Little One

by Nate Philbrick

  “Daniel, stop.” A commanding voice echoed off the buildings lining the road.

  All three heads turned towards Tess Kerrigan as she appeared as though from thin air. Sweat beaded on her brow, and her cheeks flushed with exertion.

  “Stop,” she said again, taking deliberate steps towards Daniel. “You’re not a criminal, Daniel. You’re not a murderer. Don’t become one now.”

  Daniel growled at her like an animal. “You’re one of them. You would’ve watched me hang.” The gun shook in his hands. “I know I killed Ider Grasp. Don’t try to stop me with lies.”

  Tess shook her head, still approaching one slow step at a time. “You saved my life. I didn’t want to believe it at first—” at this, her gaze flickered to Ram, “But I see it now. He was going to stab me in the back, and you stopped him. You didn’t mean to kill him.” She reached out a hand towards him. “Give me the gun. If you shoot, you’ll undo everything we’ve done for you. You’ll put the noose around your own neck again. You’ll no longer be under my protection, and I won’t be able to help you.”

  “You never did.”

  “I know,” she said, “And I’m sorry. But I am now. Please. Give me the gun.”

  Daniel felt like his arms would shake out of their sockets. His eyes darted from Andrale, poised and ready to spring, to Tess, still reaching for him with an open palm. A myriad of voices screamed at him to shoot and be done with it, while a score more pleaded with him to do as Tess said.

  Then a calm but firm voice broke through the cacophony. It was Ram. “Do it,” he said, “Give her the gun. You can trust her. We’re both here for you—to help you.”

  The sound of his friend’s urging quieted the chaos within him, and Daniel slowly lowered the gun. With heavy breaths and his eyes locked on Andrale, he extended his arm towards Tess, and she pried the weapon form his clenched fingers.

  As soon as she had the gun, Tess swiveled it towards Andrale, but the Preceptor bolted like a tiger from a cage, and she made no move to stop him.

  Ram let out a loud sigh and, to Daniel’s surprise, wrapped his arms around him in a rib-creaking hug. “That’s the last time I ever let you wander off on your own.” He laughed a nervous laugh. “I almost didn’t recognize you when I saw you on the…at the……back there.”

  Daniel paused. “You were the one in the back.”

  He nodded.

  “How…?”

  “Not now. I don’t think we’re out of the forest just yet. I’ll have you know, I thought our plan was going to fall apart after all.” He turned to Tess. “If you hadn’t showed up—”

  “That’s a story for another time,” she said. “You’re right. Both of you need to get out of here as fast as possible.”

  Ram blinked. “What about you? Moriah?”

  “I’m going back to find her. You’re on your own again, I’m afraid.”

  Though the gunfire had ceased, the shouts from the direction of the courtyard were getting louder. Daniel thought he could distinguish Maravek’s incessant swearing above the din.

  Tess waved her hands as though shooing away a dog. “Go. Quickly.” And with that, she spun on her heel and ran back up the road.

  “She’s right,” said Ram, “I’ll explain everything later, but for now, just follow me.”

  He took off, and Daniel matched his speed beside him. “Where are you taking me?”

  Ram shot him a grin. “There’s a little girl waiting for you, and if I don’t bring you back like I promised her, she’ll frown and hold her breath until her face turns purple.”

  “She’s safe, then?”

  “Safe is a relative term these days, but at least no one’s chasing after her with guns and a vengeance.” He clapped Daniel on the shoulder. “By the way, it’s good to have you back.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Koldin watched a knot of Preceptors rush towards the western edge of the city, passing directly underneath his perch on a ruined house between the crumbled walls of a second story. Ram had disappeared with Litty as soon as Moriah had pulled the lever, and now that Daniel was safely on his way towards the outer reaches of the city, it was just him. Their plan had succeeded. He doubted he’d see the others again, if they played their cards well. As for himself, he wasn’t ready to leave Galaratheas just yet. There was still work to be done.

  Koldin swung through the gap over the edge of the floor and hung by his hands. He aimed his feet and dropped to the roof of a smaller building adjacent to the one he was on below, landing as close to the edge as possible so as to not punch right through the structure. From there, he jumped to the batter at the base of the wall, bending his knees to absorb the fall, and followed through with another leap that ended with a tight roll on the paving stones.

  He darted up and pressed himself against a wall across the street. Even though the vast majority of the Preceptors were back at the courtyard or scrambling west after Daniel, he couldn’t afford to get caught, not without Moriah to back him up. And Moriah was the last person he wanted with him. He had a job, and he needed to do it alone.

  He knew where to go, and it didn’t take him long to reach the very heart of the inner circle of Galaratheas, where the Preceptors had turned an old tavern into their outpost headquarters during the war. The door was opened, and after a glance over each shoulder, he stole in. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the change in lighting. Wheeled cots lay strewn around, curtains hung like tattered ghosts from paint-chipped rods, and half the stone tiles of the floor were out of place or altogether missing.

  A door slammed shut further in.

  Koldin took a deep breath, drew his handgun, double checked the magazine—five rounds left—and flicked off the safety. With long strides he crossed the hall, his steps crunching a couple decades worth of dust, dirt, and tile chips underfoot.

  The short metal door at the end of the hall offered little resistance. He put a bullet in the rusted lock, and kicked it open, bringing a curtain of dust spraying down from the doorframe.

  On the other side of the doorway, he found himself in a large circular chamber with a round table anchored in the middle. Communication devices, most of them outdated and long dead, covered most of its surface. The perimeter of the room was lined with stone columns that arched to support a domed ceiling. This was the center of the old tavern, and judging by the haphazard array of equipment, it was the Preceptors’ impromptu operations room.

  Dom Maravek stepped out from behind one of the columns across the room, keeping the wide table between him and Koldin. He was joined by two armed third rankers. Koldin quickly assessed them. The one on the left kept his hand firmly planted on the gun at his hip. A smart soldier would have the weapon out by now. The one on the right had a belt full of fixed blade combat knives—an odd choice of weapon for a Preceptor.

  Maravek’s eyes never left him. “Strange how quickly things can get out of hand, isn’t it?” His voice echoed in the chamber. “You helped him escape, didn’t you? Little mountain runt.”

  Koldin met his eyes with a cold glare. “I didn’t come to banter, Maravek. I’ve come to kill you.”

  Recognition flashed across the Preceptor’s face. Recognition, but nothing resembling fear. He sneered. “Have it your way.” He motioned with his hand.

  Koldin drew in a breath, steadying his nerves.

  The two third rankers split up and raced around the table towards him. Now the one on the right drew out his gun as he circled the table—a move he should have done two minutes ago.

  Koldin spread his stance, raised the gun with one hand, and squeezed the trigger.

  The Preceptor clutched at his chest. He hit the ground before the gunshot receded.

  The knife wielding Preceptor didn’t even flinch. Apparently, she was the professional of the two. As she ran, she drew two of the knives from her belt and hurled them at him.

  Koldin threw himself on the ground. The knives embedded themselves in the metal door behind him, quivering like arrows in a targ
et. She was good.

  He took a shot at her from his position on the ground, but the bullet went wide and ricocheted off the stone column behind her.

  She was upon him, practically standing in the doorway, reaching for a third knife.

  Before she could draw it, Koldin rolled to the left, reached out, and swung the door on its hinges as hard as he could. The metal edge clipped her shoulder, knocking her off balance. He shoved her over and retreated into the hospital wing.

  Any second now, more Preceptors would be streaming into the command center. He needed to finish this.

  The third ranker came after him, a knife in each hand. Why she had chosen knives over a firearm as her primary weapon, he would never know, but with the distance he had gained, it was a fatal mistake.

  He raised his gun and fired.

  The Preceptor stumbled, a sharp cry escaping her lips. The bullet had lodged under her collarbone—not a lethal wound.

  It didn’t matter. She took her eyes off him, and in that second of distraction, he lunged forward, kicked her in the abdomen, and while she was still doubled over, stunned, he wrested one of the knives from her grip.

  “Should’ve had a gun,” he said, and stabbed her between the shoulder blades.

  The Preceptor slid down his legs, and he shoved her away from him.

  Maravek charged through the door like a bull into the ring. He moved with surprising agility for a man his size.

  Koldin backpedalled. If Maravek got his hands around him, he’d crush him like a nut between his palms. He ducked behind an old gurney and shoved it at the Preceptor.

  Maravek kicked it to the side without much effort, but it bought Koldin a few valuable seconds. He jerked his gun up and aimed it at the oncoming Preceptor.

  A voice called out from behind him. “Koldin, stop!”

  Maravek halted in his tracks. He looked as surprised as Koldin was.

  Keeping the gun trained on him, Koldin looked over his shoulder at the source of the voice. Preceptor Kerrigan stood among the shattered remains of the tavern entrance. She held her gun firmly in both hands—pointing it straight at him.

  She advanced one slow step at a time. “Put the gun down. Too many lives have been taken already. Put the gun down, and no more blood has to be spilled.”

  Koldin’s eyes narrowed to slits, wavering between the two Preceptors. If Kerrigan had wanted him dead, she would have shot him already. He could take them both, if he was quick. Put a bullet through Maravek, find cover behind one of the gurneys, and take Kerrigan down before she even had time to think about shooting him.

  But then, as if this were a hostage situation, Preceptor after Preceptor filed into the hall behind Kerrigan, taking their positions along the southern and eastern walls, until at least twenty of them crouched side by side, their weapons on him.

  Koldin’s nostrils flared, and he gave a low growl.

  Kerrigan lowered her gun. “Resistance will only get you killed. Put your weapon down, and you’ll be taken in for a fair trial.”

  Harsh laughter escaped him. “I’ve already seen how your fair trials end. You’re no less a murderer than I am.”

  Maravek exploded. His face turned red. “I’ve had enough of this. Someone shoot him, and let’s put an end to this madness.”

  Gunmen leaned forward, but Kerrigan raised a hand to stop them.

  Koldin swept the room with his gaze, from Kerrigan’s calm yet authoritative demeanor to Maravek’s wild countenance. The man was still breathing as though he’d run a marathon. The corner of his mouth lifted into a sneer. “I don’t fear death, Preceptors. I’m going to finish what I came to do.” He locked eyes with Maravek. “Blood for blood.”

  Koldin pulled the trigger.

  The shot rang out.

  Maravek stumbled back with a grimace, but stayed on his feet.

  Koldin snarled and shot again. The last bullet. Straight to the chest. There was no way he had missed, not at such a short distance.

  Maravek chuckled. He patted his chest. “Kevlar.” He stormed forward, lifted Koldin by the collar of his shirt, and threw him towards one of the floor-to-ceiling windows as though he were a straw doll. “Should’ve had a bigger gun.”

  Koldin closed his eyes just before his shoulder hit the pane. The glass shattered, and he sailed right through it. He hit the flagstone.

  * * *

  The commotion in Galaratheas was a faint din in the background by the time Daniel and Ram reached the loop in the river. They had to plow through the knee-deep water to get to the gravelly bank. Withdrawn from the lights of the inner city, Litty and the backpack looked like little more than a mound protruding from the layers of pebbles. She was probably sleeping.

  Daniel trudged out of the icy river, his shoes sloshing and splashing water onto the rocks. Despite the discomfort, he couldn’t keep a grin off his face. “We made it.”

  Ram came up beside him, shaking a shower of droplets from his pant legs. “Yes we did,” he said, clapping Daniel on the shoulder. “Don’t tell me you ever doubted my master plan.”

  Daniel rolled his eyes, even though Ram couldn’t see it in the dark. “Not for a second.”

  “I detect sarcasm.”

  Daniel ignored the comment and dashed across the gravel. “Litty, I’m here. Danny’s back.”

  Nothing.

  He felt the blood rush from his face like water down a drainpipe. The backpack was in its place in the center of the gravel peninsula. His little sister was not.

  He turned to Ram, his stomach twisting in a dozen knots. “She’s not here.”

  * * *

  Tess had arrived in the nick of time. A moment later and Maravek would probably have been dead. Koldin was half the man’s size, but he had slipped into the command center undetected somehow, so he was clever. Clever, and dangerous.

  Then Maravek picked him up by the collar and hurled him through a window, and her disdain for the first ranker came back to her like the returning tide. Despite his attempted murder, Koldin had the right to be treated like any other prisoner of war.

  Maravek caught her attention with a flick of his head. “Debriefing with you later, Kerrigan. First, let’s take care of this scum.” Without waiting for an answer from her, he kicked away the shards of glass that protruded from the window frame and dropped out into the courtyard below.

  Tess quickly followed. She could still prevent him from doing something rash. “Sir, what do you plan on—?”

  “I’m going to put an end to this barbaric game of cat and mouse once and for all, that’s what I plan on doing.”

  Koldin was on his face on the flagstone, moaning softly.

  Maravek reached down and grabbed a fistful of his sleeve. He yanked him up to his knees. Blood ran down from his nose to his chin, and a nasty looking scrape marred his face from his temple to his jaw.

  Tess winced at the sight. “Was it really necessary to—?”

  “Quiet, Kerrigan,” said Maravek. He sounded like an angry pit-bull. He stood over Koldin, looking down at him with eyes full of scorn. “You people don’t get it, do you? You failed in the past and you failed now. You will always fail.” He motioned to one of his men. “Secure his arms.”

  The third ranker wrenched Koldin’s arms behind his back and cuffed his wrists.

  To his credit, Koldin met the Preceptor’s gaze without flinching. He made no response other than to spit blood between Maravek’s boots.

  Maravek slapped him in the face with an open palm. “You’re an insolent weasel, a traitor to your own government, a criminal of war, and a murderer. For that, your punishment is execution. Kerrigan!”

  Kerrigan stared into Koldin’s eyes. She saw no regret, no fear. This one was no coward; that much was evident. She averted her gaze and stepped forward. “Sir.”

  Maravek gestured with his chin. “Do the honors.”

  Tess looked down at the gun she had procured from one of her men. Why was Maravek asking her? She pushed the question aside. Now was not
the time for speculation. Now was the time for following orders. She raised the gun.

  “No!” A raw scream made all heads turn towards the eastern gate to their backs. A lone figure stood under the archway. Kora.

  Tess felt her heart sink.

  “Let him go,” said Kora, pointing at Maravek with a trembling finger. She advanced towards the circle; her steps slow at first, but gaining confidence as she drew closer. “Let him go!” She wielded a knife in her fist.

  Maravek watched with an amused smile on his face as she strode right up to him. He gave no orders—no one else moved. For a moment it was silent.

  “Let him go,” she said a third time, “And I promise it will be the last time you see any of us.” She stared up at him with wide eyes. She stood straight, yet barely reached his shoulders.

  Tess suppressed a bitter remark. Her jaw clenched. Now that she stood to lose something, the girl was trying to negotiate.

  Kora continued. “He was only following orders. You have no—”

  Without a word, Maravek reached down and wrapped his fingers around her throat, lifting her right off the ground until her feet dangled and twitched at his knees. Her knife clattered to the ground. He spat in her face. “The word of the Akorites means nothing to me.”

  A gargling gasp escaped Kora’s parted lips.

  Tess almost protested. Almost.

  Koldin’s chin dropped to his chest, but his whole torso trembled with rage. He worked his forearms back and forth, trying to free himself, but it was to no avail.

  Maravek held the girl up and looked around the circle of Preceptors, as though he were a street vendor displaying his wares. “This, men, is why we train. This is why we fight. So we can stomp the heads of the worms that try and poke their way out of the ground to disturb our peace.”

  The crowd remained silent. Tess observed the different reactions on their faces—indifference on most. Some shared Maravek’s zealous anger. Others, mostly low rankers, looked at the ground or at each other, anything to avoid the scene unfolding before them.