The Nemesis Blade (24 page)

Fantam nodded
like a puppet on a string. “Anything!”

In the
criminal underworld of Lax words and threats were proof. Jimini
dropped a few scary names and that was all proof a cowardly lowlife
required. He was putty in her hands.

“Fantam, Icari
has many weapons and Lax is buying - right? Good, that’s good news.
Now, who on Lax is buying and where do I find him?” She smiled. “My
uncle will be grateful.”

Fantam closed
his eyes and sagged into himself. “She, it’s a she, and she will
kill me.”

“Then you’re a
dead man no matter what you do. Tell you what, I’ll lay the blame
on Holland, leave you out of it and I’ll cut you in on the deal, on
the side.”

“Holland don’t
know her.”

Jimini gave
him a considering look. “Who was hauled from the river this
morning?”

“Sibat, for
lying to … ah! Sibat takes the blame and dead men can’t tell
tales!” Fantam whispered. Then he was sour. “She’ll know if I
suddenly have regular money to spend.”

“We make it a
onetime bribe and you can spin any story you wish.”

A long silence
ensued, as well as a few nervous looks over the shoulder, and then,
“How much?”

She had him.
“Five thousand Beacon dinars. I hear dinars go far here.”

A greedy gaze.
“When do I get the money?”

“As soon as I
have a name.”

“I could take
it.”

Jimini gave a
lazy, dangerous grin. “I dare you to try.”

He deflated.
“Show me.”

She reached in
and pulled a wad of notes from a zipped side pocket. There was
exactly five thousand dinars there. Chaim determined back on Xen it
was the perfect bribe. She waved it at table level. “Name, Fantam,
and our ways part now.”

Ferret-face
stared at the money, muttered a name, grabbed the wad and retreated
swiftly. When Jimini exited he was already gone.

Jimini left
more slowly, as if she had not a care in the world. She wondered
how far Fantam would get on the money - the men at the bar would
have something to say - and found she did not care.

She had a name
- Ilse - and now had to find her.

Lintusillem

Jonas returned
with the volcanic rocks from Luvanor and Sanctuary and then stood
one side while his brother placed them in special machines he knew
nothing of.

Hours later
Minos looked up from a set of read-outs. “If I were to make an
early pronouncement, I’d say Elixir needs concentrate on
Luvanor.”

“When?” Jonas
asked.

His brother
shook his head. “There’s still much to be done.”

Jonas nodded.
“Tea?”

Minos grinned.
“Yeah, and cut some of the fruitcake, will you?”

The Dome

Belun sat back
rubbing his eyes.

He rose,
stretched and transformed into full Centuar form. It aided
relaxation, and he was tired. And, hell, Sabian’s words kept
intruding, spoiling concentration.

Was there a
way to bring back Assint and Mahler?

Damn it,
Belun,
concentrate.

Xen III

Fuma was
unhappy.

He paced
Reel’s sitting room muttering all the while.

Amunti called
out, “Will you stop!”

Fuma stopped,
but glared at Chaim, not Amunti. “Jimini is no spy. She could get
into real trouble.”

Chaim was
unfazed. “We agreed, including Jimini.”

“What if they
capture her?”

“Then we get
her out. Relax, she is no fool.”

“Elixir will
extricate her if necessary,” Amunti added.

Fuma said,
“Elixir is
not
to know of this.”

“Fuma is
right; he is not to know, not until after,” Chaim said.

“And why not?”
Amunti demanded.

“He dislikes
Lax intensely, that is why,” Chaim murmured. He did not have to
explain why that was.

“So? We don’t
like that shithole either.”

“He needs only
slight provocation to go in there and finish those underdogs,” Fuma
explained.

“Nobody will
hold it against him,” Amunti shrugged.

“True, but
what if they begin to apply his power as threat against them?”
Chaim murmured.

“Them?” Amunti
echoed.

Chaim nodded.
“Beacon, Ceta, Xen, to name three; settled worlds with the ability
to wage a war. What if Beacon gets suspicious of Elixir’s motives?
Who will bear the brunt?”

“Valaris,”
Amunti whispered.

“And what
would happen then?” Fuma asked.

Amunti looked
from one to the other. “Elixir will probably annihilate Beacon … or
whoever it is.”

“Therefore we
do not tell him about Lax until it is done,” Chaim said.

“He may know,”
Amunti pointed out.

“Reel tells me
he went to Valaris - Samuel passed away,” Fuma said. “His grandsons
and the funeral will hold his attention.”

“Samuel is
dead?” Amunti said. “That will hurt.”

Fuma nodded.
“Yes, but it will hurt less than sparking galactic wars. We deal
with repercussions over Jimini.”

Amunti said no
more.

Titania

The three tasks
overlapped until Shenendo, Galarth and Ignatius could no longer
separate their work.

Exhaustion set
in and they thus worked out a roster whereby they took turns to
rest and eat away from the library. Fresh minds meant fresh
perspective.

They slogged
on.

Sanctuary

Thibis was
exactly twenty years old and was instituted by Torrullin for the
sole purpose of study.

Refugees who
came to Sanctuary in search of peace and then chose to remain,
showing promise of intellect, were invited to the university. There
were no fees involved. Others came also, paying students, and they
came from all over, to study under master lecturers, each an expert
in his or her field. Roughly half those experts were, in fact,
refugees themselves and gave of their knowledge freely where once
they were persecuted for it; the others were head hunted by
Torrullin and he paid their salaries himself.

Thibis was for
learning and only the best would do, and students became experts in
every field, from engineering to philosophy.

The town was
situated south of Lake Altar, nestled between the Astor and Keru
ranges and straddled both the Umbor and Umbix rivers. It was a
lovely place, with buildings appearing old on the outside and
modern inside, and majestic trees weaved their magic. The trees
were there before the town and every building was placed according
to the them; not one mighty trunk was felled to make way for
progress.

Lecturers and
students lived in cottages interspersed between faculties without
prejudice and class distinction, and thus Thibis had a pleasantly
lived-in atmosphere, and possessed the quiet that came with pursuit
of the mind and career.

The day
Samuel’s body was discovered was the day Declan, Prima and Sabian
arrived in Thibis.

The university
was in examination furore and the dean, when they eventually found
him, was displeased by their appearance on his doorstep. However,
Kaval meant Elixir, and Thibis owed its existence to that
personage, and he thus allowed them the use of a cottage close to
the Keru Mountains, it being unoccupied and used for visiting
lecturers.

When the three
found it, there was not a scrap of food or drink and the water was
shut off. The rest of the day was spent in ferrying in supplies and
Sabian proved handy at restoring the water.

Nightfall
brought the fervent desire for sleep.

The next day,
as Torrullin renewed his connection with Torrke and restored the
bonds of family, the questioning of Sabian commenced.

“Sabian, we ask
you to begin with your personal history,” Prima stated. “This isn’t
about trust; this is about determining the depth of your
experience, for experience, we have found, aids knowledge … or
skews it.”

“Very well. I
think I am about thirty-eight and I
think
so because I am
not in possession of a birth certificate. I know I was born on Xen,
for the nuns at the orphanage told me so. I was also told my
parents died in a typhoon and I was shipped off to a Beacon
institution. If I knew why I would say. I often wonder why Xen saw
fit to send me away. Maybe it had something to do with my parents,
but I have no idea.”

Prima was
stoic, but Declan sympathised.

“I spent
fifteen years there, a quiet boy who loved only books. The nuns,
you understand, were not so loving, and neither were the other
kids. That is where I discovered my passion for ancient cultures;
study of the Ancients came later. Well, at age eighteen I was free
to leave and offered a choice. One, a labourer on the subway, which
was little better than paid slavery and not much pay at that; two,
a labourer on Beacon Farm, which held great appeal until I realised
I would be there six months and then returned to the city at the
mercy of a new exploiter. I chose to leave Beacon and permission
was granted quickly. The authorities were relieved to be rid of a
mouth to feed. I was granted free passage to a destination of my
choice and was informed I could not return.”

Sabian shook
his head, clearly confused by such a mind-set.

“I chose
Titania, books being the only reality to me. Twelve years of
intense study followed; Titania granted asylum when they saw how in
love with books I was. I studied generally, ancient cultures
specifically, and about seven years in began concentrating on the
Ancients, with prophecies added in. Prophecies, I found, were part
of ancient cultures and the Ancients. I had a small cubbyhole on
the upper level of the library, a place for a desk and a bed; meals
were with other serious readers, those coming for extended
periods.”

He drew breath
and shrugged.

“About ten
years ago I grew restless. I started travelling, often by begging
rides, often by stowing away, and visited many worlds, saw culture
in action, so to speak. I returned frequently to Titania and about
three years ago I was approached to find lost books. It suited me.
I could travel, I could find books, which remains my passion, and I
could return to Titania as often as needed and was paid in the
process. On Lax I ran into trouble and found Igor and felt sorry
for him. He was no criminal, merely an old man weary of the filth
there. I helped him, he helped me and we ended up where you found
us. Igor did not have the energy for further transport. I was
getting a bit worried, in fact, and was going to ask Caballa to
take me back to Titania when you came … and that is it.”

“How would you
describe yourself?” Declan asked.

“A historian?”
Sabian suggested.

“Personality.”

“I do not see
how you can separate me from what I do. I am a historian, bookish,
culture wise. How I am is what I know.”

“Granted, but
give us a few adjectives,” Declan said. “Sad? Happy? Wild at
heart?”

Sabian
grinned. “Well, let me see - passionate, crazy, obsessive, a sucker
for lost causes, fast … you have to really sprint sometimes, you
know? Charming, social, yet a loner. A good book is my only friend.
Satisfied?”

“Obsessive
about what?” Prima asked.

“Knowledge.”

Prima bowed
his head. “I am able to relate to that.”

Sabian
smiled.

Declan pressed
on. “With which race did you commence your studies on
Ancients?”

Sabian sat
back. “I guess it was Titania herself. The current race is
relatively new, but I did not know that and found one day a history
detailing the race that was before. Have you ever seen a native of
Titania?”

Declan and
Prima said no, and both were intrigued.

“Few have,”
Sabian went on. “They are strange, they walk on four legs, eat with
mandibles, they are a mixture of dog and bug, best description, and
not pretty. Yet they have incredible minds, and those minds
followed the directive left behind by a previous race. Apparently
there was a time the sponges of Titania started dying, the food
source vanishing. In the last gasps a directive was left amid
mountains of books, saying the new occupiers owed it to the past
and future to revere those books, to revere knowledge, and thus the
library.”

“Who were
they, the race before?” Prima questioned.

A rueful
shrug. “I am still looking, but it occurred to me other worlds and
other civilisations were probably built on the ashes of old,
vanished peoples. There were many Ancients, but few are remembered
now.” He looked directly at Declan. “The Siric are Ancients.”

“I am aware.
So are the Valleur.”

“Yes, but the
Valleur have memories. You herald from a faraway time in person.
Big difference.”

Prima nodded.
“And what other races can today claim Ancient status?”

“The Sagorin,
but they are classed as New Ancients, and with renewed mortality
that will soon pass. The Senlu, of course, but again, mortality
will negate that. True Ancients, I would say the Siric, and Declan
here is the last, and the Q’lin’la, also one I hear. That is about
it.”

“What do you
know of Valleur Ancients?”

Sabian smiled.
“Lots.”

“Excellent.
Talk to me about Nemisin,” Declan prompted.

Sabian rubbed
his hands together and leaned forward. “Nemisin instituted the
hereditary Vallorinship, which we hear is currently in limbo …”

“Stick to the
past,” Prima frowned.

“Fine.
Nemisin, first Vallorin, creator of the Valleur Throne, a symbiotic
to the Dragon Neolone - by the way, Neolone was an Ancient.”

“Continue,”
Declan muttered.

“Nemisin
heralded a new era for the Valleur. He took a rough system of
governing and reshaped it into dynastic form, thereby uniting
tribes that would eventually have warred. In a sense he saved the
Valleur future, and if it took Neolone to aid it, it was not so
malformed a symbiosis. By all accounts wars were already simmering
and annihilation was a short step away. Of course, Nemisin was a
difficult man, temperamental, moody, given to depression and
loneliness, and some of the things he did has repercussions even
today.”