SEVEN
THE THREE COMPANIONS did not tarry in the pens. They hastened along the Middle Way, crossing the Path of Pens into the arcade district: Ryder Talisman, Mendiko Sid, and the Reamurian princess, Shaleen. Only a brief time had they known her, and yet the girl already felt like a comrade of long-standing.
The electricity between her and the Prince of Sid was undeniable. Their heads turned constantly, and their eyes met and held each other. Shyly at first, then with greater boldness and longevity until at last, Mendiko stumbled.
Ryder held onto his laughter as the prince’s face turned a bright crimson.
The Arcade maintained a carnival atmosphere replete with every form of diversion imaginable: from simple games of chance to machines that connected to the sensory centers, allowing the participants to enter any world they chose. Mendiko pointed out that many of the weak-willed opted to remain in these virtual universes until the make-believe worlds became more real than reality itself. The only limit to these pursuits was the depth of the individual’s pocket.
There were also live performances by musicians from an endless variety of planets, and actors who performed on mock-up stages accompanied by music. The blend of sound and color stirred the blood and made the feet itch to join the wild rhythms.
They finally came to the Grand Theatre. Though the delay in the pens had been a rewarding divergence—especially from Mendiko’s point of view—their rendezvous with Fortunatus had approached more rapidly than expected. They realized they would have no time to enter.
“What you can see is imposing,” Mendiko explained, “but like an iceberg, the greater part lies underground.” He told them that inside was the cream of the Artisans Guild, figures renowned throughout the Pentarchy. The great F’Arundel would be among them, the chieftain of their guild and the greatest musician in the five realms. Ryder had enjoyed but a small taste of his ability earlier. It was a pity he could not sample a lengthier example of his talent.
“We cannot afford to stop,” Mendiko stressed. “It is unfortunate, yet the Pat’Riark has little tolerance for tardiness.”
“You speak of the Pat’Riark of Swords?” Shaleen breathed with a combination of awe and reverence. “By the Rim! Surely you are not his companions?”
Mendiko smiled at her and nodded. “We are to meet him at Owen’s Fountain.” He turned to Ryder. “We must leave the Middle Way and aim north toward the Hub. It will mean weaving through the haphazard array of stalls in the Arcade. That is no mean feat, though the paths should be less clogged at this late hour.”
They moved through a honeycomb of footpaths lined with an assortment of low-roofed structures, most of them blanketed in quiet. Low powered lamps of teklume lit the way. Distorted noises from the Arcade filtered to them and echoed eerily along the narrow alleyways.
Mendiko led them unerringly, as though he had travelled this route many times before. Ryder could see no evidence of any path, though with his newly developed sword-sense enhancing his natural abilities he knew they headed north. Perhaps it was due to the intensity of their focus on the path ahead that both Sword Thanes remained unaware of the danger. Shaleen suddenly hissed a warning.
“Someone follows us!”
They flattened themselves against the still-warm wall of a low dwelling, searching the dimly lit corridors behind them. Again, it was Shaleen who identified the skulking shadows, accompanied by muffled footfalls.
“Grimman-Seth!” she spat. Her nostrils dilated and her head thrust forward like an animal scenting the wind. “At least one of them. I can smell him.”
Both Ryder and Mendiko tightened their grip on their swords.
“We should not stop here,” Mendiko cautioned. “It is only a short way to the Hub.”
He guided them forward with hastened steps. Within a few paces, Ryder sensed the way ahead was blocked. There was no warning as the wall next to them disintegrated. Glowing shards of half-molten stone bounced off their shields, some as sharp-edged as razors. Shaleen was running by their side and was not so lucky. They heard a stifled moan and turned. A deep cut on her upper arm bled profusely.
Both Sword Thanes expanded their shields, enveloping her in their protection. Mendiko ripped a piece from the hem of his robe, muttering curses as he applied a tourniquet. Shaleen’s face twisted in pain, yet she held herself well. Mendiko had no sooner finished than they felt another disruptor beam, directly upon them this time.
They heard a low growl in front and another from behind. The rough barks of answering calls came from all directions at once. They picked out the leader’s voice, recognizable by the distorted warbling of a growler.
The night erupted with light as another and yet another beam added to the first. The pressure became so intense the two men directed all energy to their shields. Their swords became useless appendages in their hands.
A bead of sweat dripped from Ryder’s forehead and stung his eyes. He felt as though he were burning.
Mendiko spoke through gritted teeth. “We cannot keep them at bay much longer.”
Ryder grunted as another beam found them. They were now immobilized and easy targets. “Remember our last sparring. What I did then with my shield, we must do again. Use it as a weapon of attack rather than defense…like a spear. We combine our power and focus upon them one at a time.”
He shifted his head to include Shaleen. “Throw your knife at the same moment. They will not expect it. It is our only hope.”
There was desperation in his voice as he felt his energy draining. Calling upon some unknown reserve of strength, he stood outside himself for a guarded moment and marshalled his senses. It was like the Quietus, a heightening rather than a softening.
Power surged as Mendiko melded with him, and he directed the combined force. Like a bright, pencil-thin spear, the shield-glow lanced outward. There came an instant scream of pain, followed by a deeper cry of agony as the slim blade of Shaleen found its mark.
The force directed against them immediately lessened and Ryder was quick to pounce. They must attack to maintain their advantage. He thrust out again, faster and stronger now, and another needle of crimson light found its mark. Yet the enemy was too numerous. The disruptors were still finding them, both front and behind.
The answer came to him like a flash of lightning in the dark. “On my command…drop to the ground and flatten shield. It must be immediate.” Ryder waited only the length of a heartbeat.
“Now!”
They dropped as though their bodies had become heavily weighted sacks, and the bright beams of the disruptors crossed each other like parallel swords. There was a multitude of screams as the startled attackers realized too late they were killing each other. Then they heard the loud command of the Grimman-Seth, his voice distorted more by hate than his growler as he urged on his dreen.
Ryder did not wait. He rose to his feet, driven by wild madness, certain now their attackers planned to kill them. He drew his sword and leapt forward, catching the nearest in a moment of confusion. Without hesitation, he brought his blade down with all his strength, cleaving the unfortunate man in half. Even in that moment of blood-spattered rage, he realized it was a man and not one of the bird kind.
There was no time for further thought or action. The night erupted in fire, a blinding flash of light rivaling the sun: the unmistakable power of an Adept summoning the Flame.
They beheld the joyous sight of Fortunatus, his staff raised and radiating a terrible force. With him was a beautiful woman wearing the robe of the Magi, and next to her was an unknown Adept. The glow of their combined power was awesome. It was too much for the attackers, who scattered like sheep before a hungry tharfi. Seconds later and they had melted into the night.
The battle was over as suddenly as it had begun. The three weary companions collapsed onto the broken crumbs of the wall, now a blasted ruin. The cut on Shaleen’s arm had almost stopped bleeding. The superheated shard of stone had partially cauterized the wound, even as it had opened. Ryder raised his head and looked into the unsmiling face of the Pat’Riark.
“Explain.”
Ryder felt drained of energy and shook his head. “They assaulted us without warning. I’m certain I heard the voice of at least one Grimman-Seth directing the attack.”
“The bodies are all either human or humanoid, my lord,” the Adept said as he came to stand beside Fortunatus. He added soberly, “They are all dead.”
“A pity,” Fortunatus muttered.
The lady—who Ryder assumed must be Niobe, the archduke’s sister—moved easily and with confidence, as though the strip of cloth covering her eyes was no hindrance. Her staff had resumed only a partial quiescence and still glowed eerily.
“You are injured, girl?”
Shaleen sat as still as a statue and could only nod.
Niobe reached forward and unerringly closed her hand around the wounded upper arm. “You have taken the Serum?”
Shaleen found her tongue at last. “No, my lady.”
“Well, then…we must tend it at once. Even the slightest misfortune may grow into something far larger if not looked at promptly.”
Niobe’s staff glowed brighter, and they heard the soft murmur of her voice as she sang. In disbelief, Ryder watched as the cut closed before their eyes until it was a thin line. When she wiped the blood away, there remained little evidence of the wound. They saw instant relief settle over Shaleen’s face.
Mendiko leaned over one of the dead bodies and tore loose the weapon still clutched in nerveless fingers. He regarded it thoughtfully.
“A porto-cannon,” Fortunatus said, nodding his head. “The favored weapon of the dreen elite. You did well to survive. Even an Adept would have trouble defending against more than a few of these.”
“If not for Ryder’s quick thinking, we would not have lasted until your arrival,” Mendiko said. He explained the actions they had taken under Ryder’s direction.
The Pat’Riark regarded the newly appointed Sword Thane with greater interest. Niobe too had come closer, having completed her ministrations to her satisfaction. She stood with her head cocked in Ryder’s direction, as though listening intently. He felt both self-conscious and nervous under her scrutiny.
“I see why you have called me, Brother.” Her soft voice was a musical lilt, intensely pleasing to the ear.
Mendiko wondered aloud how they had known of the attack, and Fortunatus explained why they had come to that spot at such an opportune time.
“We were sitting with Arkadies Venn near Owen’s Fountain when Deemus noticed the Grimman-Seth warlord crossing into the Arcade. He was the only one of his kind. It was not unheard of for the bird kind, yet it was strange that so many cloaked and hooded figures not of his race followed him. Deemus had a premonition of something amiss. We listened to him, for his council is seldom wrong.”
Ryder regarded the Adept, whose features remained composed. He stood so close to the Lady their shoulders touched.
“We would have arrived much sooner had we not tarried so Arkadies could make ready,” Fortunatus added, and they saw a smile appear on his face. “The Guild Jain does not travel with the same speed as ordinary men—though his comings and goings are always events to remember.”
Upon his last word, they heard the blaring echo of a horn and the rapid approach of a host of men moving with military precision. A large formation of myrmidon came in sight, led by a Sword Thane who promptly called a halt when he saw them.
Another figure hove into view. Mendiko and the Lady—even the grim-faced Deemus—now wore similar smiles to the Pat’Riark.
Ryder could only stare in astonishment. It was the largest man he had ever seen, dwarfing even him. He rode upon a heavy palanquin, carried by a score of sweating figures dressed in royal livery. His lightly tanned robe sported gold-etched sleeves, which Ryder now knew identified a high-ranking member of the Guild.
The litter lowered to the ground and four retainers assisted the man to dismount. Ryder’s mouth gaped wider. The giant stood almost three meters, and his girth made him seem as wide as he was tall. Although a certain amount of fat was in evidence, Ryder had an impression of Herculean strength. Anger had twisted his wide face into a formidable mask. When he spoke, the timbre of his voice hurt the ear.
“Who has dared to attack the Swordkind in my domain?”