by Anna Carven
She shuddered as she remembered the sensation of his cool fingers on her face. He’d been discovering her, exploring her, seeing her. He’d touched her with a strange kind of reverence, and their psychic bond had thrummed in response like a finely tuned guitar string.
That brief moment had been totally at odds with what she’d been told about him.
Slave. Assassin. Wraith.
She shuddered. He was like an addictive drug. She knew he was bad for her, and yet she wanted more.
“…Noa,” Abbey’s concerned voice snapped her out of her reverie as Noa’s senses were tempted by the warm aromas of home-baked treats. “You’re doing that thing again. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Not really.
“Y-yeah,” she said instead as her stomach growled. For now, she would just eat pumpkin scones and try not to think about Ashrael for a while.
For better or worse, at least he was alive.
Chapter Fourteen
He was weightless, and it was blissfully cold. His mind was trapped in a fog. His heart was beating far too slowly, his ka’qui wrapped around it like a protective cocoon.
Perhaps this was what death felt like.
Slowly, he extended his second sight and found that he was floating in a tank of restoration fluid.
Stasis.
Tubes and wires extended from his body, and a mask supplying oxygen covered his face. He kicked his legs and experimentally made a fist. His movements were sluggish, but he was mostly intact.
Ah. He’d been stabbed, attacked from behind as he came face-to-face with her, the Human who had infiltrated his mind in her own crazy, stumbling manner.
What the fuck was that all about?
They’d tried to break him, but the mindbond had failed to budge. It had been too much for his already weakened mindstate. He’d started to drift away, tempted by the alluring slipstream. He’d been entranced by the infinite swirling energy of the Universe, where the energy of souls returned after death.
He’d gone there. His mind had been slipping away. He’d been dying, and he’d been about to welcome the sweet embrace of the Goddess.
And then she’d touched him, and a jolt of searing energy had shot through him. His body had responded before his mind had registered anything; he’d sat bolt upright and had his hand around her neck, thinking her an enemy. He’d been so close to crushing her windpipe. She probably didn’t realize how close she’d been to death.
He shuddered. He actually didn’t want to kill this one.
Fragile, clumsy Human that she was. Their bond felt stronger than ever now.
Ridiculous. She shouldn’t have gotten so close to him. That crude little attempt at breaking the mindbond had actually strengthened her bond with him. His energy resonated so nicely with hers, and her presence made his ka’qui sing. Did she understand that she’d just done the impossible? A sarien was one-in-a-billion.
“Can you hear me, katach?” The medic’s voice sounded hollow through the speakers of his breathing apparatus. He nodded once, not trusting himself to speak.
He hadn’t sensed her presence, but that’s because his ka’qui was tied up in preserving and healing his damaged flesh.
The energy of one’s life-force could accelerate healing. That was one of the first things he’d learned during his training.
“We’ve repaired the severed arteries in your chest with surgical nanites, but nanites are in short supply, so your muscles and ribs are going to have to heal on their own. The stasis tank should help. Are you in pain? Do you want more sedative?”
“No,” he said softly, shaking his head. Anything but that. He’d rather feel pain than be semi-unconscious.
“I was to sedate you heavily if I sensed any threat, but for now, I will hold off. Don’t do anything stupid, katach. You seem to have just recently found your voice. Have we made a believer of you yet?” Her tone was darkly ironic.
A laugh escaped Ashrael, sending a sharp, stabbing pain through his chest. The pain was a welcome companion, because it told him without a doubt that he was alive. Tentatively, he diverted his ka’qui from around his vital arteries, sending it out into his surroundings.
He was still on Earth. He was in a small medical facility of some sort, and only Zyara was in the room. Several guards were stationed throughout the facility, their auras burning brightly in his mind’s eye.
But there was something else. Something was not right. A strange, familiar sensation tickled the back of his mind, making fine bumps ripple across his skin.
There was someone else in here.
Their presence was heavily cloaked, but Ashrael was one of the most skilled of his kind, and he instantly knew the trace for what it was.
You think you can hide from me, assassin?
The intruder was good; he’d managed to come this far without alerting the guards, but that didn’t surprise Ashrael. Infiltration was what the Silent Ones did best. He’d even managed to evade Ashrael’s notice until he was very, very close, but that was only because Ashrael had been distracted by his injuries. Clearly, the assassin had chosen to take advantage of the situation. In his current state, Ashrael was significantly weakened, and the medical facility was far less secure than the prison; there were more openings to exploit.
“Medic,” he said slowly, focusing his attention on Zyara as he began to yank the tubes and wires from his body, “get out of the way.”
“What?” she looked up from her monitors, confusion radiating from her. “What are you doing? You can’t just…” Of course, she wouldn’t be able to see the assassin. He was cloaked in the ka’qui, invisible to all but those with the ability, and even then, one had to know what they were looking at.
Shock radiated from the assassin upon hearing Ashrael speak, but he didn’t falter, his footsteps silent as he stalked towards Zyara. If she put up any resistance or made the wrong move, she was as good as dead.
“Zyara,” he repeated, his voice heavy with warning, “if you value your life, do as I say and move now!”
Her instincts were good, but he expected no less of an experienced combat medic. Without hesitation, she dove to the side as a bolt of plasma streaked through the air. It seemed to come out of nowhere. The stasis tank rocked as the plasma bolt hit it, melting its thick walls. Restoration fluid began to pour from a gaping hole, bubbling and steaming due to the sheer amount of energy generated by the blast. If Ashrael had been any slower, he would have been killed, but he’d pulled himself to one side at the last moment.
The top of the tank was sealed, so he forced his way through the newly created hole in its side. He ignored the agonizing pain shooting through his ribcage as the boiling restoration fluid seared his skin.
Pain was of no consequence. His heart and major arteries were intact, and that was all that mattered. As long as his heart was beating, as long as blood flowed through his body, he could fight, and he could kill. He gathered his ka’qui around him, focusing intently on his surroundings.
There. Something comes. Move!
He dropped and rolled as another bolt of searing plasma narrowly missed him. Despite the pain in his back and chest, he forced himself to move with godlike speed. His missing left arm didn’t throw him off balance; he’d spent an endless amount of time getting used to his new body in his dark cell.
Weapon. He needed a weapon. He cast his second sight around the room, searching for something he could use.
Move!
He twisted to the side, avoiding another bolt of plasma.
“Here!” Zyara produced a Callidum dagger from somewhere within her robes and slid it across the floor. Ashrael’s hand shot out. Without missing a beat, he grabbed it, flicked his wrist and threw it at his attacker.
There was a grunt of pain as the plasma gun fell from the Silent One’s hand. The dagger had hit his left wrist, slicing tendons and arteries. Unable to maintain his cloak of invisibility any longer, the assassin revealed himself, his ka’qui swirling around him. A smooth, expressio
nless mask covered his face. He wore the death mask. That meant he would not stop until Ashrael was dead.
“So you have finally come for me,” Ashrael growled, his indignation rising. They must have received word of his capture. He was no longer their most valuable tool. Now, he was a liability. “You should have brought another, because you alone cannot kill me, even when I am like this.”
He was taunting his opponent, trying to get a reaction out of him, but the assassin remained silent.
His attacker was committed now. He was acting under a powerful compulsion, and the only thing that could stop him from killing Ashrael now would be his own death.
Kill or die. Those were the only two options a Silent One had. Ashrael knew it all too well. He’d been there thousands of times.
The assassin lunged, a short stabbing sword appearing in his right hand. He aimed for Ashrael’s chest, but Ashrael spun, evading the strike with impossible speed.
No matter how fast you are, I’m faster, he taunted, some of his old arrogance returning. The implacable assassin aimed the blade at his chest, but Ashrael was already moving out of the way, using his ka’qui sense to read his attacker’s intent.
The reason he was so hard to kill was that he was always one step ahead.
But he was not at full strength. With only one arm and his back still healing from a vicious stab wound, he was slower than usual.
Alarm flashed through his mind. It was the Human. She sensed the danger through their bond. She sensed his pain, and clearly, it troubled her.
Are you okay? She was getting better at mindspeech. To learn to broadcast over such a distance in such a short period of time was an impressive feat.
Yes, he said, before pushing her away. He couldn’t afford any distractions right now. He had to end this quickly.
Ashrael ducked, evading a vicious stroke that would have separated his head from his neck. He rolled, and with his arm outstretched, he scooped up the plasma gun. It had flown from his attacker’s hand and was lying in a pool of restoration fluid.
All the while, his ka’qui was extended, tracking and anticipating the assassin’s every move.
The gun fit snugly into his hand. It was a familiar friend, and he knew exactly what to do.
Turn. Aim. Fire.
Boom.
Searing plasma fire hit his attacker in the chest, and the force of the blast threw the assassin back against a wall. He hit it with a dull thud and slumped, sliding down to the floor.
Drawn by the noise, several of the guards had appeared, their weapons drawn. Ashrael didn’t waste any time. He walked over to the fallen attacker and crouched down, pulling the death mask from his face.
Why did they send you on a fool’s errand, brother?
The assassin said nothing. He lifted his sword and tried to stab Ashrael in the gut, but his arm was weak. His ka’qui became faint as his life-force drained away.
Ashrael wouldn’t get any answers out of this one. The assassin was a slave to his mindbond, and he would die a wretched death.
I presume there will be others. He watched as the short sword slipped from the assassin’s hand. The Silent One could no longer offer any resistance. He had sustained a direct hit to his chest with a plasma bolt, and his injuries were beyond repair. He was hovering between life and death, his arm hopelessly outstretched as if he were trying to will death upon Ashrael. As his life force faded, so too did his mindbond. Eventually, his arm dropped to his side.
They are watching you, he said, the dark cloud of the killing compulsion clearing from his mind. You and the gifted Human. She has rare untapped power. Valuable power. They will take her and kill you. They won’t stop until you’re dead. A broken mindbond is a death sentence… The nameless assassin’s mindspeech tapered off as he weakened.
They wanted to kill him? He could have guessed as much. Someone with his particular skill set was too dangerous to let loose on the Universe, especially if he had reason to turn on the Empire.
He could handle that. Bring it on. Whoever they sent after him would find he wasn’t so easy to kill.
What he couldn’t stomach was their discovery of the Human. They would take her and exploit her power. They would drain her until she was a mere husk. As soon as the Empire had her in their grasp, her life would be over.
May the Goddess have mercy on your wretched soul, brother. Ashrael slid his fingers over the assassin’s eyes as his life faded away, closing them. Now that the threat had passed, he was filled with sorrow for the nameless one.
The forlorn, lifeless figure slumped against the wall could have been him. Slowly, Ashrael turned around. Two menacing warriors stood over him. He wasn’t surprised. He’d already known they were there. He’d sensed their approach long ago.
In the background, Zyara had picked herself up and managed to retrieve her weapon. She watched silently as the soldiers closed in on Ashrael.
“What in Kaiin’s hells is going on, assassin?” One of the warriors had a plasma gun aimed at his head. The other had his hand on the hilt of his sword. He glanced at Ashrael’s fallen attacker, surprise radiating from him. “How the fuck did he get in here?”
Ashrael shrugged. “A cloaked aura, a skinsuit for invisibility, stealthwalking, patience, skill, waiting for the right opening to appear, a bit of qim. Your security is good, but nothing is impenetrable, and there is no place in the Universe that we can’t infiltrate.” Pride filled his voice; he took a perverse kind of satisfaction in seeing these formidable warriors thrown off balance. “You have not had much experience in fighting us, because we never used to be your enemies. You still haven’t got a clue what we’re capable of.”
“Fucking ghosts,” the soldier muttered, shaking his head. His irritation was palpable. “Can’t believe he evaded our notice. How is it you were able to kill him? I thought your psychic shackles prevented you from turning against your own.”
“They did,” Ashrael admitted, “but I am using my voice now, am I not?” A bleak smile crossed his face.
“A Silent One no longer,” the other warrior - the one they called Kalan - remarked, sounding darkly amused. He turned to his comrade. “So what do we do now, Rykal? Put him back in restraints, or give him a sword and a gun?”
“He hasn’t shot at us yet,” Rykal remarked. “That’s a good sign.”
“Could be he’s just biding his time, waiting to turn on us when he sees an opening.”
“Could be,” Ashrael agreed mildly, his tone darkly sarcastic. “Could be that killing one of my own kind was just part of the plan.” A sudden wave of anger coursed through him as the terrible weight of his past crashed down upon him. “Could be that I don’t enjoy this newfound freedom of mine. Maybe I’m just waiting to become a slave again.”
“Watch out, the Silent One bites,” Rykal taunted. “That’s the second time you’ve surprised me now. The first time, I thought for certain you were going to snap that strange Human’s neck.”
“Without that Human, I would be dead.” Ashrael growled. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt so defensive of her. She was a clueless creature with no self-control and no understanding of the immense power she had at her disposal. He’d never encountered anyone like her. She was delicate in appearance and oh-so soft to the touch. He remembered the feel of her skin as he traced the contours of her face. Her perfect features were forever imprinted in his mind. She’d trembled slightly, her moist lower lip wavering as he grazed it with his thumb. “What a ridiculous species,” he muttered, shaking his head.
For some reason, the two First Division warriors just laughed, making Ashrael wonder if he was the butt of some inside joke.
Help me.
He froze as overwhelming terror filled his mind. It wasn’t his fear. It was the Human. Her distress came ringing across their bond, loud and clear. She was being attacked.
Fuck. He started to move. On his part, there was no question about what to do. He had to ensure she survived. The First Division warriors were crawling all
over the place, but aside from the General, he wasn’t sure whether the others really knew how to fight a Silent One.
Boom. Boom. He raised his arm and fired two precise shots, catching Rykal and Kalan dead center in the chest.
“Sorry,” he called over his shoulder as they fell, swearing at him in Kordolian. The plasma bolt would hurt like a bitch, but they would survive. Unlike him, they had advanced nano-armor protecting their bodies.
He’d gotten lucky. He’d caught them off guard. There was no way they’d let him escape otherwise.
The warriors swore.
“Told you we couldn’t trust him,” Kalan grunted, his voice thick with pain as the two soldiers picked themselves up and started to give chase.
Ashrael’s body was on fire. The stab wound in his back was bleeding again, and his skin stung where the boiling restoration fluid had scalded him, but he didn’t care. Pain was a trivial distraction, nothing more.
His pursuers were fast, but Ashrael was faster. He drew on his ka’qui, channelling energy into his legs. He extended his senses and detected a soldier in his path. With the ka’qui giving him second sight, he knew everything; the layout of the facility, the people in his way, the exit points, and the hidden spaces. If he wore a skinsuit and a death mask, he could have made himself absolutely invisible, but for now he had to rely on speed and a bit of blind luck.
He entered a narrow corridor, firing multiple blasts to clear his path. His opponent had no choice but to get out of the way.
Another guard appeared. Ashrael fired again and again until the plasma gun clicked empty. It was out of charge, but at least the soldier had ducked out of the way, clearing his path. He threw the gun aside as he ran. Without charge, it was useless. Grunting with exertion, Ashrael pumped his legs, ignoring the pain in his chest. It felt as if his ribcage were being squeezed from both sides in a giant clamp. He focused his ka’qui and forced himself to go even faster, shooting through the exit and out into the windy night.