Chapter 12: The Fallen Angel

Trals Scarback did not have the luxury of stopping to watch Njrea trail fire down the black dome of the sky. Her companion, the man, had finally decided to leave the safety of the Ship of Years and join Trals in combat. Now the foreigner closed, eyes wide, pale face stretched in a scream. His black paarsoot shimmering with fire and steam, he moved with unnatural flickering speed, hands swelling as his serrated arms rose, claws reaching to grapple with the Trals. Foolish monster.

Slavers milled about in confusion while Trals widened his stance and focused his attention. No less sharp than his mind rose the mighty sword Vritai.

Trals dodged aside just before the paarsoot man could hit him. The black whirlwind shot past, swerved about, and brought up his arms just in time to save his face from the swinging blade of Trals Scarback. The enemy took a step back and sped toward Trals again, only to miss again and smash into a Slaver soldier with enough force to shatter bronze armor and pulp the flesh within.

Clearly the use of a paarsoot required some training, and this man had none. Trals had made a good choice, then, with his selection of foreigner to kidnap.

Njrea impacted the Face of God with a muffled thump. No sound of bones breaking, which pleased Trals Scarback, but also meant he might not have much time before she pulled herself up again. Best to deal with her clumsy male minion and steal her away.

The next time Njrea's subordinate regained his feet, Trals was ready to freeze him with a sign of obeisance. "Hello, friend of Njrea." Trals stepped in front of the fallen woman, who had drawn her limbs together like a wounded nodosaur. "I have defeated your Leader, and she is stronger than you. I suggest you run away."

While the paarsoot man twisted before Trals's hands, Njrea jerked. A crack ran down the length of her black suit, which parted like the shell of a hatchling cicada to reveal the smooth brown skin beneath. Perfect.

"Allow me to explain the situation," Trals addressed the man. "Your Ship is being dismantled even now, and I think - "

Njrea cast off her exhausted paarsoot and flung herself at Trals's back.

He had known she would attempt some sort of attack. Trals sidestepped, caught the woman's hand, twisted it around, and hoisted her onto his shoulder.

Njrea kicked and cursed and her minion bleated something in his language, but Trals paid attention to neither. "Vrem," he shouted, "Jgghav, Lee! Somebody come make the sign of obeisance at this stupid fellow while retrieve the sundered paarsoot. Hurry now, we have little - "

"Trals Scarback," came a voice from the conflagration. "You put that other girl down this instant!"

The ears of Trals Scarback twitched. That voice spoke in the high, ringing tones of a Slaver princess, the daughter of an Admiral of the Thalassocracy. Impossible, but Trals Scarback does not hesitate to accept the impossible, if it is obviously true.

"Studious Turtle?" Yes, it was she, the naïve girl Trals had once tricked into arranging his escape while his slave revolt burned itself out in the streets of Luna Meridiana. "What are you doing here?" How could Turtle have followed him all this way? And why? Njrea thrashed on his shoulder, and an inconvenient thought occurred.

"I came because I love you," declaimed Studious Turtle.

Trals nodded. "Ah, well, that explains it." Trals Scarback had great talents in the arts of love, when he had reason to control his urge to murder his partner. He bent to scoop up the paarsoot, his naked captive wriggling in his grip. "I'm afraid I have no time to greet you."

Njrea's cry of anger was only a little louder than Turtle's. "Do you know what I did to come here and be with you? Drop that devilish thing and pick me up instead."

"Why would she expect me to do such a thing?" said Trals. "You were useful to me, but Njrea here can shoot fire from her hands."

Turtle opened her mouth to reply, but fortunately her uncle had more sense than she. Captain Ngarong grabbed Turtle and pinned her arms behind her. "Come away now."

"That time in the market," she cried, "when our eyes met. When you carried me away from those cut-throats. When you came to my window and took me to that loft above the stables. Who could do the things Trals had done with me and not feel something?"

"He felt nothing. He never does." Ngarong said.

Turtle bucked in his grip. "No, no. He loves me."

"Isn't it obvious, Turtle? He never has."

Ngarong was wiser than his niece. Whatever it was that made people love and not kill each other, the Slavers had burned it out of Trals Scarback. And he needed no old romantic conquest trailing after him, demanding care and attention he was incapable of giving. Trals hoisted his prize and weapon up his shoulder and turned his attention to her paralyzed lackey. "Calm now, little hatchling. You think to try your skill against mine?"

"You bastard," Turtle raged, "you used me."

Trals didn't look at her, but grinned instead at the paarsoot man, hopping from foot to foot, the woman on his back flopping and cursing. "Come on! Come, and I shall defeat you, even with your commander helpless on my shoulder. Of course," he gestured with his free hand. "If you look, you'll see that you don't have time for me to beat you."

The foreigner looked around at the Ship of Years. Ngarong had followed Trals's excellent advice, and his crew now stood on top of the fabulous artifact, trying very hard to smash it to pieces.

The lanky, spiny creature blurred away, trying to protect his transport and treasure.

"Pay attention to me, damn you," Turtle shrieked over the Slaver soldiers, "I am the daughter of an Admiral."

Sighing, Trals finally turned his face towards hers. "Thank you, Turtle, for helping me wreke the beginning of my vengeance on your people. More is to come." He patted the backs of Njrea's legs. "Now, captain," he shouted to Ngarong, "is it your intention to have your men slaughtered by me as well as the angels?" Around Trals, Ethlek warriors swaggered through the flames, their arms loaded with loot. A triceratops bellowed in the night. "Let us go. Let us go, and turn your attention to the Ship of Years and the angel I have sent to rip your men from it." He laughed at the niece and uncle's identical looks of consternation. "Consider the loot we take as payment for those two angels. They are yours, if you can subdue them."

He got a firmer grip on Njrea and loped off through the burning hole in the fort's wall.

***

Turtle slumped against Ngarong, too drained even to weep. "Uncle, you may release me."

"Yes," Ngarong said, "no. Lieutenant Rinsin, see to it that Lady Studious Turtle is safe. We still have two angels on the loose."

She blinked at the fire, the running soldiers. The ones who lay broken in the mud. Her uncle released her and it was all Turtle could do not to crumple to the ground herself. Cold, salty horror washed her. What in the name of Departed God was she doing in this slaughterhouse?

Following Trals. Turtle's teeth and hands clenched. The wretched barbarian had played her, and her uncle, and the very angels left behind by God. The genius of Trals Scarback shone like the sun off summer water, but that water was full of teeth.

Rinsin reached for her. Someone cried out in the direction of the Ship of Years.

Purpose kindled again to warm her core. A means for revenge lay within her grasp.

Turtle ducked out from under the Lieutenant.

"Don't let her escape. She'll run after Trals."

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Turtle snarled, lifting a clenched fist at her uncle, at the sky. "I shall punish Trals for what he did to me." Yes, the feminine angel was too insane to control, but the other one, the one who had looked at her like a helpless boy? What Trals had done to one angel, she could do to the other. "Follow me."