Blaedergil's Host C.M. Simpson (first e reader .TXT) đ
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- Author: C.M. Simpson
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I wanted to scream, but there wasnât time. I wrapped my hands around the hilt, as he swung me up out of the chair and carried me out the door. Even then, I couldnât quite process what heâd done. As we hit the corridor, I realized he hadnât told me just how much of that amazing sum was mine.
All of it, I decided, or I was going to make his life hell.
If I survived.
Iâll give him credit: he had it all planned. The medics met him in the corridor, the stasis pod already prepped. I was still awake when they closed the lid, but I was pretty sure I imagined the look of desperate concern on Mackâs face, just before the world went away.
5âBlaedergil
They say on Magnus 19, only the dead live. I wondered if that was true, or if there was something more sinister going on, and then I amended my thoughts. Of course, there was something more sinister going on. If there hadnât been, I wouldnât have been called in to deal with it. Or Mack wouldnât have been.
So, it was something dire enough that the company hadnât wanted to have its name connected with it. I wondered just how widely my contract with them was promulgated. Mack would be a cut-out, and I was in disgrace. I guess the hole Iâd dug by trying to leave was deeper than Iâd realized.
My chest burnt like liquid fire, and it hurt to breathe.
Damnitall, Mack! There were reasons I hadnât wanted the role Iâd been chosen for. A dagger through the heart on my first mission back? Yeah, they werenât paying me enough. That sort of shit could kill a girl. And I donât mean almost. I mean stone-cold dead...forever.
Which brought me to Magnus 19. This was not the place for a living person. This was the place for the dead, and the lost, and the forgotten. This was the place they brought those who had not long to live, or who wanted to live longer when their bodies could not. This was not the place for me.
But it was the place in which our target had made himself a home.
And a refuge.
For Blaedergil fed the economy of Magnus 19 with his demands, and had built himself a fortress of minds and souls in the middle of a landscape of pine forest and plains. Even if weâd asked for his extradition, the people of Magnus 19 would not have given him to us. And Odyssey had tried.
Hence the need for a cut-out. Nothing from Odyssey could get anywhere close. Mack was in disgrace, and there were rumors Odyssey wanted to space me as an example to other recalcitrant recruits. I guess nothing works quite so well as the truth.
Or, at least, the almost-truth...
âThe Plague Master is ours,â the rulers of Magnus 19 had told Odyssey when theyâd gone knocking, âand we have granted him refuge.â
What they should have said was that he fed their unholy industry of death and the undying, and that theyâd starve without him.
âPlease,â I whispered, when I came to, âlet me be alive.â
As if my words were a magical command, I saw a figure move beyond the glass, and that was when I realized I would live.
A regen tank?
On a world of death?
I stretched out a hand, intending to touch my fingertips to the glass, only to find I could not lift my hand away from my side.
What was happening?
I tried again, this time with the other hand. Again, my hand was stopped short. I took a deep breath, trying not to panic, and then took another breath as the man beyond the glass came into focus.
âSo, youâre the one,â he said.
I tried to look over my shoulder, twisting my head, first one way, and then the other.
âAre you a doctor?â
I glanced down at my chest, noticing a neat patch of stitching.
The man laughed.
âNo,â he said, and I recoiled.
âWho are you then?â
âDonât you remember?â
I shook my head. I remembered the dagger, Mackâs look of concernâand why had that been, again?âbut there were gaps. Holes in my memory that shouldnât have been there. For his part, the man looked puzzled.
âAre you sure?â
I shook my head. I should be sure. There was a large portion of my head that was screaming I should know more. I watched as my visitor placed his hands on the glass.
âHow are you feeling?â
I checked, doing a mental inventory, and then I nodded.
âOkay.â
âNo pain?â
As if I was going to tell him that.
âShould there be?â
âNot before our wedding night,â he said, and smirked.
A wedding night. I did remember something about that. I also remembered very much not wanting one. Now, why was that?
I watched, as he looked at me through the glass, really looked, like he was inspecting a piece of meat, or a shirt, or a beast heâd just purchased. And my nakedness started to bother me.
âWho are you?â I asked, and he raised his eyes to my face.
âYou donât remember?â
I shook my head. If I wasnât submerged in liquid, my throat would probably be dry.
âYou truly donât remember?â
Again, I shook my head.
âNo. I truly donât.â
And he stepped back from the glass, looking almost put out.
âI am Blaedergil,â he said, as though it should mean something. âSurely they told you who was saving your life?â
I nodded.
âThey did,â I said, âbut I canât remember.â
Damnit, Mack! What did you do to my head?
âPerhaps itâs the new implant,â Blaedergil said.
âNew implant?â
âThey didnât tell you?â
I shook my head, and he smiled, leaning in close to the glass.
âYou and I are going to have such fun.â
Part of me wanted to deny it, but part of me knew it was trueâalthough it wasnât sure about the âfunâ part of things. Great. Just great. When I got back on board, Mack and I were going to have a good long talk.
Mack. How could I remember him, when I could remember
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