Devarian Uprising Read online

  She saw Rolen’s jaw clench at her words, and his hands tighten around the hank of rope he carried. He drew his sword, handing it to Jerril, and Soleyla could see the reluctance with which he released the pommel. Gripping Jerril’s arm briefly in farewell, he turned away, not even watching as the massive blond man strode away, disappearing into the mist.

  Soleyla watched him worriedly. Rolen’s throat worked, but he said nothing, nor could she find any words, either of comfort or courage. After a moment, he started up the southern slope of the valley, his shoulders rigid with tension, his tread heavy and stern. Silently, Soleyla and Kantou followed.

  Was it his imagination, Rolen wondered, or was the day actually growing darker? The sun must have cleared the horizon by now, but the overcast had thickened, and he had to strain to make out a path through the damp, slippery rocks. Twenty minutes later, with Soleyla and Kantou behind him, he reached a rude, hard packed path, churned to mud by the rain, curving along the base of the mountains.

  “Flitter track,” Soleyla said. “We’d better have the rope.”

  Rolen grimaced. He’d railed against this one part of the plan for hours that night in the tent. Perhaps, he admitted now, he’d fought against it so hard simply to avoid the part that truly terrified him. But to allow Soleyla to truss him like a captive, lead him bound and weaponless into the Guardian compound… He stood in grim silence as Soleyla looped the rope around his hands, then his neck, fashioning a deft slipknot that would choke him if he struggled.

  “I’m trusting you, Guardian.” His voice was low, terse.

  Soleyla answered with an equally terse smile. “I know.” Stepping back, she studied him a moment. Kantou watched anxiously from the side of the track. “All right. We’d better get you pretty. Do you want to do it, or shall I?”

  Rolen felt his mouth twist in a crooked grin. “I’ll do it myself, thanks.” He dropped to his knees, then fell forward face first into the mud. When he rose, he was dripping. Soleyla nodded. “All right. Let’s go.” Holding his rope like a leash, she led him down the track.

  By the time they topped the last of the foothills and saw the League compound below, all three of them were sweaty, sticky, splattered with the thick, cloying mud. Soleyla cursed, shaking the thick stuff from her boots. The air had grown thicker, overladen with moisture, and the sky was black above the white comm tower which jutted like a spire toward the threatening clouds.

  Rolen stood, eyes narrowed, studying the stronghold of his enemy, noting the high plasteel walls, the ranks of barracks buildings, the shimmering field of the utility portal, fully fifteen meters wide, clearly visible in the dank, murky air. His shoulders stiffened, and his head came up defiantly. Soleyla yanked the rope sharply, and he staggered forward. Rage flared within him, and he spun.

  Soleyla hissed at him, livid. “They can see us, Rolen!”

  Immediately, Rolen slumped, letting his head hang at a cowed, beaten angle. He was supposed to be a prisoner, damn it. It was a role that chafed worse than the rope around his neck. But it was, he knew, necessary.

  She started down the slope, dragging him behind her. Rolen had to fight back the urge to rip the rope from her hands as he staggered in the slick mud. As the walls of the compound loomed over them, though, his irritation faded, overwhelmed by an icy, sickly dread.

  He’d refused to think about what came next, knowing if he did, he’d simply bolt in terror. Now he was here, trussed like a rabbit. There was no escape, no turning back. He could feel eyes on him, watching from the top of the high white walls.

  “Rolen,” Soleyla muttered, keeping her voice low and moving her mouth as little as possible, “remember. The second you can no longer pleasure them, they will kill you. If you can’t get an erection, you’re dead.”

  “Oh, thanks. That’ll really help my performance.”

  “Listen!” she hissed. “Don’t let them make you come. They will, if they can. They will use you over and over until you are so spent that --”

  “Flitter!” Kantou warned, behind them. A second later, Rolen heard a low, thrumming buzz, and almost turned to face it. Soleyla gave a quick tug on the rope, warning him, and he kept walking, his shoulders slumped, his gaze on the ground.

  The buzz grew to a whine as it approached, then dropped to a low, idling thrum. “Well, Captain Devarian,” sneered a hard, mocking voice.

  “Lieutenant Trika.” Soleyla’s voice was cold. Her pace lengthened.

  Rolen risked a glance from under his thick black brows. They were approaching the gates with alarming rapidity. Alongside Soleyla, a strange, metallic machine hovered, seemingly on thin air, keeping pace with her. On its back, a Guardian sat, grinning down. Lieutenant Trika, Rolen assumed, and quickly dropped his gaze as she looked back at him.

  He heard the gates swing open. Before he had time to react or to brace himself, he was inside, and the gates were closing behind him. Rolen swallowed with a throat suddenly far, far too dry.

  The flitter’s buzz shut off, and he heard the sound of booted feet approach. “What’s this, Devarian? A present? Nice of you to bring us a toy, since you won’t share yours.” Behind him, Rolen heard Kantou shift nervously.

  Fingernails scraped lightly over his broad, naked chest, and Rolen jumped. Laughter echoed around him. Panicked, he looked up to see women standing around in military gear, watching him with grinning, speculative expressions, all of them built on the same Amazonian scale as Soleyla. He lunged, and Soleyla yanked on the rope, dragging him, retching as the noose around his neck tightened to a chokehold, to his knees. Immediately, the pressure eased.

  “That’s Captain, Lieutenant, unless you want to be reported for insubordination.”

  “Oh, I think not, Captain.” Trika’s sneer made the title an epithet. “The commander’s none too pleased with your little antics. No more than you are, I’d imagine, being posted to this muddy shithole with the rest of us grunts.”

  As she spoke, Trika crossed to Rolen. Now, closing her fist in his thick black hair, she yanked his head up, forcing him to look at her. Rolen recoiled as she ran her tongue over her lips.

  “Get your paws off him, Lieutenant. This one’s for Valda.”

  “Valda’s already got a pleasure-slave. Besides, she won’t mind if we have a go.” A rumble of amusement from the watching soldiers followed Trika’s words.

  “I said, get your hands off him!” Bristling, Soleyla moved between them, shielding Rolen from Trika’s hateful leer. “This one’s a spy. I caught him following me. He’ll tell us where the Antoreans’ encampment is -- if you greedy bitches don’t kill him first.”

  “Ahhh,” sighed another voice behind Rolen, “surely you won’t begrudge them a little recreation, Captain?” Rolen saw Soleyla stiffen. “And we already know where their camp is, Captain Devarian.”

  Soleyla turned, snapping to attention. “Commander Valda.” For all her lack of height, the short, squarely built woman before her radiated an aura of command. Sly rather than brilliant, tenacious as a bulldog, Valda had been her mother’s first choice as High Commander of the Guardian forces -- a choice which an appalled Senate had overridden, awarding the position instead to the then-General Amista, whose ingenious tactics had preserved the League during the first brutal attacks by the V’ranyii.

  Behind her formal salute, Soleyla’s mind raced. Did Valda know the camp’s location? Or was she bluffing? Had their entire plan already been discovered? Watching the shorter, steely-haired woman, Soleyla kept her expression carefully neutral. “That’s good news, Commander.”

  “Indeed, and we have you to thank for it.”

  Soleyla froze. Inside, her blood ran to ice, and she had to fight back the urge to draw her sword. If Valda already knew…

  Why hadn’t she made Kantou stay at the caves?

  “I’m glad to have been of service, Commander -- although I will confess I’m a little puzzled.”

  “Are you?” Valda turned her attention to Rolen, lifting his head and studying him as
she continued. “It’s quite simple. When the communication relays you were supposed to have been laying stopped coming online, I was afraid something had happened to you. So I sent a patrol out. They found the remains of your campsite, and no trace of you… and oddly enough, on the plain just one ridge over, they found these natives’ camp. Really quite large, too, right out in the open.”

  Rolen stiffened in her grasp, and Soleyla, watching, could only pray, Keep still, Rolen, on your life and all you love!

  Valda ran her hands over his massive shoulders. “He is a handsome one, isn’t he?” She glanced at Soleyla, her eyes sharp. “Strange you should have been so close to their camp and not have seen it.”

  “I didn’t cross the ridge. When I captured this one --” Soleyla shoved Rolen with her boot, sending him sprawling in the dirt -- he’d looked ready to tear Valda’s hands off with his teeth, “-- I assumed you’d want to question him as soon as possible. Or does laying a comm grid for colonists who aren’t even here yet take precedence over neutralizing the native population?”

  The older woman bristled, her iron-gray hair falling away from her low, broad forehead as she tilted her head back to glare up at Soleyla. “I was of the understanding you had a distaste for neutralizing populations, Captain Devarian.”

  “Shall we say my mother’s gentle instruction has shown me the error of my ways?”

  They scowled at each other, but inwardly Soleyla sighed with relief. If Valda had already discovered their plan, she and Rolen would be dead by now. And Kantou…

  It didn’t bear thinking of. Valda was every bit as ruthless as her old barracks mate, Rachel Devarian.

  Two peas in a pod, Soleyla thought. She could feel her lips wanting to twist into a snarl. Instead, she asked, hoping her voice sounded casual, “Did you wipe them out already, then?”

  “No. The patrol, unlike you, followed its orders and reported back to me directly.” Trika, standing nearby, smirked, and Soleyla allowed herself to flush at the chastisement. They had to play this game out, had to calm Valda’s suspicions enough to let her get near the gate…

  “But we will. Soon. Be sure of that, Captain.” Valda turned away and then, as if at an afterthought, turned back. “And you can come and show me how well you’ve learned from your mother’s instructions. In the meantime, at least your trip wasn’t wholly wasted. Trika?” The smirking lieutenant stepped forward. “I trust you will see to it that everyone has a fair turn?”

  Trika saluted, and Soleyla saw Rolen staring at her, his eyes wide and frightened. Well, there was no help for it now. It was, after all, what they had planned -- the only possible diversion Soleyla had been able to come up with. She returned his gaze, willing him luck, and strength, and courage. He bowed his head, slumping, and Soleyla turned away, as if in disgust.

  Before she’d gone three paces, though, Valda’s sharp call stopped her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Soleyla gestured wearily to her filthy uniform. “To the barracks, Commander. I did just get back, you know.”

  “Oh, but Soleyla…” Valda’s smile glittered with malice, “…you really ought to have a chance to see the girls enjoying your present. In fact,” she continued, her voice cold, “I insist upon it.”

  Soleyla hesitated, and saw Valda’s eyes narrow. If she couldn’t get to the gates to open them, couldn’t get to the portal to disable it… That was to be the signal for Jerril to lead the attack, when he saw the silver shimmer of the field go out. If that didn’t happen…

  If that didn’t happen, Rolen would die, and for nothing.

  But there was no help for it. Valda cocked her head, gesturing Soleyla toward the ring of women surrounding Rolen. She had to join them, now, before Valda’s suspicions grew. Perhaps she could slip away, during the…

  The entertainment. Soleyla felt her lip curling in distaste, but forced herself to stalk back and rejoin the circle.

  “Make sure she has a good view, Trika,” Valda ordered. “I have things to attend to.”

  Damn! Soleyla had counted on Valda being distracted by Rolen. He was just the sort the commander liked, big and burly. Soleyla suspected the diminutive woman took a certain perverse pleasure in having such men as slaves. Helplessly, she watched Valda stride to the command center, feeling Trika’s gaze on her.

  “Want to go first, Captain Devarian?”

  Gritting her jaw, Soleyla turned back. Some sixty Guardians, now, ringed Rolen, hemming him in. He crouched in the center, his gaze fixed on her, terrified, pleading. The guards on the wall remained at their posts, but their attention was directed inward, at the scene below them. That, at least, was as she’d hoped.

  Scanning the faces surrounding Rolen, Soleyla saw a few she recognized. Liatra, her second in command on Termigan IV. Marda, who had been her navigator on that mission. Paula and Perdita, the Betelgeusian twins. Women who knew her intimately enough to read the tension in her stance, the watchfulness of her gaze. Women who had followed her lead once in defiance of the League’s commands -- and might again. All four of them shipped here, Soleyla was certain, for the same reason she had been, as punishment for that disobedience.

  Four. Four Guardians, out of more than sixty. Soleyla found herself hoping fervently that, when the battle started, she wouldn’t have to kill them.

  In the distance, a low roll of thunder muttered across the sky. Trika glanced up at the lowering clouds, and Soleyla stepped forward hurriedly. They mustn’t be allowed to take Rolen into the barracks -- she’d never get him out again if they did. And everything depended on keeping the Guardians in the open, vulnerable to attack and distracted.

  Catching Liatra’s eye, Soleyla smiled at Trika. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I think I will.”

  Chapter Seven

  There was a time when Rolen might have chuckled at such an idea. One man, surrounded by half a hundred women! It sounded like the start of a joke, or the sort of grandiose brag boys liked to pass back and forth. But ever since the night he’d hidden, sweating and afraid for his life, behind a thin cover of mountain scrub above the narrow floor of Tinker’s Pass, listening to his men die slowly under the erotic attentions of the Guardians who’d ambushed them, Rolen had known a terror that no man should ever experience. A terror, and a shame.

  He’d let them die. Carn, Jelken, Ranell. Hidden, he’d lain, his face knotted in agony as he listened to their screams, their desperate pleading. And he had done nothing. It did no good, in the months that followed, to tell himself there was nothing he could have done. There had been sixty of them, against his mere dozen. Eight had been killed out of hand. He, Rolen, had barely escaped.

  And he’d had to live, ever since, with the sounds of screams in his ears.

  Now, kneeling among these same women, Rolen felt a grim satisfaction. This, and this alone, he thought, could wipe that shame away. By submitting himself to the fate they had suffered, Rolen felt redeemed, as if he were finally where he should have been all along -- right beside his men, dying with them.

  But oh, he was so afraid.

  When Soleyla had walked away, a terror deeper than any he had ever known had seized him, turning the wall of faces around him to a blur. He’d wanted to cower, to grovel, begging for his life. Only the thought of his people kept him upright on his knees -- Maris, young Betren, Jerril and the others hidden by now along the ridge just above the compound, the women, elders and children in the camp on the northern plain, the camp these Guardians now knew the location of…

  Rolen did not grovel. But the fear stayed with him.

  Then Valda ordered Soleyla back to the others, and Rolen felt a wave of selfish relief so strong it made him dizzy. But underneath it, a new fear blossomed -- what if she couldn’t get to the portals?

  Rolen still only half believed Soleyla’s claim that the portals could transport people instantly from planet to planet. He’d watched the League’s scout ship land, disgorging its load of Guardians in full military gear, three months before. But now, looking at the p
lasteel walls rising around him, Rolen realized they must have been brought, prefabricated, from another planet -- and there was only one way they could have been transported so quickly.

  If Soleyla couldn’t deactivate the portal, his men would be walking into a deathtrap.

  Soleyla casually stripped off her muddy clothes, seeming completely unembarrassed by the circle of watching women, and handed them and her sword to two Guardians who looked so alike they had to be twins.

  At the sight of the leering, predatory faces surrounding him, Rolen felt the first stirrings of real panic. How was he supposed to get an erection, with so much at stake? All he could think of were the screams of his men, the ones who had died and the ones who would die… unless Soleyla’s plan worked.

  And that plan, along with the lives of all his people, depended on him.

  He closed his eyes, willing himself to arousal, struggling to feel something, anything, beyond the churning dread in his gut. He couldn’t do it. Those hungry, watching eyes, circling him like a pack of grinning wolves… Gods above!

  Soleyla’s eyes burned into his, dark with warning. Bending over him, she loosened the rope, slipping the noose from around his neck. Then she kicked him, roughly, sending him tumbling into the dirt. He scrabbled forward, hearing the coarse cheers of the watching Guardians, a blank white panic coating his sight. Had she played him, all along? Had it all been a trap, a ruse, to lure him here and leave his people leaderless?

  She leapt onto his back, knocking him sprawling. Her fist closed in his hair, yanked his head up. Grinning evilly, she bent close, hissed in his ear. But her words were hardly the threats the watchers would assume from her expression. “Remember, try not to come. There are some who will help us. Be strong. Now -- struggle!” She shoved his face forward, grinding it into the mud.

  Rolen felt rage surge along his limbs, and welcomed it. Anything to drown out that sickly terror. Thrashing, he rolled over, breaking free of her grasp, and heard the laughter around him redouble as he kicked out with his feet, cracking Soleyla across the chin.