Groven was at a loss, but one thing he knew was certain: he and his fellows could not let this stand.
That lunatic will be the end of the empire if we don’t stop him here, now.
He reached for a panel to open communications with his adjutant but froze as he felt a cold point dig into his throat.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” a voice demanded coldly in his ear.
“Wha—?” Honestly, Groven had a hard time thinking, given the blade at his throat, and barely understood the question.
“You’re wasting Imperial resources and getting Imperial subjects killed with your idiocy,” William Everett growled, stepping around so he could be seen and recognized.
“Everett! What are you—urk—”
William cut him off with a slight jab of his Armati, keeping the field marshal in his seat. “You don’t have the forces to face Corian in open combat, you imbecile.”
“We can’t just let him take …”
William ignored the strangled sound as he again jabbed the marshal in the throat. “Shut up. Listen.”
He sighed, flipping the Armati back as the blade withdrew into the contoured grip.
“Corian holds the high ground,” he said. “His position is unassailable at present. If you’d been halfway intelligent, you’d have gone to ground yourself and played the part of a loyal little minion, all the while networking and readying yourself for a proper resistance.”
He stepped back and turned around, eyes falling on the tactical map of the region that Groven had been examining.
“That, unfortunately, is no longer an option.”
“So what do you suggest—”
William spun back, hand coming up in a sharp gesture. “Shut up. Listen.”
Groven fell back, silent.
“You are going to pack up camp tonight. Fade,” William ordered. “Like a bad dream Corian doesn’t want to remember. Take your men, every piece of gear you can lay your hands on, and just … fade.”
Groven glared at him, still silent. William sighed. “You can speak now.”
The field marshal continued to glower, but slowly stood to look evenly at William.
“And just what, pray tell, do you intend to do while I … fade?” he asked distastefully.
William turned back to the projection, ignoring the question. He pointed out a dot on the map. “What’s this?”
“Refugees,” Groven answered, “from the fighting. We sent them to a neutral township outside Corian’s direct influence. I considered sending them to an allied duchy, however …”
“No point attracting Corian to allies before it’s time,” William said with a nod. “For the same reason, you need to go somewhere similar. Don’t hide with people who oppose Corian. We don’t want to draw his attention until we’re ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“For the heirs to the empire to take their rightful place.”
Groven stiffened. “You have a Scourwind? One escaped?”
“Two.”
“Two?” Groven looked puzzled, then winced. “Not the twins. Burning skies. They’re contemptible, spoiled children.”
“They’re Scourwinds.” William was in no mood to debate the actions of two teenagers he had enough doubts about himself. “The last two in the direct line.”
“There are cadet lines of the blood. Surely …”
“They. Are. Scourwinds.”
Groven held up his hands. “Fine. It’s on your head, then. Where are they?”
William grimaced, shaking his head.
“You don’t know?” Groven snorted. “We might be in luck after all.”
“Don’t,” William warned, gesturing with his fingers. “Just don’t.”
Groven shrugged. “As I said, fine. So you’re going to be looking for the brats while I fade, then?”
“Among other things,” William told him, extending a metal card to him. “These are the coordinates of a place you can get lost in. There are … supplies there. I’ll send your fellow marshals—the ones who survived this idiocy, at least.”
Groven glared at him again, but William ignored him and turned to leave.
He paused near the exit, glancing back. “Don’t get any more people killed before we meet again. Corian is bad enough. We cannot afford to be our own worst enemies as well.”
Then the Cadreman was gone and Groven collapsed back into his seat, taking a deep breath.
Burning skies. I hate dealing with those bastards.
Cadremen were nearly untouchable in the empire, and not merely for political reasons. When one went rogue, as happened from time to time, you either sent other Cadre after him or you prepared yourself to bury a lot of your police force. Certainly they were neither immortal nor invincible, but they were beyond the ken of most mortals.
Surviving the experience of having one of them annoyed with you was enough to shave a few years off your life all the same.
A few days had passed since the refugees had moved into the area, and for the Scourwind twins, they’d not been pleasant ones. It was easy to slip into the new mass of people, hiding their identities and listening to what had happened. Lydia, in particular, was horrified by what they’d learned.
In the aftermath of the coup at the palace it seemed that several centuries of men had openly opposed the new regime, but they were seen as rebels rather than loyalists. The general consensus among the populace, so far as they could tell, was that a Scourwind had survived the attack … though no one could say which it was.
So the men, women, and children of the refugee band all believed that they were on the run from the retributive attacks by the empire, on command of a Scourwind.
As bad as that was, however, what Lydia was seeing firsthand was almost worse.
“These people are starving,” she hissed to Brennan as they toured the camp. “They don’t even have enough water for everyone.”
Brennan nodded. “I don’t understand why. There’s a garrison not three miles from here. Maybe they don’t have enough food, but the moisture condensers should keep a legion served indefinitely.”
Lydia was quiet for a moment before she spoke. “I think the empire recalled the garrison. When I broke in, there was barely a token guard.”
Brennan shot her an amused glance. After he’d gotten over the fact that she’d put herself at risk when she’d broken into the garrison for rations, he’d asked her about how she did it. Lydia had told a somewhat more dashing story than “there was barely a token guard.”
“All right,” he said. “What can we do about it?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “We can’t exactly tell anyone who we are—”
“No, we can’t,” he cut her off, putting his foot down.
Brennan was willing to entertain a lot of his sister’s ideas, but he drew the line well before that.
Lydia just nodded, showing no notice of his tone. “And without our name for credibility, I don’t think anyone is going to listen to a couple of teenagers.”
Brennan shrugged but didn’t argue. She wasn’t wrong, though he’d heard enough rumors to wonder just how much credibility the Scourwind name would really hold. “For the record, I vote we take my skimmer and find someplace quieter.”
That caught her attention, but a glare was the only answer he got.
“All right”—he sighed—“then all I can say is what we were always taught, Lyd. If you’ve got a huge problem, break it down into pieces and solve them one by one.”