Chains of Mist Read Online Free PDF Page B

who had proven himself willing to manipulate the truth as it suited him, and who also freely admitted that he was operating off of vague hunches and mystical prophecies rather than hard facts. On top of all that, there might be a new player in the game, an individual of enough power to cast fear into the Vizier and whose allegiances were as yet unknown. The Druid, whoever he was—if he even existed at all—might be their best chance to defeat Rokan Sellas…but he might also prove to be an enemy even more deadly than the one whom they had barely survived on Hilthak.
    Again, Drogni knew what his duty as Supreme Allied Fleet Commander demanded. There was no way he would green-light any sort of military operation with so little intel. He should not even be considering it. And yet he was considering it. No, not just considering—he had already made his decision. It might seem a hopeless mission, but Drogni would find a way. He always had. Failure was simply not an option.
    For Galdro, Lester, Denar, Westan, Daalis. For Justin Varenn. For the soldiers who died at Denlar. For everyone else who will die if Rokan Sellas is not stopped.
    “How long will it take to find Justin?” asked Forgera.
    The Vizier’s stony gaze swung back to the Ambassador. “Not long,” he said. “A day at the most. Gather your affairs in order; make whatever arrangements you need.” He paused, and for the first time something like genuine empathy touched his voice. “Luck be with you all.”
     
     
    -2-
     
     
     
    Roger Warbanks sprinted through the streets of Pattagax.
    He had been running for what seemed to his haggard mind like an eternity. His lungs burned, the planet’s thin air seeming to offer barely more comfort than hard vacuum. Hard vacuum would no doubt also have been warmer than his current fare; tiny puffs of icy vapor spiraled out from his lips with each ragged exhalation. His arms and legs felt as heavy as lead, and a sharp pain like a dagger of fire split his side just below the ribcage.
    Roger gritted his teeth and pushed through the discomfort. It was an easy thing, really; all he had to do was imagine what would happen to him if he were to slow down, and that thought would give him a fresh surge of strength. The final words of the Karaken crimelord Arakk echoed in his head: ‘They’re coming…coming…coming…”
    “Coming for you , Roger Warbanks…”
    That grim thought sent a burst of speed through Roger’s legs. This was not just mere street rabble that was chasing him. Arakk and his thugs were only the beginning. Soon, they would be joined by professional hunters, ruthless killers in the employ of E’turol D’mact, a Prelatan within the galaxy-spanning Smuggler’s Corporate Alliance and one of the most merciless beings Roger had ever had the misfortune of meeting. He did not need to imagine what would happen to him if his pursuers captured him. The Korvec crimelord had a reputation for torture that Roger had no intention of verifying firsthand.
    Goddammit , he thought as he ran. Why did I have to go to Arakk in the first place? I knew he’d be trouble. I knew he wouldn’t be worth the risk. But I went anyway—and now look where it’s gotten me. I should’ve known he’d recognize me, and send word to dear old psychopathic D’mact. Stupid, stupid, stupid—
    A new voice, biting and sarcastic, cut through his self-deprecations. Yeah, well, as long as you’re wishing for things, you might as well wish that you’d never stumbled onto that SmugCo den back on Felar. Then D’mact wouldn’t be after you, and you wouldn’t be in this mess at all! And, while you’re at it, wish for a billion galactans and the undying admiration of every living creature between Vellanite and H’Grossh! What’s done is done, Rog. Can’t undo the past, so there’s no sense wasting time gettin’ all tied up about it. Worry about the present —and gettin’ the hell outta here before one of those goons puts a par-gun blast