Drenz motions me aside, into a side room, while the lead Concord delegate studies his tablet, apparently unbothered.
Once the door closes, Drenz is bothered. “This smells wrong. The timing. The way they sidestepped all protocol. If there was a real attack, why would they not go straight to the last known position and extract the victims? Bring them straight to you for treatment. And the last known position for Rythar is odd. They said he crossed into Reach’s End? He would never do that just to chase prey.”
“What about the message from Rythar? The command? Do you think it’s legit?”
Drenz frowns. “It’s his voice signature. My scanner verified it. It’s logged in my system as a command from the Warlord Rythar. But the High Lord himself is rumored to have developed the ability to affect communications. I don’t like any of this.”
“And the projection of the High Lord? Could that be faked?”
“Forging a warlord’s voice is treason. Forging the High Lord is something I do not have a word for.” His jaw works. “If that recording was false, we are dealing with someone who fears nothing on this planet.”
“So it’s a trap,” I say.
Drenz nods, almost imperceptibly. “I think so. But I can’t guarantee it. And if what they’re saying is true, and I refuse to obey a logged command, it’s treason.” The words come out flat, but the tension in his neck tells a different story.
I swallow. "And if I go with them? They won’t hurt me. I've been a protected class since I was twelve. Xytheos takes that to the extreme. What's the worst that happens?”
Drenz gives me a level gaze. "Rythar will kill everyone on this planet to get you back. Every ruler on Xytheos knows that." His words sound like Rythar's.
See how many I would kill to keep you alive.
"So my choices are war, or war. Just like old times," I sigh.
“And my choices are disobey orders, or disobey orders.” His face is grim. “I still say this is a trap.”
I try again to sense anything through the bond. I blink once and the room seems to tilt, just slightly, as if I’ve risen too fast. The thread that should run warm and steady from the ring mark on my finger is thin. Still muted. And where Sophia’s presence ought to press at the edge of me, there’s only a hollow. The muted bond could even explain why I didn’t feel anything from the High Lord’s hologram.
"It feels like a trap. I agree. But the Concord Council won't hurt me. I'm going."
Drenz nods once. “I’m going with you.”
We re-enter the main room, and Drenz addresses the Concord delegates. “I will accompany the warlord’s Starfallen Bride.”
The lead Concord man pauses, then nods. “Accepted.”
Drenz takes the long route to the landing field. Neither of us speaks. The shuttle waits at the edge of the landing field. Its lights cast an eerie glow on the grass below.
The Concord delegates near the shuttle first and begin boarding. To them, this is a mundane routine. I follow with Drenz at my side and two warriors flanking me, their bodies coiled tight. Their hands hover close to weapons that I hope they don’t have to use. More warriors follow behind us.
As we approach, I notice the shimmer around the ramp intensifies. It's subtle, but it sets off warning bells in my mind.
I stop right at the shimmer and look up at Drenz, confused.
Why have they raised the shields before we’ve boarded?
The lead Concord delegate's hand shoots out and grips my arm. The shield ripples, yanking me forward and through as Drenz’s fingers brush the edge of my sleeve. I stumble into the shuttle as hands catch me from the other side.
Drenz’s fingers close on nothing. He brings up his weapon, aiming it at the shuttle’s nose. Then the shuttle emits a pressure that hits the inside of my skull like a fist and keeps pushing. I double over in the shuttle doorway, hands clamped to my ears. Someone pulls me into the shuttle.
Through the pain I see what the pressure does to the men outside the shield. They all clutch their heads and drop. Drenz staggers sideways, blood running from his nose and the corners of his eyes. He goes to one knee. The warriors behind him are down flat, some curled on their sides, some not moving at all. One is seizing, his body jerking against the landing pad, dark fluid leaking from his ears.
Drenz fights it. His hands are on the ground, arms shaking, trying to push himself up. Blood drips from his chin onto the stone. He raises his head and looks at me through the shield, and the look on his face is not pain. It's fury. Pure, helpless fury, the kind I've seen on the faces of soldiers on New Terra when the wounded are being carried away and there's nothing left to shoot at. He reaches for the shield with one hand. His fingers make contact and the charge throws him onto his back. He doesn't get up again.
I fight. Not well, not effectively, but I fight. An elbow connects with something hard. A hand catches my wrist and bends it back until I stop swinging. They force me into a seat. Straps snap closed across my chest, waist, and thighs. I scrabbleat the straps, but they’re locked so tightly that I can’t get my fingers under them.
The hatch finishes shutting, and the shuttle lifts off. I stop pulling at the straps because there's nothing to pull, and my fingers are already raw. Last time I took off on a shuttle, it ended in a crash landing on this planet.
But at least I was with friends.
