Mickey Zucker Reichert - Shadows Realm (35 page)

Silme rose, grim and silent. Without explanation, she hefted the packs. Astryd followed her, not bothering to question; Silme’s expression told the story. Larson remained unconscious, and, until he awakened, Astryd was helpless to come to his aid. The discomfort of unseen eyes rose again, but she hid her fears from Silme.
I’m just not used to working under time constraints. Silme’s worried enough without my adding imaginary ghosts to her concerns.

The knives secured to Astryd’s legs chafed and itched as she moved, turning her usually graceful walk into an arrhythmic, limping shuffle. Silme’s willowy elegance made Astryd appear even more ridiculous, and concern for Larson and Taziar multiplied her discomfort. Though not well-trained or familiar with battle injuries, Astryd surmised that the longer a head injury left a man unconscious, the more potentially fatal it must prove.
When I last saw Shadow, he acted curt and uncaring; Harriman’s cruelty may kill the very humanity that attracted me to Shadow.
Astryd ground her teeth at the thought.
And if Allerum doesn’t awaken soon, the guards may finish the job.

Astryd’s engrossment in her friends’ plight made her careless to her own. She followed Silme past a narrow crossroad, oblivious to its occupants until Harriman’s familiar voice confronted her. “There you are, bitch. Who gave you permission to leave for this long?”

Startled, Astryd tensed, and breath hissed raggedly through her nose. Regaining her composure instantly, she turned toward Harriman and found him leaning against the wall at the alley mouth, Larson’s katana dangling from a sheath at his hip. Halden and Skereye stood before him; shadows draped their scarred and smirking faces. Astryd considered running, but she knew the slaps and jabs of the daggers would slow her.
And Silme would need to drop the packs and maybe our staves to stay ahead of those two monsters. We can handle this peacefully.
“Didn’t the girls tell you? I quit.”

“Quit?” Harriman stared at Silme as he spoke, eyes trailing the sorceress’ curves with an intensity Astryd found nauseating. “You can’t quit. We have an agreement.”

“You haven’t paid me yet.” It occurred to Astryd that, unless Harriman killed her, he could do her no harm.
Once Allerum awakens, I can transport, in Harriman’s presence or not. If Allerum awakens
, she reminded herself with a callous but necessary practicality.
But Harriman could trap Silme. Without magic, she can’t transport.
“Don’t bother to pay me for the work I’ve done, and I’ll consider us even. I appreciate the opportunity to work for you, but I don’t feel I can do an adequate job. I quit.”

Harriman smiled with calm amusement, attention still fixed, fanatically, on Silme. “Get them both.”

Halden and Skereye sprang forward with alarming speed. Before Astryd could think of dodging, Skereye’s fingers closed on her forearm. His touch stung her to anger. She thrust a knee into Skereye’s groin, jammed her hand into his face, and raked. One finger gouged an eye. “Run!” she screamed to Silme.

Skereye bellowed in rage, and pain drove him into a murderous frenzy. Rather than the release Astryd expected, his grip clamped tight as a vise. His fist crashed against her ear. The force of the blow hurled Astryd to the ground. Dizziness wrung her consciousness to meaningless tatters of reality, and she felt Skereye heft her by the front of her cloak without understanding the danger she was in. She heard a slap. Though she knew no further pain, Astryd cringed. Skereye freed her, and she collapsed to the cobbles, reeling.

Through a curtain of waving patterns, Astryd noticed the red mark on Skereye’s cheek and realized the berserk had taken the blow she heard. Harriman’s reprimand blurred beneath the ringing in Astryd’s ears. “Damn you, Skereye! Don’t hit the girls, or you’ll be nursing worse than bruised privates.”

Recalling Mat-hilde’s ordeal in the whorehouse, Astryd found Harriman’s warning ludicrous. Skereye scowled at his master, fists doubled, and coiled to fight. Light-headed, Astryd struggled to one knee.
Gods, I hope Harriman can control that brute.
Though the thought of praying for Harriman’s welfare rankled, Astryd knew if Skereye killed his master, she would become the berserk’s next victim. She glanced at Silme, saw her standing, regally dangerous despite Halden’s grasp on her arms. Regardless of the awkwardness of Halden’s presence, Silme managed to keep the packs balanced on her shoulders, though both dragonstaves lay on the cobbles. That, and the wild disarray of her hair made it clear that she had struggled and lost as well.

Skereye grumbled something unintelligible, seized Astryd’s wrist, and hauled her to her feet. He lowered his face to hers. His left eye was tearing from her attack, and a scarlet arc marred the white. He spoke in the Scandinavian tongue, his voice as grating as fingernails scratched across stone. “You little bitch, this isn’t over yet. I’ll kill you.”

Still staggering from Skereye’s blow, Astryd managed no reply.

Harriman paid the threat no notice; either he lacked command of the language, or he feigned ignorance. “Take them home.” He gestured his guards and their prisoners into the alleyway, stooped to gather the dragonstaves, and followed.

Gradually, Astryd’s mind cleared as she traversed deserted back streets. Skereye’s tightly-wrapped fingers cut off the circulation to her hands, but she made no mention of the dull throb. She tried to keep her gait as normal as possible, concentrating on the pain in her hands to offset the discomfort of a dozen concealed daggers. Though vin-dictiveness was not a normal part of Astryd’s nature, the vision of all twelve blades buried in Skereye’s heart soothed her. The realization that she could summon a dragon and destroy Harriman, the berserks, and a quarter of the city only added to her frustration.
I can’t slay innocent townsfolk out of anger, and if I deplete my life energy on vengeance, the guards will kill Shadow and Allerum.
She sighed, enduring the indignity of Skereye’s harsh tugs as the price of obligatory patience.

The sun had half-crested the horizon when Harriman and his captives arrived at Shylar’s whorehouse. They passed through the double set of doors in a tense hush. The early hour and the religious fervor of the holiday left most of the girls free to lounge and talk. As Harriman entered the chamber, the hum of conversation died. He pointed to the stairway. “Take them to my room.” He clarified. “The bedroom. The study has windows. Lock them in and stand guard. I’ll join you shortly.” He handed the dragonstaves to Halden.

Astryd sought Mat-hilde in the crowd, passed over a myriad of concerned expressions before she discovered the prostitute’s familiar features. Skereye met Astryd’s hesitation with a vicious jab in the spine. “Get moving.”

Astryd trotted toward the stairway. Methodically, she climbed to the landing and into the room Skereye indicated. A moment later, Silme joined her, and the door clacked closed behind them.

To Astryd’s relief, Halden and Skereye waited outside the chamber. She threw a quick glance at the Spartan effects of a warrior unused to wealth. The pallet she had seen in her location spell graced one corner, encompassing a quarter of the room, its covers and pillow crisply neat. An unadorned, straight-backed chair slanted against it, and a chest lay at the foot of the bed. A simple table held a lantern full of fat, its wick alight, its illumination broad and gray.
A potential weapon
, Astryd noted, but she realized the two swords and twelve daggers on her person would serve at least as well. From her personal link with her rank-stone, she knew Harriman had placed the dragonstaves in a nearby room, but that was the least of her worries. She had little enough life energy stored in the garnet stone, and, should it become necessary, she could retrieve that magic instantly, even from a distance.

“What do we do?” Astryd questioned Silme to discover whether her companion had considered a less formidable plan than her own.

“We have no choice.” Silme twisted her head and rolled her eyes in all directions, examining Harriman’s chamber in her usual calm manner. “The way Harriman stared, he has no intention of killing me. I can handle myself, but Allerum and Shadow need you.”

Silme’s composure unnerved Astryd. “The way Harriman stared, he has no intention of ignoring you, either.”

Silme met Astryd’s gaze. “There’s nothing Harriman can do to me worse than allowing Allerum and Shadow to die on the gallows. Now sit there.” She stabbed a hand toward the farthest corner. “Keep trying to contact Allerum. Don’t stop for anything. If you can’t catch him awake, you’re just going to have to try to arouse him yourself.”

“Arouse him myself?” Astryd repeated, confused. “How?”

“Instead of using a mental probe, you’ll have to actually place your presence into his mind. Dig for some sort of sleep-wake trigger, and prod until he responds.”

Silme’s words shocked Astryd; the task sounded years beyond her abilities. “I’ve never done anything like that.”

Silme shrugged. “Of course, you haven’t. How could you? Allerum’s the only person I know without mind barriers ... except Harriman.” Silme paused, as if considering her own words. “Since thought intrusions don’t cost life energy, you risk nothing other than annoying Allerum.” Silme added belatedly, “And one other, more important thing.”

Astryd fidgeted, uncomfortable with the prospect. “And that is?”

Silme sat on the chest. “By placing a part of yourself into Allerum’s mind, you make yourself vulnerable to any sorcerer who tries the same tactic, also to Allerum’s defenses. Once, Vidarr and I entered Allerum’s mind, and he accidentally pulled us all into his world, a land of fire and madness.” She shivered at the memory of Vietnam. “Apparently, the god, Vidarr, and the great wolf, Fenrir, held an actual battle in Allerum’s brain. Just remember, you’ll be inside his thoughts, displaced in time, not actually physically with him. You’ll need to pull out of his mind before you can transport.” Silme leaned closer. “And be careful. If you sense another presence, get out as fast as you can.”

Though Silme never specified, Astryd knew the only foreign obstacle she could meet was Harriman’s master.
My choosing to stand against a sorcerer of his power would be as absurd as a wounded sparrow challenging a hawk.
She pressed into the indicated corner. “I’ll do the best I can.” Lowering her head, she thrust her consciousness toward Larson, trusting Silme to keep Harriman and his guards occupied.

Astryd’s probe met darkness.

Harriman slipped into his workroom and quietly closed the door behind him, leaning the dragonstaves in the corner by the panel. Dawn light snaked through the misshapen glass of the window, blurring the desktop and a few curled strips of parchment in glare. Harriman extracted a quill pen from the disarray, idly twirling it in loops between his fingers. Knowing better than to further delay the inevitable contact, he sat in the hard, wooden chair, dropped the pen, and drained his consciousness to a single name.
Bolverkr?

The sorcerer’s probe entered Harriman’s mind, its touch chilling.
Did you capture him?

Harriman hesitated, forcing emotion from his surface thoughts with the same ease as he controlled outward expressions.
Taziar?

Yes.

No
, Harriman admitted.
He got away.

Tangible anger pervaded Bolverkr’s silence.

Harriman waited, not allowing the slightest memory or sentiment to come to the fore.

I told you precisely where to find him.

Indeed, lord. And you were right, as always.
Harriman stroked, believing his existence was worth less to Bolverkr than the four men Taziar had stranded on the rooftop.
My underlings failed and paid with their lives for the mistake. Next time, I’ll catch Taziar myself.

Next time?
Bolverkr’s question emerged passionlessly, but Harriman detected guarded hope.
You know where Taziar is?

Harriman’s surprise leaked through his facade.
Lord, I’d hoped to get that information from you.

Bolverkr’s annoyance pounded at Harriman’s mind, and the diplomat knew he had struck a sore point.
I’ve lost my source. Loki’s children, you’re leader of the underground! Use your own spies. Get every man and child at your command out on those streets and find Taziar Medakan! No excuses. Every moment that little murderer evades us, he could find a way to undo the fate we’ve designed for him. Force him to watch his friends die. And when that’s finished, I want Taziar hanged as well. Do you understand?

Completely.
Harriman picked up on Bolverkr’s frustration, and it confused him. Not since the destruction of Wils-berg had any plan of Bolverkr’s gone awry. Accustomed to the ever-changing tides of politics, Harriman accepted the unanticipated easily, and the sorcerer’s loss of his arrogant self-control appalled him.

Apparently, Bolverkr noticed Harriman’s discomfort. Shortly, Harriman felt the heat of Bolverkr’s hatred as his own, and it sparked him to the same reckless fury.
Lord, what would you have me do with the women?

Women?
Bolverkr’s composure returned in a rush.
What women?

Taziar’s companions. The sorceresses. I have them locked in my bedroom.

Indeed.
Bolverkr hesitated, his manner fully calculating.
I doubt you’ll be able to hold Astryd long. The one thing all Dragonrank mages learn to do early and well is escape. The other ...

Bolverkr’s presence trailed away, and only a faint tingle of pleasure alerted Harriman that his master had not yet broken contact.
Lord?
He concentrated on the link so as not to miss Bolverkr’s reply.

Bolverkr’s words crashed into Harriman’s heightened consciousness.
Force Silme to use her magic. Humiliate her any way you can, and don’t quit until she’s killed that child.
His message softened.
And Harriman ...

Master?
Harriman prompted cautiously, unable to recall the last time the sorcerer had called him by name.

...
have fun doing it.
The probe disappeared from Harriman’s mind.

Harriman pictured Silme’s delicate arcs, firm breasts, and the timeless beauty of her golden features.
I wonder how long it will take to destroy the haughty tilt to her chin and the fierce gleam in those ice blue eyes?
A smile pinched Harriman’s face as he accepted Bolverkr’s task with glee.