Shadow Fall (The Shadow Saga) (48 page)

“Your first task as commander of Specter will be to guard the royal platform at tonight’s execution. I suggest you go and inform your men of the new order, and prepare them for what lies ahead.”

301 rose. His craving would have to wait. Grace still needed him, and to strike now would be to abandon her to her death. 301 bowed courteously to the MWR, covering his disgust with one final smile, “Thank you, sir. I will await your orders at the Specter Spire.”

And once Grace is free
, he thought,
you will be mine.

39

A
BLACK LIMOUSINE CAME
to a stop in Vatican Square, flanked on both sides by armored military vehicles. Charles Justus stepped smoothly out of the car, running his fingers through jet-black hair as he made his way forward toward the stairs.

Liz looked on with Sullivan to her left, knowing the emperor was still less than enthusiastic about setting Justus loose in Alexandria. To her chagrin, the Councilor he had brought along to welcome the man back from his dungeon cell was in agreement. Gordon Drake spoke quietly in Sullivan’s ear, the sound carrying just enough for her to hear, “Emperor, I strongly advise you to reconsider. Justus has always been, and will always be, our enemy. We cannot trust him.”

“An alliance with Silent Thunder will be advantageous, you can’t deny it,” Sullivan replied. “He is our best chance at getting them to trust us long enough to forge such a partnership.”

“He is a loose cannon,” Drake argued. “There are some things we are fools to believe we can control. Like Specter.”

Sullivan sighed in exasperation, “Specter was my mistake, and I have taken full responsibility for it. Still, we managed to gain for ourselves a more than capable commander out of that debacle.” He nodded respectfully at Liz. “This is her plan, old friend. If you want to complain, do it in
her
ear. But for now we have a larger problem.”

“What is it?” Drake asked.

“Holt,” Sullivan replied. “It seems he may have had certain motives in staging this coup that he never fully revealed.”

“Ah,” Drake nodded. “So he came to you with his sentiments of a return to the Old World—against my advice, I might add.”

Sullivan’s eyes narrowed in accusation, “You knew of this and said nothing?”

“I told him to leave things be,” Drake said. “I never dreamed he would have the nerve to voice his beliefs to you. At the time I thought him possessed of some old chivalry brought to the surface by the threat of our new war.”

Sullivan looked back down toward Justus and his escort, who were just beginning to climb the stairs, “So I have a man who speaks treason on one side, and one who conceals it on the other.”

Drake was unabashed, “
Is
it treason, sir? You have given us leave to proceed with the election of the Citadel. Their powers will be limited, but so were those of the British Parliament when first they were established. When democracy is present, it spreads like wildfire. The people crave their old systems, and if you give them a taste they will not let go, even to the undoing of the Empire.”

“And the victory of the System,” Sullivan said. “That is an event we cannot allow, even if it requires the removal of a member on the High Council.”

“Removal?” Drake asked, shocked. “Emperor, Christopher Holt is one of your dearest friends—”

“That will not cloud my judgment on this issue. Holt overstepped the bounds of what is appropriate for a man in his position, and I will not have him working behind my back as we worked behind Alexander’s. If he is no longer of sound mind to serve the interests of the Imperial Conglomerate of Cities, then he shall not continue to sit on its Council. Chief Aurora, what do you suggest?”

Liz nearly jumped at the sound of her name. She had thought herself forgotten to the two men, but now both watched her with a keen eye. Drake no doubt wanted her to talk sense into the emperor, to convince him it would not be prudent to off a member of the High Council so soon after the separation. But there was a fire in Sullivan’s eyes—a determination that she did not want to defy. Standing there, she couldn’t help but see the irony. For a man that hated Napoleon Alexander so much, he was turning out to be very much like him.

Justus was only halfway up the stairs. She wished he would hurry so she could escape the conversation. She was there to discuss the tactics of war, not politics. Still, she had to say something. “The way I see it you have three options. First, you could persuade Councilor Holt to quietly retire with honor. Though if he is passionate enough about his cause, he will not step down quietly. Your second option, then, would be to have the Imperial High Council vote him down. The downside there is that he will be given a forum to air his grievances, and as he is a respected member he might turn others to his cause. Lastly—”

“Enough,” Sullivan held up his hand. “I don’t need to hear that one.”

“Councilor Holt is a wise man,” Drake said. “We shouldn’t be rash in deposing him.”

Liz noticed the emperor’s hard expression and knew he did not agree. Friend or not, Holt had spoken many things that greatly disturbed him. Unbeknownst to the emperor, she had listened in on their entire conversation, and had she been on his end she didn’t know if she would feel any different. What Holt suggested completely overturned the way the government had been run for near twenty years.

No more could be said at the moment, for Justus came within earshot of them. Sullivan gave her a short nod, promising that the conversation would continue later, and turned his attention to the rebel leader—tamed, now, from the look of him. “Welcome back to St. Peter’s Basilica, Major Justus. Accommodations here have no doubt changed since your last visit.”

Justus nodded, and as he did so a loud pop sounded from somewhere in the distance. Purely by reflex, Liz lifted her eyes to the horizon to see the source of the noise, thus only witnessing in her peripheral vision as Councilor Drake fell on the other side of the emperor. Justus’s escort of soldiers grabbed Sullivan and dragged him into the basilica as more bullets tore into the side of the building. Liz hid behind one of the columns, trying to ascertain the source of the shots.

Charles Justus, now without protective escort and amidst a shower of gunfire, bent down next to Councilor Drake and took the man in his arms. Liz couldn’t believe her eyes as the rebel leader rose and carried his old foe inside the basilica to safety. Liz followed on their heels, shouting the position of the shooters to the Imperial Guardsmen inside.

The guardsmen left even as Justus, covered in Councilor Drake’s blood, shouted at the top of his lungs, “Medic! We need a medic here!”

Sullivan shook off the death grips of the guardsmen and barked out orders at more standing by, “You two! Get Councilor Drake to the medical facility immediately!” The soldiers obeyed, and took the Councilor out of the rebel’s arms. “As for the rest of you,” Sullivan said darkly, pointing a finger at Justus. “Restrain that man!”

As the guardsmen took hold of him aggressively, Justus protested, “Emperor, I swear to you I had nothing to do with this!” But it was Liz he looked to for help. She had seen him risk his life for Drake, but she had also seen him nod just as the shot rang out. Coincidence?

“Those are not my men!” Justus went on desperately, struggling against the grips of the guardsmen. “I was just as much a target as any of you, and if not for me your councilor would still be outside on his back! Is this how the empire repays loyalty and honor?”

“Who else would dare attack the basilica?” Liz asked him. “Who but your band of rebels has the courage for such a move?”

“Did you think there wouldn’t be consequences for turning your back on Napoleon Alexander?” He laughed. “I lived through Domination Crisis Fifteen, and I tell you it is a terrible thing to awaken that man’s belligerence. You have tried to wrest the world from him, and—no matter how noble your intentions—you should be asking yourselves if all you’ve really done is to awaken a giant.”

Liz’s eyes narrowed. Alexander did seem the more plausible culprit, but only concrete proof would convince Sullivan that Justus could still be trusted. From what she had seen of how Drake had been hit and the amount of blood he had lost, she didn’t expect him to survive the night. She unclipped
Ignis
and brought it to life so that all would see and remember who she was—what she was. And then she stepped up to the emperor and whispered, “I’m going after the shooters. You are right to restrain him, but I’m asking you not to do more until I can bring you proof. The Romans did not fight this way—my heart tells me it is Alexander.”

“You’ve seen men die in battle,” Sullivan whispered back. “You know the look of one who lives, and who dies. Will Drake survive?”

For a moment she considered lying to him to keep him calm, but in the end she chose the truth. It was cold and hard, but the emperor needed to hear it and prepare for the inevitable. “No.”

“Then I must gather the rest of the High Council and tell them what has happened,” Sullivan said. “If this is Alexander, it demands retaliation.”

“Will that meeting include Councilor Holt, sir?”

Sullivan hesitated for only a moment before nodding, “Yes. I will need him now, in the face of this. Perhaps seeing how far Alexander will go might make him see reason as well. Bring me these assassins, Chief Aurora—or at least what’s left of them when you are done. The internal politics of the High Council will keep for another day.”

Liz stole one more glance at Justus before she left, and she saw genuine fear on his face. It was enough to convince her he had not given the order, but the possibility that some of his men had taken action on their own must not have escaped him. For his sake, she hoped that was not the case.

Everyone shrunk from the light of her Gladius as she left the basilica, a lioness hunting her prey.

40

301
RETREATED TO THE
stillness of his room at the Specter Spire, away from the accusing eyes of his men and the shock that spread through the building with news of the admiral’s death. He had been a mentor to them all, a greatly respected leader who could never be replaced. And with his death, 301 had unfortunately been placed in that position. He would ascend as the sole leader of the force—something he doubted the others would accept, given his actions in the underground.

Given time, one of them would eventually betray the admiral’s promise to him to keep the truth quiet. Fortunately, all would be settled before they got that chance. Already he saw the World System as his past, even though the future was shrouded in darkness. He still wanted to flee to the Wilderness with Grace, but no longer believed it possible. If he managed to save her from death, it would likely be an exchange: her life for his.

As the day waxed and then began to wane, he slowly came to accept that it could indeed be his last.

He sat in darkness for a long while, contemplating his restored memories and exploring them like an album of photographs—snapshots of people and events that were now his. Truly his. It seemed cruel that he should regain such a treasure only to enjoy it for such a short amount of time, and yet he was grateful. Grateful for the memory of his mother’s smile; for the warmth of her affection; for his father’s guiding hands as he taught him some skill with the Gladius; for the feeling of safety surrounded by people that loved him. Yes, he was grateful…but sad. Sad that he had remembered it only after everything was gone. They had been dead now for fifteen years.

Maybe in whatever comes after this,
he thought,
I will see them again.

At some point during his contemplations, the lights kicked back on. All power in the entire city had been down for hours after the incident at the palace, and so far as 301 knew no one could really explain why. The blackout had been engineered to assist McCall’s assassination attempt, but how he achieved it was a mystery.

301 turned slightly to gaze out his window, where power ignited block-by-block, the same as it had gone off—almost like someone had simply flipped a switch.

Part of him wanted to remain hidden within his room for the remainder of the day, but that was not how he wanted to spend his last hours on earth. In fact, he knew exactly where he wanted to be. He looked down at himself, suddenly smelling the stink he had carried with him from the underground. Despite the length of time he had been back, he had been too preoccupied to even notice.