Dark Convergence - By Dave Gross Page 0,46
harm they wreak upon the world?”
Nemo was indeed concerned.
“This winged woman,” said Bronwyn, “what is she called?”
“Aurora…” murmured Mags.
“Mags, can you hear me?” Nemo reached for her hand, saw how little skin was left, and changed his mind. The slightest touch would likely bring her only agony.
“’Bastian.”
“Did you speak to Aurora in Calbeck?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said slowly. Nemo couldn’t tell whether it was reluctance or injury that drew out the syllable.
“What did she say to you?”
“She said she’d release the women and children,” said Mags. “And I could go with them.”
“That’s not all she said, is it? What did she promise you?”
“Noth—She didn’t promise me anything.”
“Mags, you weren’t the only one hurt in the explosion. Four of the mechaniks are badly injured. Benedict was hurt worse than you.”
“Benedict? He’s still just a boy.” Her voice cracked.
“Why did you move the warjacks so close together?”
“After I saw all those machines in Calbeck, I just wanted to be sure we were prepared…”
With every word, Nemo heard more and more falsehood in her voice. “I know it was you, Mags. What I don’t know is why. What did they promise you?”
The tarp parted as Chaplain Geary stepped into the room. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at Bronwyn and her simmering potion. They narrowed further as he saw Mags Jernigan was awake.
“How is Lieutenant Benedict?” Nemo asked.
Geary shook his head. “I’m sorry, General. His wounds were too great for even the divine power of Morrow to mend.”
“Forgive me,” groaned Mags.
Nemo whirled on her. “What did they promise you?”
Mags lifted her ruined arms an inch or so before her strength failed. Nemo had his answer.
“A new body,” he said. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
Tears streaking her burned face.
All at once, he understood. Like him, Mags had long suffered from the infirmities of old age. She had given her leg for Cygnar and her breasts for no good reason but the indifferent cruelty of cancer. The military life had always rankled her. How much had she resented him for failing to speed her requisition for a better leg?
The last pity he felt for her injuries melted away, replaced by rage. No one could sympathize more with the indignities of age, injury, and disease, not to mention the perpetual weariness of one who had devoted an entire life to the army. But one thing Nemo could never forgive was a traitor.
He turned his back on Mags and pushed his way by the canvas divider. Bronwyn followed him out. “What do you want done with her? Whatever you wish, I will do it.”
Nemo looked down at druid. Was she asking whether he wanted her to kill Mags? Or was that some dark fancy born of his own impulse for retribution? “Let her sleep. I want her fully recovered and fit to face court-martial.”
Bronwyn returned to Mags’ chamber.
Nemo walked out of the casualty tent, Chaplain Geary at his side. To the guards outside he said, “Place Sergeant Jernigan under guard. No one other than the druid or the surgeon is to speak with her without my express permission.”
“Yes, sir.”
As they walked away, Nemo remembered he had asked Finch to meet him at the casualty tent. Yet he hated the thought of remaining another moment near the traitor—he could no longer think of her as his friend.
The very idea that Mags—Sergeant Jernigan—had been turned against the country of her birth by this death cult—the betrayal made it easy to embrace Geary’s perspective on the Convergence—was too much to accept.
Anger fragmented his thoughts. He felt a vein throbbing on his temple. Like an overheated warjack, he needed to vent before his fury harmed him. Yet there was no time for a personal retreat or even the reprieve of a soothing cup of tea. Instead, he turned his attention to the other matter.
“How is Benedict?” he asked the Precursor.
“Recovering, although it will be days before he is fit for duty.” Chaplain Geary cleared his throat. “General, while I am glad to have been of use in your interrogation, I must tell you that I do not care for perpetrating such cruel deceptions on our own people.”
“Nor do I, when they can be avoided.” He looked across the camp toward the north, where the great Convergence tower rose high above the village of Calbeck. “You will be pleased to hear that the time for deception is over, Chaplain.”
Geary nodded, his hand straying to the mace at his hip. A counselor during peace, he was a battler in war. He would fight