"Rise, daughter. I see you are still in discomfort," her mother finally said, her voice lacking any hint of concern despite her words.
"Thank you, Mother." Horlastia rose, looking upon her mother's face. "The injury is nothing, a coward's blow. I will not let it stop me from serving you."
"I must admit, Ulfir and I were curious how such a famous and talented mage-warden, the general of my armies, no less, could be so easily defeated."
Horlastia's pulse quickened, pounding in her ears. "She is the crown princess. I never—"
"Was the crown princess," Ulfir said, speaking for the first time.
"Indeed," said her mother. "Tlathia is renegade, dead to me." She sighed, shaking her head. "What a waste. She was always so gifted, so strong. What a queen she'd have made."
"I'll find her on the Old World, Mother. I'll make her pay for what she's done."
Her mother's thin eyebrows rose, her lips curled in amusement. A shiver coursed down Horlastia's spine. "Some among my court"—her eyes flashed to Ulfir—"doubt your intentions, daughter. Some find your survival … suspect. Some think that perhaps you weren't tricked, but spared—as an ally would."
"Name who speaks such lies, Mother, and they shall die screaming. I am loyal."
Ulfir's lips curled into a sneer, his yellow eyes glinted with amusement, and despite her brave words, Horlastia's terror mounted.
Her mother shook her head. In the torchlight, the large gems on her Spider Crown sparkled. Each of those gems had once belonged to a dwarven realm before her mother had ended the war. "My naïve young child, how you amuse me. Were I truly to suspect your loyalty, you'd already be screaming under my torturers' knives. I know your heart." She paused, considering Horlastia. "Although … I was mistaken about Tlathia."
"Not me, Mother. I love you."
"Of course you do. Did your sister, I wonder?"
"Why would she betray you, betray us, Mother? I still don't understand how this could work as a coup."
Her mother's face became even more severe, and cold hatred filled her eyes. "Because it's not a coup. Would that it were so simple. It seems your sister is a heretic, a secret worshipper of the Grandfather."
Horlastia gasped. No! Never in a thousand cycles—
"Apparently," continued her mother, "she and her Blood Knights were all heretics and have been for many cycles, all in secret. Such a deception would be impressive, were it not so disgusting." Her mother looked away, her eyes angry slits. "Her household and all her servants have, of course, been imprisoned for questioning."
Torture and death, Horlastia mused. If they knew, they too are heretics. If they didn't, they're fools. Either way, they'll not be missed. "Of course, Mother."
"Unfortunately, your sister well prepared herself for her treachery and made sure she didn't leave behind any item that Ulfir could have used to track her. What game do you think she plays at?"
"Mother?"
"The Shatkur Orb, the Culling Machine, why sabotage it?"
"She … she must seek to … protect manlings?" The moment she gave voice to the idea, she realized how ridiculous it sounded. Even heretics wouldn't risk their lives to protect manlings. They were little more than animals. Would they?
"Indeed," said her mother. "I came to the same conclusion, however disturbing."
"But why, Mother? To what end? Will she cull them herself to supplant you?"
Her mother ran her hand over her face, looking tired for the first time in Horlastia's life. The royal family was always plotting—such things were to be expected—but Tlathia's betrayal was different, whatever it truly was. That difference made her unpredictable, dangerous. What was she doing? "No, daughter," said her mother with a sigh. "You must look at this through the eyes of a heretic, a Grandfather worshipper."
"I don't understand."
"Because your weakness has been bred from you through the Spider Mother's trials. Tlathia doesn't seek to use the manlings for anything. She seeks to protect them. You must make use of that weakness. Punish the manlings, and your sister will come out of hiding to protect them."
Cold realization washed over Horlastia. As insane as it sounded, the idea made an odd sense. The Benevolent Grandfather praised forgiveness and love, sacrifice of self over others. Heretical, yes, but considered through such a bizarre lens, Tlathia's motives began to make more sense. She had sacrificed everything stealing the Shatkur Orb, even the lives of her Blood Knights.
Horlastia stared at her mother, the skin on the back of her neck tingling. "Will she … will she try to warn the manlings of the invasion? And if so, would they even listen to her? By all accounts, they're fragmented, often warring among themselves. And why bring that foul dwarf servant?"
"I don't know. But she knows I need the orb for the culling. She's a heretic but not a fool. Without that orb, my invasion will fail. That's why she fled to the Old World, to keep the orb from me."
"She'll fail, Mother. We don’t need the orb to launch the invasion and seize the Nexus Star. In three weeks' time—"
"Now, daughter. You will carry the Blood Lance tomorrow."
Horlastia stiffened, feeling the walls closing in on her. Tomorrow? I can't possibly ready the army by then. "Mother, I …"
"Tomorrow, daughter, or I'll find another to take your place."
Her mind reeled, grasping at succor. "What … what about Bale-Fire?"
"Emissaries have been sent. Another bargain has been struck—a decidedly one-sided one, damn your sister. Once again, the wyrm presses his advantage on us. But… once the culling is completed, the price will no longer matter."
Horlastia felt the sword point dangling over her head, but she accepted the inevitable. If the army didn't move tomorrow, she'd die. "Yes, Mother. Tomorrow. I'll kill any commander who isn't ready."
"Do what you must, my daughter, but Ulfir will accompany you."
Ulfir's insolent smile mocked Horlastia, as he no doubt intended.
"Yes, of course, Mother," she said quickly, immediately wondering how she could keep watch over his activities.
"Ulfir," said her mother, "be a dear, and go kill my eldest daughter. Retrieve what she has stolen."
Ulfir climbed to his feet, his frame lanky and muscular. He bowed his half-shaved head, letting his long white hair fall over his handsome features. "It shall be my very great pleasure, my queen."
7
Elizabeth jogged laps on the running track behind the base gym, keeping an easy cadence she could keep for hours if she wanted to. It was early evening still, and warm, even by northern British Columbian standards where the summer temperature rarely rose above 23 degrees Celsius—or 73 Fahrenheit for the American soldiers in the task force—but Elizabeth's mind wasn't on the weather. She had hurt Clara terribly but didn't know what else she could have done. She couldn't live outside the church anymore, not after the scene with her mother. As hard as it had been, breaking it off with Clara had been the right thing to do.
But if it was so right, why did she feel as if she were dying inside?
The construction noise from the new hangar being built echoed over the evening air. According to Clara, the hangar was the surest sign yet the operation was doomed: the army loved wasting money on infrastructure it no longer needed.
She had no doubt the other soldiers would also be transferred out. If there were no more missions to Rubicon, there was little point in keeping elite soldiers sitting around; they were far too valuable. What's next? she wondered. After the Canadian and American Special Forces soldiers were gone, there'd probably only be a skeleton staff left, just enough technicians and maintenance personnel to supervise the base infrastructure. At a glance, there wasn't that much to the Magic Kingdom—the hangar, several dozen buildings, barracks, the gym, offices, as well as the dam infrastructure. But looks were deceiving. There was an extensive underground complex—including the heart of the operation, the Gateway Machine and Jump Tube. Both of which were housed in a vast cavern built atop a natural bedrock de
posit. Will they leave the Gateway Machine here or move it somewhere else? The American government paid for most of the operation, including the dam and its power-generating station. She doubted they'd just leave the expensive technology to collect dust.
And what happens to us—to Cassie and me?
Clara had insisted the army would permit Elizabeth to accompany her to her new position at Canadian Forces Base Petawawa. After all, Elizabeth was a volunteer, not a prisoner. She had insisted the army would jump at any chance to keep its claws in one of the only two magic-users on the planet. Which would have made me what? A magic army wife?
As she finished her lap, she saw Cassie waiting for her near the rear of the gymnasium, where a number of picnic benches sat. Like her, Cassie wore gym shorts and a tan T-shirt with the unofficial Task Force Devil logo, a horned devil with a pitchfork chasing a dragon, emblazoned over the left chest. Elizabeth slowed to a walk and veered toward her friend, but Cassie swept forward and hugged Elizabeth, sweat and all. "Are you okay?" Cassie asked.
A year ago, they had pretty much hated one another. Cassie was bold, rebellious, and breathtakingly beautiful. With her short punk-style haircut and brash confidence, Cassie was everything Elizabeth was not. Worse, she was an avowed atheist and had ridiculed Elizabeth's faith. But Elizabeth had been wrong about Cassie, as she had been wrong about a great many things. Cassie wasn't perfect, but she was fearless, kind, and giving. If not for Cassie and her healing magic, augmented by Cassie's Brace, Elizabeth would have died when the dark elf burned her.
Their relationship had changed that day, grown into a strong bond. After all, they were the only two mag-sens on the planet.
Now, they took pains to avoid discussing religion.
Elizabeth pulled back, holding Cassie at arm's length. "Does everyone know?"
"It's a secret army base, and soldiers gossip way worse than anyone I know. Swamp Thing is worried about you. He wants to go on a bender with you, said some bullshit about voodoo and lions. I told him if he bothered you, I'd use magic to turn his dick into a pinecone."
Elizabeth smiled. Swamp Thing, a.k.a. Staff Sergeant Jules Tio, was one of the American Delta Force soldiers. At six foot three, and some two-hundred-plus pounds of muscle, Swamp Thing—nobody called him Tio—looked more like an NFL linebacker than a Special Forces operator. He had transferred into the operation months ago and within two minutes of meeting Elizabeth had decided she was his voodoo princess, his "mambo," sometimes even his "magic lioness." From that day on, he personally oversaw her weapons and tactics training. Despite Cassie's threat, Swamp Thing knew exactly what the two mag-sens could and couldn't do, and turning things into pinecones wasn't one of their strengths. He meant well, she knew, but he also thought getting stinking drunk was the answer to most of life's problems, and the last thing she wanted right now was to lose control.
"Thanks," she said. "Tell him I'm fine."
"Bullshit." Cassie held her in place, her hands on Elizabeth's shoulders, and stared into her face. "How are you really?"
"I'll live." Elizabeth pulled away, seating herself atop one of the picnic benches, her feet dangling. "Did she—"
"Clara didn't send me," Cassie said, plopping down beside her. "Asking for help isn't her style, but I checked on her anyhow, sly-like."
"Oh." Elizabeth looked away. A group of young men from Bravo Platoon was practicing hand-to-hand combat on the other side of the running track. Elizabeth watched them without really paying attention. "How … how is she?"
"Heartbroken, like you."
"I had to, Cassie. I couldn't do this anymore. I know you don't believe in God, but I do, and it was wrong."
The crack of rifle fire reverberated from the outdoor range. Once, the echo of gunshots had been jarring and unsettling, but now both women had grown accustomed to the regular sound of gunfire. Even if the operation's future was uncertain, the army insisted on some things, and Special Forces soldiers would go squirrelly if they couldn't practice their marksmanship. Several times a week, the task force soldiers honed their shooting skills with rifle, pistol, and heavy machine gun. Sometimes, they even practiced firing the anti-tank weapons, the large M3 Carl Gustav recoilless rifle that reminded Elizabeth of a bazooka, or the smaller tube-launched M-72 Light Anti-Tank Weapon, a LAW. Even Elizabeth and Cassie knew the weapons intimately now and had become decent shots. Over the last year, both women had trained extensively with infantry fire and movement skills, as well as other essential soldier skills such as wilderness survival and navigation. If the missions to Rubicon began again, both women would take turns accompanying the reconnaissance teams. They needed to be ready for that day, even if it never came. Clara said that was the army way. Although they were technically civilians, both women were now as skilled as any other infantry soldier was.
With their magic, they were far more than that. Especially Elizabeth, who was much more powerful than Cassie was with offensive magic. Cassie, on the other hand, was much better at support magic, such as sensing the presence of cloaked mages, or healing, or turning herself and others invisible.
"You're a grown woman," Cassie said. "It's not my place to tell you what's right and what's wrong, but maybe … maybe what you two had wasn't as wrong as you think it was. You were happy. You were both happy. Maybe that's all we get in life."
"Please don't. Besides, she's leaving. Even if I was … really like that—which I'm not—I don't know if the government would just let me move to Petawawa with her."
"Elizabeth … I'm not entirely sure the government cares about us anymore. I know they say we're important and all, but I think it's just talk. They're no closer to understanding how we channel mana than they were the day the dark elf opened her gateway, bringing magic into this world. Dr. Simmons and her team still can't see it or measure it, and I doubt they really understand how we use it. I think … in a year, this place will be nothing more than a barely manned post in the wilderness, with a handful of scientists, technicians—and you and me. I think maybe it's time to move on."
"What will you do?"
"I don't really know, not for sure. I don't really want to help these people anymore, not after what they did to Alex, not after Colonel McKnight was promoted and transferred back to the states. I liked him, but the new management is a bunch of dicks."
Elizabeth sighed and shoved Cassie's shoulder. "They're not all dicks. Dr. Simmons is all right, if a bit nerdy."
"Helena needs to get laid. She thinks measuring magnetic field resonance is the coolest thing on the planet."
Dr. Helena Simmons was one of the few remaining senior staff that was left in place following the unauthorized rescue mission to Rubicon. Because of her position as head of the science department, Dr. Simmons still had a job. But anyone else over the rank of sergeant was gone. "Well," said Elizabeth, "maybe she does need to get out more, but I like her."
Cassie snorted. "The troops are fine—and I like Swamp Thing—but the rest of the senior leadership, especially Colonel 'my shit doesn't stink' Collingway, can suck it."
"They're just afraid we'll start an interstellar war."
"We're not the ones that started anything. That dark elf bitch attacked us. Her pet lizard murdered my sister. I'd stay if we were still running missions to Rubicon, but this?" She paused, gesturing at the base in the wilderness. "Doing nothing but practicing how to shoot? No, thanks. I can do better."
"Sometimes the best course of action is to do nothing. At least this way we won't make things worse."
"You think so, do you?" Cassie arched an eyebrow.
Elizabeth looked away and shook her head. "No. No, I think we haven't seen the last of the dark elves."
They watched the young men practice hip throws and arm locks. Cassie glanced about then lowered her voice. "I'm moving on. I'm no soldier, and for the first time in my life, I can help people, make a difference."
"What are you going to do?"
"Go back to Fort St. John, to the hospital. I've been talking to D
r. Ireland in secret on the phone."
"Cassie, they'll arrest you!"
Cassie shook her head. "I haven't told her anything about this place or Operation Rubicon, but I want to use my magic to help people. For God's sake, I could probably cure cancer—especially with the Brace."
"Don't take the Lord's name in vain. Besides, even if they let you go, Cassie, Collingway will never let you take the Brace with you."
"Colonel Collingway can go to hell… sorry, heck. The Brace is mine. The Great Elder Brother gave it to me, not Task Force Devil. Besides, only you and I can use it. These people would lock it in a safe underground and stare at it. What a waste."
Elizabeth bit her lip and shook her head. "Won't fly. There's no way the government will let you use magic in the open. Besides, what about the legality of it? You think the hospital authorities are just going to let you heal people with magic? No way. The entire planet would freak out. The army would arrest you first and put you in a cell next to Alex."
"Can't. I'm not in the army."
"Don't be so sure."
They sat in silence for a time, watching the sun drop below the tree line, turning the sky a brilliant shade of red. The cry of a loon carried over the forest. Elizabeth exhaled deeply, stared at her hand, then channeled. The picnic table with both women sitting on it floated into the air then slowly spun in place. The soldiers practicing their hand-to-hand combat paused to watch but, accustomed to the two mag-sens, quickly went back to their practice. The picnic table settled once more on the grass.
Gunz (The Dark Elf War Book 2) Page 5