The War (Blood and Destiny #3)

by E. C. Jarvis

  “Anthonium. Well, a derivative of it, in liquid form. Did you know the Eptorans spent centuries perfecting the process of enhancing themselves? It took a lot of failed experiments, people dying in incredible pain, before they got the dosage and frequency just right. Then the volcano went and wiped out everyone who knew the formula, leaving the stories to legend. Thankfully, I discovered the formula in my studies.”

  “What is the point of giving it to me?” Holt tested the leather straps binding his wrists and ankles to the wall at his back, then he noticed the thick chains wrapped around his arms and legs. There was no easy way of escaping such determined bindings.

  “An experiment. I’m finally ready to show my hand to someone very important, and you will serve to assist my presentation. Do you have a name, young man?”

  “Holt,” he said quietly as the pain finally ebbed to nothing more than a dull ache.

  “Good. Nice, strong name.” Covelle turned his back and lit a flame underneath a piece of equipment atop a desk which held a small dish above the fire. He placed a tiny silvery stone into the dish.

  “You’ve been orchestrating this all along,” Holt said. “Orother’s experiments, everything.” His breathing was laboured and he struggled to focus on his words, forgetting all the things he’d learned in his search for those responsible for his brother’s death.

  “Such a narrow vision. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Common-variety men like yourself lack the ability to see the bigger picture.” Covelle chuckled. “It’s that standard lack of perspective which has allowed me to be so successful in my endeavours over the years. Had I known how easy it would be, I would have been more cavalier and taken less time to get to this point. Never mind. Can’t change it now.”

  He paused to dip the syringe into the dish. The stone had melted into liquid. He pulled the liquid into the syringe; it glistened inside with a silvery sparkle. Holt felt his muscles tense at the sight. Then he noticed that Covelle’s sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and his tanned arms were dotted with pink scars.

  “You’ve been injecting yourself,” Holt said, hoping that if he kept the man talking long enough, it would delay the next round of excruciating pain.

  “Yes. Once I knew the key to obtaining the special powers from the element, I simply had to try it out.” He chuckled again and turned away for a moment.

  As he turned back, Holt squinted at his own arms. The tingling sensation intensified and his skin shimmered with a greyish light. Holt blinked and shook his head, trying to snap out of the vision.

  “It’s not a trick of the mind,” Covelle said, heading across the room toward Holt. “The Anthonium has different effects on different people, to varying degrees. There is virtually no way of knowing what enhancement one person will receive until you simply start injecting, or, in the case of children born to enhanced parents, signs don’t show until they reach maturity. It seems your gift will be helpful in regard to my plan for you. Actually, our chance encounter in the desert has worked out rather well in the end.”

  “You may change your mind when I get free of these chains,” Holt said, his voice sounding gruff through a parched throat.

  “You’re welcome to try to break free. This restraint method is rather traditional. I discovered the details of the ancient rituals whilst speaking with a tribe local to the Blue Mountains. Their history is as rich and interesting as it is barbaric.” Covelle fiddled with the syringe in his hands. His voice was soft, deep, and filled with a calm measure of madness.

  Holt wasn’t sure which he found more disturbing—that Covelle was clearly a crazed man with delusions of grandeur or the fact that he was a mastermind in subterfuge. It didn’t help that poor Larissa had such a man for a father; she’d really been very unlucky with the men in her life. A twinge of regret and shame pulled in his chest. If only he could have treated her the way she’d deserved to be treated instead of being so selfish, perhaps she’d still be alive.

  As Covelle continued toward Holt, sending a bolt of fear through his body, Holt rushed to keep him talking a little longer. He wanted to first see how much more information he could extract as to Covelle’s scheming and the reasoning for it, but most of all he wished to delay the inevitable onslaught of pain that would surely follow.

  “How did a Daltonian archaeologist convince the Eptorans to open up their borders to him? Eptorans aren’t usually so accommodating to us,” he asked.

  “Your vision is so narrow, and your opinion of me is so restricted. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I worked very hard to keep it that way. I am much more than you presume me to be. Let’s see if you can piece it together. I was once Professor Ronald Markus, the leading man when it came to Daltonian Empire history. I had more success in digging up ancient artefacts than any other archaeologist who’d ever tried to look. Don’t you think it odd?”

  “I can’t say I followed the career of a man who disappeared a long time ago with that much interest.”

  “Of course not. I’m becoming more interesting to you now, though, am I not? I have your full attention at this moment, wouldn’t you say?” Covelle stopped right in front of him and tapped the syringe on Holt’s bare forearm. Holt felt the muscles in his arm tense, and he could do nothing to hide it.

  “The Eptoran Emperor had a vested interest in me. Since the civil war tore the Daltonian Empire apart and put an end to the bloodline, sitting that ridiculous Hague Senior in the role of President, the two countries have been on the verge of another war. Have you noticed how Hague Senior remained in power, mysteriously becoming elected over and over despite being an appalling leader for the country? Then, as soon as he died, guess what? His son comes to power. They claim to have brought an end to nepotism.” Covelle gave a derisive snort. “They merely replaced one line of ascension with another—one which has no right to be in that position.”

  Holt couldn’t help but nod in agreement at that point. He thought back to his list—if he had failed in the simple task of killing an elderly archaeologist, his chance of ever getting to the President seemed a laughable prospect in retrospect. Covelle’s desire to get rid of the President as well did not lessen Holt’s desire to kill the man.

  “If Daltonia is to have a bloodline running the country, it may as well have the correct one. I am Solomon Covelle, but it is a fake name I stole from an assistant of mine who met an unfortunate end with a Rifarin in the jungles by the Blue Mountains. I am Ronald Markus, but that was the first name I made up when I escaped from the assassins who came to murder my entire family during the civil war. Who I truly am is the last descendant of the last Emperor of Daltonia… Well, perhaps not the last descendant.”

  Covelle paused, his eyes glazing over. “Sadly, there are things I’ve had to leave behind to right the wrongs in this world. Sacrifices I’ve made along the way.”

  “Larissa,” Holt said. His heart sank—perhaps dying from Anthonium poisoning would be apt.

  “It was difficult to leave her behind and even harder to keep my eye on her over all these years from so far away. I had to keep my wife and daughter destitute just to prevent them from running off to start a new life without my knowledge. If it weren’t for that Professor and his constant meddling, she’d be at home, safe and sound and none the wiser about all these things.”

  “And now she’s dead,” Holt said through gritted teeth. Wetness having nothing to do with the pain formed in his eyes.

  “You care for her?” Covelle cocked his head to one side. “First that Professor, and now you? Seems I really did fail in keeping her ignorant and innocent. Ah, well, one would-be suitor down, one to go. You aren’t good enough for her, not with what I have planned. She is my heir and one day will be Empress of Daltonia. I can’t have her with a common man like you for a husband, not even a lover, lest you impregnate her with your inferior seed. That wouldn’t do at all.”

  Holt tried to process everything Covelle was telling him as the mad man lifted the syringe and gripped Holt’s upper arm
, pinching the skin. The man spoke as though Larissa was still alive. Was there a chance she’d survived somehow? But surely Covelle couldn’t know that. Perhaps the man hadn’t even recognised his own daughter and wasn’t aware that she’d been in the volcano. As the burning sting from the liquid Anthonium coursed through his veins, feeling like a thousand needles stabbing him from the inside, all sense and logic dissolved from his mind and sounds degraded into a painful scream.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Saunders sat in a booth at the back of the bar, and Eddy and Simms sat across from him. The leather seat beneath him was ripped to shreds and the tankard of ale on the table in front of him smelled distinctly of piss. Eddy guzzled his ale down regardless while Simms made choking noises in the back of his throat.

  “Sandy will be along in a bit, lovie,” the skinny barmaid said with a smile before heading off to tend to the other patrons, a distinct wriggle in her hips as she walked.

  “Sandy?” Eddy said with a belch.

  “My cousin.”

  “Sandy is short for Saunders, or his name is Sandy Saunders?”

  Saunders opened his mouth to answer when a familiar voice answered for him.

  “She. Her name is Sandy Saunders.”

  Saunders saw Eddy’s mouth drop open just before he turned around to see his cousin looking down at him. Her long brown hair cascaded in ringlets past her shoulders, and she wore a thin, pink slip robe which barely covered any of her important parts.

  “Sandy.” Saunders nodded.

  “Tobin.” She bent forward and kissed him on the forehead. “Don’t drink that piss. No matter how awful I make it, some people still keep coming here to drink it.” She gestured to the patrons behind her. “Keeps up the façade, though. Come with me, we’ll talk in private.”

  She led them through a locked door which led to a narrow corridor barely wide enough to fit through. The dark wood walls stuck out at jaunty angles, and one solemn candle provided the only light in the passageway. Eventually, they emerged into a large warehouse room filled with tools and workbenches and partially built objects whose purposes Saunders couldn’t fathom. In the centre sat a large, round fire pit, burning with an unnaturally green flame yet giving off no heat.

  “What is this place?” Eddy asked as he plucked a tool from a workbench—a long, thin metallic pair of pliers. Sandy grabbed it from him and laid it back down.

  “My workshop. Don’t touch,” she warned. “How can I help you, Tobin? What sort of illusions do you need?”

  “Show her the drawing,” Saunders said to Eddy.

  “I’ve got some far more interesting things than this to show you, cutie,” Eddy said with a wink as he pulled the drawing from his breast pocket and handed it to her.

  “I doubt that very much,” Sandy said, then studied the picture. “What is this?”

  “An Eptoran reconnaissance ship.” Saunders looked over his cousin’s shoulder to peer at the drawing. “It was captured only recently, so if we can work quickly, they might not know it’s missing. If I can secure an airship, can you build an orb to make it look like this?”

  Sandy took a few steps around her workshop, mumbling under her breath, staring down at the page and briefly looking up at the shelves and items of equipment lying scattered around the place.

  “Did you just say build an orb?” Simms whispered, then caught himself as Saunders landed him with a dark stare. “Sir?” he added belatedly.

  “How quickly?” Sandy asked from across the room.

  “I suppose a day isn’t long enough?”

  “A day? Gods, Tobin, I’m touched you think I’m so skilled.”

  “Would it be easier to make it disappear completely?”

  “Are you out of your mind—oh, you’re going after those pirates who destroyed the Hub, aren’t you?”

  “However did you guess?”

  “No need to be snarky. I wish I could have met the maker skilled enough to make an entire airship disappear. I saw that thing as it popped out of nowhere and raced across town to land in the water. I was half tempted to get in a boat and chase after it myself just to shake the hand of the man skilled enough to pull off such a feat.”

  “People died, Sandy. A lot of people. I was almost one of them.” He tapped his leg.

  “Oh, sorry. Tragic, of course, but there’s no denying it was the work of a master. I can’t make a ship disappear, but I might be able to pull off a ruse like this. It’ll take more than a day, though. More like a week.”

  “Fine. You can work on it on the way.”

  “On the way?”

  “To Eptora…with us.”

  A silence descended in the room. Sandy’s gaze met with Saunders’, her eyebrows dancing up in her hairline and pale hazel eyes sparkling. It wasn’t ideal, but he had neither the patience nor the time to sit around for a week waiting for her to do the work.

  “I think you might need to explain things to me a bit more before I agree to do that with you,” Sandy said after a lengthy silence.

  “Agreed.”

  “Um, LT?”

  “Yes, Sargent?”

  “Can you explain things to me too?”

  “And me, Sir?” Simms added.

  Saunders sighed and perched on a nearby stool, wishing once again that he hadn’t quit smoking yet. A cigar would go a long way towards calming his rattled nerves. “There’s a reason they haven’t yet rebuilt the Hub in Aditona. There’s a reason nothing ever gets done in this country. The President doesn’t care if the place is crumbling at his feet. All he cares about is remaining in place as President and destroying Eptora. All the funds are being poured into the military.”

  He turned to Sandy to address her directly. “My commanding officer, Colonel Kerrigan, jumped onto that amazing disappearing ship and disappeared right along with it. He’s the only man I trust in all this crazy shit, and I have orders to bring him back.” His mind jolted back to the box of suicide pills in his pocket, and he grimaced at the memory, pushing it aside and choosing to leave that information out of the explanation. If he were going to convince any of them to go along with his plan—especially Sandy—adding that detail wouldn’t help in the slightest.

  “Kerrigan said the President hasn’t attacked Eptora yet because he can’t get any reliable information on their military capability. Our spies get captured and returned to us emptyhanded or disappear completely. The President has been employing increasingly dubious methods to try to extract information, but to no effect.”

  “All right, LT. Only…how do you know the Eptorans won’t see through this disguise and shoot us the moment we’re in range?”

  “That’s a possibility, but not likely.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re not at war yet, and for some reason, the Eptorans haven’t launched an attack, even though we’ve probably given them enough reasons to do so by now. There’s a reason they’re holding back. That’s what Kerrigan told me, anyway. If we are unfortunate enough to get caught, they’ll probably just deport us.”

  “And why haven’t we attacked? They’ve given us enough reasons to launch an offensive by now as well, haven’t they?”

  “The President doesn’t want to be seen as the aggressor and enter into a war he’s not sure we can win just before an election. Once the vote has passed, he’ll probably give the order right away.”

  “Selfish prick,” Simms said with a grunt. “I don’t know who the fuck voted for him last time, but it certainly wasn’t me.”

  “You weren’t old enough to vote last time, Simms,” Eddy said as he pulled a cigar out of his pocket and went to light it.

  “My comment still stands,” Simms muttered.

  Sandy whipped the cigar from Eddy’s hand and crushed it between her fingers, the tobacco landing in a pile on the floor. “No smoking.”

  “Aw, cutie, you’re concerned for my health already?”

  “This room is filled with flammable items. You light that, we explode. Got it, thughead? Will
he be calling me cutie the whole journey, or can I thump him in the baby-maker every time he does that?” Sandy asked, pointing at Eddy.

  “Baby-maker?” Eddy snorted quietly.

  “Sergeant, show some respect.” Saunders narrowed his eyes.

  “Yes, Sir. Apologies, Miss,” Eddy said with a smile.

  “So, does that mean you will help?”

  “Let me see, fly across the ocean with the chance to make a crazy complicated illusion to infiltrate Eptora versus staying in this craphole of a bar and crafting baby-maker enhancers for the pleasure-stick-challenged men who grace my doorstep? No contest, even with Mister Cutie tagging along.”

  Saunders grinned as Eddy suddenly regarded the long pair of pliers he’d picked up earlier with a look of utter horror.

  “Good, we have a disguise, a purpose, and an Eptoran Colonel.” He nodded at Simms.

  “Sir?”

  “You speak Eptoran, don’t you?”

  “Yes sir. Fluently.”

  “Then you’ll be the senior officer if we have to talk to anyone on the other side of the ocean. I’m hoping we won’t have to actually speak to any Eptorans, but in case we do, you’ll have a temporary promotion. You’ve seen how the top brass act. Just fake it. I’ll brief you on what should be said should the situation arise.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “All we need now is a ship.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Eptoran warship glided gracefully over the palace parapets. It landed in a central courtyard beside an impressive stone fountain shooting a spurt of water into the air. Larissa descended onto solid ground just as the pirate airship bumped down beside them. Though the structure was still missing the skids to keep the keel from toppling over, somehow the men controlling the ship had figured out a way to slow the rotors to keep it perched upright. Just as she stood staring at it, inwardly admiring both Cid’s handiwork and the skill of the Eptoran Captain who’d flown it, she was shoved in the back by the hilt of a sword.

  “Move,” her personal guard, a dark-skinned man with muscles the size of tree trunks, barked at her. Cid walked behind with his own large guard, followed by Kerrigan and two more guards. They walked in a line through the spacious courtyard. Larissa longed to stop and admire the palace architecture; the walls of peachy stone had beautiful patterns carved on every windowsill, doorway, and corner. Everywhere she looked there seemed to be a sullen face looking back at her with a gun or arrow aimed at her head. One man even perched in the branches of a large tree with a weapon pointed in her direction.