Soul of the Swordsman Page 13

  Bigfoot came from the side, already airborne. Barehanded, he clasped arms about the neck and tackled the creature, knocking little British over with an ’ughh!’

  One hundred feet of coiled muscle fiber raised the head high with the giant human still attached, squeezing with every Jule of energy he had, muscles bursting on the incredible arms. The creature whipped its head side to side, finally tossing Bigfoot away, daggers were sinking into the tube of its body from the Knights as the beast lowered its grinning face once again to a frozen British.

  An eye the size of her head watched intently for a microsecond too long as British drew the Blunderbuss and fired—flared trumpet-barrel pressed tight against the cranium.

  Even with the muffle, that strange firearm was incredibly loud. The head plopped to the calcium-drip floor and British’s browns searched the ceiling with a cringe as the BOOM echoed…

  “Maybe not the best choice for a dungeon,” said Emili, approaching with Iris at her side.

  “Good ta seh ya boss,” added the Arenthian with a waive of two fingers.

  British exhaled sharply, narrowing her sharp eyes—clearly displeased. She moved to the head of the first downed creature and thrust her right arm all the way in, through the punctured eyeball, digging for her skinning knife. She spoke with a forced calm.

  “Who—is topside—guarding our home?”

  Alternate Reality, Upper atmosphere of the Moon Tibor

  “WHOA! That was close,” Brey held fast to the arms of her chair. “Star Gunner what happened?”

  “My cartridge is frozen Cap,” Shadoweye replied, flicking switches and darting her eyes across her visual field, turret barrels following her focus across the hazy sky.

  “Visibility is shit,” Warfell added.

  “Port, initiate reload now while we have the mist,” Brey ordered.

  “I don’t know how boss,” Danica continued to scan for movement across her hemisphere.

  “I do,” Brey leaped from the cockpit, running and jumping the steps down to the lower deck. As she reached the panel screen, Snowflake lunged to the side. “Dammit-man—three seconds,” she whispered through the com, furiously initiating the reloads for both gunners.

  “Uh, Cappy?” said Tom Snow, engines pitching, as he thrust the Vapor7 into a descending roll. Brey climbed the walls, scrambling across them like a hamster on a wheel to get back up top.

  “On my way, damage?” she asked.

  “Negative, shockwave,” Bigfoot affirmed from the Navcom.

  “Fly him like you stole him Snowman,” Brey Fovea grabbed the grating, the cockpit now visible ahead. She saw the smile peel across Tom’s face then she felt the negative gravity and clung-to as her beloved spaceship succumbed to the stunt pilot behind the stick.

  In the port gunner pod, Warfell gave in to the motion as space, clouds, planet and mist revolved over and over. To her right, a set of green bars lit up, the gauge rising to the top.

  “Yes! Star is go!” said Tawnee.

  “Port is go too,” Danica added, her turrets fully rebooted and ready for the ship to stop twisting about.

  Finally, Brey dropped on deck, trudging forth against the weight. Warfell and Shadoweye closed eyes to abate the spin, becoming alert to Tom’s voice.

  “We have several Tiborean Fighters…aft and closing, two degrees, um...dorsal, DORSAL!”

  Warfell whipped the pod around, focusing her vision on the nose of one of the chase vessels, pulling the twin triggers.

  The smaller craft dodged the blast! “Shit!” Danica exclaimed. Mid-deck, Brey knew she and Tawnee were missing the targets.

  “Aft cannon Robert,” said the Captain.

  “I don’t—where is it?” Bigfoot replied, searching the instruments before him.

  “I got it, dammit-man!” she reversed direction and made way, back to bottom-deck, cursing the fact that only she knew Snowflake’s complicated systems like the back of her hand, vowing to bring her pilots up to speed if they survived.

  The Pavilion, Woodlands Retreat

  “Lord Chancellor, this is Captain Derulio, the one I told you about.”

  “Thank you Bobbi,” said Atria.

  “My Lord, it is an honor…” Danton began.

  “Enough with that, Captain, you believe they have kidnapped your wife?”

  “I did Sir, but she is at home. I spoke with her two hours ago.”

  “Call her again,” Atria leaned forward, as if he knew a secret.

  “Aye Sir,” Derulio raised his left gauntlet. “Destiny, this is the Captain.”

  “Destiny Sir,” his Navigator replied.

  “Raise my home-com again.”

  Aye Captain, coming through now.”

  The steady beeping was all they heard.

  “No answer Cap, I’ll try her private feed.”

  “Yeah, get back to me stat,” Danton gathered his composure before the Chancellor of Tibor. Nervously, he continued.

  “She must have stepped out.”

  “No matter,” (Atria knew exactly where she was). “I have a vessel in need of a Flight Crew—it’s the new Badger,” Atria waited for the eyes to flush wide. “You are familiar with the craft?”

  “I am Sir, but the Destiny is fully equipped, if it is alright with…”

  “It is not, gather your crew here, the vessel is in the east hangar bay, we leave in one hour.”

  “We Sir? This is Brey Fovea my Liege, I would not…”

  “You will Captain, in one hour,” Atria was not kidding.

  Danton raised the gauntlet. “Destiny, I need you to hit the deck now on my position. We are being reassigned to a Badger-Craft.”

  Nearby, in the east hangar bay, the real Denali Warren was already aboard the Forenz prototype, furiously scanning the flight systems. As she studied the material, a young man’s voice came from behind.

  “FREEZE! Do not move! Keep your hands on the panel!”

  “Relax Son, this is Lt. Colonel Denali Warren,” the calm voice of the Chancellor. “Colonel Warren is here at my call; she will be commanding this vessel for the hunt.”

  Warren rose, extending a palm to the old man, but facing the confused Lieutenant.

  “The Chancellor will be in the Captain’s quarters on the top deck. When the crew arrives, send them there for debriefing. Stand post outside this vessel, no one enters but the flight crew of the Destiny, understand?”

  “Yes Ma’am,” said the youth, still shaking.

  “Move, Son,” Denali lent her blues to her charge. “This way, my Lord.”

  “You got here fast,” Atria took her hand.

  “You called for me Sir—I am never far from you—so I have a twin?”

  “Yes, and the resemblance is well, perfect…even the tone of your voices.”

  Moon Tibor, high orbit

  “Hold him steady Tom—firing now,” Brey tapped the screen and Snowflake lurched forward in response to the powerful aft cannon. “Gunners I need a visual,” the little woman ran for the steps, mid-deck, and the bridge.

  From her pod, Warfell saw the small chase vessels lose power and drift, listing to the side, exterior lights blinking, sparking from within.

  “They look dead in the water,” Danica answered as Brey finally took her seat in the cockpit behind her Pilot and Navigator.

  “Get us away from here Tommy. Set course for the asteroid belt and float,” she stood back up. “Gunners to the bridge, good girls, that was close.”

  “Too close Brey,” said Tawnee, already half-way out of the tube.

  As Warfell unclipped her harness, she felt a sting in her abdomen—her vision blurred. Suddenly, the Spirit of Caelum Fey materialized before her.

  Swordsman, listen to me. I need you here and now. They are lifting the rock and you must breathe for me. BREATHE Swordsman!

  *

  Warfell’s Aleutha, negative altitude unknown

  Danica opened her eyes to the shock of the pain. She brought in the hot, damp air until the stinging was to
o much to bear. Her ribs were cracked, broken, the movement so painful, Warfell’s mind shut down the signals, flooding her with serotonin.

  She felt hands, large scaly hands with sharp claws, pulling her slender, broken frame, tugging her free of the cave in. She heard a voice in a hiss…

  “Thisss is the one they wantsss.”

  “Bring her.”

  *

  Alternate Reality

  Danica opened her eyes, to see Brey Fovea, Bigfoot, Tawnee and the Ghost of Brey’s Father huddled around her bunk—she was back aboard Snowflake.

  “Are you okay Danica?” Brey touched her cheek.

  “I think so,” she moved her eyes to the Spirit. “What just happened?”

  The Therians have removed you from the limestone. They will heal your body and when they do, you will leave this place forever.

  But Danica was not sure she wanted to leave! She liked it there!

  I know Swordsman, but British needs you too.

  The kind Spirit said the words and Warfell had an idea, an epiphany that shook the foundations of her very mind. The Ghost smiled, sharing the sudden knowledge with his corporeal friend and comrade.

  “Everybody—I know what I, what we must do!”

  “Swear to me you will do it Brey…you must swear it.”

  “Danica, you know I won’t sit still for too long.”

  “Not even to save your life? Do it for Tawnee.”

  Brey Fovea gazed back into Warfell’s glassy blues, nodding yes.

  “We have a war to stop partner,” said the elf-girl with a malicious heir.

  “Yes we do sweetie, yes we do,” Danica smiled, roving her eyes slowly to the benevolent Spirit. “Okay, I’m ready now, let’s do this.”

  *

  Danica Warfell floated free for the tiniest moment frozen in time. She could not see, rather she could feel planet Aleutha beneath her. She felt mighty Ana pulling on her disembodied form from close by, the heat of the Sun on her face and its subtle tugging from so far away…

  *

  Warfell’s Aleutha, Fort Salvos, negative altitude unknown

  Welcome home—HERE! Danica’s pain screamed through her brain with its own voice—an imagined scrawl. Good to be back, her rational mind countered as the sensations of body, stale hot air and breathing entered her mental picture. She steadied her respiration, keeping the eyes shut.

  Warfell was on a spongy surface—a bed? She heard a raspy sound; it was the breathing of another. She had to know, opening her eyes slowly to the world.

  Smooth walls, bioluminescent lights in a glass bowl, revealing a small, rounded room. Near the barred door, a Therian was washing something; soaking cloth in a stone basin. It turned its reptilian head.

  “Hello there,” the thing spoke in a fluent Moorian accent.

  “Hey yourself,” Danica’s brain cringed to the pain of speech—her body and face keeping it cool.

  “My name is Mereth, I am a Doctor. You sustained formidable injuries beneath the rock-fall; every rib cracked—three are broken clean. Clavicle broken, left femur. You are very lucky. Then there is the…” the lizard-man pointed to his cranium.

  Warfell raised a hand and felt the tender spot, her brain howling.

  “As I said, you are one very lucky young lady. I have you on these,” the Therian tapped a glass bottle hanging over her head—tubes leading to her arm, “a potent blend of regenerative cells and protein. Give me a little more time and we can send you back to your people on your own two feet.”

  “You would do that?” Warfell did not believe him. Her blues shot back to the bars on the door and the lizard head followed.

  “Yes. We want peace with your Kin,” spoken truly enough.

  “Why the attack?”

  “Our Scouts acted independently out of greed. The Tiborean Duchy deals in arms—fine crafted swords and guns. The Scouts stole the Queen’s Obsidian Shard, a weapon so sharp, it can cut through metal. A Dwarf helped them—one of the Duke’s men. He is an evil creature this thing, this Dwarf. They killed our Good Queen Mother.”

  “So the Scouts were poised to attack the Platinum Palace anyway,” Danica mused aloud.

  “Correct, and they are still out there, engaged with the Duke’s men.”

  “Don’t you have an army? A police force?”

  “Yeah—the Scouts. You stumbled into a one-sided insurgence. It seems revolution is at hand. The Scouts do not know we have you here, my friends brought you to me.”

  “Friends?”

  “Correct, the Scouts are not the only ones with means to wage battle. We are few, but we are the Queen’s,” Mereth smiled, though Danica could not tell.

  “We can help you. We are the Knights of Salvos. The Duke is dead—killed by an outlaw named Thaddeus. Mereth, we are the good guys. I have to get back to my people immediately,” Warfell tried to move and the fresh sensations of pain vaulted through her slender frame. This time, she winced in agony.

  “Easy, I cannot move you yet; certainly not through a battle-zone. Don’t worry, you’ll be up and running soon.”

  “How?”

  “I had to do it—you would have died.”

  “What did you do to me?”

  “My Kin heal very rapidly because of a virus our ancestors contracted and developed an immunity to eons in the past. Now, we culture the pathogen and use it for the critically injured or terminally ill. We call it the Lycanthropic Viral Macrophage, or simply…”

  “LVM,” Danica finished for the Therian Doctor. “Kiss my perfect apple ass.”

  “There’s more,” Mereth continued, placing a clawed hand on Danica’s shoulder. “It’s going to be very, very painful.”

  “Oh, well, that’s awesome.”

  Two hours later, Mereth had to leave the room, unable to stand Danica’s screams of agony and pleas for mercy.

  When he left, the Aequitas Caelum materialized before a pain ravaged Warfell.

  You need to be stronger, Swordsman.

  “YA THINK?” Danica sat up and then thrust her body back down to the moss-filled mattress soaked in her sweat. She convulsed violently, screaming again like a battle horn. After several agonizing seconds, Danica lay there, rapid breathing like a frightened rabbit. “It hurts Mr. Fey—it hurts bad,” she cracked at barely a whisper.

  I can strengthen your mind, your body and your Soul. This will take a moment.

  Warfell sobbed as the Spirit closed his incorporeal eyes and lowered his hooded head…

  *

  Earth, Panama City, Florida

  Donna Warfield pulled on a cigarette, blowing the smoke high, watching the wisp disappear among the streetlights. Five AM, two hours to go and Donna will kiss the Waffle House third shift goodbye forever. She was finally taking her Taekwondo Instructor seriously. Come morning, she had an appointment to see the Navy Recruiter.

  She flicked the butt away, turned to go back inside, and stopped cold. A man stood there not two paces away wearing a hooded cloak on a hot Florida night.

  “Wrong door,” said Donna.

  “I am so sorry,” the man replied in a voice so familiar. Then the bony hand thrust out, clenching her neck like a vice. Donna kicked desperately as she rose from the ground, then she felt the snap, and blackness.

  *

  Aleutha, City of Moor

  Dana Wallace was shit-faced drunk. She and her men were celebrating the promotion in her favorite bar, the Golden Goblet.

  She made Captain that day. It was a damn good day. In the back of the pub, Dana stumbled towards the loo, clasping shoulders along the way; her entire Company was there for the last party before shipping out for White Mountain Reserve and their last mission together before reassignment.

  She never saw it coming, the dagger pushed deep between her ribs, held tight by a hand that was not there. Before her sight faded, Dana looked into a mirror to see the hazy indistinct image of a cloaked man, twisting the pommel and yanking the metal free.

  *

  Moon Tibor, Eq
uatorial Rainforest

  Danjia Warsaw flew the airboat several inches off the swamp, navigating her party through a marshland teeming with reptilian predators.

  “There!” she pointed, cutting the engine, allowing the boat to drift. “The male crocodiles, the bulls, can exceed fifty feet tip to tail.”

  Three students and two visiting biologists gazed on in wonder as the lizard bigger than the boat plopped into the river, streaming steadily towards them with only the eyes and tail visible.

  “Um, Professor?” said the student.

  “Danjia?” added one of the scientists.

  It was too late, Warsaw collapsed forward dead—her brain-stem crushed from within, limp frame slinking into the water as the astonished students fumbled for her feet.

  The massive bull-croc shot from beneath, catching the pontoon airboat from the side, capsizing it in seconds, twisting with half of Danjia’s torso in his mouth. The students screamed bloody murder and a dozen more crocodiles raised heads from the sandy shoreline, silently slipping into the river one by one.

  *

  Worlds away, far beneath the strata, Danica Warfell began to settle down, her mind finally gaining control over the incredible pain. Mereth reentered, curiosity compelling him forward. It was too early for silence, and the Doctor feared she might be dead.

  “Are you okay?” the Doctor asked meekly. This unusual human should not have been so calm—he knew the pain was beyond anything…

  “I am Doc. I can feel my bones moving together, growing together. I need to eat something, now,” Warfell said it and the Therian closed his big round eyes, sighing deeply with a rasp.

  “I need you to be aware of what you want to eat, rather drink, and why. My friend, I must know if you can control your hunger before I go get it.”