The Paladin Archives Book Two The Withering Falseblade

by Jason Psilopoulos

  Sage’s quarters had seen better days. Whatever else she’d done before she left had activated the last of his fail-safe measures. Burn marks scored the walls and furniture. The Taser blasters had done little more than light his oak desk on fire. And the panic wall that Sage had designed to seal his quarters from the rest of the ship if this kind of thing ever happened was shorn off its mountings and lay crumpled on the floor in the remains of the lab. The woman had literally torn through the wall to escape with her prize. Sage sat up and moaned. His head hurt. Beside him on the floor, his Repeater lay shattered at the hand grip.

  A dozen footfalls thundered up to the tear in the wall. Donavan’s security force had arrived to assess the situation. Sage did his best to get to his feet and assure them he was all right.

  “What’s the situation?” he asked quietly. That’s when the lights started going dim. Sage knew immediately what was going on. He didn’t need anyone to tell him. He grabbed a spare blaster from one of Donavan’s men and started for the engine room. "Never mind. We've got trouble. Follow me."

  Jack wasn’t sure he liked Marcus’s plan. He wasn’t good at sneaking around quiet-like. He’d always been very bad when it came to tactical espionage. But he was in the best position to make things happen. He tested the weight of the club again and started around the slight curve of the catwalk as it circled the core sphere. He did his best to stay low, in the shadows of the consoles as he crept up on his prey.

  The light was throwing long shadows across the engine room. Jack had to squint to make his eyes focus on his target. It was a woman to be sure. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, garbed in black armor and an opaque helmet that amazingly, had no slits or eye holes. Jack couldn’t tell how she could see out of it at all, but she didn’t seem to be having any trouble. This was what Marcus and Rebekah had warned him about. Looks like I get to find out if she can see after all.

  She was only a few feet away now, and Jack was starting to feel his heart beating against his ribs. He took a slow breath, using the throbbing noise to cover the sound. After a second of waiting, he lunged. Jack raised the club high and brought it down as hard as he could.

  The metal splintered like old wood as it came in contact with the helmet the woman was wearing. Jack looked at the shattered shaft in his hand, dropping it and clenching his fists. The woman looked around at him and grinned beneath the visor of the helmet.

  “Mister Roykirk,” she said simply. “You hit like a girl.” Jack rushed her. But he’d scarcely gotten within a foot when he felt a hand around his throat. He looked down at the gloved hand and croaked out a noise. He couldn’t breathe. He could feel the fingers of the hand tightening around his windpipe. The air was burning in his lungs, begging to be let out. He punched and kicked, but to no effect.

  “The Roykirks are a noble house. Descendants of the Luminaires.” Jack started to see spots on his vision. She pulled him in close and tilted her head. “You must be adopted.” The room was starting to go white. Jack felt the strength leaving his limbs. He couldn’t seem to fight anymore.

  Mary did her best to operate the controls of the core sphere. Uther was beside her, doing his best to manipulate dials and alter energy readings, without scratching the plexi-glass controls. His nails were getting in the way.

  "Turn the rotational program back to maximum, then . . ." She let the sentence trail off, trying to work through the control scheme in her head. She didn't know exactly what it was she was working on. It wasn't like any engine she'd ever read about. Still, she was applying anything she could remember to the effort.

  "You do know what you are doing, right?' Uther asked, his hands hesitant over the controls. Mary shook her head.

  "Just don't make me nervous Uther," she muttered, almost unintelligibly. Uther's fur tensed a little.

  "Not reassuring."

  “Let him GO!” Ian launched himself feet first and planted both heels in the woman’s back, knocking both her and Jack to the deck. Jack slumped there, choking and coughing in an almost relieved motion. Ian was on his feet in an instant, his daggers at the ready. The Armored Woman stood and cocked her head in arrogant surprise.

  “Aionios the Undying,” she said simply. Ian flinched. It sounded different hearing it that way. The woman set her feet, putting her gloved hand in front of her. Her other hand was behind her back. She wasn’t intending to use it.

  “Why’re you calling me that?” Ian asked, trying not to be distracted. "Who the hell are you?" He could hear Marcus ascending the ladder behind him. Donavan was surely approaching from the other side to hem the woman in.

  “I’m calling you that because you will never taste death, my lord. It is prophesied.” Ian felt himself shudder. My lord? "As for who I am, I think you already know." That’s when she moved, the gauntlet on her right hand rushing at his face. Ian stepped side of it and moved to attack. His daggers flew with all the speed he could muster. But the woman simply batted his attacks away with the gauntlet, retreating to a safe distance.

  “Keep her talking Ian. We’re closing in,” Marcus said in Ian’s earpiece. Ian nodded imperceptibly.

  “What do you want here?” Ian asked shortly. The woman looked a little offended, but turned to the core, opening her arms wide.

  “To begin fulfilling the prophecy. It all starts here.” She turned to face Ian again, her posture a bit less menacing. “Your Elf friend usurped this from us,” she motioned to the gauntlet on her hand. Ian took a long look. He recognized it now. It belonged to Noganus Xandra.

  “A song of three, a visage of black, two souls in prison will turn it back.” Ian knew the rhyme. It was the very thing that Noganus had said over a year ago. “Of course, that telling does pare the prophecy down to the most minimal of details. The actual prophecy is much more involved. I’d say-” Ian looked up in surprise. Jack was behind the dread paladin, the remainder of his club hooked under the woman’s chin. Jack pulled hard, lifting the woman off her feet.

  “I am Jack Roykirk! And I don’t take insults well!” The woman reached up to grab Jack with the gauntlet, but the much larger boy lifted her into the air by her neck, throwing off her balance. She struggled and strained, but Jack held firm.

  “Let me go you child!” she gasped. Jack pulled harder, keeping her off her feet. The rod in his hands cinched itself under the chinstrap of the helmet and wouldn’t budge.

  “A child? You're younger than me, I think," Jack spat. "Come on Marcus! I’ve got her!” he bellowed through gritted teeth. Ian could feel footfalls in the catwalk. He looked around to see the blue hued form of Marcus charging ahead. Ian reached out, grabbing the woman’s flailing legs, attempting to help restrain her. She kicked out and caught Ian in the chest, knocking him against the railing.

  “I will not be taken!” The woman put out her gloved hand toward the core. She couldn’t quite reach it. She pulled against Jack’s grip, but he just wouldn’t let go.

  “You’ve got help!” Donavan said from behind, grabbing at the gloved hand. The woman lashed out, catching Donavan in the face. For a moment, Donavan just wavered there, until his nose began to gush. He toppled sideways, nearly losing his footing. Donavan reached out for the railing to steady himself. His hand missed, and Donavan staggered.

  “Captain Dirk!” Mary called as Donavan started to lose his equilibrium. She and Uther were still on the lower deck below the catwalk, almost directly beneath the others. Mary forgot what she was doing, watching helplessly.

  “Just . . . flumb-” Donavan muttered. Uther narrowed his eyes a bit and seemed to tense. Mary stood in shock as Donavan began to teeter over the railing. She couldn’t move fast enough. She couldn’t do anything. And in her terror, Donavan fell.

  “Blaath,” Donavan said as he cupped his nose. He didn’t seem to realize what was happening. He’d be dead in nearly a second. Mary cried out as he fell. Uther didn’t.

  With speed that Mary had never imagined he possessed, Uther sprung up the transfer coils, bounding up the
scaffolds like a jungle cat. Mary could barely tell him from an animal now. Uther reacted on instinct, diving up at the man. The momentum of the leap knocked Donavan back onto the platform, and both skid to a stop. Uther pounced toward Jack and his captive. The quiet demeanor that Uther possessed was gone, replaced with an animal ferocity that no one was ready for. He was poised on his fingers and toes, his fur bristling beneath his tunic.

  “Need some help?” Uther asked, his voice growling in his chest. Jack turned the woman to face him, and Ian grabbed her uncovered hand.

  "Can you calm her down please?" Jack said through gritted teeth. Marcus wrenched her legs straight and Uther stood, retracting his claws and reaching for her face. The woman's body became frantic with struggle.

  “No,” she protested quietly. The tone in her voice spoke fear. “No! Don’t touch me!” She reached for the core with the gauntlet again, and the three pulled her away. She started to thrash and shake, bending her knees and drawing Marcus in close.

  “Jack! Pull her down!” Marcus barked, his teeth gritted as he readjusted his grip. Jack gave a mighty heave, and the chinstrap holding the club in place snapped. The helmet flew backwards out of sight, and a cascade of jet black hair flowed out from beneath. Marcus felt the feet in his hands find purchase against his chest. With a scream, the woman kicked off of him. He fell back, but kept his balance. Jack stumbled into the railing, and could only watch as the gloved hand reached into the core.

  “REACH WOMAN!” the Wraith rumbled from seemingly everywhere. The room shuddered and everyone nearly lost their footing. Ian looked around and saw the shroud billowing toward them, the edges of it flaming with crimson rage.

  “NO!” came Sage’s voice from the open doorway. A dozen blaster bolts flew through the air, searing the atmosphere around the core. But none of the blasts scored a hit. The Wraith dove at the security contingent, scattering them like duck pins. Sage opened fire with all he had, but Azaghal flamed and roared, cowing him to the deck.

  "I will not be caged any longer!" Azaghal thundered. Sage felt a body hit his chest. He collapsed onto the floor as Azaghal scorched the air above him, the Wraith nearly tearing him in half. The security team flew into the air like confetti, slapping helplessly against the bulkheads.

  "Keep your head down Mr. Cortez," Mary said, pushing herself off of Sage's chest.

  Up on the catwalk, the woman’s hand made contact with the shimmering blue sphere, and the entire mechanism shifted at an odd angle, screaming in technological agony. Ian felt his footing give. He reached out for the railing and held on as his section of catwalk started to fall away from the core. His feet were dangling over the side now, and he didn’t dare look down.

  “Just . . . a little . . . more!” She said, leaning over the inner railing, trying to get her hand deeper into the core. Jack recovered himself and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her away again. But the woman rallied, punching and kicking, knocking Jack back against the auxiliary console. Jack let out a painful yelp as his kidneys made contact with the uneven surface.

  "Somebody stop her!" Marcus called, looking for a way around to where she was. Donavan sat up, firing his pistol for all it was worth. His balance wasn't back yet, and his shots sent Marcus diving for cover. The woman reached over the rail again, pushing farther, sending a shower of sparkling crystal into the air. The core made a violent pitch to the left with a sound like a thousand screeching gears. The right side of the catwalk yawed violently, and Ian nearly lost his grip.

  “Uther! Help Ian!” Marcus vaulted over the growing divide in the catwalk, catching a console and pulling himself along the shifting floor. Whoever this was, she wasn’t going to stop until she got what she wanted. Marcus leaped again, catching the only stable part of the platform remaining and pulled himself up.

  Uther reached down and pulled Ian up in a one-handed tug. Ian looked completely flummoxed as the boy set him steadily against the railing and started back toward the core without a word. If anyone got wind of what Uther could do when properly motivated, no one would ever pick on him again.

  “YES!” the woman exclaimed. The sound of a thunder crack filled the air as something made contact with the woman's hand. The core came to an abrupt halt, the spherical surface cracking along uneven seams. Marcus wanted to move, but something said to hold on. He tightened his grip on the console and shut his eyes. The entire engine room moaned in distress, beginning to shake and rumble as the core refused to spin the way it was intended.

  “FINALLY!” With a mighty yank, the woman tore something free of the core sphere, sending a cascade of deadly core fragments exploding into the air. The energy left in the sphere blasted outwards, knocking the already weakened catwalk off its ram bolts and to the floor. Ian held on as best he could, but his grip just wasn’t enough.

  Jack caught the brunt of the shockwave, flying backwards toward the wall. Uther lunged and grabbed hold of Jack as he cart-wheeled through the air. The two landed on the lower deck, tumbling and sliding toward the door. Uther growled as he sprung back onto his hands and feet.

  Only Donavan and Marcus were still on the catwalk. Donavan had one hand on the railing, and the other on his pistol, pointing it at the Dread. The entire room went dark for a split second. The engine room strobed and shuddered. Marcus shielded his eyes, looking up from beneath his cloaks to see what had happened.

  The catwalk was nearly shorn completely off the starboard side, what remained of it bent out across the lower deck. Ian, Uther and Jack were all on the floor, breathing hard but alive. Mary was crawling out from under the console she’d been working at. She looked out tentatively, not sure if it was safe.

  “FREE!” the Wraith’s voice bellowed through the room. Marcus watched as the free form shadow moved toward the Dread. She had some kind of long crystal in her gloved hand. With an unceremonious shake, the shards of gemstone shattered, revealing what looked like a blade. She raised it into the air and the Wraith seemed to feed into it. In that instant, the shuddering in the deck ceased.

  “Oh no,” Marcus breathed. The auxiliary lights came on, and Marcus saw her for the first time in normal light. But the ‘who’ wasn’t quite as unexpected as what she held.

  “Surprised?” she said as she turned.

  “Aiko! What’re you doing?” Ian cried from the lower deck. She turned and smiled at him, her brown eyes flashing with devilish glee. Ian felt a wave of pain strike through his mind. He cried out in shock as his vision suddenly went dark and his mind's eye flashed with impossible images. The shadow of Mordred's Mask brightened in his eyes until he could see nothing else. After a second, he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

  “The Falseblade is ours again!” she exclaimed. Marcus pulled himself up to the steady portion of the catwalk and drew his sword.

  “Let’s see if you can keep it,” he exclaimed. Aiko raised her weapon to meet his. Firmly in the fist of Noganus’s Phantom Hand was the sword Marcus had thought lost. The undulating tendrils of metal and the pulsing bluish black aura were unmistakable.

  Aiko was now holding the Withering Falseblade.

  Chapter 24

  Harm

  Rebekah breathed hard as she exerted herself. The Absolutes were giving her quite a time. Not that she couldn’t deal with them. But they were coordinated. It wasn’t like the melee in Meridian City. These warriors were not trying to overwhelm her with numbers. She was alone against a single-minded enemy that was using teamwork to whittle away at her. More than anything, it was making her tired and mad.

  She’d managed to cut the odds down from twelve on one to eight on one in the first minute. The Absolutes weren't the most skilled fighters she'd ever faced, but they were the most determined. They were also excessively organized, circling and flanking with strangely expert timing. Even with Rebekah’s marked skill level, it didn’t seem to be getting any easier. Rand and Skeel seemed to be doing little more than overseeing, walking around the edges of the fight with smug smiles on their faces. Whenever she got c
lose to one of them, two Absolutes would jump in and force her back.

  A strike came from the left. Rebekah twisted her body ever so slightly, letting the cleaving blade of the lancet slip past her. Without a second's thought, Rebekah pivoted around, pinning the lancet to the earth with her boot heel. Her attacker looked up just soon enough to see the other foot screaming at him. A bone jarring crash sounded out, and the man flipped twice before landing on his neck. The man fell apart on impact, a shell of hollow armor left in the mud. The armor rattled and shuffled, trying to return to its previous form. After a brief moment, the armor lay still, unmoving.

  Seven on one, she thought. Rebekah had realized early on that she wasn't dealing with men at all. Only phantoms of armor designed to soften her up. The revelation had made her smile. She didn't have to pull her punches. The Absolutes weren't even alive. Her eyes fell on a dropped weapon at her feet. It wasn't a Dread Paladin weapon. She could just tell by the feeling she got from it. She dropped down to the splits, allowing an Absolute to go sailing overhead as it missed her spine with a flying side kick. Her hand clamped around the grip of the lancet as she rose to her feet, twirling them both together.

  "Now. Who wants me?" she muttered. The Absolutes didn't look to be faltering at all. Rebekah set a wide stance, holding both lancets at the ready. The attack came from the right. She deflected it deftly. Rebekah danced and spun, the buzz saw-like motion of the lancets too much for her assailants.

  Her training went into automatic, carrying her around the battlefield like a windblown pinwheel. In just a few seconds, her odds were much more favorable. The Absolutes were down in the rain and the mud, scuttling along as best they could, the armor either in pieces or bludgeoned too badly to continue. She struck out at the last advancing enemy and the helmet came off. There was nothing underneath. Not even a wisp of dark mist. The armor clattered to the earth, empty and without form.