Blackhawk: Far Stars Legends I Page 19

  “Yes, Marshal. Understood.”

  “The coin will be gathered in two days, Bulg. You will select your forces in that time and be ready to leave as soon as the planes are loaded.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well, Bulg…you may go and attend to your duties.”

  “Sir!” Trax stood abruptly, snapping to attention and saluting. Then he turned and walked toward the door.

  “Bulg?”

  Trax stopped and spun around, looking back toward the Marshal. “Sir?”

  “There is no one else I would trust with this mission. Your loyalty is known to me, my old friend…and greatly appreciated.”

  “I serve you, Marshal, as I shall until death takes me. And I shall protect this convoy with all my skill and ability. With my life, if need be.”

  “Thank you, Bulg.” Carteria stood up, walking across the room. He stopped in front of Trax and extended his hand.

  Trax looked back, surprise on his face. He hesitated. Then he reached out, took the Marshal’s hand.

  Carteria held the handshake for a few seconds. Then he let his hand slip away. “Good luck, my old friend.”

  Trax stared back for an instant, his visage taken with emotion. “I will not fail you, Marshal.”

  “I know you won’t, Bulg. No one has my confidence like you.” He paused. “Now go, prepare. And complete your mission so you can return. We have much to do in the coming months.”

  “Yes, Marshal.” Trax saluted again and then marched toward the door.

  Carteria stood, watching him leave, hearing the sound of the door closing behind him. He knew his own reputation, what they said about him…ruthless, arrogant, bullying. And he knew it was deserved. But there had been more to his rise than just those traits. The art of manipulating subordinates was a complex one, and Carteria was good at it. Very good. Bulg Trax was like a force of nature in combat, and Carteria had worked his henchmen into a near-frenzy. Failure was unthinkable to the huge soldier, and he would remember Carteria’s words, the sound of the Marshal’s voice calling him ‘old friend.’ Bulg Trax would obliterate anyone who came near the treasure convoy…and he would die, along with the thousand men under his command, before he would relinquish a single ducat.

  Carteria turned and walked back to his desk, sitting in the chair. He sighed softly. The forty million ducats he’d placed in Trax’s hands was the price of the Northern Continent. The war would go on, of course, and the end cost would be many times forty million. But the mercenaries would ensure the total conquest of the Badlands…by allowing the establishment of an invulnerable beachhead. The destruction of Lucerne and Ghana would open the door to the Carterian forces…and the ultimate fate of the Northern Continent—and then all of Celtiboria—would be sealed.

  He sat silently, his mind consumed with a single thought, an image that played over and over again. The great Basilica in the capital, his own hands, raising a crown of gold over his head. And the sounds, a voice, deep and booming, echoing under the dome, the words clear, unmistakable.

  Carteria I, king of Celtiboria.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Abandoned Underground Fortress

  “The Badlands”

  Northern Celtiboria

  “You can’t go back, Cass. You know that too. You should have bugged out of there the second Ghana took your people prisoner.” Blackhawk paused. “You should have moved months ago. Rebels, smugglers, whatever you are…your kind of warfare depends on stealth, surprise. And if you stay in one place for too long, your enemies will find you. You can be careful, but you are never careful enough. In the end it is simple mathematics. You’re lucky they hit the place while we were out. Your people dodged a bullet there.”

  After the raid, Blackhawk had insisted the Grays find a new headquarters. He’d argued against going back at all, but Cass had insisted they at least gather the weapons and equipment they’d stored there. He suspected Cass had been pushing her luck for a long time already, but he’d given in, agreed to return and secure what supplies they could move.

  Cass sighed. “We were lucky you insisted on sending a scouting party ahead.” She paused. Blackhawk knew she was beating herself up. They’d sent three of her Grays forward as scouts…and none had returned. Blackhawk had gone after them…and he’d found them dead, the base surrounded by Ghana’s forces. He’d rushed back with the news…and he’d led them all away…before Ghana’s people expanded their coverage area and bagged the whole company.

  “Cass, you’re a leader. A damned good one.” He looked over at her, saw the self-loathing in her eyes. “You’ve lost people. All warriors lose people. That is war. It wasn’t your leadership that killed them…it was your leadership that kept the rest of them alive.” He could see she wasn’t listening. She was hell bent on blaming herself, and the fact that she’d led her people for more than two years, saved countless hundreds or thousands back home, meant nothing to her. Blackhawk knew the images of her dead friends, their faces staring back at her in her dreams, were powerful. It was something he wouldn’t have understood before, but now he was different…and it made sense.

  She didn’t reply. She just leaned closer to him.

  He put his arm out around her. She was strong, as strong in her own way as anyone he’d ever known. But she still saw her Grays as friends and neighbors. He knew she would have to acquire a coldness, an ability to see her people as soldiers, and to acknowledge that whatever she did, some of them would die. He wasn’t sure if she would manage that transition, but he knew she’d drive herself crazy if she didn’t.

  The loss of the base—and of the three scouts—was bad enough, but then she’d immediately had to deal with the disappearance of Samis and his people. Something had clearly gone wrong with the diversion, and she blamed herself for that too.

  “I’m sorry, Cass,” he said, realizing what was going through her mind. “The diversion was my idea.” He knew it had been the right move, and he suspected Samis had done something foolish, stayed too long. But he didn’t think that would help her right now, so he kept the thought to himself.

  “No, Ark…you’re right. We have to think like a military unit. And people die in war. If we hadn’t followed your plan, we’d all have been in the headquarters when Ghana’s troops attacked. We’d all be dead.” She paused, and he felt her face pressing harder into him. “It’s just so hard for me to think that way, to look at dead friends like so many marks on a ledger.”

  Blackhawk put his hand on her head, rubbing her hair gently. “It’s not quite that cold blooded, Cass.” Though he knew, for him it had always been just that cold. “But it is the reality. Your people are here to fight for their families back home. They are heroes…and heroism carries a heavy cost.”

  “Why did all this have to happen? Why did the armies have to come to the Galadan? We were peaceful people, no threat to anyone. Whatever the Grays are now, whatever I am, they made us. If they’d left us alone, I’d be at university. And most of the others would be working family farms.”

  “It is tempting to think that way, Cass. But that is not the reality of the universe. The strong will always take from the weak, and those who cannot defend themselves will always face the choice you did. Die or live as slaves. Or become killers yourselves.” He paused. “You are strong…so you chose the latter. And your people were lucky to have you to lead the way for them. You punish yourself over every one of your Grays who gets killed, but how many have you all saved?”

  She didn’t answer. She just held onto him. They sat silently, neither speaking for a few minutes.

  Suddenly, she pulled back and looked up at him. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  His eyes fixed on hers, and he could see the tears she was struggling to hold back. “Yes,” he said simply. There was no easy way to put it.

  “You don’t have to, you know. You could stay, help me lead the Grays. And when the war is over we could go back to the Galadan. You could have a home there, you could have love. May
be children one day. Is that so bad a life?”

  Blackhawk paused. He could see the sadness in her eyes, the realization even before he responded that his answer would be no. “Cass, that would be a wonderful life. Part of me aches for that, to stay with you, to live each day in peace, to work honestly and enjoy the fruits of my labor.” He put his hand on her face. “To share a life with you.”

  He looked down at the ground. “But that is not me, Cass. There is much you don’t know about me, about the burdens I carry. I am not the man you think I am…or at least I am not only that man. There are reasons I must keep moving, why I can never settle down.” He paused. “And I would rather you didn’t know more. If you understood my past, who I am, you would think very differently about me…and I would rather part from you with affection in your gaze and not revulsion.”

  “I don’t care about your past, Ark. We have all done things we’re not proud of.”

  Blackhawk looked back up at her and forced a weak smile. “You say that not knowing the truth, the scope of what I have done. I don’t doubt your affection, Cass. And I want you to know that I return your feelings. You are an amazing woman, one I will never forget. But I still have to go. I have unfinished business with General Lucerne…and then I will leave Celtiboria. I must find myself, who I am now, and I can’t do it here. I need to be alone, to face the demons inside me. Hearth and home, love and children…that is something I cannot have, at least not until I gain control over the monster that lives inside me. Even if only for fear that one day that beast would escape, that I would become what I once was.”

  Cass looked back at him. He could see a mix of feelings in her eyes. Sadness, loneliness…and sympathy. She didn’t know the details of his past, and he would never tell her. He couldn’t be with her, but the thought of her hating him, of looking back as she stared at him with fear and revulsion in her eyes was something he didn’t want to imagine. But even without the full story, he could tell she understood the amount of pain he carried with him.

  “You will get over me, Cass, forget me. You have your Grays, and I fear you will find that responsibility will only grow heavier.”

  “I will never forget you, Ark.” She smiled, but he knew it was false, that only sadness lay behind it.

  He paused. There was nothing else he could say, at least nothing that would ease the sorrow. “At least this old fort will be a good refuge. We’re lucky to have found it so quickly.” The ancient castle was mostly a ruin, almost entirely covered by the sand over the centuries since it had been occupied. But it was large enough, barely, to accommodate the Grays, at least those who had survived.

  Blackhawk knew Cass’ numbers would continue to dwindle. Her people were facing harder times, greater danger. Even with her leadership, with the elan she’d fostered in them, some of the Grays would begin to drift away. Some would come to her, tell her they were going home. Others would slip away by night. But without a source of new recruits, he knew Cass faced a very uncertain future. It tugged at him, made him want to ignore all he had told her, stay behind and make sure she was okay. But it simply wasn’t possible. He knew very well he could easily become the greatest danger of all to her.

  “It will have to do. But we lost everything. Supplies, weapons, ammunition. All we have now is what we carried with us on the raid.”

  “Supplies are replaceable, Cass. Your people aren’t.”

  There was a knock on the door, soft, tentative.

  “Enter,” she said, taking a deep breath.

  One of the Grays walked into the room. He stood, looking at Cass.

  “What?” she said, struggling, with considerable success, to banish the sadness from her voice. “What is it?”

  “Cass, Orema has just returned. She is on the way here.” Orema Callen had led the group taking the captured convoy to the river cities to sell.

  “Well? Did she get a good price?” The caravan wasn’t a rich one, but it had been a bit better than Cass had expected. She knew they should have gotten a decent price.

  “Ah…yes. Much better than we expected.”

  Cass straightened up, staring at the man. “Much better? From the black marketeers?” Cass had long chafed at the low prices her people got for the goods they risked their lives to obtain. The underground guilds that bought the contraband paid a price they said was half the final value, though she knew it was usually less than a third. But there were no other options, so she’d come to accept it, even if she didn’t like it.

  “No, Cass…she sold to another party, a representative for one of the Warlords.”

  “One of the Warlords?” Cass’ voice was thick with concern.

  Blackhawk was sitting silently, watching. Dealing with one of the combatants was probably a good idea, at least in terms of securing the best pricing for their goods. But it was hazardous too. The black marketeers were dangerous enough, a syndicate of gangsters more than willing to resort to violence when it was necessary. But to the Warlords, violence was their business.

  “Yes.” It was a woman’s voice, coming from the doorway. Orema Callen walked into the room. She was clearly excited. “They paid full market value plus ten percent, Cass! In hard currency! And they said they’d buy everything we could bring them. It looks like the war is back on, and they’re trying secure supply sources.”

  “You did well, Orema.” There was concern in Cass’ voice. Blackhawk could tell she was nervous about dealing with a Warlord. “Which one?” she asked.

  “It was one of General Lucerne’s officers, Cass. He gave us intel on upcoming caravans as well, offered to buy anything we can take.”

  Blackhawk’s head snapped around at the mention of Lucerne. He’d allowed Lucerne to fool him once…he had no intention of doing it again. Or allowing Cass to believe anything Lucerne said.

  “What was the officer’s name, Orema?” Cass was also suspicious. Blackhawk could tell the instant the words left her mouth. She knew of Blackhawk’s vendetta against Lucerne, of course.

  “He was a major, Cass, one of General Lucerne’s top advisors. His name is Aton Pellier.”

  Blackhawk froze. Something was wrong. He’d seen Aton Pellier die in the desert, shot down by Ghana’s men…

  “I want to be careful, Orema…the Warlords are dangerous, all of them.” Cass turned toward Blackhawk. “Ark, I know you have a fight with Lucerne. Do you think he is…” Her words stopped as soon as she saw the expression on his face. Arkarin Blackhawk was a hard man, sometimes a cold man…but in the time Cass had known him, she’d never seen him look less than certain about anything. Until now.

  Blackhawk was staring back at Cass, but his mind was elsewhere, analyzing memories, going over the attack in the desert in meticulous detail. Lucerne’s men had all been killed. Only Blackhawk’s superior abilities had enabled him to survive, to come close to escaping. And he’d seen the spray of blood when Pellier had been hit, watched him go down.

  Is this a mistake? No, how would Orema know that name? Pellier.

  “Ark?” Cass was staring at Blackhawk.

  But if Pellier isn’t dead…

  He could see Cass’ face, hear her words, but they were far away. His mind was sharp, his thoughts moving quickly, meticulously.

  Could someone be pretending to be Pellier? No, why would anyone do that? The Grays have no idea who Pellier is…

  “Ark, are you okay?” Cass reached out, put her hand on Blackhawk’s shoulder.

  “Yes,” he said, his tone soft, distant. “I am fine.”

  If Pellier is alive that means…

  “Don’t, Cass,” he said. “It’s a trap. Don’t trust Pellier.”

  “Ark, I know you have a dispute with Lucerne, but he…”

  “No,” Blackhawk said sharply. “Not Lucerne. I was wrong about Lucerne. It was Pellier.”

  “What?” Cass looked over at her two comrades then back toward Blackhawk. “What do you mean it was Pellier.”

  Blackhawk’s stare hardened, and his gaze seemed to chill
the room. “It was Pellier, not Lucerne.” His voice was like death itself.

  “Pellier?” Cass looked at him, an expression of surprise on her face as she saw the darkness, the pure rage in his eyes. “You know this Pellier?”

  “He was my guide. He was taking me to Ghana’s headquarters, to conduct a mission for Lucerne.”

  “You worked for Lucerne?” Cass pulled back, staring at Blackhawk with a look of confusion. “I thought you hated Lucerne.”

  “I thought Lucerne betrayed me. But it was Pellier.” His mind was racing. He’d have killed Lucerne, his rage fueled not just by his reaction to treachery but by his own anger at himself for being fooled by the general.

  But maybe you weren’t fooled, at least not by Lucerne. The general may be the honest man you believed him to be. And that means…

  “I have to get to General Lucerne’s headquarters.” Blackhawk stood up abruptly. “As quickly as possible.”

  If Pellier is a traitor…

  “I thought Lucerne didn’t betray you?” Cass took a step back toward Blackhawk, reaching out, putting her hand on his arm.

  “He didn’t.” Blackhawk’s face hardened, frozen rage behind his withering gaze. “Pellier is the traitor. He faked his death, turned me over to Ghana’s people.” He took a few steps. Then he stopped and turned back. “I have to go, Cass. Now. I have to warn Augustin. Before…” He let his words trail off. He reached out, took her in his arms. “Be careful, Cass. Stay away from Pellier, ignore any intel he gave you. He works for Ghana, I’d bet anything on that. Don’t go after those caravans…and don’t sell him anything else. Anywhere he sends you is a trap.”

  He pulled away, turning toward the door. “I need a vehicle…one of the captured transports.”

  Cass was looking at Blackhawk, her face a mix of confusion and sadness. “Give him whatever he needs,” she snapped. The she looked up into his eyes. “Be careful, Ark. Take care of yourself.”