Eye of the Tornado Read online

  A Vezulian soldier rounded the corner ahead, and brilliant crimson beam of energy burst from Truce's palm, knocking the young man to the floor. His own presence had remained secret thus far, though Enzulia had commented to Olock more than once that he thought there might be an intruder onboard. Random deaths such as this one were no doubt the cause of his theory, but Truce disposed of most as discreetly as he could. The soldier before him took the blade end of his belt knife between the ribs, then a slash across his throat. Truce stuffed the body into a supply closet and locked it, fusing the mechanism closed with two more bursts of energy from his palms. With any luck, the Falcon Mist would belong to the Kyrosen before anyone discovered the corpse. A shame, but then, the fellow had decided to join Kindel Thorus. He got what he deserved.

  The gunners' corridors were built into the outer structure of the hull, and therefore did not have direct lift access. There were multiple entrances on each floor to that level's row of turrets, but one had to reach that particular deck before being able to access them. Emergency staircases connected every row at each end, providing Truce with a simple and quiet way to reach the cargo hold undetected. The descent to the lower decks was a quiet one, but given the nature of his intentions, detection was not an option. Occasional laser blasts collided with the shields just outside, filling the stairwell with a reverberating crash, but the majority of the combat seemed to be happening on the opposite side of the Falcon Mist. Whether or not the Armada was winning or the Alliance was gaining the upper hand didn't matter. As long as the ship held together long enough for the Kyrosen to make their escape, the battle didn't concern him.

  The faces that greeted him when he opened the cargo hold's emergency access door were filled with a bit more despair than he would've expected, but then, for all they knew, they were going to die in the middle of the Vezulian Armada's war. Two fireballs followed by a couple of stabs of his knife took down the guards on the other side, and he threw their bodies back through the door before closing it. The dull murmur of conversation and music that floated about the Kyrosen quickly died as more and more began to peer in his direction. Some smiled—far too few, though—while the others' expressions varied from surprised to something that almost resembled fear. I'm sure they're worried that I've come running with a pack of Vezulian soldiers on my tail. That was understandable; he hadn't gone out of his way to make his presence known. But today was a different day, and it was time for the Kyrosen to once again embrace freedom. "My people!" he shouted, spreading his arms wide, "I return to you!" The resulting applause was far less than what he would've expected, but again, he considered their unease about the circumstances of his arrival. "Do not be concerned, I come of my own accord, unhindered by the actions of Kindel Thorus and his thugs. As far as he knows, I'm still locked up in prison cell on his ship, but I intend to show him just how wrong he is. And I intend to do so today. Who's with me?"

  A larger number of men and women cheered this time; they were likely beginning to realize that their leader had returned to lead them to victory. Truce waited for their voices to fade before speaking again. "I need a group of about five to ten experienced soldiers to accompany me to the bridge, and an even larger force to spread across the ship. Who would like to volunteer?"

  Slowly, men began to step forward, soldiers that seemed eager to escape the secluded belly of the Falcon Mist. He selected ten of them as his escort, and then directed the rest toward the now-unguarded emergency stairwell.

  "Sir, what about our alliance with the Armada?" someone yelled from the crowd.

  "It is done," Truce shouted back. "I never intended a long-standing relationship with Thorus, and this is the perfect opportunity for us to make our move. We are going to leave the Vezulian Armada in the dust, but not before exacting revenge on Kindel for driving us to the edge of extinction!"

  That brought forth an even louder applause, though a good many still remained quiet. Nervous, for sure, but they would soon find that there was nothing to be concerned about. As the volunteers lined up by the emergency staircase, Truce began to instruct them of their duties. "I want twenty soldiers on each floor. Move quickly so that each level will have minimum warning as word of our actions spreads across the ship. Take the weapons and communication devices of any soldier you defeat. We'll use them to keep in contact with one another. If you need reinforcements, call for them." He pointed to a small brown-haired Kyrosen. "You. Your duty will be to grab a communicator from the first Vezulian soldier you fell and then head back down here. Once you've returned, the rest of us can send requests for additional troops through you, and you can send more men to the appropriate floor. All of you are to eliminate anyone who stands in your way, and send those who surrender down here. They'll soon learn what it is like to be trapped inside a cramped cargo hold like animals. Any questions?"

  "Will twenty men be enough to take an entire floor full of Vezulian soldiers?" someone called out.

  Truce grinned at the man's unease. "Have faith in yourself and your people. You are Kyrosen, and that gives you an advantage that most on this ship do not have." That didn't seem to convince him, but the soldier nodded anyway. "Be strong, be smart, and be swift," Truce continued, this time directing the instructions to everyone. "The faster you act, the less of a chance they'll have to respond. Any other questions? Very well then. Move out!"

  A collective shout of acknowledgment answered as Truce headed toward the lift. A quick glance at those who had chosen not to volunteer put a bit of a dent in his confidence. Of approximately three thousand Kyrosen, less than a third had stepped up. That was disconcerting, but it was something that would have to be dealt with at another time. At the lift, at least, the men seemed anxious to be on the move. "All right, soldiers. Follow me."

  The lift connected to the cargo hold only ran as high as deck twelve, at which point a switch to a second lift would be necessary to reach the bridge. The Kyrosen had been forbidden from using the lift without expressed authorization from Commander Enzulia, so it was no surprise that two armed riflemen met Truce's gaze when the doors slid open. The Kyrosen standing on either side of him eliminated them almost instantly with a pair of lightning blasts, and their bodies fell in smoldering heaps. The soldier's rifles went to their killers, and the pistols holstered at their hips went to two other Kyrosen. A long sword was latched to the hip of the smaller soldier, and Truce slid it behind his own belt. Two communicators were the last things to be taken before the carcasses were dragged from the lift. Truce handed one to the nearest soldier while latching the other at his waist. "Remember, collect every weapon and communicator that you can find," he said, leading them into the lift. The uncomfortable gazes of the remaining Kyrosen who had not volunteered their support seemed to cut a hole through him as the doors slid closed.

  Their arrival on the twelfth deck put them in a corridor near the research labs where most men wore white coats and thin-rimmed glasses. The area was busier than Truce had anticipated, but his men erupted onto the level with a violent explosion of fireballs and lighting strikes that sent most soldiers scurrying for cover. Lasers eventually began firing back from the far end of the hall, taking down two of Sartan's men before they were silenced. Truce unleashed a flurry of energy blasts, scorching walls as often as he did Vezulian troops. They made their way along the hallway until they came to the second lift. There, they created an arc around Truce while he waited for the doors to open. "All right," he said, scanning the corridor. "I want the rest of you to take over this floor. I'll handle the bridge crew and Enzulia. Secure the deck, and make sure that you root out any and all soldiers that may try to hide away in tight areas."

  "But Boss!" A blond Kyrosen with more fat than muscle on his arms shook his head. "Are you sure it's safe for you to go up there alone?"

  Behind him, the doors slid open. "I want this deck secured," Truce said as he entered the lift, "but if we wait until that happens before heading for the bridge, we will have given Enzulia too much time to prepare. If I ca
tch them by surprise, they won't know what hit them. You have your orders."

  "Yes, Sir!" the soldiers responded.

  The doors slid closed, and the lift began its ascent. Taking down a crew of less than ten people wouldn't pose a problem, even if he was alone. A simple energy shield technique could protect him from their laser blasts long enough to slaughter them all. Members of the bridge crew typically weren't heavily armed, though if word of the uprising had reached them faster than anticipated, it was possible that additional defensive measures had been taken. But even then, less than ten wouldn't be too much trouble.

  When the doors finally slid apart, the sight that greeted Truce's eyes was the last thing he would've expected. Crimson was the first color he noticed, for it was the most abundant. Across the five stations of the bridge, every crew member had been reduced to a bloody corpse, their chests and necks and bellies slashed open. Beneath each body, the blue carpet was stained with dark black circles that continued to grow as the victims' blood drained onto the floor. Some of the terminals were streaked with bright red, remnants of each man's apparent struggle for his life. Most of them were either slumped back in chairs or hunched over their terminals, but in the center of the room, Commander Enzulia's corpse lay motionless, his head lying a few feet away where it had been neatly severed. A single young man stood at the front of the bridge, his hands clasped casually behind his back as he gazed though the viewport.

  "Greetings, Truce," Vultrel said, facing him with a smile of satisfaction. "I've been expecting you."

  *******

  Muert put his head in his hands as the murmurs around him grew. Tensions were thick in the cargo hold, especially since Truce had made his unexpected visit. His decision to take over the ship had compromised plans beyond repair, in Muert's estimation; there was no way an uprising against Kyrosen's leader would have any chance of succeeding with Truce's supporters spreading across every level of the Falcon Mist. And though the number of Kyrosen that stood behind Muert had rocketed to nearly one thousand, those that remained loyal to Truce still doubled that total. Word of the rebellious grumbles amongst them had moved like wind across the desert, and just about every person in the cargo hold knew that an insurrection was being mounted. Only Truce's lack of communication with his people kept him in the dark, and now that he'd once again taken to using the Kyrosen to further his agenda, it wouldn't be long before he, too, was aware.

  And then, Muert would be executed for mutiny.

  Keilan remained optimistic as always, insisting that there were plenty who would defend him and his cause, but Muert didn't want to put others in danger to protect himself. Those were Truce's tactics, and that was why Muert had turned his back in the first place. If only he had simply taken Sienna and Keilan and fled from the Falcon Mist as originally planned, he wouldn't have found himself in such a precarious position. But that was no longer an option. Like it or not, he had somehow become the head of a growing resistance movement, and he had a duty to those who had put their faith in him. If Keilan wasn't so stubborn, he could've at least sent her away with Sienna in a transport, but she was a Kyrosen woman, and she would fight to the end alongside her husband, no matter how bloody an end they faced.

  "My dear," she whispered into his ear, "with half of Truce's followers spread across the decks, it will be easier for us to overcome those who remain here."

  "Quiet, Keilan," he pleaded. "Please, my love, I do not wish to spark a flame that I cannot put out. I cannot put Sienna in such danger."

  Their young daughter sat on the blanket behind him, flipping through an old picture book that Keilan had made for her years ago. She looked up at the mention of her name and smiled at him before returning her attention to the book. Muert had done his best to explain to her what was going on, and despite her age, she had already begun to show many of her mother's traits. Not only was she thrilled at the idea of finding a more peaceful place to live, but she had also demanded that she be allowed to fight alongside her father should it come that. Eight years old, and already anxious for war. It only fueled Muert's belief that these Kyrosen—Sartan Truce's Kyrosen—were not only an unhealthy influence on her, but a danger to all of the children being raised in their midst. He hated to think that they were raising the next generation of killers.

  "We have one-thousand and fifty two Kyrosen at our backs," Keilan told him. "More come to our side every day."

  Muert flashed a twisted frown. "I asked that you keep word of our intentions from spreading too far, and yet you've managed to make sure that every person here is aware. Have you seen the looks? The glaring, dangerous, hateful looks? I came back to bring the two of you to safety, and somehow we find ourselves in more danger than ever before!"

  Keilan sat up straight, placing her fists on her hips the way that she did whenever she wanted to make him see his own foolishness. "You cannot ignore the numbers, Muert. If we had simply fled, we would've left over a thousand people to Truce's mercy. We cannot ignore anyone who wants to join us in our fight for freedom!"

  "Why do they need us in order to stand up for themselves?" he retorted angrily. "We were ready to throw away everything we've ever known for the sake of our daughter's safety. Why do the others need us before they can make that same decision?"

  The tension in her arms eased slightly, but her face remained solid as a stone. "Sometimes people need the guidance of another to give them a push in the right direction. Every race throughout history has had prominent figureheads that they've looked up to and adored, men and women who set an example for others to follow. Sometimes people don't think anyone agrees with them. Sometimes they need someone to articulate how they feel before they can truly understand what motivates them. And sometimes people just aren't strong enough to take a step forward without someone to guide their feet. The point is, these people look to you as a figurehead. A leader. They see you as someone who knows right from wrong, a man who has identified an injustice in our society, and a man who can lead the Kyrosen to a bright and prosperous future. They've put their faith in you, Muert."

  His shoulders slumped at that. "I'm just a soldier, my love. A soldier, and a husband, and a father. I know nothing about leading an army into battle."

  Keilan's visage softened as she wrapped her arms as far around him as they could reach. "I trust you with every aspect of our lives, do I not?" she whispered into his ear, cradling his cheek with her hand as she spoke. "I enthusiastically agreed to wed you because I knew that you were a loving man and a capable leader. And while I have reservations about turning ourselves over to the Aeden Alliance, I follow you because I trust your judgment implicitly. You may not see yourself as a leader, my heart, but you are not only a leader, but a noble and courageous one."

  While her compliments and love were greatly appreciated, none of it eased the burden of over a thousand souls that rested on Muert's shoulders. "I never asked to be put in this position," he muttered, shaking his head.

  "Sometimes we are thrown into places in life where we never thought we'd find ourselves," she said with a grin. "But I am a firm believer that you can do anything there is to be done. If someone else can do it, so can you. You are stronger and smarter than you give yourself credit for."

  A firm voice from the small camp beside them interrupted their conversation. "Do not think that we don't know what you two are scheming over there." Muert and Keilan looked up in unison to see Avrhen and his wife Tiane glaring at them from their blanket several paces away. A tall man with a sparse layer of black hairs covering his chin, Avrhen sat with his arms crossed and teeth bared in anger. His hair was combed sloppily across his scalp in an unkempt manner, and his vest was smeared with food stains accumulated since being hustled onto the Falcon Mist alone with the others. He shook his head as he spoke. "Those of us who remain loyal to Truce will beat down any revolution you attempt to stir up. We do not take betrayal lightly, Muert. If the rumors about you are true, you will hang for your treachery."

  Muert creased his fore
head into what he hoped was a look of surprise, but Keilan's response was entirely different. "Don't you dare attack us with your petty threats, Avrhen. You know not what the future holds." That alone could've amounted to a confession of guilt—anything less than a denial should've sufficed—but the man only smiled wryly.

  "I can tell you what the future does not hold," he sneered. "Sartan Truce will not be removed from his position as head of the Kyrosen. This, I swear my life upon."

  To the left, another voice joined the conversation. Marcile, a plump woman with long brown curls, waved a soup spoon at Avrhen threateningly. "Truce is going to run us into the ground! He's placed us at the mercy of the man who drove us into hiding, and now he carelessly throws is into battle against a foe whose numbers outweigh us by astronomical proportions!" She had been a long-time friend of Keilan's, and one of the first to support Muert. Her little boy Aaron was also one of Sienna's favorite playmates. Marcile wiped her hands on her long apron as she stepped toward Avrhen's camp. "Our only hope for survival lies in a change of leadership and a quick departure from our reckless lifestyle."