Warden: A Novel (22 page)

“Can’t we just go back inside the ship?” Tana asked hopefully.

“No. Lusani said that you are to remain out here with us.”

“Well, that’s just great,” Tana replied, sarcasm and disappointment warring in her voice.

The disappointment won.

“Follow me,” the Olin directed, and they began making their way toward another section of the camp.

Barent witnessed several more of the Olin training circles along the way, and in each of them the warriors were fighting each other so valiantly that he had to convince himself it wasn’t real. Barent pointed at one of the circles, drawing the guard’s attention to it.

“I see everyone practicing with those long blades,” he said, “but there are very few bowmen.”

“Arrows are mainly used for hunting,” the guard explained. “They’re useless against the Exiles because their clothing is so thick and tough—nearly impossible to penetrate. And they fight like berserkers, rushing at us with little concern for their own lives.”

Barent didn’t think it was possible, but the Olin’s face turned even more serious. “The Exiles are on you long before you can loose enough arrows to kill them, so it
always
comes down to the longblades.”

“I prefer daggers myself,” Tana said, indicating the small collection on her belt.

The guard seemed amused by her statement. “Dagger blades are far too short to stab through the seams in their clothing. It’s why our knives are made as they are. They penetrate deep enough to kill, but aren’t unwieldy like a sword.”

“My blades might be shorter,” Tana replied. “But trust me, if I send a throwing dagger into an Exile’s eye, he’ll go down. I promise you.”

“They sound like difficult opponents,” Barent remarked.

“The Exiles are animals,” the Olin spat. “They live and fight like feral creatures. No discipline at all, only rage. I’ve even seen them bite and claw during battles, like wild beasts.”

Barent knew that in a real life or death struggle he wasn’t above clawing like an animal himself to take out an opponent’s eyes. In a
true
fight for survival, you did whatever it took to win. Self-imposed limits on tactics could easily mean your death, especially if your opponent held no such qualms. But Barent thought it best not to share that opinion with his Olin escort.

The sun was beginning to set on the distant horizon, slowly sinking beneath the furthest edge of the immense plains. Its departure signaled the end of the day, and the Olin sparring teams started breaking apart to go their separate ways. They passed by several loose groups of the warriors as they moved through the camp, most of them heading to their quarters for the night. And then the guard led Barent and Tana down a narrow row of small tents, sandwiched between two dormitory-like structures. He stopped at the entrance to one of them.

“This will be your dwelling for the night,” he announced.

The Olin pulled the flap back and Barent saw two sleeping bags laid out on top of a collection of smooth skins—all sewn together with thin cord. Like most of the things he’d seen in the camp, the sleeping bags were comprised of a hybrid of materials. The outer coverings were standard colonial issue, but a thick layer of soft animal fur had been stitched to the inner linings.

“I’m surprised to see so much of the
Olin
’s original materials still in use,” he said to the guard. “Especially after so much time has passed.”

“Our ancestors were able to gain access to several of the ship’s storage areas after the crash, and we have all the clothing and prefabricated furnishings we could ever want. But we’ve improved and modified those things as needed—like the sleeping bags. The fur does a much better job of keeping you warm.”

“It certainly looks more comfortable,” Tana agreed.

“I will come for you in the morning,” the Olin said. And then he looked at each of them in turn to make sure they heard his next statement. “It would be best for
everyone
if you remained inside the tent until then.”

As he walked away, the guard stopped to stick his head inside the neighboring tent. He had a few quick words with the occupants and then departed.

“He was probably telling them to keep an eye on us,” Barent said, and then they turned around and entered the tent.

Barent saw a soot-darkened portable fireplace tucked into one corner of the room, and he noticed that the metal panels forming it were all hinged. It had obviously been designed to fold up flat for easy storage and transport. A single pipe ran out from the top of the square metal box, exiting the tent through a hole in the ceiling, and Barent was surprised to spot a washbasin on the mantelpiece—paired with a jug of water, and what appeared to be a generous stack of caribou jerky. Across from the fireplace he saw a horizontal pole suspended from the ceiling, hanging from two thick pieces of rope, and Barent assumed it was to place their clothing and gear on.

“Finally,” Tana said, noticing the basin. “I can get myself cleaned up. It’s been a rough few days.”

She began taking her clothes off and draping them over the pole.

“What’s this?” Barent teased. “No more modesty?”

Tana grinned. “After everything that’s happened recently, I kinda think we’re past that now.”

Once she was completely naked, Tana grabbed the washcloth from the basin and started cleaning herself off, wringing the cloth out as she went. Barent began to disrobe as well, and Tana watched as he peeled his shirt off, noticing the knife scars and healed-over puncture wounds. Barent caught her staring.

“The souvenirs of three wars,” he explained. “Not counting the one here.”

Then Barent laughed.

“What?” Tana said.

He pointed out a shallow six-inch furrow cut across his right shoulder. The wound was bright red and fresh, and minute traces of blood still seeped from it. But the damaged skin was already beginning to scab over.

“
That
,” Barent said, “is the fatal wound I succumbed to the night before the prisoners took the Citadel. I was grazed by a bullet.”

“Corporal Ennis must have been one hell of a salesman,” Tana said.

“Based on how things went, I’d have to agree.”

Barent threw the last of his clothing on top of Tana’s and she handed him the washcloth. Then Tana pulled a small towel out from underneath the waterbasin to dry herself off, and climbed into one of the sleeping bags.

“Oh, this is comfortable,” she said.

Barent finished up and pulled the hood on the fireplace partially closed, causing the room to grow darker. Then he slid into the other sleeping bag and folded it over himself, lying on his back to stare up at the canvas ceiling. It was already pitch-black outside, but the fireplace was throwing off intermittent flashes of light, cutting through the darkness to cast ever-changing shadows against the translucent walls of the tent. Despite the thousands of Olin warriors camped all around them, it was surprisingly quiet, enough for Barent to hear Tana fidgeting around in her sleeping bag.

“Tana?” he said.

“Yes?”

“When I first woke up, I asked you about Dani. Dani Lok.”

“I remember,” she replied. “You were pointing two pistols at my head at the time. It’s kind of hard to forget.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“I understand, Barent. It must have been unnerving waking up like that.”

“It was. It really was.”

A few moments of silence passed and then Barent spoke again.

“So how did you know about her? About Dani?”

“Everyone knows about Dani Lok. She was one of the founding members of the Collective.”

“She was one of them?” Barent said. “It’s difficult for me to believe it…even now. Yet somehow, I know it’s true.”

Tana heard something telling in his voice, a level of affection that went well beyond mere camaraderie. “You two were lovers, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And she betrayed you?”

“It appears so. I assume she was the one meant to kill me if Corporal Ennis hadn’t volunteered to do it. It would have worked, too. I
never
would have suspected her.”

“Then it’s lucky Ennis intervened,” Tana said.

“Dani…” Barent slowly breathed out her name—as if saying it out loud would somehow make the treachery more believable…more real. “They should have named
her
the Great Betrayer.”

Tana sensed his growing melancholy, and she knew the hurt Barent was feeling. It was a pain Tana understood all too well.

“You know,” she said. “I should have left my clothes on. I’m freezing.”

Tana threw her sleeping bag open and crawled over to Barent’s, pulling the flap aside to climb in with him.

“Tana,” he said.

“Shut up, Barent.”

Tana propped herself up on both elbows and cupped her face in her hands, looking straight at him. Barent reached over to brush a swath of hair from her eyes and noticed the scar on Tana’s forehead again. There was no mistaking his curiosity.

“It was my mother,” Tana said. “She cut me there when I was only a child. She was a cruel and abusive woman.”

“What happened to her?” Barent asked.

“I killed her,” Tana said softly. “You weren’t the only one betrayed by someone you loved, Barent. But at least I was able to get my revenge.”

Tana’s eyes grew misty, but she squeezed them shut for a few second to deny the tears.

“In the Outland, you grow up selling what you steal or selling yourself. I suppose I should be grateful that she trained me to be a thief.”

Barent knew it had all happened a long time ago, but he suspected this was the first time Tana had ever spoken about her mother’s death to anyone. He pulled her into his arms and laid Tana’s head down on his chest, holding her gently. She looked up at Barent’s face, craning her neck forward to kiss him, and then Tana slid over on top of him, placing Barent’s hands on her hips.

“Tana,” he said. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she replied.

Then she gave him a devilish grin. “If the Olin in the next tent really are listening in, let’s give them something interesting to report in the morning.”

Barent answered her with a smile, but by morning…

The Olin would have far more important things to concern themselves with.

The Exiles attacked at dawn.

Just as the last traces of darkness surrendered to sunlight, the enemy forces overran the Olin sentries, punching their way through the perimeter defenses in a large group on horseback. The Exiles arrived on the outskirts of the camp before anyone realized what was happening, and then began swarming through the labyrinth of structures, killing every Olin they came across without hesitation. Barent and Tana were still inside the tent getting dressed when the first warning cries rang out, and they quickly grabbed their weapons and ran outside.

“Where are they?” Tana said.

Barent looked around but saw no trace of the Exiles. Then he heard a loud commotion erupt in the adjacent row of tents. He recognized the clash of metal and shouting—the screams of the injured and dying.

The unmistakable sounds of battle.

“There,” he said, pointing in the direction of the noise. Barent grabbed Tana’s arm lightly and his voice hardened, making it clear he would brook no argument. “Stay right by my side, Tana. I mean it.”

She signaled her agreement with a nod, and then Barent said, “Let’s go.”

Tana couldn’t help but wonder how much of Barent’s directive was based on tactical reasons, and how much on emotion. She knew that what happened between them just a few hours earlier had meant something to him, to both of them. And not just the physical act, but the secrets they’d shared as well. Was that what was driving Barent’s caution?

But then she looked in his eyes and Tana found her answer. She saw a lethal detachment there, and knew that if Barent was feeling any emotions, they were deeply buried—put away for another time, and a different place. Right now, at
this
moment, his eyes were as distant as Earth.

Barent bore the aspect of a predator.

They dashed between two of the large dormitory tents and emerged on the other side, finding themselves right in the thick of things. They saw Exiles in every direction—up and down all of the major pathways crisscrossing the camp—and the pair opened fire. Their goal was to take some pressure off the unprepared Olin as they struggled to defend themselves, but as soon as the first gunshots rang out, combatants on both sides of the battle paused to look in their direction.

Barent understood their reaction at once. He knew the
Olin
carried far fewer guards and weapons than the
Le’sant
, and what little ammo they had outside the armory probably ran out centuries ago. The loud reports of the pistols must have been a shocking revelation—to Exile and Olin alike.

The Exile’s response was immediate: they saw how effective the weapons were, recognized the danger they represented, and then ran straight at them. Barent and Tana soon found themselves swarmed by the enemy. They managed to hold them back, if just barely, but Barent noticed that the pistols weren’t nearly as lethal as they should have been. Either the Exiles’ clothing had some type of armor sewn into it, mitigating the impact of the bullet strikes, or these people truly were berserkers—their frenzied rage allowing them to overcome serious pain and injury to keep attacking. Whatever the reason, it meant they were in real danger of being overrun. Only headshots were providing any definitive stopping power, but in the thick mix of Olin and Exiles warriors, very few of those opportunities presented themselves.

Barent shouted at Tana, “Come with me!”

She drew in closer to his side and they began backing away from the fighting, retracing the steps they’d taken to join the fray in the first place. As they ducked back between the two large tents again, the pursuing Exiles got bottled up in the small space, tripping over dead comrades in front of them as they fell to the pistols. The guns were proving extremely effective in the narrow kill zone, giving Barent and Tana an immense advantage over their blade-wielding enemies. But then one of the dormitory tents collapsed under the vicious onslaught and the Exiles began swarming over the top of the wreckage. They clawed their way across the twisted framework and piles of canvas and with remarkable speed, spilling around the side to try to encircle them.