Shield (Bridge & Sword: Awakenings #2): Bridge & Sword World

by JC Andrijeski

  Then he froze, as if listening.

  Cass saw shapes whisper by them, running down the hill so fast they looked like ghosts. She watched two in the Adhipan run after them. Balidor hesitated, then gave her a fleetingly apologetic look. He leaned his mouth by her ear.

  “Find cover. Don’t go into Seertown. And be careful! I don’t feel any more, but don’t stay here. Go higher. I’m leaving Pradaj with you.”

  He kissed her on the cheek, startling her.

  Then he released her, running down the slope after the others.

  She saw him briefly silhouetted as he ran off the edge of a small cliff. She heard a faint crashing sound as tree branches swayed in the ravine below.

  The sounds receded. When she glanced to one side, she saw Pradaj, another middle-aged seer, but a bit more beat up than Balidor. His dark face was scarred, and he looked East Indian. She raised a hand in greeting and he smiled wanly in return, as if amused with her wave in the aftermath of a gunfight.

  She was about to speak, when a shot rang out.

  Pradaj collapsed. Falling to his back, he lay there and didn’t move.

  Cass stood there, paralyzed. She stared at his body.

  He’d been shot in the head. Panting, she looked around, heart hammering in her chest as it hit her she was alone. She looked out over the ravine, wondering if she should try to sprint after Balidor and the others.

  She was still standing there when the voice spoke.

  “Men,” it said, clicking ruefully. “They’re just not reliable, are they?”

  Cass turned, feeling something twist in her belly. She found herself facing a smile she recognized, on a face she didn’t.

  “Your friend Chandre wouldn’t have left you in the lurch like this,” he said, pointing his gun at her chest. “…would she?”

  Cass felt her belly knot so violently her bowels nearly voided. She gripped the tree’s trunk, staring at a face she’d never seen before, but that she recognized nonetheless. The Asian man smiled at her, his black hair twisted into a clip at the back of his head. His trench coat was stained white with ash and smoke.

  “How are you, Cassandra? You’re looking well.”

  She fumbled frantically to unholster her Glock.

  “Uh, uh… no.” He motioned with his hand.

  She looked back down to where his gun already pointed at her.

  He waited for her to make up her mind, smiling as he studied her eyes.

  “We’re old friends now, you and I,” he said. “…and while we could do this the usual way, with me shooting you, or overpowering your feeble worm mind, I’d rather have you see reason.” His voice grew cajoling.

  “Lose the gun, lover. I won’t hurt you this time. Promise.”

  Staring at his hand holding the gun, she tried to disobey. She would rather be dead than go anywhere with him. But her hand wouldn’t do what she wanted, and she found herself staring at him, fighting to breathe, nearly gasping with the effort of trying to lift the gun higher, to aim it at him.

  He’d been lying of course, like he always lied.

  He was in her mind, controlling her. Saying it was her choice was all just another one of his twisted games.

  He reached out, closing his hand around the Glock.

  He took it from her, his fingers surprisingly gentle. Cass watched her gun disappear to an inside pocket of his coat, feeling every nerve in her body scream. Adrenaline coursed through her limbs, causing them to shake. She wanted to attack him, to rip at his face with her bare hands.

  He clicked at her. The sound held a tinge of amusement.

  “Give me the book, Cassandra,” he said.

  Reaching into the bag slung across her shoulder, she opened it, her hands shaking. After a brief battle between her limbs and mind and heart, she gripped the thick, leather-bound book and handed it to him wordlessly.

  “Good girl,” he said. “Now turn around. We’re going for a little walk.”

  For another collection of seconds, she struggled to disobey.

  She was still standing there, half-panting from the exertion, when a massive form appeared from behind the largest of the nearby trees.

  Cass looked up at him, doubting her senses.

  The giant put a thick finger to his pink lips.

  Black eyes stared at her from a flat, Asian-featured face with pale skin. He looked like a Viking. A half-Chinese albino Viking wearing animal skins, with some kind of fancy organic headset wrapped around his skull. She focused on the Viking’s hands.

  He carried what looked like…

  Holy bejeesus, it was a sword.

  She was still staring when the Viking plunged the four-foot, serrated blade through the middle of the new Terian’s abdomen.

  Cass could only stand there, paralyzed, as Terian screamed, lifted off his feet by the sword with the jagged teeth. The blade glowed, as if surrounded by some kind of faint electric field. Whatever it was, it allowed the viking to cut him nearly in half, using the sword to slice up through his rib cage and solar plexus. The blade got jammed on something around where his neck met his shoulders, and the giant grunted, shaking the body like a dog might shake a rat.

  Eventually, impatience won out. Shoving Terian forward to brace his body against a tree, the giant propped a heavy, fur-lined boot on his back.

  With another grunt, he yanked upwards to free the blade.

  Whatever Terian had been using to hold Cass’s mind released her the instant the sword vacated his flesh.

  Right about the same time, he stopped screaming.

  What remained of Terian collapsed to the ground.

  Cass watched it twitch, still spurting blood from the long cut that nearly bisected the Asian man’s body. Eventually, the spurts of blood slowed.

  She looked up at the giant.

  For a moment, the two of them just stood there.

  Then, reaching down, the giant picked up the leather-bound book and brushed it off with his thick fingers. Smiling, he handed it back to Cass. He patted her head affectionately, gesturing at her upper arm. Cass looked down at where the blue and white sword and sun tattoo stood out on her tanned skin, the skin still reddish as it healed.

  Lifting his own shirt sleeve, the giant showed her a replica of the same mark.

  His was a brand, not a tattoo, and much older, but he grinned at her when she stepped forward to brush it with her fingers. Glancing down at the sword and sun on her own skin, Cass felt herself relax.

  The albino motioned at her, using his hands, head and arms.

  Making the seer gesture for “yes,” she tucked the leather-bound book back into her shoulder bag, fastening the leather straps.

  Without a word, she followed him into the trees.

  32

  REBELLION

  BALIDOR STOOD INSIDE a circle of white-skinned trees. Moss-covered statues lined a path of white stones dotted with cairns and granite benches. The garden beneath the House on the Hill was almost as old as the structure itself.

  Thankfully, it had started to rain.

  The rain came down in sheets––one of those late-in-the-day summer storms that were so common in this part of the Himalayas.

  As for the meeting itself, Gregor Cardesian, the United States Army General nicknamed “The Apostle” by the American press, chose the location.

  Balidor found it an odd one, but this had been a day of things he couldn’t comprehend. Exhaustion was starting to wear on him, and he knew most of it wasn’t physical. He let his gaze run over lines of blue and camouflage uniforms, only half-seeing them.

  He shouldn’t have left Cass.

  He wouldn’t have, but Vash made the request. Balidor understood the request, given what had happened, but he didn’t fully agree with it.

  He also felt dangerously low on people at the moment. He’d sent a few Adhipan to the 8th to ascertain the severity of the situation. He had a few more working to aid civilians and monks in Seertown itself. Of those senior infiltrators remaining––those who we
ren’t dead or injured from the carpet bombing––he’d sent over half to find and protect Allie and her mate.

  Balidor was still convinced this bombing was about her.

  His eyes paused on burning strings of prayer flags over one section of the garden. Looking up the hill at the blackened, white-trunked trees and ash-filled sky, Balidor found that the gardens looked positively ancient to him suddenly.

  So did Vash.

  The Apostle parted lines of infantry, gazing perfunctorily around at fires dotting the water-logged buildings of Seertown. He’d gotten the name “Apostle” in the last set of seer purges. It struck Balidor that even if he had been an extremely young man at the time, that put Cardesian northward of seventy human years.

  He looked a great deal less.

  His iron-gray hair managed to remain absolutely in place to spite the wind and rain; his close-set eyes sparked with intelligence, and not a small amount of arrogance.

  Ignoring Vash, the Apostle strode directly up to Balidor.

  He laid thick fingers on his shoulder and squeezed in a friendly manner.

  “It is good to see you, Mr. Balidor,” he said. “I do wish that the circumstances were less… formal.”

  Balidor sighed internally at the implication that he should feel honored to be so singled out. Human politics were so heavy-handed as to be entirely obnoxious––that is, when he couldn’t afford to find them amusing, like now.

  “Formal?” he said. “I think we can preclude with pleasantries, Cardesian. Your presence here alone violates at least three post-war treaties. As for the bombing––”

  “We didn’t do that.”

  Balidor raised an eyebrow. “Really? So those weren’t American planes I saw dropping bombs just now? Killing monks? Our elderly? Refugees? What about the human children you have killed? Does that not matter to you, either, friend?”

  The Apostle frowned, removing his hand.

  “I see that your species’ penchant for dramatic overstatement hasn’t lessened.” He looked around, as if assessing the location anew. “We have a few choppers nearby. We came to offer assistance.”

  “Assistance?” Balidor looked at Vash.

  The ancient seer stood unconcerned, despite his bound wrists.

  Near him stood three seers Balidor recognized. There weren’t many at their level he didn’t know, no matter who they worked for. One, Eldrake, he remembered in particular. He’d worked under Galaith since the time of the Nazis. Balidor ran into him a few times in Eastern Europe, including at the death camps.

  “Yes,” Balidor said. His eyes swiveled back to Cardesian. “Your intentions seem perfectly friendly. That’s why you have bound and collared the most respected holy man in our city.” He gestured pointedly at the lines of troops. “And pardon my asking, but if they were not your American planes, whose American planes were they, General?”

  “We’re working on that.”

  “What does that mean, precisely?”

  Cardesian adjusted his belt, in a way that might have amused Balidor under different circumstances. It was obviously some sort of male dominance display.

  The human’s voice grew into a warning.

  “We got here by tracking the groundies you’re fighting. They aren’t flying the Chink flag, but crossed our lines close enough to be a threat. Our ice-bloods tell us most of them are seers. So we had to take an interest.” His frown deepened. “No one’s claiming responsibility, at least not yet. But we can’t just wait for them to head back north, to Bei-fucking-jing.”

  “General,” Balidor said, clicking in irritation. “I have no idea what any of that means.”

  Cardesian held up a hand to silence him. Frowning, he seemed to be listening to something through his headset.

  When he looked at Balidor next, his voice hardened.

  “Intelligence is telling me now that this ‘unprovoked attack’ was an attempt to gain custody over a highly dangerous and illegal seer,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, would you, Mr. Balidor?”

  Balidor started to open his mouth, but Cardesian cut him off.

  “After that mess last year, I would have thought you’d help us contain the situation, Balidor. Not hide her up here like some kind of prize whore.”

  “General.” Balidor sighed. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re––”

  “Just how stupid do you think we are?”

  Balidor paused, uncertain at first if the human wanted an answer. He glanced at the seers protecting Cardesian’s light.

  “Compared to what, General?”

  “Do you think we haven’t known… for months now… that the little girlie you have running things up here is a goddamned fire-starter?” He spat on the ground, his hands on his hips. “I’m real sorry you were attacked, Balidor. I am. But I can’t say I’m surprised. It was only a matter of time, with the roulette you’ve been playing. You can’t keep a goddamned weapon like that out in the open and not expect someone to try and take it.”

  Balidor spread his hands. “General, I have no idea to whom this grand conspiracy of yours refers, and––”

  “You know damned well who I mean! The girl, Balidor! The one who blew up a goddamned ship in our waters, killing God knows how many civilians! The one who led that nightmare in London, who likes playing patty-cake with our men in Russia and keeps starting shit on the feeds. You know exactly who I’m talking about!” He gestured jerkily with a hand, frowning. “She’s got one of those… you know… rebel types as a boyfriend.”

  Balidor frowned. “Boyfriend?”

  The Apostle eyes turned to glass. “Yeah. We know he’s alive. Caught him on surveillance when he crossed back over into India… so don’t even bother to deny it, Balidor. I’ve seen the tapes myself.”

  He stepped closer, close enough that Balidor felt himself tense.

  “Are you going to deny the little bitch is alive, too?”

  “We did not try to hide this from you, General.”

  “Bullshit! You changed her name!”

  “A common practice among my people. She was raised among humans. We sought only to reunite her with her heritage. To bring her into her proper clan––”

  “Okay, okay.” The general held up a hand. He smiled at Balidor indulgently. “You can play your polite little bullshit seer games all you want… but know this. We let you keep her, Balidor. We tried to keep the peace, give you a chance to come clean.”

  Placing his hands on his hips, he shook his head, aiming a level stare at Balidor.

  “It’s out of my hands now. If you can’t protect her, then we’ll just have to do it for you.” He frowned, making another of those jerky hand-gestures. “Unless you’d prefer we ask SCARB to step in, do a whole rundown of your little facility here.”

  Balidor glanced at the seers standing guard around Vash.

  Eldrake had a faint smile playing at his lips.

  “I see,” Balidor said, turning back to Cardesian. “What is it you wish me to do, General?”

  A distant rumbling sound caused Balidor to turn.

  Another line of fire and smoke broke the overcast sky, tongues of red and yellow reaching heavy clouds. Balidor stepped up on a stone bench to see better over the trees. A second hangar must have ignited. He touched his link, about to speak, before he remembered the Americans would have hacked his local security network by now.

  Hesitating when he felt the seer on the other end, Balidor said only,

  “Did you see that, Yerin?”

  “Yes.” Yerin did not elaborate.

  When Balidor glanced back, Cardesian returned his gaze narrowly, likely nonverbal on a secure link that was actually secure.

  “Say hello to Chan,” Balidor said, stepping off the bench. “Send someone to watch over my kids.” Without waiting, he terminated the link.

  Cardesian said, “I think we can dispense with the pretense that the girl is harmless, Balidor.” A smile touched his words. “I’ve just been informed that a Worl
d Court representative will be here shortly. No doubt, they would like to investigate for themselves the exact cause of these sudden ‘disturbances’ in your supposedly neutral zone.”

  “Very diplomatic, General.” Balidor kept his voice even with an effort. “You know, I am beginning to think the other humans are right. That we should not base our views of humanity on the American model. That you would use a disturbance you yourselves created as excuse to rip our settlement apart––”

  “Careful, Balidor.”

  Cardesian stepped closer, his eyes hard as stones.

  “Can we just finish with the requisite Sark indignation? I know it’s expected, but perhaps we can speed things up a little. Yes, we Americans are imperialist scum. Humans are worms. We live only to torture, kill and destroy all life on earth. If we would just all sing kumbaya and evolve, we’d be drowning in beer and candy and hot seer pussy. May we all rot in the halls of your Ancestors…”

  He waved a dismissive hand, then put it back on his hip.

  “That part of the program finished, I wish to know if your people will assist mine in looking for the girl… and securing the bitch without a goddamned international catastrophe of some kind. In exchange, I might be able to call off the dogs at SCARB, at least in the short term. Maybe we can even get you some real aid up here.”

  Balidor gestured in the negative. “If you bring SCARB in to start looking for illegals to collar, you will start a war… a real one. Maybe tell your new president that. Tell him that a lot more of our people will die. Maybe more than we can recover from.”

  Cardesian smiled. “What makes you think he cares, son?”

  “It’ll be a little hard to control seer trade if you kill off all the seers,” Balidor said bitingly. “It’ll be a little hard to corner the market in seer tech, too. Or come out the winner in your battles with the Chinese. Somehow I think they’ve been a little more careful about not killing off all of their seers.”

  At the Apostle’s narrow look, Balidor clicked at him.

  “Don’t tell me Wellington doesn’t care. I know he does. In your own, limited, worm-like, planet-killing way… so do you.”