by G R Fabacher
“How many missions do you have left?”
She blinked and leaned in a little. “Seven left, but I’ve done a lot more.”
“What are you here for?”
She smirked, “Does it really matter, I’m a half-elf. It’s not if we end up in prison it’s when.” Her voice was bitter, “But the answer is grand larceny. I did it, too, won’t lie, but the bastard deserved to have everything taken from him. Plus I was there when he got thrown into the corps right next to me. Turns out he was using the Lich Corps to get rid of people he didn’t like. So they chucked him in there to prove that the concept still works. It’s not every day a councilmen gets his, but sometimes the system works the way it’s supposed to. He didn’t make it past his second mission.”
Damon watched the feral smile cross her features, her viridian eyes becoming flint hard.
“Why didn’t you tell me they were just going to find excuses to keep me in here?”
“Well at first, it’s just the way it is… and then I just didn’t want to hurt you. I figured telling all the girls you were thrown in here for being a shite pickup artist was enough.”
Damon let his head fall back and for a long moment they were just silent.
“If it’s any consolation, I’m glad you didn’t get shot. You were my first Hanging.”
“You were my Hangman?” Damon smirked.
She nodded vigorously, “You think I’d have done a million by now, but the Lieutenant really likes to initiate everyone himself. Finally let me do it.”
“How’d I do?” He asked, sitting up.
“Terrible, but you survived.” She leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Her lips were soft, and slowly the pain melted and were replaced by a wellspring of excitement. Damon almost pulled back, but Shaya finished before he could collect himself.
“What was that for?” He laughed.
“What? It’s a normal cultural thing for elves to kiss their friends.”
“Bullshite.” He laughed, blushing.
She laughed, too, “Oh trees and stars, you’re blushing. I thought you were some big ladykiller bard?”
“You started that shite, I just played some dance clubs. I was barely getting by.”
“Lute?” She asked.
“No, crystal harmonica.”
“Really? Any good?”
“I went hungry but I didn’t starve.”
“You’ll have to play it for me sometime, Damon…” She said.
“I will…” He said.
She stood up and he grabbed her hand. She stopped and flashed a smile before pulling it back. Damon couldn’t help but watch her walk away in a whole new way. The prison clothes weren’t very flattering on her curvy frame. Not flattering at all.
Chapter 14
Damon left the ship’s infirmary two days later after the ship’s doctor and Shaya deemed him concussion free and fit for duty. Three days after that things were back to normal at the prison complex the corps called home. Damon got a good view of the complex from the air as the dropship from the Virtuous took a languishing bank around the prison before landing in the front most yard.
“I know where we are now. This is Godwyn Vale. I didn’t realize that the corps lived in an old fort.”
Damon looked around, but everyone else was napping or not paying attention. He looked at the crumbling pentagonal outermost wall. He could see various outbuildings, no doubt this was where the guards lived. More modern ward gates were around that outer wall running from five points of the old firing platforms. The roofs of the points were in disrepair, but Damon could see the metal slats that would project the ward between them.
The walls past the guards’ area were better kept, and he was sure they were etched with runes all over. He saw the yard, then the mess, and the two cellblocks that made up the living space for the whole of the Lich Corps. The Gryphon set down in the yard and he was shepherded off the transport. They put them all into the mess where they were unshackled.
“Welcome home, ladies and gentlemen.” The Lieutenant said. “Until further notice you’re on whatever you get for leave.”
“Probably all that heat with the Union dies down and they can abuse our good natures once more. “ Joyride said.
“That and there’ve been some casualties in the other groups, and we’ve got a replacement for Maz for your little group.” The Lieutenant added, making Joyride flinch.
Damon looked at Shaya as she ran her fingers through her hair. He blinked and looked away.
“When’s the new blood arriving?” Jurza asked.
“Sometime in the next few days, actually.” The Lieutenant said.
Jurza cracked his knuckles and smiled.
“Training begins tomorrow. Stay out of trouble, convicts.”
“Yes, sir.” The corpsmen said.
Damon stood up and walked out into the yard. “So I got thrown out of a ship first day, but what if there’s no mission when a new guys roll in?”
Boudira adjusted something on her shade suit and made sure none of the offending rays would touch her delicate dwarven skin. “Oh, we keep them in prison by themselves or with the other new bloods if we’ve got them. Lieutenant likes making them think that it’s like a usual prison stint.”
“But I knew I was going to the Lich Corps.”
“Aye, but you didn’t know you were going to get thrown out of a ship in a dead suit of armor, and if you don’t want to do pushups and laps until your limbs fall off you’ll keep the secret.”
“Another question,” Damon said, “does this place come with a prison library?”
Boudira looked up at him, and Damon just knew she was smiling.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Hey,” Shaya said, moving in between the small library’s shelves.
Damon looked up, “Hey.” He pushed the book on Ahmagistratii history away.
“So, you think you’re going to solve the mystery of the artifacts and the ancient Magi fortress by finding it in a prison library with second-hand books?”
She sat down on the edge of the reading table. Her skin had freckles of orange as the sunlight around the autumn days grew shorter.
“You got me.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I just wonder what the fascination with these seemingly random artifacts are that it’s worth killing for.”
“I’m just playing with you. What is with the scholarly gig?” She asked.
“I don’t have a crystal harmonica to play. No…” he sighed, “I’m just wondering if those things we picked up make some kind of appearance in any of the records we’ve got. So far, no dice. According to this journal here, ‘It is difficult to determine what the function of Ahmagistratii relics are as their race did not have the same level of techno-magical sophistication.’”
“Too bad…” She said flicking at a few pages in the tome he’d been picking through, “I would hate to derail your investigation, but I was wondering if you’d like to go to dinner with me. I’ve got this reservation at the only restaurant in town, and it has a kind of serviceable beef casserole that you won’t puke back up.”
Damon gave her a lopsided grin, “Food that won’t make me puke? Sure! See you at six?”
“It’s a date…” She batted her eyes and slid off the table.
Damon was sure that woman sashayed when no one was watching.
Chapter 15
High Paladin Laureli Varant walked down the central aisle of the Grande Cathedral. The opulence of the most resplendent place of worship in all of the Serene Union was on full display. The constant streams of churchgoers were gone to meet curfew. A tall, slim woman with severe, cold features, Varant was infamous amongst her peers for her ability to remain detached and calculating However, this night her gold eyes were nothing but fiery storms of raw anger.
The heathen Republic had bested her again. Causing untold damage to the Indomitable, not to mention damaging Union control over the Seat of Heaven, one of the richest pieces of territory, and a fertile ground fo
r fae and dragonkin guest labor. The most infuriating part of it all is that the Republic was using prisoners. She knew all about their Lich Corps and the boogeyman they took their name from.
She, the Order, and the Union were being humiliated by a phantasm used to scare children. She gripped her saber until her knuckles popped. The Union had broken the back of the greatest human empire to have ever graced the Three Jewels. Now the Azure Crown was a mere carcass that the Navigators Guild kept alive for their void-pilot program. However, the technological prowess of the Republic had stymied the vast drive of the Union’s paladins.
Every defeat Varant faced just gave credence to the diseased philosophy of the Republic of Gloriana. How could a mongrel nation that believed all races, especially the races of Duamatt, were equal to the glory of the Union’s Purpose? The Union was perfect, the Union would bring all of creation under the banner of equality and fairness. True equality. The fact that the Republic used prisoners in such a way meant that the grand equality that they espoused was really a grand lie. All people in the Union were truly equal in Purpose, even prisoners had their place before it.
She took to her knees at the altar and crossed her arms across her chest, slowly lowering her forehead to the area just before the altar. The Union did not worship long dead prophets, it didn’t worship imagined gods, and it didn’t worship nature. It worshiped the state. The Union was the religion and the religion was the Union. After a moment she stood and smoothed over her tunic and sash.
She heard someone approaching and she felt her hand go to pistol, which was kept on a special holster that rested above her blade.
“Relax, Lady Varant, it is only me. A loyal citizen and your loyal altern.”
Varant relaxed, turning to the speaker. “Durrant,” she said, “I am in trouble with the council?”
“Yes, ma’am.” That’s why she liked him. Durrant didn’t mix words, didn’t kiss ass. “The Scarlet Ring is indeed unhappy with you. There is rumor that they’re discussing how best to have you killed to make it look like an accident.”
She scoffed, looking into Durrant’s brown eyes, “When aren’t they planning to kill someone? Wait for the next guest worker grumbling. They’ll kill someone, blame the mongrels, and then have all the justification to send the home guard in to quell the revolting.”
“When you say it like that it seems so tactless and boring, ma’am.” Durrant folded his hands before him to show her he had no weapons. “Though if I am permitted to say, you’re proving quite the tough case for the Council. They’re even thinking about turning me.”
Varrant smiled, walking toward him, her lean physique on display in her form-fitting uniform. “Silver-tongued devil.” She patted his cheek, running a pale thumb over his dark skin. Emile Durrant was almost forty years her junior, and nearing her sixties herself she didn’t look a day over thirty five, such were the powers of the rejuvenation tonics gifted to those most loyal to the cause of the Union. Durrant had never complained before.
“I would love the momentary distraction, but there is work to do. We must retaliate against the Republic.”
“Ma’am, do you think that is wise, to move ahead without the approval of the Scarlet Ring? The citizenry need the pageantry from the First Primarch.”
Varant rolled her eyes. “Yes, but if we do not move to take back what we’ve found at Quardas we’ll never get the weapon that lies in the forests near the old capital of the Ahmagistratii. I don’t need to remind you how such a weapon could shift the balance of power permanently into the Serene Union’s hands, do I?”
“No ma’am. I will go myself, immediately.”
Varant nodded, rubbing the red ring she wore on her left ring finger. She was always acutely aware of the noose that hung around her neck. If this failed she would certainly be expunged by the Scarlet Ring, but the Council was full of old, defensive corpses living lives of luxury.
Varant was from the slums and ghettoes of Citadella. She had clawed her way out of the filth by murder or worse. None of the sitting Council knew what it was like to suffer, to go without, they had ruled with impunity and complacency for far too long. If she had to burn out their cancerous existence to save the Union and propel it to rightful glory, so be it.
“Good luck, Durrant.” She said.
“I do not need luck, ma’am, I have Purpose.”
Durrant put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled the tall man’s head down until his forehead touched hers. An ancient human custom of sharing a conspiratorial intimate breath, the sharing of a spirit of conviction.
“Be safe.” She said, surprising even herself.
♦ ♦ ♦
Emile Durrant walked up the boarding ramp of the almost cramped interior of the Shroud class stealth craft. It had a streamlined appearance and various runes etched into its hull to maximize its chances of avoiding magical detection. It also went without wards, such magical shielding would make it stick out like a sore thumb.
Unlike what he would normally wear. Durrant and the team wore a lighter brand new armor fresh from the Union alchemists. Instead of metal plates enchanted with runes. The black pieces of the Type 43 Shadowstalker armor were lightweight metal-ceramic alloys. Molded pieces and backings worn over a blackened mythril-weave suit. It made the suit quieter, lighter, and more maneuverable, but left something to be desired in upfront fighting.
Of course, if he were in a standard shootout, something would have gone terribly wrong. Durrant closed the black faceplate. He preferred the armor of the paladin, but there were times when the blinding brilliance of truth had to take second string to a knife between the ribs.
Durrant looked around at the men and women of his team. Each one human; each one perfectly honed for the mission they found themselves on.
“Codenames from here on out,” Durrant said.
“Yes, sir.” They all said quietly. These five other people were the elite of the Union’s special forces: the Blackguard.
The loading ramp of the transport closed and the magical lamps turned a gold orange as the self-contained magical engine of the transport warmed up to the ubiquitous warbling hum and floated a few feet off the deck before powering out of the hanger.
“Intelligence has the relicts out in the Void Belt, kept in the Archeon Research Facility. It’s heavily protected, but the Scarlet Ring wants this installation removed. There can’t be any indication that we were ever there.”
The five other members of the squad nodded. Durrant took a deep breath and checked his main battle weapon. It was modified version of the standard Union battle rifle. Though magical weapons hardly made sound, this one did dedicate some of its battery life to muffling charms. It was also chambered for flechettes that were smaller; the Blackguard were trained to shoot for the head. The special stiletto flechettes it shot were designed to punch through the crystal face plates of helmets, making it the idea weapon for what the Purpose demanded of its most loyal soldiers.
Once the briefing was given Durrant, call sign Shadow, entered the cockpit. The swanlike profile of the transport but the cockpit higher than the main body so that the breaching doors at the fore of the craft could operate.
The research base was a small one, but by the destroyer and cruiser presence it was a high-security complex. The stealth transport moved between the warships, careful to stay at the edges of the Republic’s known scrying ranges. There was no need to take unnecessary risks.
“Let’s keep this completely quiet. “Durrant said, swapping to encrypted communications.
The pilot maneuvered the craft until it was almost touching the nose of its cockpit to the bulkhead of the Republic facility.
“Alright, my lord, we’re ready to seal the cockpit and open the void.” The pilot said, reaching above her head to flick a few switches and line up some of the control runes. Durrant nodded and headed back down the ladder. He heard the thunk of the heavy hatch and the soft hum of magic being poured into the seal to hold in the air in the cockpit.
Durrant watched the door at the bow of the small transport split down the middle and the soft woosh of the air escaping, sliding around him and his team. He watched as Dagger took up position by the opening and waved the team through. Durrant was last, and by the time he floated to the bulkhead two members of his team had almost cut a hole through the bulkhead. Several runes were rerouted, their ley lines connecting into a four-sided metal construct.
“Ward frame is stable.” Weasel said.
Taking the right while Scorpio took the left, they each put a magilocked glove on the cut circle, and with a pull they carefully moved the section out and down. It would drift out into the void, if a scryer did pick it up it would look like nothing more than a piece of junk.
The atmosphere was held in place by the ward frame. Two by two they pulled themselves inside. Durrant heard the calls of contact by the Blackguards and a short burst of weapon fire.
He stepped inside and looked at the scene. Two alchemists and one custodian lay dead. “I thought this was supposed to be a storage room. Explain.”
“Lordship,” Weasel said, “our plans are out of date and they seem to have repurposed the storage room on this level for crystal specialization.”
“Alarms?”
“No sir, we’re still quiet.” Weasel said.
“Good, continue with the mission, weapons free only if spotted. I want gauntlet blades and stealth otherwise.”
There was a chorus of affirmations and then the team stacked up on the chamber door. Durrant opened it and scanned both sides of the hallway. There were some people walking away, but the Blackguards were headed the other way.
Durrant ushered them through.
“Storage for the relicts are down one level in section 15P.” Weasel said.
“Wolf, Dagger, you two commence with placing the charges. Everyone else, with me.”