by Anna Bowman
He prayed she would be and reminded himself to do the same. Climbing out of the skiff was enough of a challenging prospect, and there was a long, arduous walk ahead of him.
Jank helped him to the ground, unable to hide his fear; he never was good at hiding his emotions.
“Be careful.” He clasped his hand. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Right as rain.” Tristan winked. “See you in a fortnight.”
Jank was reluctant to release his grip as Tristan shifted his weight to the cane in his hand. He raised his hand in goodbye as he walked away.
Unlike his comrades, he would take the more direct route. Across the endless sands, Coyotes trailed after him, howling to one another and smelling death as it walked hand-in-hand with him. With each step, he could hear them gaining, growing a little braver as his pace slowed. They didn’t really bother him, though; they did not deny who they were. The predators within the city’s walls were far more terrifying. He felt cold, knowing what they would do to him in the end.
Only a little further.
Corcyra’s lights were on the horizon, though the distance he needed to cross may as well have been a hundred miles. Temptation whispered in his ear, taunting him: Just lie down. Let it go. You have done enough.
That was the problem, he thought. He had done so much that a weapon, capable of rewriting a person’s mind, sat neatly in the hands of the Coalition. If he had not been so eager to impress his father, the E.X. Solution never would have existed. It was his fault, no matter how innocent his intentions were. But it wouldn’t remain for much longer.
I will destroy it. Tristan swore, with each gasp of breath, his resolve pushing him forward.
He knew he didn’t need to make it all the way to the city. A guard patrol would find him soon enough. He sank to one knee, shivering in a cold sweat. His fingers trembled, pressing the buttons on his transmitter. The signal froze, allowing the interceptors to track his location.
He didn’t have long to wait. Voices shouted to each other, rushing towards him. Tristan’s eyes clamped shut as bright lights blinded him.
“You there—don’t’ move!”
Tristan held his arms over his head, both knees on the ground now.
“Who are you?”
“What are you doing here?”
Both took turns shouting at him. They were just children, he thought.
One of them wrenched the transmitter from his wrist, but Tristan had already sent a confirmation transmission to Jank.
“Gentlemen, congratulations,” he said, maintaining a degree of charm. “My name is Tristan Highcourt. And I have just made you overnight heroes and immensely wealthy, if I’m not mistaken, which I never am.”
It was done. They had him now. How they took him in was their problem. With their rifles still aimed at him, he collapsed, drinking in the darkness that engulfed him hungrily. If he had seen the girl coming after him, he might have fought a little longer to stay conscious. But he didn’t.
Chapter 53
Ivan
Ivan crept along the edge of the inner wall. Noiseless, focused, he was finally in his element. Will was making his way around the other side, and they were to meet in the middle. Guards were posted in Sentinel alcoves spaced evenly along the wall; they were too far away to shout a warning to one another, but their station was equipped with alarms to sound a warning which would spread rapidly to the rest.
Light from their electric torches swept the fields and the base of the wall periodically on the wrong side. Those who lived in The Mud were farmers, laborers—subdued and compliant since the rebels had been crushed by the Coalition Cities. Corcyra’s finest guards were untested by real conflict and had no idea that real danger was not the kind to announce itself at their gates. None of them were aware of the two men who prowled beneath their noses.
Ivan took a knee under the first station, slipping his hand into the satchel hung over his shoulder. He pressed the lined gray, clay at the base of the stones and carefully pushed the switch on the bottom forward so as not to make even a whisper of a noise. A tiny red light blinked underneath, flashing its shadow on the ground. Once Jank activated the timer, they would simultaneously detonate, keeping the 201st busy—at least for a while. Hopefully, it would be long enough for them all to get the hell out of Corcyra.
The guard’s boots scraped overhead as he shifted position. Ivan flattened himself into the shadows of the wall, holding his breath. There was a pronounced yawn, followed by a tuneless whistling. Then, nothing. Ivan shook his head slightly.
Novaichek—baby soldier.
The last battle he was in was against warriors. Men. They fought tooth and nail against one another, determined to come out alive. These boys belonged at home with their mothers.
His luck held up throughout his silent lope around the city; each alcove, in turn, was manned by a half-asleep novaichek. Most soldiers start out that way, but not Ivan. By the time he was their age, he was hardened by battle. It was always win or die, and Ivan never lost. The assassins of his homeland were said to have ice in their blood and fought like the great Northland wolves they were named after; the heart of the Northland, the Slavik boys, always played they were Ice Wolves. Ivan was not one for romantic tales. It was merely a matter of survival. And the child’s play? They did not know what it was like to walk the path of blood and ice. But this was all part of a past he never spoke of to the ones he called brother. They were his new pack. The Ice Wolves and all they stood for could go to hell.
The engine pass was the point where he would meet will. Black tracks glistened in the moonlight, curving their way out of the Capital Station up to the drawbridge leading out of the city, miles into the desert. It was the primary way of travel between Olbia and Corcyra. Sweat streaked down his neck as he bent to place the last explosive. Will should meet him up ahead. The city’s noises swelled louder here—horns and engines suffocating the sound of the frogs and crickets crying to be heard in the fields beyond the wall. There was no shuffling sign of restlessness from the guard at the station post, which was surprising as it was typically manned by two men.
Probably sleeping.
Ivan switched on the last explosive and heard the unmistakable click of a rifle being cocked. He froze.
“Drop to your knees! Move, and you’re dead!” The voice was young, maybe eighteen. “Get your hands over your head.” The rifle poked sharply in his back.
Ilupai—idiot. First, you say not to move, then order me to.
Ivan dropped to the ground and eased his arms up, all the while thinking through the way he was going to whirl around and take this idiot boy’s head off. But before he had the chance, there was a scuffling sound, followed by a crunching snap.
“You let a swank sneak up on you?”
Ivan breathed turning to see Will, his arms around a guard’s neck. He let the man go, and his body slumped to the ground.
“Decertai--damn.”
Ivan dragged a hand through sweaty hair. He was mad at himself. How could he not have heard this noisy child behind him before he had the upper hand?
“Don’t think anything of it.” Will clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. “He left his post, or he’d never have seen you. Had to take out the other one too.”
Ivan’s face twisted into a scowl.
“Too long.” He shook his head. He had grown soft. “I owe you.” He slapped Will on the arm. “Glad it was not you who sneak up on me.”
He rubbed his neck, glancing down at the boy’s pale, clean-shaven face.
Will unbuttoned his coat.
“I wouldn’t want you sneaking up on me either if it’s any consolation.”
“No. Is only common sense.”
Will grinned as he dug a pocket watch out of his coat and glanced at the time.
“We should go. Sol’s probably got himself captured by now.”
Sol. Ivan’s chest tightened. He is Ilupai too.
But he could not deny that he respected Solomand’s utter lac
k of fear. He would walk right up into LeFrost’s mansion and spit in his face just to wipe away his smirk, totally disregarding the bricks this would bring down on his own head. This is what worried Ivan.
He nodded at Will.
“Yes. Has probably pissed off twenty men by now.”
“Yeah.” Will tucked the watch back in his pocket. “When one would have been more than enough.”
“Just one problem.” Will rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re behind schedule.” Will did not look worried in spite of the fact this was a monumental problem. Even the slightest delay could mean the difference between them all getting out alive. They had to get out. Ivan frowned. Tristan’s life was at stake. He was not going to fail.
The train-whistle shattered the heavy silence.
The bridge.
Will and Ivan locked eyes, faint lines of panic drawn on the Olbian’s face.
“Shit,” he said.
If no one lowered the bridge to let the engine pass, there would be a hell of an early explosion; too soon.
Will ran to the ladder that scaled the wall and clambered up the iron rungs. Ivan was at his heels. They reached the guard station and were met by the blinding light of the Olbian Express, cutting its way through the dark of the night at an unsettling speed. The whistle sounded again—probably wondering why their way hadn’t been opened yet.
Will reached for the lever and jerked it with both hands. It didn’t move. He put a foot up on the gearbox for leverage and used his whole weight as he pulled it aft, a vein bulging from his neck. The whistle came in frantic bursts as the light neared.
“Is locked!” Ivan pointed to the keyhole on the side.
He broke off in a string of Slavik swears and kicked frantically at it. His head jerked upward.
“Will! The other guard.”
Ivan dropped to his knee by the body of the other man Will had taken out by a knife to the neck from the look of it. His hands frisked the man’s sides, finally coming across a ring of black keys. He yanked it off the guard’s body, ripping his belt loop and tossed it. Will bent forward to catch it, but they fell. The whistle blared again.
Ivan clamped his eyes shut as Will snatched up the keyring. The keys clanked on the iron as he fumbled to shove the key in place. The ground began to rumble as the engine roared down the tracks.
Clink.
The key turned, and Will kicked the lever so hard it stuck. With a massive creak, the bridge lowered. In a still sort of horror, Ivan wondered if it was too late.
Too close to call.
The wood barely touched the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust, just as the engine squealed across with a rumble.
The Capital Station.
Ivan ran to Will. There was no time to explain.
“Will!” he yelled over the roar of the engine. “Jump!” He grabbed the Olbian by the arm and did not give him time to hesitate. Dragging Will along, he jumped from the guard post onto the moving train.
Ivan had made many decisions in his life which took less than a second, and it usually began with “what the hell.” So far, he had survived them all. Slamming into the moving train car, he hoped this would be one of those. The force of the moving train made them slide backward. Ivan caught hold of the rungs which ran over the top of the car and grabbed Will’s hand with the other until he managed to get ahold himself. Looking over his shoulder to make sure Will was secure he caught the Olbian’s expressions.
“For the record, I object. This is the sort of thing Sol’d do,” Will yelled, then turned his attention to hanging on.
Ivan felt like his hands would be pulled loose. The wind rushed past, bringing tears to his eyes. Will was right. Maybe he had somehow caught Solomand’s madness.
If he knew there was a train, he probably would plan for this.
Ivan let a determined grin pass his lips. They shared that, at least; whatever it took to accomplish the mission, both of them would do it. They were running behind, but no more. The capital Station ran behind the Governor’s mansion. They could jump off and make up any time that was lost.
It sounded so simple.
“Our stop!” Will’s voice carried over the rattle of the wheels on tracks.
Ivan brought his eyes up, blinking through tears to see the lights coming up. The domed capital building rose in the distance, separated from the tracks by an iron fence. Ivan sucked in a breath.
He jumped.
The ground met him with excessive force. After rolling two yards, he landed on his back and looked up, rubbing his jaw and spitting grass. Where was Will? Ivan stiffened. He was laying on a knoll illuminated by lamps fixed all along the fence and didn’t know if he should move or not. A hand grabbed him by the collar, and his knife was out in a heartbeat, laying cold against his assailant’s neck.
“Easy, Ice Wolf.” It was Will. He spoke in a whisper.
Ivan breathed a sigh of relief and brought his leg up to return the knife to its sheath.
“Let’s go.”
Will’s arm was on his, guiding him into the blind spot which ran the length of the fence. They crawled together, inching towards the back of the mansion’s pristine lawn. The smell of dirt in his nose, Ivan tried to ignore the various stabbing pains in his limbs.
I am too old for this.
It grew darker the more they edged to the back of the mansion. Here, the lawn darkened. Will stopped, motioning for Ivan to crawl up beside him. He nodded toward the roof.
“Sniper.”
“I see them.”
Ivan gulped, a lump rising in his throat as his eyes fell on the man tied behind the Governor’s residence.
Sol.
When he was struck, he would eventually look up, a defiant grin on his face and say something which elicited an even stronger blow from the guard. Each time he took longer to raise his head.
Ivan’s stomach was a tight ball. Everything tensed, and he forgot the pains from his fall. He flinched as the man raised his whip and moved to stand. Will held his arm.
“No. I don’t see Rayn. He said not to get him out unless she was there too.”
The whip cracked again, and Ivan’s hands balled into fists.
“You know Sol’s plans. Ten things at least go wrong!”
“I know,” Will said. His hand tightened. “But if we get him out now, we risk losing Rayn too.”
Ivan let out a snarling noise.
“Idiot will kill himself.”
It made him sick to watch. If Sol would just stop making smartass comments, his life expectancy would significantly increase. Ivan’s heart pounded in his ears. That stupid smirk on Solomand’s face! He couldn’t help but remember all the times Sol had his back and how much respect he had for the way he stared death down, refusing to show fear or pain even if he felt it. In the end, he had done a better job of that than one of the legendary Ice Wolves. Ivan forgot why he was so angry with Sol. What happened was not his fault. He’d never really believed that. His only thought was that he was not going to let him die like this.
“Enough time.” He drew his knife.
“Wait.” Will let go of him as a commotion broke out in the courtyard. “Someone’s coming.”
Chapter 54
Rayn
The air was warm and heavy, but Rayn shivered. Her clothes, still damp with river water, felt clammy against her skin. Her revolver returned to her side dug into her thigh, comforting her. Sol’s pistol belt was slung over her shoulder. She lowered herself to a prone position, scraping her body across the wooden platform toward the balcony rail. The Drakon felt like an extension of her arm as she nestled the buttstock into her shoulder. Her left eye closed, she peered through the scope.
A skinny guard, raising his arm, came into focus. She moved the scope to see the man tied between two posts.
Sol!
She didn’t have to see his face to know it was him. Her stomach churned, both eyes closing momentarily as she tried to clear her head. Her hands would have to be steady; she couldn
’t miss. There was nothing else in this present moment but her, and the shot she had to make. She inhaled her right eye-opening, bringing her target into focus of the crosshairs. Her finger squeezed, gently as she slowed her exhale.
The stock kicked into her shoulder as the trigger clicked back into place; the suppressed sound of her shot didn’t carry far. Her eye to the scope again, she searched for her target. He was on the ground, still. She’d done it.
Now, how the hell do I get down?
Her heart started to race again.
Without thinking it through, she slung the rifle over her shoulder and climbed over the railing, using the shingles on the roof as footholds. The trouble was when she reached the second floor; there was nothing to catch her boots on. She slipped.
Shit.
One of LeFrost’s guards broke her fall as she fell to the ground. His hands were on her, fighting for the rifle.
Oh no, you don’t!
Rayn gritted her teeth
She brought her knee up, catching him in the stomach. Letting out a stifled groan, he loosened his grasp on her arm, unholstering his sidearm. If she shot him, the others would hear. She had to be fast.
Rayn slammed the heel of her boot on the ground and the concealed blade shot out of its hiding place in the sole. She dropped the rifle and Sol’s pistol belt, bringing her foot into his shin. As he fell to one knee, she jerked a longer knife from her boot and sliced it across his throat before he could scream in pain.
She watched him fall, noting with some disturbance how easy killing had come to her. There wasn’t much time for thoughts like that, though. She jerked the rifle and revolver in one hand and dashed to Solomand.
Oh god, am I too late?
Sol’s head hung below his arms so she couldn’t make out his face. His shirt was shredded and streaked with blood. Long, gruesome slashes graced his chest and back where the bullwhip had struck him.
“God, Sol!”
Rayn ran up, the knife from her boot still in hand, still wet with the guard’s blood.
She moved to cut his ropes, but her eyes caught the chain around his neck with the cross and unique triangular charm dangling from it. Her heart skipped a beat, and she involuntarily held her breathe. She couldn’t finish what she was doing. Fingers ice-cold and trembling, she dropped her knife and took the necklace in her hand; there was an ‘O’ at the point and a compass needle pointing to a name—her name. It would fit perfectly in her medallion, transforming S. L. to SOL.