Rogue Powers (8 page)

“Even after her mother’s arrest for treason?” Perno cautiously asked.

“Tenen can keep her in line.” The King grunted, mentally causing the goblet to drift back over to a table top. “And anyway, she might be a fitting reward for him should the military campaign achieve success.”

This was most troubling. A pairing of Tenen with Aprina’s disaffected daughter could someday prove highly undesirable. Perno certainly hadn’t anticipated such an outcome when conspiring to frame Lydia’s mother for treason

Yet now was not the time to press further. “As you wish, my liege.”

CHAPTER FIVE

T
HE SUN WAS JUST BEGINNING to peek over the eastern horizon. Anson, Senter, and Conger crept silently through the trees, seeking out any potential Karden activity on the army’s left flank.

A tall, strong youth only a few years older than Anson and Conger, Corporal Senter carried himself with veteran assurance. This was the same soldier Anson had surreptitiously saved the day before, a move he was now amply regretting.

Before even reaching the Outlands, of course, he’d sensed an unknown Demon accompanying the royal army. But now that he was in close proximity to Senter, the empowered youth from Hylen had no doubt who that Demon was, or why the regular army corporal had chosen him and only one other recruit for the morning patrol.

Clearly this was a predator of the highest order, one who personally exalted in stalking and killing others like himself. For intertwined within Senter’s mental emanations was a seething malevolence he’d never before encountered. The corporal’s depraved soul pulsed outward, saturating Anson in its sickly aura, eagerly waiting to inflict pain and death.

As of yet, Anson had no idea what specific ability Senter might possess. But given his potent mind and obvious speciality in hunting other telepaths, it must be powerful indeed. In any event, Anson was unable to quell his inner clarion, which had been shrieking continually since the beginning of the patrol a half-hour before.

The forest here was very thick, with heavy vines and low-lying branches brushing nearly against his head and shoulders. Experts at ambush and close-in fighting, conditions were tailor-made for a Karden assault.

“At least they won’t be able to use their archers,” Conger muttered. Bringing up the rear, behind first Senter and then Anson, the recruit nervously glanced behind him every half-minute.

They all froze at the snap of a stick. A large northern deer burst from the woods twenty feet ahead, charging back into the forest to their right. Anson and Conger, terrified by the sudden outburst of sound and movement, swung their swords up to the ready.

“Steady now.”  For his part, Senter barely reacted. “Save your energy for when it counts.”

Grimly they proceeded on, Anson trying to block Senter’s twisted mental energy as best he could.

The far point for their patrol had been marked on a crude map, a small clearing near a cliff and waterfall plunging down into a rocky pool below. Some twenty minutes after the scare with the deer, they heard the rush of water off to the right.

“That’s the stream,” Senter observed, consulting the map. To those without power, the corporal appeared nothing more than an able, professional soldier. “Come on, we’re almost there. This is no time to lag behind schedule.”

“Friendly chap, huh?” Conger whispered in Anson’s ear.

“Yeah, well, you don’t know the half of it,” he replied. With both the stress of the patrol and constant sounding of his secondary power, Anson was feeling exhausted.

“Did you say something, recruit?” Senter demanded. Turning back to the two youths, the patrol leader’s sword was pointing casually at Anson’s chest. “I’m not sure I heard you.”

“It was nothing, sir.”

“Really? Well, isn’t that nice.” Senter gave a thin, hard smile. “You don’t want to chatter too much out here. It puts us all in danger.”

Deliberately, Anson matched his gaze. “I certainly wouldn’t want that, sir.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Holding Anson’s eye a moment longer, Senter then clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on.” Abruptly turning around, he proceeded down the rough trail. Taking a deep breath Anson followed, almost immediately stumbling over a root.

As was often the case in the Outlands, the forest thinned and ended within twenty feet, opening up into a small grassy glade. The stream they’d been roughly tracking through the forest now fully came into view to their right, rushing over a cliff about a hundred feet before them. The glade was broken only by a few large rocks and trees, ending with the rounded rim of the cliffs plunging down into the chasm below.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” Conger whispered.

“Yeah, except for all those lighting strikes.” Anson pointed at the black scars marring the cliff face to either side.

“Well, that’s how you know you’re in the Outlands,” Conger observed. “That and all the little men trying to kill you.”

“All right.” Looking to his right and left, Senter prepared to leave the relative safety of the wood line.  “Let’s sweep this glade, then return.”

After killing me, Anson silently added. Tightly grasping his own sword, he kept most of his attention on the tall corporal.

“Form up on either side of me.” Now Senter began moving forward. “Let’s go.”

Without comment, Anson and Conger spread out some twenty feet to Senter’s left and right, respectively, stepping out of the woods and across the grass, heading slowly toward the cliff face.

Anson heard it first, a soft rustling to their rear. Whipping about, he was barely able to deflect two Karden arrows heading toward his back. A third missile buried itself in the ground a foot to one side.

It was a single archer, perched two-thirds of the way up a stout tree on the wood line. Without thinking, Anson mentally grabbed the Karden as he was notching another arrow, flinging him high into the air and over the cliff.

Only now did he become aware of Conger’s anguished cries, his fellow recruit lying prostrate on the grass, arrows sticking out of his shoulder and leg. A second archer, in a tree nest on the other side of the clearing, was once more taking aim. Again, Anson grabbed the little man in filthy rags, his bow clattering to the ground as he flew straight out in the air, crashing down somewhere in the ravine below.

Instead of moving to Conger’s aid, however, Senter stared intently at the woods from which they’d just emerged, sword held at the ready. Puzzled, Anson followed his gaze. Sure enough, three more Kardens jogged into view, swinging short blades around their heads.

His mind racing, Anson instantly realized the Karden patrol had tracked them through the forest. Determining the humans were heading for the glade by the cliff, they’d rushed ahead, positioning their two archers to take them unawares. If not for Anson’s power, they’d all be dead.

But if the remaining Kardens were surprised at the sight of their brethren sailing over the cliff face, they didn’t show it. Instead, two of the little trolls charged at Senter with high-pitched shrieks, while the third split off to head straight for Anson.

There was no further point in trying to hide who his was, yet Anson still tried to be subtle. He merely tripped the maniacal little bearded man, causing him to fall straight down onto his own upturned sword. With a final screech, the Karden was dead.

Looking over, Anson saw the last two warriors circling Senter, brandishing their small swords and screaming. Whatever the Demon’s power was, it didn’t seem to be of any use dealing with his Karden assailants. Doing nothing of a supernatural nature, he merely took a swordsman’s stance, carefully eyeing both  little men.

Yet, even as Anson debated whether or not to help the Demon, the contest was over. Seizing the initiative, Senter energetically engaged one of the trolls, exchanging several sword blows before lopping off an arm and smashing him in the head. Barely dogging a strike from the other at his exposed back, Senter then kicked out the second Karden’s legs, driving his sword down through the native warrior’s back.

Warily, Anson stared at the army corporal, now about thirty feet away. Rather than pride at a job well done, or relief at the cessation of danger, pure hatred pulsed unabated from the Demon’s mind. Looking around, Senter smiled at Anson.

“Well done, my friend!” The patrol leader yanked his blade out of the now-dead Karden. “Although fighting Kardens must be easy when you can just throw them over cliffs and trip them onto their own weapons, now isn’t it?”

His heart racing, Anson girded himself for some kind of attack. But Senter merely laughed, turning about and casually walking in the other direction, toward the still moaning Conger.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Though there was no doubt Senter knew his secret, perhaps Conger might still be confused. “I think...I think they just fell from the trees!”

“Sure they did. Things like that must happen all the time around you, don’t they?” Now reaching their wounded comrade, Senter drove his blade into Conger’s chest. Gasping, the young recruit thrashed feebly, then laid still.

“No!” Hardly believing his eyes, Anson charged forward several steps, lurching to an uncertain stop. “We could have saved him!”

“Maybe.” Senter shrugged. “Maybe not.”

Clearly, there was no further need for pretense. Letting his own rage surge to the fore, Anson mentally flung a handy stone. “You’re a Demon and a murderer!”

Senter smiled, casually deflecting the stone with his blade. “Just figured that out, did you?”

“Why did Conger have to die?” Trying not to retch, Anson endured another wave of Senter’s venomous, depraved energy. Obviously, the army corporal used base emotions to bolster his power, whatever it was. “He has nothing to do with this!”

“Not any more, he doesn’t.” Holding his blade casually at the ready, Senter sauntered toward him, smoothly closing the gap. “Anyway, Conger was killed by the Kardens. As will you, in my official report.”

Reflexively bringing his own blade up, the young telepath thought quickly. Senter was clearly an expert swordsman, and though he’d learned much as a recruit, Anson would be at a clear disadvantage there.

Yet Senter still hadn’t revealed any overt power. Perhaps the Demon needed to be closer for his ability to work? It would certainly explain much. Anson needed to act quickly.

“I’m sorry, Senter.” Coming to a firm decision, Anson took a deep breath, letting his sword drop. “But you’re leaving me no choice.”

Now about fifteen feet away, Senter stopped. “So now you wish to murder me, is that it? I see we’re not so very different after all.” Still grasping the sword in his right hand, Senter now held his arms out, almost in a gesture of surrender. “Very well, then. I am at your mercy. Kill me, if you can.”

Surely Senter knew he could dispatch him as easily as the Karden archers? Perhaps the Demon was even more unbalanced than Anson even knew? Well, he’d figure that out later. Feeling both a wave of relief at how easy this would be, along with a  twinge of conscience at his first cold-blooded human murder, Anson reached out to mentally grab the Demon.

It was as if a bomb exploded in Anson’s head. Flung back down on the grass, momentarily blinded, he was unable to think. Rolling up onto his knees, still in agony, the commoner youth tried regain his balance. Yet Anson’s entire brain throbbed, as if thrashed from the inside. Desperately lunging to his feet, he promptly tripped over a rock, immediately falling down again.

Terrified, Anson felt Senter approach, the Demon’s malignant mental aura now fused with a deep satisfaction.

“I wouldn’t move too quickly if I were you.” A swift kick from Senter’s boot crashed into Anson’s side. “Just lay there, like a good boy.” There was a soft pulse deep within the pleasure center of Senter’s brain.

“You...you’re enjoying this!” Anson gasped, grabbing at his bruised rib. “This is what you live for! Hurting people! Making them suffer.”

“Wow,” Senter said. “So you feel all that, huh? You are a strong one, all right. Certainly no one else has ever seen inside me before.”

“You’re a freak!” Painfully sitting up, Anson’s vision partially cleared. “It’s disgusting!”

“Hmmm. That may well be.” Senter delivered another kick, Anson crashing back down again. “But it’s who I am, and I came to terms with it a long time ago. As will you, my empowered young friend, in short order.”

Laying on the ground, trying to catch his breath, Anson attempted to move a blade of grass before his nose. With great effort and some pain, he managed to make the delicate green stalk wiggle, a tiny fraction of the mental ability he’d possessed before Senter’s attack.

So his power was greatly weakened, but very, very slowly coming back. If he could keep Senter talking...

“Tell me,” Anson croaked, trying to sound defeated. “How did this happen to you?”

Letting out a deep, gratified sigh, Senter now began circling his prostrate victim. “The same as you, Anson. We were all born this way. You with your telekinesis. And me with my ability.”

Temple throbbing, Anson bent two grass blades at once.

“Of course, your telekinesis is very useful. Very direct, very obvious. A wonderful ability, really.” Stepping away, Senter now expertly sliced a branch from one of the few trees dotting the small glade. “I, on the other hand, can create a feedback loop within the minds of other telepaths, but only when they use their power on me. Not so obvious or even useful, really, except in one instance, and one instance alone.”

“When you attack other telepaths,” Anson mumbled, once more sitting up. “Your power is only useful when assaulting others like you and me.”

“Yes, Anson! Exactly!” Bending down, Senter now stared Anson straight in the eye. “Which creates a great difficulty. You see, we’re all driven to use our power. We have to! Otherwise, we go crazy.”

“So the only way you can survive is by using your power on people like me.” By now his vision was almost fully back. Still, Anson’s brain was way too weak for action. “Your power is sadistic.”

“Oh, Anson, you have no idea!” Suddenly relaxing, Senter seemed buoyant, almost joyful. “To reach into your mind and twist things around! By the King! To do what I just did to you, is the most satisfying thing in the world!” Casually planting his sword in the grass, he nonchalantly draped his arms over the hilt. “I am the most powerful one of our kind. Ever. And nobody ever knows it. Except the people I kill, of course. How sad.”