The Guardians of Sol Page 23

  Sandsmark swiped at the knight’s foot with the buttspike of his spear, and the man stepped back, opening some space between the two. He struck straight into the weakened area of the kite shield. The knight immediatly threw his shield away as he dodged and rolled away. Stick flicked the shield in the opposite direction to get it off of his spear. The shield clanged off of an automaton before exploding into a cloud of shrapnel and coolant that took down a few nearby robots. The knight took another swing at Sandsmark, now the sword was whining from rapid vibrations going down its length as well as glowing from its self-induced heat. When Sandsmark intercepted it this time, the adamantine tip of his spear sheared off the top half of the broadsword with a horrific shrieking. The Castigar quickly changed his stance and slammed his spear home in the knight’s throat – anywhere else might have required two or more strikes to get through the armor, and it felt that time was of the essence. Once the knight died, and the arc fried the sensitive parts of the chest and helmet, about half of the automata stopped moving for half a second, and then resumed their previous struggles, though they seemed slightly less coordinated.

  “So much for that idea,” Sandsmark sighed, and went back to work.

  *****

  “Networking has cracked the encryption, sir!” Seer said. “I have your point of ingress into the palace.”

  “Good work,” Christoph replied. “All teams converge on the waypoint I’m marking for you. We’re going to make a beachhead in the palace and hold it until the heavy hitters and important folk arrive.”

  24

  November 17, 2289. AEU Royal Palace, London.

  The elevator from the underground facility opened up into a surprisingly large storage area where several Castigars and Spartans were waiting around for orders. Telamon passed by them without a second glance. He was accompanied by several other men in the Sentinel’s Guard, though the main group was still guarding the Sentinel back at the mobile command center. He was met in the hall by a Vindicator in slightly heavier custom armor – likely a Swordmaster – who saluted and began to bring him up to speed.

  “General, good, you’re here. Once Shadowstealer established a foothold here it only took about an hour to secure the rest of it. Uther is holed up in his throne room with several Knights of the Round. His wife and child are under our guard in one of the bunkers; they have not been harmed.”

  “Good. Make sure that they stay that way,” Telemon replied. “Who do we have ready to breach the throne room?”

  “Shadowstealers are on point, with another squad of Castigars, and two squads of Vindicators as backup. And, of course, I am at your disposal.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Go ahead and get them ready to blow the doors. Let’s get the king gift wrapped for the Sentinel when he arrives,” As the Swordmaster moved off, Telamon turned to the black trimmed Spartans following him. “After the doors come down we’ll be the first ones through. Watch each other’s backs. We fight as a unit; no single combat. Got it? Good. Arka, you’re on my left.”

  Minutes later, Telamon was standing outside of a particularly grand gateway; the large and ornate doors that told the story of the original Arthur Pendragon were closed and barred to the outside.

  “Seems like a shame to ruin such fancy doors,” Arka remarked, as the Shadowstealer’s demolitions expert busied himself lining the edges with detonation cord.

  “Uther should have thought about that before starting a war with us, then,” one of the other Spartans replied. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, the saying goes.”

  “Well sure, but you never see this kind of decoration in any Guardian installations.”

  That brought a few replies ranging from polite to very crude from the other Castigars.

  “Stow the chatter and form up on me,” Telamon interrupted. He turned to Christoph. “You ready to go through the side doors when I give the signal?”

  “I just have to get there, old man. Give me and Prophet a minute and we’ll be ready,” the young Captain replied. “See you on the other side.”

  Watching the two walk around the corner, Telamon said thoughtfully, “My godson is definitely a capable man, eh boys?” He placed his helmet back on his head and the neck connectors whirred securely into position. “Blow the doors on my mark! 3. 2. 1. Mark!”

  The doors blew inward off their hinges, and Guardians burst through the subsequent smoke on three sides of the room. There was no incoming fire, and the Guardians were expecting a brutal close combat. To their surprise, there were neither. Instead, once they cleared the smoke, they saw a half dozen of Uther’s honor guard standing on the stairs to either side of the throne in which the monarch sat, surrounded by four of the Knights of the Round. The Wolf stood to the King’s right, the Lion his left, and the Bear and a new Eagle behind. Uther was in power armor, but his helmet was off.

  “There are no traps here, gentlemen,” Uther spoke wearily. The young king looked as if he had aged terribly, though his body was obviously still very strong. “Please, call off your dogs, and I will call off mine. My allies have abandoned me, and I finally see the wisdom that has been right in front of me this last year or so. As a sign of good faith, I’ve recalled all forces, including automata, to defensive positions.”

  The almost nonchalant, perfectly reasonable tone caught all of the Guardians off guard. Honestly, they had been expecting a cackling madman, and instead they found a sad and world weary, but perfectly sane, one instead. Telamon commed the command center to confirm Uther’s claims, and once they were, conveyed the king’s apparent desire for a ceasefire. The Sentinel agreed, and sent out the order to pull the troops back a respectable distance from the skirmish line.

  “You have your ceasefire, Uther. What do you intend to do with it?”

  “Even a king beaten deserves a modicum of respect, Spartan,” Uther replied, a little of his old haughtiness coming to the surface for a moment. “But I want to end this war. Bring your Sentinel here, and I will give him my terms.”

  Over the coms Telamon said, “Christoph, relay that to your father. Coming through the facility you found it shouldn’t take him more than half an hour or so.” Taking off his helmet, Telamon addressed the king. “What changed your mind so suddenly? Somehow I doubt that it was simply because you got yourself surrounded.”

  “Telamon,” the king began. “I don’t much care to repeat myself, so I’ll reveal my reason once Michael arrives. For now, suffice it to say that I’ve had my doubts about the path I’ve been on for some time now, and until a few hours ago, I still foolishly believed I could win this war. How are your family and businesses doing?”

  “Well. My son has done well for himself in many battles, and the younger kids are getting good marks in school. I’m told profits are up across the board, and there should be plenty of rebuilding work later, so I suppose your war has been good for that, at least.”

  “That’s good. There should always be a little light in the darkness. I doubt I need to tell you this, but always beware men who promise you your dreams. I hope that my son is far wiser than I have been when he grows up.”

  “That’s a hope that many people share, even if the boy never becomes a king.”

  Uther sighed and nodded at the possibility. As he saw it, he has wasted four generations of unity and progress in a matter of months.

  *****

  The Sentinel arrived promptly, surrounded by his Spartan bodyguards, and accompanied by the Swordmaster lieutenant. No one had budged since Michael was called, but then, power armor was fairly easy enough to rest in.

  “You called for me, Uther?” Michael inquired.

  “I did, Michael. I want to end this war. Human kind will need unity soon, and my actions have sadly caused just the opposite of that.”

  “And just how do you intend to make this happen? There is ample evidence that you have at the very least been a party to many atrocities if not an active participant. Not to mention all of the lives lost in your pointless war. There will nee
d to be a measure of justice.”

  “I am only lord of these isles now, so I can only guarantee compliance here, but I intend to give them into the care of the Guardians and the Confederacy they serve. I’ll also advise the council of lords to urge those nations that have seceded from the AEU to do the same. What manner of justice do you intend to give me?”

  “I’ll beseech the Japanese emperor to serve as an impartial arbitrator. We will hold a trial, present the evidence, and he will render whatever judgment he determines just.”

  “Understandable. However, you know as well as I that the most likely judgment is imprisonment. I find that distasteful. I would rather be given a warrior’s death and retain some small semblance of honor. Give me a trial by combat against a worthy champion, and a guarantee of safety for my family, and I will go happily to my doom.”

  “Your family’s safety was guaranteed anyway,” The Sentinel replied, not unkindly. “And I will accede to your request for a trial by combat. But first I must know, why did you attack Greece? You must have known that it wouldn’t be a fight you could win on your own.”

  Uther sighed. “About a year ago, I was approached by several men. They made me… offers of support, as well as several technological advances, in exchange for an attack on Guardian holdings. They assured me that once the war was well underway they would give me reinforcements from their own holdings. I investigated, of course, but I couldn’t find their point of origin. Their technology checked out though and I ignored the nagging doubts I felt. I let them commit atrocities in my name, and they abandoned the city hours ago. Before all of this started, at the summit, you wondered where all of the sudden advances of technology were coming from? It was them. They gave the Republics harmonic technology, they gave the Zulus improved materials and schematics for their armor, and they gave me much more than any of that. The Centurions are coming, Michael, and they are far more brutal than anyone I’ve ever met before.”

  “It all seems to come back to the Centurions, doesn’t it? We’ve had limited run-ins with them around the system. They even slaughtered one of the colonies out by Saturn. Thank you for the information. Do you need any time before the trial?”

  “I’ll take a few moments to set things in order. I’ve kept extensive records of my dealings with the Centurions; Marcus will make sure that you receive copies,” The king turned to his knights. “Thank you all for your loyal service. Marcus, I truly wish that I had listened to you sooner. If I could ask one last favor of you?”

  “Anything, my lord,” the wolf knight replied.

  “Train Arthur for me, see to it that he becomes a better and wiser man than I have. There is no one else I would ever trust to this. You’ve been loyal enough to stick with me through all of this, and courageous enough to tell me when I’m wrong, even if I haven’t listened. My son will need a man of conscience to teach him.”

  “I will do this, my lord. For you and for your son. When he comes of age, I will do my best to see to it that the Council of Lords restores the throne to your line.”

  Uther smiled thankfully, and rested his hand on Marcus’s shoulder. The lion knight spoke up. “Let me champion you in the trial, sire. There is no need for you to die this day.”

  “Would you deny me this last bit of honor, Joseph? Do not forget that the thirteenth seat at the Table is mine. No, I will fight this battle myself. The four of you must watch over the kingdom, and make sure that the Council of Lords doesn’t threaten its future. You’ll be Guardians soon,” the king continued with a smile. “I expect you to develop the Knights’ reputation so much that it eclipses that of the Spartans. Michael, I’m ready. Who will face me?”

  “I choose Swordmaster Kano Keres as my champion and your executioner for this trial. I’m sorry that this did not turn out another way. If by some quirk of fate you survive, will you accept going to trial?”

  “I will. I chose my path, Michael, and now I reap my harvest. I have no one to blame but myself. Come now, Kano Ker,” Uther said, drawing his blade. “Excalibur has not seen battle in a generation. Make sure my death is worthy of it.”

  “King Uther, I would like you to know that I am the Third Sword of the Hidden Tier, if anyone can give you the death you seek, it will be me” the Swordmaster lieutenant replied, drawing his own blade.

  Uther slipped his helmet on, and the dragon motif of his armor became clear. The two swordsmen pulled their swords into identical salutes and began to circle one another. The king held Excalibur lightly in one hand with his other held out to ward off errant blows. Kano held his blade low and horizontally, his free hand high, centered, and close. Kano’s sword was somewhat odd in its design, completely straight with a single edge gleaming with a blood-red color. Neither combatant was using the teched out versions of weapons usually seen in modern combat. There were no heat glows, no arcs of power, or whines of vibrations.

  After taking each other’s measure for a few minutes, Kano moved in. Uther used a straight thrust that ripped through the first few layers of Kano’s armor like it was nothing. Kano dodged away and his own sword bit through some of Uther’s shoulder plating just as easily.

  “So Excalibur has a monomolecular edge. I guess we’re even in that regard,” Kano said as the two made a little space between them. The Swordmaster pulled a plasma dagger from its sheath in one of his bracers. “This thing is almost as good, you know.”

  Uther made no verbal response, but took a stance with his weight on his back foot, left foot forward, and left arm extended along the length of Excalibur. Kano moved in again, and tried to block Uther’s thrust with the blade of the plasma dagger. Unfortunately, Excalibur cut through the plasma and its magnetic field as easily as it cut through everything else. Kano managed to escape with only a deep cut to his forearm instead of getting a full amputation. As the supposedly third greatest Swordmaster in all of the Corps, Kano was a little disconcerted at the capabilities of both Uther and Excalibur.

  “Thus far, Kano, I am sadly disappointed in your ability. Perhaps Michael would have been better off sending the old Spartan to fight me.”

  “Guess I am a little off my game. Don’t worry though; you’ll lose your head well before I lose mine.”

  Uther smiled behind his face plate, and swiped at Kano’s midsection. The Swordmaster danced away and riposted with a strike that sheared away more of Uther’s shoulder plating. They sparred like this for several minutes, scoring minor strikes, but both afraid of the possibility of losing their blades to direct hits or parries. Eventually, Kano managed to cut into Uther’s visor, causing the king to fling his helmet away to maintain his senses. Uther took Excalibur into a two hand grip and began a more aggressive – though still exquisitely balanced – series of attacks that put Kano on the defensive.

  So what happens if I win? The king began to wonder. He had requested the trial by combat in order save a shred of his honor, but if he lived, would he get to see his son grow? He doubted the world would let him remain king. He was guilty of most of the charges they were likely to bring against him, but that still left many avenues of punishment. Uther stuck a deep blow to the meat of Kano’s shoulder in the same arm he’d already injured, and again the Swordmaster pulled away before the king could push his sword in any direction to cause more damage.

  Kano meanwhile, was simply trying to stay alive and bide his time. He was surprised to find that Uther was a better swordsman than he was, and the only counter to superior skill was patience. He suffered another blow to his free arm, and began to make his peace with losing it all together. Then Kano saw it, his opportunity. Uther had gotten into a rhythm with his attacks, and when he went for a thrust on the fourth beat, as it were, the Swordmaster deflected it as much as possible with his injured arm while dodging in close and stabbing the king in the chest, cleaving his heart.

  “You had me worried for a little while there. For a Swordmaster, you don’t move very fast,” the king told Kano, before collapsing completely on the man’s sword.

 
; “I think that, had he not given in to promises of power, Uther very well could have been the man to lead a unified Earth,” Michael said sadly.

  “But he did give in. A last minute change of heart doesn’t change that,” Telamon replied. Which Michael couldn’t argue with. “That kind of weakness wouldn’t lead the system to anywhere good.”

  Slowly, Marcus walked forward and retrieved Excalibur. Sheathing it, he said. “Only the king may use this blade, by the bonds that bound me to Uther, I swear that I will guard this blade until his son comes of age. If there is anyone here who wishes to dispute my duty, let them say so, and fall before me now.”

  No one did, so the wolf knight secured Excalibur to his waist, and reverently laid his friend and king to rest. “Uther provided me with keys to the documents he mentioned. I’ll provide what he promised, and give the council of lords his recommendations for joining the Confederacy and the Guardians. Most importantly, my fellow knights and I will see to securing Arthur’s future. You have won the war, Michael. What are you going to do now?”

  “Now, we honor Uther’s wishes and begin building for a better future,” The Sentinel replied. “I am not going to seek any punitive measures. There is too much work that needs doing to rebuild Europe, and we still have the Centurions to watch out for, but together, our people will survive and come out on top.”

  25

  December 11, 2289. The Forge

  I stared at the empty spots in the engineering alcove where three of my men should have stowed their armor. The battle had turned from an annoyingly slow rout (given those damned barrier walls) into an actual fight for our lives. The statistics were still accruing, even these weeks after the end of the war, but the loss rates once the automata entered the battlefield went from a little under one in ten to between one in two and two in three for mainline troops. Even most of the Specials suffered about thirty percent attrition rate. Of course, the Fuzzy Bunnies maintained their streak and still hadn’t lost a man in combat, the lucky bastards.