by James Hunt
On his mount, Fullock looked a giant to the small creature underneath the saddle. His shoulders were as wide as a door, and his fists clutched the thin reins, making them look like pieces of thread in his massive hands. “You ride with the Black Rocks, Governor?” The words left his mouth with distaste. “It will take more than you and those cravens to defeat my men.”
“There will be no battle of armies today, Chief.” Dean kept his stallion calm compared to the restless beast under Fullock. “You have broken two treaties with me. You know the price of those betrayals.”
Fullock smiled, exposing his yellowed teeth, many of which had been filed down to resemble fangs. “You wish to fight me, Governor?”
“Your trial will be by combat. Choose your blade.” Dean dismounted then smacked his horse on its hindquarters and sent it galloping back toward his men.
When Fullock dismounted, the ground shook. The chief stood at least half a foot taller than Dean, with an added fifty pounds of muscle. Each movement Fullock took accentuated the pulsating muscle along his shoulders, legs, and chest. He unsheathed the massive double-sided battle-axe and twirled it in his hands effortlessly. “I will soak the earth with your blood, Governor.”
Dean kept his defensive stance, gliding to the left in a half circle around Fullock, who stood leisurely. He’d seen Fullock on the battlefield before, and even with a force of six men trying to bring him down, the giant would not fall. It appeared that no amount of lead inflicted into his flesh would kill him; if Dean meant to win, then he would have to take the chief’s head.
Fullock exploded forward, swinging his battle-axe down, and Dean pivoted left, the edge of Fullock’s blade grazing the threads on Dean’s sleeve. The Scarver chief yanked the blade from the dirt with his right hand then tossed it lazily to his left. “You scurry like a rat, Governor.” Fullock swung horizontally, and Dean ducked then thrust his own blade forward, which Fullock knocked away with the armored shielding over his arm.
Swinging at the giant was like trying to hack down a tree with a hunting knife, but Dean kept his footing, circling the warrior, using his speed to his advantage. The blade was light in Dean’s grip, his wrists, arms, and shoulders loose and fluid. His eyes watched Fullock’s feet and shoulders, anticipating the next move. The axe whooshed through the air as Fullock chopped downward, which Dean blocked. Fullock brushed the deflection off then quickly swung again, moving the heavy-ended axe effortlessly.
The clang of steel rang through the empty field, both armies silent as they watched their leaders duel. The longer they fought, Dean realized that the chief would not tire. On Fullock’s next swing, Dean caught the axe with his blade then forced it to the dirt, and he jumped and landed both feet into Fullock’s stomach, knocking the behemoth backward and wrenching the axe from his hand.
Dean scrambled to his feet, his hand reaching for his sword, which had fallen, before Fullock could return the favor. When Dean’s sandy palm was on the hilt of the blade, Fullock barreled into him, tackling him to the dirt.
Fullock’s weight and strength pinned Dean on his back, and the chief’s giant hands clutched around Dean’s throat, squeezing the life out of him. The pressure in Dean’s head felt like his skull would burst at any moment, spilling his brain out of his eyes and nose.
Dean squirmed his legs from the dirt to Fullock’s stomach, then his chest, seeking leverage to push the giant off of him. Dean drove through the heels of his feet, and he felt the pulse of Fullock’s heart against his foot. The muscles in his legs burned, and his knees and hips cracked and popped from the chief’s weight.
The pressure in Dean’s head reached a crescendo, and he felt his face grow hot. With one final burst of strength, he shoved Fullock off him and rolled backward, stumbling to his feet and gasping for air. Spit hung from his mouth, and his blurred vision wandered for his sword. He shut his eyes hard, only for a second, trying to stop the ground from spinning beneath him. When he opened them again, Fullock was two steps away, axe in hand above his head, ready to swing.
Dean sprinted to his right, avoiding the death blow. Fullock gave chase, swinging wildly at his defenseless prey. Dean backpedaled, his heart hammering in his chest. Each swing brought the blade’s edge closer and closer to ending the fight, ending the war, ending his life.
Sunlight reflected off a surface to Dean’s left in the dirt, and he quickly lunged in the same direction. Soil flew from the earth as Dean lifted the sword, blocking a swing from Fullock just before it connected with the side of his neck.
Fullock’s blows grew angrier and faster, forcing Dean backward with each steel-shattering hit. The vibrations from Fullock’s attacks rattled Dean’s bones, and each earthquake that ran through his body seemed to split him apart a little further, piece by piece.
Dean hurried backward, trying to offer himself a rest before Fullock’s next attack, but the chief stopped, his massive chest heaving up and down, his right hand white knuckled from the grip on the battle-axe.
“You are a strong warrior, Governor.” Fullock panted heavily between each breath, sweat dripping down his face and neck. “I have faced no greater opponent. My gods will honor you when you are dead.”
Dean pushed his right foot back slowly, bending at the knee, coiled for attack. “Your gods will not have that honor today.” He lunged forward, forcing the chief to take the defensive. The tip of his steel edged close to the chief’s armorless stomach. Dean kept within an arms reach, forcing Fullock to awkwardly handle the battle-axe in close range. Dean’s arms and shoulders burned and his hands ached, his concentration waning with every second that passed.
Fullock tried to retreat quickly to gather space for a swing, but Dean seized the opportunity and sliced his blade across the chief’s stomach, sending him to his knees. With the battle-axe still clutched in Fullock’s hand, Dean thrust the tip of the sword through Fullock’s stomach, the axe falling to the dirt.
Blood spurted from Fullock’s mouth, and he gasped for breath. His bloodshot eyes found Dean, his mouth twisted in rage. He slammed his empty right fist into Dean’s cheek and knocked him to the ground.
Dean spit out a tooth, and his ears rang from the vicious blow. He looked up to see Fullock pulling the blade from his stomach, a bloodcurdling cry bellowing from the depths of his body. The blade exited slowly; inch by inch it retreated, dripping with blood and bits of the chief’s innards. When Fullock finally had the sword out, a spurt of blood followed, and the exertion caused the chief to slump, but he kept hold of the hilt of Dean’s blade.
Dean eyed Fullock’s battle-axe in the dirt and lunged for it, needing both hands to wield the heavy weapon. His arms and shoulders burned on the swing toward the chief, who blocked the attack with Dean’s blade. Dean pivoted awkwardly with the large axe, trying to leverage the momentum with each swing, but his hands slipped, and the axe missed its target.
Fullock’s swings with the blade were slower now, his blood and energy draining from him with each movement, but even with the lack of vigor, the warrior chief refused to quit. He shuffled his large feet forward, his thick thighs keeping him off his knees and the rage in his eyes refusing to diminish. “You cannot kill me, Governor! The burned gods will never let my ashes touch the earth!” He sliced the sword down, Dean deflecting the blow with the edge of the axe.
Dean quickly scooted inside and thrust the end of the axe into the hole where the blade had opened Fullock’s stomach and knocked him off feet, the force of the blow sending Fullock to his back. Dean lifted the axe’s head high above him then brought the heavy blade down and lodged it into the chief’s chest, the crack of bone and slosh of blood ending the motion.
Fullock convulsed, choking on his own blood and last few breaths of life, while Dean fell backward into the bloodied sand, his body fatigued and aching. His ears could make out the cheers of his men behind him, his mind was too tired to recognize the adoration. All he could concentrate on was breathing and keeping a watchful eye on the grimace-faced Scarver clan tha
t had just watched Dean kill their chief.
***
Delun ended the conversation with Rodion swiftly. All he needed to hear was that the capital had been taken and what forces hadn’t been massacred had turned on their tails and retreated to the opposite end of their country. With the Northwest secure, he ordered the ships used to transport Rodion’s men back to the Pacific Islands, despite the general’s protest.
With the news of Ruiz’s fall in Brazil, Delun knew that he would need every ship in his armada to finish off the Australians before the Americans tried to regroup. While Rodion had taken the capital, the Mars governors still had the might of their navy, which posed the only real threat to Delun’s plans.
But amidst all of the news, the piece of information that brought a smile to Delun’s face was the fact that another Mars brother had fallen. The merchant who’d waged war with the Australians had met his end on the battlefield of his homelands. With two of the brothers dead, the North American constituents had to start believing that their family of war were not the immortals they had been led to believe.
Loosening the grip on the Mars family’s hold on that country was a pivotal step in swaying their opinion. Without the confidence of the people, the Marses would lose their power, and powerless men were much easier to defeat in battle.
“Emperor.” A lieutenant entered, his head bowed low. “The African sultan is here to speak with you.”
“Show him in.” Delun removed himself from the work of his desk and greeted the smiling tradesman with a bow himself. “Sultan Tobaygu, I thank you for your audience.”
Tobaygu flashed a pearly-white smile, his ebony skin dressed with fine, colorful silks. Gold and silver, studded with diamonds, flashed over his neck, wrists, and fingers. “Emperor.” He matched Delun’s bow. “It was an honor to receive such an invitation.”
Delun guided him to a table where food and drink had been prepared for his arrival. “I trust the journey went well?”
Tobaygu picked at a grape as he sat then tossed it in his mouth, savoring the taste of the cool fruit in the humid islands. “Aside from a few squalls, it was quite enjoyable. Of course, the companionship that was offered did cause the time to pass quickly. When we made port here, I was tempted to order us back across the sea to enjoy the fruits of those women again!” He slapped his leg and offered a hearty laugh then picked at another grape and helped himself to the wine one of the servants had poured.
“I’m glad you found their skills useful.” Delun had long ago understood that a man who was well relaxed was easier to negotiate with. And there was no one trained better at the art of relaxation than the whores he had sent to accompany Tobaygu. “You would be glad to know that your friend General Rodion has taken the lands from the Mars brothers.”
“Ah, the good general does love to conquer.” Tobaygu swirled his drink then took a sip. “Although he does not share your finesse in handling people.” He flicked one of the seeds from the grape off his finger, the air of playfulness evaporating from his face.
“I take it you and the general have not shared a mutually beneficial relationship?”
Tobaygu offered another smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You and I both know the nature of my relationship with Rodion.” He leaned back, wagging his long, slender finger up and down. “You’re a very clever man, Emperor. But you need to work on your subtlety.”
Delun crossed his legs and reached for a stack of papers on the ground next to him. He set them in his lap and drummed his fingers over the top. “I’m sure that with all of the ears you have to the ground, Sultan, you’ve learned of Brazil’s coup and that President Ruiz has been removed from power?”
“I had heard rumblings of dissent for years about Brazil. Greed is a powerful enemy.” The silver and gold on Tobaygu’s wrist clinked together as he took another sip of wine. “But it also has its uses.”
“The Mars brothers had a hand in the coup, and they now control all three major ports in the South Americas, with that puppet rebel they helped into power. My trade with Brazil has been integral, and with the potential for this war to last some time, I will need a new partner, someone with the resources to ensure my soldiers do not run out of weapons.”
“Is your faith in General Rodion wavering, Emperor? If you know about my relationship with Rodion, then you also know that my agreement is to trade with only him.”
“And I also know that agreement was based off of your life.” Delun rose, setting the stack of parchment on the open space of table in front of Tobaygu. “You’ll find that a contract between two partners is much more beneficial than a sword to your neck. Give it some thought.” Delun poured another glass of wine then placed it in front of the sultan. “And if you require additional attention from the girls, let my men know.”
The moment Delun shook Tobaygu’s hand and saw the smile creep up the corners of his mouth, he knew the deal was done. With Delun able to offer protection from Rodion’s wrath while simultaneously cutting off Rodion’s one resource pipeline, he could choke the general out. Of course, Rodion would have enough supplies on hand to finish off the Mars army, but it would weaken him. Then, once Delun finished off the Australians, he could focus the might of his fleet on the Mars navy. After that, it would only be a matter of time before Brazil fell into line, and he would make Tobaygu so rich he would swear his allegiance in a heartbeat. All that was left was the execution.
Chapter 6
Wires, circuits, bolts, screws, washers, scraps of metal, and an array of tools surrounded Alvy as he pulled apart the components on one of the old missiles that they had removed, clumsily but successfully, from the aircraft.
There was enough technology around Alvy to study for the rest of his life and still not be able to replicate what the engineers of the past had done. The complex innards of these machines were far beyond his capacity to understand, but much of what he saw confirmed hundreds of theories that he’d only been able to guess at, and that was more valuable than the gear itself at the moment.
Alvy knew what the Mars brothers wanted from him. It seemed like every leader he’d ever met craved power, but what they wielded it for and how they wielded it differed with each man. Governor Mars was the first to give him a choice, the first to let him decide as a free man. And keeping his family safe only solidified his reasons.
A schematic rested just beyond Alvy’s reach from where he sat, and he leaned forward, his fingertips grazing the edge of the paper. Just when he was about to grab it, the paper was snatched away. When he looked up, he saw that Jason held it.
“I could look at this for the rest of my life and probably never understand what it means.” Jason shook his head then extended the schematic down to Alvy. “I suppose it’s a good thing we have you on our side.”
“Yes,” Alvy said, taking the paper. “I suppose it is.” He returned to his work, checking the design he’d created, and then located the necessary components scattered around him. When Jason’s shadow didn’t move, he looked back up. “Can I help you with something?”
“You know, I’ve spoken to the other engineers.” Jason walked around the circle of materials in which Alvy was centered. “They say the devices you created for Ruiz were some of the best pieces of technology they’d ever seen.”
“The technology isn’t half as impressive as the theories behind it.” Alvy returned to his work, picking apart the materials. “Ruiz was concerned only with the results I gave him.”
“That you’re still giving him?”
Alvy dropped the copper wire in his hands and stood. The Mars brother had at least six inches in height on him and close to sixty pounds, maybe seventy. Alvy knew he was a small man, but his mind had kept him alive this long, and he didn’t expect it to fail him now. “You think I’m still working for him? After what he did to my family?”
“After what you said he did to your family.” Jason took a step closer. “Ruiz was an ambitious man. He always stacked the odds in his favor, and if there w
as one thing I learned about him, it was his persuasiveness. He was a magician, really, showing one hand and then stealing your wallet with the other.”
Alvy rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing raised bumps in odd designs on his flesh. “This was given to me when Ruiz’s men first came to my home after I refused to go with them or let them take my family.” He dropped his arm and pulled up his shirt, revealing a line of scars over his abdomen. “They carved the skin just enough to make me bleed but not enough to penetrate the organs when I told Ruiz that I wouldn’t design weapons.” He left his shirt untucked then pulled up his left pant leg, where a chunk of his thigh was missing. “And this is where he set a dog on me when I demanded that my family be set free.” He kicked a cluster of circuits when his pant leg fell, breaking the tight circle of gear he’d created. He thrust his finger into Jason’s face. “Whatever he asked for I gave, but no more.” He snatched the paper up from the ground, pointing at it furiously. “Do you have any idea what this is?”
Jason remained stoic before answering, “No.”
Alvy started picking up the material he’d kicked away, and Jason helped. “The radios I designed for Ruiz had more than just an application of communication. The simple premise of sending a signal from one device to another can be applied to literally anything given the right connection.” He made his way under the wing of one of the aircraft, where a bomb was still attached. “Imagine being able to put a cannonball anywhere then detonate from miles away in safety.”
“You can do that?” Jason asked.
“I could,” Alvy answered. “But what makes you different than Ruiz? He too became paranoid toward the end, killing anything and anyone that posed a threat or who he believed was dangerous.”
“The difference is I brought you here,” Jason said. “The difference is my brother trusts you. And I trust him.” Jason picked the paper off the ground and handed it back to Alvy. “Don’t make me kill you by breaking that trust.”