A Warrior's Sacrifice (22 page)

That was all Kavin could do to celebrate, really. Clothxlotic, the toxic, hallucinogenic alcohol made from fermenting the cloning chambers' growth medium, would have too great and lasting an effect. It needed a clear mind.
Perhaps,
Kavin thought,
a glass of blood wine instead.

No.
It shook Its head. There was still much to do, and Kavin would need to be in top form to keep the relic guarded from Brixaal and the others. It needed to get a message sent out to the Siloth; It needed to prepare for the reprisal that would come following the death of the Diviner and the loss of such a powerful artifact.

A glow on the horizon marked the start of a new day, the planet's sun rising, casting its light on those who had lived through the night, the worthy who had fought and survived. Kavin smiled. The omens were on Its side, despite the presence of the Maharatha.

The Maharatha. Its mind flitted back to the battle that faded into the distance, along with the night. Their presence had almost undone Kavin's plans. It was they who had changed the flow of battle, halting the advance that would have left all of the Accession dead at Choxen feet. They had almost ended Kavin, too. Its suit had staunched the bleeding, but It could still feel the bullets buried in muscle and bone, the exquisite reminders of Its brush with death.

As It thought back to the battle, dwelled within the screams of the dead and dying, Its mind hovered on the Diviner's death, how It felt the Prehson's neck snap in Its hands, felt the bullets tear flesh. It had been surprised by the Maharathas' arrival — no, not their arrival. It was the man who had shot Kavin, the intensity of his mind, the clarity of his purpose, the … familiarity.

Yes. That was what had stunned Kavin, his familiar presence. Where had Kavin met him before? It was long ago, back before It held the title of Princip, perhaps even before It was Base Commander — but that was something like a century and a half past. Kavin couldn't place the man within Its own timeline of events; they all meshed together now, the years sliding together, their events dulling, sagging like time-weathered mountains.

The beep of Kavin's com pulled It back to the undertakings of the present. "Underling."

"Xe?"

"Detour to these coordinates. We will travel alone, be wary."

"Yes, Xe."

Kavin then placed a call to a transport farther up the caravan that wound through the dawning forest. "Brixaal. I will travel on alone. Return to the base and prepare for its defense. I'll be along soon."

"Yes, Princip. Is there anything else you'd have me and my soldiers do?"

Kavin's eyes narrowed. "No. Prepare." It cut the line. It sensed that something was amiss, that word that the Humans of Earth called "Dyzu" — to know without knowing, godlike in omnipotence. It felt like a worm in Kavin's stomach, wriggling, writhing to be set free. Brixaal had planned something for Kavin's return.

Didn't It understand what was at stake? No, It didn't, It couldn't. Brixaal, like the other Base Commanders under Kavin's rule, knew only the fight for supremacy, the urge to acquire more land, the need to kill.

Kavin chuckled. Strange to think that the Choxen, a race of clones, could be so different. But these Base Commanders lacked the tutelage that Kavin had received; they did not have the skill of foresight to know when and where to move the pieces months and years ahead of time.

Several hours after breaking away from the convoy, Kavin and Its driver arrived at one of those pieces that It had placed almost a decade before. Inside of a hollowed rock It had placed a mesh Faraday cage, securing inside the cage a small device, one of many that It had hidden around Its Principality and in the surrounding lands. It was expensive and unique, and Kavin's mentor had thought it unwise to place such a device so out in the open, but its very conspicuousness was its strength.

The transport settled to the ground, the impulse that kept it aloft stirring the dead leaves and green ferns along the forest floor. Kavin reached forward from behind and curled Its arm around the driver's throat. The underling struggled and scratched at Kavin's forearm, but the surprise was total, and the blood choke rendered the young Choxen unconscious in under a minute.

Kavin debated simply killing the youngling but decided that it would be best to have an ally to watch Its back — one at the very least. Kavin pulled the unconscious Choxen into the back and with hands clamped firmly around Its throat, dominated the helpless soldier. Experienced with this maneuver, Kavin waited until the underling regained consciousness before completing the act, the hormonal rush that followed fully bonding the subjugate to the dominate.

Kavin left the youngling on the seat as It writhed from the orgasmic pleasure-pain. Kavin had not been gentle; Its own dominants had not been, but that was the way of Its people: take the pain and make it a part of yourself. Harness it and use it to inflict one hundred fold more on the enemy.

The stone Kavin sought was where It had left it, though time had worn the edges, and green moss now softened the hardness. With a grunt, Kavin rolled it over and dug through the loam that had built up inside the small orifice.

The device was a Lotagten, one of the many communication boosters that allowed its user to communicate directly with the Siloth mother ship by way of quantum channels. The communication was instant, and with no beams or rays or waves, untraceable.

Removing the Lotagten from its protective cover, Kavin plugged the device into Its com. It was alive instantly, the electrons inside vibrating in two simultaneous locations. Kavin placed Its call, a thrill rising in Its throat and Its loins as It prepared to speak to one of the Great Ones.

The com rang, a small chime, loud in the dawn's early quiet. The call ended. Surprised, Kavin checked the small light on the side of the Lotagten to see if it was working. It was.

Kavin tried again. Again the call was denied. Kavin rocked from the balls of Its feet to Its heels and back. A sense of dread filled the Choxen Princip. Had the ship been decommissioned? Had it been destroyed? It checked the light again. Still green; still connected.

On the third attempt, the com's screen blipped to red, and a monstrosity appeared. Horns encrusted the creature's head, and beetle-like mandibles as long and as thick as Kavin's arm undulated around the smaller, finger-like chelicerae. That was all that would fit onto the tiny screen, but the majesty of the creature represented in pixels, the horror of Its presence, caused Kavin to fall forward onto Its knees. "My Creator…"

"Why do you contact me?" the Siloth asked, Its voice a grating, scraping, squelch.

"I … I have something for you, Xe." Kavin was breathless, as unsure as a newly decanted youngling struggling to Subjugate for the first time. It fumbled at Its waist for the orb, found it at last. Kavin held it up to the com's camera.

The Siloth's maw opened wide, hissing as Its chelicerae drummed against one another. "At last my search is complete."

"Xe, th-the Order of Accession is here on the planet."

The Siloth jerked Its head from side to side, mandibles clacking in challenge towards the hated enemy. "They must not have it."

"Never." Kavin hesitated before continuing. "This planet is fallen, Xe. In time the Humans, the Accession, and the Prehson will find me."

"I will consult with the Thinkers. They will need this information for the next batch of Choxen. They must know that their current design has failed, that your species is too weak for our purposes. That we were correct to abandon you."

Kavin's heart was rent.

"You have served well, despite your race's ineptitudes. Give yourself the Three-Clawed Mark to show the others your worth to the mighty Siloth. I will collect you and the orb myself. Return to your base and send me maps. I will plan." The screen went dark.

Kavin slumped to the ground, face pressed up against the rough bark of a tree, one arm cast over the hollow rock. They were coming for It. Coming to lift It up into the heavens to live among the Great Ones as their servant. And the honor — such honor! — to be personally collected by one of The Warriors.

Gathering Itself, Kavin stood and placed the com and orb together in Its pack. From Its belt Kavin pulled a thin flaying knife. Resting the blade on the back of Its neck, It made three long incisions, the two sides tracing the outer curvature of Its skull, the third directly in between. The three lines met at the center of Kavin's forehead, the bleeding point dipping down between what remained of Its eyebrows. Kavin's old scars tugged at the knife, resistance and pain threatening to turn the blade and show the Princip's weakness. But It would not be denied, and the hormonal rush rendered the pain nothing more than a tingle.

This was the grandest of scar-symbols and one not donned lightly. Originally it was gifted from the Siloth themselves by dragging the three claws of their hand across the scalp of their most loyal. Scar patterns like this had not been granted since the Siloths' exodus from this planet, and those that yet bore the old scars had grown stiff and subjugated with age. These new scars, blood-red, would ensure Brixaal's cooperation until Kavin was delivered.

Climbing back into the transport, Kavin waved the underling onward. As they wove through the forest, the darkness retreating before the coming of the summer sun, Kavin smiled, Its mind wandering out among the stars.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Something awoke Corwin in the dim light of the bunk. He listened, wishing that he could scratch himself beneath his sneak suit. His com chimed again. Blinking away sleep, he reached for his helmet, careful to keep from jostling Phae nestled in the crook of his arm. He shifted enough to slip his face into the helmet's opening and answered the call using his neural mesh.

The Oniwabanshu Operative's wizened face filled his HUD. "You need to get back to the jail. Immediately."

"Why?"

"That alien Guard General is here. She wants those Quislings you brought back. She wants to
interrogate
them for information on the Choxen base in the area."

"Aww, wickt," Corwin said, sitting up. He didn't like the way she'd said "interrogate." Phae slid down onto the bed and woke up spluttering, hands grasping for her weapons.

"We'll be right there," Corwin said and slid his helmet on. "Get up!" he shouted through his helmet's speakers, and he rapped an armored fist on the bed's steal frame. "We need to go!"

Three minutes found them underway, Corwin leading the progression at a full sprint, the powered sneak suit legs carrying them three meters at each bound.

It was something in his chest that impelled him, a hanging dread of what would happen to those kids if he didn't arrive in time. Corwin didn't know why he hurried — they weren't his responsibility. Wickt, they were barely the Republic's. Perhaps that was what frightened him. The Guard General could do whatever she wanted with them, and Corwin was the only one who was willing and able to stop it. He barred his teeth and pushed harder.

They didn't slow when they reached the Inquest picket lines, instead leaping over the scrambling officers and surprised suspects awaiting interrogation. The Maharatha didn't look back, not even when one of the shocked guards forgot himself and fired a burst from his rifle.

Corwin had planned to bound right up over the wall, but he recognized the sun-bleached hair of the old woman leaning near the city's gate. He didn't have time for a controlled stop and instead jammed his armored heels into the ground as he would do if traveling on snow or sand.

The Operative ducked into the gatehouse as a shower of dirt, rocks, and tufts of grass assailed the gate and wall.

"Where are they?" Corwin shouted as he and his Void jogged past into the tunnel.

"At the jail house! Show respect, or she'll kill them just to spite you!"

Corwin waved his thanks, and it wasn't a wasted gesture. He pulled his sword from its sheath and took his pistol from his hip.

The city was deserted, not even a bird or dog left to roam the empty gray plasteel streets and buildings.

"Corwin, sir," Kai said, "you need to consider your actions."

"Please do not throw away our lives for their sakes," Chahal said in echo of Kai's concerns.

Corwin's lip curled. The implicit message in their warnings was clear: they were
just
Quislings. Phae, surprisingly, thankfully, said nothing.

They rounded the final corner. Twenty of the Car-karniss guards stood in a ring that encompassed the two-lane road. In the center, the Guard General stalked up and down the row of Quisling children, all of whom had their hands behind them, bound to stakes pounded into the plasteel.

The infant was there too, though he had neither the strength nor the coordination to hold himself upright. Instead he dangled in a half-supported lean, trembled, collapsed, and stood again. The infant's face was red, his cheeks glistening from tears, and he wailed in fear. The other children knew what was happening — or was about to — and they bore it with a stoicism only a battle-hardened veteran could match.

A hiss from one of the Car-karniss guards brought the Guard General around to face the oncoming Maharatha. They slowed as swords and rifles aimed their way.

The Guard General walked through the line of soldiers and stopped before Corwin, weapons holstered but hands hovering nearby. "Why do you come, Human? I did not send for you."