Chapter 42
We weren’t always like that,” Sheriff Sutherland said, his voice echoing out of the darkness.
Colt squinted and caught the silhouette of the man shackled to the wall. As his eyes adjusted, other shapes started to take form, most of them citizens of Sanctuary. All of them shackled.
“Where are they taking us?”
The sheriff coughed, rattling his chains as he turned toward Colt. “We’re meant to be examples. Koenig wanted one Betrayer—apparently you—but he found himself a whole village of traitors. He’ll execute the adults and turn the children into slaves.” He coughed again. “It would have been better for them to die. At least then their souls would be spared.”
Souls? Colt had never stopped to consider what the Thule believed, but he remembered seeing the church steeple as it towered over Sanctuary. Had the Thule brought their faith with them, or had they discovered God on Earth?
“What can you tell me about the Betrayer?” Colt said.
There was a soft thud as the sheriff leaned his head against the wall.
“To understand the Betrayer, you need to understand Gathmara.” He coughed some more. “You’ve seen pictures, haven’t you?”
Colt nodded.
“Steel cities. Poisonous clouds. Sludge-choked seas. But it wasn’t always like that,” Sheriff Sutherland said. “When I was young the five warlords who ruled our land were at peace for the first time in generations. There were sparkling rivers and pristine forests. We’d swim in the water and then climb up to the top of the trees and soak in the sun. And the music? That’s what I remember most. One family would start the singing at sunset, and you’d hear it up and down along the river until the stars were high.”
The sheriff sighed. “But it’s gone, and I’m sorry to say that there are only a few of us old enough to remember it.” He paused, staring off into nothing. “But when I walk by one of the parks and watch our children at play, I know that Gathmara is still alive in their spirit.”
“What happened?” Colt asked.
“Aldrich Koenig.” Sheriff Sutherland shook his head as his words turned sour. “Though he was born into poverty, he had great ambition. He joined the militia when he was eleven or twelve, and it wasn’t long before he earned the favor of Arcos, warlord of the Defense Corps. Koenig used his cunning to manipulate Arcos into breaking the peace, promising that he would ensure that the other warlords would bow before Arcos and pay him tribute.
“It resulted in genocide. Koenig created a special unit of elite killers, and tens of thousands were slaughtered in his name. Once the Defense Corps had dominion over the five armies, Koenig turned his attention to commerce. He ushered in our modern age with his factories, and the Undarians, the people of the seas, took umbrage with the pollution, and when agreement could not be met, they declared war.
“With the blessing of Arcos, Koenig led the unified forces of the five armies against the Undarians, and when they were victorious he urged Arcos to declare Thule supremacy over all of Gathmara. And when that was accomplished, they turned their eyes to neighboring worlds. Koenig claimed that they could be harboring the Betrayer, and if the Thule didn’t destroy them, they would surely destroy the Thule.
“About that time Arcos grew sick, and since he had no heir he declared Koenig warlord of the Defense Corps. The singing stopped. The children stopped playing in the rivers. Every able-bodied Thule was put to work under the auspices that we were living under an imminent threat. Fear drove us to slave in Koenig’s factories, building weapons of war while his wealth grew beyond compare.”
“Why didn’t someone assassinate him?” Colt asked.
“It wasn’t for lack of desire,” the sheriff said. “There were several attempts, but they all failed. Koenig isn’t a very trusting man, and if you weren’t in his inner circle you couldn’t get close enough to try. Don’t get me wrong, though. Koenig is charismatic, and those who follow him do so blindly and with great passion . . . like my nephew Heinrich.”
“Heinrich?” Colt asked. The hair on the back of Colt’s neck was standing on end.
“You know him?” Sheriff Sutherland asked.
Colt nodded. “He was crushed in a cave-in in the tunnels under the CHAOS Military Academy.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Sheriff Sutherland said, his voice devoid of emotion. “He was a good kid, but when his mother died, Koenig was there to infuse his brand of hatred and revenge, and my nephew bought into it.”
“Does Koenig fear the Betrayer?”
“He fancies himself a god,” Sheriff Sutherland said. “I’m not sure he fears anything.”
“What about you? Do you think the prophecy is real?”
“I can only hope.” The sheriff coughed, and his breathing grew ragged. “If the salvation of humans and Thule alike comes through a person called the Betrayer, it will be because God wills it. And that’s the truth I hold on to.”
A blast shook the holding cell, and a child screamed for her mother. Her voice was swallowed by a cacophony of bombs and bullets as the holding cell echoed with the sound of metal grinding against metal.
The room dipped to the left. And then they fell.
Metal crunched, and Colt could hear the echo of gunshots from somewhere beyond the walls. People scrambled to sit upright, groaning and choking as they strained against their collars. Colt fought to break free from his bonds, desperate to help the people around him.
There was a sound like keys rattling, and a door fell open like the door of an oven. A silhouette, black against the amber light, ducked through. Something stood in the middle of the prisoners with a pistol in each of its six hands.
More shouting. Gunshots. Fighting. Bodies fell, and someone else stepped through the doorway. Colt’s line of sight was obscured by the Thule, but whoever it was, he didn’t have six arms.
The Thule fired one of the pistols and was about to fire another when a bolt of blue electricity shot across the room, hitting it in the chest. The electricity crackled across its body as it fell, leaving the stench of burning flesh.
Colt fought against the chains until he felt the trickle of warm blood flowing down each wrist. All around him were the sounds of moaning and whimpering. A woman sobbed as she stroked the hair of a little girl who didn’t move. An old man lay against the wall, his neck bent at an odd angle, his mouth slightly open and his eyes staring straight ahead.
There was movement near the doorway as a dozen men entered the room, weapons at the ready. One walked to the fallen Thule and kicked it with his boot. Colt couldn’t see his face, but it sounded like he was speaking Thule.
Colt strained to break free. Tendons popped out of his neck, and as metal tore into his flesh, the trickle of blood turned to a steady flow. He pressed harder. The cut ran deeper. The man stood there watching him like a father might watch his son throw a temper tantrum.
“It’s not worth it,” the man said, this time in perfect English. “The best you’ll do is tear your hands off at the wrist. Then there’s the bacteria, not to mention the smell of your blood, which will no doubt draw the Riek. This is their hunting ground, and nightfall will be here soon.”
He stepped into the light, and Colt recognized the eye patch and the scar that ran down his face and across his lip. “Agent Rhane?”
“That’s Commander Rhane, Soldier of the Grail.”