Bridge_Bridge & Sword_Apocalypse

by JC Andrijeski

  The last face made him start faintly in surprise, though. The familiarity jarred him, but more because of its seeming incongruity here.

  Eddard.

  Eddard, who’d been his manservant in London, who shared his flat for over twelve years while Revik worked for the Royal Defense Academy as a lecturer in interspecies warfare. The last time Revik saw Eddard, they’d been at Gatwick Airport with Allie, not long after blowing up his flat to get away from SCARB and Scotland Yard.

  Revik blinked, but the face didn’t change.

  He looked his old servant over from his wire-frame glasses and the thinning, nondescript, brown hair, to his expensive-looking, tailored blue suit and black, Italian loafers. Apart from the clothes, he looked exactly the same.

  Raven told him once, that Eddard was part of this.

  Revik hadn’t believed her.

  Hell, he’d barely given the idea much thought at all.

  Of course, Raven told him that in the same conversation she’d told Revik Maygar was his biological son, so the detail got lost. Revik mentioned it in passing to Balidor, along with a physical description so the Adhipan leader could verify Raven’s story. He never thought to ask Balidor about it after. It was purely a standard debriefing kind of thing, like describing a car driven by one of Shadow’s minions––or a courier a target once used.

  The whole idea of Eddard being in Shadow’s inner circle struck Revik as ludicrous.

  He remembered Eddard. He remembered him well, given how much time he’d spent with him, and how much access the human had to some of the more intimate details of his life. Revik had been forced to accept the “gift” of Eddard from his British employers, knowing full well he was there primarily to spy on him.

  He’d never been stupid enough to trust the human for that reason, but he hadn’t been able to hide all aspects of his life from someone so close to his personal affairs, either. Eddard oversaw his household, made travel arrangements for him, dressed him for formal engagements with the Department of Defense, dealt with his laundry, bought him clothes and toiletries, picked up his dry cleaning, cooked for him, arranged cars for him, brought him primary source books and data cards he needed for research or lectures… along with a few hundred other small and large tasks that came up in the course of their lives together.

  He’d been good at his job.

  Discreet, at least on the surface. Efficient, detail-oriented, unerringly polite.

  Revik included Eddard in the less important details of his life as a means of feeding intel to the Brits, including details of his somewhat spotty sex life at the time.

  Mainly, he hadn’t wanted them finding out anything about Allie.

  He used Eddard liberally to that effect, mainly by asking him to hire the occasional prostitute, as well as making sure Eddard overheard the far less occasional sex work Revik took upon himself for extra cash. He let Eddard listen in on a number of negotiations with potential clients, including government officials––both British and foreign nationals, mainly diplomats––along with married humans, and a number of prominent businesspeople who frequented the same fetish clubs Revik did in downtown London.

  Revik knew with humans, sex was a decent distraction.

  Really, better than most.

  He knew they’d all assume he was a pervert anyway, given what he was. They’d likely have wondered a lot more if he wasn’t doing that kind of thing on a semi-regular basis.

  It was strange to even think of those years, given what had happened since. Eddard hadn’t even made a particularly impressive human, from what Revik could remember––much less had he shown signs of being some kind of seer adept.

  Now, though, looking at that familiar face, Revik found himself reassessing those muddy eyes, the chinless jaw below a somewhat loose-looking mouth that broke into a smile when they made eye-contact.

  As he did, his jaw firmed, right before he shuddered involuntarily.

  The idea that Menlim might have been spying on him all those years, just like he had when Revik was a kid, made him feel physically sick.

  Even now, the man, Eddard, didn’t feel like a seer.

  Then again, he didn’t feel particularly human to him anymore, either.

  Revik glanced at Jon, then at Wreg. Jon’s eyes focused unmistakably on Cass. Wreg stared at Menlim. Both of them looked slightly off-balance, enough that Revik flicked his light sharply at theirs.

  Hey, he sent, not caring if they were overheard. Focus.

  Jon jumped, looking over at him. Wreg gave him a glance, too. His muscular shoulders relaxed after he met Revik’s gaze.

  Once Revik felt he had the two of them more or less back on their game, he returned his gaze to Menlim. It occurred to him that the old seer still had an inch or two on him, even now. He glanced at Salinse, who stood almost as tall.

  Feeling his muscles tighten, Revik stripped his mind of emotion. It was too late for any of that now. He knew why he was here, whatever he told himself.

  He lowered his gun, and saw Jon, Wreg, and even Jorag lower theirs.

  Even with his gun at his side, he still felt like he’d walked into some kind of Old West standoff, like the moments before the gunfight at the OK Corral.

  “What do you want?” he asked, staring at Menlim.

  The old seer smiled.

  Something about that smile made Revik recoil. Still fighting past his more visceral reaction to seeing his ex-guardian in the flesh, he tried to see him, to focus on his words.

  “You came to me, nephew.” The old man clicked softly, the sound and his voice chilling in their familiarity. “I would ask you the same question.”

  “Would you?” Revik retorted.

  He stared down the line of seers. He glanced at Jon, maybe just to ground himself, to remind himself this was real, whether or not the people standing in front of him were. After he’d met Jon and Wreg’s gazes, his eyes shifted back to Menlim. He gripped the handle of his gun, which he’d put back in its holster.

  “I’ll say this once,” Revik said. “Give me my daughter.”

  Menlim smiled, holding out his hands in a graceful gesture. Revik recognized it as an apology in the old form of seer sign language.

  “As you can see, nephew, she is not here. Now why don’t you tell me why you’ve really come?”

  Revik stared at him. He glanced up and down the arc of people standing there.

  His jaw hardened more.

  “You and your…” He fought with his more thickly-accented voice, using his free hand, the one not resting on the butt of his gun, to gesture at Cass and Terian, using sharp flicks of his fingers. “…Apprentices. Lackeys. You went out of your way to bring me here.”

  “And yet, here you are,” the old man said, gesturing sweepingly with his long hands. “You imply our motives and means of summoning you here were not pure. Yet, you came anyway. Therefore, you cannot be here solely for the child.”

  A faint smile touched his bloodless lips.

  “…I must say, whatever your reasons, I am glad you came. It is very good to see you, Nenzi.”

  Revik gripped the gun tighter with his fingers.

  Still studying his face, Menlim folded his hands in front of the cream shirt. “What do you want, Nenzi?” He frowned. “I believe this conversation would go easier for all concerned if you simply spelled out your wishes.”

  Revik’s lips curved in a disbelieving smile.

  “…You cannot use your telekinesis in here,” Menlim warned him softly. “You must know that, nephew. You must know that you cannot win this fight. Not that way.”

  Glancing around at his own seers, then around the room, Revik felt that humorless smile linger on his lips.

  He couldn’t see much in here, it was true.

  He could feel other presences.

  He could feel machinations of the construct.

  He could feel that the room came equipped with gas.

  Other things lived in the walls and floors. Some kind of force field, prob
ably to lock them inside. A sight restraint field of some kind. Electronic current buzzed and writhed through the tiles beneath his feet. It might not be enough to reach him through the soles of his organic boots, but it would probably be enough to knock him out, and hurt like hell, if he fell.

  He could see all those things, and their purpose: both in function and intimidation.

  He could feel the part of him that wanted to use the telekinesis, despite his uncle’s words.

  The targets spread around him like stars rotating around the center of their small galaxy, sparkling at him, calling him––tugging at his light. As he looked around at each of them, Revik felt that darker humor twist his mouth for real.

  Fuck it. What did he have to lose?

  Unholstering his gun, he raised it in a single fluid movement, aiming it at Menlim’s head.

  “What makes you think I need the telekinesis?” he said.

  The seers on either side of him raised their weapons as well, aiming at the half-circle of seers in civilian clothing. Revik saw movement in his peripheral and glanced to his right.

  Guards were entering the hall by two different entrances, through doors he hadn’t seen, given how seamlessly they blended with the stone walls. He counted over a dozen seers, all holding rifles, not unlike the rifles Neela and Chinja wielded. He flicked at their lights, showing them to his own people, and got returning pings.

  Just then, Loki and his team burst into the hall through a third side entrance.

  “Boss!” Loki called out. “Is that you?”

  He sounded openly relieved.

  “Stay where you are!” Revik held up a hand, his eyes back on Menlim. “Cover the guards along the wall. Don’t let any of them get a bead on one of us.”

  “Yes, sir!” Loki said, still sounding relieved.

  “They might not be real,” Wreg reminded him quietly. “Loki. The others.”

  Revik didn’t look over, but nodded, once.

  Despite the Chinese seer’s words, he could feel smiles being exchanged between Loki’s team and the seers in his group. He could feel from their shared construct that Loki hadn’t lost anyone yet––assuming they were real and not another projection.

  Somehow, even with Wreg’s warning in mind, a sliver of optimism reached him.

  In all that, he didn’t lower the gun from where he aimed it at Menlim.

  “Well?” Revik prompted.

  “This is a bit crude, isn’t it nephew?”

  “I would have said direct,” Revik said. “…But sure. Whatever.”

  Menlim smiled. “You do really sound like her, you know. Your wife.”

  Revik felt his jaw harden to granite. “Give me my fucking kid. Now.”

  “No, I mean it.” Menlim’s voice grew melodious, holding an open affection as he smiled at Revik, then around at the other seers in their group. “Did you really think you were the only one who watched her over the years? Did you really think I would only have people watching you, and not your future mate?” He motioned towards Eddard before meeting Revik’s gaze. “I must say, it was quite touching, to see the two of you together, after all that time. Quite touching. And very long overdue.”

  When Revik didn’t speak, Menlim held up his hands in supplication.

  “Tell us, nephew,” he said, warm, sympathetic. “Let us help you, my son. This cannot all be about the child, as much as she probably means to you. After all, you will not be alive to raise the child yourself. It cannot all be about revenge, no matter how justified you might feel.” Menlim paused, his yellow eyes still, gazing intently at Revik’s face. “What is it you really want from us, nephew? Do you even know?”

  Revik gave him a disbelieving look.

  Then, feeling his jaw harden more, he fired.

  Not a single thought crossed his mind as he did.

  The gun kicked back. He smelled cordite as he absorbed the shock of the discharge in rote, muscle memory taking it into his shoulder without altering his aim.

  A red and black hole appeared in the middle of his ex-guardian’s forehead. The tall, skull-faced seer stood there, suspended in space, body vertical, for a bare breath.

  Then he collapsed, toppling over on his back.

  He lay there, twitching, as he bled out.

  The others standing in that semi-circle jerked and stepped back almost comically, jumping away from the corpse with shocked gasps. Revik heard a squeal out of one of the females in the group. She looked human to him, but he assumed she must be seer. Several others blanched, looking from Menlim’s body to Revik with stunned, disbelieving expressions.

  “Any more stupid questions?” Revik growled, looking around at faces. “Or is someone going to bring me my fucking kid?”

  Movement and sound erupted around him as the seer guards by the doors raised their guns. His own people, including Loki’s group by the far wall, swiveled their own rifles up, covering him and his core team from multiple sides.

  So far, no one but Revik had fired a shot.

  Revik glanced around at his people. It hit him suddenly, that this was it. They knew as well as he did what had to happen next. He didn’t kid himself for a second that it would solve his problem––either the immediate one, or the one that brought him here.

  But it was a start.

  Even as he thought it, he fired the Glock again, that time taking out the old woman with a face like a lizard. He hit her in the heart with the first shot, then shot her a second time in the head, even as she started to fall backwards.

  She raised a hand in that half-second, but instead of fear on her face, Revik saw rage––a hatred so deep it flattened her gaze. She looked at him like she knew him, like she despised him personally, intensely––maybe for years, maybe for centuries.

  Revik didn’t know her.

  He also didn’t give a fuck.

  He aimed his gun at the next seer in line, a female who looked to be around Balidor’s age, so maybe five hundred years old if she was seer, mid- to late-forties if she was human. Dark brown hair hung to her shoulders. She looked to be in decent shape, with an attractive face. Her skin tone and features would have tagged her as Middle Eastern if she’d been human, and she had both the clothes and the aleimi Revik associated with a successful business person.

  She was the screamer from before, the one who looked human.

  When Revik focused on her now, she let out another terrified, half-pleading scream. Flinching back, she held up a hand, a look of blank, shocked horror on her face.

  “Stop him!” she cried, looking at the others. “You said he would be reasonable about this! That he wouldn’t risk the child!”

  “Guess we were wrong,” Terian murmured. “…Oops.”

  Turning, Revik caught Terian smiling at him faintly, one eyebrow cocked.

  “Negotiate with him, damn it!” the woman snapped. “Offer him something!”

  “Like what?” Terian said.

  “Anything! You know him! Talk to him, damn it!”

  “Talk to him? About what, precisely, madam?” Terian’s voice came out dry, almost bored. “You took his kid. You killed his wife. Does he look particularly amenable to a bribe right now, love? Or were you thinking I’d just throw myself in front of the bullet for you?”

  “Give him his damned kid!” she snapped.

  “What makes you think we could do that, even if we wanted to?” the male seer next to her muttered.

  Revik shot him next.

  He deliberately only got the man in the gut, not killing him outright. Illusions or not, maybe it would motivate the rest of them––the screamer, at least. Maybe she would be able to reason with the others if he left her alive longer.

  Maybe, maybe, maybe.

  Revik clicked softly under his breath, feeling his throat tighten when he felt another whisper of Allie’s light. He forced it away, pressing his lips together as he looked from face to face, wondering if any of this would yield a damned thing.

  The seer he’d just shot––an older-l
ooking white male with blotchy skin, so another seer with unusual skin coloring and features––lay on the stone floor, groaning, gripping his bleeding abdomen.

  “Gods…” he cried out in English. “Gods… help me! He’s killed me…”

  Revik turned the gun back on the female.

  “I’ve asked twice,” he said. “Are you really going to make me ask again? Or should I just shoot all of you now? Save myself the irritation?”

  “Are you sure that’s such a good idea, Revi’?” Terian said.

  “It’s not seeming like a bad one, Terry,” Revik returned without a beat, still looking at the woman. “Why? Do you have a suggestion for me, buddy?”

  “Don’t you need us, Revi’?”

  “Are you negotiating with me, Terry?” He smiled humorlessly. “Really?”

  “Perhaps just pointing out facts.”

  “I think you had it right the first time on that, Terry,” Revik said, still aiming the gun at the woman’s face. “Maybe it’s better if you keep your mouth shut.”

  “I’m not negotiating, old friend,” Terian said. “Merely reminding you of why you’re here. You need us, don’t you? And you really don’t know which of us is real down here, and which an avatar… do you? Isn’t it a bit risky, if you actually shoot all of us?”

  Revik turned his head, staring at the auburn-haired seer. Terian raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender, but his expression still looked more bored than angry.

  “…To find her?” Terian added, gesturing vaguely with one raised hand, as if that part wasn’t clear. “Don’t you need us to find her, Revi’? Your daughter?”

  Revik gave a disbelieving laugh.

  “No,” he said. “I really don’t, Terry.”

  Without changing expression, he turned to Maygar, who now stood on his other side, as well as Chinja and Neela, who stood beside Maygar.

  He looked to his right, to Jon, Wreg, Jorag, Jax.

  He paused just long enough to glance around at their faces, to see how their expressions had transformed over the past few minutes. He noted hard eyes, taut jaws, thin lips. He didn’t know if his own light was affecting them––meaning his sudden refusal to play along with whatever fucked up game this was––or if something else changed things for them.