“It’s alright,” Saul said, placing a hand on Letho’s shoulder. “There was nothing you could have done. Come on, we’ll make sure he didn’t die in vain.”
Inside the palace, they navigated a series of hallways, not entirely certain where they were going. Letho had expected to fight his way through the building, gunslinger style, but there was no one around. The dry pop of gunfire occasionally filled the air like firecrackers; perhaps Abraxas’s army had their hands full elsewhere.
As they hurried down the hallways, Letho noticed that all around them, implements of war were covered in thick layers of dust. In one room they passed, Letho saw small tank-like vehicles, too small for a person to ride inside. In another, rows and rows of assault rifles were stored neatly on racks.
Letho was soon lost in the labyrinth of hallways, but Saul seemed have some direction in mind, so Letho let him lead the way. After several more turns, they burst through a door into a massive room, easily as large as a hangar.
“Saul, I think we might’ve taken a wrong turn,” Letho said as he surveyed the massive space. The room was filled with nothing but egg-shaped pods—thousands of them. Each pod had what looked like a massive computing device attached to one end and a thick bundle of cords extending from the other. These cables were all connected to towering computing structures festooned with readout screens and interface pads.
Letho edged closer to one of the pods and peered inside. To his horror, the sight of an emaciated human form greeted him. It lay in repose, hands crossed over its chest, and what Letho could see of the face appeared to be mummified. The lower part of its face was covered with a mask, from which tubes extended.
“What is this place?” Letho asked.
“Saul, why don’t you tell them?”
The voice was familiar. Letho’s brain was immediately ensnared with improbabilities.
Alastor Wyrre leapt down from a catwalk above, his cloak billowing as he landed.
“It’s the sleepers’ den,” Saul said in a low voice.
Letho felt the cold press of a rifle barrel on the back of his cranium.
“Yes, that’s it. Easy now. Let’s not do anything rash,” Alastor cooed.
“What the hell is going on?” Letho asked.
“Letho, my friend, there will be plenty of time for explanation later. First, let’s divest you of your weapons,” Alastor said.
Several overseers emerged from the shadows. Their cold hands patted him down, drawing his prized .50 caliber from his holster and unclasping Saladin from his back.
Sir. Unauthorized user detected. Initiate anti-theft protocol? Saladin whispered inside his mind.
Letho thought it over. Saladin could disable the overseer who held the sword, but the others would shoot him in the head point blank, and he doubted his healing abilities could that sort of mess back together.
No. Not yet, he replied to Saladin.
The Mendraga brought the sword and handgun to Alastor. The remaining Mendraga kept their guns trained on Saul and Letho.
“I was wondering where this had gotten to,” Alastor said, his eyes tracing across the length of Saladin as he held it out before him with two hands. Saladin glimmered red as if in warning. “This was supposed to be a gift to my master. Shame on you for stealing it, Letho.”Alastor smiled.
“Screw you,” Letho spat.
Alastor ignored his outburst. “Saul, I believe this belongs to you now,” he continued, holding Letho’s gun in his hand. “Would you like to have it?”
Saul did not move, his eyes glued the floor.
Realization cramped Letho’s stomach, doubling him over.
“Yes, I would like to have that gun,” Saul said at last, in a near-whisper.
“You have done well. Come and claim your prize.”
Saul’s head turned, his eyes dazed. He walked over to Alastor and took the .50 caliber from his hand.
This is it! He’s going to blow Alastor away, and we’ll take them, Letho thought. But Saul holstered the gun quietly. He now owned the complete pair. Realization hit Letho like someone had dumped the shattered remains of one of Hastrom City’s skyscrapers on top of him.
“You son of a bitch,” Letho said to Alastor, though his eyes were locked on Saul. “This must be your inside guy.”
“That is correct. I have been negotiating with Saul for quite some time, trying to find some way for our two societies to coexist. The price was you, Letho, delivered to my master, alive,” Alastor said.
Now Letho turned to Saul. “You killed him, didn’t you?” he shouted. “You killed my father.”
“He died of a heart attack, Letho, you know that,” Saul said, his face blank, his voice devoid of inflection.
Letho roared like an animal in a snare. The tears began to flow, and his body convulsed with sobs. Thresha, Bayorn, Deacon, and Maka were all going to die because he had put his trust in the wrong person. He had had led them all to their demise. Alastor and Abraxas had outsmarted them all.
“Come now, Letho, all is not lost,” Alastor said, his voice both smug and condescending. “I think you’ll find that Saul has made the smart move. It’s not too late to be smart, you know. Saul here understands that wars are won not by sacrifice alone, but by compromise. All that bloodshed and killing is certainly a means to an end, but so out of fashion. Do you understand that, Letho?”
“Speak to me no more, lap dog of Abraxas,” Letho said in his best Tarsi.
Alastor’s eyebrows rose. “My my, you might have missed your calling. Perhaps instead of pursuing a career as a messianic figure you should have pursued a career in the music industry. What a lovely voice you have!”
“I still have your word that Haven will not be touched?” Saul asked, interrupting.
“That and more. We’ll open up trade lines, just as we agreed upon. Your little enclave will become a city. Hastrom City’s first true satellite.”
“You idiot,” Letho spat. “Do you really think he’s going to keep his end of the bargain?”
“Oh, Letho, this isn’t a videodoc,” Alastor said. “I actually do intend to keep my end of the bargain. The agreement Saul and I have brokered is mutually beneficial. Besides, I think there has been enough double-crossing for a time. Don’t you, Saul?”
Saul said nothing. His eyes cut from side to side, moving so fast they almost appeared to vibrate, as if he were processing something. Perhaps the reality of what he had done had struck him at last.
“Let’s go,” Saul said to the floor.
“Overseers, please restrain Mr. Ferron. Make sure the restraints are tight,” Alastor said.
“Get up,” one of the overseers barked as he forced Letho to his feet. Letho reeled like a drunk, his eyes bleary and crazed. The overseers quickly pinned his arms behind his back and clapped carbon-steel manacles on his wrists.
No one spoke during the short march to the elevator that led to the upper palace levels. Letho’s mind was returning to him though, his sorrow consumed by the raging furnace in the pit of his belly. He looked at Saul in disbelief. The man that he had come to think of as a brother was now striding in lockstep with the enemy. Letho prayed to any god that would listen for a chance to end the man’s existence.
Saladin, he remembered. But not yet.
After a short trip up in the elevator, the doors opened to Abraxas’s private quarters, which appeared to take up the entire top floor of the palace.
“Alastor, Saul! Come in,” said a voice from a thousand children’s sweat-soaked nightmares. “Bring me my prize.”
****
Bayorn and his army marched up Appian Thoroughfare, all that remained between them and Abraxas’s palace was Abraxas’s personal guard. But this last line of defense was made up of the elite—Abraxas’s most ruthless and cunning overseers—and they were dug in deep, behind sandbags and swiveling turrets.
They opened fire on Bayorn’s army.