Shadow Heart (17 page)

Well
, she thought with a smile,
There are less polite ways to enter a tent
.

She made her way around to the side, away from the main thoroughfare where there was more chance she would be caught, and lowered herself to the ground. It was more challenging with her wounds than it might otherwise have been. Involuntary tears formed in her eyes as she lifted the bottom of the tent, contracting the muscles in her back. The canvas was much heavier than it looked, and she had to shift to keep its weight off her as she shimmied across the ground with only the blanket to cover her.

When she finally made it inside she let the canvas hit the ground once again, then remained flat in an attempt to catch her breath. The pain coursing through her back was so intense that she passed in and out of consciousness for several seconds before finding a tether to the waking world. Once her mind cleared she rose into a crouch to get a handle on her surroundings.

The tent was enormous, even more so than what she had imagined from outside, lit with lanterns that gave the interior an emotionally warm atmosphere—not at all like the cold lights in the city hospitals. Beds lined the side of the tent where she had entered, all currently empty. She did see some red stains on a few of them, suggesting they had been occupied not long ago. Perhaps the wounded had already been evacuated.

Luckily, she had emerged into a darker part of the tent where the light of the lanterns didn’t quite reach. She heard voices speaking some distance away, hushed but full of urgency. Accompanying noises suggested they were working on a patient. So much the better. If they were occupied, they would be less likely to notice her.

Liz caught sight of a supply chest just a few feet away from where the doctors were standing. Their backs were to it, and there were no others inside. If she was quiet, there was no reason why she couldn’t get to the supplies and take what she needed. The only problem was that she wasn’t exactly sure what to take. Something for the pain, no question. But she also needed to heal, and fast. Her wounds were probably still too serious for just
Miracle Heal
. She needed antibiotics and treatments to stop infection.

The doctors might tell her, but then again they might not. She still couldn’t be sure why they had brought her to their camp, and what they would do when they found out who she was.

Silent as a shadow, she crept toward the supply chest, careful to hold up the blanket to keep it from dragging across the ground. As she got closer she could make out their conversation:

“We need to wake her up,
now
.”

“It won’t do us any good. She won’t be able to move until we finish this up. Almost there.”

“The Spectorium is coming. We have been ordered to evacuate. You’re putting her life in danger by waiting!”

“And how much danger do you think she will be in if I leave her incapacitated? Give me one more minute.”

“I’ll get the adrenaline.”

Liz froze as the man turned for the supply chest, but the man’s attention—and hers—was stolen by the distinct sound of a slash, and then two dull thumps. Her heart dropped. She was too late. They were here.

“What was that?” the man asked, moving toward the tent entrance. “Corporal? Is everything okay?”

Liz was caught between competing desires to stop his advance and to remain hidden, but she had barely realized there was a choice to be made before the chance was stolen from her. The white spike of a Spectral Gladius appeared suddenly from the man’s back, and Liz shrunk back behind the beds. She hated to retreat, but an unarmed woman was no match for a trained Spectral-adept.

The Gladius withdrew from the man and he dropped to the ground, revealing the navy-clad Specter who had killed him. Two more stood with him, though only the one Specter had his Gladius active, probably to avoid being seen for as long as possible.

The doctor turned long enough to see the newcomers, but he did not stop his work. In fact, he continued with even greater intensity even as the Specters approached. Then he appeared to finish, cutting the excess from his patient’s cast and then turning on the Specters with the scissors raised in threat. He was met with cruel laughter as the leader—a Specter Captain, Liz saw—advanced with his Gladius held high. Liz looked away at the last moment and felt a stab of pity for the man. He died bravely, but scissors? Against a Spectral Gladius? The man never stood a chance.

“Look what we have here,” one of the Specters said, drawing Liz’s eyes back to them. He stood over the doctor’s patient, and even though she could only see half his face across a short distance she recognized that hungry look in his eyes. She shook her head sadly. The doctor had sacrificed his life to save the woman lying there, but all he had accomplished was that he would die a few moments before her. Had that been a Great Army soldier or an Imperial Guardsman, they would have understood the reality. But Silent Thunder was notorious for dying upon their honor. It was a weakness, one that might eventually prove the undoing of them all.

The Specter reached for the woman and she prepared to turn away again, but the urgent command of the Specter Captain halted the man’s movements, “Wait.” He examined the woman’s arm and cursed. “Congratulations, men. We just earned a commendation from Grand Admiral Blaine. This is Commander Grace Sawyer.”

Liz stopped breathing.
Of course
. She should have figured that out for herself. Why post guards in front of a medical tent right in the middle of a major evac operation? Why post them at all, in fact, unless there was someone within who needed protecting? She wanted to hit herself, but then decided her shredded back was punishment enough. Still, she couldn’t just sit idly by and watch them take her. Sawyer was her best chance at getting in with the rebellion. If the World System took her, that chance would be gone.

Her gaze shifted to the beds behind which she hid, most shrouded in darkness, hoping there might be something there she could use to her advantage. There were several places that appeared conspicuously empty, as though there had been more supply chests only moments before. But the only thing she could see was a small bundle three beds away. In the darkness she had taken it for nothing but folded sheets, but now she thought differently. The soldiers had evidently taken everything they could claim during the evacuation save for the supply chest the doctor needed to complete his surgery. Why then had they not taken this?

She crept on all fours across the ground as the three Specters conversed about their find:

“Grace Sawyer? You sure about that, Captain? Just because she has dark hair don’t mean—”

“It’s her,” the Specter Captain interrupted. “How many girls do you think have the traitor’s designation tattooed on their arm?”

“Slave’s mark,” the other Specter said. “Not many Wilderness girls would risk being caught with one. Lucky we found her like this. They say she’s better with the Gladius than her father.”

“Who says that?”

“Everyone. She’s fought the grand admiral and lived. Her father fought him and died. I’d say that makes her better.”

“That ain’t even a proper comparison. Way I heard it—”

“Stop the chatter,” the captain ordered. “Ask the grand admiral himself when we bring her to him. Get her up. We’ll carry her out of here.”

At about that time Liz reached her destination, and she reached up for the bundle and pulled it down to her. It was clothing, shredded almost beyond recognition and covered in blood—
her
blood. But it was also heavier than a stack of clothing should be, and she reached desperately for the object concealed among the useless rags.

Ignis
. She felt a familiar thrill as the cool stone of the hilt met her skin, like water to her parched throat or salve for her wounded back. This was the source of her power, and it was hers again. Fear fled from her, and she smiled.
Let’s see how these Specters are with the sword.

She stood, blanket still clutched around her, and
Ignis
concealed within its folds. They did not notice her at first with the darkness and the excitement of their discovery, so she walked out from the rows of beds and into the warm glow of the lanterns. Still, they did not notice her. Liz rolled her eyes. So far she was not impressed.

“Doctor?” she said in a convincingly groggy voice. “It’s time for my meds.”

The three Specters turned on her, weapons drawn, just as she made a show of rubbing her eyes. Then she froze as if only just seeing them, screwing her features into a mask of shock.

“Quiet, girl,” one of the Specters said. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” she stammered. “I…was hurt. I slipped and fell. What happened to the doctor? I need—”

“Your doctor’s dead,” the other Specter—the lewd one—took a step toward her, Grace Sawyer forgotten. “Same will happen to you, unless you do what I say.”

The blanket “accidentally” fell down to reveal her bare shoulder, and she shrugged quickly to pull it back up, averting her eyes as if ashamed. “What do you want me to do?”
You sick freak.

“For starters,” the Specter smiled hungrily, looking her up and down as he took another step toward her, “Let’s see what’s underneath there.” He motioned to the blanket.

At his words, the other two stopped to watch. Despite the rewards in store for the capture of Grace Sawyer, they were disappointed to be denied certain other spoils. But fate must have smiled on them. She could see the very same thought process in each man’s expression.

Liz feigned embarrassment and even managed a blush—a technique the matron had taught her—before pulling the blanket tightly to her body as if to hide herself—but of course, revealing more of her body’s contours.

“Drop it,” the Specter said, brandishing his weapon. “Drop it
now
.”

If she hadn’t been busy playing a part, Liz would have frowned. The man seemed the kind that would have had his hands on her by now. But he wasn’t close enough. Well, she would fix that. She let the blanket fall, moving
Ignis
behind her back as the shroud hit the ground and left her as naked as the day she was born.

The lewd Specter licked his lips, his eyes traveling down upon her breasts and then sinking even lower, his lust growing more powerful every second. He gave a low, perverted chuckle, then holstered his weapon—the fool—and came at her with his hands outstretched.

Liz sidestepped him before he could get his grubby hands on her, and before he had time to register surprise or rage, the white flame of her Spectral Gladius relieved him of his head. The other two cried out in shock, but it was too late for them as well. Her toes dug into the ground as she pivoted from the dead Specter’s headless body and launched herself at his companion. She skewered him before he could squeeze the trigger of his sidearm, then raised a leg to kick him off her blade and to the ground.

That left only the Specter Captain, who already had his Gladius handy, and he set himself into a defensive stance as she fell upon him like a tempest. Their blades crossed in a high-pitched song once, twice, three times, and then she ducked a blow aimed straight at her head. She spun on one leg as the Specter Captain followed through with his swing, and her shin connected with his leg just above the ankle. A fresh surge of pain pierced her, as the maneuver had likely torn free at least one set of stitches, but she ignored it. She had achieved her desired end.

The Specter Captain fell flat on his back with a grunt and she plunged her Gladius through his chest and straight into the ground. He looked at her in confusion as he died, but she felt no pity for the man. They deserved what they got.

“Hope you enjoyed the show,” she whispered. Then his eyes glazed over, and he was dead.

Liz withdrew
Ignis
from his body like
Excalibur
from the stone and straightened with some difficulty. She didn’t need to reach back to know there was blood pouring from one of the wounds again. Hopefully the bandages would keep her from bleeding to death. She stepped over to where Grace lay on the operating table, and saw that the doctor had been working on her leg. That meant she wouldn’t be able to move very fast.

A bundle of freshly pressed, folded clothes rested beside some boots near the commander’s head, likely for her to put on after she woke. Why, Liz wasn’t sure. Grace had a perfectly good uniform already.
Sorry
, she thought as she took the clothes.
But I need these more than you do
. She pulled on the black Silent Thunder uniform, grinning at the irony.
Just a little more than a year and I’ve gone from green to navy, then to white and now to black.
She was probably the only person in the world to have worn all four uniforms.

She and Grace were approximately the same size, though the top was a little tight across the chest—a fact that left her strangely satisfied. The cloth pulled slightly on her bandages, but there was nothing to be done about that. She retrieved her own weapons belt from the bundle of her shredded clothes and wrapped it around her, slipping
Ignis
back into place. They had taken her gun, so she took one off the fallen Specter Captain.

At about that time she realized that she had not heard the mortars in several minutes. She paused, listening to the sounds outside the tent: boots on dirt, guns clicking against the hips of runners, and the dull thump of packs on their shoulders. Then, almost on cue, the sounds changed. Derek Blaine was nothing if not precise. Mortars stopped, and death began.

Camp noises morphed into the sounds of battle: screams, the haphazard explosion of gunfire, and the high-pitched ring of Gladius upon Gladius. She had to get out of the camp before it was overrun by the Spectorium, and she needed to get the crippled commander out with her.

Liz knelt in front of the supply chest and opened the lid, taking her cue from the doctor’s assistant. A half-f bottle of epinephrine sat on top of a box of syringes, and she grabbed both before returning to Grace’s side. The sounds of battle grew louder as the fighting drew closer. They needed to flee, and quickly.

She removed the cap of a syringe with her teeth and inserted it into the bottle, pulling back the plunger to draw in the clear liquid. Then she stood over Grace and took a deep breath. This was not going to be a pleasant awakening. And what the commander would do if she recognized her, she couldn’t guess.