Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2) (24 page)

“Here’s the deal,” Petrus began, his voice still low in case more magicologists came. “You saw the storm vanish over the palace? That’s our signal that Typhos is no longer there. Our mission is simple. Rescue the girl inside the palace. Set her up with Gaius, and then ambush Typhos and his men when they return.”

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,” Morian groaned. “Why should any of us help a… one of those things? Especially when it means that one just replaces Typhos and offers no guarantee of the world we once had.”

There’s always the risk he’s right. Gaius… he’s selfish and driven for himself and could flip. But he’s not the emotional mess Typhos is.

“It can’t get any worse than this, Morian,” Petrus said. “Gaius knows having us on his side, in the long run, will make his rule easier. Yes, we will work for a magicologist. But I’d rather work for a nakar at this point than Typhos.”

Murmurs of agreement spread through the group. Petrus looked in each of their eyes and saw sworn allegiance to their mission, even from Morian.

“Now, here’s the intel. The palace wall will have roughly eight magicologists patrolling. Our rifles can take out those guys, but we have to act in unison and quickly.”

“Not our first rodeo together,” Trista said, a soldier’s cold expression on her face. “We know how to work. Do you, Petrus?”

More than you realize.

“Yes,” he said. “I have served before.”

“Good,” she said.

She’s just like Crystil.

“Once we get inside, the girl is on the third floor. She—”

“Wait,” Ector said. Everyone went silent as Ector took a second to collect his thoughts. “If this girl is as powerful as they say she is, she has to be a magicologist. We want to break her out?”

Petrus sighed.
I really hope this is Celeste. She might be the only one who can bridge this gap between complete trust and immediate dismissal. In which case she’s not magicologist, she’s Kastori.

“The fact that she’s a prisoner of Typhos means she probably hates him like we do, Ector. It’s a risk I’m willing to take, especially since the six of us will get destroyed by Typhos without their help.”

Ector gave a short nod, his chin barely moving. Petrus cleared his throat as he looked to see if anyone else would interrupt. No one seemed eager to do so.

“We break the girl out, pair her with Gaius, and we wait for further instruction.”

That produced some groans, but Petrus made it clear through his posture he did not want anyone arguing. Petrus walked past the group with the simple words, “Let’s get going, then.”

The six humans moved at a quick but silent pace. Every couple dozen seconds, the first human paused, looked through his scope and announced whether it was clear. Every time leading up to the palace, it was.

They finally got within range of the patrolling magicologists, and the six humans spread out in a horizontal line, Petrus between Lance and Trista.

“We should just shoot Gaius and have the girl lead us against Typhos,” Morian said.

Petrus snorted, tired of arguing his point.

“The girl is weakened and will need assistance,” he said. “You’re like Crystil whenever she helped Emperor Orthran.”

To his surprise, Trista groaned disgustedly. Petrus pulled away from his rifle to look at the girl, who looked annoyed to have heard the name.

“Commander Bradford was a great soldier. Emphasis on was. She ran away with the rest of the humans.”

Here we go.

“Can’t blame her, with the power the magicologists had. But for all the legendary stuff said about her skills and instinct, you would think she’d stay behind and fight with her fellow soldiers.”

“Who’s to say she didn’t want to?” Petrus said, his voice rising to the point Lance put his hand on his back to quiet him down. “Maybe the emperor forced her to leave to protect his children on whatever new world they went to. Besides, remember—if it’s not Celeste, it’s probably Crystil in there.”

That silenced Trista for a moment, and Petrus used the chance to line up the third Kastori from the left in his vision.

“If it’s her, I’ll rescue her with my life,” Trista said. “And then I’ll have some words with her.”

She won’t be the only one you have them with.

49

Transitioning from Anatolus to Monda seemed instantaneous for Crystil. One moment, she walked on perfectly smooth rock with no clouds in sight. The next, she felt rain on her head; grassy, inclined ground beneath her feet; and the sound of a dying thunder off in the distance. She glanced up at the sky, and the normally gorgeous, clear evenings of Monda had disappeared, replaced by scattered lightning bolts dancing from cloud to cloud—except at one spot.

She brought her line of sight lower, and with the lightning could see the hills, including the one which the imperial palace rested on.
My home.
The palace’s wall remained, upon it about eight enemies in total. They patrolled slowly and were too far to sense her, Cyrus, or Erda, so she took her chance from her spot on a high hill to glance around.

Directly behind them lay the shell of Capitol City. Most buildings remained, but as nothing more than burned and ripped reminders of their former selves. Few buildings remained intact, and none of them looked occupied. No lights shone through the windows, and there were no vehicles in the area.
The magicologists wiped it all out.

Looking right, she could see the Reygar Mountains.
At least something remained intact.
Her eyes dipped to the base of the mountain and saw a large camp. She couldn’t make out the individual people but could see humans lined up in rows, performing manual labor. She knew what had become of her fellow humans.
Slaves.

Her breathing increased as she took a few steps closer, the better to get a clearer view. The camp extended across many acres and seemed to have the entire population of Capitol City in it. Her heart ached for them and burned with a fire that only the death of Typhos could extinguish.

What makes it worse is I can’t do anything right now. Celeste first. Then Typhos. Then we free everyone.

I’m sorry.

She focused on her breath and calmed herself. To her surprise, even as she heard the footsteps of Cyrus, instead of feeling more anxiety with someone approaching her, she felt calmer.

“You OK?” he asked. “It’s weird, isn’t it.”

“I never thought I would be back here. I thought I’d left home behind for good. Everyone I ever loved here who didn’t come to Monda is gone, and being back here…”

“I know,” Cyrus said. “It’s a bit much for me too. But there’s no reason we can’t reframe Monda with our actions. Instead of it being a graveyard, let’s make it a place we can save. I’ll take the throne, you’ll become empress—”

“Really,” Crystil said, a short laugh escaping. “No, I get it. It’s just… give me a moment.”

Cyrus nodded and walked a few feet to her side.
Dyson, Emperor Orthran. Both of you. I love you both. We’ll get this land back. I promise.

She took one last glance at Capitol City’s remains and the slave camp.
It’ll take years. But we have the most important component, the most fundamental thing. Us.
She turned and walked to Erda, her right hand near her sword at all times in case of an ambush.

“Ready?” Erda asked, her voice hurried and hasty. Crystil had seen many emotions in the eyes of the chief—fear, anxiety, acceptance, sternness—but never stress from not going fast enough.

“Let’s go,” Crystil said, leading the three of them along the side of the road.

As they walked, Cyrus and Crystil slowly brought their swords out, careful not to let the steel of the blade grind loudly on the sheath. When lightning came, the three hit the ground, a task that left Crystil feeling like she was back in training for as often as they got on their stomachs and crawled.

Finally, they crouched at the front of the bushes leading up to the wall, with Crystil on the right hedge and Cyrus and Erda to her left. They looked up and saw two magicologists on each side patrolling. Crystil looked to Erda, who gave a nod and slowly looked put on her mask. Crystil looked back. She heard a nearly muted
pew
, the kind that only she would pick up from her training.

And the magicologist dropped like a rag doll.

Dead?

Bullets.

Someone’s helping us.

How? Celeste?

Someone else wants to break Celeste out.

“Erda, Cyrus,” she said, and the two motioned for her to whisper, but she waved them over. While they came, she looked toward the right side of the palace. It wasn’t much, but she could see someone moving their arm. With that, she could see five other soldiers lined up, in rag clothes but with Nakar 17s, ready to shoot anything that moved. “We have some help.”

“Humans?” Cyrus asked.

“Yeah, they’ve got rifles,” she said.

We could use their help.

Crystil slowly got out of her crouch with her hands up, but Cyrus pulled her down by the collar.

“Are you insane?” he asked through gritted teeth. “These guys have been captive for over two years and just got out. What do you think they’re going to do when they see two humans with a sword and a Kastori? They’ll shoot us up immediately!”

“Good point,” Crystil said, and she quickly unbuckled the sheath and sword from her hip and placed it in front of Erda. “I’ll be back.”

“Crystil! What are you doing!”

Crystil looked back at Cyrus, who seemed on the verge of panic. Crystil squatted down to her knees and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Trust a soldier’s instincts. They’ve gotten you this far.”

She kissed him on the cheek, leaving him with a smile that he could not hide.

“I’ll be back, I promise.”

She stood up as her hand mussed his hair. She turned around with her arms in the sky, approaching a group she hoped would see her as an ally.

50

With synchronization that took Petrus way back decades to his time as a soldier, he and his five comrades took out all of the magicologists with perfectly aimed shots.

“Not a bad start,” Lance said. “It’s only going to get tougher though.”

“Wait,” Morian said.

“Case in point,” Lance mumbled.

“I see someone approaching, not magicologist though. Looks like a human woman. Tall, black hair, thin.”

“Don’t shoot, no matter what,” Petrus said, a powerful feeling overcoming him. He reached for his gun and looked through the scope, and immediately recognized her.
Crystil.

“I also see two more, one magi—”

“Do not shoot!” Petrus said emphatically, preempting any “heroic” acts. “If that’s a magicologist with two humans, they may have no choice but to help us.”

Morian pulled back from his rifle to give disgusted disapproval, but no fingers pulled triggers. Petrus looked through the scope. He could see the magicologist, wearing golden robes, and another familiar feeling went through him. The other figure, a man, had his back turned, but Petrus began to put the pieces together, and…

“I’m going to meet her, do not fire. No matter what. You only shoot her if I’m dead.”

“No,” Lance said. “I’ll bring her here. I won’t hurt her.”

Only because I trust you, Lance.

Petrus begrudgingly laid down as Lance approached the former commander.

51

Crystil saw a tall man approaching her—weaponless, thankfully—and she took a deep breath.
I’m here to help, don’t do anything stupid.

“Who are you?” the man said, in a voice she immediately recognized.

“Lance,” she said, trying not to laugh. “Good to see you.”

“How do you—wait,” he said.

“You know who I am,” she said.

“Commander Bradford,” he said, full of awe and reverence. “You’re alive. And you’re here. Is this—”

“No, not an illusion,” she said. “I can explain everything.’

Lance stumbled over his words as he looked back at the other soldiers.

“Explain it to all of us,” Lance said, and he hesitated before leading Crystil back to the group.

She walked over with a mixture of excitement and nerves.
If Lance is here, some of the best soldiers we had are here too. This helps us a ton, especially if they can overwhelm the returning magicologists.

But will they still follow me? Or do they have a new pecking order? Will they even be in line with our plans?

Lance motioned for all of the soldiers to release their grip on their weapons. They all stood at attention for Crystil. She recognized a couple of them—Trista, the fiery short girl who reminded Crystil of herself in every way except physical appearance; and Ector, the most reliable man she knew. Two others she did not recognize, and one of them seemed to want to avoid Crystil.