinging his blade wildly at the Silent Thunder operatives like a madman. Taken off-guard, one of the rebels was killed before he even rose from the ground, but the other four jumped up in a rage and drew their weapons. Jacob Sawyer turned his head slightly to the side at the sound of his comrade’s fall, and 301 saw his chance. He swung hard and fast, straight at Sawyer’s head, hoping to catch him by surprise and end this once and for all.

  But the rebel commander was not as distracted as he thought. Glorificus came to life in the rebel’s hands and stopped 301’s attack before he had even seen Sawyer’s arm move. The rebel commander’s face was now only inches from his own, and for a brief moment that seemed to span an eternity he held the Specter Captain there, mesmerized by his failed attempt. But then Sawyer forced him backward with a firm push, and held Glorificus aloft between them, “If you want to do this, let’s do it properly.” He yelled back to his men, all of whom were in an actionless standoff with Derek, “One of you, take the second Specter. I’ll take the Captain. Everyone else, finish the job!”

  301 only had time to see one of the operatives step forward to face Derek before he made yet another lunge at Sawyer, this time a sideways blow aimed at his torso. Sawyer parried the swing easily, but did not begin an offensive of his own. Calumnior flashed madly at the rebel leader, darting heatedly in every direction as 301 tried to get at the commander from every possible angle. But Sawyer’s stance was calm, even artistic, as he parried all of 301’s blows with talented ease.

  “Your skill is sloppy,” Sawyer commented. “And your speed is hindered by your desire to rend me in two with every blow!”

  “I don’t need coaching from you!” 301 shouted breathlessly.

  “Then you must not know,” Sawyer pushed 301 backward yet again and laughed. “I trained McCall!”

  301 attacked once again, convinced Sawyer was just feeding him lies. He would not take the bait. He came down on the commander from above, and the two circled round and round—301 attacking with all his might and Sawyer parrying with the same graceful ease. The Specter Captain could feel sweat forming on his brow, and his left arm ached from the constant movement, but Sawyer wasn’t even out of breath. He did, however, take a few steps backward toward the Fusiosphere. 301 had a vague thought that he and Derek should try to form up and create a more difficult target.

  However, it looked as though Derek had his hands full. He held his own against the rebel who stepped forward to fight him, but one glimpse of his partner’s face told him all he needed to know: Derek was worried, and 301 didn’t blame him. These were the experienced swordsmen of Silent Thunder, and they knew exactly what they were doing. The only difference between his own duel and Derek’s was that the rebel facing his partner didn’t seem to have any qualms about killing him. Sawyer, on the other hand, did not make a single offensive movement.

  With mounting frustration 301 shouted at the commander, “Fight me, you coward!”

  “Show me something I haven’t seen, and maybe I will,” Sawyer taunted.

  Out of the corner of his eye 301 saw Derek fall. Not dead, not fatally wounded, but down on one knee and wide open for the killing stroke. His opponent towered over him victoriously, rearing back his blade for the final blow.

  301 reacted on instinct. With newfound strength he pushed himself away from Sawyer and rolled on the ground toward Derek and his opponent. He rose to one knee with a cry and brought Calumnior up to meet the blade of Derek’s would-be assassin, then heard a blast of gunfire from right next to him. A hole opened up in the rebel’s torso, and he fell to the ground dead. Derek dropped the smoking barrel and snatched up Exusia as both Specters rose to face Jacob Sawyer.

  Another rebel next to the Fusiosphere rose to come to his commander’s aid, but Sawyer held up a hand to stop him. “No. Complete the task, or we will all be lost.”

  “But sir—”

  “I said no, Davian,” Sawyer said, not taking his eyes off the two Specters. “Finish what we came here to do, and go. I can take them. Both of them.” Once the rebel called Davian returned to the Fusiosphere, Sawyer smiled. “Alright then, Specters. Show me the best of what McCall gave you.”

  They attacked at once, striking with a furious rage under which any normal man would immediately have collapsed. But Jacob Sawyer was not a normal man. The two Specters moved like lightning over, around, and beside one another, each movement in tandem with the one before it. Blade slammed against blade so quickly that it seemed there were actually four or five blades in the fight rather than three. But Jacob Sawyer did not waver in the frenzy. He flourished with even more skill than he had in the previous fight, as though invigorated by the challenge. 301 couldn’t help but be in awe. The Specters’ technique was perfect, but Sawyer’s was still better.

  For a while the rest of the world seemed to fade away, until the voice of one of the rebels called them back, “Complete! The connection is made!”

  “Execute!” Jacob yelled over the cacophony of crossing blades.

  Energy channeled from the Fusiosphere flowed into the cable connected to its pedestal, making it glow with the same blue light, and 301 at last understood. The ceiling above the unfinished Tetra-class keel began to separate, opening the way to the floors above and—eventually—escape from the facility. So where was the bomb? Had it already been placed?

  As the ceiling opened, Sawyer finally took the offensive and turned the tide against them. It happened so fast that the Specters did not have time to adapt, and before they knew it Sawyer landed a powerful punch on Derek’s jaw, knocking him away from the battle. Sawyer stepped back from 301 and spoke to his men, “We’re done here, boys! Let’s go home!”

  Another gunshot rang out, but this one did not come from Derek. A bullet grazed 301’s shoulder, making him stagger backward in shock. Luckily it tore cloth but no skin. Jacob Sawyer turned and stepped into the line of fire with his hands held out to his operative, “No! Hold your fire!”

  In that moment Derek Blaine plunged the blade of Exusia into Jacob Sawyer’s back, and the world froze in time. Every man still breathing witnessed the event, but none seemed quite sure what to do—not even Derek himself. Sawyer looked down at the white blade protruding from his chest and managed to speak three words, “Remember your promise.”

  Glorificus fell from Sawyer’s hand and clattered to the ground, just as the operative with the sidearm cried out in anguish at the sight of his commander’s fatal wound. Derek withdrew his weapon from Sawyer’s body and let the man tumble to the floor. Sawyer rolled over onto his back, drawing in choked breaths. The man Sawyer had addressed earlier as Davian stared in hatred at the two Specters, eyeing each Spectral Gladius as though weighing whether it would be worth it to stay and fight. But Sawyer spoke again from the floor, “Go, Davian. Remember.”

  Davian nodded his understanding and backed away, “Go with God, Commander. Until we meet again.” The rebels took off toward the keel, opening fire as they ran and making the Specters dive for cover. Derek, having only just recovered from the shock of dealing Jacob Sawyer a fatal blow, rose from the floor and darted after them. 301, however, stayed.

  He crawled over to where Sawyer lay and looked down upon him as the commander struggled for his last breaths. Sorrow threatened to overtake him—for despite
how long he had waited for Sawyer to be defeated, he knew that Grace would soon learn her father was dead. How would she take the news? With a cold desire for vengeance, or with strength and tears? And then there was the remorse, painful and gripping—for if Jacob Sawyer hadn’t stepped into the line of fire to save him, it would be he who lay there and Sawyer who walked out alive.

  “Where is it?” he asked the dying man, his voice too compassionate to qualify as an interrogation. “Where is the bomb?”

  Sawyer’s eyes shifted onto him, and his breaths became more labored. Perhaps he could no longer speak. But then, suddenly, something in the commander’s face changed. His eyes narrowed as if in disbelief, and he blinked to make sure he was actually seeing what he thought. After that—much to 301’s surprise—his face spread into a wide grin. But it didn’t stop there. Soon the man was laughing, and loudly.

  301’s anger returned at the feeling of being mocked and he demanded with more force, “Where is it, Sawyer?”

  “Now I understand,” he said through his laughter. “She must have known all along. I can’t believe I didn’t see it…that I didn’t think it…” Sawyer’s eyes started to close, but 301 shook him awake.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You, dear boy,” Sawyer replied, fading fast. “We looked everywhere…but couldn’t find a trace. I’m so sorry…if I had known…”

  “If you had known what?” 301 asked, his heart pounding with more fear than anger now. Was the commander delusional?

  “I suppose today I pay back my debt to an old friend,” Sawyer smiled. “And a price well paid, if anything of your father still lives in you.”

  301 felt his heart drop through the floor. “My…father?”

  “Make sure Grace knows,” he took a rasping breath, “that I love her. I expect to be seeing you again, if she has her way. And you should know, she usually does.”

  “You knew my father?” 301 asked, suddenly frantic for answers to questions he never expected to ask. “Who is he? Where can I find him?”

  Sawyer’s eyes closed, and his body went limp. But two final words escaped with his last breath:

  “Pax Aeterna.”

  And then the great commander, the man who brought Silent Thunder back from the grave, was dead.

  301 looked down at Jacob Sawyer’s lifeless form and felt a new kind of loss—the answers to questions he had always secretly wanted to know had been within a hand’s reach, and now were gone. To his right he saw the yellow tourmaline casing of Sawyer’s Gladius, blade still activated from where it had fallen just moments before. The vertical engraving shone up at him: Glorificus. Not knowing exactly why, he reached out for the Gladius and retracted its blade. Then he stowed it away within his own uniform. Enemy though he was, something of this great warrior should remain intact.

  Suddenly the lights to the facility came back on, and 301 rose to his feet. The rebels must have made it to the floors above, for he saw no sign of them. Long strands glinted in the light—what he expected were ropes. Derek must have climbed up after them. Looking back over the carnage on the floor, he saw many more dead bodies. There was no sign of life anywhere else in the lab. The rebels, it seemed, had done their work well.

  A rapid beeping sound caught his attention, and he turned to see an X shaped device with an octagonal light in the center, flashing red. Behind the X was a package filled with a black substance: Apollo Powder.

  301 took off at a run toward the opening in the ceiling, yelling into his earphone as he bolted, “Liz! Raven! Raven! The bomb is armed!”

  One of the Halo-4s descended through the opening, and Liz’s voice answered, “Copy that, Specter Captain. All Specters accounted for and ready for departure. Let’s get out of here.”

  301 leapt through the door of the vessel before the hatch was even all the way open and screamed frantically, “Go! Go! Go! Get us out of here now!”

  The vessel rose rapidly through one floor and then another, and another, until they crested the roof—and the bomb exploded. An enormous white fireball spread from the R&D lab and consumed the entire facility, spreading so quickly that it nearly engulfed them even as they reached a hundred feet above the ground. The very air around the vessel seemed to shake from the force of the bomb, and for a few seconds nothing could be seen out the windows but a painfully blinding white light.

  When it faded and 301 was certain he was still alive, he glanced out the window and saw only a crater where the Weapons Manufacturing Facility had been. Nothing of the building remained, not even a piece of metal.

  301 turned away from the window and stared disbelievingly at his partner. Derek Blaine gazed off into nothingness, undoubtedly lost in the thought of what he had just done. They had failed, it was true: The Weapons Manufacturing Facility now lay in ruins. But the bittersweet victory no one yet knew was that Jacob Sawyer lay buried beneath them.

  The rebellion, perhaps, would not be far behind.

  42

  PREMIER SULLIVAN SAT ALONE in the Hall of Advisors, absently drumming his fingertips on the table as he waited with growing impatience. Many scattered rumors had reached his ear in the last several minutes, the most outrageous being that Silent Thunder had successfully destroyed the Weapons Manufacturing Facility without even being sighted by the Great Army. Hundreds were estimated to be dead, several high-ranking officers among them, and if this story proved to be the true one then Napoleon Alexander would need fast answers. He had made it very clear that failure to protect the facility would cost volumes in blood.

  The earphone on the table in front of him beeped, and he took a deep breath. The MWR had surely heard the truth by now. He reached for the device and placed it in his ear, then spoke, “This is the Premier.”

  “Good evening, sir,” a woman’s voice replied. “Please hold for the MWR.” Sullivan scowled. Yet another way for the MWR to assert his superiority. The absent tapping of his fingertips became more of a pounding as he fought to swallow his anger.

  How dare he keep me waiting, the Premier thought. If not for me there’d be no System at all! One day, very soon…

  “Premier,” Alexander barked from the other end. “I hope you have better news for me than the reports I hear coming in from the Fourteenth Army.”

  Sullivan chose his words carefully, “I haven’t yet received a full report, but at this point—”

  “At this point it seems that my entire Weapons Manufacturing Facility has been destroyed,” Alexander growled. “Did I not warn you, Premier, that there would be blood for such a failure? How did this happen?”

  “With all due respect, sir, I did everything within my power to prevent a disaster of this scale from taking place. In the beginning I was the only voice taking the threat of Silent Thunder seriously, calling for the reformation of Specter and the concentration of our forces in the city.”

  “Yes, you did propose the reformation of Specter, and where has that gotten us?” Alexander demanded. “Wasn’t it on Specter’s recommendation that we sent all those men to the facility? If I’m hearing right, that is exactly what Silent Thunder wanted! There will be retribution for this disaster, Premier, and it’s looking more and more as though your precious Shadow Soldier will feel the full force of it. By all indications he may even be in league with them!”

  “That is an absurd accusation!”

  “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how far you’ve gone to protect him from me, Premier,” Alexander’s voice rose. “That ends today. He lived in close proximity to Jacob Sawyer’s own daughter for six weeks. Six weeks! Who knows what lies and honeyed words she fed him? She might have even turned him! I want him brought before me now, Sullivan, without objection and without delay, so that I can do what we should have done three months ago!”

  Sullivan closed his eyes, overwhelmed in helpless defeat. Short of a miracle, there would be no saving the Shadow Soldier this time. It had been years since Napoleon Alexander’s wrath burned with such in
tensity, and he knew from past experience that there would be no reasoning with him. His champion—his great prize—was as good as dead.

  “I understand, sir,” Sullivan said at last. “As you wish.”

  “Be in attendance yourself,” Alexander ordered. “I want you to watch as your champion falls.”

  “I will be there.”

  Sullivan terminated his connection, and then slammed his hand down so hard on the table that he felt the sting in his wrist. Everything was falling apart. To lose the Shadow Soldier would be to lose a vital part of his master plan. He had contingencies, but he was not eager to explain this to the other Chief Advisors—or even the Citadel, if it came to that.

  He looked up to see Admiral McCall standing in the open doorway, and rose, “Admiral, it’s good you’re here. But I’m afraid I have bad news. The MWR has decided to lay blame for this incident squarely on your Specter Captain. He has commanded that the Shadow Soldier be brought before him.”

  “The Specter Captain is already on his way to meet the MWR,” McCall said grimly. “But I wouldn’t prepare for the burial just yet.”

  -X-

  Despite Derek Blaine’s objections, 301 was taken into custody immediately after landing at the palace—an inconvenient development, but not unexpected. The squad of six asked that he relinquish his weapons, but they neglected to search him and so did not find the second Gladius he carried. 301 felt better having the weapon on him, not because he planned to use it, but because it was a royal flush in a game with the highest of stakes: his life.

  301 had a feeling when McCall gave them the rundown of the rebel attack that he might be blamed for it, considering the way the rebels had gained access. From what security officials at the facility were able to see during the minutes between the power outage and the explosion, Silent Thunder somehow intruded wirelessly into their network and accessed the primary controls. With that access they were able to cut the power to the facility, which then triggered the lockdown. Once the Great Army knew they were there, however, it would have been suicide to restore complete power and unlock all the doors. So they used the Fusiosphere to open only the ceiling, from which they then escaped back into the night.