The Vale: Behind The Vale

by Brian D. Anderson

  The brakes suddenly screeched, forcing them both to grab at the headrest of the nearest seat in order to stay on their feet. Drake took several deep breaths. He should have known this was about to happen; why hadn’t they stayed in their seats until the train stopped? Was the tension of the moment affecting his thinking?

  As the braking eased, he held out his hands. Yes, they were trembling. Pull yourself together, he told himself sternly. After a few seconds of deep breathing, the shaking subsided.

  The door hissed open and a rush of air blew over them. It carried a familiar scent: that of Troi. They stepped onto the platform. It was quiet; only the rumble of the tunnel and the echoes of the guards’ voices could be heard.

  The checkpoint booth was encased in a steel mesh, with just a thin slot through which to pass your ID card. Just beside the booth, two guards were standing at a tall table eating their dinner. A third man was inside, staring at a holoscreen with a bored look on his face.

  Drake approached the booth first in order to shield the prince’s face for as long as possible from the guard inside. The men at the table showed little interest in them as they slid their cards through the slot. It seemed like their disguise was working and they were being taken for nothing more than campers returning home. For the men eating, their mealtime chat was far more interesting.

  But the guard on duty inside the booth was a different matter. It felt like an eternity waiting while he entered their ID’s. Throughout this, without making it too obvious, Drake continued doing his best to shield the prince from the guard’s gaze. If this didn’t work, they would need to move quickly. He was barely able to prevent a sigh of relief from slipping out as the cards were passed back through and the door buzzed open.

  On the other side was a large concourse with a ramp going up to the parking area and a set of stairs leading to a mana carriage. He wished it were possible for them to take one of these. They could climb the mana stream directly to upper Troi, and once there, it would be a simple matter to alert the king. The only drawback was, it would mean undergoing another identification check. So frustratingly, that route was out of the question.

  While ascending the ramp, Drake could hear the prince breathing in shallow gasps. He looked back and gave him a reassuring nod.

  “We’re almost there,” he said in a whisper.

  Upon reaching the top, Drake took note of the scant vehicles scattered about. A few other facilities were nearby, but most were closed at this time. Only the custodial staff and a few security personnel would be still be around.

  He chose a beat-up old compact, hoping the condition meant that the owner hadn’t bothered keeping up with its security maintenance. He took a long look around as casually as he could before moving in. There were cameras, but vehicle theft here was rare. In all likelihood, the vids were unwatched most of the time. There would be a guard wandering around somewhere, but at present he was nowhere to be seen.

  The door was unlocked, though it wasn’t this that would be the challenge. The two of them tossed their packs onto the back seat and climbed in. Drake immediately set to work trying to remove the steering columns casing, eventually banging at it with his fist until it simply fell apart.

  So focused was he on his task that he didn’t hear the figure approaching from behind. Nor did he see the guard until drew he his gun and pointed it his head through the window glass.

  “Don’t move,” the man roared in a deep imposing voice.

  Drake froze. Salazar’s face was etched with fear.

  “Get out of the vehicle.”

  “What do we do?” whispered the prince.

  “We do what he says,” Drake replied. He had hoped it would not come to this.

  He opened the door and got out with slow measured movements. “Have I done something wrong?”

  This was a young officer, but he did not appear in the least bit unsure of himself. His weapon was trained on Drake’s chest. “Face the vehicle and place your hands on the hood. You, in the car – get out slowly and let me see your hands.”

  The prince did as instructed. Then, the moment his hands rose above the roof of the car and his face came clearly into view, the officer’s eyes shot wide. In a flash, he swung his weapon over in Salazar’s direction. Without thinking, Drake spun and made a grab for the gun. The shot sounded loud but flew harmlessly into the air as, still clutching the man’s wrist, he rammed his shoulder forward. They stumbled backward, though somehow the guard kept his footing and then thrust an elbow hard into Drake’s jaw. The impact was jarring, but after holding on for a second or two, he was able to counter with a savage fist to the gut. This should have doubled his opponent over. Instead, as proof of his toughness, he jerked up a knee with a strike hard enough to lift Drake completely from his feet. Pain tore through him. The knee had hit precisely where the Exodus man’s bullet had penetrated. He could feel his legs giving way. Another blow to the back of his head then sent him crumbling all the way down.

  In desperation, Drake was reaching for his weapon when the sizzle of mana told him it would not be needed. He looked up to see the officer clutching at his chest, his face twisted in agony. A moment later he fell to the ground, groaning and unable to move.

  Drake was still down himself, but he could tell that whatever spell the prince had used, it had not been fatal. Whether or not it had been intended to be was another matter. In an odd turn, the very cloth his father had invented had likely saved the man’s life.

  From the corner of his eye he then saw the prince moving in to finish the job, hands glowing and crackling with mana. “Don’t,” he croaked. “Don’t kill him.”

  Salazar glared down at the guard, his eyes still blazing with vengeance.

  “We might need him,” Drake pressed on. The fact was, he had seen enough death during this mission. The guard had done nothing to deserve being killed. Salazar was loosing his rage at the wrong man.

  Gradually the vengeance faded from the prince’s expression. With a nod of acceptance, he released the mana and helped Drake to his feet. “Very well. If we’re not going to kill him, what do you suggest?”

  The officer was now curled up in a ball, moaning. Drake knelt down to examine his wound. The cloth was melted away, and there was a severe burn nearly six inches in diameter just above his heart. There would definitely be a scar. But he would live.

  “Help me get him into the car,” he said.

  “You’re taking him with us?”

  Drake nodded. “Like I said, we might need him.”

  The lights above them suddenly turned red, and the ear-splitting wail of a siren filled the lot. Drake cursed under his breath. It looked like someone was watching the vid after all. Rapidly, the two of them bundled the guard into the back seat beside the packs. Drake passed the officer’s weapon over to Salazar and then finished overriding the mana pad. The engine rattled into a fitful start, sputtering several times before settling down to a rough whir.

  Slamming the car into gear, he pressed down hard on the accelerator. But this was not Cal. This vehicle felt as if it was barely moving by comparison. It was all they had, though, so it would have to do. Winding their way around the support columns, they raced for the exit. On arriving, two men were waiting, weapons trained and ready.

  He lowered the window and drew his P37. One quick shot was enough. The ball of white light exploded outward, temporarily blinding the men. In spite of this, one of their shots went straight through the windshield, missing the prince by mere inches.

  Drake pulled out on the road and urged the car to move faster. “Do you recognize who this is, sitting next to me?” he shouted over his shoulder to the officer.

  The prince turned around in his seat, allowing the man to see his face clearly. Though still in considerable pain, he was now able to move a tiny bit. His expression said he knew perfectly well what the prince looked like. At the same time, though, there was doubt on his face.

  “If you really are the prince,” he said, sucking his
teeth, “why are you stealing a car?”

  “There are people who might be trying to kill me,” he explained. “I need to get to the magistrate’s office as quickly as possible.”

  “Who would try to kill you?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be stealing a car, now, would I?”

  “We need your help,” added Drake.

  The road to the main highway was practically abandoned. No one lived in this area, and nothing but empty offices and closed shops lined either side of the street. Knowing it would take the guards only a minute or so to call for help, Drake was pushing the car as fast as it could go. In traffic he would stand a chance, but here it would be easy for a magistrate’s vehicle to outrun him and pin them in.

  “How do I know you’re really the prince?” the officer asked.

  “Does it matter? I’m going to the magistrate’s office. You’re an officer of the magistrate. So I’m either a criminal or the prince. Either way, you win.”

  The officer looked as if he was weighing his options – although in truth he had none. He gave Salazar another long look. “If you’re not the prince, then you’re sure as hell his twin. What do you need from me?”

  Drake saw the ramp about two hundred and fifty yards ahead. A glance in his mirror showed several sets of flashing lights closing in rapidly from behind. “I’ll tell you in a minute,” he told the man. “Right now, just hang on.”

  He pulled onto the ramp, foot planted firmly to the floorboard. Traffic was much heavier here, and he clipped the front end of a truck as he wove across into the outer lane. An angry horn blasted, but he barely heard it. All his concentration was on the road ahead. He only needed to make it for one mile before reaching the exit.

  “Good thing the office is on level one,” he muttered. In the mirror, he could see that their pursuers were drawing ever closer. Cars were shifting over to give them room. He cursed under his breath. There was no way they would get there in time. “Take the wheel,” he told Salazar.

  Leaning out of the window with his P37, he channeled a small amount of mana. The drivers close behind saw the weapon and immediately slammed on their brakes. Perfect, Drake thought. In the gap created, he let loose a series of three shots that erupted into pillars of flame the moment they struck the ground. Satisfied that this should gain them a little time, he slid back into the seat and took the wheel again, turning it hard right to avoid colliding with a long cargo van. They continued on, darting into lane after lane until he was in position for the ramp.

  “Did that slow them?” he asked.

  “Yes,” replied Salazar, looking back. “But they’re getting around it now.”

  “That’s fine,” he said.

  They pulled onto the off-ramp for level one at full speed, the car threatening to roll as they descended. Ahead he could see more flashing lights racing across to cut them off.

  “You said you wanted to help?” Drake asked the officer in the back.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  Drake grinned and eased up on the accelerator.

  * * * * *

  The cars trying to intercept them were not magistrate; they were royal guard. This would definitely complicate matters. Drake made it to the bottom of the ramp and took a hard left. The magistrate’s office was to their right. He passed one car, but it made no attempt to pull across and stop him. Instead, it spun around and joined four more that were coming up from behind. What they were doing became obvious. They were herding him: taking them to a place where prying eyes would not see what happened next. Away from the one place in lower Troi where the prince would be secure.

  He turned hard right, his offside tire clipping the curb as he did so. Instantly, he felt it going flat. The royal guard were now closing in with relative ease, their vastly superior vehicles much better at handling the tight twists and turns. This was it. Drake knew it was just a matter of time. One of the pursuers tried to pull up alongside him, but an oncoming vehicle forced him to back off. Drake wanted to take another right, but a line of flashing lights was bearing down from that direction, so he turned left instead. Another tire blew halfway around, forcing him into side swiping a parked car and tearing his own driver’s door free from its hinges.

  His head snapped back as the lead vehicle rammed him. With two flat tires, it was almost impossible to maintain control. He saw more headlights growing in the mirror and veered left, but it did no good. The pursuer thudded into his right rear corner, this time flipping him completely over.

  Time froze for a moment as their vehicle crashed onto its roof. Glass flew about the interior, and the grating of steel on concrete said that the chase was definitely over.

  “Are you okay?” Drake asked the moment their wrecked car had settled.

  “Yeah, I think so,” he was assured.

  Drake smiled weakly and then unbuckled his belt. The pair of them crawled out as fast as they could. They’d been hoping to run, but the royal guard had already stepped from their cars and were pointing P37s at their heads.

  After struggling to his knees, Drake clasped his hands behind his head. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I really thought we’d make it further.” Blood was pouring from multiple cuts on his face and brow.

  “What were you thinking?” a familiar voice called out. “Did you really think we wouldn’t be able to catch you?”

  From out of the glare of the headlights, Xavier was approaching.

  “I thought you’d be too busy committing treason to worry about me,” Drake responded. “I guess I was wrong.”

  “You haven’t lost your sense of humor, I see. I am not the traitor here. Or hasn’t the prince told you why the king issued the warrant in the first place?” He bent down. “Yes, I found out all about what the magistrate was hiding.” He clicked his tongue and cocked his head. “What’s wrong, Your Highness? Nothing to say?”

  “Who are you talking to?” asked Drake, the hint of a smile forming.

  The man kneeling beside him looked up.

  Xavier’s jaw sagged, and for a second he appeared completely incapable of speech. “Who in the hell are you?” he then demanded.

  “I am Vernon Molaris,” the man replied, wincing through the pain in his wounded chest. “Officer of the magistrate.”

  Xavier grabbed Drake by the collar. “Where is Prince Salazar? I know he entered the city with you. Tell me where he is, damn you.”

  Drake grinned. “Right about now he should be walking into the magistrate’s office.”

  A stunned Xavier was still trying to take in this piece of news when his driver called over from beside their car. “Captain! There’s a message just come through for you.”

  “I think you had better get that,” Drake suggested, his grin becoming wider than ever.

  All of the color drained from Xavier’s face as he released his hold on Drake. Looking every inch like an utterly defeated man on the way to his own execution, with labored steps he turned and crossed over to the car.

  * * * * *

  Salazar limped as fast as he could toward where Drake had said the magistrate’s office was located. The jump from the car while going down the off-ramp had very nearly killed him. And even if it hadn’t, the pains in his leg and shoulder certainly made it feel as if it had.

  Every car that passed by had him jumping. Drake couldn’t hold them off very long, not in that piece of junk he was driving. But the light shining onto the sidewalk up ahead told him that he didn’t need to. One more block...that was all. It felt like one hundred.

  Reaching the front entrance was like arriving at his own salvation. With a massive sigh of relief, he pushed open the door and strode directly up to the main reception desk. The officer on duty glanced up without a flicker of recognition and promptly returned his attention to the book he was reading.

  “I need you to call the magistrate at once,” Salazar demanded.

  “I’m sure you do,” he replied, not bothering to looking up. “Why don’t you tell me what the problem is first
?”

  With barely contained anger, the prince placed his hands on the desktop and leaned in close. “You will call the magistrate this instant. And you will address me as Your Highness.”

  This time the officer raised his eyes, though his expression one of irritation. “Look, friend. I don’t have time for any of your stupid –”

  His words came to an abrupt stop as recognition finally struck him like a hammer.

  “Y…Your Highness. What are you… I mean… How did you…?”

  “Close your mouth and do as I told you. Then take me somewhere I can wash up.”

  The man leapt up and showed the prince through to the back rooms.

  “The royal guard is pursuing a vehicle a few blocks away from here,” Salazar said. “If any of the occupants are hurt in this chase, I will hold each man personally responsible. Convey this to them, then send word to my father that I am home.”

  “Yes, Your Highness. I will send the messages right away.”

  By the time he reached a washroom, half of those working on the first floor had already come out to see him. He could hear the whispers about his bruised and battered condition. Not that it mattered. The main point was, enough people had now seen him to ensure his ongoing safety.

  While looking at himself in the mirror, he started laughing. They were right; he really was in one hell of a state. The healers would take care of the cuts and bruises soon enough, but something else was different about him. Though it was something inside and hidden from the world, he could see it clearly as if it was right in front of him.

  “It is time to move forward,” he said. “It is time to make a difference.”

  Yes, it is, came a reply. One that only he could hear.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Drake settled down onto his couch with the lights dimmed and music playing softly on the vibraplayer. There was only one tiny cloud on his horizon; one thing that was troubling him. Two weeks had passed, and there had still been no word regarding the investigation into Xavier’s involvement. Not even a hint of one. He knew it was petty, but he dearly wanted to be there when they finally put the man on trial for treason. He wanted to look into his fear-filled eyes, see that smug expression replaced by one of utter defeat, as they handed down his sentence.