Freeforce: The Gryphon Saga

by L. E. Horn

  The moment she topped the cliff, she smelled one. He hid in a deep crevice just below her. If Kaye had gone even twenty feet farther, he would have seen us. She must have sensed him.

  The sentry’s presence reminded her to add to her camouflage. Using her healing ability, she lengthened the hair across her face. She also altered her exposed body hair to blend in with the dark cliffs, growing the darker hairs so they predominated the blonder ones. I must remember to reverse it once I’m on the sand.

  Her tail and claws made short work of climbing the cliffs, and soon she saw the camp’s lights dancing off the rock. Another sentry hid high in the boulders, forcing her to scale a tricky vertical section to bypass him. Some time elapsed before she dropped back to ground level, following the shadows of a crack in the cliff’s face. It brought her right to the edges of the sand and almost on top of a sleeping soldier. She froze, remaining immobile for a few seconds, listening and watching while getting her bearings.

  Many bedrolls lay scattered across the open space, a clear indication of the unit’s size. Too many. Damn. How can I deactivate all those collars before dawn? She spotted her group of rebel captives, bloody, bruised, and roped to each other in an uneven circle. Lianndra could not see Michael. Where is he? Does the commander have him? The Fang must have discovered the collar anomalies by now. I wonder what he has made of them? He would have tried to sync the collars to his own and questioned when it failed. With any luck, he hasn’t yet reported the defects back to the Fang headquarters.

  With so little cover available, getting close to the slave soldiers would be difficult, and Lianndra appreciated the Vloxx cloak. The trick will be to move when nobody’s looking. Most slaves slept in their bedrolls, but the commander’s bodyguards represented a challenge. Those darned Bernaf are too alert. She could see two: one stood at the front of the commander’s tent, and the other stayed at the back. Both faced away from the cliffs.

  Lianndra crouched, spreading the cloak until it covered her from the back of her head to her calves. She used her tail to hold it along her legs, so it wouldn’t shift and expose her. If she hunkered right down, the lightened hair on her face and legs should appear as dappled shadows, and the cloak would reflect the sand and rock around her.

  She waited for the Bernaf guards to look at the cliffs and then moved to the closest sleeping soldier. Between the cloak and her stationary position while deactivating the collars, she should be nearly invisible. It’s most dangerous when I move. Lianndra crept, keeping an eye on the Bernaf. Several times they stared in her direction before looking away. Each time she remained frozen. They would often shift their focus, wait, and then gaze toward her again, probably checking to see if anything looked different. Her skin crawled under the regard of their huge, onyx eyes.

  If only I could put the soldiers under and have them stay there. She could render them unconscious by cutting off the oxygenated blood to the brain, but once she left, they would resume a normal sleep cycle or even wake up. She opted to stick with sending them into a deep sleep while she deactivated the collars, and would have to count on Drake to stop the slaves from fighting for the Fang. I hope most of these slaves hate the Fang and will take any opportunity for freedom.

  Lianndra focused and went within. The Fang created the Healers from modified human females. During the process, the technicians enhanced latent telekinetic powers that enabled their creations to alter tissue at the cellular level. The Tlok’mk rebellion tapped into these talents, teaching selected Healers to deactivate slave collars by building a buffer of scar tissue around the nodes connecting the collar to the brain. Each node had a specific function. The most important ones to disable were the kill switches and pain nodes.

  As Lianndra worked, sweat poured down her face. If she didn’t get most collars deactivated by dawn, her Gryphon allies would attack a force that outgunned and outmanned them. She worked halfway around the camp before getting close enough to the captives to spot Drake. He sat at the edge—perfect for her approach. She got quite close to the captain before he sensed movement and looked around. Just as fast, he looked away. Drake had obviously recognized something, but he could not have known it was her.

  When you’re a prisoner, anything sneaking about must be good, she thought.

  Like many captives, the rebel captain had suffered. Blood from a scalp wound blackened one side of his face, and his bloodstained shirt hung in shreds. As Lianndra crept closer, she noticed his manacled wrists. The bindings were standard Fang restraints, created from lightweight but strong material. The raw flesh beneath bled as though he’d made repeated attempts to wrench free.

  She sidled right up to him, into the group’s shadows and out of the Bernaf bodyguards’ sight. Lianndra removed her long knife from its felted hair sheath and slid it along the ground to sit beside Drake’s hand.

  If it startled him to see an arm emerge from something resembling a boulder, Drake hid it well. Lianndra risked pulling the Vloxx skin back enough to show him her face. He looked directly at her and then away. He closed his eyes, and Lianndra thought she heard a faint sigh of relief.

  She had to know. “Michael?” she whispered.

  “Strewth!” Drake’s whisper exploded—like he’d been sitting on his emotions for far too long. “He’s in the lizard’s tent.” His Aussie accent was so thick she barely understood him. Lianndra’s already stressed heart pounded as she heard him take a deep breath and continue. “Sorry, I’m beyond ropeable. The commander has Michael and Hannah. Lizard must have figured with the collars not working, a sick slave would be easier to break. I think he’s using Hannah’s healing ability to keep Michael alive while the piker tortures him.” It went quiet. He broke off and took another breath. “I don’t know what’s going on in there.”

  The stoic man’s anger shocked Lianndra and her heart ached. Hannah in the hands of the Fang commander explained Drake’s bleeding wrists and desperation. It seemed there were limits to his self-control when it came to a certain redheaded Healer.

  And Michael . . . Lianndra closed her eyes and counted to ten. “I’ve got about half the collars deactivated now,” she whispered after a moment. “The Gryphon attack at dawn.”

  Her news warranted a quick glance from Drake, and she could see his surprise. He reached out with his manacled hands and picked up the knife. “Save her. Save them. I’ve got this,” he whispered to her as she moved past him.

  The passion in his voice added to the burden resting on her shoulders.

  The manacles linked the prisoner’s wrists with a short cable, allowing some freedom of movement for their basic needs. The cable and the manacles were too tough to cut with a knife, but ordinary rope bound the men to each other. Even though the rebels weren’t armed, Lianndra remained confident Drake would be ready by dawn to provide a distraction, giving the Gryphon every advantage over the Fang commander.

  She continued the painstaking work. Some slave soldiers were just too close to the Bernaf bodyguards to risk exposure, so she had to leave them.

  The sky lightened by the time Lianndra worked her way to the far side, having deactivated about ninety of the one hundred and twenty collars. It will be enough. As she closed in on the tent, the Bernaf’s attention focused away from her. She glanced around and recognized the opportunity presented by her position between the commander’s tent and the cliff wall. I can sneak up on the tent!

  Clutching the Vloxx cloak tight to her body, she approached the worn fabric. As portable shelters went, tents were one of those items crossing alien boundaries. Made of alien material, stakes rooted the Fang structure to the ground at regular intervals.

  Michael and Hannah are in there with a Fang commander. All remained quiet in the tent. Lianndra knew that Fang metabolisms slowed in response to low temperatures, so the nights on the grasslands were cold enough to force the reptilian alien to rest. She suspected the Fang spent most of the previous day questioning the prisoners. She had little doubt regarding the interrogation’s focus. The
commander must be desperate to know about the deactivated collars. I wonder if he’s discovered our secret? Is Michael still alive? Even if I get into the tent, what can I do? I don’t have a weapon. She’d given Drake her only knife yet if she could distract the Fang commander for even a few moments, it would buy the Gryphon time.

  Lianndra moved forward once more and paused when her arm brushed the sharp edge to the reflective scales of her cape. If she could free one from the skin, she might be able to use it as a weapon. Which made her reconsider her plan. If I have a weapon, could I kill the commander myself?

  Her heart accelerated at the thought. First things first—see if this will work! Selecting a long scale at the edge she started chewing. She cut her lips more than once, but soon the scale came away from the tough skin. Lianndra used it to slice off a braid and then bound the blunt end with the hair. It created a handle to keep her safe from the razor-toothed edge.

  Lianndra surveyed her handiwork. The cutting edge measured about eight inches, leaving her four inches of handle. Can it strike deep enough? Fang were tough and difficult to kill but she healed enough to know where their vital organs were. Short of chopping off their heads, a swift kill involved hitting both hearts, preferably with one blow. Injuring him might just get me killed. I must make sure I kill him, and quick. Thoughts of Michael made her heart ache. This Fang tortured people I care about. Drake would not even hesitate to go for the kill, but I’m the one in position, so it’s up to me.

  Clamping down on her uncertainty, Lianndra placed the hair handle between her teeth and crawled forward. She froze a couple of times when the Bernaf strolled into view, but she soon reached the tent’s wall.

  Like all Fang tents, the sleeping quarters were at the back. She listened for a moment and held her breath as a Bernaf guard paced no more than ten feet away from her. The sky had lightened. If he looked directly at her, he might be able to distinguish her legs as something other than rock. Her heart pounded so hard she wondered how the guard couldn’t hear it. She exhaled when he turned and walked back without even glancing her way.

  Lianndra cut with the makeshift knife—the sharp Vloxx scale making short work of the worn stake ropes. Lying flat on the ground, she lifted the tent’s edge and peered beneath it.

  The dark inside shrouded her vision, but heavy Fang breathing assaulted her ears. The commander would wake with the dawn. I don’t have much time. Her keen hearing informed her the Fang’s bedroll must be on the other side.

  With a quick glance at the Bernaf guard, she slipped as quietly as she could below the tent’s edge and hid under a table that held the Fang’s discarded armor. It finalized her decision. Without it, he’s vulnerable to knife attack. I’m going for it. She gathered her legs beneath her and tightened her fingers around the scale. Is the commander’s breathing a little lighter? She could see the early light coming through small holes and rips in the tent. Soon . . .

  She couldn’t see either Michael or Hannah in the sleeping chamber. They must be in the separate area at the front, where the Bernaf can keep an eye on them. Lianndra had to stop herself from looking for them, but she couldn’t blow this chance. This is going to take split-second timing. The first rush of adrenaline took hold—her exhausted body shook, and she welcomed the energy boost. Lianndra had never killed before, and she tried to keep her mind blank. If I think about it at all, it will stop me from doing what must be done.

  The first ray of sunlight hit the tent, and with it came a hoarse cry from a sentry, quickly overcome by the shrill whistles and pounding feet of charging Gryphon.

  Lianndra heard the abrupt inhalation from the commander signaling his instant return to awareness. As he launched himself out of his bedroll, Lianndra pounced. She drove the Vloxx scale into his leathery chest so fast and hard the scale tore right through the makeshift handle and into her hand.

  Lianndra grimaced with pain as she twisted the scale and ripped it upward through the Fang’s second heart.

  He died before he hit the ground. Now what? Those fighting outside the tent needed to know of the commander’s death, but shouting into the melee would be useless. I need to show them. Bracing a foot against the Fang’s chest, she struggled to remove the embedded Vloxx scale. She spotted a sheathed knife beside the cot and ran to it.

  The sounds of fighting rose outside. Lianndra heard Drake’s distinctive voice shouting to the Fang slaves, telling them they were free from their collars. His voice was barely audible above the fighting just outside the tent; the Bernaf guards were battling hard to protect the Fang commander.

  Ignoring the lancing pain from her hand, she hacked at the tent. The worn fabric gave way as she made a tall vertical slice. When she wrenched at it, a large triangular section ripped straight to the ground. She shouted, “The Fang is dead!” and stood back so all could see the body within.

  Despite his manacled wrists, Drake fought nearby, and at her words he called everyone’s attention to the commander’s prone form. Not far from him, a Bernaf lay dead in a pool of dark blood. The other guard battled with a young Gryph, but he bolted when he spotted the body, scaling the cliff wall with the ease of a spider. No one went after him. He won’t get far before his collar stops him, Lianndra thought, and I have no desire to deactivate it for him.

  The momentum shifted in the Gryphon’s favor as most slaves threw down their arms and surrendered. A small group of slaves loyal to the Fang backed themselves against the cliffs with drawn swords, staring at the Gryphon. Confident that her new friends could handle it, Lianndra didn’t stay to watch. She pushed past the heavy cloth separating the tent’s two sections, revealing Hannah crouched beside Michael’s still form.

  Michael . . . Lianndra’s heart constricted as she moved toward them. Dimly, she heard Drake calling from the entrance to the tent. With a shocked glance at Lianndra, Hannah unfolded her body, and in a fluid movement, sprang straight into the rebel leader’s arms. Bruises covered the petite Healer and dried blood obscured her face.

  Lianndra dropped beside a beaten and tortured Michael and placed her hand on his chest, searching for the reassuring thump of his heart. He is still alive. Thank you, Hannah. Lianndra moved shaking fingers to his forehead. He opened an eye, providing her the briefest glimmer of bloodshot silver before he lost consciousness.

  The deep cut on her hand added to the blood covering his body. Drake grabbed the remote key for the manacles, and he and Hannah disappeared outside. Moments later he returned with more help. Working together, they carried Michael out of the tent.

  Lianndra emerged to a calm, if uneasy, scene. Newly liberated slaves and Gryphon paced, sizing each other up. Drake’s freed but still bloody arms supported an exhausted Hannah. The Gryphon scout leader stepped forward to meet him, recognizing something in his stance and in the immediate respect Drake received from the other slaves. Lianndra understood. Drake radiates leader from every cell of his body.

  Guilt flooded her. I should be making introductions. But as the adrenaline rush abandoned her, Lianndra started shaking. She found herself on her knees with her head in her hands. Hannah ran back to kneel beside her. The small redhead showed signs of being beaten, but she lent what support she could to her friend.

  Through her fog of exhaustion, Lianndra heard Hannah’s voice. “We were so sure the Fang took you—or worse!” She rocked Lianndra within her arms.

  When awareness returned to Lianndra, Drake had the situation well in hand. He and the scout leader communicated with hand gestures and careful words.

  “We help,” the old Grypha said as he gestured to the surrounding men. “Take you valley.”

  “Thank you,” Drake replied, his natural poise restored. He ordered the men to strip the camp of anything useful and turned to direct a couple of rebels to make a stretcher for Michael.

  From within the Gryphon ranks, two young males stepped forward. The scout leader gestured to the males and then to the tent. “Carry him,” she pointed to Michael and the tent fabric. “Make to carry”.


  A Grypha approached Lianndra, and she recognized Kaye’s distinct striping pattern. With Hannah’s help, she removed the Vloxx skin and handed it back to the tall Grypha.

  The blonde Healer smiled. “Thank you, my friend.”

  Kaye rattled her neck spikes at Lianndra in a Gryphon gesture representing joy.

  WITH THE ADDITION OF THE slaves from the Fang unit, the rebels numbered one hundred and eighty-three. Eight prisoners were slung over Gryphon with their feet and hands bound.

  The rebels learned to ride Gryphon as they traveled. Far from being offended by the thought of carrying humans, most Gryphon volunteered for the task. Some soldiers hesitated, struggling to see the large creatures as friend rather than foe.

  Drake has his work cut out for him, Lianndra thought as she watched him encourage the newly freed slaves to ride the Gryphon. For too many, the war has left scars.

  There were not enough Gryphon to carry all the rebels. The scout leader remedied the problem by sending a risky comm message to the valley. Among the Gryphon sent to meet them were big males fresh off the war’s front lines. Each large Gryph carried three slaves, and with everyone mounted, the group’s speed increased. Many humans clung for dear life as the group rolled along. Lianndra couldn’t suppress a wince as she watched the captives bounce on their bellies across the broad backs.

  The exhausted Healer kept nodding off. Finally, she used a rope to tie herself to Kaye and dozed as they rocked along. Hannah rode with Drake, her small arms wound around the captain’s waist. They strapped Michael to multiple layers of tent fabric and fastened it between the two young males. The Gryph seemed to take great pride in matching their strides to give him the smoothest possible ride. Michael didn’t notice because he remained unconscious the entire time.

  Lianndra’s heart ached as she mentally catalogued Michael’s new injuries. Only Hannah’s healing touch sustained him during the torture session. She barely looked up as they entered the Gryphon valley. A scout galloped ahead to announce their arrival. When the troop’s main body trotted beneath the spreading trees, the Gryphon came out in full force to see the rebels for themselves.