The Iron Altar Series Box Set One: Books 1 to 3

by Casey Lea

  Free sketched a bow of obedience in the direction of the throne, but was already moving again. He stiffened against the wave of satisfaction and malice that Tetrarck Feathernest, the head of the BackBeak clan, released when he passed. He refused to look at that old member of The Thousand and her clustered supporters, even to check whether his ex-Data Senior was with them. However, while he strode the seemingly endless chequered ice of the supplicants’ hall, he mentally queried his com. His grip on the icy tiles told him that his wrist band was working again, and it responded to his search at once.

  Its silent answer was negative and another chill touched Free. Ex-Data Senior BackBeak was not one of the brightly feathered crowd that was crowing over his punishment. He could think of a number of reasons why that vindictive aristocrat might have missed such a triumph and none of them pleased him. He lengthened his stride further and no longer cared that he was virtually running from the chamber. There were more important things than his pride, as he’d discovered long ago. The roof-high illusory doors of the supplicants’ exit seemed to open before him and he burst into the clear light of the long balcony.

  Free dropped all restraint the moment he entered that narrow and empty colonnade. His com’s full power returned and he broke into a run. His attempts to hail the Honor went unanswered. He tried to reach its nest on emergency com, but failed again. He sprinted to the lip of the nearest palace link and leapt in without confirming traffic volume, its passengers scattering before him. The surge of his com was so strong that it caught courtiers above in the back-field and tumbled them upwards, cursing and yelling. Free ignored their complaints as he plummeted toward the ground.

  20

  Framed

  Clearwing Pinion slouched lower in her watcher’s chair. It was the only seat still active in the Honors’ empty nest and her fronds fluttered nervously, searching for danger among the shadows of a ship on stand-by power. She quickly stilled them, annoyed at her timidity, and tried to ignore her growing unease. She knew her fear was simply caused by the unfamiliarity of the ship while it was grounded, but it was still hard to adapt to a nest that was now dark and threatening. The bustle of crew and their bright displays had been replaced by eerie silence and a dim glow from her lone console.

  Black walls curved away from Clearwing, disappearing into the darkness above. Kresynt’s gravity felt heavier than she remembered. It seemed to pull the surrounding darkness down on her head. She sighed and closed her eyes to the weight of black above, but that was worse and she quickly opened them again, to sit scrunched and defensive in a single pool of light.

  Clearwing sighed when she remembered how excited she had been to receive sole charge of the ship for its first docking watch. More punishment than reward, she realized now. Mayhap the leader hates me, she thought in sudden panic, before remembering that the order had come from port control, not Freefall. That was a mercy. She made an effort to sit up straight and survey what she could see of the nest, but the silence was still eerie. Even the usual background com chatter, the routine exchanges between docking ships and port control was missing.

  Clear sat up truly straight in surprise and sudden realisation. It was too quiet. Far too quiet and her scalp crawled with a renewed sense of dread. “Drakkit,” she muttered, realising that part of her mind had been alerted to real danger some time ago. She brushed strands of hair impatiently aside and flicked her console into scan mode. There was no response. The curved gray surface in front of her remained featureless, as still as its surroundings.

  Clear ordered an emergency-on, but there was no reassuring surge of power. The air above her sole source of information stayed empty. She realized she was shaking as she crouched in her seat. This was more than a console malfunction. This was the sort of complete shutdown that only a senior officer could authorise.

  Clear staggered from of her seat, while her fingers and mind sent out a priority hail from her com. There was no answer, but she was unsurprised. Her console was sabotaged and her personal com was being damped too. Someone had trapped her alone, in the middle of a crippled ship.

  She slunk toward the link, sliding on the smooth curve of the nest, her boots’ adhesion overwhelmed by the energy field that had isolated her from the rest of Kresynt. However, her balance was naturally good and she made steady progress across the ‘down’ side of the chamber, despite her trembling legs. She reached the edge of the link, but, to her horror the ship’s main corridor was no longer dimly lit. Its opening could only be seen in the light from her otherwise-useless console. Its mouth was now a circle of black.

  Clear hesitated on the edge of that darkened tunnel, before leaning into it. She tried to take a tentative step, but her fingers held tight to the edge of its entrance. They refused to open and she had to stop, still clinging to the illusory security of the nest.

  Clear glared at her hands, but they seemed to be operating independently and showed no inclination to let go. She stared at her knuckles, willing them to relax, but they still stood out pale against the wall. This is the only escape you have, she reminded herself grimly, and suddenly understood her reluctance to move. She knew the link was her only way out, but so did the person behind this.

  Trap, trap, trap, her mind screamed, and briefly tried to find its own escape in panic. Trap!

  Clear abruptly shut down that silent scream. She was in deep trouble and the only help she could count on was her own. She took a shaking breath and slowly uncurled her hands. Each frozen finger lifted in turn until she was free. Her mind was finally moving faster than her terrified body and, by the time her hands were unclenched, she had already reviewed her options. She could try to access the service ways that honeycombed the ship’s walls. They were separate from the nest and security shielded to prevent an invasion, but breaking into them was possible. However, they were also the most obvious escape route after the link so she rejected them.

  Instead, Clear slid carefully back to her station. The console was useless, but its seat might not be. She reached her goal and her legs buckled so that she could drop to her knees. She fell to all fours beside her chair and groped for the pressure point that released its seat cushion. It depressed slowly with a series of clicks that echoed from the walls. However, with a last creak, the seat was thrown clear, flying forward so that she had to duck. Its gaudy padding brushed her hair when it passed, flying on into the dark and colliding with the far wall. It clattered to the curved floor and slid back toward the young kres.

  Clear crouched wide-eyed and shaking, watching it reappear from the dark and skid to a halt against her ankle. The sound of its explosive release had been so loud that she briefly hoped port control, in their distant tower, might somehow have heard it. “Silly,” she chided herself, but froze, mouth still open, when the seats’ release did bring a response. Footsteps. Ringing clearly from the link. The rapid strike of someone running. Running toward the nest.

  Clear’s first thought was of rescue, of help arriving, perhaps even the Leader- but her own senses offered less hopeful data. No friendly voice called reassurance down the link and Freefall had only been gone a short time, with no plans to return to the ship anyway. She forced down hope and turned back to her dismembered chair. It gaped forlornly at her, a singed braid trailing across its now-open support leg.

  Clear clawed at the orange and olive tatters, ripping them from the cavity to reveal the power pack beneath. It gleamed, even in the dimness, and she realized that when she pulled it free she would lose her only light source. The footsteps were closer now, loud enough for non-kres ears to register and thunderous to the increasingly desperate Sub-plus. She slammed a fist into the pack’s release field and jerked it free.

  All light vanished. The nest was pitch-black. Now it was truly terrifying and completely disorienting. The growing footfalls seemed more real to Clear than her own invisible body. She held the fist-sized power store tight, so tight it hurt her hand and was a reminder of her unseen flesh.

  The nagging footstep
s grew louder still, pounding from the link walls to echo around the nest. It was too late to hide somewhere in the ship with her improvised weapon, Clear realized and almost gave in to panic again, but part of her mind was still thinking. It forced her body up and on. She tucked the power pack into the front of her tunic, which she sealed securely up to her throat. The footsteps stopped. They fell silent at the edge of the nest and were replaced by the gasp of ragged breathing, as if someone had abused full combat mode then been forced to pause and recover. She had no intention of giving the intruder the chance.

  Her orientation had returned with the unseen stranger. The darkness was still absolute, but Clear’s fronds could clearly sense the runner’s body heat. His size and shape were male and he stood to the left of the link opening, resting against it and bent almost double. She threw herself forward, but his head rose instantly and his own fronds writhed to track her with equal ease. She skidded down the curve of the nest, arms wide for balance, aiming straight for the intruder. It was impossible to see his expression, but she could feel his satisfaction when he spread his own arms to grab her. She was moving at speed, but the collision never came. She dived into a forward roll instead, tucking her head into her chest as she aimed for the emergency infrared strips that marked the link.

  The intruder ducked forward in an effort to catch Clear, but threw himself straight into the heel of her boot. She had straightened her left leg as she rolled, so that it swung over her head and into her attacker’s jaw. The contact jarred her from feet to fronds and stole her momentum, so that she sprawled sideways across the link, but it worked. Her attacker grunted when her boots’ combat-toughened sole broke through his depleted com field to hit hard. The strike connected with enough force to throw him back against the edge of the link. He yelped in pain and fell to his knees, but still managed to clutch after her. His fingers brushed her ankle, but then she was gone.

  Clear found her feet and hurtled down the link, blind but balanced, despite her fear. The surrounding dark could have swallowed her if she let it, leached away direction to leave her staggering and lost, but she kept it at bay. She held onto simple thoughts so tightly that she had no chance to think of the blackness. Instead, she followed her one clear instinct. To run. All she had to do was stay upright and follow the infrared dots until she saw light. Once her body broke free of the ship, so would her com. She staggered on, swaying from left to right while her mind struggled with each stride. Her feet kept straying from a straight line despite her mental efforts to find the floor. She could hear other footsteps now, coming from behind, the rapid strike of her unknown attacker. His harsh footfalls grew closer again as he gained on her.

  Clear’s adrenaline surged, but so did hope. The link was lighter. Yes, she could see walls and floor appearing ahead. Her pace quickened until she was running strongly again toward the brilliant oval that marked the end of the link. Her pursuer was nearly on her, filling her ears and fronds with his presence, but he was too slow. She realized she would escape before he could catch her. The link was bathed in light and her com vibrated when its thwarted emergency call finally started to connect. She took a sobbing breath and seemed to find wings as she leapt for the exit.

  Her foot sailed over the threshold, but, before her body could follow, the light was blocked. A huge figure stepped between Clear and freedom. She tried to twist in mid-air, but massive hands closed on her shoulders. The oval of light that lead to the docks was only a stride away when her feet came off the ground and she was tossed casually over a mutt’s shoulder.

  “Help,” she yelled, and gulped air for another shriek, but hard fingers closed in her hair, yanking her head back.

  Clear froze, staring transfixed into the pale lavender-fringed eyes of pirate Leader Lamidia. Those silver orbs reflected pigmented lids with eerie luminosity, the pupils pinpricks in the single shaft of light.

  “I have preference not to mark you, girl,” the Harvester said softly, “but if I need to hurt you, I will.”

  The threat behind those quiet words hit hard enough to make Clear’s fronds writhe and bunch tight. The young kres went limp in response and her captor’s mind lost its immediate menace.

  “Better.”

  The Harvester turned back to the kres, who had been chasing Clear. He was bent double again, regaining his breath on the threshold between light and dark.

  Lamidia hissed in annoyance and he looked up quickly, straightening as he struggled to make a more rapid recovery. His face was upside-down to Clearwing, who was now draped over the mutt’s shoulder. It was also hidden by a com glamour, a disguise that blurred his features under a glittering spray of stars. She sensed his satisfaction as he studied her, before he turned to stagger back into the dark.

  Clear and her captor were swallowed by the link as well and the young kres sensed Lamidia following. The escaped pirate strode confidently along the lightless tunnel and Clear realized that the kres traitor who released her must have given her a com too. Despite being bounced against the mutt’s back, Clear’s fronds soon recognised the approaching nest. The return trip had been frighteningly quick, much faster than her attempt to escape.

  The mutt strode into the nest and staggered. His feet slipped before his leader’s com could create more grip and Clear was dumped unceremoniously onto the floor. She fell more than two metres and landed hard. She had to lie still for a second, recovering her breath. The nest was still black, but Lamidia entered without difficulty and stepped quickly to Clear’s side. The disguised kres moved just as smoothly to stand between her and the link, blocking any escape.

  Lamidia knelt gracefully next to her prisoner and the young officer struggled up onto all fours. She gasped at the faint hum beside her when Lamidia’s com powered up, and Clear flinched away. Her eyes slid toward the now-glowing wristband and she recognised the ident tag that signalled a chemical feed rather than blast function. At least she wasn’t about to be shot. Relief made her tremble, setting her swaying on her hands and knees while Lamidia readied her drug shunt.

  The mermaridian hummed happily, before leaning closer to her prisoner and Clear recoiled further from the pirate’s malice.

  “Don’t stir so,” Lamidia snapped and the young kres instantly froze. “Better. Don’t guilt, girl. You could never be a match for me. This failure isn't your fault. It was inevitable.”

  Her hand closed around Clear’s neck, smooth fingers searching for a vein, and something in the Sub-plus rebelled at that soft touch. It rebelled against Lamidia’s arrogance, her unfeeling beauty, her certainty that Clear had surrendered. It even rebelled against Clearwing’s own common sense. Some unsuspected, but integral part of her refused to go down without fighting.

  Lamidia pressed her thumb beneath the data tek’s jaw to force her head up and expose her throat. Her prisoner made no effort to resist, but, as the pirate positioned her com, Clear’s hand moved to the front of her own tunic.

  The power source from her vandalised seat was still there, nestled smooth and hard between her breasts. Her fingers curled around it, searching for its trigger point though the fabric of her top. That slight depression was hard to find and Lamidia’s com dug into Clear’s throat. However, before it could penetrate, her scrabbling fingers found their target and spasmed against it.

  Fire filled the nest, brilliant and blinding. A blue-white beam pierced both the dark and Lamidia’s shoulder. It sliced through the Harvester’s com field, punching her backwards. There was a sharp retort from seared air and flesh before Lamidia’s scream drowned all other sounds.

  Clear twisted awkwardly away, struggling to bring the clumsy weapon to bear on the traitor kres. He threw himself to one side, but there was another sharp retort and she managed to sear his lower leg. He yelled too and thrashed across the floor, skidding away from her in desperate retreat. She threw herself after him, but not to attack.

  Clear slid to one side instead and toward the link as the mutt belatedly lumbered into action behind her. His shuffling footf
alls were muted in the bedlam, but she could sense him closing on her. She clutched her makeshift weapon, but it pulsed weakly in response, virtually empty. She released it and skidded on through a darkness now distorted by green streaks, the after image of her brief attack. The useless power pack fell through the hole it had blasted in her tunic and clattered away, racing Clear into the darkness.

  The mutt chasing her was slipping too and his momentum built as he charged down the slope behind her. He closed fast and Clear threw herself forward on to her stomach, sliding desperately for the link. She rocketed into it and surged up the far wall. Gravity slowed her and she curved back toward the unseen floor, managing to land on her feet. She staggered briefly, but then she was running, following the infrared trail with her fronds, and the mutt fell behind, struggling to track her in the dark.

  Clear’s hope returned, but only briefly. It turned to bitter disappointment again the moment she sensed someone in the link ahead. The input from her fronds was depressingly clear. The intruder was not as large as a mutt, but still too big to be kres. She skidded to a halt and he strolled toward her, apparently at ease in the dark. She realized with shock that he had fronds and took an involuntary step back before slumping against the curved wall.

  Only one group of mermaridian had ever managed to use gentik gene splicing to gain fronds and they were the most violent, uncaring sect of an entire species. Beserks. Sentient beings with extreme skills in murder and mayhem, who descended into madness in the heat of battle. The Beserks were the most effective weapons the Harvesters possessed. Her training was explicit about the only possible response to such warriors.