War was an ugly thing. It was even uglier when you lost.
Kneeling on a cold concrete floor with his hands bound behind his back and a very sharp blade at his throat, Veld had time to reflect on all the mistakes the WRO had made. Assuming that they had the manpower to defeat Deepground had been the least of them.
Going head-to-head with the Tsviets had been the biggest. But then, even the best intelligence they had on the Tsviet-SOLDIER program had missed something vitally important: The existence of a mage who controlled the very darkness itself.
You couldn't shoot at something you couldn't see.
He shifted a little, easing his cramped legs. He and a handful of troops, several of them bleeding badly, had been held here for over an hour, waiting for the arrival of the creature who'd led the Deepground forces to victory.
The blade followed his movement.
"Try it," his keeper hissed. Tall and slim, with blazing red hair, she stood as still as death beside him. "Go ahead - try me."
He bit back the angry retort on his tongue. If she wanted him dead, he'd be dead already. Obviously he had some value, was being kept alive for some reason, at the behest of the dark mage, who still hadn't bothered to show up, the bastard.
That didn't mean she couldn't damage him somewhat. He breathed in, out again, slow and steady, reaching for calm. He couldn't negotiate if he lost his head, figuratively or literally. He needed to stay alive, learn as much as possible, find out what he had to work with to save Edge and the WRO.
He also needed the answer to two vital questions: What had happened to Reeve? And where the hell was Valentine?
The feeble overhead lights flickered fitfully. One of them went out. Veld glanced at the ceiling as best he could without moving his head. The lights were still on, yet the room had grown darker. Smoke? Some sort of subterranean fog? Panic rose up inside him like nausea, and he fought it back down. It wasn't the darkness that unnerved him, but the unnatural way it had filled the room.
The blackness condensed and compressed into a single point; a black hole shouldering its way through the door. Veld could not see into the pitch-dark corridor and the darkness spilling into the holding room, but the cadence of a familiar tread caught his ear. Something like hope extinguished the fear he'd been forcibly ignoring. Valentine?
The darkness receded slightly, leaving a tall, narrow figure standing over him. Veld dared to hope, dared to breathe, and felt the inhale cut short. That sure as hell was not Valentine. He wasn't even sure it was human. It was human shaped, male, but that was where the similarities ended. Ragged black hair hung past its shoulders, all but obscuring a pair of glowing, golden eyes that stared out of a face as pale and gray as a cadaver's. The lower half of its face was hidden by a respiration mask of some sort; the rasp of each breath indicative of its purpose. The long body was covered by a skin tight suit of twilight gray; tubing glowing indigo running up and down it. The sleeves had been torn off just below the elbows, exposing long-fingered hands with blackened nails, and forearms chased with a spider web of black lines like the laciest of tattoos. A skeletal steel structure hung from its shoulders; the bones of a skinless pair of wings. A razor-edged blade tipped each pinion, and a pair of clawed talons curled at the joint. Darkness trailed off him like vapor from dry ice. Veld fought the urge to shuffle back, all too aware of the blade against his neck.
The hell was this thing?
"These are the ones that survived?" it asked the red-headed woman, voice low, and rumbling, and weirdly familiar.
"More or less," she said, shrugging. "The last of the holdouts. My lieutenant's got more outside. After she made an example of a platoon, the rest surrendered."
She indicated the huddled troops with a tilt of her head. "That bunch is injured. Not worth saving. This one," and she tapped Veld with the flat of her blade, "seems to be important. They were following his orders."
"He's old," the shadow thing mused, and Veld couldn't tell if the tone carried disdain or not. It turned to Veld. "Identify yourself."
"My name is Veld. I work for the WRO." How much could he safely tell them? He needed to stay alive, dammit. "I've been trying to negotiate with you people for the better part of a month. Can't say I've been too successful. So now that I've got you here, let me ask you: What the hell do you want?"
"My brother," the shadow creature said simply. "Release him and no one else has to get hurt."
Oh gods, there was another one like this? At the very least, he needed to stall for time, and pray that Valentine turned up.
"What does he look like? I can't say I've seen him, or know anything about him." Veld glanced at the woman holding the blade. "Things have been a little chaotic around here."
The thing gestured fractionally with its head and the woman stepped back. Stiffly, Veld got to his feet. He wasn't even chin-high to the walking darkness. Veld tilted his head up, intending to look it in the eye, but the creature's glowing, cat-eyed stare made something deep inside him shiver.
"Shorter than me, but broader," it began. "Messy white hair, blue eyes. Tends to punch holes in things."
That made the woman snicker.
"You've got him in your custody and there's no way you wouldn't know about him. Tell me where he is and this can all be over."
For a given definition of over, Veld assumed. Deepground had won, there was no denying that. Edge was in tatters, the WRO in total disarray, at least until Reeve turned up, if he ever did. For all intents and purposes, Deepground was now in charge.
"Even if I knew where he was," said Veld, feeling his way forward as though he walked through live landmines, "I still represent Edge and the WRO. I can't just give up anything of value, at least not without getting something in return."
"How about your life?" the woman growled. Her blade nicked his throat. He glanced at her, ignoring the hot trickle of blood down his neck.
"I'm just one person. Not worth all that much in the big picture." Looking at the shadow-thing again, Veld went on, "What's it worth to you?"
"You don't get it," the creature began. "You get one chance to cough him up. If he is not released, we will come and collect him. You really do not want that." The golden eyes, for all their vivid glow, held no warmth at all. "Either he is returned, or we will go through your cities inch by inch until we find him."
Think fast, old man. "Look," said Veld, "I've been out here with the troops. I can't be everywhere at once. You can threaten me all you like, but I don't know where he is. I wasn't there when he was taken. I don't even know who took him.
"Give me some time, and maybe I can find out."
The living shadow looked at him, obviously unimpressed. "What's your rank, old man?"
"I'm not technically military. I don't have that kind of rank. Used to run a small department of operatives, back in the day. They called me 'chief'."
The golden eyes narrowed suspiciously. "He might be useful. Lock him in the brig, and put the others out of their misery."
Veld scowled, but the creature was correct. These soldiers were barely hanging on as it was; a couple of them looked to have already succumbed to their injuries. He didn't have the wherewithal to help them, much as he would have liked to.
"Permission to ask one question?" he said, addressing the shadow-man while the woman went to carry out his orders.
"Speak."
"Have you people got Reeve Tuesti? Dark hair, beard, about my height? If you do, there's a chance we might work a deal. Maybe."
"See that he gets his own cell," the shadow-man clarified. "After that, muster your troops. We move as soon as the sun goes down."
Veld had years of being in charge behind him. Being ignored, even by this hellspawn, rankled.
"Boy, I asked you a question. I'd appreciate the courtesy of an answer."
The fiend did not lift a finger, yet shadow seized Veld by the throat, lifting him off his feet. A hand of pure darkness crushed his windpipe, invisible fingers digging into the muscle.
"I answer to no one," the creature growled, eyes blazing. "Least of all you. You are still alive because you might be useful to me. Do not give me a reason to change my mind."
The shadows roughly tossed him to the floor. There was no dignified way to gasp for air, so Veld simply gulped lungfuls of oxygen where he lay. He watched, still wheezing, as the creature folded its arms over its chest and stepped back into the shadows and disappeared. Actually disappeared.
Shit. The day was getting worse.
Valentine, where the hell are you?
