World War IV: Empires (17 page)

With both Delun and Hong working together once more, Dean was forced back into the defensive. Sweat grew slick on his arms and hands, and he felt the hilt slipping from his palm, sliding across his skin. The awkward grip caused Dean to haphazardly block a swing from Hong, and Delun capitalized by punching Dean across the jaw.

Dean blindly lifted his sword, barely blocking Hong’s strike, then swung wildly through the air, stumbling backward. His attackers coiled and readied themselves to strike once more, approaching slowly.

“I want you to know that I will spare your wife, even let the child in her womb grow,” Delun said, stepping side by side with Hong. “But should she give birth to a son, I will have him put to slaughter. If it’s a daughter, I’ll bed her myself when she’s of age.”

Dean squeezed the hilt of the blade tighter, the pain in his body rolling off of him like the blood dripping from the gash in his arm. He planted his feet, bending at the knees, the tip of his steel aimed at the gap between Delun and Hong, and Hong froze, but Delun kept walking.

“Emperor!” Hong dashed in front of Delun just as Dean thrust, deflecting Hong’s parry and piercing the soft flesh of Hong’s stomach. Hong jolted from the assault, his blade dropping to the ground, blood trickling down the front of his pants, and he collapsed to his knees.

Dean yanked the blade from Hong’s stomach and reared on Delun, who was scrambling to his feet. His fingers grazed the hilt of his sword when Dean rammed his steel through Delun’s throat. The emperor gasped and choked, blood bursting from the veins and arteries along his neck. He gurgled on what last bit of life he had left and collapsed into the sand, convulsing until his body lay motionless.

Dean’s legs gave way, and he fell to the dirt next to the two slain Chinese, exhausted and drained. He felt hands on him, and when he opened his eyes, Kemena was there, tears streaming down her face. He looked to his right; the Chinese soldiers knelt, dropping their weapons, as Jason stormed inside with their men. Kemena was muttering something, but all he focused on was that she was alive, their child was alive; his family lived.

Dean paced the room back and forth, his nephews bouncing their legs anxiously, their eyes focused on the floor. All of the warring and battles of Dean’s past—nothing compared to the anxiety coursing through his veins at that moment.

Dean perked his head up at the sound of an infant crying, and the room doors swung open, the young nurse smiling, sweat covering her face. “It’s a girl.”

Kit and Sam jumped from their seats and nearly tackled Dean to the floor, then the three of them stumbled inside the delivery room, where Kemena lay red faced and sweaty, holding a bundle of white, soft cloth that was wrapped around a pinkish-red, crying baby girl.

Dean kissed Kemena on the forehead as she cleaned the infant. “I love you so much.” He smiled, tears dripping from his face and onto Kemena’s shoulder.

“I love you too,” Kemena answered.

“What are you going to call her?” Sam asked, trying to peek over the side of the bed to get a good look at his new cousin.

“I was thinking Luana,” Kemena answered. “After your mother.”

“Luana.” Dean spoke the name softly, scooping the child up from her mother and cradling her gently in his arms. He kissed her softly on her forehead, repeating her name to her like a song, one that he would never grow tired of hearing.

***

The palace walls had been redecorated since the last time Jason had visited Rio, but the occupants were far more welcoming than during his last visit. Gabriela sat across from him at the table while he looked over the new trade agreements she’d drawn up. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to bend a little on the dock taxes?”

“We’ll renegotiate next year,” Gabriela answered. “I need the income to keep the ports stocked with soldiers to keep the peace. Ruiz’s loyalists still seem to be hanging around, although I don’t know why. Ruiz has been dead for months.”

“Old habits die hard.” Jason signed and sealed the documents, ushering in a new age of trade for the North Americans, one that he hoped would help ease the recovery of his people. One of Gabriela’s men picked up the documents and left the two of them alone. “I hear you’ll be having your elections next month.”

“The first truly free and properly represented elections in over thirty years. I hope it’s worth the wait.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re not running.” Jason leaned back, shaking his head. “With your coup over Ruiz, you would have won by a landslide.”

“My expertise is war. There are better candidates to lead the country now that we’ve gotten a stranglehold on corruption. My job is done.” She looked around at the palace walls, her face itching with disgust. “And I wouldn’t want to live here after what happened.”

The two walked through the halls together silently until they arrived at the courtyard, where Jason’s guards waited for him. He lingered at the entrance, looking down at Gabriela, who kept her gaze elsewhere. “I look forward to seeing you again in our negotiations next year.”

“Yes, as do I.” Gabriela kept her words short and extended her hand. When she finally looked up at him, her arm shook, and Dean leaned to kiss her, but she smacked him across the face then kissed him hard.

When she finally pulled back, Jason shook his head; a lightness filled him that he hadn’t felt since their night together on his ship. “Maybe next year is too long a wait.”

***

The hot sun and desert winds kicked up sand that pelted against Tobaygu’s cloak. He quickly left the docks, the peddlers at the port begging him to stop and look at their merchandise, but he kept his attention focused on the group of men waiting for him at the end of the docks. “Gentlemen.” He flashed his trademark smile as his own men pulled up behind him, struggling under the heavy weight of the crates they carried. “Do you have a place we could talk in private?”

One of the men gestured into a nearby tent, which had already been emptied. Tobaygu entered first, followed by his new friends, then his own men bringing in the crates and setting them down ever so gently. “I thank you all for your audience.”

“What is it that you want, Tobaygu? We have no time for your games.” Chief Wantubay shifted uncomfortably, and the rest of the war chiefs mimicked his disdain.

This was the first time in living memory that all the war chiefs of the north had gathered under one roof, and Tobaygu did not want to waste it. “We have fought each other for a long time, my brothers. We have squabbled over land, water, and food, but what I have brought us will put an end to that.” He nodded to one of his men, and the servant cracked the crate open, spilling out strands of hay.

Tobaygu walked over to the crate and gently lifted an AK-47 from the box and rested it on the table, where the chiefs flocked to the rifle eagerly. “This is a weapon of the west, my brothers. This is what has kept them in power for so long, and now I have the means to make these myself. I have brought us technology that will reshape our continent. Reshape our people. Reshape the world.”

***

The ruins of the old cities had not changed since the last time Dean had visited them. The sand and earth were still dirtied under his feet, the old buildings still sagged and crumbled, the ocean air and waves beating away whatever bits of life remained in them.

But this visit felt different. He couldn’t explain it other than the fact that he was now a father. That and the peace he’d enjoyed since Rodion’s and Delun’s deaths. While there was still much work to do in rebuilding his country, as well as the world of his allies, it was the first time in his life when he’d felt the warmth of peace.

The burden and weight of power, war, and fear had been lifted from him. All he saw on the horizon were possibilities of what a life for his daughter could be. He knew it would not be without trials, but he also knew it would not be without its treasures.

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