by J. L. Lyon
“I don’t understand,” Crenshaw said, looking between the two of them.
“Show him,” Grace whispered earnestly. Show me. Go ahead and shatter the world I just put back together. “Show him who you are.”
The warrior stepped toward them and reached up to his helmet. He pressed his hands to the sides and it came loose with a click. Then he lifted it slowly from his head.
Crenshaw cursed underneath his breath. The black-clad Persian was not a Persian at all.
Elijah Charity slipped the helmet underneath his arm and smiled, “I suppose we have some catching up to do.”
EPILOGUE
“YOUR ASSASSIN FAILED.”
Despite the oncoming sunrise, the room remained dark. Only the clock on the wall revealed the truth of the morning, a reality he had been forced to endure. He had been so long in darkness now that he barely remembered the feel of the warm sun on his skin, or the sting of those first rays of light in his eyes when the night made its retreat.
“Yes,” his companion replied from the blackest corner of the room. It was appropriate, for that was the color he always thought of when the man spoke. There was something terrible about it, as if no soul existed behind the words that emerged. That, and other reasons that he didn’t care to dwell on at the moment.
“Why have you shared this with me?”
“Because you will now go in his stead.”
A lump rose in his throat, “Me, sir? But with respect, I don't have the skill...”
The man laughed, a low, menacing cackle that made him shudder, “Charles Aurelius Justus, champion of Rome, admitting there is something he cannot do. You really are ready.”
A wave of shame nearly overcame Justus, not because of the insult but because of his conditioning. He had displeased the man, and that made him want to crawl into the opposite corner and hide. Strange that he even cared what this man thought, after all he had done to him. But he was only a shell of the man he once had been.
“But I...I'm not an assassin.”
“No,” the man said. “But things have changed. I have made contact with my asset within Sawyer's camp, and am convinced that killing her may have been premature. She and General Crenshaw have nearly achieved what I have been unable to do in over twenty years. I need you to continue with your original mission.”
“Original mission?”
“The one you were given by Chief of Command Aurora,” the man replied. “You will infiltrate the Silent Thunder camp, but not to wield them as a weapon for the Conglomerate. No, I need the information she carries.”
“But...how? If I steal it from her...”
“That won't be necessary,” the man said. “Once the fragments are all reassembled, you will be able to extract the data and send it to me on the frequency I will give you. Then you can leave them peacefully at your next opportunity. If you do this right, they will never even be aware of what you have done.”
Justus wanted to refuse. Working for this man—serving him, in reality—was the very last thing he wanted to do. But as had happened so many times over the past several months, the deepest desires of his heart—to run, to escape and never see this man again—could never quite make it all the way to the surface. Instead he found himself stepping forward, like a dog about to accept a treat from his master.
“What do I have to do?”
“Crenshaw has her searching for the pieces of an old data card, split and hidden after the fall of the Old World. They have managed to reclaim six of the eight fragments. The seventh they hope to find in Corridor Prime. I will arrange for you to be in the city within 24 hours. You will make contact and assist them in retrieving the fragment.”
“I...understand.”
“You will not be able to extract the data unless you assemble all eight fragments,” the man reached for his inner coat pocket and produced a small triangular piece of rock. No, Justus realized. Not rock. Drywall. There was a glint of gold in the center, caught by what little light made it into the room through the crack beneath the door.
“This is the eighth piece of the card, your ticket into the confidence of the rebellion. They will ask how you came by it. Tell them whatever you wish, so long as they believe you.” He held out the piece of wall, and Justus reached for it with great trepidation. As his fingers closed around it, the man's did not let go.
“This is more valuable than your life, Justus.” He said ominously. “More valuable, in fact, than every life in your precious Rome. If you lose it, nothing in your nightmares will compare to what I will do to you.”
Justus suppressed a shudder. Of late, his nightmares were pretty horrible. I shouldn't take it, he thought. Whatever this man could want so badly, it can't be good for the rest of the world if he gets it. But as always, what he thought didn't particularly matter. He accepted the fragment with a nod, “I will not fail you.”
“My people are waiting outside to smuggle you out of Alexandria and into Corridor Prime. Watch yourself. The political climate there has changed considerably during your…training. Do you have any questions before you go?”
Justus looked up, suspicious. He had never been invited to question the man before, so naturally expected some sort of trap. There were many things he might have asked, but was too scared to mention anything not related to this particular mission.
“You say you have an asset within Silent Thunder. Why not have them do this?”
“There is no need to sacrifice a knight when a pawn will do.”
The answer was a slap to what remained of his ego, and he bit off the next question on his tongue. Asking even the first one was a bad idea. The silence stretched on, until the man spoke again, “If there is nothing more, it is time for you to leave.” He motioned to the door.
Justus felt both terror and joy in his heart as his gaze came to rest on the door, the gateway back to civilization and freedom. But he would never be truly free again, he knew. This man had done things to him...terrible things...that he would never be able to recover from.
But perhaps if he could get some distance between himself and the man, he might find himself again. Maybe the great Charles Aurelius Justus would rise from the ashes and take revenge for these past months of torture and suffering.
As he looked back at the man and saw him watching him from the shadows, doubt crept in. He would not be letting him leave if that was even a possibility, would he?
Justus stepped forward and took hold of the doorknob, eager to taste the free air again, to look upon the sunrise in all its glory and feel the warmth of it on his pale skin. It was as if he had been dead, only now invited to live again.
“Just a moment,” the man said, and Justus felt all of his hopes shatter. Had this only been another test? Some further torture to see how quickly he would agree to leave?
“Once you assemble the data card, they will not find what they expect. They will perhaps be disappointed enough to drop their guard. That will be your moment of greatest opportunity. My people outside will give you instructions on where to send the data.”
Justus nodded, relieved and somewhat in disbelief that he was actually going to be allowed to leave. He had been in this room for a lifetime, and endured things no man should ever be subjected to. The thought of going outside was almost too terrifying to bear. But not as terrifying as disobeying an order from his master.
He turned the knob and opened the door, and the taste of the air on his skin lit a flame in his heart. It was only the stale air of the hallway, but it was more than he had breathed in months. Suddenly he felt emboldened, and a shadow of his old self returned. He turned in the doorframe and, in an uncharacteristic moment of courage, asked the question that had been burning in his thoughts for some time.
“What shall I call you, Master?”
The man hesitated, just long enough for Justus' fear of reprisal to come crashing back with a vengeance. In the light that shone in from the hallway he could see the grin that spread across the man's face...enough to chill t
he blood of Napoleon Alexander himself.
“I lost my use for names long ago. But I would prefer you to address me as all my children do.” He paused, and that evil smile widened.
“Discipliner.”
To be continued in Part IV,
Shadow Empire
THE AUTHOR
J.L. LYON graduated from the University of Tennessee with a degree in Political Science and History. He fell in love with storytelling at a young age, and has been making stuff up ever since. He currently lives in Ohio with his wife and daughter.
To stay up to date on news and explore extras for the series, visit the website at http://jllyon.com
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2015 by J.L. Lyon. All rights reserved
The content of this work is the sole property of the author and may not be copied, reproduced, or distributed in whole or in part on any medium currently known or as yet undevised without the express permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual events or people is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Amy Lyon
ISBN: 9780989744140
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