Resolution (31 page)

‘Stop!’ Strostiv was causing a holo image to appear. ‘Read this. You may not bring this charge to bear.’

Frindolivaunt paled.

‘But I-I’ve b-been assured th—’

It’s a distraction.

The thought must have occurred to Elva in the same instant, because she, too spun into motion. Frindolivaunt was a dupe. If whoever was manipulating him knew about Corduven’s vengeance-waiver, then they knew also that these charges could not be made to stick.

‘There!’ shouted Elva.

‘No!’ The militia officer yelled the order. ‘Clone-warriors,
stand down!’

A blue-skinned female warrior broke from her group, snarling as she cocked her wrists and graser implants glistened -
move it -
as Tom ducked and rolled, poignard out now and ready -
now -
then lunging to the attack but Elva was in front, blocking the attack as three graser beams spat simultaneously, and then Elva was down.

‘NO!’ howled Tom.

Elva’s shot had burned a notch on the female warrior’s shoulder; before the woman could do anything more, her own clone-siblings lunged forward as one, their fists arcing down. Sixteen beams lanced into her. She died.

Then the clone-warriors pointed their hands towards the ground, bowed their heads and froze. It was some kind of capitulation but Tom could not care because
this was Elva
lying on the polished floor, charcoal burns on her clothes, her skin whitened. Elva was not moving, but he could not lose her now, not—

‘Tom.’

Kraiv’s huge hands were holding him.

‘She’s alive.’ Adam snapped orders to the greystone warriors. ‘You, you, and you, let’s lift her. There’s no time for anything else.’

As they picked Elva off the ground, Tom started forward, but Kraiv held him back.

‘Tom,’ he said urgently.
‘You’re
the target. If you accompany her…’

For a moment, Tom fought, but then the words made sense and he stopped, almost fainting with the sudden impossibility of what he faced.

Why now?

Kraiv was right. Anyone associated with Tom Corcorigan was at risk. Now that he had some small power, his enemies were afraid; but the whole world was in danger...

In that moment, it seemed there was only one thing he could do. Tom grabbed Kraiv’s wrist, squeezed that immense bony joint as hard as he could - actually hurting Kraiv like that was out of the question - and gave him a serious look.

Then, in a sour, strange tone, Tom said aloud: ‘I was leaving her anyway. Why’d she have to be so damn foolish?’

Adam looked astounded as Tom brushed past him, past Strostiv, past the crouched warriors -
oh, Elva, my love
- and headed for the door, ignoring his accuser and the militiamen who simply stared. None of this was covered in their orders of the day.

Outside in the cavern, Tom ducked off to one side, alert for more enemies, seeing none. Too scared for Elva’s life to cry, he stalked dry-eyed along a roundabout route back to their quarters. There, he let himself in and sealed the doorshimmers, then sat down in a chair with Elva’s favourite dartbow in his lap, and waited for the news.

The ancient wisdom goes:
The warrior, when attacked, steps forward.

Elva was a warrior. She had reacted superbly, acting to save Tom. By any means, using any subterfuge, Tom would achieve the same for her. Elva should not be a target because of him.

Always...

Yet if she pulled through this, what he had to do might break both their hearts.

...
and forever, my love,

‘Frindolivaunt,’ said Adam later, ‘is still apologizing. Lady V’Delikona’s investigators are trying to trace the people who passed him the information, but no-one’s holding out much hope ... And he tried to visit Elva in the med-centre, but took the point when I told him he was the last person we could trust inside.’

Adam had not left Elva’s side until Lady V’Delikona’s personal Halberdiers were guarding her, stationed in chambers above and below and to every side. Two squadrons of armed arachnasprites were roaming the approaches.

‘What about the clone-warriors?’ said Tom.

‘Still denying that the group-conditioning can be broken, while simultaneously saying that she acted on her own and contrary to their thoughts. They
do
act shocked, I’ll admit.’

‘But they killed the only one of their number’ - Kraiv’s voice rumbled deeply - ‘who could have testified for sure.’

‘Right. And Strostiv isn’t helping. He only says, he knew what he had to do, because he knew he had already done it. First time he’s been important enough to feature personally in an Oracular truecast ... He’s proud of it.’ Adam looked at Tom. ‘I wanted to kill the bastard.’

Tom did not rise to that.

Instead, he said: ‘I’m going to make some hard decisions, Adam. Can I trust you to guard Elva with your life?’

‘Tom? I... Yes, of course.’

‘And tell her that I love her. Because I
cannot
tell her that myself.’

Kraiv was frowning.

‘No ...’

‘Yes. It’s the only way she’ll be safe.’

Even Strostiv had thought Tom and Elva were cold towards each other in public, not understanding the bond that truly joined them. If that were the case, then maybe others would see it as a marriage that had not worked out, an impulse taken too far during the heady victory celebrations, when the air was pulsing with energy and the world seemed fresh because people were astounded to be still alive.

The worst thing was, for the separation to be convincing, it must be real. That was where the danger lay: in fiction becoming fact, despite his wishes.

It’s for the best, my love.

Tom waited until the news arrived from the med-centre: she was on the mend, and would pull through. In the middle of the luxurious apartment, alone, Tom dropped to his knees and sobbed.

Two hours later, in the middle of the night, his belongings were packed in a small bag by the doorshimmer, waiting to go.

A green teardrop-shaped arachnabug dropped him at the realm’s edge, in a raw cavern where fluorofungus was quiescent, observing nightshirt. Then the arachnabug sped through the darkness, heading back towards the bright caverns of The Realm Which Never Sleeps.

This should have been a time of triumph.

Tom stood on a lonely crag, watching faintly fluorescent orange worms slide slowly down the stone below, heading for the cavern floor. Overhead, sleeping edelaces rustled among the stalactites.

Am I doing the right thing?

Something moved at the limits of his vision.

Danger?

Then he could see it: a blob of scarlet moving fast and growing bigger as it approached, bright beams shining for his benefit. It was an arachnasprite, speeding upside down across the cavern ceiling towards him.

Tom picked up his small bag.

In moments the ‘sprite was hurtling down the nearest cavern wall, its whipping black tendrils a blur of motion. Then it was straightening out, and coming to rest beside Tom. The black-clad TauRider leaned back in her saddle, and pulled off her scarlet helmet, to reveal blazing violet hair.

‘Thylara,’ said Tom. ‘You came.’

‘For you? Any time, warrior.’

Tom hefted his bag. ‘Right.’

‘Get aboard.’

Clutching the bag against his chest, Tom swung into place behind her. The scarlet carapace morphed, encasing his legs and wrapping diagonal bands across his shoulders.

Elva ...

Then Thylara whooped and Tom’s stomach lurched as the arachnasprite wheeled about and leaped for the vertical surface, sped up the rockface, before flipping over and racing across the cracked and broken ceiling, oblivious to the void and the waiting cavern floor below. They careened upside down past obstacles, flipped through a vertiginous arc, then sped vertically upwards once more, almost flying up the thousand-metre shaft at whose distant apex a tiny circle of lemon-yellow sunlight shone.