The Soldiers of Halla tpa-10 Page 10

  I heard a woman’s voice call to them. “Stop there!”

  It made the hair go up on the back of my neck. I knew that voice. My first reaction was to scream. I didn’t, because it was also good news. Sort of. It meant that we were in the right place.

  “Bring their leader forward,” the woman commanded.

  Patrick and I carefully maneuvered around the pillar where we were hiding to see her. She stood next to the throne on top of the platform, looking down on the guards and their victims. She wore a long, deep red robe with golden trim. Her dark brown hair was piled up on top of her head like some kind of fashion model, as opposed to the way she normally wore it, which was straight down. Under other circumstances, I’d say she was beautiful. These weren’t other circumstances.

  I wanted to leap onto that platform and strangle Nevva Winter.

  Two Ravinian guards stepped forward, holding one of the victims. It was an older guy with shaggy gray hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. His face looked swollen. A trickle of blood oozed from the side of his mouth. He’d been beaten. The red-shirt guards dragged him to the center of the Ravinian star and pushed him down onto his knees. He didn’t resist. Of the four prisoners he looked to be the weakest. The other three each had two guards holding them. One of them was the powerful-looking hero guy with long black hair. His head was down, his chin against his chest. He may have been beaten up, but he was alert. I saw him stealing quick glances, sizing up the situation. I guess he didn’t want the Ravinians to know that he wasn’t done yet. It made me like this guy even more.

  Nevva drifted down the stairs and approached the man on his knees. Her eyes were locked on him. He didn’t lift his own eyes to meet her gaze. When Nevva spoke, she actually sounded as if she had sympathy for the guy. I knew better. Nevva was heartless.

  “It would be better for all of you if you told us what you know,” she said softly, as if trying to put him at ease.

  The guy took a deep, pained breath and twisted his head to look up at her.

  “Better?” he rasped. “Are you saying that Ravinia will show compassion?”

  “I’m saying that if you refuse to speak, things will go badly for you. For you all.”

  The guy chuckled. It made him cough. It was a sickening, gurgling hack. There was blood down there. I could feel his body tense in pain. I thought back to the guy at the zoo that the Ravinian guards were kicking. These guys must have gotten the same treatment.

  “I don’t see how things could get much worse than they already are,” he wheezed.

  A voice boomed from on top of the platform. “Believe me, things can always be worse.”

  I felt Patrick tense up. I must have done the same. That voice always had that kind of effect. My instincts were right. We were definitely in the right place. We both looked up to the platform to see the proof.

  Saint Dane stepped in front of the throne.

  It was definitely the demon, but I had to do a double take. He didn’t look the same. He was still thin and stood very tall. He still had those cold blue-white eyes. His voice was the same. But the guy standing there looked more like Saint Dane’s younger brother than Saint Dane.

  His hair was back. It was as long as I remembered from when I first met him, before it burned off, leaving a bald, scarred dome. It was parted in the middle and fell straight past his shoulders. But it wasn’t gray. It was black. Jet-black. He wasn’t wearing that familiar black suit, either. The cut of the suit he now wore was the same as the old one. It still buttoned tight under his chin, but it was deep red with golden braids around the cuffs and collar. The strangest thing of all was that he looked younger than I remembered. If I were to guess, I would have said that Saint Dane always looked like he was in his fifties. He now looked to be in his thirties. He didn’t seem to be playing a role, either. It was definitely Saint Dane as himself. But it wasn’t. I hate to write this, but I have to be true to what I saw. This new and improved Saint Dane actually looked… yikes… handsome.

  Patrick was every bit as stunned as I was. He looked at me as if to ask, “Is that really him?”

  I nodded. It didn’t matter what color his hair was or what kind of silly suit he wore; it was him.

  The demon walked casually down the stairs, headed for the kneeling man.

  “You are quite brave,” Saint Dane said to the man. It was a compliment, but it was cold. “You are all brave. I commend you. However, you must know that your cause is lost. How many of your rebel band are left? A few dozen? How many have you seen die? Too many. Such a waste. Don’t you want that to end?”

  The guy on his knees was breathing heavily. He kept his eyes on the ground.

  “Look at me,” Saint Dane said softly. The guy didn’t.

  “I said look at me!” he bellowed while grabbing the guy’s chin and forcing his head up.

  Nevva took a step back. I wasn’t sure if she was bothered by this or she didn’t want to get in the way if Saint Dane started swinging.

  “You have a choice,” Saint Dane said, once again calm.

  “You always have a choice. You can tell us what you know. A simple answer. One word. That’s all I need, and your suffering will end.”

  “I don’t know what you’re asking me,” the guy seethed. He was holding back anger. I knew the feeling.

  “Of course you do,” Saint Dane said jovially. “When you entered the flume, you did not come here. That much I know for certain.”

  I grabbed Patrick’s arm. What was Saint Dane talking about? Who were these guys?

  “I’m not sure how you ended up here,” Saint Dane continued. “Obviously it was before the flumes were destroyed. That is of no interest to me. What I want to know is where you were sent when you first entered the flume. Is that so much to ask?”

  My heart raced. These guys weren’t Travelers. But who were they? My heart leaped. Was it possible? Could these guys be the very people we were looking for? Were they some of the enemies of Ravinia who were sent into exile? I was excited and terrified at the same time. Excited that we may have found them. Terrified because Saint Dane had found them too.

  “So tell me, my friend,” Saint Dane said to the man on his knees. “All I need is a word. The name of a territory. Where is it that you ended up when you entered the flume? Tell me and your suffering will end.”

  “All right,” the guy wheezed. “I’ll tell you.”

  I saw the other victims tense up. The Ravinian guards held them tight.

  “Wonderful,” Saint Dane exclaimed.

  “Come closer,” the guy said with a raspy voice.

  Saint Dane walked up to the guy and towered over him.

  The guy whispered something so softly that I couldn’t hear. Neither did Saint Dane, for he bent over to get closer. When Saint Dane was down on the same level as his prisoner, the guy spit in his face. Even from where we were, I could see that there was more blood than saliva. Saint Dane didn’t flinch. The Ravinians started to pull the guy back, but Saint Dane held up his hand.

  “Leave him be,” he said calmly.

  The demon got right back in the guy’s face. He didn’t even wipe off the blood and spit that dribbled off his chin. He locked eyes with the poor guy. I knew what that felt like. The guy was in serious trouble.

  “I will kill your three friends first,” Saint Dane said icily. “It will be slow. It will be painful. I will break their bones with my own hands, starting with their feet and working my way up their spines. They will bleed. The best they can hope for is that the pain will cause them to pass out, for drowning in your own blood is a horrible way to die. Is that the fate you wish to condemn them to? The choice is yours, my bold friend.”

  The guy didn’t look away from Saint Dane, though I felt his fear. He wasn’t being bold; he was desperately trying to hold on to his sanity. He started to whimper. His body shook as he was overcome by emotion. Still, he didn’t break eye contact with Saint Dane.

  “Tell me,” Saint Dane said with mock kindness. “Tell me. The tru
th will be your salvation.”

  Finally, in a haunted voice that seemed to come from a tortured place, the guy muttered the single word that Saint Dane was looking for.

  ”Cloral.”

  “Cloral?” Saint Dane repeated.

  The guy nodded and dropped his head in defeat.

  The other three prisoners seemed to deflate.

  Saint Dane allowed himself a small smile. He backed away. Then, with one quick movement he grabbed the long silver weapon from one of the Ravinian guards and pointed it at his victim.

  “No!” Nevva shouted.

  The prisoner let out an anguished cry.

  Saint Dane didn’t react to either of them.

  Paf!

  The sound of an electric charge cut through the room as the weapon fired a deadly charge. The two Ravinian guards backed off quickly, so as not to be burned. The prisoner tried to dive away, but it was too late. A moment later he was a cinder. As with the guy we saw under the Eiffel Tower, the victim’s body became a thin tower of ash that dangled in the air for an impossible second, then fell to the ground in a heap of black soot.

  Patrick let out a small, pained gasp.

  My head spun. Saint Dane had killed the man with no more thought or remorse than if he had swatted a fly.

  “Kill them all,” he commanded while casually tossing the weapon aside. It clattered onto the tiled floor, its deadly work complete. Saint Dane strode for the stairs that led up to the throne, his mission accomplished.

  “You can’t,” Nevva called after him.

  Saint Dane slowly turned back to her.

  “Why is that? I am keeping my promise. I told him that their suffering would be over. His most certainly is, and theirs will be as well.”

  “I’m just saying that there may be another way,” she said, regaining her icy composure. For a second I thought I actually sensed compassion from Nevva. It didn’t last long.

  “There is no other way, Nevva dear,” Saint Dane said patiently. “They must die. They must all die. As distasteful as that may be to you, it is the only way that we will-”

  He stopped himself in midsentence. His eyes flashed. He was suddenly on alert. He looked up, his eyes scanning everywhere and nowhere, as if trying to make sense of what he was feeling.

  “What is the matter?” Nevva asked.

  Saint Dane held his hand up to quiet her. He looked around, as if confused.

  “Impossible,” he said aloud, but it seemed more like he was talking to himself.

  Something was wrong. Something he hadn’t expected. There were very few times that I had seen Saint Dane thrown. He always had every angle figured. Every move was calculated, planned for, and anticipated. Not this time. Whatever was bothering him, it had come as a complete surprise. This might be going too far, but in that moment Saint Dane seemed nervous.

  I was pretty sure I knew why.

  “Get back to Solara,” I whispered to Patrick. “Tell Uncle Press everything you saw.”

  Patrick’s eyes were wild. “What are you going to do?” he whispered back.

  “I’m going to shake things up a little.”

  I knew what Saint Dane was sensing. I knew why he was confused. He thought I was done. He thought we were done. He was wrong, and that’s what he was sensing. He felt our presence. I figured I might as well confirm things for him.

  “Pendragon, don’t-,” Patrick warned.

  I stepped out from behind the pillar into the light.

  “Man, that suit is just wicked cool!” I called out.

  Saint Dane spun toward me. I was right. I was the last person he expected to see wandering into his palace.

  “Hi, Nevva,” I said casually. “You guys get your hair done at the same place? Cute. Love the outfit, too. You’ve got a kinda retro, sixties Star Trek thing going on.”

  Nevva opened her mouth but couldn’t speak. They both looked as if they’d seen a ghost. Maybe they had. Since the moment I’d let Alexander Naymeer fall from the helicopter, I had seen the impossible. I had learned more truths about Halla, Saint Dane, and myself than I could have imagined. I can’t say that I was at peace with any of it. At least, not yet. Most of the news that Uncle Press had given us about the struggle against Saint Dane was bad. Our backs were to the wall. We were running out of time and opportunity. We all knew that this was our last stand. Up until that moment I had been moving forward semi-numb, going through the paces. It all seemed so futile.

  Until that moment.

  I saw fear in Saint Dane’s eyes.

  That told me we may have been down to our last chance, but it was a good chance. He feared us. He feared me. My confidence soared.

  This really wasn’t over.

  Chapter 12

  Every eye in the place was on me. I’m sure that the Ravinian guards and their prisoners had no idea who this wiseass intruder was. You’d think they would have jumped me, but they were waiting for orders from their boss.

  The order didn’t come. Saint Dane stood there with his mouth hanging open. It was awesome. This might be a weird thing to say, but I was enjoying myself. I felt for the first time in, well, the first time ever, that I was one step ahead of him. I had to make sure that I stayed there. I strolled around the circle, acting all nonchalant, looking at the opulent surroundings.

  “I like what you did with the place,” I said, all friendly. “Nothing like a little artwork to freshen up a tomb.”

  Saint Dane and Nevva kept their eyes on me. Nevva looked dumbfounded. Saint Dane just looked confused. I liked that.

  “And look at you!” I said to Saint Dane. “All young and regal looking. What are you now? King? Emperor? Grand Pooh-bah? I had you all wrong. Here I thought all this time you had some master plan for the good of Halla because only you knew what was right for mankind, and all you really wanted was to live in a palace and wear fancy king clothes. Gotta tell you, I’m disappointed.”

  “Be careful, Pendragon,” Patrick warned as he stepped out from behind the pillar.

  Nevva and Saint Dane both shot him a surprised look. I was almost as surprised to see him. I thought he had left for Solara. I didn’t want him there. I had a plan and knew that Patrick would only get in the way. Oh well. I had to stay in control, so I needed to act like this was part of the plan.

  “Yeah,” I announced casually. “Patrick’s back. We’re all back, in case you were wondering. Did you miss us?”

  Saint Dane still hadn’t recovered. I knew that wouldn’t last long.

  “Patrick,” I said calmly. “You should go now.”

  “I–I can’t leave you here. Not like this!”

  “Why not? What could happen?” I asked innocently. “These goons could zap me, there’d be a big ouch, and I’d just end up back in Solara.”

  Nevva and Saint Dane both snapped a look to me. Yes, another shocker. We knew all about Solara. This was fun.

  “It’s true,” I said to Saint Dane. “We’re all back and pretty much up to speed, thanks to Uncle Press. Hard to believe that you and Uncle Press were friends once. I don’t get that one.”

  Saint Dane winced with each new revelation, like I was shooting tiny little arrows at him.

  Patrick took a step toward me. “Pendragon, I-”

  “Patrick,” I said firmly. “Go. I’m serious. Now.”

  I may have sounded casual, but my look told him that I was dead serious. He took a quick, apprehensive look around and nodded. He stepped backward… and disappeared.

  I heard Saint Dane gasp. He actually gasped. It was awesome.

  “Oh, right,” I teased, pretending to have just remembered something important. “We’ve all got the same tools now, demon boy.”

  Saint Dane gathered himself up, stood tall, and fixed his cold blue eyes on me. “Then by all means,” he said, “use them.”

  So much for keeping him off balance. His act was back together, and he was calculating his next move. He knew we couldn’t use the spirit of Solara more than necessary because we would only we
aken it.

  “So what’s the deal?” I asked. “Did you get the Ravinians to steal this cool stuff from all over Earth? I mean, Big Ben? The Eiffel Tower? Is that what this has all come down to? Gathering a bunch of famous stuff and creating a little Ravinian theme park? It’s good to be king, isn’t it?”

  “It’s much more than that, Pendragon,” Nevva said, her voice cracking. Unlike her boss, she was still off balance.

  “Don’t bother, Nevva,” I snapped at her. “I know all about it.”

  “And you are correct,” Saint Dane said, almost jovially. “I have enjoyed taking human form. And why not? If I am going to be the salvation of mankind, why shouldn’t I enjoy a little reward? Is that asking too much?”

  “Nah!” I replied sarcastically. “You’re worth it! And man, you look good for somebody who’s got to be, what, a couple hundred thousand years old? Talk about a makeover. Yikes. The long hair is especially slick. A little glam-rock, but still. Nice.”

  As I spoke, I kept scanning the group, looking for my chance.

  “I am surprised to see you,” Saint Dane growled. “With the collapse of the flumes I felt certain that the last light of Solara would have been dimmed, along with you and your kind. Apparently I was mistaken.”

  I held my arms out and shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “If you know as much as you say,” he continued slyly, “you also know that your existence is hanging by the thinnest of threads.”

  I wanted to ask him where he was getting his own spiritual power from, if it wasn’t Solara, but I didn’t want to admit how much I still didn’t know. I walked toward the three prisoners who were being held by the Ravinian guards. They were the reason I was still there. I had to try and rescue them. If they were exiles, they might know more about the others. It’s why Saint Dane had them there. It’s why he tortured them for information. One thing that Saint Dane said was absolutely correct. If his final conquest of Halla was going to succeed, he had to kill the exiles. Or as many of the seventy thousand as he could find. As long as they lived, Solara lived. Saint Dane was hunting for them just as the Travelers were.