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The shaft was very dark, but Colin didn’t hesitate. He’d been memorizing the layout of the ventilation system for a week. He knew how many feet stretched between one turn and the next, where the exits from the system could be located, and what the quickest route to the control center would be. He wore specially fabricated boots to minimize the sound of his passing through the hollow metal vents and his followers were similarly attired.
The outer access cover had been as easy to remove as their sources claimed it would be. He got it off and got them all out of sight and into the vents in a matter of moments. There was no alarm.
“We’re in!” Felicia whispered in his ear.
He reached out and silenced her with a finger to the lips. He was as excited as she was, but they couldn’t hesitate. Their entire plan depended on being quick and silent.
Felicia nodded and spun. She wedged herself into the vent, pressed her feet into the first ribbed joint, and levered herself upward. Colin followed. A few moments later they were all moving up through the floors of the citadel toward General Vale’s control room.
They were nearly halfway up when the clang of metal on metal rang out from above. Colin hissed for them to hold their positions, and they waited in breathless silence.
The hot oil never burned them. The impact of heavy stones and metal, and the shock of striking the bottom of the shaft, killed them all. Their final screams, sharp barks of pain, fear, and confusion, echoed from the walls of the shaft. The oil coated the mass of broken bone and flesh and blended with their blood. There was another, final clang from above as the grate was closed.
Vale’s men trooped out into the courtyard in front of the citadel. They lined up in ranks around a fenced stone circle. From the trees, rebel scouts watched as, one by one, their fallen comrades were dragged from the entrance to the ventilation system and piled in the center of the circle. When they were all in place, reaching shoulder height, General Vale himself appeared.
The sorceress Makeeda walked at his side in serene silence. She saw the pile of broken bodies, stopped, and smiled. General Vale glanced over his shoulder in a
“Bring wood,” he said loudly.
Makeeda held up a hand. “There is no need,” she said softly. She held her hands before her, closed her eyes, and her smile broadened. The dead rebels’ clothing, soaked in oil, caught first. Flames rippled along the length of the piled bodies and traced outlines between them, searing flesh and turning their uniforms to ash. The pile glowed red, smoldered and hissed, and then with a great burst of energy, was engulfed in flame.
Every man but one in those ranks flinched; most took an involuntary half step back. Only General Vale stood his ground. He watched as the flames leaped and danced, and breathed deeply as the scent of roasting flesh filled the air. Then he turned slowly and stared off through the trees in the direction from which the rebel attack had begun. He saw no one, but he glared as if nothing could block his sight. Makeeda giggled wildly and danced in circles, wreathed in the smoke of the funeral pyre.
When the last cinder of flesh had dropped to ash, and all that remained were the blackened hilts of swords and daggers and the carcasses of firearms, the general turned back toward the citadel. His men fell into ranks behind him and followed. Makeeda danced at his side, her steps nimble and seductive. She teased him with her long, dark tresses and brushed her lithe form against his back, beneath his swinging arms, even sliding once between his legs. Vale ignored her, and she never slowed his progress, blending her motion to his pace. As the last of the guards disappeared into the citadel, hoofbeats pounded away on the far side of the trees.
Jason’s alarm screeched and he slapped at it in protest. His pounding had no effect; the ringing continued unabated. He opened his eyes and his dreams faded. He’d been in another place, with a woman. She’d been telling him stories and dancing. The stark white walls of the bedroom sent the present crashing down around him and drove the last vestiges of the woman’s features from his mind.
A mechanical voice spoke from the speaker in the clock radio.
“Are you ready for level ten, Jason?”
He glared at the clock, but didn’t answer. He sat up, stretched, stood, and looked around for breakfast. Every day of his incarceration he’d been fed a good solid breakfast, with juice and coffee. The coffee was particularly important because once he sat down at the game console the chair would grip him and lock. He would be stuck there until he played through the level to the end, and he needed to be alert. He needed to take a leak.
The clock flashed once, then a second time. The numbers shifted, and suddenly it was a timer, counting down from ten minutes. Every morning he’d had less time to prepare and less warning. Jason dove for the bathroom, splashed cold water in his face, and relieved himself as quickly as his aching bladder would allow.
He staggered out; found two sticky ci
The timer on the bedside table flashed less than one minute remaining.
Jason seated himself in front of a large, flat screen monitor. The controller sat on the desk in front of him. It glowed with neon green brilliance. He picked it up and, despite his situation, he smiled. It was a good controller. For that matter, it was a good game. Played on his own terms, in his room and without so much on the line, he’d have dug it big time. Today wasn’t the day to dwell on it, though. Today he had to kick butt. There were only two levels remaining, and he had to beat them both if he ever wanted to see the outside world again.
The two clamps attached to the sides of the chair rotated so that they circled his waist. He heard the thunk of magnets engaging, and knew he was in for the duration. Whatever it took. The screen blinked, and a woman appeared.
“Welcome to level ten. I am Makeeda.”
Despite his discomfort, Jason sat a bit straighter and stared. The graphics were incredible, and the three-dimensional image facing him was beautiful. She was tall, draped in dark silk robes of many colors, slit along one side, exposing one leg. Her eyes were wide and tinted an odd lavender that fascinated him.
“The rebel attack has been thwarted, but the war is not won,” she intoned. “The rebel leader, Colin, had a lover, and she is angry. The next assault will be a direct attack involving superior forces. Your mission is to thwart that attack and devise a counteroffensive using the assets allotted. If the citadel falls, you will not advance to the final level.
“Am I clear?”
As she spoke this last, Makeeda arched her back and displayed herself lewdly. Jason’s mouth went dry. He nodded, and then realized how stupid it was to nod to a graphic image on a video game screen. As if catching his mistake, the woman threw her head back and laughed uproariously. As her image faded from the screen, she said.
“Begin.”
“I just don’t see how he can know,” Braden growled. “Every time we make a move, he’s there ahead of us, gri
“Maybe what?” Mavin asked voice cold. Her eyes flashed dangerously, and her hand dropped to the hilt of the long, thin blade she carried in the scabbard on her belt. “Maybe we should just turn around and go back to the hills and hide? Maybe Colin should just be left to blow around General Vale’s courtyard, his ashes forgotten and un-avenged? Maybe we should just quit?”