by Thomas Locke
“Absolutely.” Dillon revealed a warrior’s grin. “Let’s go wake the guy up.”
48
As the two Praetorians started their windup, Sean stepped over to Anyon and said, “I owe you an apology.”
The Ambassador kept his stern visage aimed at Dillon and Carver and their growing tempests. “Do you?”
“I didn’t need to talk to you like that. And I sure didn’t need to do it in public.”
The two tornadoes sucked up debris and shrubs and rocks and outlying structures. When Dillon plucked up the entire stone shrine, all of Logan’s crew cheered.
Anyon surveyed the impact Carver’s whirlwind was having on the empty market stalls bordering the town. “I appreciate your apology. But upon reflection, I think your comments and tone were both well deserved.”
Sean had no idea how to respond.
Anyon turned to face him. “For any slight and slur, every wrong assumption and dark thought, every mistake I have made regarding you and your brother, I apologize.”
“Ambassador, sir, I . . .” Sean decided the only words that really fit were, “Thank you.”
Anyon offered a Diplomat’s smile—a hint of warmth, a brief easing of the lines of care and concern. Then he said, “Perhaps now would be a good time to consider our options once this so-called duke surrenders.”
When the whirlwinds reached their zenith, Dillon yelled at Carver, “You cover the parapets. I’ll knock on Tiko’s door.”
Carver’s only response was to make a grand windmill motion with his arm. As he did so, the funnel turned on its side and began a slow and gradual demolition of the castle’s fortifications. The faint sound of screams and clanging bells sounded from unseen courtyards. Carver’s tempest moved steadily from left to right, giving the castle a Praetorian haircut.
As Dillon tightened his funnel into a writhing, greyish-yellow battering ram, one of Logan’s crew screamed, “Grey Blade! Grey Blade!”
The attacker did not stand a chance.
A hundred rocks struck him at once. A thousand. The ditrinium suit might have protected him against transit force. He also must have had some sort of portable shield of his own.
But he had no protection against the mountain that fell on top of him. And just kept building.
Sean had space for one thought, wondering how the man could transit from inside that suit. Then Dillon shifted the funnel over sideways and yelled, “Knock knock!” He flung his whirlwind at the palace’s main portals. The entire funnel disappeared into the palace.
Carver dropped his arms, allowing his own tempest to fade into a torrent of rocks and dust.
Sean only noticed the tornadoes’ clamor now, when it was reduced to a muted growl. They could hear more shouts and wails from inside the palace, punctuated by several great crashes.
Every window in the palace blew outward. The three towers that had been sliced open by Carver’s tempest shot out great spumes of dust. The one still-intact tower blew its top.
Carver said, “I think they’ve probably had enough.”
Dillon lowered his arms. The clattering rumble faded away.
The silence was overwhelming.
Anyon turned to Brodwyn and said, “General, perhaps you should lead the way.”
49
Gerrod and the Cygnean militia entered the castle forecourts in force, supported by half of Logan’s crew. Sean waited with the senior officers. General Brodwyn and Anyon both agreed that their approach to the palace must take place according to the time-bound protocol of victors.
As they waited for the all clear, Sean was struck by a sudden realization. The shock was electric.
Dillon saw the change and demanded, “What’s the matter?”
Sean waved him away, desperate to keep weaving the tendrils of realization together into a cohesive form.
Dillon laughed softly. “Everybody else is getting ready to celebrate. But my brother’s already moved on to the next crisis.”
The problem was, Dillon was right. Everything Sean had been experiencing on the periphery became the center of it all.
Their imprisonment, the trial, Kaviti and his secret cadre, the Grey Blades, Logan and his team, even this assault on Tiko’s stronghold—all of it faded into the background.
Anyon must have heard Dillon’s comments, for he stepped closer and demanded, “What is it?”
Sean’s mouth opened and shut twice. He could see it all coalescing. But he wasn’t there yet.
Anyon, however, was not made for patience. “Can we proceed?”
Carver found the exchange important enough to translate for the locals. The fact that the senior representative of the Human Assembly had just asked permission from his most junior aide was not lost on anyone. They waited together until Sean finally spoke.
“There’s a problem. A big one. But it’s not here.”
“Connected to this current situation?”
On this point, Sean was definite. “Absolutely.”
“Are we safe?”
“For the moment.” Sean hated being the one to dilute the moment of triumph with more worries. Yet he had no choice. “But not for long.”
As soon as Gerrod sent word that the area was secure, they entered the palace forecourt with Logan’s remaining crew on full alert. Dillon and Carver led the way. The Cygnean militia stood sentry over a multitude of palace guards and courtiers, all of whom looked utterly wasted by the assault. They were filthy, their features slack with shock, their fancy palace uniforms in utter ruin. As was the palace itself. Huge cracks ran up the front walls. The entire doorway and surrounding stonework were just gone.
Anyon said to Carver, “Check the prisoners for any of our own.”
Carver said, “They would already have transited.”
“No doubt. But we must be certain.”
They passed through the vanished portal and entered the demolished main hall. A trio of Gerrod’s force stood guard around a terrified dignitary. One of the soldiers saluted Brodwyn and said, “This one claims to be Tiko’s senior aide.”
The man’s uniform was a shambles of torn lace and missing buttons. His hair formed a rat’s nest around his filthy face. He cried in a tense falsetto, “What is the meaning of this unlawful incursion into Duke Tiko’s—”
General Brodwyn carried such authority that a simple lifting of her hand silenced the man. She demanded, “Do you have authority to speak for your duke?”
“I, er, that is . . .”
“It’s a simple enough question. Do you or do you not serve as your leader’s official spokesperson?”
“Yes, that is, within reason, but—”
“I am General Brodwyn, military representative of the Cygnean ruling council. I am here to discuss terms of the duke’s surrender.”
“What? No, that’s not—”
“And this gentleman is Ambassador Anyon, senior Diplomat with the Human Assembly. He is here to arrest the off-worlder known as Kaviti, and all of his entourage.”
“Except the Grey Blade that murdered my staffer,” Logan growled.
“Indeed. That one shall stand trial here.” Brodwyn surveyed the ruined castle with evident satisfaction. “If we have his full and unqualified assistance in these matters, Tiko will be permitted to maintain control of one reduced segment of his fief. But only if he aids us now without hesitation and swears allegiance to the ruling council on Cygneus Prime. His first order must be for all remaining troops under his command to lay down their arms.”
Anyon added, “He must also agree to give testimony against Kaviti and the other off-worlders before the Human Assembly’s high court.”
Brodwyn nodded. “You will inform your duke that these terms are not negotiable.”
50
Duke Tiko was a rotund little man who wore polished boots with three-inch heels. His tiny chin was accented by a pointy beard dyed a ridiculous brown. He emerged reluctantly, then tried for pompous disdain until Brodwyn threatened him with imprisonment in the Serene
se jail. The prospect of forced transit to Serena clearly terrified him more than prison. He wilted into plump submission. Even so, loss of his empire came with difficulty. Each point was agreed to with the genuine pain of another tooth pulled.
The longer the negotiations continued, the more each passing second ticked loud as cannon fire. Finally Sean could stand it no longer. He stepped up to where Carver, Dillon, and Anyon observed Brodwyn’s determined stance and said, “We need to be going.”
For once, Anyon showed no disapproval. “Are you certain time is so critical?”
“I’m not sure of anything. And that’s the problem.” Sean sighed. “I just have a strong feeling. Nothing more.”
Dillon declared, “My brother doesn’t need anything more.”
“As illogical as it sounds,” Carver said, “history suggests we should heed his warning.”
Logan and Vance stepped away from Brodwyn and demanded a translation. When Carver had explained, Logan asked Sean, “Is this another of your unfinished ideas?”
“Maybe.” Sean worked the air with frantic hands. “I wish I could be more certain . . .”
Dillon said, “Stop worrying about being wrong and just tell us.”
“I think I know what happened to Cylian and the Assembly’s Watchers.”
Brodwyn broke off from Tiko’s latest unfinished protest and demanded, “What is it?” When Carver repeated his explanation, she said, “Surely this can wait until our current demands are met.”
Logan said, “If this one thinks it is urgent, General, I respectfully suggest you heed his warning.”
Anyon said, “Tell us.”
“We need to be there when Cylian wakes up,” Sean told them. “And the General and Logan need to be with us.”
Anyon asked, “Why so many?”
“Because if I’m right, we have to alert the ruling council on Cygneus Prime,” Sean replied. “And there isn’t a moment to lose.”
51
Sean hated how he was forced to return to Cylian’s apartment in the company of so many others. Not to mention how Carver had already arrived with five other officials in tow. Three wore Human Assembly uniforms, the other two Sean had to assume were from Cygneus Prime. The fact they had been ghost-walked to Serena without explanation did nothing to improve their mood.
They came to full alert at Anyon’s appearance. The eldest of the Human Assembly group exclaimed, “Ambassador, excellent. This ensign has the audacity to claim—”
“Hold that thought,” Anyon ordered. He said to Sean, “Who should be with us?”
“But Ambassador, the Cygnean council has expressly—”
“Silence.”
One of the Cygnean officials barked, “General, what is the meaning—”
“Quiet.” She kept her gaze leveled on Sean and Anyon. “Proceed.”
Anyon demanded, “Well?”
“We need to try to speak with Cylian,” Sean replied. “All of us should be included. If they’ll keep quiet.”
Anyon waited while Carver translated for Brodwyn and Logan and the pair of Cygnean officials, then he addressed the entire group. “The first person to utter a sound will be summarily dismissed. Is that clear?” When his words were greeted with a stunned silence, he turned back to Sean. “Carry on.”
Whatever Sandrine thought of so many people invading her sickroom, she kept to herself. When Sean asked, she replied, “There has been no change.”
“Has Cylian spoken?”
“Not a word.” She glanced at the figure in the bed. “Her vitals are strong, and she seems more comfortable than earlier. But she remains asleep.”
Sean waited while Anyon and Carver positioned the group in a line along the side and back walls. Then he knelt by the bed and stroked Cylian’s cheek. “I really, really need you to wake up.”
They waited through a period long enough for the entire group to become restive. Sean did his best to ignore the shifting and muttering, but was grateful when Brodwyn finally hissed them to frozen silence. Which was when he had the idea to condense all his elemental force into the core of his being and reach out. No words, just the emotions he was feeling. Worry. Concern. Caring. Urgency.
Hope. For them.
Cylian might as well have been waiting all this time for him to signal as he did. She sighed and opened her eyes.
He cradled her face with his hands. Her eyes were luminous even when disoriented.
She coughed and touched her tongue to dry lips. Sandrine was there with a cup. Sean helped Cylian rise up far enough to drink. When she was through and had settled back, she asked softly, “Are you really here?”
“I am.”
“I’m not dreaming?”
“Not just now.”
“I’ve had the most horrid nightmares.”
Sean kept stroking her face. “Will you tell me about them?”
Her eyes clouded. “They scare me.”
“I know. But I think . . . Cylian, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to. But I think talking it through could save a lot of lives.”
Cylian released a pair of tears. “How do you know about them, Sean?”
“I hunted, you know, like a Watcher. They . . .”
“Scared you too.”
“So much.”
“How did you get away?”
Sean hesitated, not wanting to tell her anything but the truth.
“They’re still hunting me, Sean.” Another tear escaped. “I need to know.”
Sean leaned in close enough to taste the fear in her breath. “You’re safe now.”
“Am I really?”
“I’m ninety-nine percent certain. I don’t want to say more because I need to hear about what you saw and heard without my own experiences influencing the memories of your . . .”
“Nightmare.”
“Can I ask you some questions?”
She glanced over but seemed to find nothing odd in the cluster of people watching them. “Help me up.”
Sandrine helped him lift Cylian and settle pillows behind her back. She then asked for more water. When she finished drinking, she said, “Hold my hand.”
“Gladly.” Sean seated himself on the side of the bed. “Did you see them?”
“Just the cloud,” Cylian replied. “And the light. And the fire.”
“The light,” Sean said. “Can you describe it?”
“A beacon. It moved. Like it was hunting me.” She must have seen something in his features, because she said, “You saw it too.”
“Yes.” He pressed her hand, willing her not to ask more. She remained silent, her gaze steady on his. “Sandrine has heard you speak words from a tongue she does not recognize. Do you remember anything they said?”
“They did not speak. They screamed.” She shivered. “One thing I remember. They shrieked it over and over and over.”
“Repeat what you can.”
She spoke a few words, her voice turned harsher by the recollection. A cross between a whisper and a shrill cry, elongating her jaw and tightening her neck until the veins stood out.
In response, Brodwyn’s entire group gasped as one.
Anyon demanded, “What is it?”
“Old speech,” Brodwyn replied. “A few remote clans still use it. Not many.”
Logan said, “Some claim it was the original language of Cygneus Prime.”
Brodwyn asked him, “How did you come to learn it?”
“My father tutored me in Hawk lore and this speech. He said . . .” Logan seemed to realize they had broken the enforced silence and finished with, “Sorry.”
Cylian seemed genuinely interested, so Sean said, “Go on.”
“My father called it the dragon tongue, a language of force and of fire. He said our greatest legacies of victory and triumph were all tied to it,” Logan replied.
Anyon asked, “Can either of you translate what the lady has spoken?”
“My own study was at the Academy.” Brodwyn frowned in concentration. “‘The rope is
loosed’?” she guessed.
“Chains,” Logan said. “‘The chains of old are broken. We are free once more.’”
Sean rose to his feet and faced Anyon. “Ambassador, I respectfully request that you call out the Praetorian Guard.”
Anyon almost managed to repress his frown. “How many do you think we might need?”
“All of them,” Sean replied. “Immediately. We might already be too late.”
52
Sean’s urgency was rewarded with two days of sitting on his hands. Which left him plenty of time to worry that he had gotten everything else wrong as well.
The frantic activity that captured almost everyone swept past and left him feeling not just isolated but extremely foolish.
He remained officially stationed on Aldwyn at Logan’s request. The first day, he visited Cylian several times. The dreams continued to plague her, but far less than before. He said nothing about what was happening back on Cygneus Prime, and Cylian did not ask any questions.
That evening he realized that she was quite possibly a dangerous distraction. It wasn’t that he might miss the action, if or when it ever came. The same ensign who had been stationed in Cylian’s apartment now served as his very own personal alert system. He recorded his every transit with her before proceeding. But his focus was not on the main battle. He was exhausted—so tired his bones ached. He wanted a week off. He wanted to go somewhere special with Cylian, pull up the drawbridge, and forget the rest of the galaxy even existed. But just then he needed to take aim and hunt out everything he might have forgotten. When he kissed her goodbye, Sean thought he could see in her gaze that she knew of his change in direction. But all she said was for him to take care.
Dillon was back at the Academy, helping Carver and his superiors prepare a strategy for what Sean thought was coming. Watchers were now stationed on high orbit over Cygneus Prime. They were ordered to refrain from all bodiless hunts. They were there to survey the planet in a highly limited fashion, nothing more. The same vessel also contained a frontline bevy of Praetorians, along with the senior officers under Commander Taunton, the Praetorian who had saved Sean and Dillon from incarceration.