FIFTEEN
THERE WAS A wild abandon to the party that made Ryder uneasy. He realized he was late in arriving. Many of the guests had already shed their disguises—and a great deal beyond. He was more than a little surprised, for he recognized many among the throng who were normally the picture of sobriety.
He moved further along, scrutinizing the crowd for Ashara. So far, his search was fruitless. The Moon stood high and full, bathing the entire area in a blue tint. He saw Mendiko and Shaleen, their dance slow and intimate, so focused on each other they remained unaware of the madly swirling crowd around them.
They had left an hour before him. Rather than join the pair, he had waited with the Pat’Riark and the giant Arkadies Venn. He was not sure why since he longed to see Ashara more than anything else. Yet despite his wish, they had drawn him into their conversation. It was a subdued and serious discussion regarding not only the coming Great Moot but the ever-increasing possibility of civil war. It was a strange topic to pursue on such a night, yet he had listened with rapt attention.
As ever, Fortunatus had lined up their allies like pieces on a chessboard. This was obvious from Ryder’s viewpoint. Who else could there be but the Jossians and the Rudd? Then Arkadies had asked a simple question that caused both him and the Pat’Riark to stare at the giant.
‘What of these mysterious nomads? These Senach?’
Ryder remembered the name from his first journey aboard the Pegasus. Mendiko’s brief explanation had sounded strange, even then.
‘How can one describe something one has never seen?’ countered Fortunatus.
The Guild Jain deliberated a moment before including both of them in his gaze. ‘I have seen one.’
They waited expectantly, their faces registering both surprise and curiosity.
‘There were two occasions,” the giant told them. “The first was many cycles ago. I was alone, scouting the Hurin Sector on the outskirts of the Rim. There is an asteroid belt there, an annoying hindrance to our inter-planetary freighters despite energy shields. I was trying to decide whether to blow it up or carve a reasonable channel through it. It was then I saw the ship. It was a strangely configured vessel, like nothing we or any of our allies possess. Even so, it looked familiar. It was visible for only a fraction of a second before it disappeared.’
‘That is not so strange, Arkadies,” Fortunatus protested. “Any Zurd…’
‘Obviously, I examined that possibility,’ the Guild Jain retorted, sounding annoyed at the interruption.
Ryder suppressed a smile. Few in the empire dared to speak to the Pat’Riark in such a tone, yet the giant continued undisturbed.
‘None of our ships were in that sector. It was an unknown vessel and could not have attempted leap-shift so close to such a sizable body as the asteroid. Yet it vanished. And there is nothing wrong with my eyesight either…’
‘At least, not until you try looking down,’ Fortunatus rejoined in his most mocking tone.
The Guild Jain guffawed loudly at the jest and nodded his great head. ‘Touché! Now, as I was saying…I spent a lot of time thinking about the occurrence from the perspective of a technik. You will remember that I can lay claim to such distinction.’
Ryder had heard that Arkadies Venn was a technik of renown, almost as great as Robert the Piper.
‘Only one answer was forthcoming,’ the Guild Jain continued. ‘I believe…”
‘Intragravitational matter transmission,’ Fortunatus interjected with certainty.
‘Yes,’ Arkadies’ nodded, unconcerned that the Pat’Riark had stolen his thunder. ‘I see you have listened to the postulations of Kronus, who reached his opinion only recently with my help. I did not immediately come to this conclusion, though the seed of suspicion was growing nicely by the time I had the second experience.
“It was no less fleeting, though this time it was a human rather than a ship. At least, he appeared human in every respect. He was right here in Ravel, standing off by himself in a corner of the stalls. It was a stroke of luck I noticed him. There was nothing about his dress or his form to distinguish him from any other plebe of the salariat. My eyes strayed in his direction just as he—like the strange ship—vanished.’
‘Such a breakthrough would be invaluable should war come again,’ Fortunatus murmured.
‘What makes you think these Senach would align with us in any conflict within the Pentarchy?’ Ryder asked.
The Guild Jain’s eyes swiveled to him. ‘That part of the explanation belongs to Kronus. He believes they are the Lost Fleet of Pre-Cloister: both our kindred and natural allies.
‘Even if that were true, it is difficult to speak with someone who can vanish and remain invisible for over a millennium,’ the Pat’Riark grumbled in frustration.
‘They have been clever,’ Arkadies agreed. He paused and rubbed his chin as though considering a weighty problem.
Ryder had a feeling the Guild Jain knew more than he had revealed. The giant’s eyes remained veiled as he spoke again.
‘It will be harder for them to remain hidden now that we are aware. The expenditure of energy for such a process must be phenomenal, and I have a few ideas on how to detect them. It’s a pity Robert is not here.’
Ryder had heard the name of Robert the Piper often enough: the technik chieftain now imprisoned on Gehenna. It seemed to be a taboo subject from the grunt emitted by the Pat’Riark, and the frown suddenly lining his forehead.
‘Two things may draw them to us,’ the Guild Jain continued. ‘The Serum and the Metals.’
‘Perhaps,’ Fortunatus nodded to himself. ‘The one they already have by all accounts…and the other will be difficult if not impossible…’
Ryder had left them still talking about the mysterious race, though Fortunatus and Arkadies had both promised they would soon join the festivities.
As he wandered around the perimeter of the dance floor, a humorous thought struck him. He wondered how the guests would have reacted to the tharfi. Wulf had remained at Niobe’s Retreat rather than accompany him to the Ball, and Ryder had agreed this was probably for the best. Though he now had every right to be here, his presence would no doubt have caused a commotion.
There were enough curious glances in Ryder’s direction. He had chosen not to dress for the occasion, wearing only his Magi robe and the Shields of the Swordkind. He suddenly spotted a tall man weaving through the crowd, heading in his direction. From his fluid movement Ryder took him as Swordkind, even before he noticed the flash of Ryl. As he neared, his features became recognizable despite the mask: Ashara’s brother, Shaan.
The two men nodded to each other, dispensing with formality. The Adept’s voice was harsh above the din and taut with concern.
“I thought my sister would have been with you since I’ve not seen her in a good while. I was even now beginning a search…if you would care to join me?”
Ryder nodded, not overly worried as yet. What harm could come to her here?
“Her costume is Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt,” Shaan explained as his eyes wandered over the crowd. “There are several here tonight, yet none as stunning as my sister. She alone wears a glowing circlet of fire-mites upon her head.”
A short while later they had covered the entire floor without sighting her. Ryder projected his senses outward, hoping to capture a trace of her aura. He received only a scattered jumble of thoughts, too confused to have any meaning or direction.
They moved away from the floor and into the surrounding gardens. Ryder paused as he felt something intrude upon his concentrated effort. In the subtle glimmer of light, he saw the slim sachet on the ground. He recognized it before he clutched it and felt the linking with Ryl. His head jerked up as he became aware of her aura, tinged with something he could not define. It was at once both heightened and subdued. He canted his head, and his eyes closed with the effort.
“There,” Ryder pointed to a darkened area in the shadow of the surrounding trees. “She is there…I am certain of it.”
They both hurried in the direction. After only a few steps, they heard the low yet unmistakable sounds of a woman’s passion. Shaan faltered, yet Ryder moved forward even more relentlessly.
What he saw called forth a feeling of such rage as he had never felt, not even during the moment of heated combat in the Great Arena.
The baroness appeared unaware of them until the last moment. As she raised her head and looked into the emerald eyes now burning with hate, a scream tore from her throat. It cut off when Ryder lifted her as easily as a tiny doll and flung her.
She fell half a dozen paces away, landing with a thudding impact upon the grass. Then she rolled until she came to a sudden stop against the immovable trunk of a tree. There was a single grunt and her head lolled, unconscious.
Ryder moved toward her, his rage undimmed, yet Shaan blocked his way. There was anger in the Adept’s eyes also, but it was cold rather than hot.
“Enough!” His eyes jerked toward the thrashing form of his sister.
In his anger, Ryder had remained unaware of the scent inundating the small area. A sensual heat overcame him with shocking swiftness. He had never felt such intensity.
Shaan pulled his cloak from his shoulders and wrapped his sister in its folds. He lifted her gently, cradling her in his arms before moving to stand over the baroness. She groaned as she returned to consciousness. Shaan waited until her eyes focused. They grew wide with fear as the blood trickled down her face. He flung his words at her like the icy breath of a winter wind.
“You will never speak of this. It did not happen. If you even utter a word, it will mean your death!” He stooped until his face almost touched hers, and his voice lowered to a whisper. “This I swear. The Code will be as nothing, my honor even less. Neither your position nor the might of your family’s name will save you from my sword.”
“Or mine,” Ryder added.
The eyes of the baroness flicked back and forth between them, and she nodded.
They left, taking only a dozen steps before Shaan abruptly halted. Ryder sensed another presence in front of them: three forms standing motionless among the trees. Their dark robes would have been invisible if not outlined by the glow of Ryl. There was little doubt they had seen or heard at least part of what had just taken place.
As they moved closer, Ryder recognized the face of Zel. On either side were his D’ia Mor guardians. The three of them blocked their passage, and Zel’s voice was rough with accusation.
“What has happened here?”
“Nothing of great import,” Shaan replied easily. “My sister merely overindulged.”
“No…there is more,” Zel accused. His eyes strayed beyond to where the baroness lay on the ground, and they widened in disbelief. “What has she dared?”
“Nothing happened beyond a minor case of overindulgence in the drink,” Shaan repeated, still calm.
“You lie.”
The accusation was barely above a whisper, yet Shaan stiffened. Ryder’s focus was on the two D’ia Mor. They remained motionless in front of him, yet he could feel a heightening of their auras.
Shaan turned his head and uttered a single command over his shoulder. “Speak!”
The baroness struggled to her feet and wobbled toward them, her full breasts spilling over her breastplate. Her hair was a wild tangle, her clothing disheveled. She had wiped away the blood, but already a purple bruise was forming on her forehead. “It is…as he says,” she slurred. “The girl drank herself to the point of sickness. I drew her away to help revive her. She struggled…and in the struggle we both fell. I struck my head…”
It was lame, yet Zel had seen nothing. There was no way he could know more without invading her mind. Would he? Ryder studied his cold eyes. They were unreadable, as though sunk deep in a well of darkness.
“You take me for a fool!” Zel spat. “I sense the girl has been violated. She is my betrothed and I demand the medicos examine her at once!”
Shaan passed his sister’s unconscious form to Ryder and confronted the others. He bore no sword…this was plain to all. Zel and the D’ia Mor were armed. They, like Ryder, wore no costume.
“If you continue to question my sister’s honor, I will have no choice but to challenge you. And I will not wait for the Korda!”
Zel’s face slipped into a sneer, and Ryder sensed he would not back down now. It had gone too far.
A low, intense keening ushered from the throats of the two D’ia Mor. Zel stiffened at once and his eyes lost focus.
The night suddenly came alive with repeated flashes of light. Then the air echoed to a great booming roar.
They jerked around in time to see another brilliant flash from high on the promontory—what could only be Castle Mondragon. Filtering through this umbrella of noise and light was a strident wailing.
Every child learned to recognize the sound, though no one had heard it in the city of Brigantia since the inception of the Gardai.
It was the call to arms.