‘They’ve come for me!’ Mokrikov cried, feebly clawing at Vasily’s coat, pulling him closer. ‘My journal!’ he hissed. ‘They mustn’t get it! Aleksey, my journal!’
Mokrikov moved for the safe at the side of his desk, but his chief pulled him over the writing table and onto the ground behind it as a torrent of barbs missed them by the length of a hair.
‘No! My diary! The answers! My diary! My confession!’
He watched helplessly as Vasily leaned over the desk and fired his own pistol, spilling the blood of the cloaked figure sent to retrieve them.
It was then that Mokrikov viewed, to his complete and utter horror, the man whose presence he’d been dreading now ascend the steps to the heavy metal desk at its pinnacle. And the figure spoke the words he had known as a boy, the words they had learnt from he who now spoke them with an unrivalled malice:
‘Deep beneath the moon we lay; cut off from life, so why not stay?’
‘No,’ he whimpered. ‘Please!’
‘To struggle with the rest, you see; to torture, kill, and crush the free!’
‘NO!’
‘It is time, Edgar,’ said the Córonat. ‘You always knew this day was coming. You were wrong to betray your master, but he will take you anyway.’
‘Please.’
‘Come now!’
‘Not a chance!’ Vasily yelled and he activated the terrace shutters from the switch in the desk drawer. He took Mokrikov’s arm, hauled him towards the opening balcony, and emptied what bullets he had left at the approaching man, who effortlessly threw them aside like leaves in the wind. Mokrikov slammed his fist into the shutter’s control panel set on the wall, quickly closing the solid partition behind them as they passed beneath. Only now there was nowhere to run.
‘You knew they were coming,’ Vasily said as the old prime minister fought to catch his breath. ‘Who are they?’
‘They’re . . . my . . . people,’ he said, realising there was no longer any point in denying the truth, let alone hiding it. ‘They’ve been part of my life since I was a child—’
Thud! The metal panel began to give way as the wraiths on the other side threw all their weight into tearing it down.
‘Why do they want you?’ Vasily asked.
Mokrikov took hold of his chief’s hand and lifted it between them. He bore on his palm a deep gash and Vasily winced as Mokrikov touched a single finger to it. As by magic, though Mokrikov knew there was no such thing, the soft tissue in the middle of his bloody hand knitted back together. The prime minister removed his finger and stepped back, watching the mesmerised man raise his hand to the shadowed sunlight in awe.
‘That is why they’ve come for me,’ he said, paying no heed to the pounding on the panel behind them.
‘What are you?’
‘Cursed,’ he said. ‘They will never leave me. Not while I am alive.’
‘You’re a Iástron.’
Mokrikov nodded.
Neither of their attention could then be focused on anything else, as they gazed up to the sister-moon Manera, scarcely visible in the barrage-filled sky, and watched all life on its beautiful green plains extinguished. Bright floods of white flame covered its surface, and Mokrikov turned away, weeping. He looked to Aleksey, and, closing his eyes, pushed his chief over the edge of the balcony and onto the sloped roof far below. For him there was some hope, but there was none for Edgar Mokrikov—a child of Europa. He turned back, a tear rolled down his cheek, and he stared into the face of his Córonat, the great Lord Malizar.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
‘FOR YEARS WE were concealed beneath our haven. Our talents suppressed. Our voices strangled. Peter Marx would allow none to leave, to be free, to choose. Until we decided, no more! Until we chose to fight back, to leave our shelter and retake what always belonged to us.’
Ruben peered up from his fallen position and watched Lord Malizar move through the circle of kneeling bodies.
‘How loud are the booming cries of desperate men?’ he snarled. ‘Which hand should be stayed, and which raised, indignant with rage? Is it fair that those different are punished for the fears of the rest?’
Ruben sputtered, ‘You are Iástrons.’
‘We were Iástrons. Now we are something else entirely. Punished and shunned we were. Now we have dominance.’ As though emerging from his hateful trance, Malizar spun to peer upon the general. ‘And so you see, Aleksey Vasily was never yours. He was mine. Honourable though I am sure his intentions were, he betrayed you, Ruben. How do you feel about that?’
‘No,’ Vasily sobbed, having been dragged in and cast upon the chamber floor, now knelt beside his prime minister, who in turn stared at the ground. ‘I didn’t want, I—’
‘You betrayed your general! You exchanged the freedom of your world for his deliverance. And you delivered well.’
At the Córonat’s command one of the cloaked figures walked over to Ruben’s immobile form and placed a hand onto his chest. At once, though his lung continued to compress almost completely, his heartbeat, his mind, and his senses reached a fixed height. ‘Adrenaline,’ said the Córonat. ‘You must be awake to hear this.’
‘Why?’ was the only word Ruben could say to Vasily. ‘Why?’
Vasily looked up. ‘They . . . They offered my home freedom.’
‘That is why Crilshar . . . abandoned Rotavar?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘After that I knew I’d have to do as I promised. I did as they asked and delivered the letter, urging you to invade.’
‘But it appears it did not take much urging,’ said the silver-masked being.
Ruben heard no more. Everything had gone silent again. His heart followed his anaesthetized mind, as the second figure brought into the room was thrown forward. It was a woman. Her hair hung down past her shoulders in a way he had never seen. She was beautiful. His gaze met with hers and stayed locked.
‘M . . . Maxim?’
Maxim Pinzón rushed towards him and held her warm hand to his freezing brow. ‘I’m so sorry, Ruben.’
‘Maxim . . .’ His mind couldn’t take the thought. ‘You . . . I saw your body . . . in your office . . . you . . . you . . .’
‘Stay still,’ she said. ‘You’re going to be all right. Just breathe . . . breathe for me.’
There were three. Three betrayals to destroy Ruben Berenguer. But the fourth was worse still. He looked up at the masked figure which moved above him like a cloud in a restless wind. ‘You have been a problem in my path for too long now,’ the Córonat said.
‘Lord Malizar,’ he said. ‘Who . . . Who are you?’
He laughed to himself. ‘How could I expect you to know who we are?’
‘Then reveal yourself to me. I am no longer a threat.’
‘No,’ he said, his deep voice a cruel rattle as he reached up to remove the silver disguise, ‘you are not.’
Though numb, Ruben’s whole body shook as the powerful, silver eyes of Von Viticus stared back at him. He looked back to Edgar, Aleksey, and Maxim as they knelt, watching. How could they stand there, alive? How could they be part of this? Only, that was not what truly stung him at the core; the heart-rending reality was that he had betrayed everyone else. And they had betrayed him. He deserved it.
But Anna and Gílana and Callista do not.
‘How?’ he said. ‘How—’
‘Did I achieve this?’ finished the Córonat . . . Von Viticus . . . Lord Malizar. ‘A long time and a consummate amount of skill. I doubt you are aware of what happened within the moon of Europa fifty years ago.’
‘A ruin,’ he said. ‘A loss that should never have happened. You mean to say—’
‘The Iástron race did not fall,’ said Malizar, almost concerned that he should know that fact. ‘It did not fall. It merely transformed. And we are what emerged. I was born Marrak Malizar beneath the moon and taught by the great leader of the Iástrons: the abomination who would not share his true gift. We have spent our lives hunting him and his followers sin
ce the day Europa fell.’
Ruben lifted his head painfully and stared at Maxim in the dim light. ‘You died,’ he said. ‘I was there . . . Maxim, you were dead.’
‘Maxim Pinzón is among the most gifted of the Order,’ said Malizar. ‘From the old master whose name we do not utter, she received the echo of immortality. She would have only appeared dead to you. She was once known as Ximma Uiban. I saved her as Europa fell, when the old master fled, leaving her to die.’
‘But Edgar,’ Ruben pleaded. ‘You died too!’
‘And who told you that?’ Malizar smirked and Vasily shifted uncomfortably.
‘This is who you warned me of?’ he asked Mokrikov. ‘In your letter? In your diary?’
Mokrikov nodded, trembling.
‘Edgar is not a strong man,’ said Malizar. ‘His attempts at betrayal worked in my favour this time. He brought you here, to me. But there will not be a second time, will there?’
Mokrikov whimpered.
‘WILL THERE?’
‘No, m . . . my Córonat.’
‘I did my . . . my best,’ Maxim said to Ruben, open and defiant. ‘I always knew that our real master wanted to keep me safe. And poor old Lucasta. I do miss them.’
Ruben smiled feebly, and whispered, ‘Lucasta’s still alive. She now calls herself Callista.’
Maxim said nothing, and a single tear fell down her cheek. ‘I know,’ she whispered so that Malizar could not hear. ‘I think I’ve always known. But when she revealed her power at our last Council I knew it for certain. And I knew with no doubt in my mind that my allegiance belonged to you. I never wanted to be part of this.’
‘You did not, Ximma,’ said Malizar; and he lifted his cloak to reveal his left wrist, upon which was emblazoned the image of a full Moon and Triangle. ‘But you are. You bear the mark of my Order too. Do not forget it!’
‘Order A.M.,’ Ruben said.
‘Yes. The great Order of the Allied Moon. Soon to be heirs of the Von of Earth.’
‘No, I won’t let you!’ Maxim cried, pulling a pistol from her cloak and raising it. Malizar crushed it in her hand. Her lips locked together and her face burned blood-red. He turned to Ruben.
‘You see, General,’ he said, ‘when I initiated the fall of Europa all those years ago we put into effect my plan, and preserved the new generation of Iástrons. We took the children and raised them, those with echoes and those without, and then returned many to their Alignment worlds of origin with the single task of reaching the greatest positions of authority possible. Iástron children at the heart of the Alignment, ready to tear it down when the order came. Hence, we have here the Prime Minister of Rotavar and the Lady of the Golden Army of Titan.
‘Except not all reached such heights, and those that did decided they cared too much for “their people.” Hence we have here two traitors. Trusting them was my mistake. Not all have the conviction I myself gained by becoming a leading member of the Von under the guise of the feeble old Von Viticus.’ He laughed again, cold and cruel.
‘So you mean,’ Ruben said, soft and slow, his heartbeat weakening once more, ‘that Bravoral . . .’
Malizar nodded. ‘Lord Di-sak of Bravoral is indeed ours.’
‘The planet Samos?’
‘The Kind-Queen’s echoed powers of possession and influence leave little to be desired.’
‘And the Emperor of Enustine?’
‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘Emperor Abacco. Unfortunately we were unable to raise our Iástron to a level appropriate enough to usurp the Emperor. Though the others have weakened their own space sufficiently. We will deal with our Enusti agent when we are ready.’
‘What will happen to them all?’ Maxim asked, once more on her knees.
‘Regrettably,’ he said, and with a hint of pleasure, ‘we no longer require their allegiance. The Dishan and the Retani Dynasty have provided armies aplenty. And you have handed us victory on a plate, General.’
‘What will happen to them?’
‘They will be executed.’
‘There are still Iástrons in the Systems,’ Ruben said. ‘They’re still out there, giving hope and guidance to many.’ He clutched his chest as his body tensed with pain. The room started to fade, little by little.
‘What was left of the Iástrons died with Europa,’ Malizar said, dropping his bottom lip in a menacing sneer. ‘Now all that is left is humanity . . . and us. And I most definitely do not plan on losing the war this time around.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
THUNDER ECHOED THROUGH the caverns. Light and dark continued to clash as fire and smoke like death and foul flame rose up and around the higher cave walls. Powerful drums of war hammered and pound a drum-beat of ruin.
Mendoza and her guard were many levels deep now. They’d arrived at the point they needed to reach. She had hoped they could stay ahead of the clashing armies, but without a means to breach their secure and guarded levels, they’d had no choice but to wait for reinforcements. But here they were. They’d made it. She’d done what Ruben had asked of her. The containers were in place.
Mendoza stood back and surveyed the battle scene before her. There were no safe ridges upon this level; it was one limitless plateau, where vast bodies of men and women now collided with incomprehensible chaos. Bloodied corpses fell to the ground or else shattered into dust and pieces. The Crilshans were stronger in body and skill than any army she had ever faced. Waves of Retani, Rotavarian, and Titanese pelted the Crilshan line, coilbolts and blasters firing in every direction. The Retani soldiers charged wildly to and fro, firing upon and hacking down any enemy they could find.
But still the Crilshan line held, and the Captain’s thoughts became tainted with despair. On hostile land, beneath enemy soil they fought; but they were lacking the heavy artillery needed to win. Mendoza sensed victory slipping from their grasp. Soon the Crilshans attacked with a wave of their own, but their line broke before they reached the Titanese Guard, clad in their black and gold armour.
Mendoza raised her own coil and accurately tore down several foes, waving her weapon in a frenzy of electric-blue fire, before moving back quickly to the speedily-assembled communication centre. There her comm-leaders stood, giving and receiving orders via comms to the battlefield. Communication had been lost with the armada currently clashing above the planet, and they were on their own for the moment. The Retani chieftains were stationed nearby, also attempting to keep communication with the divided companies throughout the limitless caverns.
But something was wrong. As she ran over, the Retani leaders were suddenly stood, looking at each other; whispering, with grave, intense faces. She couldn’t tell over the roar of battle just what they were saying to each other. But seconds later it was well and truly clear.
One of the chieftains looked over and his eye met with Mendoza’s. His eyes dimmed. The Retani raised his blaster and aimed it at the Titanese comm-post. But the Titan-trained warrior was faster. She lifted her right arm, coil primed, and flicked her upper limb forwards with all her strength. The ensuing blast of energy took out several of the Retanis and devastated the comm-link between them.
However, whatever order they had just received, it had already made it through. Mendoza turned in horror and watched as the chieftains yelled and cried fresh orders, and at once huge numbers of Retani warriors spun and advanced on the Titanese line. Surrounded by allies and enemies, hundreds of her Guard were at once overwhelmed.
‘NO!’ she cried, utterly helpless.
Enemy soldiers began charging through the column, impaling men and women alike with their spears and extended blades. No longer a battle, the chaos-of-a-rout quickly became a massacre. And Mendoza had only one thought: she had to warn Ruben.
Before she could move, a beam-mortar detonated just ahead; the impact sent her flying into the damaged console to her rear. Her coil fell from her hand. Men were sent soaring, their echoing cries lost in the ensuing clamour of destruction and death. She picked herself up and knelt, gas
ping for air, winded, before struggling to her feet, grasping her coil, and charging through the tumult. She knocked down several joyous Crilshans she found in her way as they chanted and laughed at the retreating army of gold. Directly ahead, one Crilshan headed for her, and she took a deep breath, brought her coil up, and forced it through his helmet, shattering his visor and driving the shards into his face.
A blow was struck across her back and she staggered forwards, releasing a bolt at a passing warrior. She took down two. She focused her eyes and saw another temporary comm-station just ahead; she had to inform Ruben of the betrayal. She had to warn him.
But before she could move, a hand seized her shoulder. Mendoza turned into the bloody face of the Crilshan whose helmet she had broken. His face twisted, blood-spattered and bulging, and he brought his head forward, knocked it into hers, sending her to the ground. She twisted and crawled away, attempting to find her coil among the mass of bodies beneath. Blood oozed from her face.
A hand found her back and pulled her up. It was him.
Thud! His hand broke her jaw. She landed on her stomach sobbing, and scrambled for her life. Everything and everyone around her moved without sound. Blasts and waves of fire filled her vision.
A sharp pain raged through the back of her head and her face plunged into the blood-red sludge. Something heavy forced her face down into the mud. She couldn’t breathe.
At once she was pulled up and thrown onto her back. The only thing she could see was the dark smile and black stare of the blood-covered Crilshan as he threw his blade to the ground and clambered on top of her. His hands wrapped around her throat.
She clawed at his face, gasping for breath.
He wouldn’t let go.
No, she thought; you will not take my life!
His face spun, laughter rang in her ears. Her hand found her pocket, lifted the device from inside. And she released the trigger, connected to the grenade in her hand, the smile on the Crilshan’s face turned to terror, and everything blasted into blackness.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
THEY HAD LOST. There was nothing more Ruben could do. His vision failed as he watched the image-link now projected onto the chamber wall. His fleet above Crilshar was decimated; the Golden Army shattered; a silent death in space for his brave soldiers. The rout in the higher levels had turned into a hunt. None could escape. None would know what had transpired within the caverns tonight—on this black night of battle and betrayal.