Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series

by Nicholas C. Rossis

  She bit her lower lip. “When I fought with Parad, why do you think I did it?”

  “For the Capital.”

  “Ruled by crazy Styx. Do you think I fought for her?”

  David stared at her in sullen silence for a moment before shaking his head.

  “You bet it wasn’t for her,” she continued. “When you hold the line, you don’t think of ideals, rulers, or countries. You only care about one thing: survival. And the one thing you dread the most is someone dropping their shield and running, breaking formation. This means death for everyone. So, it’s them you fight for; your fellow soldiers, your brothers in arms. I fought for my unit, my men, my…” Sadness crossed her face at the memory of Parad. “For the people we love. That’s who we fight for, David. Our friends. Our family. Who’s your family?”

  He studied the frothing liquid in his cup. “You don’t understand,” he whispered after a while. “With you it’s so simple. When the Voice left me, I lost more than my family; I lost my family for a second time. She was my compass, my everything. I have no one to show me the way.”

  “Is that why you’re so fixated on this Lady of yours? You think you might win your Voice back?”

  David said nothing, continuing to glare at the foamy liquid in his cup. She covered its top with her palm, forcing him to look up at her. “David, she’s not your family. The people who took you in, who treated you like one of their own, they are your family. The people you’ve left behind.”

  He stayed silent for a moment, his fingers drumming the table, then glanced at the door and leaned back. “I think I’d better hurry to Anthea. Care to join me?”

  “And miss all the fun?” She chuckled. “Nah, I’m off to Malekshei. I have a score to settle.” She clasped his hand and he squeezed it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning close to her. “Will you tell him that?”

  “You tell Lehmor yourself when you come back from Anthea with all those troops.”

  “To friends,” he said and raised his cup. Both Gella and Ram raised theirs.

  “To friends,” they said in unison.

  The Marshes

  Teo

  “She what?” Teo exploded and flung his goblet at the messenger. The man ducked, narrowly avoiding the heavy, jewel-studded chalice, but not its contents. Wine splashed on him, soiling his uniform.

  “How could she escape?” Teo continued and swore at the trembling man. “Leave!” he ordered after a string of especially insulting suggestions concerning the hapless messenger’s lineage, and his mother in particular. The man flung the door open to dash outside. “Stop!” Teo shouted at him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I… You said…” the man stammered.

  “Close the door and wait here. You will deliver a letter to Gauld personally, as your punishment.”

  The messenger hung his head and staggered to a corner of the spacious tent, while Teo prepared his stamp and writing utensils. “There’s only one way to save this,” he muttered, tenting his short fingers, “but we must hurry. He speared the messenger with his gaze. “I want you to make no stops on your way to Jonia. Is that understood?”

  The terrified man nodded eagerly his understanding.

  “Good. Now…” He turned his attention to the paper facing him and started scribbling down angry, narrow letters, mumbling to himself as he did.

  “My dear Paul… You should not have attempted to rescue Satori. That was annoying...” He bit a nail in thought, then continued. “Your rescue attempt has failed. But do not despair; Satori is safe, and my offer still stands…”

  This is thirsty work. He smacked his lips and raised a hand in demand. The messenger hurried to fill him another goblet with wine, then returned to his corner.

  A few minutes later, Teo stopped to admire his handiwork. “This will only work if you arrive before she does. If you as much as stop to piss, I’ll have your skin! Which is preferable to what I’ll do to you if you breathe a word of this to anyone.”

  He placed the wax on top of a candle and waited for a few seconds, then poured it onto the rolled paper and pressed it with his ring. When it had set, he motioned for the messenger to approach.

  “On the other hand, if you don’t screw this up, I’ll reward you beyond your wildest dreams.”

  The man gaped at him, then grabbed the paper and dashed out of the room.

  May 307 AL

  Anthean Sea

  David

  David breathed in the intoxicating, salty smell of the sea. The waves crashed against the hull of the small ship, now slowing down as it neared the port. Soon it would perform a perfect semicircle to reach the pier with its aft side. He was sitting at the edge of the small galley, gazing at the sparkling sapphire waters. The white crest of the waves, tinted gold by the late afternoon sun, had an almost hypnotic effect on him and he lost track of time observing their steady rhythm as they lapped the ship’s smooth bow. Absorbed by the dazzling sight, he failed to notice a tall man sneaking towards him. The stranger produced a sharp dagger, hiding it from the passengers within his tunic.

  As the man slipped behind him, Ram boomed a warning. David spun around, startled, and the blade narrowly missed him. His heart raced as Ram rushed towards them. David raised his hand and his Sheimlek-dar sprang to life. With a sudden jerk of his strong leg, the man leaned back to bring his foot up to David’s wrist. The weapon flew away, landing on the wooden deck with a thick clang, turning into a simple bracelet again. David jumped towards it, but the man kicked it farther away, chuckling when it landed at the other end of the galley. A soft curse escaped David’s lips as he realised he could not reach it without going through the stranger. His eyes darted around for something to fight with, but he knew he was easy prey if not for his Maasai bodyguard.

  His assailant whirled towards the new threat, his lips twitching into a smug smile. He’s actually enjoying this! David thought, shocked. He found it hard to stop staring into the man’s hungry, pale, icy blue eyes. The stranger’s head was shaved, blond stubble showing on his thick skull. Colourful tattoos of demons covered his bulging muscles; he did not seem to have an ounce of fat on his body. With a gasp, David realised this must be the man Lehmor had warned them about. If he’s as dangerous as Lehmor said…

  Ram tore aside his white robe, but he need not have hurried: the assassin was waiting patiently for him to remove his clothing. It’s all a sport to him. Underneath, the Maasai was wearing a leather jerkin, painted red like a shuka; his people’s traditional outfit.

  People screamed down the galley’s narrow stairs as Ram produced his trusted ol alem, and the two large men started a lazy circular dance around each other, measuring up their opponent. “Run!” Ram ordered, but David knew he could not leave his protector. Even if he could, where would he go? They were on a boat, after all. He shook his head, mesmerised by the battle before him.

  Before Ram had a chance to repeat his command, the assassin made the first move, a swift jabbing motion that the tall Maasai blocked with ease. He immediately countered with his own attack, thrusting his blade in a confident motion. The man swirled and the sword entered the empty fabric of his long tunic. Ram pulled sharply and the garment flew towards him, entangling the blade. David noticed that the assassin was wearing a dark brown leather vest underneath. It flew open to reveal more tattoos of demons, tigers and dragons that covered his entire torso. His hard, deadly body glistened with fine perspiration, but his breath was slow and measured.

  David took advantage of the fight to crawl behind them, in an attempt to reach his bracelet. Noticing him, the tattooed man stepped backwards to kick it away with his foot. Ram took advantage of the distraction to free his blade from the man’s tunic, and the assassin turned his attention back to him, slashing with his dagger. The tall Maasai spun around and avoided it with ease, using the missed attack to thrust his own weapon at his assailant. It scratched the man’s chest as he was turning, and slid off his skin, making Ram lose his balance and st
umble. David’s breath caught. What is he made of?

  A second blade appeared as if by magic in the assassin’s left hand and Ram’s trajectory led him straight to it. He crashed on it with all his weight. The edge missed the end of his leather jerkin, effortlessly sliding into his kidney until only the hilt emerged from his body. The assassin pulled it out in one swift, whirling motion, tearing up the flesh and leaving behind a gaping wound. Ram staggered and put a hand over the feverish red blood gushing out of his body. It streamed between his fingers, as he stared at it in disbelief. David let out a loud cry when the assassin swirled around to plunge his other knife in Ram’s throat, then elbowed him away. The warrior was dead before he crashed against the ship’s deck, his blood soaking the wood.

  David searched in vain the empty galley for help. His mind screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to obey. This gave the assassin all the time he needed to studiously wipe his blades clean on Ram’s white robe, leaving behind bright red smudges. He then turned his attention to David and his lips curled upwards. The previously dead blue eyes now had a small fire burning within, as if the Maasai warrior’s death had fed a baleful fire within the man. It was almost hypnotic, but then three armed sailors climbed the stairs. “Nobody move,” their leader shouted, breaking the spell.

  The assassin spun around to face them, grinning wildly. David glanced around him in panic. The men were no match for the assassin; their bravery would only buy him a few precious seconds. The ship was about to enter the port when the fighting began, and its path had brought them near the shore. The vessel now drifted parallel to the bank of a muddy river washing away into the sea’s emerald waters. He frantically calculated the distance; they were close enough for him to cover it in maybe fifteen minutes at a brisk pace. With any luck, his assailant would not even know how to swim.

  A scream sounded behind him, and David stole a look at the battle. One of the sailors was already sprawled dead on the deck, while their leader was on his knees, holding his chest in a vain attempt to stop a jet of blood. The third one gaped at his shipmates in terror, then bolted down the stairs when the assassin moved closer. David sprang towards the bracelet and snatched it before lunging over the short wooden rail and into the cool water.

  A wave swallowed him for one terrifying moment, then he emerged splashing to steal a look at the boat. His face sagged at the sight of the assassin preparing to follow him into the sea. David palmed the bracelet and tried to place it on his wrist with trembling fingers, then the image of Ram’s blood gushing from the Maasai’s slit throat sucked away all his confidence. Instead, he put it into his pocket and started for the shore. With each stroke it loomed larger; he would make it there first. The tattooed man would have no trouble spotting him on the land, though. The man was faster and fitter. If he could find him at sea, he would have little trouble tracking him on land.

  His thoughts a feverish jumble, David headed towards the tall reeds that covered the length of the bank. He stole a glance behind him. The sight of the assailant gliding effortlessly towards him alarmed him, making him swim with renewed frenzy towards the shore. As he approached the leafy stems, a broken hollow stalk floating on the water scratched his face. He grabbed it with unsteady fingers; it had half his height but he could see the sun shine at the other end when he placed it against his eye, which meant that air could travel through it unobstructed. Clutching at it feverishly, he was relieved to find no cracks or tears in its side, so he took a deep breath and dove into the water.

  He did not dare emerge again to see where he was going, and forced himself to open his eyelids, ignoring the sting of the salty water. He tugged sharply to the left, to ensure that the man would not be able to guess his destination, and continued swimming underwater. The water was rapidly becoming murkier as he approached the river’s estuary. Soon, thick sludge hid everything from sight. He fought through the reeds until he could hardly move between their hard stalks and roots.

  Still holding his breath, a strange serenity engulfed him, almost as if he no longer needed to breathe. He guessed he was about to faint; every second counted. With trembling fingers he placed one end of the broken reed into his mouth, pushing it upwards until it finally broke through the surface of the water. Fresh air filled his lungs, which he gulped hungrily, then brackish water filled his mouth. He cringed and swallowed, ignoring the burning in his throat, before silently pushing the reed a little higher. He forced himself to breathe normally in an effort to stop his adrenaline-induced shaking.

  He did not care how uncomfortable he was, or how long he would have to wait there; in fact, he decided to stay underwater until nightfall, well hidden within the safety of the muddy waters and the thick roots and stalks. There was no way he was getting out before he had convinced the tattooed man he had drowned. The image of the man slaughtering Ram and the sailors flashed in his head, and he shivered. If the Iotas had found him here, how much time did Malekshei have?

  Jonian Sea

  Paul

  Even as a child, Paul had loved the sounds of the sea, from the soft melodic swooshing it made as it licked sand-covered feet, to the roaring of waves breaking against jagged rocks. He tried to remember the feeling of the sun on his bare back, pebbles against his chest, the forgiving sea washing away all his troubles, the pinpricks of small fish nibbling at his ankles. He would need a lot of forgiveness today…

  He gazed at the vast fleet surrounding his vessel. The nine largest cities had managed to gather three hundred and fifty-three ships; the greatest fleet the seas of Pearseus had ever seen. They had done so despite the wrecking war and Teo’s threatening armies closing in on them. The fleet covered a distance of almost two miles, with Jonia’s eighty ships holding the all-important middle.

  “A good day to fight,” the admiral said behind him. She was right; the sea was calm, a steady breeze blowing from the east. The satisfaction in her voice was unmistakeable. They had been waiting impatiently for almost a fortnight stacked inside the wooden vessels, while Teo’s army ravaged Jonia. Paul would not fight until he had heard the news from the rescue operation. News that had finally arrived that morning.

  Feeding fifty thousand sailors was hard enough, without an advancing army cutting off supplies. Now, however, the long wait was over.

  “Here they come,” someone cried out. In the distance, the Capital’s fleet approached, carried by the gentle wind.

  Paul heard commands shouted behind him. His fingers slipped into his pocket, to touch the crumbled piece of paper that had delivered the news. There was no delaying the inevitable.

  Around him, whistles blew and men scurried about, raising tall sails. He ground his teeth and spun around, grabbing the admiral on her shoulder as she dashed towards the bridge. “We’re leaving. Give the order.”

  Her jaw slackened. “Sire?”

  “You heard me. All of Jonia’s ships are leaving. Give the command.” She stared at him, unmoving. “Now!” he barked, snapping her out of her stunned silence. “Yes, sire,” she mumbled, confused, and swirled round, roaring commands.

  The same wind that carried Teo’s vessels now pushed Jonia’s out of the way. Seeing the retreat, the edges of the line crumbled, ships scurrying off in all directions. A few followed them to safety, while some crashed into each other in the confusion. He clenched his fists.

  Satori… I hope someday you’ll forgive me.

  The left flank pushed forward, in a brave attempt to disentangle from the collapsing front and engage the enemy. Within minutes, they crashed against Teo’s right flank, while the rest of his fleet moved to encircle them.

  “They are doomed,” the admiral’s voice said behind him, dripping with bitter accusation. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the glint of a dagger as her silhouette approached him. “Traitor!” she exploded and lunged at him, years of military discipline finally crumbling down, under the weight of his actions.

  Paul twirled and knelt, raising his left hand in reflex. The dagger slit his elbow a
nd he grabbed the admiral’s wrist with his right hand, pulling her towards him. He swivelled to the side, and her own momentum sent her to crash against the parapet. Before she had a chance to face him again, Paul drew his own dagger and plunged it deep into her kidney. She howled in pain as he grabbed her short hair and smashed her head against the wooden railing. He kept banging it in blind fury until all life oozed out of her. Only then did he release his grip, allowing her listless body to slide onto the hard floor, now slippery with blood.

  “Your anger made you careless,” he whispered as he knelt to remove his dagger.

  He stood up again, his eyes meeting the shocked stares of everyone on board in silent challenge. One after another, the crew lowered their heads and scurried to their tasks. Paul fixed his gaze on the horizon, which was rapidly turning red with flames. It’s over. Jonia’s lost. He brought to mind Teo’s letter and removed it from his pocket to read it once again.

  Your rescue attempt has failed, Teo wrote. But do not despair, Satori is safe, and my offer still stands. You once told me that if your revolt succeeds, they’ll erect a statue of you with a plaque writing, ‘this is where the revolt started’. Do you remember my answer? “And if it fails,” I told you, “this is where they’ll hang you”. My friend, idealists may start revolutions, but it is cynics who end them. You and me, we can end this. Here’s what I need you to do…

  The wind carried shouts and curses, but none of that mattered to him. Not as long as Satori was safe.

  Jonia

  Satori

  “Finally, our moment of glory is upon us,” the marshal said and gestured towards the sea, filled with myriads of vessels of all sizes and types, from galleys to schooners.

  Satori chuckled at pompous talk, but she had to admit it felt appropriate this time. Her heart pounded with excitement at observing the sea battle that would define Jonia’s future.