Chapter 20 - Pyr
The small black clad messenger entered the council building through a rear door. He was immediately grabbed by two Aeronite soldiers.
“You! What are you doing here? This is no time or place for games.”
The small red headed figure, clad in Aeronite style trousers and tunic, drew himself up as tall as he could.
“I have a message for the Commanders,” Pyr lied brazenly. “My guardian did not want to risk it by radio. He said that a child would not be noticed.”
“Have you a warrant from Warlord Kellex?” the warrior demanded.
“Sir, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have permission,” Pry insisted. “And this message is urgent.”
The guard decided it was prudent to let the boy through. He knew the Warlord well enough to believe the boy was telling the truth.
“Go on then!” he directed, and then he forgot the child. He was there to stop Tymoreans entering.
Pyr felt his heart pounding. So far, blatant lying had worked in his favour as had staying very quiet when he was hidden in Jordan’s flitter and when he had followed the last squad of soldiers to the city. He had decided he was tired of being considered a child and too young. When he heard that Jordan and Vila were to bring the Tymorean Governor to Kellex, so they could talk to each other and hopefully the Tymoreans would help the Aeronites, Pyr wanted to be there too. He wanted to add his own plea to the alien king to get his help. Millions of Aeronites would die otherwise.
He wasn’t stupid though. He knew he was not a brilliant fighter yet. Good for his age, but he couldn’t fight a grown man. Therefore, stealth was his intention, and to find a place to hide, wait and watch, so he could see what the alien king was like.
With the excuse of looking for Jordan, he strode quietly away from the guard at the door. Then he moved with extreme stealth, down passages, peering into deserted rooms until he opened the janitor’s closet and saw two sleeping men. At first, he thought they were dead, but when he leant in to touch them, he was vastly relieved to feel a pulse in the neck of one and see the chest of the other rising and falling. He retreated and closed the door.
He was glad that Jordan had not killed the men. Even if it had been the work of one of the warriors, he was glad the men had not died. He had seen dead men before, when his guardian had killed a lot of Tymorean prisoners. No one knew he had been hiding and watching. It had made him feel ill. However, the thought of millions of Aeronites dying made him feel worse.
Voices came from within the room he was about to look into. He was going to scamper past, but then he recognised two of the voices as Jordan’s and Vila’s. With a start, he remembered to switch his stealth suit back on before slipping into the room. Inside, he saw a huge table with many chairs around it and dived under them to listen.
“What is taking them so long,” Vila muttered. She was pacing around the far end of the room, and looked as if she had been beaten. Pyr was fleetingly alarmed, then realised that was how they must have tricked the locals. She didn’t sound hurt.
“He is some high and mighty type,” Jordan told her. “He probably can’t go anywhere without a crowd of sycophants.”
“We don’t want a crowd,” Vila reminded him. “What if he does have a huge retinue of guards?”
“It doesn’t matter. As soon as they all arrive, the force field will turn them all into statues,” Jordan reminded her. “The warriors can handle the opposition and put the Governor where he can’t escape. We have a more important job – have you got everything you need?”
“I told you I did,” Vila retorted quietly. “The important stuff is in my pocket.”
Pyr’s siblings were quiet then, as they waited for the High King Governor to come. Well, not completely quiet. Jordan was clicking his fingers – something he always did when he was nervous. Pyr resisted the temptation to chew his own nails. His guardian deplored that nervous habit and had him beaten for doing it. Trouble was, that made Pyr even more nervous around his guardian.
To take his mind off what now seemed like an insane idea, Pyr told himself that no one could see him. If this king person was as bad and mean as Kellex implied – he didn’t have to show himself. He could sneak back to hide in Vila’s ship. Jordan would probably take the prisoner in his when he returned to Kellex.
From his hiding place under the table, he heard an eruption of sound. It came from somewhere nearby. Then he heard an indistinct voice through Jordan’s communicator, and Jordan demand, “What do you mean – he didn’t come?”
More of the indistinct voice and Jordan suddenly blurted, “The field isn’t holding them all.”
He and Vila began to run towards the far end of the room. Pyr heard Jordan order, “Full shields!”
Instants later, there was a very loud “Wumph!” and he felt a pressure wave – not enough to stun him, since the far wall and the nearer furniture protected him. Jordan’s order now made sense.
Aeronite warriors, with blood coming from ears and noses, stumbled into view near Jordan’s position.
“Report!” Jordan insisted.
Pyr listened hard and heard a warrior’s slurred speech. “Twelve Tymoreans, Sir. The King wasn’t there.”
All the warriors were stumbling towards chairs; some missed and collapsed onto the floor. Pyr’s position didn’t give him enough of a view. He edged closer.
“Where is he?” Vila demanded. “Did your warriors wait until the Tymorean guards gave the all clear? Could the damn king know we had put the force field on?” Vila’s voice was pitched higher than normal. She was probably anticipating Kellex’s wrath if they failed.
Jordan demanded in turn, “Is their long range beam still on? Come on Vila, we have to go. We don’t have time to bring the capsules here.”
A powerful voice spoke from within the room, startling Pyr into rolling over to look for the source.
“I thought you wanted to speak to me, Commander Jordan?”
Pyr wriggled to where he could see the speaker. The red headed man wore armour that had a reddish gold sheen, as did the blond haired man a half step in front of him. Neither looked like monsters and the redhead looked like Jordan.
“There was no need for all the subterfuge,” the older man, the red head, spoke again. “Nor for you to attack my escort. Did you think I would not want to speak to my own lost children? I bear you no anger. It was not your fault that you were taken from me – or that I mourned for you as dead. You, Commander Vila and young Pyr.”
In his hiding place, Pyr felt a shock. This man…was his father? He sensed a similar sense of shock from his siblings. The Tymorean King knew their names. He hadn’t been tricked by Jordan’s ploy – not at all. But… how had he known? His guardian’s spy had said that the ones called Prince and Princess, were off somewhere without permission and those at the palace didn’t know where. He knew, from overhearing other reports, that they were actually too far away to interfere.
However, the only ones who could possibly have learnt who Jordan and Vila were…were the real Prince and Princess - the children that had escaped from his guardian. Pyr’s mind recalled that time. The girl had said she was his sister, and although she had kidnapped him, she had returned him when he had insisted. He hadn’t said a word about that to anyone. Now, he heard Vila venting her opinion of the stranger – protesting that her real father had cast her out to die and if their guardian had not wanted to talk to him, she would have killed him right then.
Pyr couldn’t share that view. He could feel that the Tymorean wasn’t lying, and the grief the man had felt was real. He started to crawl out from under the table, when he saw more of Jordan’s command approaching behind the King. He was about to call out a warning but it was already too late. The two newly arrived warriors sprayed a sleep gas into the men’s faces. Both Tymoreans slumped to the floor.
“Tie both of them up,” Jordan ordered. “Take the older one to my ship. We won’t be long – we just have to get his youngest whelp. That way we will have a hostage to make him see reason.”
Shock fixed Pyr in place. They were going to take a baby? They couldn’t! That wasn’t honourable. He began to follow Jordan, to plead with him, but then he heard one of the newly arrived warriors laugh.
“I will educate this weakling Governor and his friend while you are gone.”
Jordan didn’t seem to be paying attention; he and Vila were running out of the far end of the room. They had those odd Tymorean devices out. Pyr shrank back under the table. His guardian hadn’t given him one – because he was too young. He gave up the idea of following. This whole dishonourable episode was his guardian’s idea and the two warriors left with the prisoners were sadistic brutes. The thickset one, Geller, hadn’t merely tied the men up – he had used a tangler web and was manually tightening it so that the prisoners would wake up scrunched into a ball.
When Geller began to kick the unconscious men – it was too much.
Pyr sprang out from under the table and ran at Geller. The unexpectedness of the move allowed him to knock the man over. His companion, who had stood guard, now sprayed a weapon around the area, suspecting a shielded adversary.
The weapon had caused his force shield to stop working, and Pyr found himself grabbed.
Geller snarled when he identified his small assailant.
“Does Kellex know you are here, little man?” he sneered. “I’d wager he doesn’t.”
“Stop kicking them,” Pry yelled. “He didn’t do anything to you! He came here in good faith, to talk, and if you treat…”
Geller slapped Pyr across the face. “The bastard will talk, and I am going to teach you to stay out of your guardian’s business.”
With his companion still gripping the struggling child, Geller yanked the boy’s trews down, forced him to bend over, and proceeded to give his exposed rear a thorough thrashing.
“Stop it!” Pyr tried to insist, but his throat was tight from fear, pain and humiliation.
Only the sudden movement from the redheaded prisoner caused Geller to stop and toss his little victim aside. He spoke to the prisoner. “That is only a sample of what Warlord Kellex is going to do to you, king.”
Pyr was only vaguely aware of the prisoner speaking.
“If your superior was hoping for concessions from me, you have just ended that hope,” Tymoros said calmly. He was moving carefully, hiding the fact that he was trying to find the net’s release pad. “Unless, of course, he proves his good intentions by having both of you killed where I can watch.”
“Not a chance, scum. You will agree to what we want anyway. My Commander has gone to get your precious baby heir.”
Tymoros controlled his expression, hiding his anger at being overcome so easily. Mixed with his fear for Llaimos, was his concern for the boy who had tried to help him. He was probably Pyr, the lad Tymos and Kryslie had mentioned. A child he had believed had died at birth. He could hear the stifled sobs from the boy and concern for that child dominated over concern for his own position.
Nor was he as concerned for Llaimos, who was well guarded at the Estate…for Kryslie was there.