Sword of Dreams (The Reforged Trilogy) (11 page)

On the desk, his computer chirped to let Coldhand know that it had received a file. He went to the desk and opened it. The screen glowed with the blue and green Alliance auroch masthead above a short notice of compliance from the Axis officer on duty. The attached file was small. He read through it in a few minutes. Sunlight streamed in through the window behind him. It reflected no glare across the polarized monitor, but prickled warmly against the back of his neck.

Police and CWAAF confirmed Coldhand's suspicions, or at least offered no contradictions. The Alliance had picked up a few Nihilist sympathizers on Axis, but further questioning revealed no actual connection to the cult. Gavriel and his madmen were not on Axis.

There was nowhere left to look. It was time for Logan to make the long flight back home.

"It's easy to die for your people, Consul Varrin. Can you kill for them? Harder still, can you live for them?"

- Julius Ferro, Prian consul (109 PA)

Gavriel stood at the edge of the shattered floor. One of the frequent earthquakes had torn the building open like a paper sack, spilling everything inside. Concrete and rusting reinforcement strips lay scattered all around. Linoleum curled in discolored strips at the base of cracked and uneven walls. Every window gaped emptily, glass long ago reduced to sharp shards that gleamed dully among the refuse. Bent and groaning iron beams ran through the walls, the last failing bones in the sagging slab.

Someone lived here once. The building used to be one of the ubiquitous residence blocks, a termite mound of cheap apartments. A framed photograph still clung crookedly to one of the walls. Fading silhouettes clustered in the middle of the picture. They posed with comically flailing limbs in a campsite of tall, thin trees and triangular tents. Their faces were gone, bleached into ghostly emptiness by the colorless sunlight streaming in through the torn and broken walls.

A cold, biting wind tugged at Gavriel's black robe. The orange setting sun haloed him in celestial fire and turned him into a dark silhouette, an eclipse forced unnaturally into the shape of a man.

The city below was a tiny, crowded thing, pressed uncomfortably close into the valley between steep, rocky mountain spires. Buildings were ugly and too narrow, each squashed tightly between their neighbors. A million crooked chimneys covered the city in a dirty shroud of smoke. Dim car taillights choked the crowded streets and even from his high vantage point, the honking horns and angry, shouting voices floated up to Gavriel's ears.

Every line of the city was jagged, cut and torn by the unsettled centuries. No one repaired them. There was no money. Even the mountains were broken, settled and then sundered once more.

"Anaa'ma vanii."

At Gavriel's command, a glimmering splinter of glass flung itself off through the wide crack and out into the city. It shone in the sun for a fraction of a second and then vanished into the distance.

Gavriel tucked his arms into his sleeves. He was stronger now, his magic more powerful than ever, but his body was still old – over a century old – and disgustingly frail. Gavriel had no intention of letting an errant chill kill him. There was far too much to do.

A soft fluttering behind him made Gavriel turn. Xartasia stood behind him, perfect and lovely as an angel, even surrounded in ruin. Her white dress and wings seemed untouchable by the grime. Only her long, inky black hair had anything like color. And, of course, her beautiful violet eyes. The Arcadian princess curtsied deeply to Gavriel.

"You wished to see me?" she asked.

Gavriel looked outside again. "I can't believe I'm back here."

Xartasia stepped up beside him and followed his gaze. "Does it not remind you of your own homeworld?"

"Zeos was a paradise compared to this cesspool." He swept his age-spotted hand across the cityscape. "
This
is the problem, princess. Do you know what the death rate is on this planet? One in four by age forty. One in three by sixty years. A quarter will die in accidents. A fifth in assorted criminal acts or their ridiculous duels. Almost a third will die of disease."

"They are suffering. It seems a poetic home for you and your followers, Gavriel."

"I thought so, too, the first time I came to Prianus," he said, shaking his head. The wind changed direction, carrying the sounds of the city away. Suddenly, all Gavriel could hear was the creaking of fir trees and the lonely calls of the hunting birds. "There are two kinds of Prians: the desperate and the noble. It's the second that causes me no end of trouble."

Xartasia pursed her lips and said nothing.

"Staying here is going to be difficult," Gavriel went on. "But it is only a temporary home, a moment to stop and prepare ourselves before we take to the stars one last time. Even this broken ruin still has something to offer us. How many Arcadians are there on Prianus?"

"We are still receiving numbers, but about two hundred thousand. Surely, one of those will suit our needs."

"Yes. We just need to find them."

"Love is like nothing else. Without water, it will not wilt. Without food, it will not die. It will languor alone within, awaiting its chance to bloom. Sounds like a virus to me."

- Gruth Rommik, Lyran engineer (232 PA)

Xen's team kept mostly to themselves over the twenty-day journey from Tynerion to Prianus. Enu-Io – dubbed Big Blue by Gripper – and Phillip were quiet by nature and spent most of their time in their bunks or in the mess, reading through datadexes.

Gruth prowled the Blue Phoenix with his brown tail curled. If possible, the Lyran engineer was even more unpleasant in space than he had been on the ground. Gruth complained about everything. The Blue Phoenix was too small and the air reeked of chemicals. He was allergic to Maeve's feathers. What did the fairy even do on the ship? Duaal's flying was too rough and Gripper's repairs made the whole Blue Phoenix ring like a bell! Everything that Enu-Io read was juvenile, unproven drivel. Every meal that Phillip prepared tasted like a dry sponge.

Enu-Io bore his colleague's complaints in stoic silence, but Gruth's abuse often drove Phillip nearly to tears. Panna did her best to sooth the Lyran. Gruth made it perfectly and loudly clear that he did not appreciate her attempts to play psychologist, but Panna stubbornly argued her case each time until Gruth threatened to shove her out an airlock. After each shouting match, he always seemed to feel a little better.

When Panna was not busy fighting with Gruth – despite the ever-rising volume of their arguments, she never showed any sign of being particularly upset by them – she avoided Maeve. Every time the Arcadian came into a room, Panna made some excuse to leave. Whenever Maeve could catch Panna's eye, the human paled and hurried off without explanation.

True to his word, Xen spent much of his time indulging his curiosity about Duaal and Gripper. But rather than speak to the two oddities himself, Xen preferred to question Xia. She did not mind answering, though Duaal chafed at the inattention and Gripper was frantic.

A week out from Tynerion, Xen was still fascinated. When the crew and their passengers gathered for dinner one evening – an artificial construct of time in the endless dark of space – the Ixthian steepled his fingers and looked over them at Xia.

"I don't know what's waiting for us on Prianus, but this trip has already more than paid for itself," he said.

"Maybe for you, professor," Gruth grumped. He pointed his snout at Enu-Io. "I'm getting tired of smelling this one every damned day. Can't he bunk with someone else?"

"If you were a female Dailon, you would find my scent irresistible," Enu-Io replied smoothly.

"Don't pay attention to Gruth," Panna said. "He's just grumpy because he's astrophobic."

Gruth laid his ears back flat on his skull and snarled at Panna. "The only space that frightens me is the empty one inside your skull!"

"Get a hold of yourself, Gruth," said Xen. He looked annoyed. "Panna's as intelligent as you are and twice as dedicated a student, but she lacks your mechanical expertise. I need you two to work together."

"It's fine, Professor Xen. We're not that fragile."

Gruth grumbled something under his breath, but his ears pricked back up to their normal elevation. Phillip, who had held his breath through the entire exchange, finally exhaled and continued eating.

Maeve glanced at Duaal, who appeared unperturbed by the argument. Did he not care or was he simply used to fights? Maeve supposed that the exchange had been shorter and more productive than most of the squabbles between herself and the mage.

All of that bile, all of that spite. What did I accomplish by any of it? I only wanted to die. But Xartasia laughed at my pain and my guilt. She said that the fall of the White Kingdom was not my doing.

Maeve rubbed her fingers back and forth over the worn, chipped edge of the dinner table. She was condemned either way. Was Maeve the genocidal villain who brought the Devourers to Arcadia? There was no punishment enough for such a monster.

Or was she just a foolish, self-absorbed girl? If so, then she had tormented Duaal and put the rest of the Blue Phoenix crew in terrible danger for nothing. How could she ever make up for that?

I no longer even have money enough to make amends to Tiberius for any of it.

Even as Xartasia forgave her one terrible injustice – if it was even in the older princess' power to forgive – Maeve found herself entangled in another. The depressing thought made Maeve crave a needle of White to wipe away the pain. But no money meant no chems… Maeve wanted to clean herself of the drugs, and being too poor to pay for them certainly helped the process along.

Maeve rubbed her temple against a sudden ache in her skull. She felt eyes on her. When she raised her attention from the tabletop, Panna looked away.

"Gruth's rudeness aside, this ship has been an endless source of curiosities," Xen said, continuing the prior conversation. "Xia told me about your unique education, Duaal."

The young mage took an interest for the first time all day. He sat up straight in his seat. "Oh, she did?"

"I would be fascinated to see what you can do. How many spells do you know? What exactly do they do?"

"Mostly fire and lightning spells," Duaal told the Ixthian. "Gavriel was an expert killer. That's… most of what we did. I know a few other charms, though. How to inflict pain by stimulating the nerves and a nice little
push
spell."

He demonstrated with few word of Arcadian – "
Anaa'ma vanii
!" – and the still air swirled around him. It ruffled Duaal's hair and set the napkins on the nearby table flying. Panna laughed delightedly and applauded while Gruth snarled and snatched one of the napkins in his claws.

"Very impressive," Xen said. "And your teacher used to cast these spell through you, correct? How did he do that?"

"I don't know," Duaal said. "It was horrible, if that helps."

Xen's shiny silver brow furrowed. "Can you elaborate?"

Duaal shifted uncomfortably on the couch. The attention was apparently not as pleasant as he had hoped. Xia cleared her throat and curled her antennae toward Xen.

"That was all years ago now. Duaal was very young and probably recalls little," she said.

Xen nodded in understanding and turned his attention on Gripper. The Arboran stood at the counter beside the cooktop, poking a serving spoon uncertainly at the thick stew. Phillip had almost managed to make it taste as though it was made of meat instead of brown protein paste.

"And an actual alien, a species I've never seen before," Xen said. "Simply amazing."

Gripper looked up, spoon dripping brown protein sludge onto the counter. He dropped it back into the stew and took a couple of large somatoes from the refrigerator. "Yeah, I kind of thought so, too. We had no idea there were people living on other planets either. If I ever get home, I'm not sure anyone will believe all this."

"There's been no discovery like you in centuries," Xen said. His expression was intent. "Studying your physiology and genetics would tell us a great deal about your species and your planet."

"Really? It would?" Gripper sat down beside Maeve. "Like what?"

"An examination of your lungs might reveal differences in your native atmosphere. Obviously, it's close enough to CWA standard that you can breathe. But
how
close? And your bones will be quite telling about the gravity of your homeworld…"

"My bones? You want to look at my bones?" Gripper looked around the room, searching for help.

Xia came to his rescue. She touched Xen's elbow gently. "I don't think that's necessary."

"Thank you!" breathed Gripper.

"I took several samples when he came on board," Xia said brightly. "I've still got his complete redprint on file."

Xen smiled. "You do? May I take a look?"

"Now?" Gripper objected. "But we're still having dinner!"

"I'm done eating anyway," said Xia. Xen offered his elbow. She took it with a grin.

Panna jumped up. "Would you mind a little company? I'm curious, too."