Raider

by Justine Davis

  “It is wise,” Mara agreed. “They could wipe out Zelos with the cannon, or all the people of Ziem with a single pass from a cruiser, if they were provoked enough.”

  “But what good does this do?” Slake demanded. “Small raids, tiny victories. It does nothing to drive them out.”

  As if we have any hope of that.

  “If you would prefer to lie down for them, you can always go to work for Drake in his taproom,” Mara snapped at the whiner.

  Again Kye winced inwardly, but she would not defend him this time. She had made her point, and she agreed with the sentiment too much to fight it again. And then the Raider was there, standing in the doorway to his quarters.

  “I have gotten word that the trail guards changed this morning,” he said, his half-ruined voice scratchy but clearly audible. A low buzz instantly went up among them. “They will not have had time to learn this ground, and will be at further disadvantage in the dark and mist.”

  Smiles were starting to break out around the room. Kye joined them; to those who did know the mountain, there were many ways down to the valley below. And the Raider knew this mountain as few did. Her pulse picked up as she waited, knowing a mission was coming.

  Brander, arms crossed, long body at an angle with his shoulder propped against the wall, lifted a brow. “And where, my leader, are we going?”

  Only Brander spoke to him this way in front of the others. Only Brander would dare.

  The Raider paused long enough that the room went utterly silent. The silver helmet shone in the flickering light. And then, with a slow smile that seemed reckless, a smile marred only slightly by the twisting of his scarred flesh, he answered. “I think it’s time we liberate some transport. Anyone here know how to fly an air rover?”

  The roar that went up echoed off the walls and rough ceiling of the great room. Hoots and yells of excitement punctuated the solid wall of sound. She herself was grinning widely. It never failed to amaze her how perfect the Raider’s sense of timing was; every time his fighters got restless, every time the hopelessness of their task began to overwhelm them, he came up with something that put the fire of the fight back into them.

  As he put the fire of many things into her.

  Chapter 10

  “YOU’RE SURE THIS thing’s going to work?”

  “I’m sure. As long as I’m close enough.” Brander gave the Raider a sideways look. “I’m more worried about the diversion. If we get Eirlys’s pet ringtail hurt or worse, she’ll send us both to hades.”

  “You have no faith in her training?”

  Brander snorted. “She could train a blazer to toast bread. As soon as he hears the signal, that rascal will start such a racket even Sorkost would get off his ass to investigate. I’m more worried about him getting clear.”

  “The sense of self-preservation is strong in most creatures.”

  Except you. “I hope it’s strong and deep in this one, then. I don’t want to have to explain how we let him get trampled by a cluster of Coalition guards.”

  “More likely he’ll bite one or two of them before departing. He is peevish with anyone except Eirlys.”

  I know the feeling.

  A sudden memory of the child who had tagged after him in those halcyon days before the Coalition had arrived on Ziem, always trying to badger him into helping her with one creature or another, flashed through his mind. He let it stay a moment, to remind himself how young she was.

  “Let’s just hope he gets back to her unscathed,” he muttered, although he knew the creature followed Eirlys everywhere on her expansive ramblings—she sought out her animals, and they flocked to her, even the wild ones—and likely he could find his way home from anywhere.

  “I’m afraid that,” the Raider said, “is up to his reflexes and your accuracy with that device.”

  Brander grimaced. He was about to make some retort when he realized where they were. As he thought it, the Raider raised his arm and gave the signal for operational silence. Not that they had been making much noise anyway, but as of now, as they passed the marker the Raider had chosen—the rubble of what had once been a prosperous inn at the edge of the flats—there would be no word spoken.

  Words were not necessary. As always, they had rehearsed this countless times. Each of the ten Sentinels specifically chosen by the Raider for this foray knew his part. Or hers, he amended, thinking of Mara, who had surprisingly turned out to be the most qualified of them all for this particular undertaking. She had handled an air rover extensively on a trip to Clarion the year before the Coalition had set its sights on Ziem.

  They crept silently down the last slope in the utter darkness. Their black clothing and dull-finish armor made them practically invisible. Except for the Raider’s silver helm, which seemed to gather and reflect what light there was. It was, Brander knew, intentional; the man wanted it to stand out, be noticed. It was not out of ego, but an understanding of the power of the legend he’d built.

  And the fact that it would draw Coalition attention to him, and away from his fighters. Brander didn’t like it, thought it too risky, but that was old ground, an old argument.

  Each of them knew their path intimately; they could all see the glowmist caused by those moving ahead of them. There was no stumbling or hesitation. Brander doubted they were even thinking of what it would mean if they succeeded this night; they were thinking only of what was to be done next.

  When everyone was in position, Brander looked at the man who led them. He saw the movement of the silver helmet as the Raider nodded, the silent motion an order. Brander grabbed the large bag he’d been carrying on his back. If he hadn’t been trekking up and down The Sentinel carrying weapons countless times in the last three years, he wouldn’t have been able to do it; this ringtail came up to his knee and was heavier than he looked. All that thick fur, maybe.

  Brander felt the creature inside the bag stir at the movement. In the dark folds of heavy cloth the ringtail had been calm, quiet; it was their nature to go docile and still when confined in darkness. And this particular beast was familiar with him, and thus allowed his touch with only mild protest. But once let out of the bag he would be angry, and fiercely determined not to go back into it. And an angry ringtail made a sound like no other.

  He crept down the slope, taking care not to disturb any rock or branch that might betray his passage. He made his way to the shelter of a large boulder surrounded by thick brush, where he could hide yet see the hulking shape of the transport annex building. He watched just long enough to see that the four guards were keeping to the schedule Pryl had observed and tracked. There were advantages to having such a regimented and closely controlled enemy.

  He waited until the two sets of two guards were close to crossing paths at each front corner of the building. Then he unfastened the bag.

  The ringtail poked its head out. It looked up at Brander warily. He shook the bag. The creature hissed at him, baring not unimpressive fangs. It scrambled free, fluffing up the long, striped tail that gave rise to its name. Brander held on to it, glad for his heavy gloves in case the animal decided to bury those fangs in him. It hissed again.

  Here we go. Brander gave a low, distinctive, up-and-down whistle.

  The ringtail let out a piercing screech. It set Brander’s teeth on edge even though he’d heard it countless times. And with the way it echoed off the walls of the building, it probably sounded even stranger out there. The guards froze, then whirled, peering into the darkness. He doubted any of them had ever encountered one of the shy animals before. Since the whole plan hinged on that, he had to hope he was right. Especially since he’d been the one to convince the Raider it would work.

  He hunkered back in the shelter of the boulder, using the hand that wasn’t holding the ringtail to free his latest invention from the sling over his shoulder. He gave the low whistle again, and
again the ringtail screeched, even louder this time. And longer; the sound seemed to rebound again and again, until it sounded like there had to be a pack of them surrounding the building.

  He watched as the guards gathered near the front door. He could not hear them from this distance, but their body language told him there was an intense discussion going on. Guessing they were arguing over who and how many of them would go investigate, he gave another low whistle, this time three times in succession.

  The ringtail howled this time, rising, falling, ending in that grating screech that sounded disturbingly unnatural. Even here, holding the creature in the shelter of the rock, it seemed eerie and uncanny. Eirlys’s pet was enjoying himself now, and the howls came again, and again, until the four men were staring into the brush in attitudes of utter trepidation.

  Brander saw one of them lift something to his eyes, guessed it was a night spotter. He crouched down behind the boulder, taking care that no part of his—or the ringtail’s—body was perceptible to the night lenses. When he was set, he took out the small, highly polished reflector he carried and angled it to watch. The mist wasn’t heavy tonight, but there was enough glowmist to show him their positions.

  And then three of the four began to move. Spread out but in a single line, they started toward his position. The ringtail began to get nervous, but Brander held on to him; if he let go and one of the guards spotted him, the animal’s chances of escape—and of getting back to Eirlys—were almost nil, and Brander did not want that on his already overloaded conscience. He’d already lied to her, saying he wanted the animal for a joke. He could just imagine the way Eirlys would look at him if the ringtail were injured, and the image haunted him even though it hadn’t happened. Yet.

  He stroked the animal’s fur as he’d seen her do, and it settled a little. But the men were still coming. He glanced to the south but could see nothing. He had to trust that the Raider was there. He would take out the remaining guard—probably the leader, knowing the Coalition officer propensity for ordering others into danger—leaving him only these to deal with.

  He whistled once more, even lower now that the targets were almost within range. The ringtail let out his howl again, making Brander’s ears ring with it. He watched the men approach, beginning the count in his head.

  Closer, closer, closer . . . one more howl . . . that’s it, boy . . . almost there . . .

  He released the ringtail.

  “Home,” he whispered, nudging it in the opposite direction from the men who were two steps from where he needed them. He caught only a glimpse of the striped tail as the animal darted into the underbrush and headed for home and Eirlys. For a split second, he envied the creature that, but then it was time. He turned back, lifted the weapon at his side, waited one more breathless moment. The three men were a bare ten feet from the underbrush now. And, as he’d hoped, the nearer they’d come to where that eerie howl had come from, the closer they’d drawn together, instinctively seeking the protection of numbers.

  They made the last step. Into his mental strike zone. He fired.

  There was a loud pop that made the three men freeze. The projectile from the gun arced upward. The casing that held it compressed fell away, and there was a whoosh of air as the insert unfurled. The three men looked up. In the same instant, Brander heard the Raider fire, and with his peripheral vision saw the fourth guard go down. But he kept his gaze on his three, and before they could react, they were swamped in heavy coils of rope and net, tangled, helpless, unable to even raise the weapons they already had in hand.

  “Now!” came the shouted order from the Raider, and the Sentinels stormed out of the shadows.

  Brander, being closer, beat them all to the doors of the transportation annex building, and cut away the lock with shears made of their own planium. Then the others were there, moving with speed and precision as the Raider had planned. The best of them had taken seven minutes to get out from under the web of rope and mesh made sticky with crawler vine sap. They had the new rovers uncovered and fired up in three, giving Pryl the time he would need to cover their tracks and get to safety.

  Mara moved the first rover smoothly out through the wide doors. Galeth drove the second, not quite as steadily, but without hitting anything. Then Maxon dinged one door slightly, not inflicting any serious damage, but making Pryl, who was already working to erase any trace, dodge back for a moment. And then Brander followed with the one he’d fired up. Once the first four were clear, the Raider roared out in the last, ordering them with a sweeping wave of his arm to head up the mountain. Then he lingered, dangerously too long, Brander thought when he turned back to look from the shelter of the trees. But the Raider had a message to leave, and he would also not leave Pryl alone on foot, not this close to the command post.

  The seconds ticked down, and Brander caught himself holding his breath. Then, as he watched, Pryl ran for the Raider’s rover. As soon as he was aboard, the Raider spun the nimble craft on its axis and purposefully angled it slightly as he hit the throttle. The blast of its passage wiped even Pryl’s footprints from the loose dirt. And then they were clear. Without a single precious shot fired except the Raider’s to take out the last guard, they were clear.

  With five brand-new, fully armed and charged Coalition air rovers.

  Chapter 11

  “WHAT DO YOU mean, five air rovers?”

  Barcon Ordam suppressed a tremor of fear as Governor Sorkost rose from behind his huge desk, looted from the Zelos city museum. The man might be old, portly, and soft, but he was still the voice—and the power—of the Coalition on Ziem, and thus to be feared.

  “I . . . sir . . .”

  “You cannot be saying five brand-new air rovers, barely off the transport ship, are gone?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir.”

  The governor leaned forward, his knobbed, heavily veined hands propping up his considerable weight. Barcon tried not to look at the left one, where two fingers were missing. Rumor had it they’d been lost in the first invasion of Trios decades ago, on the other side of the galaxy, when Gradle Sorkost had been in the merciless General Corling’s command. Some even said the old Trios king himself had taken the fingers off, before he’d been captured and executed.

  Others, less admiring, speculated Sorkost had chewed them off in his haste to gobble up a tasty dinner.

  The only thing that mattered to Ordam was that Sorkost had the power, the only civilian power on Ziem greater than his own.

  “How,” Sorkost ground out, “did this happen?”

  He’d practiced this, wanting to present a calm, impersonal report, hoping his tone and delivery would divorce him from the facts, at least in Sorkost’s mind. But he couldn’t control the timorous undertone in his voice as he began.

  “They came in at night. Overpowered and contained the guards with some primitive rope device we’ve never seen before. No one heard anything except screeching animals of some kind. They left no trace. Not even a footprint. No one knows how many of them there were.”

  “So they merely floated in and stole five air rovers, and no one saw anything?”

  Barcon resisted the urge to loosen the collar that suddenly seemed too tight. Still, he chose his words carefully, to avoid any semblance of connection or responsibility. “One guard was hit from a distance. The others were attacked from behind.”

  Sorkost’s already narrow gaze tightened even more as his jaw clenched. His voice came out in a hiss that lingered on the “s.”

  “It was that skalworm raider, wasn’t it?”

  “That is not certain,” Barcon said. “One man thought he saw that silver helmet, but he is unsure. But it is . . . logical to assume so. No one else dares.”

  “So much for your idea to spread the word that he was dead, you fool. It probably provoked him to this.”

  Barcon cringed inwardly. He tried desperate
ly to think of a way to extricate himself from this. The Coalition had a tendency to blame whoever was handiest when things went wrong, and right now, he was in the direct line of fire.

  There was a knock on the door, and Barcon cringed again, wondering who had the temerity to interrupt the governor at a moment like this. The lowly trooper who entered at Sorkost’s angry shout scuttled in, saluted, dropped something on the governor’s desk, mumbled something about it being found at the scene, and then escaped before he was even acknowledged. Something Barcon was certain he would pay for dearly later. But he understood; better a certain punishment later than possible death at the hands of the enraged governor now.

  Sorkost stared down at the card on his desk. Barcon swallowed against the sudden, horrified tightness in his throat; he didn’t have to see it to know it was the calling card of that damnable renegade. He knew it bore the image of the famous curved Ziem saber, and those two ominous words: Without Warning. Which this raid had certainly been.

  The Raider.

  Again.

  Damn the bastard.

  The governor slowly turned around.

  “Tell me, Barcon Ordam,” he said, too calmly now, “how did they get to the transport annex in the first place? Do we not have the mountain trails guarded?”

  Barcon took a breath. This, at least, could not be laid at his door. “A new troop has rotated in. It is assumed that is how they got past, because the new men did not know all the paths.”

  “Were they not shown, trained?” Sorkost demanded.

  “Of course, but only on maps, when they arrived yesterday. And they are not yet used to the mist.”

  Sorkost went very still. Too still. “Are you saying this change of force took place only yesterday?”

  Barcon stopped himself from gaping. Barely. Did the man not know the movements of his own forces? “Yes, sir.”