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FARUQ
Pleas for life and howls of death fill my ears. A hastily thrown trip mine detonates beneath the swarming band of Rippers on our left, shearing a whole section of them off at the knees. Another three of my men go down, thrown spears protruding from their chests.
“Kahleit,” I shout, turning and blasting a hole through the chest of a charging Ripper. “Kahleit, where are you?”
Advancing forward, Captain Kahleit parries a spear point with his gleaming saber. The polished steel flashes as he jams it into the gut of another painted man. “I’m here,” he calls back, slicing a Ripper’s head from his shoulders.
“He took my sister through there,” I yell, turning my attention through the giant hole in the ice wall made by the fallen gunship toward the barricaded entryway to the lillipad.
The predatory roar of some unknown beast penetrates the snowstorm. What was that? No time to find out. We’ve got to get inside or we’re all going to be lying dead out here. But how?
A rocket-propelled grenade screams past. The projectile slams into the makeshift barricade, blowing a ragged hole of flying glass and splintered wood right through the middle of it. I turn to see Ghofaun, who drops the RPG launcher to the ground.
“Kahleit, now!” I shout.
“Yes, Sheikh,” Kahleit yells back. He orders a squad with him while the rest of my men shove forward, working to stave off the swarming army of Rippers.
One breaks through the lines, a wild scream upon his lips as he comes for me. With numb fingers, I break the cylinder of the revolver open and fumble with the loose large caliber rounds jangling in my pocket. I pull one free from the fabric pouch, drop it into the cylinder and snap it shut with a flick of my wrist. The hand cannon rises fast, my frozen index finger clenching the trigger. A fireball erupts from the barrel. The large round obliterates the Ripper’s skull in a shower of blood and bone. The headless corpse falls at my feet. My stomach rejects the meal I consumed hours ago, taji beans and roasted Chiori splashing into the snow and across my boots.
Fate, you are a cruel mistress. I was not made for this. I drag the sleeve of my jacket across my mouth with a groan.
Kahleit grabs my arm, his fingers digging against flesh. “We must move, Sheikh. Now.”
“What?” I manage before seeing the answer to my question. The Rippers with their barbaric savagery are not stopping. My men cannot hold them. Mortal terror claims my limbs. Ilah, be merciful.
There’s a flash of golden silk, then another, as two Zopatian monks whirl past, one armed with an eight-foot ashwood staff, the other with the curved blade. The Rippers come, but they cannot land a single blow. The monks twist and spin, their feet dancing on cushions of air. Again and again, their weapons land true, the battered and broken bodies of Rippers piling at their feet.
“With me, Faruq,” Ghofaun’s voice calls out from the madness. He dodges the thrust of a Ripper’s spear and executes a handless cartwheel. The monk’s kukri blade slices through the air and clean through the Ripper’s neck. “Now,” he yells.
Through the blood and the screams, I climb the remains of the hill and run for the opening in the lillipad entrance. The lillipad is enormous and within it, rising out of the rear, is a huge dome of green fire.
Ghofaun clears the way, while Kahleit covers my hasty ingress. I glance down to align the cold brass in my hand with the holes in the cylinder of my wheel gun. My forearm aches from a death grip too long engaged against the rosewood handle of the heavy pistol. I secure four rounds, the fifth dropping into the snow at my feet. No time. I snap the cylinder closed and raise the weapon back to the high ready position.
Mila has destroyed the makeshift barricade and charges through alongside Mos and several Creed—their faces lit by the shimmering green thing beyond.
“Husniya? Where is my sister?” I shout.
Into the inner sanctum we race, but immediately grind to a halt a few meters inside. In our way stands a wall of Graciles, but not just any Graciles. These monsters wear armor plating and carry melee weapons that burn with blue fire. On their backs are cylindrical tanks with hoses that loop over the shoulders and vent with a red steam beneath the nose.
The emerald sphere creeps into the room, dissolving the walls centimeter by centimeter. The gate to unspeakable damnations is still growing.
A voice from the shadows speaks. It’s Vedmak. “Kill them, Merodach.”
The biggest one of the Graciles, the one called Merodach, swings a fiery mace above his head, his eyes wild with rage.
I stare down the monstrous Gracile abomination before me. No more games. “Bring my sister to me and I won’t destroy you all.” My voice shakes with anger, the words bolstering my resolve.
Merodach grunts and bares a sadistic grin as he steps forward.
Mila and Mos glance at each other, then me.
Ilah give me strength.
The towering, armored mute and his brethren come for us. My gold-plated hand cannon levels upon his bulk and fires, the first shot striking low and staggering him. With a scream of rage, he rushes me. My finger jerks against the trigger again and again, each blaze of fire threatening to topple the mad Gracile. One large round left in the cylinder. I dive to the left to avoid a crushing blow from his flaming weapon.
To my side, Kahleit and Ghofaun work together to take down one of the titans with their blades. On my right, the lead Creed with mismatched arms slams into an armored Gracile with a crushing blow to the skull.
There is swirling dust in my nose and eyes. I roll to the side to get a fix on my attacker. His breathing labored, a thirst for death in his eyes, he turns on me. But the monster is slowing, blood pouring down from the holes in his plate armor. He struggles to heft the fiery mace again.
Rolling to my back, I point and fire. The recoil bucks the heavy revolver high. Wide-eyed, the furious Gracile shudders, blood spraying from what must surely be a fatal neck wound. Groaning, bulging muscles shaking, he lifts the mace over his head to pulverize me against the floor. I fumble with the big bore revolver’s cylinder, dumping hot brass across my sweat-soaked shirt. There is no time to ready my weapon. Frozen in terror, my heart slamming against my breast, I wait for the death blow.
There’s a loud smack. A tattered blue beanbag slams across the chin of the brute. He stumbles, dropping the mace, which flickers and eventually quenches. His eyes wide, searching, he grabs at his neck wound, the blood pumping through his fingers. He drops to his knees with a groan and rolls to his side.
There’s someone standing over me. A beanbag launcher hangs in her hand. I should have known.
“Come on,” Mila says, panting. “Let me help you.”
I shake my head.
“Faruq. Look at me.”
I raise my eyes to meet hers, an avalanche of emotion crushing down upon me.
“Give me your hand,” she says, her voice gentle. “We’re out of time.”
Slowly, I reach up, my fingers encircling the warmth of her wrist, my heart surging at her touch. She pulls me to my feet and our gazes connect. I can’t stop the tears from building. In a different life, a better life free from the bonds of expectation, bias, and hate, we could have had something special. The thought twists like a knife buried to the hilt and meant to kill. I struggle to push back a wave of bitter anguish. The words I want to say to this woman refuse to come, though I want so desperately to utter them.
“Mila, I ... I’m ...”
She shakes her head, squeezing my wrist. “You’ll tell me when this is over.”
I swallow back my mumbled words, her stare boring into my soul.
“Faruq.” She holds my gaze. “Will you give me the chance to save Demitri?”
I manage a feeble nod.
“Thank you.” She squeezes my hand. “Now go. Save Husniya. She needs you.”
“Yes,” I say, reluctantly releasing her hand. “I will.”
Mila turns and separates from me, her stride full of purpose as she crosses the room.
There’s a scream as a force of Rippers slams against the pikes of my men blocking the entrance to the lillipad.
“Kahleit, hold them off until this is done,” I shout.
“Yes, Sheikh,” my captain replies.
Ahead, the fallen bodies of his Gracile guard at his feet, Vedmak appears from the shadows and shrugs free of his cloak. Hidden behind some kind of mask, his breathing sounds heavy. He is no longer the meek, kindhearted Gracile I met those many years ago.
Just beyond him, the green orb of pulsating energy swells, enveloping more of the room.
Something hollow grows in the pit of my stomach as Mila, Mos, and the Creed close in on Vedmak, their bodies poised for action. I ease the hammer back down to the safety position and sprint off into the maze of lillipad corridors beyond. I must find Husniya.
