“Brace the door.” Kol rested his flesh-and-blood hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “Get the table against it. Block it as best you can. And stay quiet. Meet us in the bathroom when you’re done.”
Kol could hear the booted footfalls of the Baron’s infantry. They were right outside, no more than seventy feet away. They could have the door down in moments.
Their vehicle’s guns could slag that entire wing of motel rooms, and kill them all. But they wouldn’t. The Baron wanted them alive to face his judgment.
Duncan nodded. The sound of the troopers’ footsteps scattered, a divided effort. They were searching. They did not know their room.
Duncan ran to the table and removed their belongings – his backpack, a folder of Max’s notes, and the small set of screwdrivers Kol carried to maintain his prosthetic.
“Leave it all, except our weapons, ammunition, and a few ration packs,” Kol said. “There’s no time. They already know. Brace the door. Meet us.”
“Right.” Duncan cleared the table and then gripped it on either side.
“Max, we’re heading into the bathroom.” Kol clasped his gun and sword belt. “I’ll push you, if that’s fine with you.”
Max nodded. He glanced over his shoulder toward him. “Let me know if I can do anything to help.”
“Save your strength.” Kol pushed Max into the bathroom. He turned the wheelchair so Max sat facing him and the bathroom door. “I’m going to lift you out the window and get you safely on the ground. Then I’ll climb out after you.”
Kol unlocked the window and slid it open. He listened. No footsteps. No speech. No sound, except a rustling from the main motel room, where Duncan was working, and a single, staccato scream in the distance. Another guest had encountered the Rifle Corps troops.
“Kol.” Max rested his hand on his arm. “I will never fit. You and Duncan might not fit, but you only have a chance if you leave me. I’ll be no good to you if I fall from the window and break an arm. And without my wheelchair, how can we escape?
“We’ll all get out.” Kol turned to his brother. “I can lift you with my prosthetic. I can lift hundreds of pounds with those fingers. I can lower you to the ground in a sitting position. You’ll be there just long enough for me to join you. Then we’ll force the storage-shed door. We’ll find somewhere to hide in there. We only need to hold out until the Alliance arrives.”
The window would be snug. It was less than two feet square. Either they would fit through it or Kol had led his brother and his oldest friend to death. They would die because he had found a poor hiding place at the motel, because he’d been too tired to flee to the Alliance, after the battle. If they’d simply picked up Max and left, if he’d placed them at the mercy of Littlefield, Max would be safe. Even if no one there believed he and Duncan had opposed the Liberty Corps, Max would be safe.
They could not die for his choices.
“I can hide the wheelchair in the shower before I leave,” Kol said. “I can carry you as far as I need to. We can come back after…”
Hissing roared into the bedroom, behind them. It sounded like a leaf blower. Kol could not hear Max’s response. He could hear nothing over the machinery and the rush of air.
“I’m going to raise you now.” Kol hoped Max could hear him. He gripped his brother under the arms at the same time something struck the other side of the wall. Kol turned back in time to find Duncan staggering into the bathroom.
“What’s wrong?” But Kol already suspected what was happening. The Baron’s forces were gassing them.
Duncan gasped, but he did not reply. He collapsed onto the floor, his teeth clacking shut when he met the tile.
Kol pulled Duncan out of the way, with his prosthetic hand, and slammed the door. He was left with an impossible choice. Even if he got Max from the window, he could never pull Duncan with him, unconscious, not with the gas filtering in, not with the Baron’s forces surrounding them. But if he could save Max, he had to try. Kol had lost Max the use of his legs. He would not lose his brother his life. He and Duncan had made their choices.
Kol crouched to lift Max, but his choice had passed.
“One meter lock seal!” A voice yelled. A dark opening, an accordion tube, sealed over the window with a final slurp.
The noise of the gas doubled. Gray vapor oozed from the tube.
Kol took his last gasp of clean air. He caught only the faintest whiff of something chemical, a caustic fume. He had one option left, an option that was only his – that had already saved him twice. He set Max back in his wheelchair. His brother did not speak. His mouth was clamped shut, conserving oxygen, holding his breath.
Kol controlled his body. He had learned to rule his mind. He would command the power, his power.
Kol repeated the mantra. Control the body. Rule the mind. He pulled Max and Duncan close, aided by his prosthetic, positioning them around himself.
Control the body. Rule the mind. Save his family.
Kol ignored the rush of the gas and the shouts of their assailants. He ignored his past. He released his plans for the future. Shape or die. For the third time, Shape or die!
The blue energy appeared, a low dome, encircling Kol and Duncan and Max. Kol felt his brother squeeze his arm, but he could give no thought to the attention. This was not a battle with a quick solution or an active escape. Kol did not know how long he could hold his shield against the onslaught of gas, or how long the oxygen in his bubble would last.
How long didn’t matter. Kol turned to Max. He could barely see his brother. He could barely see Duncan.
The inside of the shield was fogging, the particles of gas slipping through his energy. He did not understand enough about his own Shaping to halt the fumes. Max gasped and sucked on the toxic air, his lungs unable to fight any longer. Kol’s mind was warped by the Shaping, but in some dim part of himself that still felt fear, he knew he was not far behind.
Kol breathed fully and deeply of the gas, his lungs forcing him to inhale the poison, choking, surrendering to the lack of oxygen.
Kol’s focus, his shield, and his consciousness left him.
* * *
Kol’s eyes and nose and throat burned. He smelled ammonia and wrenched backward.
He lay on his side on the ground, the earth beneath his cheek. He reached to his face to rub his eyes and felt the familiar weight of his Captain’s armor. His clothing had been changed.
“Disappointing, Mr. Maros.” A man spoke, a voice with clipped, exact diction. “And to think, only weeks ago, I looked forward to our eventual meeting. What a weakness expectations are, wouldn’t you say?”
Hands seized Kol under the arms and moved him into a sitting position. A mist sprayed into his face, a mist that forced its way under his eyelids and between his lips. He spluttered, but he felt the burning ease. He blinked through the moisture and saw his surroundings.
The man who supported Kol wore the same style of helmet that Adrian ‘Nine-flails’ had donned in battle, but with a long trunk-like tube extending from the faceplate. This person released him and stepped away, clearing Kol’s view of the man who had spoken.
This man was tall, gaunt, and dressed in the white armor of a Liberty Corps officer. He wore a dark cape, clasped at his shoulders by gold and purple rank insignia. Red stripes ran along the sides of his sleeves and pant legs, to the hem of his pants and the ends of his gloves. A sword with a long black hilt was sheathed at his left hip. It had gold inlay and glittered with gemstones. It looked old, not Liberty Corps design.
The man did not have the build of an officer. His limbs were thin enough that his uniform tunic and pants could only be tailor-made. His cheeks were actually sunken. His hair was gray and cut very short.
“I am Baron R.K. Helmont. I am here to deal your judgment, and the judgments of your accomplices.”
Beyond Helmont waited the hovercraft that had arrived at the motel, or an identical one, now standing on four landing struts. It rested beside another landed aircraft of a design Kol did not recognize. It was tall, like a giant bell, with wings extended from each side. Two armored figures stood outside this craft. They each wore red and white armor and a slit-visored helmet. The knight who’d sprayed Kol walked to join them.
Open desert lay in all directions, empty, no roads, no civilization, only distant snow-capped peaks to the north.
“I tricked the others into helping me.” Kol spat the liquid from his mouth. “I have no accomplices. My brother believes every word I say. Agent Racz still thinks Sloan was the true turncoat. What a poor investigation you’ve led, if you still don’t know that.”
Helmont smiled. He peeled the glove from his left hand, one finger at a time. Then he reached forward. Kol looked into the Baron’s eyes, expecting a slap that did not come.
The Baron’s hand was hot when it pressed to Kol’s bare cheek. Kol tried to turn away, but he couldn’t. He could not move. An unseen power had taken him, gripped his arms tight to his shoulders.
The Baron’s hand burned against Kol’s flesh, as if ready to start his face on fire. Kol remembered the power of the woman who had been Orson Gregory’s partner, the elemental. Was fire the Baron’s ability? No.
Baron Helmont raised his hand, still pressed to Kol’s cheek. Kol rose with it. The invisible grip moved him in parallel to the Baron’s touch. Kol was pulled from the earth, the tips of his toes barely touched the dirt. He felt prickling at the nape of his neck, the presence of powerful Shaping, not that he needed the physical cue.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Do not mistake me,” Helmont said. “I know everything. I know your weakness and your defection. I know your brother’s corrosive influence. I know Mr. Racz’s misplaced loyalty. This is not a conversation or an investigation.” He pulled his hand away. The grip vanished. Kol staggered, when his feet were forced to hold his weight, but he found his strength.
“And yet, you did nearly evade us.” Helmont turned his back to Kol. He looked out at the empty desert. “Such an expansive territory. If the Pacific Alliance were more covert about their diplomatic movements, I might never have known they planned to recover you. But even so, it was no simple task to gas every room at fifteen establishments. It takes a great effort to find the proverbial needle in a haystack, but I am a very patient man.”
Kol had time to think now, free air to breathe while the Baron savored his success. Helmont was a Shaper to lead his knights, that was undoubtedly true, but Kol needed only a moment to close his prosthetic fingers around the Baron’s throat. He couldn’t let himself think of Max or Duncan – only the Baron.
“The Shape you’ve discovered is notable.” Helmont still faced away from him. “There are other instances of personal force-field manipulation, but not from a baseline specimen. It’s a curious thing, and there lies the great pity of the Shaping Disciplines – nothing to be learned from corpses.”
Helmont motioned to the shuttle and the knights who stood outside it. “Bring the condemned and my ledgerman. It is time.”
A segmented ramp lowered from the bell aircraft. Five figures followed it to the surface, two more knights, a Liberty Corps officer with a long, black datapad, Max in his wheelchair, and Duncan.
Max held himself with poise, even without hope of escape, even at the end of his life. He was straight-backed and expressionless.
Duncan had also been forced into a set of officer armor. Even from that distance, Kol could see the slump of his shoulders, the droop of his head, accepted inevitability, resigned fate.
This was Kol’s own doing. His choices had killed them. The only victory left was to avenge his family. Kill their executioner.
Max and Duncan were brought alongside Kol, forced into a line by the Knights. All three condemned now faced the Baron. The Ledgerman stood beside his master.
“We gather here to deliver justice to traitors and dissidents,” Helmont said. “We gather to balance the scales and to make an example of betrayers. May the deaths and judgments dealt be an example that brings safety to the Corps. Ledgerman, recite charges and sentencing.”
“Yes, my lord.” The Ledgerman removed a small oblong device from his belt. It sprouted twin propellers and flew above the gathering, before settling to a sustained hover in line with Kol’s face. The Ledgerman raised his datapad.
“In the case of Kolben Maros,” he said. “You face one count of treason, one count of conspiring with an enemy nation or organization, one count of transmitting sensitive data, one count of espionage, one count of conspiracy and two counts of resisting arrest.” He pressed his hand to the screen. “A plummet of one hundred meters would be appropriate.”
“Your plummet will not be performed, at this time.” Helmont flexed his bare left hand. “You serve at the pleasure of the Czar, himself, and can be punished only by his command. But the Lost Park Office is in a time of meditation, and cannot be interrupted. Until Czar Hawthorne can be consulted, you will be passed into the custody of my research corps. Perhaps we will learn the secret to the unusual Shape you’ve discovered.”
Kol saw Duncan’s eyes flick to him. Max did not respond. Both of his arms hung to either side of the wheelchair, his attention fixed forward.
“Carry on, Ledgerman,” Helmont said.
“In the case of Duncan Racz,” the legerman answered. His hovering device moved in line with Duncan, likely to film or photograph him, Kol realized. “You face two counts of murder, two counts of reckless discharge of a firearm, one count of treason, one count of conspiracy, one count of disrupting a field operation, and one count of resisting arrest. A plummet of one hundred meters would be appropriate.”
Duncan stiffened. Kol could see him tense out of the corner of his eye, but he did not respond. When Helmont reached for Duncan, Kol would be ready.
“And Mr. Maros?” Helmont said. The hovering device moved to Max.
“Maxwell Maros faces one count of espionage,” the ledgerman said, “one count of transmitting sensitive data, one count of conspiracy, and one count of resisting arrest. A plummet of fifty meters would be…”
The ledgerman’s face caved in. His datapad shattered in a shower of sparks and metal and glass. His body and the hovering drone both fell to the earth – all before Kol saw the gun in Max’s hands or processed what had happened. The other knights yelled and jumped away. Even Helmont flinched aside.
Max had a gun? How had it not been found?
Max fired a second time, to seemingly no effect. Then the gun tore itself free from Max’s hand and pin-wheeled away, whipped far across the desert.
“Your marksmanship falls short of your reputation, Mr. Maros.” Helmont raised his hand.
Max’s wheelchair moved on its own. It rolled in a lazy, wide, circle, crawling around Helmont, his knights, the ledgerman’s corpse, and the condemned. Kol clenched his prosthetic hand. Helmont was ready and watchful and too far away. He would be caught if he struck now.
The wheelchair stopped. Its motor revved. Kol could see it wobbling, Max’s hand tight on the controls, motor louder and louder, as it strained against the Baron’s mental attack.
With a pop and a puff of smoke, the motor surrendered. The wheelchair circled the gathering once. Then it sped up. Max did not speak. He made no sound, even as he was propelled without any control. The wheelchair moved faster on the second loop, then faster still. It tilted sideways, but it maintained its tight arc. It touched the ground by only its right wheels.
Kol had to attack. He had to do something, even if all he managed was a distraction. The tingling at Kol’s neck intensified. It was like electricity, like the static power of the moments before a lightning strike.
Could Kol make a new shield to stop Max’s chair? Fight Shaping with Shaping? Would that save Max? What would happen to someone if they crashed into such a barrier? Kol didn’t know. He knew nothing – nothing about his abilities, nothing about Helmont’s power.
Before Kol acted, the wheelchair touched back down onto all four wheels. It sped into the distance. Then the chair came to a sudden stop. It jerked forward.
Max was thrown from the chair. He couldn’t raise his arms in time to protect his face. He struck the earth, sliding on his stomach, his face in the dirt, his hands splayed to either side. He didn’t cry out, but he also didn’t move, once he came to a stop.
“The death of my ledgerman will add two hundred meters to your plummet.” Helmont flicked his wrist. The wheelchair reversed course, away from Max. “I will throw you high enough that the chill and the thin air will kill you long before you hit the ground.” The Baron kept his precise manner of speaking, but Kol could feel Helmont’s fury, the mental power, more electricity down Kol’s spine.
“Wait!” Duncan raised both hands. “Wait! We have information that would have been useful to the Pacific Alliance. That information is just as useful to you. We have information about the Aesir crew. Information no one else has.”
“I’m assuming you are suggesting an agreement?” Helmont asked. “A reduced or lenient sentence, in exchange for your assistance? Is that correct?”
“Yes!” Duncan cried.
“You intrigue me,” Helmont said. “But not enough to avert your judgment.”
“Archie Grant!” Duncan shouted the name. “Archie Grant was supposed to meet Enoa Cloud and pick her up to secure her aunt’s Dreamside Road key, before Daniel Tucker murdered him. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. If we die, our Dreamside Road investigation dies with us.”
“Duncan,” Max screamed from the spot where Helmont had left him. “No! This will help no one.”
“On the contrary,” Helmont said. “This has helped me immensely. Thank you, Mr. Racz, but I’m sure the five other Dreamside Road investigations can pick up the threads of your work. You are not indispensible, but I will perform your sentence with haste. A shame it won’t be properly documented.” The Baron stepped toward Duncan.
Kol lunged. He had only feet to travel to close his fingers around Helmont, to break the Baron. Nothing else mattered. Once Helmont was dead…
Something unseen gripped his prosthetic hand and held it in place. His feet slipped out from under him. He would have fallen, if the invisible hand didn’t hold him steady.
“Did you think I wouldn’t study our own prosthesis?” Helmont actually laughed, a bemused chortle. “Did you think I would be unprepared for the hand the Corps gave you? Truly, boy, you fall short of your promise and potential.” The grip on the prosthetic vanished. Kol fell onto his back.
Then Helmont struck out with his left hand. Duncan raised his fists to defend himself, but the Baron batted them aside and pressed his open palm to Duncan’s cheek. Helmont raised his arm in one, quick swing.
Duncan was thrown into the sky.
It was as if gravity had reversed and the outer atmosphere pulled Duncan from the ground. He fell upward. He let out a sharp intake of breath, but he rose so fast, he didn’t scream. He didn’t let out any audible sound, not until he reached the top of his ascent.
Gravity welcomed Duncan back under its control. He plummeted, screaming, limbs flailing, in mindless panic, death for him waiting on the ground.
Kol stood. He screamed too. This would not happen. He would not let it happen. He ran toward Duncan. He couldn’t hope to catch him. How could he? They would both be killed in the attempt, but it was reflex, to rush to his friend.
One of the knights charged at Kol, hands outstretched, one held a blade.
The knight could not reach him. The armored figure met a wall of light and was repulsed. The knight flew backward. Kol paid no attention to the attack. He barely noticed the knight had been cast aside. He watched Duncan falling, still screaming, hurtling toward death.
Duncan did not strike the ground. He fell onto a thin blue barrier, almost invisible. Kol felt the weight, as if he’d caught the full mass of his friend, as if Duncan had fallen across his shoulders. Duncan choked, the air forced from his lungs, even with his fall cut dramatically short.
Kol ran beneath Duncan. He tried to lower the barrier he’d gathered, to guide Duncan safely back to the ground.
The field of energy descended. Kol tried not to think about the reality of what he was attempting. He feared that cold rationality would disrupt whatever power of emotion and focus that he’d found. He ruled his mind and the field descended further still.
Something slammed into Kol’s shoulder. It struck him hard enough to crack his armor and throw him.
Kol released the shield that held Duncan. He fell the remaining eight feet to the ground.
Kol jumped to his feet. He saw the object that had hit him, a single gray rectangle, like a metal brick. He didn’t know where it had come from, but he learned.
Another three projectiles rose from Baron Helmont’s belt and pelted toward him. Kol sprinted away from them. Two of the projectiles missed. The third met yet another wall of light and was cast away.
Kol found Duncan unmoving. His armor was broken and scorched, his clothing torn. His nose and hands wept blood. Some of his scraped fingers pointed in unnatural directions. Kol knelt beside him.
Kol felt for Duncan’s pulse. He could not find one.
Armored hands grabbed Kol from behind, forcing him away. He tried to summon another wall, anything to separate him from his attackers. The hands released him. A low voice shouted, more shocked than pained. Kol felt warmth spread through his body and saw a blue glow at the edges of his vision.
Duncan opened his eyes. He reached out and gripped Kol’s armored forearm. He did not speak, but he was breathing! His breaths were ragged, shallow.”
Another of Helmont’s projectiles struck Kol in the face, sending him sideways. If his shield or his untrained shaping sense gave him any warning, he didn’t notice. Kol’s cheek swelled where the flesh split. Pain radiated through his face, maybe a broken bone. Knights seized Kol – multiple pairs of hands, dragging him backward.
“Bravo!” Baron Helmont began a slow measured clap. Some of the knights joined in. “Quite the performance.”
You will answer for your crimes here, Helmont.” Max yelled.
“I’m sure. I am no match for a young, untrained traitor and his gimp brother, but perhaps I was too quick to judge. I underestimated you, young Kolben.” Helmont offered another chortle. “Gentlemen, we’re following the Delta Procedures for Mr. Racz.”
The remaining knights pulled Duncan onto a hovering cart and bore him away, toward the bell-shaped shuttle. Duncan stared at Kol. He reached out a hand toward him. Then he fell back against the hovercart. He stopped moving.
“You should be proud of yourself, young man,” Helmont said. “You’ve won stays for your entire party. It is always of great use to our Czar to conduct research on paraplegics. Maxwell will be useful for that purpose. And Mr. Racz, if he survives, he had two Shapes acting upon him concurrently, such a rare occurrence. We will learn a very great deal from your bodies before you receive your final sentencing.”
Kol watched as the knights guided the cart and the unmoving Duncan back into the ship.
“And when it comes time for your sentence,” Helmont continued. “That too will be useful. Your deaths will be filmed. All will be documented. Every enemy of the Liberty Corps will see you die. They will know your death. They will know all of your deaths. Your lives and stories will be an essential Liberty Corps tool. Consequence will maintain order, Mr. Maros. Consequence and fear will build the empire you abandoned.”