World War IV: Empires (7 page)

Fullock tried to retreat quickly to gather space for a swing, but Dean seized the opportunity and sliced his blade across the chief’s stomach, sending him to his knees. With the battle-axe still clutched in Fullock’s hand, Dean thrust the tip of the sword through Fullock’s stomach, the axe falling to the dirt.

Blood spurted from Fullock’s mouth, and he gasped for breath. His bloodshot eyes found Dean, his mouth twisted in rage. He slammed his empty right fist into Dean’s cheek and knocked him to the ground.

Dean spit out a tooth, and his ears rang from the vicious blow. He looked up to see Fullock pulling the blade from his stomach, a bloodcurdling cry bellowing from the depths of his body. The blade exited slowly; inch by inch it retreated, dripping with blood and bits of the chief’s innards. When Fullock finally had the sword out, a spurt of blood followed, and the exertion caused the chief to slump, but he kept hold of the hilt of Dean’s blade.

Dean eyed Fullock’s battle-axe in the dirt and lunged for it, needing both hands to wield the heavy weapon. His arms and shoulders burned on the swing toward the chief, who blocked the attack with Dean’s blade. Dean pivoted awkwardly with the large axe, trying to leverage the momentum with each swing, but his hands slipped, and the axe missed its target.

Fullock’s swings with the blade were slower now, his blood and energy draining from him with each movement, but even with the lack of vigor, the warrior chief refused to quit. He shuffled his large feet forward, his thick thighs keeping him off his knees and the rage in his eyes refusing to diminish. “You cannot kill me, Governor! The burned gods will never let my ashes touch the earth!” He sliced the sword down, Dean deflecting the blow with the edge of the axe.

Dean quickly scooted inside and thrust the end of the axe into the hole where the blade had opened Fullock’s stomach and knocked him off feet, the force of the blow sending Fullock to his back. Dean lifted the axe’s head high above him then brought the heavy blade down and lodged it into the chief’s chest, the crack of bone and slosh of blood ending the motion.

Fullock convulsed, choking on his own blood and last few breaths of life, while Dean fell backward into the bloodied sand, his body fatigued and aching. His ears could make out the cheers of his men behind him, his mind was too tired to recognize the adoration. All he could concentrate on was breathing and keeping a watchful eye on the grimace-faced Scarver clan that had just watched Dean kill their chief.

***

Delun ended the conversation with Rodion swiftly. All he needed to hear was that the capital had been taken and what forces hadn’t been massacred had turned on their tails and retreated to the opposite end of their country. With the Northwest secure, he ordered the ships used to transport Rodion’s men back to the Pacific Islands, despite the general’s protest.

With the news of Ruiz’s fall in Brazil, Delun knew that he would need every ship in his armada to finish off the Australians before the Americans tried to regroup. While Rodion had taken the capital, the Mars governors still had the might of their navy, which posed the only real threat to Delun’s plans.

But amidst all of the news, the piece of information that brought a smile to Delun’s face was the fact that another Mars brother had fallen. The merchant who’d waged war with the Australians had met his end on the battlefield of his homelands. With two of the brothers dead, the North American constituents had to start believing that their family of war were not the immortals they had been led to believe.

Loosening the grip on the Mars family’s hold on that country was a pivotal step in swaying their opinion. Without the confidence of the people, the Marses would lose their power, and powerless men were much easier to defeat in battle.

“Emperor.” A lieutenant entered, his head bowed low. “The African sultan is here to speak with you.”

“Show him in.” Delun removed himself from the work of his desk and greeted the smiling tradesman with a bow himself. “Sultan Tobaygu, I thank you for your audience.”

Tobaygu flashed a pearly-white smile, his ebony skin dressed with fine, colorful silks. Gold and silver, studded with diamonds, flashed over his neck, wrists, and fingers. “Emperor.” He matched Delun’s bow. “It was an honor to receive such an invitation.”

Delun guided him to a table where food and drink had been prepared for his arrival. “I trust the journey went well?”

Tobaygu picked at a grape as he sat then tossed it in his mouth, savoring the taste of the cool fruit in the humid islands. “Aside from a few squalls, it was quite enjoyable. Of course, the companionship that was offered did cause the time to pass quickly. When we made port here, I was tempted to order us back across the sea to enjoy the fruits of those women again!” He slapped his leg and offered a hearty laugh then picked at another grape and helped himself to the wine one of the servants had poured.

“I’m glad you found their skills useful.” Delun had long ago understood that a man who was well relaxed was easier to negotiate with. And there was no one trained better at the art of relaxation than the whores he had sent to accompany Tobaygu. “You would be glad to know that your friend General Rodion has taken the lands from the Mars brothers.”

“Ah, the good general does love to conquer.” Tobaygu swirled his drink then took a sip. “Although he does not share your finesse in handling people.” He flicked one of the seeds from the grape off his finger, the air of playfulness evaporating from his face.

“I take it you and the general have not shared a mutually beneficial relationship?”

Tobaygu offered another smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You and I both know the nature of my relationship with Rodion.” He leaned back, wagging his long, slender finger up and down. “You’re a very clever man, Emperor. But you need to work on your subtlety.”

Delun crossed his legs and reached for a stack of papers on the ground next to him. He set them in his lap and drummed his fingers over the top. “I’m sure that with all of the ears you have to the ground, Sultan, you’ve learned of Brazil’s coup and that President Ruiz has been removed from power?”

“I had heard rumblings of dissent for years about Brazil. Greed is a powerful enemy.” The silver and gold on Tobaygu’s wrist clinked together as he took another sip of wine. “But it also has its uses.”

“The Mars brothers had a hand in the coup, and they now control all three major ports in the South Americas, with that puppet rebel they helped into power. My trade with Brazil has been integral, and with the potential for this war to last some time, I will need a new partner, someone with the resources to ensure my soldiers do not run out of weapons.”

“Is your faith in General Rodion wavering, Emperor? If you know about my relationship with Rodion, then you also know that my agreement is to trade with only him.”

“And I also know that agreement was based off of your life.” Delun rose, setting the stack of parchment on the open space of table in front of Tobaygu. “You’ll find that a contract between two partners is much more beneficial than a sword to your neck. Give it some thought.” Delun poured another glass of wine then placed it in front of the sultan. “And if you require additional attention from the girls, let my men know.”

The moment Delun shook Tobaygu’s hand and saw the smile creep up the corners of his mouth, he knew the deal was done. With Delun able to offer protection from Rodion’s wrath while simultaneously cutting off Rodion’s one resource pipeline, he could choke the general out. Of course, Rodion would have enough supplies on hand to finish off the Mars army, but it would weaken him. Then, once Delun finished off the Australians, he could focus the might of his fleet on the Mars navy. After that, it would only be a matter of time before Brazil fell into line, and he would make Tobaygu so rich he would swear his allegiance in a heartbeat. All that was left was the execution.

Wires, circuits, bolts, screws, washers, scraps of metal, and an array of tools surrounded Alvy as he pulled apart the components on one of the old missiles that they had removed, clumsily but successfully, from the aircraft.

There was enough technology around Alvy to study for the rest of his life and still not be able to replicate what the engineers of the past had done. The complex innards of these machines were far beyond his capacity to understand, but much of what he saw confirmed hundreds of theories that he’d only been able to guess at, and that was more valuable than the gear itself at the moment.

Alvy knew what the Mars brothers wanted from him. It seemed like every leader he’d ever met craved power, but what they wielded it for and how they wielded it differed with each man. Governor Mars was the first to give him a choice, the first to let him decide as a free man. And keeping his family safe only solidified his reasons.

A schematic rested just beyond Alvy’s reach from where he sat, and he leaned forward, his fingertips grazing the edge of the paper. Just when he was about to grab it, the paper was snatched away. When he looked up, he saw that Jason held it.

“I could look at this for the rest of my life and probably never understand what it means.” Jason shook his head then extended the schematic down to Alvy. “I suppose it’s a good thing we have you on our side.”

“Yes,” Alvy said, taking the paper. “I suppose it is.” He returned to his work, checking the design he’d created, and then located the necessary components scattered around him. When Jason’s shadow didn’t move, he looked back up. “Can I help you with something?”

“You know, I’ve spoken to the other engineers.” Jason walked around the circle of materials in which Alvy was centered. “They say the devices you created for Ruiz were some of the best pieces of technology they’d ever seen.”

“The technology isn’t half as impressive as the theories behind it.” Alvy returned to his work, picking apart the materials. “Ruiz was concerned only with the results I gave him.”

“That you’re still giving him?”

Alvy dropped the copper wire in his hands and stood. The Mars brother had at least six inches in height on him and close to sixty pounds, maybe seventy. Alvy knew he was a small man, but his mind had kept him alive this long, and he didn’t expect it to fail him now. “You think I’m still working for him? After what he did to my family?”

“After what you
said
he did to your family.” Jason took a step closer. “Ruiz was an ambitious man. He always stacked the odds in his favor, and if there was one thing I learned about him, it was his persuasiveness. He was a magician, really, showing one hand and then stealing your wallet with the other.”

Alvy rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing raised bumps in odd designs on his flesh. “This was given to me when Ruiz’s men first came to my home after I refused to go with them or let them take my family.” He dropped his arm and pulled up his shirt, revealing a line of scars over his abdomen. “They carved the skin just enough to make me bleed but not enough to penetrate the organs when I told Ruiz that I wouldn’t design weapons.” He left his shirt untucked then pulled up his left pant leg, where a chunk of his thigh was missing. “And this is where he set a dog on me when I demanded that my family be set free.” He kicked a cluster of circuits when his pant leg fell, breaking the tight circle of gear he’d created. He thrust his finger into Jason’s face. “Whatever he asked for I gave, but no more.” He snatched the paper up from the ground, pointing at it furiously. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

Jason remained stoic before answering, “No.”

Alvy started picking up the material he’d kicked away, and Jason helped. “The radios I designed for Ruiz had more than just an application of communication. The simple premise of sending a signal from one device to another can be applied to literally anything given the right connection.” He made his way under the wing of one of the aircraft, where a bomb was still attached. “Imagine being able to put a cannonball anywhere then detonate from miles away in safety.”

“You can do that?” Jason asked.

“I could,” Alvy answered. “But what makes you different than Ruiz? He too became paranoid toward the end, killing anything and anyone that posed a threat or who he
believed
was dangerous.”

“The difference is I brought you here,” Jason said. “The difference is my brother trusts you. And I trust him.” Jason picked the paper off the ground and handed it back to Alvy. “Don’t make me kill you by breaking that trust.”

And with that, the Mars brother walked away, leaving Alvy to his work. It was a mixture of fear and awe that coursed through his veins whenever he spoke to one of the governors. He could feel the power radiating from them, an immeasurable force he couldn’t comprehend. But just as with the science around him, he only needed more time to unlock its secrets.

***

The ride back felt longer than the way out as Dean slouched in his saddle, the bruises and cuts along his face and body barely healed from the fight with Fullock. But behind him rode twenty thousand clansmen from the Black Rocks, Boulders, Flayers, Molthays, Fulkers, and even the remaining Scarvers. In the Scarver tribe, whoever defeated the reigning chief in combat inherited the conquered chief’s territory, along with any other possessions. In addition to the warriors, it seemed that Dean also inherited six wives, which he immediately divorced, as was his authority to do as chief.

Once the fight with Rodion had ended, Dean had every intention of forgoing his position as chief and letting the clan’s top two warriors duel for the honor of the title. But for now, they would fight as he instructed them to.

Dean dismounted, and the first face he saw among the crowds was Kemena. He felt her arms wrap around him gently, and he buried his nose in the scent of her hair. When she kissed his lips he winced, and she immediately pulled back. He smiled. “I’m fine.”

Kemena looked him up and down then grabbed him by the hand and marched him to the infirmary. “You are not fine.”

The sick and wounded that Dean passed smelled of death, and he did his best to hide the nausea as Kemena put him in a private room. He sat on the makeshift examination table and watched her move swiftly throughout the room, grabbing the necessary tools and equipment to mend him, although he noticed the lack of supplies, which was concerning.

Kemena dipped a cloth in alcohol then pressed it firmly against the cut on his brow. “It looks like you were beaten up by a gorilla.”

“Close to it.” Dean gently wrapped his fingers around her slender wrist and pulled her hand down so he could get a good look at her eyes. “How are you?” He could sense the fatigue in her, and the disheveled hair and dress only added to his worry.

The pillars of strength slowly gave way as Kemena slumped her shoulders and leaned into Dean on the table. “We’re not going to be able to save everyone, Dean. We’re pressed too thin.”

Dean rubbed her back gently, holding her up. “Jason will return from the vault. What’s there will give us an edge.”

And as if Kemena sensed the very doubt in the back of his mind, she added, “And if it doesn’t?”

He pulled her face to where they were eye to eye. “It will.” He smiled, but the exertion pained the bruises along his cheeks. “Where are the boys?” He hadn’t seen them upon his arrival, which he found odd considering their fascination with the clans.

Kemena let out a sigh. “I suppose they’re at their quarters, trying to find some way to outsmart the guards General Monaghan keeps on them night and day. They’re restless, Dean.”

“Probably more so than anyone in this place.” Both Kit and Sam had been as patient as two boys could be given the circumstances. Especially Kit. Dean knew how much the boy wanted to fight, and what made the desire worse was the knowledge that the boy would be a gifted soldier. He had the strength, courage, and tenacity to win many battles. But Dean wanted something more than war for his nephew. Kemena remained silent, reserved, holding something back. “What?”

“We need to have the funeral, Dean.” The words flooded out of her like a river breaking loose from a dam. “People want to pay their respects.”

Dean slid from the edge of the table and landed on his feet, wobbling slightly from the movement. “I know.” With Fred barely in the ground a few weeks prior, he’d been reluctant to bury another brother. He slid to the floor absentmindedly, where Kemena joined him.

She laced her fingers between his and huddled close, their foreheads gingerly touching one another. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

It could have been the fatigue over the past weeks, the wounds from battle, the weight of his people bearing down on him, or the soft tone in which Kemena said the words, but he felt water collect in the corners of his eyes then roll down his cheeks, following the line of his jaw to his chin then dripping to the floor. The grief poured out of him, his body convulsing from the expulsion of pain he kept balled inside. “I miss them, Kemena.” The words fled his mouth just as spontaneously and abruptly as the tears. “I miss them so much.”

Kemena kissed his cheek, her lips intermixing with the wetness of his skin. “I know how difficult this has been for you.” She cradled his head in her palm, easing the weight off of him. “You’re nearly done now.” She brought her lips to his ears. “Just a little bit longer.”

She spoke to him like a child. He was grateful to have her there. He clung to her arms and shoulders until his eyes ran dry. Once it was done, he made sure to clean and erase any notion of the weakness from his face. Kemena was right, just a little bit farther now. And now wasn’t the time to let his people see him in such a state. “Let me see him.”

Lance’s body had been dressed and preserved, although Dean knew the body wouldn’t last much longer in the heat. It was odd seeing his brother so still, and Dean reached out and touched Lance’s hand as if he would wake. But Lance’s body only remained cold and stiff. He turned around to Kemena, but she had already read his mind once again.

“I’ll give you a minute.” She smiled and quietly left.

Dean found a chair next to the table. “What have we done, brother?” He eased himself into the seat, knowing Lance could offer no answer. “Jason’s gone to the vault.” Dean smiled. “I know how much stock you put in that place.”

While Lance had kept the pendulum close, his brother never truly believed they offered any practical solution.
Nothing more than words to rouse the troops.
A part of Dean had always believed that, but with the odds stacked against him, he never wished his brother to be more wrong than in that moment.

“I could use your counsel,” Dean said, rubbing his cheeks with the palms of his hands. “The navy could use your counsel as well.” The thought angered him. “You should have stayed in the military once the wars were finished. Yours was a mind wasted in the merchant trade.”

Lance had turned down the governorship in a heartbeat. His victories had cemented him into more of a legend than Dean. It was Lance’s name they chanted at the end of the Chinese War, and it was Lance’s name that echoed through the streets once the wasteland clans had been subdued, but Dean’s older brother had always shied away from the spotlight, only accepting the burden when there was no one else to take the mantle. Lance never complained about it, never denounced the call to duty, but Dean had always noticed the glint of fear in his eyes, as if there was something he knew that Dean had not.
I think I understand now, brother.

Dean lingered a while longer, but the dead made for poor companions. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but whatever it was, it offered no comfort. Whatever was left of his brother was nothing more than the decaying flesh on the table. The mind, the skill, the voice, and the strength had long since disappeared.

“Sir?” The quiet tone of Monaghan’s voice startled Dean. The general had scarcely looked so timid in their war meetings together.

“General, what is it?”

Monaghan moved his lips fruitlessly but expelled no words. He shook his head, cleared his throat, and simply motioned for two soldiers to come inside, carrying a body-shaped tarp. “We received a message from Rodion while you were away. I thought it best you see it immediately.”

Dean walked to the covered body slowly and knelt, his nose burning from the smell. He lifted the tarp back and his voice caught in his throat. Professor Hawthorne’s cheeks were a pale grey, lifeless. Dean’s grief shifted to rage. “What is his message?”

“Pull the tarp lower, sir,” Monaghan said.

The mangled flesh that had been cut across the professor’s chest and stomach was crudely done, but once Dean had the entire tarp off, he couldn’t help but read the words aloud. “Your people, your family, your name will burn.” The wounds had festered, and the blood dried and the flesh gone brittle where Rodion had worked the blade. Dean covered Hawthorne, resting his palm on the old professor’s forehead. “We bury my brother, then ride upon Jason’s return. Prepare the men.”