Текст книги "Hastrom City Rising (The Adventures of Letho Ferron Book 2)"

Автор книги: Doug Rickaway

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THIRTEEN – Aftermath

Patrol ships came after them, just as Saul had said they would. Ships like the ones that Letho had seen on the raid, the day that Thresha left. But by that time the razorback was well beyond the reach of their searchlights and scanning mechanisms, already approaching Haven.

“Let’s go in the front entrance,” Saul said, grinning.

“Come on Saul, I’m not really up for it,” Letho pleaded. He was still a little weak from the injuries he had sustained, and his mind was occupied with thoughts of Bayorn. The Tarsi was risking everything.

“What’s the front entrance?” Deacon asked.

“Oh, right,” Saul said. “You were a little out of sorts the last time we went in the front door. Just hold on to your shoneys.”

“What are my shoneys?”

The razorback lurched forward into the darkness, Saul laughing like a madman, until free fall took their stomachs and turned them inside out. Deacon screamed. Then the wheels of the razorback landed on the suspended catwalk, and Saul slammed on the emergency brake, locking the metal beast in place and shoving the three men forward into their harnesses. The metal teeth at the mouth of the silo began to grind shut, raining down rust and dust, cutting of their view of the night sky like closing eyelids.

“That was awesome!” Deacon said as they unbuckled their harnesses. Saul cut Letho a look, his eyebrows raised.

See? the look said.

The halogen lamps snapped on and Tiny gave them a wave before moving the platform closer to the entry catwalk. Zedock greeted them at the entry hatch to Haven.

Letho was overcome by a great sense of deja vu as he stepped onto the platform. Though the scene was the same, there were players missing. Thresha was with Alastor; Bayorn had gone to be with the Tarsi imprisoned in Hastrom City. Letho only hoped that both of them knew what they were doing.

Zedock wrapped both Saul and Letho in an embrace, then looked them over and saw the multiple puncture wounds in Letho’s side and the many bullet holes in his suit.

“Son, you’ve been through the wringer. What the hell happened, and where’s Bayorn?”

“Letho interrupted a church service in one of Abraxas’s temples, and things got a little hairy,” Deacon said.

“So they’re worshipping him now,” Zedock said, his head drooping, eyes darting side to side as he stared at nothing, parsing the new information. “Things are getting bad. I may have waited too long.”

Maka came barreling through the door, his ungainly footfalls like hammer strikes on the catwalk. He embraced Letho and let his joy be known through Tarsi song. But it was short-lived.

“Where is Bayorn?” Maka asked.

“He stayed behind,” Saul stammered, obviously intimidated by the leer on Maka’s face. “We met a hammerhead, a smart one. Bayorn asked him to take him to the Tarsi encampment. I tried to talk him out of it, but that’s when the shit hit the fan with Letho, and I had to make a choice.”

Maka nodded. “I understand. Bayorn is a damn fool. I should be with him. We should be uniting the Tarsi together!”

“Don’t worry, Maka,” Letho said. “You’ll get a chance to see him soon enough. We’re going back.”

Saul laughed. It was one of those incredulous laughs that someone utters when they hear something so ludicrous it’s actually funny. “Are you crazy? You almost got chopped to pieces, and your best friend over there would have probably died too if I hadn’t come along.”

“I could have handled the situation. And Deacon was in no danger,” Letho said.

“Bullshit. You were about to get your head sawed off by your little girlfriend when I showed up,” Saul said, putting a finger in Letho’s face.

“Saul, it would be a good idea to get your finger out of my face right now,” Letho snarled, his voice taking on the multi-toned chordal texture of Tarsi song-speak.

“Boys, let’s talk about this in the morning,” Zedock cut in. “What do you say? Everyone’s a little hot right now. A good night’s sleep would do everyone good.” He placed his hands on the two men’s shoulders.

“I’m okay,” Deacon said. “Got anything to eat?” No one responded. Deacon sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “All right, to the dormitories it is.”

****

Letho lay on his bunk, counting the flecks of black in the ceiling tiles and replaying the day’s events in his mind. He had expected there to be Mendraga living among the Fulcrum citizens, had even made peace with the fact that some of them had made the choice to accept Abraxas’s gift. But to worship him as a god? The image of the young woman on her knees, supple lips parted, ready to accept Abraxas’s vile blood… That image wouldn’t be going away anytime soon. But perhaps that was a good thing—for it was a reminder of why he had to fight. So that no one else would ever end up feeling the need to choose the gift over natural life.

Like Thresha.

Fight me for real, or we both die, she had said. She was trying to keep them both alive by stabbing the ever-living piss out of him. By doing so she had proved her loyalty to Alastor. Letho’s heart swelled in his chest. She hadn’t betrayed them after all. Letho was reluctant to admit it, but he knew that he had brushed the gossamer veil of mortality in his conflict with Thresha and the other Mendraga. The many bullet wounds he had suffered had weakened him greatly.

A bullet went through my skull. How can I possibly still be alive?

Thresha could have killed him—in fact she almost did. It was brilliant. In the hazy last moments of the conflict, he had seen Alastor’s personal guard pulling a staggering Thresha back, just as Saul was tossing a limp Letho onto the back of a stolen hover bike.

So, they had an ally in the inner circle. And if Bayorn could raise an army of reborn Tarsi… They just might be able to put up a good fight against Abraxas.

But how to get back into the city? History had shown Letho that laying siege to a walled city usually ended badly for the siege-layers, provided that those being sieged had an ample supply of food. He’d have to talk to Saul and see if he had any ideas. Or perhaps Saladin could be of some assistance. He’d have to ask him later. Letho didn’t really feel like having a conversation with his sword at the moment, for there was no such thing as a short conversation with the verbose AI, and Letho needed some quiet time to recuperate.

His thoughts turned to his friends. His rational mind, cold and calculating as ever, took inventory of them all. He felt a momentary sickness in the pit of his stomach when he considered his own callousness. His rational mind, his copilot, saw things in blacks and whites, without the complications of hues and shades. It knew that if any of the others fell, he would feel sadness, but that it would subside.

But Bayorn. His friend. His mentor. Maka, like his own brother. And Zedock, a father he had loved before he even knew of their true relationship. Deacon, his best friend, who would never abandon him, even if all of the Mendraga in the universe were beating down the door to Haven, howling for blood.

And what about Thresha? Ah yes, there’s the rub. You have fallen in love with the enemy. Centuries of human literature can attest to the fact that this story never ends well, Letho’s copilot said.

She’s not the enemy. She’s demonstrated it time and again, Letho replied, grinning at the notion that he was having a conversation inside his own mind with a mental construct that was himself but at the same time wasn’t.

You don’t know that. She could be communicating with her master right now. She could be leading us into a trap. You think you know her. You even think you love her. You are a fool, Letho Ferron.

Then Letho heard a voice, a feminine one. Or did he? Did it occur only inside his mind?

“It’s me.”

Letho’s heart leapt into his throat, threatening to choke the life out of him. His stomach somersaulted, and flights of insects flittered across its lining.

“Thresha?”

“Yes.”

“This is crazy. How…”

“Just shut up. We don’t have long. I don’t know how, but I found you. I thought this communication could only occur between Mendraga, but then I saw you—in my mind, I mean. Think of it like a uCom call. If you close your eyes, I think you can see me too.”

Letho did, and she was right. Thresha stood before him, beautiful and ethereal. Her skin had a glow to it, emanating from her body in little eddies and whorls like flames. Letho rose to his feet on instinct, and then realized he had no idea what to do with his hands, let alone the rest of his body. He swayed, a drunkard in combat boots and fatigues.

“Uh, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a wheeled task chair next to his bunk. The sparse furniture and lack of space forced intimate closeness upon them. She took a seat in the chair, and he on the edge of his bunk. She was inches from him. He longed to reach out and place his hand on her leg, but knew that it would be like passing his hand through smoke. He realized that neither had spoken for a few moments, and his brain short-circuited in an attempt to choose the right words to break the silence.

But Thresha was the one to speak first. “I, uh, just wanted to see how you were doing,” she said. “I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly. I had to make it look real. Alastor was testing me. To see if I was loyal.”

“Well, I won’t lie, it hurt like a bastard, and I think you actually almost succeeded in killing me. Almost.” He looked into her eyes, and felt his stomach twisting.

“I am sorry, Letho.”

“Why did you leave us?” Letho asked.

“I don’t know. Part of me was angry at the way I was treated. Part of me wanted to feed on the real thing,” she said, looking down, fidgeting with her hands. “And if I’m being honest… I wanted to see Alastor again.”

Letho scoffed. “So you did betray us.”

“My relationship with Alastor is complicated, Letho. He’s like a father to me, and…”She paused. “… A husband,” she stammered, fidgeting with her hands even more. She placed her fingers against her temple so that Letho could not see her eyes and she could not see his.

“A husband?” Letho felt revulsion roiling in his stomach like bile mixed with magma.

“You can’t possibly understand,” Thresha said. “I spent centuries with this man. Being groomed by him, taught by him. We, Mavus and I, we were going to be nobility in his new kingdom. That idea has been hard to turn away from.”

“You didn’t respond to my statement. Did you betray us or not?”

“If you need it to be laid out so simply, Letho, no. I have betrayed nothing. I can feel him, always searching my mind. But I keep it hidden. It’s exhausting.” The ethereal representation of Thresha took a deep breath. “And there is something else. I think he might have someone inside Zedock’s organization. Someone he speaks to via some sort of com link. I’m afraid that Alastor may already know the location of Haven. I have seen glimpses of it in his mind.”

“Do you know who this source is?”

“No. I just know that he’s speaking to someone. Be careful, Letho.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Alastor’s army is spread pretty thin. Mutant activity has been growing as of late, as has unrest in the labor sector. The hammerheads are beginning to realize that their end of the stick is much shorter than the Fulcrum citizens’. And then of course, there are the Tarsi.”

Bayorn. An army of Tarsi reborn.

“Please, Letho, be careful of your thoughts. I can’t guarantee that Alastor won’t find them in my mind.”

Another awkward silence. Thresha rose to her feet, her face flushing.

“Okay, I guess I’ll be—”

“Wait, don’t go,” Letho said, reaching out and grasping her hand. To his surprise, his hand didn’t pass through hers. She was cool to the touch.

He stood to face her, still clasping her hand. As if by its own accord, his other hand clasped hers as well.

“Letho…”

Before she could protest, he moved forward. In the fraction of time between thought and action, he felt alarm course through his body. But to his surprise, she returned his gesture. Her mouth was cool and wet as her lips parted. Beneath the sweetness of her kiss he could also taste her sickness, the disease that Alastor had planted within her so long ago. But it was too late to heed the copilot’s warning.

You are a fool, Letho Ferron.

He tasted the sweetness of her. Sparks flew and galaxies collided as enzymes in their saliva mixed and commingled, setting off a chain reaction in their bodies as they began a dance as old as time. Thresha sighed as the warmth of his lips began to explore the soft curve of her cheek, down the sleek ravine of her neck, onto the supple, mysterious outcropping of her collarbone. He was a starving man, drinking her up with a young lover’s haste.

And then she pushed him away.

“Letho,” she said, “I can’t. You know this can never be.” Her voice was breathless, husky.

Letho’s insides churned as if he had been pushed into a bottomless chasm. He felt tears welling up and fought them back.

“I love you, Thresha,” he said.

She recoiled as if struck.

“I—” she started, then stopped herself. “I love you too, Letho, but not in that way. I am unable to feel those things anymore. I cannot give you what you need.”

“You are all that I need. I don’t care about the rest.”

The embodiment of Thresha that only existed in his mind turned as if startled.

“I have to go, Letho. He’s coming.”

There was a blast of light, like a lightning bolt had struck him in the head. Letho opened his eyes. She was gone. But in truth, she had never been there.

Yet it had seemed so real. He had held her hand, kissed her, tasted her. He would never be the same. He sat on his bunk and held his head in his hands.

****

The next day Letho met Zedock, Saul, Deacon, and Maka in the war room. The man Letho had seen Saul arguing with the other day was there, too. Johnny Zip. He was thin and gangly, with short spiky blond hair and piercing grey eyes. His very pointed chin ended in a braided goatee.

“Fellas, this here is Johnny Zip, a friend of mine,” Saul said.

“Nice to meet you all,” Johnny said.

Zedock looked around the room. “Shall we begin?”

They began with a debriefing in which each of then men who had ventured to Hastrom City told their tale.

“There’s something else,” Letho said, after they had all finished their stories. “Thresha came to me last night.”

“What?” Saul said. “How the hell did she get in here?”

“She wasn’t here physically, you dummy. She spoke to me, somehow, inside my mind.”

“Mendraga magic,” Maka muttered, “cannot be trusted.”

Zedock raised his hand as if to stop anyone else from speaking. “Let’s hear what he has to say. Even if it’s voodoo, it could be useful.”

“She tells me that the Mendraga are increasingly being drawn into some sort of civil conflict with the hammerheads and the Tarsi. In addition, they’re seeing the same increase in mutant activity that we are. In short, they’re spread pretty thin.”

“And we have Bayorn embedded in their camp,” Deacon added. “I bet he’s getting an army together even now.”

“But what can we do? We probably have a hundred, maybe two, who can fight,” Saul said.

“Yeah, but we got vehicles, ships. How many pilots do we have?” Zedock said.

“Not sure. Probably numbering in the teens.”

“You got the best damn pilot in the known universe right here,” Deacon said.

Saul scoffed.

“He’s not lying. The kid can fly,” Letho said, fixing stern eyes on Saul.

“Even if so, we can’t just launch a full frontal assault on Hastrom City and hope that the hammerheads and the Tarsi are ready to fight when we get there.”

“Thats exactly what we have to do!” Letho insisted. “It’s time to take it to ’em. The longer we wait, the harder it’s going to get.”

Johnny Zip finally joined the debate. “I can tell you one thing,” he said. “We have plenty of explosives. I can set off quite a show. You know, a ‘tasteful’ diversion.” He flipped a small silver lighter into the air, caught it between his thumb and index finger, and with a deft twist and a snap of his fingers, ignited it.

“Very good, Johnny, I knew I could count on you,” Zedock said. “Who else has ideas? Come on, folks, we won’t get another chance like this. The cracks are starting to show. If we wait too long, Abraxas might get everything back together again.”

“I want to go in and kill Alastor and Abraxas myself,” Letho said.

They all laughed. Everyone save for Letho. He placed Saladin on the table before them.

“You’re not joking, are you, son?” Zedock asked.

Letho didn’t respond. Instead he spoke directly to Saladin. “Saladin, I need you to find anything of use that I might have missed. Do you have access to any civil records servers?”

“One moment, sir. Accessing civil services logs from still-functioning server arrays… Downloading city maps, utilities maps… Sir, there are massive drainage tunnels that traverse the entire span of the city. Many are still functional. The region in which Hastrom City was built was once a low-lying swamp area. It would often flood, as tropical storms and hurricanes were common before the climate shifted to more arid conditions.”

“Are these drainage tunnels big enough to drive a razorback through?” Letho asked.

“Yes, sir. However, there is one problem. There seems to be a large population of the creatures you commonly refer to as ‘mutants’ living around the tunnels.”

“Can we reach Abraxas’s palace from these tunnels?”

“Not directly inside, but there are utility ladders that lead up to street level right next to his palace.”

“So let me get this straight,” Saul said. “You want to drive a razorback through a dark tunnel surrounded by mutants and then sneak into Abraxas’s temple, which is probably crawling with guards, and try to kill two of the most powerful creatures in the known universe?”

“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” Letho said. “Thank you for the information, Saladin.”

“But who’s going to keep the Mendraga off our backs long enough for us to infiltrate the palace and get the job done?” Deacon asked.

“The army of Tarsi that Bayorn is raising will provide the time you need to complete your mission,” Maka said. “And I will lead the Tarsi that dwell in Haven, as well as any Eursan warriors that wish to join us.”

“Maka…” Letho said, leaping to his feet, “they’ve got snipers all along those walls, and guards posted at the gates. It would be suicide.”

“We understand that we will have many casualties. We are ready to lay down our lives so that Abraxas might be destroyed.”

Zedock seemed to consider all this. “If we attack on multiple fronts we stand a better chance… but I don’t know. There are too many variables, too much up in the air.”

“You said you have ships, weaponized vehicles, pilots, right?” Deacon said. “I can lead everyone in, provide cover. How much of an air force could Alastor have, anyway?”

“It’s risky… but I think it’s the best chance we have. Let’s do it,” said Saul, slapping his hand down on the table.

Zedock nodded. “I agree. We hit them on all fronts. Through the tunnels, through the air, and hopefully Bayorn will be ready to support us from the inside. We’re gonna lay it all on the line. Are there any objections?”

Saul, Maka, Deacon, and Zip all nodded in agreement, their faces hard and determined.

It was all too much for Letho. He could do this alone; there was no need to put everyone’s lives at risk! He spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door hard enough to knock an ancient plaque from the wall.

“Letho!” Maka chased him down the hall. With a powerful stride, he closed the gap between them and grasped Letho’s arm.

“Let go of me!” Letho shouted. Hot tears were streaming down his face.

“Letho, you knew this day would come. All of us must fight.”

“I just don’t want to lose you, Maka. I wanted you by my side.”

“And I want to be by yours. But I must fight alongside the Tarsi. In this way I can help you, Letho, to complete your mission. The Tarsi are strong, and they want to fight. They want to kill many Mendraga. And with Bayorn gone, only I can lead them.”

Letho looked his friend in the eye. “Just promise me you won’t get yourself killed.”

“That is not a promise I can make, Letho. But I will do my best.”

FOURTEEN – The Calm

Abraxas sat upon his gilded throne, surveying the lay of his kingdom. He gestured with his great claw, swiping to the side to alter the display that hovered in front of his aged eyes. Atop a long-dead traffic light, a security camera spun, focusing on the vast sprawl of dormitories that had been erected to house the Fulcrum station citizens upon their return to Eursus. He counted the number of Mendraga patrolling the streets on their hoverbikes, keeping the peace.

“Peace” was a word that Abraxas had known little in his long life. Conflict was an old friend, a comfortable lover. In fact, in times of relative calm he felt uneasy, as though there was an itch deep within his cortex that longed for the adrenaline surge of crushing his foes and exerting his will upon them.

He had first come to Eursus by mistake; his damaged ship’s wormhole navigation system had malfunctioned, sending him crash-landing on the distant planet at a time when the human race still dwelt in caves, drew crude antelope on the walls with charcoal, and stoked pitiful fires to keep predators at bay. And there he lay, transformed into a wood-like golem by his injuries, a ruined tree growing up and and around him, dead but unable to pass on to the next realm.

He had been fleeing the battle for control of his own planet, a battle he had begun with his race of elite Tarsi, whom he had named Mendraga, which meant “eternal warrior” in his tongue. Just as his brother Sartruvus had warned him, the Council had not taken kindly to his scientific meddling and the new and superior race it created. A civil war began, between those who accepted Abraxas’s gift, and those who did not. The war raged on for centuries, ravaging the planet.

Abraxas knew not how long he had withered inside his broken ship before Alastor came along, his greatest ally, his hand, the executor of his will. Over the centuries, as man’s technological capabilities had grown, Alastor and his followers had been able to rebuild Abraxas’s ship, so that together they could make the trek back to his home planet and reunite with his race on Tarsus—as he had no doubt that they had been victorious. They had lacked the necessary components to repair the wormhole navigator, so he was forced to travel at a snail’s pace across the galaxy. It took centuries, both he and Alastor in stasis, but at last they had arrived—only to find a barren planet, for the victorious Mendraga had long since consumed all that lived, and then ultimately themselves. Even the very substance that had shown him the way to eternal life had been destroyed, for all samples of the strange meteorite that had struck Tarsus had been destroyed along with Abraxas’s laboratories.

A scan of the archives revealed that the Council, foreseeing the death of their planet and the potential extinction of the Tarsi race, had sent their women and children into the vessels that the Eursans would come to call Fulcrum stations. These vessels had been designed to cultivate barren planets and seed life through dissemination of the basic elements needed to begin the process of evolution. But they had been used as simple escape vehicles. They were probably landing on Eursus even as Abraxas set foot on Tarsus.

Fools. All of them. Over centuries of breeding in their dark subterranean mechanical world, becoming something less than they once were, the Tarsi inside had completely forgotten their mission. It was no surprise to Abraxas that they had become willing subjugates to the Eursan men who found the Fulcrum stations orbiting their planet and towed them to the planet’s surface to repurpose them for their own aims.

If only the Tarsi inside had been able to communicate the true purpose of the Fulcrum stations instead of becoming slaves. They could have saved the planet, and created a world in which the Eursans and Tarsi could have lived harmoniously. No doubt this was the intent of the Council.

But then again, if they had, Abraxas would never have been able to gain control. Very few knew the secret of the Fulcrum stations. Not even his most trusted associate Alastor knew. With a few keystrokes and the use of the codes he had taken from the foolish Elder Fintran, he could order the Fulcrum stations to land and begin a terraforming process that would rejuvenate the entire planet, rebalancing everything so that all life could flourish once again. The Fulcrum station even had a stockpile of seeds that could be launched into the sky, spreading them far and wide, making the planet green once again.

But why should he? Eursus’s climate did not bother his Mendraga in the least, yet it was inhospitable enough that the Eursan cattle could not venture out into it without dying. They needed him to survive, just as he needed them.

He could also make the Fulcrum stations explode by causing their fusion cores to go critical, obliterating himself, his people, and the Eursan and Tarsi race in a white flash. It would be painless, instantaneous. But he wasn’t ready for that. He was enjoying his time as a god-king.

Still, as of late he was growing weary. When he had first come to Eursus, it had been much simpler to subjugate man. They received him as a god without question. They accepted his will when he took a child to some dark corner to feed. They fell at his feet and worshipped him when he meted swift, merciless judgement on transgressors.

But these modern Eursans were not so easily fooled. During his long sleep, humans had pushed back the obsidian veil, learning to keep the shadows at bay through their Promethean quest for knowledge. Sure, there were many who still accepted without question that Abraxas was a supreme being, one with the ability to manipulate the cosmic forces that moved their world. Yet there were others who saw him for what he truly was, and it would only be a matter of time before those who questioned him outnumbered those who believed.

No, modern man was not so easily fooled. But the primitives were. The working caste. He chuckled to himself, running a skeletal hand across his naked, white cranium. They lived like animals in filthy hovels, communicating in coughing syllables that drove Abraxas insane. But they served their purpose, toiling in steaming factories thick with the stink of mildew and perspiration. They were strong, stupid, and didn’t ask questions. They were a marvel of modern human engineering.

The wheel had to keep turning, after all. The true citizens of his fine city craved the comforts of the technology-infused life they had always known; they were less likely to notice things going awry when their minds were fully occupied with their hi-res screens and tactile-sensory-feedback clickable buttons.

Those above were held in thrall by the fruits of slave labor, while those below were slaves to the labor itself, Abraxas thought.

And then there was this Letho Ferron. The one who could unravel all he had wrought. The supposed savior of both Eursan and Tarsi alike. It was a supreme irony that Alastor himself had created their greatest enemy. When Alastor slew the boy and Fintran with a single sword stroke, he created a blood bond between them. This combination of Fintran’s blood and Letho’s had catalyzed something that had been dormant in Letho—had changed him into something new.

It was said that within the genetic sequence woven into the life seeds they dropped upon lifeless planets, there were bits of code that, when properly aligned, would create beings that were superior to others. Stronger. Faster. More intelligent. Abraxas had seen these bits of code himself as he sequenced the genome of his own race.

Those who had shaped the events of Eursan history most likely had pieces of this code in their genetic makeup. And if Abraxas’s suspicions were correct, this Letho Ferron had won the genetic lottery: he was an indirect product of Tarsi genetic engineering, a perfect being, a genetic failsafe meant to lead his race through their darkest hour.

Abraxas was drawn from his reverie by the abrupt hiss of chamber door. In came Alastor, his handsome face wrought with tension.

“Alastor, my son. What brings you to my chamber in such haste?”

Alastor dropped to a knee in front of Abraxas’s throne and touched his fist to his forehead, eyes cast to the floor.

“Dispense with the formalities. What is it?”

Alastor rose to his feet and fixed his gaze on Abraxas. “I have spoken with my associate in Haven,” Alastor said. “He tells me that Letho Ferron is planning to attack Hastrom City.”

“Very good; let them come. We will be ready.”

“Master,” Alastor said, his eyes wide in confusion. “What are your orders?”

Abraxas waved Alastor off with a dismissive hand. “Don’t look so terrified, young one. This boy presents no threat to us. Alert our men to be on their guard.”

“Lord,” Alastor began, “shouldn’t we be a little more proactive? Perhaps we could send a squadron to this Haven, burn it to the ground?”

“Are you questioning my decision?” Abraxas said, rising from his throne.

Alastor rose to his feet, straightened his shoulders, and stood firm. “Yes, I am, in fact. I do not believe that simply doing nothing is the right course of action.”

“At last, Alastor speaks his mind. My own hand betrays me.” Abraxas reached out with his mind, feeling the very atoms in the air respond to his touch. He brought the air down on Alastor, crushing him down with the very atmosphere.

“If you will not kneel before me, I will force you to,” Abraxas said coldly. “You insolent little worm. After that shameful display in our own church, that you yet dare come before me speaks volumes of your courage, I suppose. You failed me. You let that Ferron creature escape you. Your staggering ineptitude, your inability to subdue one man, has brought shame upon my entire household.”

Abraxas cast his eyes to Thresha, who sat upon her balcony, watching the exchange. She stood up and sauntered into her private quarters, leaving him and Alastor alone.

Abraxas had known that this day would come, and frankly he was surprised it had taken Alastor so long to defy him. And how powerful Alastor had grown. Abraxas found himself struggling a little to force Alastor to his knees, so potent was his subordinate’s rage. It made him stronger.