Dark Omega

CHAPTER 32 - HERO OF ATHENS

Salinaria's first assignment after redeploying from Amalfi to Protasia had been the city of Thira. A Draconic Quaestor called Tancred had been appointed to lead the joint force of Conclave amazons, Coalition army, and Ordo Draconis knights. Thira, he had said, was a place where the Shadow-taint ran deep, carefully hidden from view. Swift and decisive action would be required to remove it. There was only one complication: Thira was in rebel hands and must be liberated to get to grips with the problem. That was the Coalition military's job. The amazons were to follow the Order's lead and kill the actual Shadow-spawn. He didn't say what the Order's role was.

She had been fascinated by the black-skinned—he was the darkest human she'd ever seen—quaestor with the wandering, blood-shot eyes from the moment she saw him. His mind was impossibly sharp and perceptive, his resolve unshakable. He was also insufferably haughty and frequently demanded the impossible of his subordinates. Salinaria went above and beyond, every chance she got, in the vain hope he'd take notice of a low-ranking amazon.

Tancred's right-hand man, Keeper Kaminsky of the Dragon Order's Victory of Light Legion, the man in charge of military operations, was another matter entirely. She could feel him watching her from across the room every time they met. Being scrutinized like that by a stranger, a man devoted not to the Gods, but the Dragon was more than a little disturbing.

After their fourth meeting, she had grown a pair and confronted Kaminsky. "Lord-Commander, may I have a word in private," she had said. Salinaria's squad leader seemed like she might interfere, but one look from the knight's mirrored death mask had sent the woman scurrying from the room.

"Yes, you may, Sister Salt," he had replied. That he knew her given name had come as a great surprise. Had he looked at her file? Why had he taken such an interest in her, the lowest of all amazons?

Neither of them said anything until everybody else had left, leaving just the two of them in the briefing room.

"Why do you stare at me? What have I done?" she had said. Simple and to the point. He had to know what she meant. He was the one staring.

"Nothing," he had replied. His faceplate had retracted, and his helmet had folded back, exposing a horrendously disfigured face. Salt took an involuntary step backward. It looked like it had been set on fire. The skin had burned away, but the flesh had melted and flowed like vax before setting again. He was also blind, beyond the abilities of the Technocracy to repair: where his eye cavities should have been, there was instead a mass of scar tissue.

I do not stare: I am blind, he spoke into her mind. But by the Grace of the Dragon, I see everything, past, present, and future. Having him talk to her like that, mind to mind, was terribly painful. Every word felt like glowing needles were pushed into her eyes. Yes. That is how it feels for me, every second of every day. Do you have more questions for me, little sister?

"How..." she managed.

I am a Custodian, a Keeper of the Dragon. I have the powers of a legate at my disposal. Your mind speaks to my mind, Salt. Your memories are like an open book to me, your emotions laid bare. Such is the Will of the Dragon.

With every word he spoke into her mind, the pain became more unbearable. It felt like her head was on fire. She could take no more.

"Please," she begged. The silence the followed was the sweetest thing.

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Quaestor Tancred had made it painfully clear to all those involved in the cleansing of Thira what would happen, should they fail. Every soul within the city would be consigned to oblivion. Their heavy-handed dragon 'god' demanded it be so. That was the role of the Dragon Order: to watch, to assess, to put the city to the torch if they felt like it. It wasn't right—such weighty decisions should be made by the Gods, not violent men praying to dragon idols.