Chains of Mist (9 page)

But he could not. All he could think of were the horrors he had witnessed on Hilthak. All he could hear was Rokan Sellas’s grating, inhuman laugh. All he could see was the darkness closing around him, blotting out the stars, reaching into the very depths of his soul.

And he was afraid.

* * * *

Sergeant Major Aras Makree, called the Black General by his troops, sat in silent meditation. An observer stumbling upon him would have been forgiven for thinking that he was asleep. His eyes were closed, his breathing soft and controlled, his expression peaceful.

But his thoughts did not mirror his outer calm. They swirled with torment, with unease, with doubt. Ever since Hilthak, ever since he had first felt the oppressive sorcery infesting that barren moon and seen the horrifying power of Rokan Sellas, he had been unable to find peace. Old memories long forgotten surged to the forefront of his mind—memories of decisions past, of friends lost. It was as if the last five years had never happened, as if he stood once again on the surface of a dying world, making a choice that would forever change two lives.

He opened his eyes. They stared forward, unfocused, unseeing. His lips moved, but the sound that emerged was barely more than a whisper. “Fate cannot be rushed, nor destiny preceded.” The words spun hollowly in his ears, fading away empty and broken. The mantra that had guided his steps for so long provided him no comfort; instead, it seemed to be mocking him.
You chose this
, the voice said.
You chose your fate, you chose your destiny. And now they are upon you.

Makree closed his eyes. Again, he sought inner peace; again, it eluded him.

The voice continued, sibilant, insidious.
What will you do now, Aras Makree? The time for regret is passed. Will you face that choice? Will you accept the path you laid before yourself?

Makree had no answer. He searched his mind, plumbed his deepest thoughts, but was left stumbling and alone. He knew only one thing for certain: that the moment he had waited for these past five years had come. The moment he had dreaded was finally upon him.

And he was not ready for it. By the gods, he was not ready.

Thus we travel to Espir, to a convergence of destiny. Three men, broken by emotion: by anger, by grief, by fear. A fear that I thought I had accepted, that I thought I had shed five years ago, when I made that terrible, impossible choice. But now I see that I had fooled myself, comforting myself with the knowledge that the final repercussions of that action were safely in the future, unable to touch me. A fragile truth, now shattered, as my day of fate draws near.

I thought that I did not fear death. For five years, I have entered every battle without fear, fought through impossible odds with total calm, an inner peace that guided my every move. I thought that this was because I, having come face to face with the darkest choice a man can make, had shed my fear of entering the final unknown. But now I see the truth. I was able to fight without fear only because I knew that I was not yet destined to die. And that is not courage.

Now, as the inexorable flow of time has brought me to my final days, I can finally see through the veil that I had cast over my own eyes. I am brought face to face with the truth that I had long sought to deny.

I made a choice, long ago. Of the two of us, I chose who would live, and who would die.

And I chose to die.

But not because I did not fear death. Because I feared the alternative more.

* * * *

“As always, I cannot tell what is going on behind that mask you call a face, but this I know, friend: you do not think that Admiral Ortega will succeed.”

The Vizier shrugged, his onyx eyes disdainful. “Of course not. The Admiral is a fool to think otherwise. He is brave and skilled, yes…but a fool nonetheless. Rokan Sellas cannot be destroyed by a common mortal man—Ortega should have learned that by now.”

The King stirred uneasily, restlessly. “Then their mission is doomed to failure? Have I just allowed our most brilliant military mind—a man that we will have great need of in the coming months and years, unless I am very much mistaken—to sign his own death sentence? And for what, Micaeh? For what? Answer me that, friend—and the answer had better be good.”

The obsidian eyes darted up, to scan the other’s face, a gaze that, as always, seemed to pierce right through to the core of the mind and soul. “Not quite, my lord,” said the deep voice. “The mission that Drogni Ortega seeks to carry out is doomed, that is true…but that is not their true purpose on Espir. The Admiral’s vendetta is of no concern to me, or to the greater forces that are at work here.”

“Ah…” A glimmer of understanding came into the other’s eyes, though the stern face remained wary, guarded. “You speak of Justin Varenn, and the visions you mentioned before.”

“That is correct, my lord. I have seen the future in my dreams, and I see a man who must be cast from himself before he can achieve his destiny, who must pass through a trial of fire and shadow before he may become something greater. This sundering of soul from body will begin in the depths of Nembane Mountain…and its victim will be Justin Varenn.”

A flash of irritation on the other’s face, quickly hidden. “I am not privy to your secret visions and dreams, nor have I spent my life exploring the corridors of the arcane and the prophetic. You must explain.”

“Certainly, my lord. The sundering to which I refer is essential to my visions—without it, Varenn will surely fail, and none other can step up to take his place. It
must
be allowed to occur, and even more important
it must seem as though we are trying to stop it from occurring.
Somehow, our enemy remains ignorant of what his actions will set into motion. He is blinded by his own designs for Justin Varenn, and he must remain so.
That
is the Admiral’s true purpose on Espir, though he does not know it. His presence, and the presence of Forgera and Makree, will convince our enemy that we seek to foil his plan, thus ensuring that he does not deviate from that plan.”

A long pause, as a keen mind digested and interpreted…and came to a realization. The reply, when it finally came, was spoken in a mixture of surprise, horror and awe. “So, you do not send the Admiral to Espir to save Justin Varenn, but to doom him. Because from his suffering may come our salvation.” A shake of the head, the blue eyes giving away nothing. “Many would call this callous, friend, but they do not know you like I do. I hope that I do not come to regret this…but I believe that you are only doing what must be done.”

A nod of appreciation. “Thank you, my lord.”

“You can thank me after this is over. For now, all I am doing is giving you the benefit of the doubt; I will let events unfold a little bit longer before I pass judgment on your actions.”

“Regardless, that is more than I would have received—”

The deep voice broke off in midsentence and the speaker half-turned his head towards the door. The other man heard nothing but knew that his own senses were not as adept as his companion’s. “They are coming, aren’t they?” he asked, unsurprised.

“Well, what did you expect?” The touch of humor in the reply did not extend to the dark, depthless eyes. “You did just send the Supreme Allied Fleet Commander away to the far ends of the galaxy, chasing a man whom most of your subjects believe is dead. You can’t hide a story like this from the holonews teams; they always seem to
know
when news is about to happen.”

“What I think you meant to say,” came the icy reply, “Was that
you
just sent the Supreme Allied Fleet Commander away. But whatever they are here for, it is not that. They cannot possibly know about that yet. And they will not find out. Am I clear?” The tone made it clear that, in this moment, they were no longer conversing as equals, but as King and subject.

A sigh. “Of course, my lord. Would you like me to deal with them?”

Frostily: “It is what you do best, is it not?”

Another sigh. “Very well, my King.”

-4-

Roger stood in a tunnel of death. Bone fragments carpeted a rough stone floor, interspersed with long, black-scaled snakes with bright green eyes. Choking moss trailed like blood from the stone walls, undulating far more vigorously than any normal plant. A pale, pulsating light emanating from an unknown source illuminated the corridor, but it was too faint for Roger to see more than a few meters.

Before him, the passage seemed to stretch on forever, into darkness interminable. Roger glanced over his shoulder and saw the same yawning abyss behind him as in front of him. He looked up, to see a low ceiling of similarly moss-infested stone.

On all sides, the writhing moss grasped at him, extending tentacles to ensnare him. Irritably, he brushed them away. The light seemed to move as he did, and he realized that it was coming from his ring. A snake slithered against his bare foot, hissing hungrily at him, and he kicked it away in a rain of shattered bone. This only seemed to excite the others, and a veritable legion of serpents swarmed around his feet, their skin smooth and oily. For a moment, Roger wondered if they were poisonous, but dismissed the thought as irrelevant.
What more could they possibly do to me? I’m probably dead anyways, or as good as.

Another tendril of moss brushed against his head, rubbing tiny cilia against the base of his skull. The sensation was only mildly unpleasant, and Roger doubted that the moss could do him any more harm than the snakes.
But I’m probably gonna be here for a while, so I might as well show this place who’s boss.

So he reached up, grasped a solid fistful of moss, and yanked.

With a hiss of air that sounded remarkably similar to a gasp of pain, the moss came free, accompanied by a shower of dust. Like a beached fish, the excised plant squirmed in Roger’s hand for a few seconds and then was still.
Well, that worked out well,
he thought as he tossed the dead moss aside.

A tremor shook the corridor, nearly pitching Roger to the ground. Arms flailing, he managed to catch himself on the wall, ripping out another handful of moss in the process.

Or, on the other hand, I might have just made it angry…

The snakes hissed as one, and in a mass they slithered away as the tunnel shuddered a second time.
Yeah, this isn’t gonna go well at all,
thought Roger, crouching low to catch his balance.
Maybe I should’ve thought that through just a
little
better.

And from the darkness behind him, something growled.

Still in his precarious crouching position, Roger brought one hand slowly around to where his par-gun should be, but his fingers brushed air.
Figures. Well, I can either run for it, knowing I can’t escape, and die a coward, or I can meet my death like a man.

The decision took less than a heartbeat. Roger Warbanks might be a lowlife, hunted by a dozen legal and illegal enterprises, and he might be a scoundrel, who looked out for himself first and others only third or fourth at best, but there was one thing he was not—a coward.
I do not fear death
.

Slowly, he rose to his feet. He turned. Silver teeth glinted out at him in the near-darkness, illuminated by eyes of white flame. Three sets of teeth; three pairs of eyes.
This day just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?

One of the beasts took a half-step forward and growled once more, baring its fangs. Saliva dripped to the floor, burning through the shards of bone like acid.

Roger stared the canine monstrosity straight in the eyes. “If you want me,” he snarled, “Then come and get me.”

In unison, the beasts lunged—

Roger brought his arms up, shielding his face, and braced for impact—

The creatures hit him all at once and bore him to the ground. Immediately, mossy manacles sprang up to shackle his arms and legs. Snarling jaws snapped all around him, the demonic beasts all but fighting each other to be the first to get to him. Spittle sprayed down upon him.

Resigned to death, yet still unafraid, Roger closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he was staring up at a normal, star-lit sky. A cold, stale wind rustled his jacket, and a light rain sprinkled down on him. Shaking his head, he sat up and glanced around. He was back on Pattagax, back in the Grays. Piles of burning rubble were strewn everywhere, exactly as he remembered it, only everything seemed somehow…
lighter
…than before. The shadow-creature, whatever it was, was nowhere in sight.

If it ever existed at all. I musta hit my head on something, dreamt the whole damn thing up. Roger, old boy, it’s definitely time to lay off the sauce…