"Now for-AHHH!" A shock coursed through Rebekah's back, seizing her for a mind jarring second. The sudden spasm in her back numbed her hand, causing her to drop the extra lancet. Rebekah felt her hand go dull as her body cried out in protest of her activity. She fell to one knee, gritting her teeth against the sharp pain. Her hand was useless. She flexed it. It opened and closed just as she knew it would. She could see it working. She just couldn't feel it.
“You don’t seem very steady on your feet Princess!” Rand bit out sarcastically, circling around behind her. “Gotten a little soft around all these paladins, eh?” Rebekah shook off her distress, spinning around and blocking Rand’s strike before it could hit her already tender spine.
"Typical royal," Skeel bit out. “All show and no stamina.” Rebekah shoved Rand aside with her free hand, giving herself a little room to recover. Skeel was on her in a second, his thin frame slamming into her shoulder, nearly knocking her off her feet. Rebekah rallied, grabbing him by the breastplate and hoisting the smaller warrior up.
“At least I can still see straight.” Rebekah leaned forward, her helmeted head smacking into his. Skeel teetered back a bit, stunned. Rebekah pivoted slightly, almost sensing Rand there. He lunged, trying to use the blunted edge of his lancet to strike her back. Rebekah twisted only a bit, chopping him on the neck and knocking him down.
She wasn’t a fool. Rand and Skeel knew about her injury. They were aiming for her back with dragoon precision. It occurred to Rebekah that this had all been planned. Someone had set the Tumbler up to injure her. And now, Rand and Skeel were here to finish the job and take her back to Mordred.
“Is that all you’ve got? Your thugs weren’t really necessary, were they?” Rebekah asked as Skeel pulled himself up out of the mud. He spat out a bit of sod and scowled.
“They were here to keep things fair.” Rebekah didn’t believe that. Rand looked around at his phantom officers and motioned them to stand back. Each one that had retained enough pieces to move fell into a strange parade rest stance, holding to the circle they had formed. The other pieces of armor rattled and slunk toward the outer edges of the battle, skittering like roaches.
“Fair for you," she grated. "I guess that’s the only way you could beat me.” Rebekah spun her lancet and set herself. "That’s because you’re no good." The rain started to pour down harder. That was good. She needed the elements to work in her favor.
“You’ve already lost,” Rand spat back. Rebekah dug in her boot heel and took a long breath. Concentrate Norik!
“Cowards taunt Rand. Step up.”
“Ladies first,” Skeel mocked. Rebekah nodded shortly.
“Fine. Let’s finish it!” Rand and Skeel both smiled as she came at them. They both raised their weapons to attack at the same instant. Rebekah knew the move. The Highmaster had taught her well. They were trying to goad her into blocking with her weapon.
Rebekah dove at them instead, corkscrewing between the men and rolling to her feet. They scarcely had time to react before she whipped the lancet around. Rand and Skeel screamed out at the same time, both collapsing to the earth in shock. Rebekah forced herself to stand as they grabbed at their feet. She felt nauseous and shaky.
“We’re not- AHHH!” Rand cried out. Rebekah didn’t bother to make any kind of pun at that point. She’d used a move that the Highmaster had forbidden her to use except in the direst of emergencies. Her lancet had cut them across their heels, severing the Achilles tendon, one of the few places not well armored. She’d taken away their ability to walk. She stood stock still, trying to be imposing. She didn’t feel imposing, though. She felt as though she would pass out. Her legs felt weak and her stomach was doing cartwheels. She needed to get back to the Academy, and fast.
“You’re both beaten. Don’t even think about getting up. You can’t beat me. You never could.” She tried to sound tough, but it was a struggle. It was all she could do to keep her feet at this point.
“This . . . t-this isn’t over!” Skeel said through gritted teeth. Rebekah looked around at the others, all of which had mysteriously recovered and were standing frozen in a strange parade rest. They weren’t surprised and they weren’t reacting. It was odd.
She knew it before she felt it. Her whole body suddenly seized in pain. Rebekah’s knees buckled, as though the last of their strength had been stolen from them. Her mind didn’t register it at first. All the sound around her seemed to stop. She hit the ground on her knees, letting out a sharp cry. What happened? She asked herself. Her body cried out in protest at the biting sting. Something had landed against her spine. She dropped onto her hands and tried to keep from losing consciousness.
“He’s right, you know,” Darius’s voice said from behind her. “This isn’t over.” Rebekah dragged herself toward a tree, pulling herself up, her astonishment almost overpowering her pain. Her body wretched for a second as the ache nearly caused her to vomit. Darius smiled and started toward her.
“Darius,” Rebekah coughed, her eyes becoming unfocused. She looked around. Her lancet was six feet away, and Darius was closing. He stopped short, looking down at Rand and Skeel. The two had stopped clutching their feet, looking up at Darius in terror.
"You failed!" Darius droned. "And you tried to kill me. Not very smart boys."
"We didn't!" Skeel protested. "Lord Mordred commanded us. We were to prove your loyalty." Darius shook his head.
"Loyalty proven," he droned. "You're a loose end. Both of you. One I intend to tie off." Darius cracked his knuckles as he approached the two.
"No! We can prove our worth. We can be Manticores. We just need another chance!" Rand cried out. Rebekah couldn't see through the rain what happened. But first Rand and then Skeel screamed, only to become silent after a sick sounding crunch. Darius's silhouette rose from the ground, wiping his hands on his duster.
"No second chances." With a wave of his hand, the other Absolutes disappeared from view. “Useless. Couldn’t even die well,” he mumbled. Rebekah looked down at her dead assailants, not sure what to think.
"You killed them?" Darius advanced, and Rebekah tried to rise. "What-?"
“What am I doing?” he asked mockingly, finishing her thought. With a flourish, the duster and the hat were tossed aside. A quick sweep of his hand tore the compression suit from his chest. The rain hit his white skin, and for a moment, it looked as though Darius was melting. Rebekah forced her eyes to focus and watched as the former Dragoon’s facade dissolved in the rainstorm. He’d covered himself in stage makeup. Across his chest, down his arms and framing his face were the marks of a tattoo that seemed to know no age.
It was darkest black, in the form of a great dark serpent. Its sinewy wings stretched out down Darius's muscular arms, uneven and cruel looking. The head stretched up across his face, the mouth opening around his head in a vicious screech. But more unnerving was the fact that the dragon was moving, seeming almost restless on the elder Dragoon’s skin. Rebekah knew the symbol almost before the makeup had poured away.
"The hollow mark?" Rebekah breathed, not wanting to believe her eyes. Darius smirked, crinkling the dragon's mouth.
"The Mark of the Dragon God Khasarinth. The mark of invincibility." Rebekah could see the edges of the tattoo more clearly now. The beast on Darius's body was not a bit of still life. The Mark made a hissing noise as Darius grinned. "No force, no weapon, no false faith can penetrate my body. I am beyond death. I am immortal." Rebekah felt her back twinge again as Darius continued toward her. The pain killers had worn out. She'd burned through them while she fought. Before long, she would have little choice but to drop down and let Darius take her.
"How could you?" she cried out, leaning more heavily on the oak she'd found. "You sold yourself for a hollowing. Your very being is undone. How could you?"
"Not A hollowing. THE hollowing. It's easy to make a decision when you know you're going to die," Darius said almost casually. "You can't tell me you'd choose dying over immortality." Rebekah got to her feet,
trying to look impressive. She knew he didn't believe it. But she needed to.
"You didn't choose immortality. You've destroyed yourself! You’ve abandoned everything you ever believed and become a vessel for evil!" Darius stopped short as Rebekah pulled herself to full height. He wasn't about to discount the idea that she wasn't injured. And she was faster than he was. Her flight was a real possibility. But Darius knew well enough that Rebekah was hurt. She was doing everything she could to hold it together. "I trusted you!" Darius shrugged.
"That makes you a fool. Just like the Highmaster." Rebekah didn't waste any more time. She dove ahead, grabbing her lancet and thrusting as hard as she could. The spear point hit Darius square in the chest. Rebekah had punctured his heart.
"You killed him!" Darius nodded, a bizarre smile on his face.
"Don't act surprised Princess. It all pointed to me. No forced entry. No sign of struggle. The blow to the spine. That was the first trick the Highmaster ever taught us. Incapacitate without killing. A pressure point along the spine that inhibits nerve impulses between the brain and the legs. I just took it with a little more lethality. And that little show in the Holodrome was just a sniff of a clue. You were just too stupid to see it." Rebekah twisted the lancet a bit and groaned. Her strength was ebbing fast. "I do wish he'd fought harder. It was just a little . . . unsavory. You know. Killing someone who can't beat you. I had only to hit him twice. Then he crumpled like a rag. He died like a dog."
"You die next!" Darius barely made a sound. He just looked at her, his eyes hollow, devoid of any feeling. His hand came up and shoved Rebekah back. Her legs gave out and she fell into the mud with a watery squish.
"I beg to differ." The lancet tilted slightly and fell to the earth. Rebekah tried to stand, but tumbled back instead, falling on her haunches. Darius's chest seemed to balloon outward, pressing out the spear's imprint on his torso. He stepped forward, stomping the lancet into splinters.
"Now. You're going to Mordred."
It took a few moments for Ian to regain consciousness. He shook himself a few times, trying to clear the fog from his mind. He remembered falling and the dull thud of his body smacking against the floor of the engine room. He couldn't see very much. It took a bit to realize that the lights weren't working properly. The room was dim, though not dark.
"You all right Ian?" Jack's voice said, sounding hollow. Ian knew what that meant. He had a concussion.
"Connie said go," he blurted. Jack shook his head.
"Connie?" Mary asked. Ian's mouth and his brain weren't back on speaking terms yet.
"Shake it off Sodaro. We need you." Ian rubbed his face with his hands and blinked a few times. The room started to come into focus. Jack was leaning over him, along with a passive looking Uther. Mary was pacing around the fringes of Ian's vision, a worried look on her face. Ian started, sitting up and turning toward the shattered catwalk.
"Where's Aiko?" he said unevenly, his hands searching for his fist daggers. Uther handed them to him as he stood.
"Your girlfriend and Marcus are trying to cut each other apart on the upper catwalk," Sage said from just out of Ian's view. Ian glanced over at him as he clacked away at the auxiliary engineering console. "Whoever survives is going to owe me money for damages." Sage felt hands on him. His world spun suddenly. Ian had his clenched fists on Sage’s shirtfront, hiking him up and slamming him against the bulkhead.
"This is your doing you pointy eared nut job! How could you bring that thing here? HOW? WHY!?" Sage clawed at Ian's fists, trying to get him to let go. But Ian just kept pushing.
"I was trying to help!" Sage croaked out. “Ian! You’re stretching my neck! Stop!” Ian gave him one more shove for emphasis and turned away.
"You’re lucky I don’t break you in half! You could've gotten us all killed!" Sage could feel the hole in the pit of his stomach widening. He'd convinced himself that he was trying to help. He'd told himself that it was for the good of all. But the feeling that he'd done something far worse than fail to help was growing. He'd brought the blade to the Triumphant. He'd created the energy siphon. And now, the Dread's wanted the blade back.
"I'll fix it!" he said, hoping that someone would believe him. Ian kept moving. The others followed. Only Uther stopped, looking back at the stricken elf. He glanced at his friends, knowing he should follow. “I can fix this,” he said pleadingly.
"It is not for you to fix Mr. Cortez," he said simply. Sage didn't look at him, watching as the others left him with his machine. Uther touched him on his shoulder and tried to smile. Sage looked down at the boy, feeling warmth growing in his chest that he hadn't felt before.
"I can fix anything," he stammered. Uther shook his head.
"Only what you understand. You do not yet understand this. But know that all will be well, if you will trust that the things you do not yet fathom will be made known to you. You will see one day." With that, Uther removed his hand and walked away. Sage felt tears in his eyes. Something had changed in him suddenly. He didn't feel the pit in his stomach anymore. He didn't feel anger about losing the Falseblade anymore. He felt hopeful.
Marcus parried another attack and did his best to fend Aiko off. The woman would not relent. She simply charged forward, trying her best to split Marcus in twain. She hadn’t fought like this in the Holodrome. Another strike came from the side, and Marcus stalled it, pressing back against the woman with all the strength he could muster.
"You're not leaving with that blade!" he grunted out. Aiko grinned, and Marcus could almost feel his stomach churn. That smile was not the one he saw when she had looked at Ian. It was twisted and foul.
"I am. But I figured I'd show you what you're up against first." Marcus pushed her off, watching her closely as she flourished the Falseblade. She was enjoying taunting Marcus. She tiptoed around a little, mocking a dance and giggling with twisted glee. Marcus took a long, slow breath and reset his feet.
"You're going about this all wrong," he said finally. "You didn't hear what I said in the Holodrome." Aiko tilted her head slightly.
"What exactly does that mean?" Aiko felt a tap on her shoulder. She spun around, swinging the Falseblade in a wide arc. But no one was there. Ian stood from a crouch, his face filled with rage. With a move she barely saw, his fist landed in her midsection, doubling her over. Before she could react, Ian flipped her onto her back and pinned her to the floor. Aiko looked up to see the point of Ian's fist dagger hovering in front of her eye. The other was firmly pressed against her neck. His knees were on her elbows, restraining her hands. Aiko pivoted her hips, intent on grabbing Ian's head with her feet. But he pressed the dagger point closer to her eyes.
"Move," he growled. Aiko went rod still. "PLEASE move!" Marcus reached down and wrenched the phantom hand free and pulled it aside. Aiko looked up in shock, her face rippling for just a second.
"NO!" she cried. Marcus looked down at her. Her face was a panic. "Please! Give me the Falseblade! I'll do anything!"
"I'll just bet," Marcus toned. Ian gritted his teeth and leaned in closer.
"Tell me why you tricked me!" Aiko shook her head. "TELL ME!"
"I was ordered to. I'm a Manticore after the Order of the Silent Knife. It's what I do."
"I think it's what you've failed to do." Aiko tried to reach for the gauntlet, but Ian pressed her down harder into the floor. Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at the Falseblade longingly.
"Don't! Don't do this to me!" Ian and Marcus were silent for a long moment as Aiko cried on the floor. She whimpered for a few moments, before pulling herself together. "You don't understand," she blubbered. "I can't fail. I'll die if I fail." Marcus blinked. Something about that sounded familiar. He watched her fall apart right in front of him. Ian's anger seemed to ebb ever so slightly. He pulled himself back a bit, allowing her a little room.
"Why?" Ian asked. Aiko sucked back an uneven breath and moaned.
"We only get one chance as Manticores. Mordred doesn't permit failure. My life is forfeit."
Aiko just laid there in her tears for a moment. She didn't seem dangerous anymore. She seemed almost pathetic. Marcus scowled.
"You'll live. It's your freedom you've forfeited. You're under arrest," he said simply. Ian went to haul her to her feet. Aiko's face rippled again and she cried out suddenly, looking at nothing at all.
"NO, MY LORD MORDRED! DON'T RECALL ME! DON'T! PLEASE!" Aiko's terrified scream filled the engine room as she faded and faded until she was gone completely. Ian put his hand where she had been, but there was nothing. He looked up at his mentor and frowned.
"Now what?" he asked simply. Marcus looked at the pulsating Falseblade in his hand, wondering the same thing.
It took a while for Ellis to get back aboard the Triumphant. He had info for Marcus. But with the ship's systems in a shambles and security on full alert, Ellis was going through quite an ordeal just to get back to where he'd started.
After a few missteps and a run in with Donavan’s very efficient security detail, Ellis found his way back to the engineering deck. He looked around in shock. The engine room was destroyed. Half the catwalk was off its restraints. Whatever had happened since he’d left had not been pretty.
“Mary!” Ellis called out as he walked in. “You all right?” Mary looked up to see who had called her name. She was sitting beside Ian, who seemed to be doing his best just to stay calm.
“I’m fine Ellis,” she retorted quietly.
“What happened in here?” he asked, motioning to the catwalk.
“That's a very long-” Jack winced as he tried to stretch his back. “-and painful story.” The medical personnel aboard the Triumphant were attending to the injured. Jack seemed to need his wrists wrapped. Beside him, Donavan was holding a cold pack and a bandage to his face. He had cotton in his nostrils and Uther was touching his shoulder, offering what assistance his gifts could muster. Sage was working on the repairs to the engine room, looking more distressed by the damage than anything else.
The Paladin Archives Book Two The Withering Falseblade Page 37