“Psh. Any Golds left in Heraklion aren’t very happy with Diomedes or the Raa right now. That badge won’t mean much.” He falls in beside me. “Sorry I missed your briefing. I was playing ambassador for Diomedes.”
“Ambassador?”
“He might have convinced the Kalibar to take Athena’s offer, but some of the sealords—those who haven’t fled to Ganymede like the rest of the cowards—would rather die than ‘collude with terrorists.’ My father was friends with a few of them. Though I don’t see why. They’re stubborn as mountains. Their people will pay the price of their pride, as always.”
Haunted, he looks out the glass of the lift. The lights of the Deep shrink in the darkness as we rise. A river of bioluminescent fish illuminates his face with pearly light. I touch his vambrace. He gives me a brave smile. “I’ll escort you and Sigurd to the shuttle, but that’s as far asI can go. I’d come with you into the Obsidians wearing prosthetics, but Sigurd says I’d blow your cover.”
Sigurd nods. “You would. Krypteia tried to assassinate Fá in the Garter. Their guises were without flaw. But Fá sniffed them out. He skinned them, castrated them, and keeps them leashed to his throne.”
Cassius and I stare at him. “You sure your friends will find us first, Sigurd?” Cassius asks. “And that they won’t turn Lyria over to Fá?”
“Fenrir and Gudmund were there on Io,” Sigurd reminds him. “They wanted to come with me when I surrendered to Darrow. I begged them to stay behind in case they were needed. He has spoken to them himself on the frequency I provided.” Sigurd looks at me now. “They have no love of Fá, Lyria, and unlike my father, they are not too cowardly to act. Gudmund yearns to redeem his honor in Darrow’s eyes. Fenrir…less so, but he owes a blood-debt to Sevro and misses Attica, his favorite city in all the worlds. We will take the shuttle to them, and they will take you to Volga. On my honor, such as it remains.”
Cassius eyes Sigurd with little trust. He lowers his voice. “What’s rule number one, Lyria?”
“Don’t get caught by Ascomanni and shipped off to the far dark,” I say.
“Rule number two?”
“There is no rule number two.”
The lift begins to slow. Cassius’s anxiety mounts. I grab his massive hand. He holds mine and together we wait for the lift doors to open.
The pounding of waves and the distant thunder of the bombardment flow into the lift as the doors part with a groan. Outside, a floating gunship hovers over a sea of refugees. It blares orders and they move in military-like blocks toward the lift. I let go of Cassius’s hand and we head out.
The station is a grand stone crescent out over the water with an open face to a massive courtyard filled with humanity. The city looms, connected to the station by several pedestrian bridges. The sky throbs from distant bombardments. Grays in gun installations peer up or out over the water where warships patrol the perimeter.
“That’s us.” Cassius points across the station’s courtyard to the shuttle that will take us to the rendezvous with Gudmund and Fenrir. It waits past the refugees and a slew of military vehicles. Four Black Owls guard it. We head for the shuttle through the crowd.
We haven’t taken thirty paces when I see something—a shadow crawling on one of the gun installations looking out over the water. I tell Cassius but by the time he looks, the shadow is gone.
He picks up our pace. A faint whistle followed by a warble comes from my left.
A few dozen paces off, a giant shimmering figure stands amidst the refugees as if he’d always been there. His ghostly guise dissolves to reveal a towering warrior. He is lean and nearly eight feet tall, and naked except for a shark-head helmet. Water drips from leathery, orangish skin. His feet are clad in curious boots with twin fans on either heel. He looks around as if admiring a school of sleeping fish. Stunned refugees back away, too startled to scream or cry out at his sudden appearance.
Then he starts to kill. He does it with two blades, each as long as my legs.
With his first swing, lowColor bodies and limbs geyser up in the low gravity. He swings again and again as if sweeping rubbish with a giant broom. A young Yellow finally has the wits to scream. Then more are screaming and pushing to get away from the butcher. Laughing, the giant disappears.
The scene may not even have lasted ten seconds.
The Grays of Heraklion mobilize, shout commands. Anxiety spreads through the refugees. They stir like confused cattle. Grays make a battle line on the steps leading to the lift.
Cassius draws his razor and activates his aegis. “What was that, Sigurd?”
Sigurd peers out to the sea. “That was a Harbinger.” He sounds frightened. “They swam in past the sonar. I did not know they could swim.”
“More are coming?” Cassius asks.
“Likely they are already here.”
66
LYRIA
The Fall of Heraklion
Cassius takes control. “Sigurd,let’s plow a path. Lyria, grab my belt and don’t let go.”
