Chronicles of the Invaders 1: Conquest (37 page)

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

T
he message from Peris came through to Edinburgh Castle. Syl and Ani were safe, but Marshal Sedulus was missing, and a single surviving Securitat had given a disturbing description of his possible fate. Grand Consul Gradus, Peris reported, had been burned alive during Sedulus’s assault on the castle.

As Meia had noted, the dead made useful scapegoats.

•••

Syrene’s screams of loss echoed through the castle. Her handmaids flitted helplessly around her like moths drawn to the flame of her grief. Responding to the flood of emotions, the organism in her brain tightened its hold on her cerebral cortex, and the intensity of her shrieks increased.

•••

In the silence of her quarters, Vena mourned for the lost Sedulus, but she did not weep. The heat of her rage evaporated her tears before they could fall from her eyes.

I will watch as every creature on Earth is consumed.

I will continue my lover’s work.

CHAPTER SEVENTY

S
yl and Ani were returned to Edinburgh in the same shuttle as Paul and Steven, all under the watchful eye of Peris. The boys were cuffed, but the two Illyri were not. Peris kept them all separated for appearance’s sake, and they were silent throughout the journey, but it seemed to him that the older boy never took his gaze from the governor’s daughter, and the young Illyri held the human fast in her eyes.

Upon landing, Peris opened the shuttle door and peered out. He saw a platoon of Military to the right, and a line of Corps and Securitats to the left. For now, the scales favored those on the right, but it would shift again. The game was always being played, and the four youths were simply pawns on the board.

A quartet of Military guards approached, ready to receive the prisoners. With a raised hand, Peris instructed them to wait. He turned back to the occupants of the shuttle, and with a curt nod he uncuffed the humans. He watched awkwardly as Paul embraced Syl, and they kissed deeply, hungrily. At a loss, Ani gave Steven a hug too, and an awkward pat on the back. It was clear from the look on his face that Steven would have liked more, but Ani did not have more to give him.

“I’m sorry,” said Peris. “I truly am.”

They separated, and Peris cuffed the boys once again. The members of his strike team surrounded the prisoners as they were led from the shuttle. Paul and Steven could feel the hatred directed toward them from the Securitats. Their numbers in Scotland had been decimated during the preceding days, and they had lost their leader on Earth. These two boys were the only ones left to blame. If they could, their enemies would have executed them in the square.

The brothers were taken to a pair of comfortable but secure Military cells, there to await their fate. Syl and Ani were brought to the governor’s office. They were both experiencing similar thoughts: that being locked in a cell might be preferable to the storm that was about to break over them.

Balen was seated in his usual place. He rose from his chair as the young Illyri entered the room. They looked filthy, he thought, and tired.

And older. These were not the same girls who had left the castle mere days before. They had been tested in fire, and changed by the experience. Balen was no longer looking at youths, but young adults.

“Welcome back,” he said.

“Are we?” asked Syl.

“You will always be welcome here,” Balen replied. “Both of you. Remember that, in the hours and days to come.”

Syl tried to smile at him, but she could not. Being back here made her aware of all that she had sacrificed, and all that she might yet have to sacrifce. Whatever happened, nothing would ever be the same again.

The door opened. Seated inside were Danis and his wife, Fian. As soon as the girls were led in, Fian ran to her daughter and embraced her, even as her husband tried to stop her. Andrus stood behind his desk, his face severe. He did not approach Syl. It was only as the door closed behind her that Syl saw why.

Syrene was waiting in the corner of the room. She had exchanged the red robes of the Sisterhood for the deep blue of a widow’s weeds. Her face was uncovered, and so pale that the tattoos of the Sisterhood were like wounds upon her skin.

“Fian,” said Andrus, and there was a warning in his voice. Reluctantly Fian released her hold on her daughter, and returned to her chair.

Andrus regarded the two Illyri. He loved them both, daughter and near daughter. There would be time later for him to take Syl in his arms and tell her how much he cared for her, and how glad he was that she was safely returned.

Time, but only a little.

For now, Syrene filled the room with the jagged edges of her grief. Her pain was a weapon waiting to be used. If they were not careful, she would tear them all apart with it.

“You are unhurt?” Andrus asked.

Syl and Ani nodded dumbly.

“Good,” he said, and he tried to fill that single syllable with all that could not be said. “Now, I want you to tell the Archmage of her husband. She has the right to know the manner of his death.”

Andrus and Danis had agreed upon this with Syrene. They could not deny her. She wanted to be there when the girls were brought to their fathers. She wanted there to be no secrets. She wanted to be told.

Syl and Ani had prepared their story. Peris had coached them while the boys listened. Fire from the troop carrier; damaged fuel stores; a leak.

Flames.

Syrene probed for the lie, both openly with her questions and insidiously with her mind. They experienced it as an itch in their skulls, a bug crawling on their brains, but Balen had been right: these were changed young people, and their control of their gifts was growing. Perhaps Syl’s, though newly recognized, were greater, for Syrene’s testing betrayed no sign of her abilities, while Ani’s brain twitched like a stimulated muscle. They, in turn, felt Syrene’s pain seeking an outlet. There was a part of Syrene that wanted to see them both burn, just as her husband had burned.

When she was done, she turned to face Andrus.

“They’re lying,” she said.

Syl opened her mouth to protest, but her father raised a finger in warning, and she stayed quiet.

“I heard no lie,” said Andrus. “Their story matches that of Peris, and he is an honorable man.”

“He is one of your lackeys,” said Syrene. “I do not trust him, or them. I do not even trust you, Lord Andrus. My understanding is that you harbored a Mech on your staff.”

Andrus’s face gave away nothing.

“I did not know of her true nature.”

“I don’t believe you. Even if I did, I wouldn’t care. She is a renegade and a killer. She will be found and terminated.”

“Regardless,” said Andrus, “I have requested more information from the Securitats about the crimes of which she is accused, and have received nothing in return. On a similar matter, we have reason to believe that the bombings in Edinburgh might have been the work of dissidents within the Illyri, possibly even the Corps itself.”

He knew that Syrene was on dangerous ground. To speak of Meia’s crimes was to speak of Eden, and Syrene did not wish to do that. Neither did she care to discuss the bombs on the Royal Mile. Andrus just wished that Meia could have reported her findings before she went to ground.

“None of this helps to avenge my husband, or eases my grief at his loss,” said Syrene.

“I do not know what more we can do,” said Andrus. “Your husband’s remains are being returned to Edinburgh. His death is a blow to us all. We will mourn with you.”

“I do not want your mourning!”

Syrene’s body coiled in fury. Spittle shot from her mouth and flecked the pink of her lips and the blue of her gown. She drew a breath, calming herself. She repeated the words, this time more calmly. “I do not want your mourning.”

“What
do
you want?”

“A punishment to fit the crime. Your daughters are guilty of treason. They helped the humans to escape.”

“The boys were innocent.”

“Perhaps, but only of the bombings. They are members of the Resistance. They have killed Illyri. Your daughters colluded with them.”

“They were foolish. They are young.”

“Not so young. Had they not acted as they did, my husband would still be alive. I invoke the Widow’s Wish.”

The tension in the room increased. The Widow’s Wish was a relic of older times, an age when Illyri females had less power and were dependent upon their husbands for their wealth and security. A crime against the husband was viewed also as a crime against the wife, and a husband’s murder was the worst crime of all. Before the death penalty had been eliminated on Illyr, the Widow’s Wish allowed a woman to decide whether those responsible for the death of her husband should be imprisoned or executed. In later years, it could be used to increase or reduce the severity of a penalty, but it was mainly a weapon of the poor and was rarely used by the privileged. It remained enshrined in law, though, and could not be ignored.

“And what is your wish?”

“That my husband’s final decision on the fate of these two traitorous Illyri should remain in force.”

From the pocket of her dress, Syrene produced a note. She unfolded it carefully, and handed it to Andrus. He read it silently. When he was finished, some of his confidence was gone.

“The Punishment Battalions,” he said, and Danis tensed in his chair at his words.

Syl wavered on her feet. That was a death sentence.

“They have not yet been tried,” said Andrus.

“Then let them be tried,” said Syrene. “The evidence against them is overwhelming. It was my husband’s recommended sentence, and it is mine. No court will stand against it. If you try to deprive me of it, if you try to take these daughters of Illyr from here and hide them away, I will bring down the wrath of the Sisterhood and the Corps upon you. There will be civil war, I guarantee it.”

Fian stood. She seemed ready to spring at Syrene, but Danis held on firmly to his wife.

“Then let there be war,” he said. “I will not doom these children to the Battalions.”

“I warn you—” said Syrene.

“Wait,” said Syl. “Wait.”

And though she spoke the word softly, so softly, there was still something in her voice, in the certainty of it, that quieted them all.

“We wish to give ourselves to the Sisterhood,” she said.

“What?”
shouted Andrus. “No! I will not permit it!”

Now Danis was roaring, and his wife was crying.

Syl looked at Ani, and Ani understood. She swallowed hard before she spoke, but when she did, it was with almost as much confidence as Syl had managed.

“We wish to give ourselves to the Sisterhood,” she said, then added, so that only Syl could hear, “I think.”

All shouting ceased. The room was quiet. If the Widow’s Wish was an old law, rarely invoked, the pledge to the Sisterhood was older yet, and even more serious. It could not be refused, not by the family of the one making the pledge or by the Sisterhood itself. If the novice did not prove worthy, an alternative solution could be found, but any Illyri female who was prepared to offer herself as a Nairene had to be given a place in the Marque.

“I accept,” said Syrene. All grief was gone from her face, and in its place there was only triumph.

And in Syrene’s words, Syl heard the sound of the trap snapping shut.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

C
onsternation reigned. The shouts even drew Balen from his desk, and caused a pair of the governor’s guards to come running with their weapons at the ready. Andrus dismissed them, assuring them that he was safe, but the debate raged on. It was all for nothing, though. Even in her grief, Syrene had played them all expertly. She had Ani, whose powers she believed she could turn to the Sisterhood’s benefit, and she had avenged the Sisterhood for the loss of the Lady Orianne to her husband, Andrus. If they could not have the mother, they now had the daughter instead.

But Syl had her own secrets. As the arguments raged around her, she saw again a man silhouetted against the Highland dawn, a bayonet buried deep in his chest. Syrene was not the only one who could play vicious games.

“What of Paul and Steven?” Syl asked, her voice again silencing the adults. “They helped us after the crash. They kept us safe.”

“For their own ends,” said Syrene, and her tone made it clear that she was aware of the feelings at work between the humans and the young Illyri.

“They kept us
safe
,” Syl repeated, and she held Syrene’s gaze for so long that it was the Nairene sister who was forced to look away first.

“Have them brought here,” ordered Andrus. He was glad of the distraction. It would give him time to think. He did not want his daughter in the hands of the Sisterhood. He wanted her to remain close to him. There had to be a way.

Eventually Paul and Steven appeared, accompanied by Peris. They no longer wore their own clothes, but had been given gray prison overalls. Steven’s were too big for him, and he had been forced to roll up the sleeves and cuffs. It made him appear very small, and very young. The two boys barely glanced at Syl and Ani. It hurt Syl at first, until she realized that they wanted to do nothing that might get the Illyri into more trouble by exposing their true feelings.

Too late, thought Syl. Syrene knew, and she believed that her father might have some suspicions too. He was watching Paul as though he didn’t trust him a single inch. Syrene no longer looked triumphant, but simply vindictive. These boys were among those who had taken her husband captive. Had they not done so, he would still be alive.

She wanted their heads.

Andrus stood. He towered over the two boys.

“It appears that you were not responsible for the bombings on the Royal Mile,” he said.

Paul and Steven exchanged a look. Hope shone briefly in their eyes, but was quickly extinguished by Andrus’s next words.

“However, you are guilty of membership of the Resistance, and of the murder of Illyri.”

“We didn’t murder anyone,” said Paul. “We fought. We’re soldiers.”

“You are terrorists!” said Syrene.

“Quiet!” said Andrus. “All of you.”

He waited until he was sure that he was being heeded before he continued. Where was Meia? he thought. He wanted to consult with her. He had colluded with her to place his daughter and Ani with the Resistance in order to prevent them from being taken offworld. Now he was being forced to punish these two boys for essentially doing his will.

“The sentence for those guilty of Resistance activities is exile to the Punishment Battalions for life,” he said. “Given your age, I commute that sentence to five years.”

Paul and Steven looked shocked. Five years in the Punishment Battalions was still a virtual death sentence. There was a small chance that Paul might survive, if he was strong enough, and lucky, but Steven would not. He was too young. Starvation and brutality would kill him within months.

“No,” said Syl softly. “Not that.”

The sentence she and Ani had avoided had passed to the Kerrs instead. Ani took her hand and squeezed it.

Then Peris stepped forward.

“If I might speak, Lord Andrus.”

Andrus nodded his permission.

“I in no way condone the activities of these two young men,” said Peris. “They are members of the Resistance, and they fought the Illyri at Dundearg. But I believe they were protecting your daughter and the daughter of General Danis, as well as the women and children sheltered in the castle. Marshal Sedulus, in his desire to rescue the Grand Consul, was guilty of using undue force, of the slaughter of human civilians, of endangering the safety of Illyri and human alike, and of introducing hostile life-forms into a protected environment.

“In their position,” Peris concluded, “I might well have fought Marshal Sedulus too.”

“Do you have an alternative proposal for punishment?” asked Andrus, and his voice betrayed his hope that it might be so.

“They are brave, and strong,” said Peris. “They could be useful to the Empire. If you send them to the Punishment Battalions, they will die. But if you place them with the Brigades . . .”

The Brigades were different. This was where the one-in-ten of conscripted human youths were placed, and those who served in them were treated well. They were given proper food, and the best of training. They were soldiers, not prisoners. It was still dangerous, but the survival rates were many times higher than in the Battalions.

“It is not usual,” said Andrus. “It may even be dangerous to place members of the Resistance in the Brigades. They could sow unrest.”

“I will vouch for them,” said Peris. “I will train them myself. And I will personally deal with any attempts to foment rebellion.”

Andrus and Danis could not hide their surprise. What Peris was proposing was that he should leave his comfortable position in the governor’s personal guard and return to the active Military. A place in the guard was a well-earned reward for loyal service. Nobody went from there to the Brigades. The traffic was always in the other direction.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” asked Danis. He and Peris had served together for a long time, and the captain was one of his closest comrades in arms.

“Yes, General,” said Peris. “I am a common soldier, and a soldier’s place is not in fine palaces, but in the field.”

“I object—” began Syrene, but Andrus cut her off.

“Your objection is noted, but the decision is made. The prisoners will join the Brigades, and Captain Peris will take responsibility for them. It is done. Captain, prepare for your departure.”

Peris saluted, and the boys were led away. This time, Paul risked a look back at Syl, and she managed a small smile. He winked at her in return.

There was hope after all, if only a little.

•••

Once they were gone, Danis and his wife asked permission to spend some time alone with their daughter, for she was now the property of the Sisterhood. Their request was granted by Syrene, although she insisted that Corps personnel be positioned outside Danis’s quarters to ensure that no attempt was made to remove Ani from the castle.

“And none of your tricks,” she warned Ani in a whisper as she moved to join her parents. “If you cross me, I’ll destroy your father and mother.”

Ani departed, her head bowed low.

That left only Syl, Andrus, and Syrene.

“May I request the same kindness?” asked Andrus.

“You may,” said Syrene, “although I would like a moment alone with you first.”

Andrus didn’t seem particularly happy about it, but he had little choice in the matter. He asked Syl to step outside, and she did so. She took a seat across from Balen, but she did not speak. She remembered her conversation with Meia and Fremd, and their warning to say nothing of what had occurred during Gradus’s final moments. She had to tell her father something, though. He was a clever, careful man. He would know what to do.

•••

Andrus stood before Syrene. He hated her now, and did nothing to disguise it. He had once viewed her as a potentially dangerous enemy, but one who could be handled and contained. That situation had changed. She had his daughter, and she had Ani. But he would find a way to get them back, even if he had to wage war to do it.

“Say what you have to say,” he told her, “and then leave. I begrudge every moment I spend away from my child.”

“She will be well cared for,” said Syrene. “She will make a fine addition to the Sisterhood.”

Not for long, Andrus thought. I will not lose her to the Marque.

Syrene stepped toward him. She placed a hand on his sleeve.

“What do you want from me?” asked Andrus.

“A kiss,” said Syrene. “A kiss for a grieving widow.”

Andrus laughed.

“I would sooner kiss a serpent,” he said.

The tattoos on Syrene’s face grew more vivid, and Andrus believed that, just for an instant, he saw them move independently, writhing like snakes. He looked into Syrene’s eyes, and the flecks in her irises were like the light from distant dead stars. He tried to pull away from her, but he could not. Her mouth fixed upon his. He felt something probing at his lips, forcing them apart. He thought at first that it was her tongue, but then it began to separate, and there were tendrils in his mouth, probing at his palate and gums, moving inexorably toward his throat. He tried to pull away, but more tendrils were pouring from Syrene’s jaws, wrapping themselves around his head, holding him in place.

Syrene’s back arched. She breathed deeply into him, and his mouth was filled with dust.