Joston
The royal chamber of the Engra monarchy is just as impressive as I imagined it would be. Maybe more.
Every ostentatious object in this vast room—if you could call this huge hall a room—is gilded, bejeweled, covered in something that I’m afraid is the fur of a once-living creature, or carved out of some kind of fancy Engra stone or gemstone. Light glints off everything. Would it glint off spit? I wonder as I hold down the urge.
How gigantic is this space? The troops restraining Lasson, Lasson himself, and the king and his courtiers, or whatever it is they’re called here on Engra, are so far away from where I’ve landed that they haven’t even noticed my arrival.
Give us two more minutes, Wilm says to me over the comm, so I back into the far wall and wait. Good thing I locked the entryway behind me because now I don’t have to concern myself with Nik’s, Chlo’s, or Niya’s arrival. They won’t be arriving.
One minute.
I get ready.
Now, Wilm says, and I pull my firepulse out of the back of my waistband and start slinking toward the front of the room.
The first three guys I down are easy. And they’re far enough away from the action that no one notices. They’ll be out for several hours at least, so I don’t have to worry about their revival.
The next four guys aren’t as easy, especially since one of them has the nerve to grunt before he falls to the floor. And he’s wearing something metallic, which makes a harsh noise as his body meets the carved stone underfoot.
“What was that?” says the supercilious fellow at the front of the room. He’s wearing a ridiculous overlong robe that’s studded with more gems than the total I’ve seen in my entire life, which life has included, among many other adventures, a trip to the gemstone mine just outside Choryn’s less-interesting pole.
“That?” says Lasson. “I thought that was the sound of your ego crashing to the floor.” He’s always good for an appropriate joke. And he’s got the steadiest nerves of anyone I know.
As much as I would like to now unsheathe a sword, throw my cape back over my right shoulder, and mow down the lot of these Engra troops with a few choice slices, I have no sword or sheath or cape. So I back into a pillar and make myself as invisible as possible.
“You,” the jewel-heavy monarch says, pointing to the hulking trooper to his immediate right. “Investigate.”
“Yes, Your Radiance,” the trooper says.
Your Radiance? Well, the guy is rather, uh, sparkly.
Lasson coughs, probably to cover up the same laugh that I’m having a hard time suppressing. While no one’s paying attention, I down two more of the troopers, but now there are only a handful left, so my actions are about to become more noticeable.
Because of that, and because I see no point in wasting any more time, I jump out from behind my pillar and just start mowing down the lot of them, careful not to get Lasson, who’s weighted down with an impressive set of chains.
I guess it’s the element of surprise, or maybe some good, old-fashioned Chorynean luck, but I’m quite successful until I come up against the hulking fellow, the only trooper who’s had time to draw a weapon. By now, the rest of them are on the very shiny floor, unconscious.
“Kill,” the king says in a breaking-apart voice.
But despite this order and despite the lumbering trooper’s blast at me, my left arm manages to take the brunt of it, and I have just enough time to change the setting on my firepulse before I nail the guy, who goes down with a yelp, his now-unconscious hulking mass bleeding in one very uncomfortable place.
Because I’ll be damned if he’s not going to hurt at least as much as I’m going to tomorrow. Well, in fact, right now.
There might be blood running down my arm, and maybe it’s gushing a bit as well, but I’m in a fine mood. It’s just me, Lasson, and a very scared-looking Radiance left in this oversized showpiece now.
I change the firepulse again and use the concentrated beam to sear through Lasson’s shackles. They really did not want him to escape.
“Did you have lunch yet?” I ask Lasson as I use the firepulse while he works apart the chains.
“I didn’t even get breakfast,” he says, rubbing his wrists when they’re finally out of the manacles.
I hand Lasson the firepulse so he can finish off getting himself free and walk toward Radiance himself, who’s been slowly—in that robe, slowly is the only speed he’s got—backing away into the corner, where I see a small door.
“Thinking of leaving?” I say. “So soon?”
This seems to anger the guy, who stands up straight, puffs out his chest, and says, “What are two low-down Chorynean devils doing here on Engra?”
“Helping out our friends,” Lasson says. He’s rid himself of his chains and he’s standing next to me. He hands me back the firepulse and I nonchalantly aim it at the king.
“What are you doing on Engra?” I say.
Don’t let him leave, says Wilm over the comm. We’ll be there in a moment.
“I have hereditary rule over Engra,” the king says. “The throne is rightfully mine.”
“And that gives you the right to take away someone’s medical license?” Lasson says.
“I knew this was personal all along,” the king says, then tilts his head as if he’s listening to something. “And . . . and I’ll make sure that you’re executed . . . second, so you can watch that traitor Chlo Nightbird die first.”
Lasson starts to go for the king, but I hold him back.
“You wouldn’t want to miss this guy’s public trial, would you?” I say.
“Damn right I would,” Lasson says, grabbing the firepulse from me, changing the setting, and taking aim at the king.
Niya
“How dare he lock the entrance behind him,” I say as Nik, Chlo, and I work to pry it open. Fortunately there’s a full complement of tools on the raft, so at least we don’t have to attempt this with our bare hands.
“Zav is going to throw him in the brig when we get back,” Nik says. “General, indeed.”
“Let me lock him up,” Chlo says as she uses her doctoring skills to force open the entry.
“Let me help,” I say, and Chlo and Nik both give me a look, but I’m not sure what it means.
We finally get the entryway open, just in time to see Joston get shot. But he looks like he’s okay, so we edge forward cautiously, waiting to see what happens next. The king himself could be armed. We have no way of knowing. And Lasson is free now.
“I’m going to lock him up too,” Chlo says in a whisper to Nik. “This is all his fault.”
Then we see Lasson start toward the king, but Joston holds him back, saying something about a trial. We’re not close enough to hear.
But when Lasson surprises us by taking the firepulse from Joston’s hand, Chlo, Nik, and I rush toward him.
“Lasson, don’t shoot,” I say, and he lowers the weapon a bit.
“There has to be a trial,” Nik says.
“This is the trial,” Lasson says. It seems we won’t be able to stop him.
Then the king shocks all of us. He steps out of his fabulous robe—a robe I’ve seen only in images, never in person—and leaves it lying on the floor behind him, then gets down on his knees in front of it, and bows his head.
Without the robe, he looks like a weak child. He may be a weak child.
Lasson’s so taken aback that he lowers the firepulse. The blood drains from Joston’s face. Nik sighs a heavy sigh. Chlo shakes her head.
“You’re just a kid,” Joston says, saying what all of us are thinking.
“I don’t know how to be king,” the king says. “Look at what a wreck I’ve made of everything.”
The rebels, all wearing dark masks, crash into the royal chamber, their weapons aimed at the king, who’s now on all fours, panting for breath.
I see Joston talking to the leader, who’s taken off his mask. This is the attacker Chlo saved all those years ago, but I can’t hear what he and Joston are saying, but I do see them both nodding.
“Weapons down,” the rebel leader says, and his cohorts obey. They’re fierce-looking, dressed in black and, except for their leader, their faces are all still covered.
“What happened?” Chlo says.
“I . . . I didn’t want this,” the king says. “I was forced. My father—” The king pulls the comm off his ear and hurls it across the room. He’s obviously been taking orders, not giving them.
“It was your father who exiled Chlo?” Lasson says.
“Yes,” the king says. He’s sitting on the floor now, and he pushes back against the robe, but it’s so heavy it doesn’t budge.
“I was training to be an explorer,” the king says. He looks over at the rebels. “Father!”
“You are just kidding me,” Joston says. “Two minutes ago you were threatening to execute both Lasson and Chlo.”
“Two minutes ago, you were alive,” says one of the rebels, who pulls the dark mask down from his face, lifts his hand cannon, and shoots at the king.
Joston
I grab the firepulse out of Lasson’s hand. I don’t have time to feel for the setting and I may not have enough time to shoot before we all get killed by this supposed rebel.
I aim center mass, just like Joston Parst would do. Right now I feel I have more in common with him than just my unfortunate first name.
I shoot.
The “rebel” goes down. He’s clutching his chest.
“I’ll see you flayed for this,” he says to me while he fights for breath.
“Father,” says the king, who himself is not quite dead. Chlo, true to her medical oaths, is tending to him. “Do something!” Chlo says to us, nodding at the guy I just shot. “He’s going to die!” Chlo says.
But none of us moves. None of us cares enough to save the king/rebel, the cause of so much devastation and ruin, right up to not just manipulating, but shooting his own son.
Then Niya pushes past me and goes over to check the king/rebel’s pulse.
“He’s still alive,” Niya says, looking over at Chlo.
“Apply pressure,” Chlo says to Niya before she goes back to tending to the boy king.
Niya leans down and pushes on the king-as-rebel’s chest and he reaches up his hands, locking them around Niya’s neck.
Wilm takes out his sidearm, but before he has a chance to shoot, I do.
For a not-brief-enough moment, the stealthy monarch’s hands are still around Niya’s neck and I raise my firepulse to shoot him again, but then his arms go lax, a great, heaving rattle escapes his mouth, and he finally dies.
So much for staying on Engra to help out the rebels.
It looks like my work for the revolution is just about done.