Lucian: Dark God's Homecoming (10 page)

He glared at me, his bushy red eyebrows bunching like storm clouds over his eyes.

“Hearing all the facts before rushing to judgment,” I said. “That’s never a mistake, Turmborne.”

“Shut up. This conversation is over. I’m not a hundred percent sure you’re guilty anymore, but if turning you over to Baranak will settle things down again, I think it’s a bargain at the price.”

I started to argue, but he backhanded me then, hard enough to loosen the teeth that were not already hurting.

“This is the part where you go to meet your fate in stoic silence,” he growled, jabbing a finger at me. “Not another word.”

I had come up with several more words for him, actually, and was about to launch them in his direction when Evelyn cried out from the cage.

“Lucian!”

We both turned our heads in her direction then, and thus failed at first to see what she had noticed: a bright white light, flaring about three feet above the ground, immediately behind Turmborne.

What I did see, as I turned back to the big hunter, was a slender figure stepping out of the white light. In one smooth action, the new arrival closed the distance between himself and Turmborne and chopped the big man in the neck with the edge of his hand.

Turmborne collapsed with precisely none of the grace or majesty of a toppled redwood. He merely fell in a sprawled heap, groaning faintly.

The light from the portal blinked out, leaving me face to face with one I had not seen in many, many years.

“Well, well,” I said, by way of welcome.

He said nothing, merely raised the left corner of his mouth approximately an eighth of an inch, in what generously might have been construed to be a smile. He pushed his small, round, dark glasses a bit further up his long, straight nose.

I looked at him and immediately realized I had assumed all along he had survived. There had never been any question in my mind. Not about Arendal.

Arendal, who knows the secrets no one else knows.

Arendal, who holds the keys to long-forgotten locks.

Arendal, who watches, always watches.

He looked, of course, exactly the same as he had so many centuries before, when he had stood there in the main square of the City, aloof and above it all, refusing to get involved. I had hated him, then. I was not at all certain those feelings had changed in a mere millennium.

Thin of body, short of stature, with long, straight hair that was a negative image of my own--pale white, to match the pallor of his skin. He wore a cream-colored business suit of indeterminate vintage, and carried a silver walking stick in his left hand, the index finger of which also displayed a silver ring. A large, red stone sparkled within it.

Arendal, whom I regarded with some measure of admiration and respect.

Arendal, whom I disliked and suspected.

Arendal, whom in some small, indefinable way, I feared.

He walked past me to the cage where the humans were held, and looked them over as one might inspect puppies in a pet store. For their part, they eyed him warily, having apparently been sufficiently disappointed by everyone else they had met in my company to refrain from immediately beseeching him for assistance.

“Are they held this way for a reason?” he asked, fiddling with the lock.

“Not by me,” I replied.

He nodded, then squeezed the lock carefully in his hand. The stone on his ring sparkled brighter for a second, and the lock split exactly in half. Smiling again, he opened his hand and let the pieces fall to the ground.

Kim, scowling, shoved the door open and climbed out, followed by Evelyn and Cassidy. They still said nothing. I decided that either they were in shock or had agreed among themselves to limit their conversation. Probably both.

“I think they’re thirsty,” Arendal said, “and hungry. Perhaps you would like to crack open some of Turmborne’s supplies?”

I realized then that both of those conditions applied to me, as well. Keeping an eye on Arendal all the while, unsure of his motives, I moved to inspect the crates and barrels stacked around the clearing. Opening one of the crates, I found a variety of small food packets inside—the sort of self-contained, long-lasting military ration Turmborne would favor for his long hunts. The barrels turned out to contain drinking water, and I found a set of collapsible cups nearby. I tossed handfuls of the packets and cups to the others, and even Arendal seemed glad to have them.

Moments later, we were seated once more around the clearing, eating and drinking and all eyeing one another suspiciously. Our former captor lay where he had fallen, unmoving. Arendal kept an eye on him. For the longest time, no one said a word.

Then: “You didn’t honestly believe Turmborne would help you, did you?” Arendal asked.

“He sought me out, not the other way around,” I said.

He nodded. “Well, he is a good hunter, so I can’t fault you overmuch for letting him capture you.”

“Circumstances conspired to make the job a bit easier for him,” I said.

Arendal didn’t reply. He gazed at the humans, one at a time, through his tiny glasses. They glared back at him.

Cassidy could no longer restrain himself. “Who are you supposed to be?” he growled.

At that moment, a groaning sound emerged from Turmborne. He rolled slowly over onto his back, blinked his eyes twice, and ran a meaty hand over his face.

“Twelve minutes,” Arendal noted. “Your constitution continues to amaze me.”

Turmborne must have become aware of Arendal’s presence for the first time. “Oh,” he said. “You.” Still dazed, he sat back against a crate, taking in the situation.

Evelyn set her food aside and stood, walking around the circle to sit next to me. Leaning over, she whispered, “Are we any closer to home?”

“Somewhat,” I replied, “if we are where I think we are.” I did some quick calculations in my head. “Um… still a very long way, though.”

Nodding, she appeared to consider her next question for a long moment. Then, “Can you take either of these guys?”

I frowned.

“Take?”

Then I understood what she meant. Despite myself, I laughed.

She did not.

“Can you beat them, if you have to?” she said.

She was dead serious, and I understood her concern. It certainly was not concern for me, but for her crew and herself. Sad as it might be, I remained their best hope of escaping the nightmare they had found themselves in. I attributed whatever sentiment I felt for them at that moment to a desire to stick it to Baranak and his cronies by helping them escape.

Those thoughts bounced around in my mind for a few seconds, prompting me to reach a certain conclusion. Carefully, discreetly, I began to form tiny spheres of blue-tinged energy on the fingertips of my right hand, keeping my left hand in position to conceal this.

“So,” Turmborne said at length, “what do you want, Arendal?”

“I have what I want,” he replied.

Turmborne’s brow wrinkled. “I’m sure you don’t mean what I think you mean.”

The pale god smiled.

“You cannot have them back,” he said by way of answer.

The big man’s face twisted into a frown.

“Now, just a minute!”

Hoisting his massive frame from the grass, Turmborne moved menacingly toward the rest of us.

“I captured them,” he growled, “and I’ll be the one to decide what happens to them next.”

“Sit your ass down,” Arendal said, his voice calm and even.

Turmborne hesitated, gave him that curious-dog look I was coming to think of as his trademark, and then sat down.

I heard Kim muttering something to Cassidy in reaction.

“Well, that was impressive,” I said, casually spilling a handful of my tiny blue spheres onto the grass, allowing them to instantly scatter and vanish. Immediately I began to form a second set. “Can you make him do any other tricks?”

“I’ll show you a good trick, Lucian,” Turmborne growled, cracking his knuckles.

“Quiet, both of you,” Arendal said. He faced the hunter. “I don’t intend to take him back to the City,” he said, indicating me with a slight gesture. “I have no desire to curry favor with Baranak or his hangers on.”

“You are one of his hangers on,” Turmborne said with a snort.

“I hope he believes that to be true,” Arendal replied with a shrug. “But I do retain my status as an independent agent, whatever you or anyone else might think.”

“Then what do you want with Lucian?”

“I am letting him go.”

Turmborne looked as puzzled as I had ever seen him.

Arendal turned to face me.

“Lucian. Are you guilty?”

“Guilty? Oh, you bet.”

Turmborne perked up.

Arendal sighed and shook his head in mock disgust at my sense of humor. Or maybe it was genuine disgust. I could scarcely have blamed him.

“Of the murders,” he clarified.

My mouth formed an “O” shape; then, “Not in the least.”

“Do you know who committed them?”

“No. I have a few ideas, though.” I gave him a tight, closed-mouthed smile. “Anxious to get back to working on that.”

“Yes?”

“Feverishly anxious, yes.”

“There, you see?” Arendal favored Turmborne with an actual smile.

Turmborne rolled his eyes. “This is asinine.”

“Where did you learn that word?” I asked.

This time the big man only sighed.

“We’d best be moving along,” Arendal said then.

I blinked. “We?”

“I intend to accompany you.”

I considered this for a few seconds, while Turmborne seemed to be getting worked up again.

“Can you get us back to Earth?” Cassidy demanded, getting to his feet. The others quickly stood as well.

“Eventually,” Arendal replied, “but we have more pressing concerns at the moment. In fact, Lucian, I would suggest—“ He was interrupted as Turmborne grasped a crate and hurled it at him. Before anyone else could react, Arendal brought his silver cane up. White lightning flared and the crate shattered in midair, sending wood chips flying and clumps of food splattering everywhere.

Turmborne hesitated, perhaps surprised by the effectiveness of Arendal’s defenses. In that split-second of doubt, Arendal hurled his walking stick. The smooth, rounded grip end of the silver shaft caught the big god in the temple and he fell limply to the ground.

“Nice,” I said, having scattered another set of my spheres during the action. “It definitely needed doing, anyway.”

Ignoring me, Arendal retrieved his stick and then knelt down, checking Turmborne’s vital signs. Satisfied, he held his cane out, parallel to his body, and bowed his head. White lightning danced up and down the silver shaft, racing up his arms and surrounding his entire body in a halo of sparkling energy.