He strides across the stream and kneels, his taut muscles quivering as he bows low to the ground. I place a hand on his left shoulder and when he raises his head again his eyes are moist. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again,” he says in a husky tone as he gets to his feet.
“My father would have been proud to know you are leading the warriors and resisting Parthelon’s illegitimate reign.”
Rutane tilts his chin in acknowledgement, and then narrows his eyes at Ayma. “Who is this?”
I steel myself for what could turn out to be a tense exchange. “This is Ayma, the Syndicate Fleet Commander’s daughter,” I explain. “She is here to help. She does not seek to avenge her father’s death.”
Rutane grips his spear tightly. He locks his gaze on Ayma. “She does not need to. Her father lives.”
23
Ayma stumbles and I reach out a hand to steady her. Her lips part, but no sound comes out.
I turn to Rutane. “What are you talking about? Her father was assassinated by the Maulers.”
“His ship went down,” Rutane replies. “But he survived. We pulled him from the wreckage.”
Ayma claps a hand to her mouth and gives a small moan. Her eyes dart wildly around the cavern, her fingers digging into my skin so hard I’m forced to pull my arm away.
“Where … is he?” She squeaks out, her voice trailing off into a whisper.
“He is here. I will take you to him,” Rutane says. “Follow me.”
He leads us across the stream through a connecting tunnel and several smaller caves until we come to a dimly-lit alcove under a rock overhang. Rutane gestures to us to duck beneath it, then plants his spear firmly in the dirt and follows us inside.
In the far corner, a healer is applying ointment to the shoulder of a bandaged figure stretched out on a mat. At the sight of us, the healer gives Rutane a discreet nod and slips quietly out of the alcove. Ayma darts across to the prostrate figure and drops to her knees. “Father!”
The man on the mat lets out a strangled moan in response, struggling to sit up. Ayma throws her arms around him, and buries her head in his chest, sobbing profusely.
I can’t tear my eyes away from them. I can scarcely take it in. The Fleet Commander is alive. My brain is a jumbled mess as I sort through the implications. This changes everything. The Syndicate will have to drop the charges against us now. We might actually be welcomed back to Aristozonex if we return with the Fleet Commander at our side. My chest burns with an agonizing mixture of euphoria for Ayma, and caustic sorrow at my own loss, more deeply underscored in the light of their happy reunion.
“I thought you were dead,” Ayma chokes out, sniffing back more tears. She sits up and brushes her hand gently across her father’s bruised forehead.
“And I you, my beloved daughter.” He presses her to his chest and a sob escapes him.
I swallow down the enormous lump that has formed in my own throat. Now, more than ever, I long for the strength of my father’s touch, and the depth of my chieftain’s wisdom. He always believed I could become the leader he wanted me to be, even when the elders didn’t, and even when I let him down. He held me accountable, but never gave up on me. I press my lips together, vowing to make him proud as he watches me from the sacred triangle in a realm beyond this one.
Ayma lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a whimper and a chuckle as she dries her eyes. “We even held a state funeral for you.”
The Fleet Commander grimaces. “Your poor mother.”
“I’ll send word to Aristozonex,” Ayma says.
“How?” he asks with a puzzled frown.
“We came here in the stealth fighter,” Ayma explains. “It’s concealed a short distance from here.”
“We?” The Fleet Commander peers over Ayma’s shoulder.
I exchange a quick look with Rutane, and then step forward into the light of the lantern flickering beside the Fleet Commander’s mat.
A flash of recognition comes into his eyes. “You are the chieftain’s daughter!”
I dip my head in assent. “I’m the one who begged you to come here and help us. Now, the Supreme Chancery is holding me accountable for your death. They think I lured the fleet into a trap on Cwelt.”
Fleet Commander Kuberev studies me for a moment. “Why did you return here if you thought I was dead and your planet under occupation?”
“To free my people,” I say, my voice firm and unwavering. “I will not leave them in servitude to the Maulers.”
Fleet Commander Kuberev cracks an amused smile. “A brave gesture, to attempt to overthrow the Maulers with a ship and a handful of spears.”
With Ayma’s help, he pulls himself fully up into a sitting position, his face contorting in pain. “You shall have the assistance of my fleet to liberate your planet, and absolution by the Chancery. You have my word on that. Your people have shown me nothing but kindness and respect. The Maulers are perpetrators of unspeakable evil. They cannot be allowed free rein to terrorize the Netherscape.”
I give a grateful nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“I am sorry for your great loss,” Fleet Commander Kuberev continues. “Your father was a wise chieftain and his death must be atoned for.”
“One of our own, Parthelon, usurped him and had him executed. He will be held accountable. We will hunt him down.”
A frown settles on the Fleet Commander’s forehead. “How do you intend to do that?”
I gesture to Rutane. “With the warriors’ help, I will create a diversion to weaken Parthelon’s power. If we attack the Maulers’ camp, they will turn on Parthelon and blame him for not keeping the people under control.”
Rutane shifts his stance, crossing his muscled forearms in front of him. “We don’t have enough fighters to take on the camp in direct combat, but maybe we could manage an ambush at night.”
“We’re not going to do the fighting.” I give him a conspiratorial wink.
Ayma turns to me, wide-eyed. “Are you suggesting we use the stealth fighter? If we attack before the fleet arrives, we’ll be outgunned by the Mauler ships.”
I shake my head. “I was thinking of something much more low-key, but guaranteed to cause mass upheaval in the Mauler camp.” I turn to Rutane. “I need you to take a small party of warriors to the pit and bag as many sand snipers as you can. Meet us back here at the mouth of the tunnel. We’ll let the snipers loose in the Maulers’ camp tonight. Once there is enough mayhem, you and I will head to the Great Hall and rescue my mother. Then we can turn our attention to bringing down Parthelon.”
“It’s a good plan. It will blindside the Maulers and weaken their faith in Parthelon.” Rutane reaches for his spear and disappears to rally his men.
Ayma gets to her feet. “I need to return to the stealth fighter and inform the Syndicate that my father lives.”
“Wait there for the fleet to arrive,” her father says. “Their fastest ships will be here in a matter of hours once they hear that I’m alive. When the attack begins, you can bolster their efforts, but don’t take any risks you don’t have to.”
Ayma’s eyes glisten with subtle amusement. “I’m long past the point of no return, Father. Coming here was a risk I didn’t have to take, but I don’t regret it for one minute. Sometimes the risks you don’t have to take are the ones worth taking. I found you alive, didn’t I?”
Fleet Commander Kuberev blinks and clears his throat. “I couldn’t be prouder of you than I am today, Ayma. Use your resources as you see fit to support Cwelt. I trust your judgement.”
Ayma leans down and kisses him on the forehead.
“I’ll send one of the warriors to accompany you back to the stealth fighter,” I say to her as we exit the alcove. “Try to reach Velkan and the others again.”
Once I have dispatched Ayma with one of Rutane’s most trusted warriors, and retrieved our hidden stash of spears from a cavern farther back in the tunnels, I assemble the remaining warriors and lead them out of the undergro
und caves. We don’t wait in the copse above the tunnel entrance for more than a few minutes before Rutane and his party return from the pit clutching heavy sacks of writhing sand snipers.
“We’ll approach the Maulers’ camp from the mountains in the east,” I say. “The boulders will give us plenty of coverage to take out the perimeter guards with our spears. Most of the Maulers will be sleeping so we should be able to slip in undetected. We’ll need to spread out and dump a sack of snipers into each sleeping hut, and then disappear back into the foothills. From there, Rutane and I will make our way to the settlement to rescue my mother while the rest of you return to the caves.”
Rutane distributes the sacks of snipers among his warriors before waving them forward in small groups. I fall into step with him as we skirt around the rocky foothills following the trail to the Maulers’ camp. The Cweltan night sky glitters above us like a bejeweled robe, but its beauty is marred by the ominous lights of the Mauler patrol ships moving among the stars, an eerie reminder that even the skies above us are not free. I grit my teeth at what Parthelon has allowed to happen to my planet in the space of a few short months.
When the Mauler camp finally comes into view, we settle down and conceal ourselves among the boulders to map out the movements of the night guards. To my surprise, we count only eight guards in total patrolling the perimeter. Evidently, they’re not too concerned that the Cweltans will launch a surprise attack now that their weapons have been confiscated. Either that, or Parthelon did a great job of convincing them that he has the Cweltan population under control.
“We will spear the guards as they are making their rounds,” Rutane whispers, passing me a sack of ill-tempered vipers. “I’ll move my warriors into position.”
I watch as he relays the plan with rapid hand gestures, signaling to his men to split up. The warriors who are to take out the guards on the far side of the perimeter, melt into the shadows, giving the Maulers’ camp a wide berth as they circle around to get into position.
Rutane waits for the Mauler guards to make another full rotation before he stands and tents his hands over his lips. The haunting sound of a Cweltan screech owl fills the air, but only a Cweltan would notice the strange note in the call and know what it means. I clutch the mouth of my sack tightly, my heart pounding more furiously with every passing second as, almost simultaneously, the Mauler guards tip over and fall to the ground.
Rutane lets out another screech to his men before motioning me forward. We spring over the boulders that shielded us from sight and run stealthily with the other warriors toward the murky outlines of the sleeping huts, before dispersing among the camp to make our venomous deposits. Heaving silent breaths, I crouch down in front of one of the huts next to a window and carefully loosen the neck of my sack. I throw a quick glance around at the other warriors to make sure we are all in position, and then slice downward with my left hand to indicate to everyone that it’s time to strike.
I stand and lean through the opening, letting the mouth of the sack slide open as I shake the contents out. Almost immediately, a distinctive swooshing sound fills my ears. I dart a glance around me to make sure the coast is clear and then turn and run, adrenalin pumping my legs faster than ever, as the first screams pierce the night air.
Up ahead, I make out the shadowy figures of the other warriors beating a hasty retreat to the safety of the boulders nestling in the foothills. I pick up my pace and leap over a crate in my path, all at once aware of heavy footsteps in pursuit. My muscles scream as I lengthen my stride, pushing myself to my limit. Over my shoulder I catch a glimpse of a dreadlocked Mauler with a knotted beard wielding an axe on my tail. He bares yellowed fangs and increases his pace, but I’m more fleet-footed than him and press forward, widening the gap between us. I veer around a row of barrels only to come crashing headlong into another Mauler.
He wrenches my arm almost from its socket and tosses me to the ground, before stomping a heavy foot to my throat. “Turn yourselves in,” he bellows, brandishing a double-bladed dagger and panning the foothills. “Or I gouge out her heart.”
I struggle to breathe under the weight of the Mauler’s heavy sandaled foot wedged at my throat. My head swims, filled with the desperate screams of disoriented Maulers fighting among themselves as they attempt to flee the infested huts. I try to yell to Rutane not to come back for me, but only a gurgle escapes my lips, and I almost gag on the grit that falls to the back of my throat from the Mauler’s foot.
Just when I’m about to black out, he reaches down and hauls me to my feet by my hair, shoving me toward the dreadlocked Mauler wielding the axe. At the last second, I duck beneath his arm and fall on my stomach, gasping for air, my throat scorched and burning. My head is tugged backward until I see the entire expanse of stars above me. I drink in their beauty one last time as I wait for the Mauler to harvest my scalp.
24
A heavy thud at my side startles me. The Mauler’s grip on my hair goes slack. I flip around, my eyes widening when I see the blade in his chest. I scramble to my feet and turn to run from the second Mauler just as he takes a knife between the eyes.
Velkan races toward me. “Are you all right?” he yells.
I nod, my throat too raw to answer, half-afraid my knees will buckle beneath me if I move toward him. He darts up to me and grabs my hand, tugging me in the direction of the boulders. “Run, Trattora!”
Hearing my name jolts me into action. I sprint forward, my legs taking on a mind of their own as my last dregs of adrenalin spurt through them. The Maulers’ strangled death cries gradually grow fainter as the distance between us increases.
When Velkan and I finally reach the foothills where Rutane and the warriors are waiting, we throw ourselves down behind the shadowy boulders, heaving for breath. I close my eyes and let the relief that I’m still alive seep all the way through to my bones. When I open my eyes again, Phin and Ghil are grinning down at me.
I smile back at them, shaking my head in disbelief. “Impressive knife-throwing and impeccable timing. How did you know we were here?”
“We were fleeing back to the stealth fighter, when Ayma linked to us and told us about the raid,” Phin explains. “We thought you might need help.”
“Everyone’s accounted for,” Rutane says, walking up to us. “We should disappear before the Maulers regroup.”
“Take the warriors and return to the caves with them,” I reply. “My friends will help me rescue my mother.” I pause before adding. “You’ve done more than enough to avenge Cwelt tonight, Rutane. Your chieftain thanks you.”
“We will await you in the caves.” He bows and takes his leave, signaling to his men to follow him.
“Are you sure your mother is still alive, Trattora?” Phin asks. “I realize it’s a blunt question, but if we’re going to risk our lives going back to the settlement, we have to be certain.”
I grimace. “She’s alive. Parthelon plans to wed her as soon as the official mourning period for my father is over.”
“Do you know where she is?” Velkan asks.
“They’re holding her in the Great Hall,” I reply. “We need to get her out before Parthelon discovers I’ve escaped.”
“Lead the way,” Ghil says, sheathing the knife he retrieved from the dreadlocked Mauler’s chest.
To my dismay, I hear angry yells coming from the marketplace as we draw near. My nerves buzz with renewed fear as I speculate what the uproar means. Has Parthelon discovered that I escaped? Are we too late to rescue my mother? We hide behind a hut on the edge of town and watch as Parthelon and several elders confer in the main street with a small group of angry Maulers.
“Your job was to control them! Half of our miners are dead,” one of the Maulers snarls. “The overlord demands answers.”
“I assure you this was not of our doing,” Parthelon replies, raising his hands in a placatory fashion.
The Mauler whips out a dagger and holds the tip to Parthelon’s throat. “Someone from this settlement
was responsible. It was no accident those sand snipers ended up in our sleeping huts. We saw two figures running from the camp. You have until noon tomorrow to turn them over, otherwise your pathetic little reign here ends.”
Parthelon draws himself up to his full height, his long, silver hair reflecting in the moonlight like blades. “Tell the overlord, he shall have scalps by dawn. He has my word on that.” He shoves the Mauler aside and strides down the street toward the road that leads to the retribution hut.
My breath catches in my throat. He suspects that I’m responsible for the raid. We’re running out of time to save my mother. “Quick!” I elbow Velkan and gesture to the others. “This way!”
We slip around behind the hut and begin making our way along a back alley to the Great Hall. As we move through the shadows, I go over in my mind the layout of the Great Hall and its adjoining chambers, trying to determine which room my mother is most likely to be confined in. Or perhaps she is free to move around inside. I wish I had asked Karad for more details—I don’t even know how many guards to expect.
When the outline of the Great Hall looms in front of us, I motion behind me to the others to halt. I stoop down and study the scene. Under the carved portal of the heavy wooden doors at the front of the hall, I make out two Cweltan guards, unarmed, courtesy of the Maulers’ strict weapons control policies, which works in our favor in this instance.
“She’s here,” I whisper confidently to the others. “It’s the only reason Parthelon would post a guard at the doors to the Great Hall.”
“Is there any other way in?” Phin asks.
“The windows,” I say. “They’re shuttered, but one of them is loose.”
Velkan raises his brows. “I’m not even going to ask how you know that.”
I shrug. “I admit I wiggled it loose. I like to listen in when the elders sit in Council—just in case they’re talking about my misdemeanors again.”
Girl of Blood: A Science Fiction Dystopian Novel (The Expulsion Project Book 3) Page 18