The Scrolls of Icaria by Jamie

Book 2 – 'War of the Angels'

Part III - Baron of Rood

Chapter 43

“Copy that, and acknowledge.”

The pilot of the troop transport Goliath leaned forward in his seat, speaking into his comstick. His response, short and crisp, was in reply to a burst of chatter pouring out of his headset.

“Right.Off we go, then.” He gave a quick thumbs-up to his co-pilot just before powering up the large craft. Seconds later, the low thrum of the massive hov’s engines began spinning up and the whine of the craft’s powerful turbines rose to a high-pitched scream.

Behind the bulkhead that separated the pilot's cabin from the open bay of the Goliath, the full Gahdar cohort was configured just as they’d been upon their arrival at Imperialas, though now they were leaving the city and beginning their journey back to Piropolis.

The heavy ship hesitated for a brief moment and then, with ponderous grace, lifted off from the tarmac of the imperial military base where it had touched down only a few hours before. Laden with passengers, their gear, and a surprise last minute shipment of eight oversized pallets of freight, it labored only briefly under the strain of the additional weight stored within its cargo bay. Although fully loaded, the Goliath reached its target altitude in less than two minutes; with a deeper roar, its aft engines ignited as the captain switched to horizontal flight.

“It’s exciting to be taking them back to Piropolis. I love the games. I can’t believe we were lucky enough to pull this assignment. I mean, sitting right behind us are all of the Gahdar of the empire!" The co-pilot sounded excited, but then a frown clouded his face. “I just don’t know why we were ordered to take on that extra freight.” His eyes danced over the many screens, dials and gauges arranged across the console of the hov, while he monitored the craft’s ascent. “We’re a troop ship, not a freightliner.”

“You’re new at this. Don’t even attempt to question the logic of it.” The pilot’s eyebrows floated upward into his forehead as he gave his co-pilot a look of ironic resignation. Seconds later his expression was one of amusement as he continued, “I gave up trying to make sense of bureaucratic decisions a long time ago. It does no good to complain. I’ve learned that the best thing to do is just follow the orders we’re given, and at the end of the day we'll go home and forget about it.”

“A commendable attitude,” a voice behind the pilot commented in a casual tone. At the same time there was a sharp, snapping click and the man felt the sensation of cold metal against the back of his neck. “Your desire for cooperation will make the next few minutes so much easier.”

By straining his neck around as far as he could, the pilot was barely able to gain a glimpse of his captor in his peripheral vision, and recognized the speaker as Miro Gillot, one of the gladiators of Castle Rood that he followed and supported. Turning slightly toward the co-pilot he saw what he suspected was a mirror image of his own predicament, for pressed against the nape of his second in command’s neck was the muzzle of a large and powerful ghoster, wielded by one of the Gahdar from the hov’s bay. The pilot wondered frantically how it had escaped his notice that the door between the cabin and the open bay had been opened. Then his attention returned to his captor as the Gahdar continued to speak.

“So then, to extend your theory a bit, if you just follow the orders I give you everything will turn out well. Don’t worry, I can assure that it will, indeed, be quite fine. As long as you cooperate nothing will happen to you, and you’ll be home safe and sound with your families before the nights over. On the other hand, we don't actually require two of you to fly this rust bucket, do we?” After a beat, allowing time for his statement to sink in, Miro continued in a cheerful voice. "Of course we're not going to have any of that sort of unpleasantness, are we? Instead, I’m going to give you a set of coordinates, and you're going to fly to them.” The grin on the boy’s face turned into a broad smile and his perfect white teeth gleamed in the soft, artificial light of the cockpit.

On the troop deck, all of the Gahdar were on their feet and crowded around the eight pallets that had been loaded just minutes before the Goliath had been cleared for take-off. Their contents lay exposed, and David and Julius were supervising the distribution of a wide assortment of military grade ghosters, stun grenades, battle lances and side arms. As they did, Nic began barking off a list of orders.

“Remember, we all keep our brains engaged and our emotions in check.” He strode up and down the rows of boys who were checking and rechecking their weapons. “We cause as little damage as possible. We make as little noise as possible. We kill or harm as few as possible. We’re there for one purpose and one purpose only: to rescue the prisoners, and then fly straight to Angel’s Fall.”

“Have you considered that as soon as I deviate from our flight plan,” the hov’s pilot tried to turn his head in an attempt to look up at Miro, but the cold hard steel of the ghoster against his neck made the move unsuccessful, “Imperial Air Command is going to realize something’s happened? You won’t be able to hide this.”

“Just fly to the coordinates,” Miro continued to smile. “That’s already been taken care of.”

Another strong nudge of the barrel of the ghoster got Miro his desired result; as the Gahdar stood over the pilot, he watched the man input the new flight plan into his nav-comp.

“Do you realize that these coordinates are going to take us directly to Stone Gate Prison?” the pilot’s voice held a mix of puzzlement and surprise, since it was the last place he’d have imagined the hijackers of his craft would want to go.

“Perhaps, being the good citizens of the empire that we are, we plan to save them the cost and effort of apprehending us by chosing instead to surrender on the spot." Miro grinned fiercely. “Then they won’t have to transport us very far to our cells, no?”

“Everything’s been arranged at flight control, Baron.” The Kalorian woman's eyes studied Nic closely as she faced the leader of the gladiators. She was lean and hard, the touches of gray in her short, clippered hair belied by the spare grace of her movements. Just moments earlier, Niklas had used the butt of a deadly looking ghoster carbine to smash open one of the remaining crates, revealing the stow-away packed inside. “It’s amazing what people will do to secure a berth on one of the transports to Argon. Virtually all the current shift at Imperial Air Command agreed to our terms. Of course, I’m sure the ones who didn’t have been tied up and stuffed into a utility closet.” If the woman’s statement was meant to be a joke, she wasn’t smiling. Neither was Nic. The game was on, and it was deadly serious. “You do know where you’re going, right?”

Nic studied the woman for a few seconds. “Yes. Jamie… ah… the Lord Protector has given me a detailed plan of the prison."

“An evil place, that rat hole,” the woman added in a hard, quiet voice. “A blessing on your wings, Baron, for what you’re about to do.” The woman turned away and began checking the readiness of her weapons, a heavy caliber ghoster carbine slung over her shoulder and an archaic but deadly looking projectile pistol on her belt.

Nic continued to look at the woman, but kept silent. We’re going to need a lot more than a blessing, or we won’t have any wings left to get blessed, he thought, and then dismissed the worry; the time for doubts was long past.

“Ready?” Jamie’s eyes made a critical inspection of the boys of Trio Chrysalis. His three friends stood only a few feet in front of him. Dressed smartly as a trio of Gahdar from the Red Castle, the boys would be playing the role of the imperial troops opposite Jamie’s Karkal Foss.

Jeremy, Yves and Lucas looked dashing in their short leather kilts and standard Gahdar fighting armor. Outfitted personally by troupes of eager gladiators seeking to curry favor with the dancers, the three boys appeared as authentic as any Gahdar who’d ever fought at Rood. The only difference between them and the actual gladiators of the Red Castle was that in their hands Jeremy, Yves and Lucas carried prop swords. Still, they’d been so masterfully fashioned, that they looked like the real thing.

“Of course we’re ready,” Jeremy grinned.

Standing in a small, glass enclosed corridor leading into the main greenhouse of the Imperial Botanicum, the boys were waiting together for their cue to go on stage.

“How do I look?” Jamie stepped back from his friends and executed a slow pirouette.

“I think you asked us that the first time you performed this routine,” Yves smiled. “The answer’s the same now as it was then: you look like you were in a fight and lost.”

Jamie’s mouth turned up into a small smile. “Good, but you’ll never believe how much this costume cost. Remember the first time I performed the Redak at the opera house? I made my own impromptu costume, back then. I just pulled off my racerback and cut up my tights. That outfit cost nothing. Look at this.” He gestured down at himself. Bare-chested and barefoot, Jamie was smeared with makeup that made him appear as if he’d been on the wrong end of a losing battle. The only thing he was wearing other than his dance belt was a torn, threadbare and dirty set of tights. “When the costumer told me what this outfit cost, I was amazed.”

“Well, you’re their premier dancer,” Lucas gave Jamie’s makeup and costume a quick inspection. “Nothing but the best for Prince de Valèn, even if it’s nothing more than custom made rags.”

“Hey! You’re just as premier as I am,” Jamie protested, his forehead creasing into a mock frown.

“There’s premier, and then there’s premier,” Lucas responded with a light chuckle.

“Five minutes, boys.” The stage manager broke into the young mens' animated conversation. “Get ready to go on.”

Moving closer to the entrance of the central greenhouse, Jamie, Yves, Lucas and Jeremy peeked out at their venue.

“It’s certainly the A-list crowd,” Yves remarked to his three friends.

“Only the cream of the imperial crop would be invited to this party,” Jeremy seconded as he scanned the audience.

Directly before them, on the bright green lawn of the central greenhouse, stood their stage; a series of platforms that had been assembled and arranged on varying levels. In front of the stage sat the Imperial Avionne Orchestra. Philippe was at the podium, whispering to his musicians as they finished tuning up. Off to the director's left the tall, transparent tube of a corpus harp rose above the heads of the seated musicians.

A few feet away from the orchestra sat the assembled guests, including the emperor and empress who were seated on soft, throne-like seats. To Enrick’s right sat Savaron Loka, whose inscrutable expression made Jamie shiver. Next to Loka sat Prince Hippolito Corcorian, Jamie’s imperially declared mate.

Taking a deep breath Jamie placed a hand on his left hip and felt the small hard piece of metal he’d clipped inside the top band of his tights. It was the coin-like piece from the signet he’d taken from Nic.

“Sa lav a deah, Nic,” he whispered to himself, wishing his mate calm skies and good luck.

“You're on,” the stage manager ordered, breaking into the prince’s thoughts.

The boy’s looked at each other and then moved to huddle even closer together. Pulling both the imperial ring of the emperor and Cristophe’s asp ring from his fingers, Jamie handed them to the stage manager. It wouldn’t look appropriate wearing them, given his role as rebel and slave. Reaching out his now naked hand, he clasped the joined hands of his three friends. Since they were playing imperial troops, they’d elected to wear the rings Jamie had given them.

“Merde,” the voices of the four young men blended in unison just before breaking their holds on each other’s hands. A moment later they were walking toward the stage.

The audience remained silent as the boys took their places. In less then a minute Jamie was standing center stage with Lucas, Jeremy and Yves positioned around him.

The prince paused and looked out into the assembled audience. For one second, his eyes caught a sight that made him blink and catch his breath. The evening’s guests also included the princes and scribes of the imperial and royal houses, and although Jamie had known they’d be in attendance, their presence, seated in a row just behind the emperor, took him by surprise.

Each prince wore a diadem. The thin, golden bands occasionally glinted, catching the light as the young men moved or turned their heads. Beside each prince sat the scribe of his respective house. Jamie recognized some of them from their attendance at his investiture as Lord Protector, others he only knew from what he’d gleaned from the web. Some he knew he could count on as allies; the rest remained a mystery.

The sight of the small retinue of beautiful, regally attired boys caused him to shudder. What would happen to them? Accepting the assurances of the Kalorians, he’d made no other provisions for most of the Avionnes on the planet. Most, he’d been promised, would be saved. Those aligned with the empire? Well, that was another story, and he chose not to dwell on that thought. He didn’t even know how many might be in gestation at Gold Glass. What of the Gahdar? The thought raced through his mind. If any of them survive, who’ll assist them?

Have faith. They’ve promised as long as you hold true to your covenant, an inner voice told him, yet he couldn't bring himself to fully trust it.

Staring for a moment at the audience, he caught a glimpse of one of the scribes: the young man, Cody Delacroix, who’d spoken to him the day of his investiture as Lord Protector. He wondered for a second whether the boy had been practicing the mental drill Jamie had given him.

Raising his prop sword above his head, Jamie’s eyes fell on Enrick just before his gaze slid past Savaron Loka, and finally landed on Hippolito. The Prince of Hypernia’s eyes met those of the dancer, and for a second they locked. The look Hippolito shot his future mate was the same one he’d given Jamie the morning they’d sparred in the Battlecom: full of anger… and hunger.

Poised like statues the four dancers, pushing up lightly on the balls of their feet, shifted slightly as they held first position. An atmosphere of excited anticipation was thick in the air, but not as thick as the palpable feeling of fear that curled and roiled in the pit of Jamie’s stomach. While he was dancing, Nic would be fighting. It was a discomforting thought.

Shifting his gaze to Philippe, Jamie’s eyes met those of the conductor of the Imperial Orchestra. A second later, he gave Philippe the tiniest of nods. Philippe, both hands held out before him, a baton in one, nodded back. Looking out over the orchestra the young avionne conductor raised his arm, his hand holding the baton high over his head. It was a mirror image of Jamie’s own posture as the dancer clutched his sword. An instant later, as if it were a weapon, Philippe’s baton cut the air in a strong, purposeful arc.

A soft bump accompanied the military hov’s landing in the courtyard at Stone Gate. Nic looked around at the circle of faces looking at him, tracking across them before he began to speak. He saw tension and some anticipation, but no fear.

"All right, this is it. Spider and Talon, you're with me. Wolf and Lion, secure the courtyard. The rest of you, attack plan alpha, as we trained. Keep your wits about you. I want to see you execute a clean operation. We get in, grab them and leave; no playing to the crowd. Got it?"

Seconds later the entire Gahdar cohort was streaming out of the craft’s underbelly as they prepared to storm the prison. The first part of the operation had gone without a hitch. Since the military transport was more than adequately armed, it hadn’t taken much persuasion for the guards in the towers surrounding the prison and those patrolling the perimeter to lay down their weapons and form a submissive group in the center of the large yard inside the prison’s main entrance. The fact that the Goliath’s full battery of deadly cannons and double array of high power ghoster repeaters had been trained on them made their choice rather simple. One quick cannon shot that obliterated an unoccupied guard tower sealed the deal. David and Miro led the way. In their wake, like a pack of hungry sharks, the rest of the cohort streamed into the courtyard and spread out.

“We’ll show them what hand to hand combat’s really like if they decide to go a round or two,” Artimus, the primi half of duet Asp, shouted as he dashed behind Miro and David.

“Remember my instructions,” a frowning Nic called out as he watched the boys charge into the prison. “The prisoners are our priority. Keep your wits about you.”

“First blood gets a point,” Artimus’s secundi Aaron, tightly clutching his ghoster, barked to the pack, acting as if he hadn’t heard a word of Nic’s orders.

“First kill gets two,” David called out over his shoulder, sounding equally cavalier.

Bringing up the rear Nic and Julius, accompanied by Duet Spider and Duet Talon, slowly followed the fast paced advance group.

Seconds out of the hov, the assigned gladiators peeled off from the pack and trained their weapons on the guards who were kneeling as a group in the center of the prison yard. Hands on their heads the subdued guards watched as they were surrounded by a small compliment of Gahdar. Once the bulk of the boys were through Stone Gate’s main entrance, loud blasts and repeating ghoster fire, punctuated by the distinctive bark of the Kalorian woman's pistol, began echoing throughout the complex.

Calm and cool, Nic, Julius, and duets Spider and Talon, advanced cautiously as they scanned the scene, their eyes alert for anything unusual or out of place that their comrades might have missed.

“So far, so good,” Julius, gripping his ghoster while he scanned the prison yard, spoke in little more than a whisper.

Hearing a loud blast, Nic looked up to see heavy smoke wreathing about the eaves of one of the dormitory-like wings of the prison.

“Let's hope our luck continues,” he replied.

“It's nothing to do with luck, Le’ir Bahr a’Ronei. You, better than anyone, know this.” It was Julius' final remark to his friend as they strode through the main entrance of Stone Gate.

Dodging the slash of a sword, Jamie spun to the right. Only moments before, their execution of the Redak had taken to the air as Trio Chrysalis, playing their role of imperial troops, forcefully pressed their attack. The dance had been every bit as magnificent and captivating as Jamie’s first performance months before at the opera house, except for one thing: Jamie’s mind, focused more on worrying about Nic and what the Gahdar cohort were undertaking, had been elsewhere during most of the act.

Having performed the dance many times since its initial presentation, along with honing the current optional routine to perfection with Trio Chrysalis, his moves had become mostly automatic. Despite his distraction, everything was going well. The only exceptions were one misstep he’d made earlier in the performance that had caused him to stumble. A second faux pas occurred when a sudden slash from Lucas' prop sword accidently connected with his right leg and caused him to fall. Both errors had come off as part of the dance and only the most discerning eye would have noted them as mistakes. To those assembled and watching in rapt fascination, the amazing performance by La Mondele’s four best dancers looked letter perfect.

High in the air, Jamie did a sharp turn, followed by a skillful series of aerial maneuvers that ended in a spin. Clutching his sword, he tried valiantly to fend off his attackers as he moved to mimic the last moments of Karkal Foss’s life. Surrounded by his three friends, Jamie was now completely on the defensive as Yves, Jeremy and Lucas came at him from all sides.

As much an actor as a dancer, Jamie showed the audience the pain of each and every stab the trio delivered, while his body twisted and turned in agony as the life of both the historically doomed rebellion and its charismatic leader came to a tragic and untimely end. In one final, unified assault, the boys of Chrysalis plunged their swords into the wounded Foss. Twisting in a spasm of pain, Jamie sank to the floor. His arms and legs fell limp. His wings covered his body. The music faded to silence as the orchestra’s sad dirge came to a sober end. Foss was dead. Laying quiet and still on the stage floor, a terrifying thought entered Jamie’s mind and he prayed that what he’s just pretended on stage hadn’t truly occurred with Nic and his band of warriors.

Surrounding Jamie, Trio Chrysalis, their swords still drawn, stood ready to deliver a final blow if necessary, but none was needed. Crumpled up like a tattered and threadbare rag doll abandoned by a careless child, Jamie lay motionless as the lights faded, plunging the stage into darkness.

Seconds later the house lights came up and Jamie and his three friends were standing hand in hand, receiving the applause of the crowd. As they took their bows the audience, led by the emperor, gave the boys a standing ovation.

Jamie, looking at his friends, whispered, “As soon as we get off this stage…”

“We know,” Yves cut Jamie off. “We’re out of here.”

Standing below the platform, the stage manager motioned for the boys to exit. As they descended from the stage and Jamie plucked rings from the open palm of the stage manager, a young man passed them on his way up to the platform. The human boy, a singer, had been chosen to replace Damien, and Jamie’s heart sank when he thought about the kind, gentle young man held at Stone Gate.

Moving as quickly as possible through the palace without raising suspicion, the dancers came to a small plaza that served as the palace transport pool, where various models of hovs were parked in neat rows. Jamie pointed to one of them, and they crossed the tarmac at a rapid walk and began to climb in. As they slid into their seats and buckled the belts, Jamie took the pilot’s seat and immediately ran an instruments check. Seconds later he initiated the engine ignition sequence. With a brief moment of concentration, he suppressed the security program designed to recognize the pilot's identity, and the engines rumbled to life.

“You never told us you could fly one of these things,” Lucas’ voice rose as he adjusted his straps.

“I can’t,” Jamie shot back. “It’s a supersonic. I’m not rated to fly one, but we need it to get to Tower Mount.”

“Lovely,” Jeremy commented and shook his head in disbelief.

“Why don’t we just gate there?” Yves asked.

“We would if we could, but the only ones nearby are in a secured area that’s guarded and monitored. I could probably defeat the cameras and maybe even best the guards, but if we’re discovered too early, we lose the element of surprise. We can’t take the chance."

“Imperial Air Command…?”

“That’s been dealt with.” Yves question was cut off by Jamie’s quick response.

“Now sit back and prepare to lift off,” Jamie advised as he powered up the hov.

Nic stood in the belly of the transport carefully surveying the tableau spread before him and shook his head in shock and disbelief. He was a Gahdar, used to blood and violence. He’d seen many a horrific sight both in training and in the arena, yet the vile panorama he faced was so heartbreaking and pitiful he could barely stomach it. He could understand injury and death; after all, it was part of his life. What he couldn’t understand was the calculated cruelty of the devastation inflicted on the prisoners of Stone Gate. He’d seen rabid animals treated with more compassion.

“Well done, Baron,” the Kalorian woman who’d accompanied them into Stone Gate nodded her respect from where she knelt beside one of the prisoners to whom she was offering comfort.  “You got them all out; blessings again on you.” Nic thought about the reports he'd received of the woman's coolness under fire as she'd picked off resistant prison guards with precisely aimed shots.

“Thank you,” Nic barely managed to answer back, more in respect to the woman than from any feeling that he’d managed some heroic accomplishment.

Emotionally numb from an overload of horror, his eyes scanned across a scene he could never have imagined. All around him lay the filthy, stinking, broken, maimed and tortured bodies of the prisoners he and his brother Gahdar had rescued. The prison had been stormed. Most of the prison staff, wisely choosing to surrender, quickly capitulated when faced with the fierce gladiators from Rood. They were, after all, prison guards and not imperial troops. Some few had tried to earn their pay, and had been dealt with summarily. The operation had been a success, yet he didn’t feel like celebrating.

As he’d supervised the evacuation, Nic had stared in shock and disbelief when he and the other Gahdar first opened and then entered the cells of the prisoners. Whether from sickness, or the results of abuse and torture, many of the prisoners couldn’t even stand, let alone run or walk from the prison. The sight had been so overwhelming, tears flowed from his eyes even as he choked back vomitus. In his history lessons with Androcles, he’d learned about the shocked reactions of troops liberating notorious prisons and concentration camps throughout the history of humankind. Now those history lessons had become a horrific reality and suddenly made perfect sense.

Working in teams, the Gahdar had to carry out the most injured and the weakest of the prisoners. The Kalorian woman had stood nearby, her face hard as iron as she watched the boys carry out the pitiful remnants of her countrymen. Nic himself had picked up one man whose left hand and both legs had been severed from his body. The stench of soiled clothing mixed with sweat and the smell of gangrenous, rotting flesh rising from the mutilated prisoner made the boy’s stomach churn. His reaction had been so strong that he felt guilty for the powerful revulsion he’d felt in just touching such a broken and wounded being, one who deserved the full measure of his compassion. He'd felt even worse when the broken man looked up and actually smiled at him.

“Bless you, Baron. They tried to break me, but they couldn’t. I gave them nothing,” the prisoner whispered. As he carried the man in his arms, it was Nic’s heart that was breaking for the horrors he and his brother Gahdar had uncovered at Stone Gate.

“Jamie was right,” he finally broke his self-imposed silence as Julius came to stand next to him. “He told me how bad things were. I always thought he was exaggerating, but now I can see that he didn’t tell me the half of it.”

“They’re certainly a sad lot,” Julius agreed as he put a hand to his nose to stifle a choking cough.

Nic turned away and moved to one of the transports portholes. Looking at the ground moving rapidly below him, he unconsciously balled up his fists, his knuckles blanching white. There was a storm raging inside of him. He felt like it was ready to sweep him away. He wished for a moment to turn all the concentrated firepower of the troop ship on the prison below them, but he suppressed the thought. As a Gahdar, he expected injury and death, but despite the harsh existence he’d lived for most of his life, he suddenly felt that he and his brother gladiators had been pampered compared to the conditions of the prisoners from Stone Gate.

“You saved them.”

Nic felt a hand first rest on and then firmly grip his shoulder. Turning, he found himself facing Castor. The old man was wearing the standard uniform of Stone Gate. As Nic’s eyes moved up the Kalorian’s arm, from the three red strips across the sleeve of the heavy gray coat to finally rest on the Kalorian’s eyes, he fell silent. He was incredibly relieved and grateful that the man was unhurt.

“You saved me,” the Kalorian continued, “and from all of us, I offer our deepest gratitude. Jamie has told me how remarkable you are, and now I’ve seen it for myself.”

“Yes, I know how to fight,” Nic stared down at the steel plating of the hov's cargo bay. “I guess that’s the one thing I do best.”

“I wasn’t talking about that.” Castor gave the boy’s shoulder another squeeze. “As horrific as their condition is, you and your brothers treated every one of these men with compassion and dignity. I know that’s because they follow your example. Thank you, Niklas von Agramon. A lesser man might have given up and abandoned them.”

The old man had been one of the first rescued from the Prison of Pain, where he'd been held in a small but clean and comfortable room. Nic had breathed a sigh of relief when he’d received word that the Kalorian was safe and unhurt. As they’d entered the prison, he’d feared the worst and couldn’t imagine having to break the news to Jamie that something had happened to the prince’s mentor and trusted friend.

“For what?” Nic made no effort to mask the anger in his voice. “Do you see their injuries? It looks like most of them will die before we can get them proper help. What kind of life will those that do survive have?”

“Are you saying you’re sorry we did it?” Julius' voice broke into the conversation. Seeing Nic with Castor standing together, he’d approached them and was surprised at Nic’s sudden strong reaction. Niklas von Agramon was an amazingly compassionate boy, and Julius was hard pressed to think of him any other way.

“No Jules, of course not. I’m glad we saved them. I’m glad we did something to end their suffering, but I’m furious with myself.”

“Why?”

“Jamie tried to tell me. Had I only known then what I know now, I would have believed him. He gave up everything he was and now everything he’s becoming to save them, and as much as I truly love him, I thought he was going overboard. He can be theatrical and dramatic, not to mention stubborn and temperamental, but now I think I know why. I feel like a bloody fool. No one has any idea what kind of boy he is, and I think even now I don't fully understand.”

“He’s a special boy, that’s true,” Castor’s voice dropped to a whisper, “but so is his mate.” He smiled at the young Gahdar. “Jamie’s more remarkable than even he realizes, but so are you, Niklas. Each of you truly makes up one-half of an incredible, and dare I say unbreakable, union. Separately, you’re each a force to be reckoned with, but together you’re indeed unstoppable. I’m convinced the only way to defeat you is to separate the two of you, in itself a difficult, if not impossible task.”

“Tell that to them,” Nic’s eyes went from Castor to the maimed and broken bodies lying on the floor of the hov’s open bay.

“They already know it and even now, in the state they’re in, they’d do anything you asked of them. Now’s not the time to give up, or be shaken from our purpose. They know that. Do you?”

Nic bowed his head and gave a single nod, as feelings of both success and failure swirled in his head.

“Good,” Castor continued crisply as he patted the young Gahdar’s back. “We’ve accomplished the initial stages. First, we rendezvous at Angel’s Fall, meet Jamie and get our friends through the gate. Then we make a dash for the Sirenese Foothills. Since the leadership and most of the army is preparing to evacuate the planet in a matter of hours they won’t have time to search for us, at least that’s Jamie’s hope. I have no doubt that we’ll be attacked, but if we… if you, and your cohort can defeat them, we all have a chance to escape. You have no idea the manpower that’s been mustered for this operation. The Second Empire has waited a long time for this day. From the moment the Foss rebellion failed, we’ve watched, waited and planned. At the palace, the entire staff is on alert. We’re fortunate that Loka invited the princes and scribes of the Houses to Imperialas and that they’re being housed in the imperial palace. All across the continent, there are groups waiting to help every Icarian who stands with us.”

“Why?” Nic’s eyes searched those of Castor. “Jamie told me you were ready to help, but why? What have we Icarians ever done for you?”

“Nothing,” Castor’s response was quick, flat, and without emotion. “Our agreement is with the Lord Protector. He’s promised on his very life that he’ll safeguard the greatest treasures of Kaloria so that our nation will survive. Our people have conferred and voted. If Jamie de Valèn carries through with his promise, we’ll carry through with ours. We’ve entrusted all we have to him and he’s agreed to provide a safe haven. We may be slaves, but we’re an honorable people.”

“Of course.” A sad smile came to Nic’s face. He well understood duty, honor and commitment. It was a code he lived by.

The hov slowed and Nic felt it bank to the right.

“Stage two,” Miro shouted as he picked up the deadly looking ghoster he’d set aside shortly after they’d become airborne. Nic noticed the other Gahdar doing the same.

Slowing to a crawl, the huge troop transport finally stopped its horizontal movement and switched to vertical flight as the craft began a gentle descent. Looking out the portal, Nic could see that the hov was landing on what at first looked like a brightly lit plain. The main difference in the landing pad here was that the ground was hard packed clay, suited more for freight transports than passenger hovs. As in any standard landing field, rows of tall towers surrounded the perimeter of the landing zone, all of them supporting long batteries of lamps; the bright glow of their arcs cut through the dusk of early evening. In fact the entire area was illuminated so well that it was almost as bright as if it would have been high noon on a summer day.

The moment the Goliath touched down, its engines cut off. Seconds later the large bay door at the rear of the craft began to lower, exposing the cavernous troop bay. Once the heavy door formed a ramp, the Gahdar and their cargo of Kalorians began to exit the ship. It took some time, given the condition of many of the prisoners, but eventually everyone was outside the hov.

“Get them together in a group up on the gate platform,” Nic ordered, shouting over the sound of the falls, “use the lift, and make sure they’re sheltered as best as you can. We’ll be getting visitors soon, of that you can be sure."

Although they had their orders, many of the Gahdar paused to stare up at the amazing sight of Angel’s Fall. The natural wonder was a spectacle that was impossible to ignore. Not far from the landing zone, the great fall towered over them. Illuminated by lights just as bright as those on the landing pad, the amazing landmark appeared to glow, as high above them tons of rushing water poured over the cliff’s broad edge.

The torrent, rushing down the face of the falls, its white, churning mass frothing and boiling in a raging maelstrom, seemed to hang in suspension for a few seconds before it crashed to the river below. Billowing curtains of water droplets and clouds of fine mist and spray rose from the river it entered. The sound was deafening. The force of the water hitting the churning river was strong enough to shake the earth. Standing before the awesome falls Nic found it to be as impressive as he’d been led to believe. Turning he gave a rueful glance at the prisoners coming off the hov and shook his head. The magnificently inspiring beauty of nature and the cruel inhumanity of evil men both fought for his attention. He worried for a moment about the effect of the chill and damp from the falls on the many injured, then dismissed the thought as unresolvable.

Turning from both the falls and the hov, he gazed beyond the landing zone until he caught sight of a brightly lit platform standing high above the ground. The expansive structure looked like a huge stage. It, too, was well lit. Nic could see that, just as Jamie had described, the platform held the mirror gates that they’d be using. Seconds later he took a breath of relief when he saw Jamie walk up to its edge, and that with him were his three friends. Still dressed in their theatrical garb, the four boys waved at him and then stepped to one of the lifts and started down to ground level.

Nic dashed to the platform, taking the steps two at a time. Moments later, he swept Jamie up into his arms, lifting the prince off the ground.

After hugging Jamie, he set his mate back down onto the deck of the platform, and only then saw Jamie's bare-chest covered in what looked like mud and blood, and a look of concern crossed his face. “I’m relieved you made it, but is everything alright?”

“So far.” Jamie replied, then understanding Nic’s question, he glanced down and smiled ruefully as he added, “Looks like I started the fight without you, eh? I’m fine, and just so happy to see you. I was terribly worried. Are all of you ok? Are all of you ready?” Jamie’s tone was one of hopeful anticipation.

“We’re more than ready,” Nic replied with a fierceness that surprised his mate. “I promise you that no matter what, we’ll hold back whatever comes, Jamie… whatever comes. You have my word as a Gahdar… and as your mate.”

“The question is, are you ready, Lord Protector?” A familiar voice asked, as Castor stepped around Nic.

“Castor!” Jamie rushed to the old Kalorian, hugging him with all his might.

“I’m an old man. Don’t break my ribs,” Castor managed to finally croak out, using what little air he had left in his lungs in the wake of Jamie’s hug.

“Sorry,” Jamie stepped back. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine,” Castor offered. "I was held in the administrative wing of the prison, in an office. I’m unharmed. The same can’t be said for the others.”

Looking at Castor, Jamie offered his old mentor a sad smile, then his face fell when his gaze moved to the Goliath and he saw the prisoners from Stone Gate being carried from the belly of the hov.

“Oh, Nic,” he gasped. For a brief moment he was unable to speak as he studied the broken bodies of the prisoners. They looked even worse then when he’d first seen them, the night of he and Stephen’s aborted rescue attempt.

“I know, Jamie,” was all Nic could say in response.

A moment later after crowding onto one of the structures large lifts, they arrived at the platform.

“Put them over there,” Nic ordered, pointing to a protected area on one side of the wide platform.

“Where’s Damien?” Jamie’s tone was desperate.

“He wasn’t there,” Nic replied. “One of the guards we questioned told us he’d been returned to the imperial palace a few hours before we arrived.”

Jamie shuddered as he recalled his first sight of Christophe after the boy had been returned to the école after his session with the emperor’s inquisitors. It was something he preferred to suppress. Seconds later he quickly roused when he caught sight of one of the Gahdar advancing toward them and Jamie realized that the young man was carrying Jakobus, or at least what was left of him. Rushing up to the gladiator boy, Jamie looked into the eyes of the Kalorian.

“Jacobus,” he whispered.

A strange half smile came to the Kalorian’s face. “Garon a’ Kalasia,” Jacobus paused and gave a gurgling wet cough. “I remember the first day you came to the École Danse… and the day you helped my mother carry water. I’m sorry I could never tell you how much I admired you, but…” but then a coughing spasm silenced the man.

“No, Jakobus, I’m the one who admires you. What you’ve all done…”

“We’re Kalorians,” he interrupted Jamie after his coughing jag ended, and his weak, half-whisper voice carried a note of determination. “We are men. They will never forget that.”