With his arm tucked away, Jake moved over to the fallen weapon. Fusar couldn’t quite identify what it was, but it must be something useful considering the price that Jake paid. He set his foot on the weapon’s rear compartment and used his good hand to prime something at the front.
A shaft of pink light beamed from an aperture. A laser saw. Jake killed the beam and prepared to face Gyra once again. She seemed wary of the weapon and advanced cautiously. Jake had a second or two to prime the thing, aiming for her ample midriff. The beam appeared, hitting the Champion right in the belly button. A little smoke appeared but Gyra seemed unharmed. She cackled like a witch and resumed her attack.
“I’ve used those things,” Mandie said. “It’s a mining tool. Optimized for rock, not flesh.”
Fusar nodded grimly. What kind of sadist put that kind of weapon in a fighting pit? Emperor Silvius, that’s who. Killing the saw, Jake feinted one way, then bolted another. Gyra was onto the move, back-handing him a glancing blow that sent him tumbling to the floor. He managed to protect his injured arm and was up and running again before the brute could get to him.
Fusar held her head in her hands - this was almost impossible to watch. Jake had just made an enormous sacrifice, and for what? Gyra had suffered a minor burn, no more. She seemed to have all the answers, and Jake must be fatiguing by now. It was only a matter of time before Gyra cornered him for good. Watching this Trial was like sticking a pin through her eye.
But Jake was anything but predictable. He made it to the other side of the pit and scored a waist-high groove into the rock with his laser saw. More amused than anything, Gyra followed at a leisurely pace. Like everyone else she thought the duellist had no tricks up his sleeve and his death was inevitable.
Jake darted free of Gyra’s grasp, receiving another glancing blow for his trouble. He was certainly playing with fire - if one of those blows hit flush he’d be knocked out and vulnerable to a killing blow. Gyra would probably tear him limb from limb.
Jake’s strategy hinged on futile cat-and-mouse. He escaped Gyra’s clutches once again, showing astounding agility for someone so tall. The crowd was completely silent. Even the animals in the gardens of the Zigurat seemed muted. The pit had become a primal place. Death was hovering, and it was fairly obvious who was marked.
But something stirred in Fusar’s chest when Jake scored another groove in the rock with the laser saw, this one a half-yard above the first. Dignitaries in the crowd looked at each other in confusion - had this guy been struck on the head once too often?
“I think I know what he’s doing,” Mandie said, her voice tight with anticipation. “Ah, Jakey, you gotta be fucking kidding me.”
Fusar didn’t dare ask what it was. Instead she watched in disbelief as Jake evaded yet another heavy-handed attack. If anything, his movement was quicker now than it had been. It was like he was building up to something. He’d been subverting Gyra’s expectations all along, revealing another gear just when it looked like he had nothing left in the tank.
He burst through the Jaj’s grasp yet again, his temple bleeding from another blow. His movement was so irregular that Gyra found it difficult to hit him. Still, the Imperial Champion barely had a scratch and wasn’t working too hard. Jake would still need some kind of miracle if he was going to bring her down.
Lugging the laser saw with his intact hand, he scored a third groove in the far wall. It was now clear what he intended to do, and the crowd rippled with excitement as he dumped the saw and bolted back along the wall. Gyra was more interested in the weapon, making a point of smashing it against the wall. She didn’t seem to grasp the implication of Jack’s ‘stone work’.
“Go, Jake!” Fusar howled, caught up in the crowd’s fervor.
The Emperor looked stonily at her from across the pit - he knew something was up. All Jake had to do was evade Gyra one more time. She closed in with a wicked grin, thinking he was done. Jake bolted forward, took a hit, then used the momentum to slingshot free of her grasping hands.
The crowd roared in ecstasy as the duellist sprinted to the far side and goaded Gyra with a lewd gesture. She growled and stomped across the floor with murderous intent.
“Move, Jake!” Fusar screamed.
Gyra accelerated into the same move that had turned Pallas Semplar into red paste. Jake used the grooves in the wall to elevate himself, then launched onto Gyra’s bloated head. Straddling her neck with his powerful thighs, he set to work ripping her braids out one by one. The hulking Champion tried to swat at him, but he weathered the blows with unbreakable fortitude.
Gyra seemed to lose focus, stumbling into the wall and inadvertently shoving an elbow through a weapon cavity. The force field flickered and died. Gyra squealed in pain and twisted violently, throwing Jake from her back. The duellist had managed to rip half her braids free.
It was enough. Gyra lost what little neural functioning she had left, letting loose a feral bellow and stumbling like a drunk. Tracking her movement carefully, Jake padded over to the shorted cavity and took the plasma pistol sitting there.
Finally spotting Jake, Gyra rushed at him with white anger. With the cool professionalism of a seasoned fighter, the duellist lined up his shot and sent a plasma bolt between her eyes. It stopped her momentum a little, but she kept coming. A second bolt took a fist-sized chunk from her warty neck and ruptured an artery. Gyra the Dominant was dead before she reached Jake, her quivering body pinning him to the wall.
69
Fusar was immediately up on her feet and halfway to the drop shaft. She rode the shaft to the bottom and found herself in a cool alcove. Jake’s utility suit hung by the wall. A pit keeper stood by the door.
“Open it now, fucker,” she snarled, genuinely ready to kill.
The shocked pit keeper obliged. Fusar covered the width of the pit in a flash, pulling Gyra’s bulbous body with all her might. With a desperate effort she managed to roll her over, revealing Jake slumped against the wall. She knelt next to him, nursing his bloody head in her lap.
“Jake,” she said, tears flowing freely. “I love you, Jake. More than you know.”
Jake coughed and stirred, focusing on Fusar through slitted eyes.
“I thought we’d been through that already,” he drawled.
Fusar laughed out loud, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead.
“I’m sorry,” she said, barely able to breathe. “How can a girl resist her Champion?”
Jake mustered a thin smile before passing out. The thud of boots on the pit floor suggested help was on the way. Fusar was gently led away by brown-robed medic.
“He’s in Imperial care, now,” he said soothingly. “We need to stabilize him.”
Fusar nodded blankly.
“Come with me, Fusar,” Mandie murmured, appearing out of nowhere. “We’re not safe here.”
Fusar looked at all the shocked faces in the pit. The Emperor’s Champion had been beaten. That meant the Emperor had been beaten. Fusar had been so focused on the Trial of Champions she hadn’t even considered what might happen now. From what she’d seen of Jaj culture, the transition would be brutally efficient.
Silvius himself pushed his way through the throng, arm extended, hand trembling, future unknown.
“Congratulations, farlen,” he said in a controlled tone. “Your victory today is one for the ages. Ebessa will still be buzzing with it in two hundred years.”
“If Ebessa survives the next two weeks I’ll be happy,” Fusar said pointedly.
“I’m aware of what you intend, Empress Majesta,” Silvius said through gritted teeth. “I just hope you’re not sending thousands of paladins directly to the slaughterhouse.”
“The responsibility is mine alone, Silvius,” Fusar said coldly. “I must take my leave. You will understand there is much to do.”
“Clan Frajaa is an ancient family with a glittering history of Imperial service,” Silvius said. “I trust you will not forget that in your deliberations.”
�
��I will be calling on all Great Clans to support the war effort in equal measure,” Fusar replied.
By this stage Jake had been carried away by the Imperial medics. Taking her leave, Fusar followed Mandie into the adjacent room and continued down a dark corridor. A commotion could be heard up ahead. Mandie drew her gun - there were too many strangers milling around for her liking. Zigurat security was, for the moment, curiously absent.
At the end of the corridor two Barras Clan stewards were forcibly preventing the Imperial medics from continuing down the passage.
“I demand free passage in the name of the Empire!” the Head Medic declared.
“Empress,” a steward said, noticing Fusar’s arrival. “We have medical facilities on the cruiser. I am a trained medic. I strongly recommend we run security checks in the Zigurat before we engage Imperial services.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Fusar said. “Medics, you are dismissed. Now.”
Fusar hadn’t meant to leverage her power so soon, but Jake’s life was at risk. There was little reason to trust these medics after what they’d done to her. And it was rather suspicious how quickly they’d tried to whisk Jake away. Some final nastiness organized by Clan Frajaa? It was a paranoid thought, but Fusar had just entered a whole new world of danger.
The medics bowed and clicked their heels.
“Your Excellence,” they murmured before disappearing through the door.
“Consider yourselves promoted,” Fusar said to the enterprising stewards. “Take Jake up the drop shaft. We’ll follow.”
Confusion reigned in the amphitheater. Dignitaries stood in circles discussing the amazing events of the day. When Fusar reappeared, there was a general clamoring for a word with the teenage Empress. Mandie summoned every sky-blue tunic she could see, gathering Clan members around them.
With a sizable escort, they were able to push their way through the throng to the landing pad. Fusar had several moments of panic along the way. All it would take was one loyalist to put a plasma bolt through her heart. If that wasn’t enough to deal with, Jake’s breathing was worryingly shallow.
Fusar relaxed just a little when they had Jake safely on board the cruiser and raised the aft gangway behind him. The stewards set about their medical work quickly and efficiently.
“Fusar …” Jake groaned, slipping into delirium. “Fusar …”
Fusar exchanged a worried glance with Mandie.
“Your Excellence,” came a halting voice. It was Renna Barras, one of the elder Clan members. “There’s someone here for you. He’s waiting outside.”
Fusar permitted the gangway to be lowered, but only on the proviso that several stewards occupy defensive positions. Standing at the head of an entire company of troops, a paladin General waited at the bottom. Fusar recognized his swarthy features - it was General Teronde from the military moon Anscha.
“Your Excellence,” he said with a bow. “I took the liberty of traveling here on the slight chance that you were successful. My men are in position to execute a stand-down of all existing Imperial troops garrisoned in Ebessa. I highly recommend the action.”
The sight of the General standing out there in the plaza filled Fusar with immense relief.
“Begin your operations, General,” she said. “Let me know when the Zigurat is secure.”
General Teronde clipped his heels.
“Oh, and General?”
“Empress Majesta?”
“What made you come?”
“I investigated this Champion of yours,” came the reply. “Pieced together a detailed biography, including visual footage. Let’s just say we felt the odds shortened. He’s quite a warrior.”
“I agree, General,” Fusar said, feeling a stab of emotion. “I agree.”
Fusar watched the General go. She didn’t know him very well, but was fast learning to trust her instincts. She was Empress. The very word sent shivers down her spine and turned her stomach into a quivering mess. How the hell had this happened? Was she playing with forces she had no control over?
The only answer was yes. She had no experience with statecraft or the subtleties of ruling. She’d only been in Jaj airspace for a few weeks. Her swift elevation spoke of deeper problems and vulnerabilities in Jaj society. That she could assume such iconic status in such a short time suggested a people crying out for direction. For hope.
And yet Fusar didn’t know how to service those intense desires. Beyond sending the vast paladin army to war, she had no vision for the future. In fact, in her quieter moments she’d already started planning her succession to Yerto Barras. Now there was a man much more credentialed to lead an Empire.
Fusar’s mind was a whorl of conflicting emotions as she went to check on the real hero in all this - Jake Le Sondre. She couldn’t get the image of his severed hand out of her mind. Would the medics be able to save it? The duellist had been shifted to a med capsule in a cool, dark room. The Clan medic took Fusar aside and spoke in a low voice.
“That hand can’t be replaced,” he said. “The force field shredded the nerve endings.”
“What can be done?” Fusar asked anxiously.
“Once the Zigurat has been greenlit for Barras personnel, we’ll have access to the medical center. With an Advanced Medical Interface, we can fit cybernetic implants.”
Fusar blinked. “This is the Jaj we’re talking about here.”
The steward had to smile at that. “We’re not nearly as advanced as the Nostroma when it comes to augmentation, but the Imperials had a program.”
Fusar nodded - it was enough for now.
“When can we transfer him to the Zigurat?”
“As soon as you receive a security report, Empress.”
Fusar pursed her lips. She’d forgotten that these matters depended on her now.
“Your Excellence,” Renna Barras said from the doorway. “The people wish to see you. A way has been cleared to the Receiving Hall. General Teronde’s men have given it the all clear.
Fusar sighed, knowing that affairs of State were going to weigh her down.
“Lead the way, Renna.”
Mandie was waiting outside the room.
“Keep watch over him,” Fusar said, meeting her eyes.
“Of course,” she replied. “He’s gonna be OK, Fusar. Just so you know.”
Fusar believed her. The mercenary had seen enough battles to know the living from the dead.
It had only just gone noon, which felt odd. The morning had been spectacularly full. General Teronde and a detachment of his men escorted Fusar across a plaza awash with people. The crowd had doubled in size since the duel.
Word of Fusar’s successful Challenge had clearly spread like wildfire. She supposed she couldn’t really blame these people for wanting a glimpse of the first new Empress in more than two centuries. If she was citizen of downtown Ebessa, or any of the core worlds for that matter, she’d be celebrating hard. After all, the sleeping giant had finally awoken. All it had taken was an orphaned Jaj girl and a battered, grizzled Nostroma. No matter what happened now, the Jaj Empire would never be the same again. The die had been cast - the Jaj Empire was going to war.
Fusar tried to keep that in mind as she waved to the many thousands of fans she had instantly accumulated. The cheer that followed her across the plaza was electric. It was as if the lid had been blown off a pressure cooker. An yet, these people weren’t guaranteed a golden reign. Fusar was a effectively a warmonger. She could only promise blood. Forty-thousand paladins were going to war and each of them belonged to families and clans.
A shadow passed over her as she passed into the magnificent Palace of the Fallen. She was marched straight to the throne in the Receiving Hall. The paladins fanned out behind her as she hesitantly took her seat. Thankfully General Teronde cut through the hyper-surrealism of the moment when he appeared at her side.
“Your Excellence,” he said. “Before we admit other Great Clans and issue your first Executive Order, on behalf of the Paladin Legi
ons I’d like to present you with a token of our support.”
The General handed Fusar a small pin fashioned from platinum. It was a stylized helm, the kind made famous by Jaj paladins the galaxy over. Filled with emotion, she pinned it to her jacket.
“You are now one of us,” the General said with a grin.
Fusar smiled back, her lip trembling. For some reason the gift meant much, much more to her than becoming Empress. It was a gesture of faith and trust. Of acceptance. Something she’d craved all her life but never had.
“There’s something I should tell you, General,” Fusar said. “Two days ago my friends and I were accosted by four paladins under the command of Emperor Silvius. We killed them.”
Fusar searched the General’s eyes for hostility and found none. Instead, he wore a vaguely confused expression.
“I would expect any of my men to fight like you did,” he said. “Your deeds precede you, Empress Majesta. I have no quarrel.”
Fusar nodded. The Jaj had a knack of surprising her at every turn.
“There’s much I have to learn, General,” she said with a sigh.
“Just be yourself,” he urged, signaling one of his men to open the doors. “If anyone asks for detail, I’ll step in.”
Fusar blinked as the leaders of all the Great Clans began filing into the Hall. She noticed that Clan Frajaa’s colors had been removed from the walls. The other Senators nodded respectfully before taking their seats. All eyes rested on Fusar. She realized she was expected to make a formal greeting.
“Welcome, Senators,” she said stiffly. “As you are no doubt aware, Clan Barras assumed leadership today on the back of a successful Trial of Champions.”
Many of the Senators murmured their support and agreement.
“We gather today to officially recognize my reign, and also to issue my first Executive Order.”
There was little surprise in the faces of these grizzled men.
“Gentlemen - we are going to war. The Cava05 gather on our borders with the clear intent to invade. My predecessor stored his faith in our solid defenses, but I respectfully posit that he was misguided. We need to attack. And attack we will. I will not divulge the details of my plan, but I believe I have found a weak spot in the Cavan defensive line. A weak spot our Paladins will exploit.”
Five Empires: An Epic Space Opera Page 49