Nightsword

by Margaret Weis

  He turned with his flagons, somewhat determined to set these strange folk straight with a piece of his mind. These two travelers were far beyond the pretty life they had obviously been raised in. Tourists, he thought with a snort. Well, best he gives them some good advice so that they might keep their heads. He didn’t much care for the young man—too cocky, he thought—but the woman was someone he might think twice about before contributing to her death.

  “Here you be,” the tavern keeper said, setting both flagons precipitously on the rough-hewn table. He straightened up and when no further conversation was forthcoming, he uttered what he considered to be the smoothest and largest understatement he had ever uttered. “You be not from these parts, eh?”

  “No,” the woman said over the top of her steaming mug.

  The tavern keeper waited somewhat awkwardly for any further clarification. When none was forthcoming, he tried again. “As I thought, for certain. No doubt some pressing business brings you to this gods-forsaken core of the universe.” The statement hung as a question in the air.

  “No.”

  The tavern keeper would have frowned more deeply, were that possible. He wasn’t terribly bright to begin with and riddles made him feel both confused and suspicious. “Ah, of course, then, it would be a government posting, now, wouldn’t it? No doubt your ladyship and master are establishing that there righteous law of the Tsultak dragons through the local stars once again. I can’t say that I’d be finding your rule of law to be unwelcome in these …”

  The young woman was holding up her free hand as if to stop the tavern keeper’s litany.

  “Er, what I’m meaning to say, is that them godless Tsultak really have no business interfering in the free-trade affairs of enterprising …”

  The woman shook her head slowly, as she set her flagon down.

  The tavern keeper’s face glazed over in crimson frustration. “Well, blast it all, woman, whatever business would a fine lady and gentleman like yourselves have being out and about in this lawless frontier of …”

  “Adventure!” cried out the yarnspinner. “Adventure and treasure and blood, no doubting it!”

  The tavern keeper turned suddenly on the craggy old sod struggling to his feet. “You keep out of this, you old kredge! And don’t you be bothering this fine woman or I’ll have you back out in the mud, hear me?”

  “Hear ye?” the yarnspinner cackled back at the man as he navigated an unsteady course toward the table. “Aye, hear ye I do, as I’ve the ears for it! Yet see if I’m not right, Master Thembris! These two have the look of the hunger in their eyes! Have ye not seen that before, Thembris? Are ye so dead yet that ye can’t smell it in their very breath?”

  “ ’Tis a sure thing that your own breath is …”

  The yarnspinner smiled, the skin of his face contorting into craggy delineation of every muscle beneath it. His voice was soft as he spoke. “Thembris, good taverner! These be mates of mine—heart and soul. You wouldn’t want me to be cursing this place, now, would ye?”

  The ruddy face of the tavern keeper suddenly drained of all color. Spacers of the core were a wild lot and not a few of them quite powerful in the dark arts. It was part of the craft. Only the bravest or most foolish dared cross a spacer. The tavern keeper fit one of the categories fairly well, although he was mistaken about which one. “You’ll not be practicing any of that star-sailor’s deviltry in my tavern, Thom, or I swear I’ll have the mystics in here enforcing you before …”

  “It’s all right,” the woman said, smiling at the tavern keeper, but her eyes were on the old spacer. “He’s quite correct after all. We do seek treasures, in a way. I collect tales as I travel. The greatest of treasures are stories and songs which …”

  “Stories!” The yarnspinner danced suddenly with delight, his good hand snaking through the air, caressing memories that drifted unbidden into his mind. “Aye, lady! I’m an old spacer come to no good end at this here tavern. I’ve only my tales to tell and memories to live on, sweet mistress. I’ve seen more, heard more, and tell more than your mind has ever dreamed.”

  The man put his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “We haven’t much time. I don’t see how we are ever going to find this man in time, let alone get him to tell us what he knows. Besides, even if Flynn did give you instructions, I don’t see what all the rush is to get back to the …”

  “Aye, back indeed,” the yarnspinner cackled. “Back to your pretty ship and its important journey taking your fine pretty people from here to there among the stars. Ye see the lands and the planets and the stars—but the space? Indeed, lady, the space itself harbors many a tale that is overlooked in the rush from departure to arrival.”

  The man interrupted again, rising as he spoke. “We really haven’t the time …”

  The woman placed her hand again on his arm, gently pressing him back into his seat.

  “We have time enough,” she said, her eyes fixed with amusement on the old yarnspinner. “Flynn says he has much to do before she’ll be ready to leave again. We have time enough. Tell me, old one, is your tale a true one?”

  “Aye, lady,” the yarnspinner murmured. “True as the stars themselves.”

  “And is it a tale of adventure or romance?”

  “Both, lady, truly both!” The old man nearly spit with the excitement of his words. “A tale of haunted ships and ancient betrayals …”

  “Indeed,” the woman said, leaning closer across the table as her companion reluctantly returned to his seat. “Tell us this tale, old spacer.”

  The firelight danced in his eyes as the yarnspinner began his tale. “Once, long millennia back, these stars about us were ruled by the Dysday emperor. Great was he in that time, lady, as well ye know. His word spread across the stars like a quantum gale. Where it was heard, there was law.

  “He brung the rule of humankind to all the heavens, he did. Afore that time, the disk was a wild place, filled with all manner of heathen creatures a-writhing and a-wriggling their way about. ‘Twere a maddened time. Yet ol’ Dysday said that man were in his image and that were that! He pulled out his sword—aye, that be the Nightsword that ye heard tell about—and wherever he turned that black-craft magic that were in the sword, whatever he thought to be true, were true. If he were to think that water was turned to yardow, it were so! Aye, as unlikely as you please and he could make it happen. So, one day he thought the thought and drew his sword and passed among the stars in his great ships. He passed through the disk with his sword drawn and thought a thought about how all greater life should be in his own image and wherever he passed it were so! Many thoughtful heathen creatures were changed in that day, great lady! Many worlds were forced under Dysday’s sword to forsake their past and become human like us.

  “Yet did he have his weakness, as all the great do. For Dysday loved without bounds his wicked queen, Shaunki. It seems that the wicked Queen Shaunki had been seduced by the emperor’s brother, Obek, and fallen into the stars right here—yes, good lady, these very stars above us, and into the center of the disk! Can you imagine it, good lady, gentle sire! Shaunki, cold beauty of the night sailing into the heart of chaos, the madness tearing at her every thought!

  “It were too much for Dysday. The emperor abandoned his glorious throne and fell into the maelstrom core in search of her and his brother …”

  “We’ve heard this one before,” the man said to the woman, ignoring the yarnspinner as he looked about the tavern in search of a face or look that would signal to him the man they were supposed to meet here.

  “Aye! No doubt you have,” the old spacer said, without missing a beat. He’d been at his trade long enough to know when to switch tales. “Yet do ye know what happened to that selfsame Nightsword? Do ye know the tale of its fate and its doom for all who seek it?”

  The woman smiled. “No. Would you tell us?”

  The man shook his head. “Merinda! We’ve got to find our contact! We really don’t have time for this …”

  “W
e’ll take time,” the woman said, smiling at the old man, “and make it worth your while, spacer.”

  “Aye,” the old man’s eyes flashed in the dancing light of the fire. “And such a tale I have to tell … about a young lad named L’Zari who sailed the stars with his father, looking for that selfsame Nightsword ye’ve heard tell about and how they both came nearest to claiming that prize as any in the tales that have been told!”

  The young man turned suddenly, looking at the spacer as if seeing him for the first time.

  “Him?” the young man said, gasping.

  “Him,” the woman replied with a smile.

  The young man turned to the old spacer, with new interest. “Who are you, old man?”

  The woman, however, reached across the table with her strong but gentle hands. “Please,” she said soothingly, “tell us the tale of this L’Zari and his quest for the Nightsword.”

  The old spacer smiled, anticipation of his reward already gleaming in his eyes. He quickly warmed into the performance. His words breathed life and color into the tale, conjuring images in the mind as well as a host of associated sensations all playing on his expertly crafted words. L’Zari, the boy who had found his father, walked again the decks of their minds. The boy struggled among the stars for his father’s approval only to discover the ancient, secret knowledge that could lead him to the Nightsword and, through it, all his heart’s desires. There, within the tavern, was Kip’s crew foully murdered. There floated the ghosts of the ancient Settlement Ship amid the smoke of the fire in the hearth. There, too, in the darkness, did L’Zari lose his father to an unknown fate.

  Time slowed over the Sartagon grogs. It swam lazily through the smoky, thick air of the tavern. The yarnspinner wove images that were brilliant and frightening, a craftsman with images of the mind. At last, the tale was told and time resumed its course.

  “What a magnificent tale,” the woman sighed, gazing with deep intent into the eyes of the yarnspinner. “If only it were true.”

  “True?” The yarnspinner gaped. “True it is as I sit here and breathe!”

  “Oh, really now!” The woman’s dark laughter was warm and playful. “How would you know such a thing?”

  “I were there, ma’am! Swear by the stars, I were there!”

  “You?” The woman laughed again. “I thought you said all the crew died?”

  “Aye, that they did for a fact, ma’am!” the yarnspinner protested. “I weren’t part of that crew. That L’Zari’s family took me on to find the boy. ’Twere I that led them into the Narrows, it was!”

  “Were it now?” the woman asked coyly.

  “It were indeed, ma’am!”

  “Then, yarnspinner, you shall have that privilege again,” Merinda said, smiling.

  “I’ll not be going back to that place again,” the yarnspinner cried out. Reality was beginning to settle on his fogged brain. “It were forbidden! If that boy’s family were to find out—or worse, that L’Zari himself—I’d be good as dead!”

  “You’ll be a good deal better than dead if you don’t help me!” Merinda suddenly reached across the table, grasping the old spacer by his beard and pulling his face close to her own. “I’ve been chased halfway across the disk and I will not be giving up now. I am a Vestis Inquisitas of the Omnet. Now you will tell me what I need to hear and you will show me the way to the Bonefield Narrows because even thinking that there will be an alternative will cause you incredible pain!”

  “Ye … ye be wanting me to show ye the way to the Narrows?” the yarnspinner squawked.

  “Yes! Now!”

  “But ma’am, I’d have thought ye knew … being a Vestis and all.” The yarnspinner swallowed. “What with him being your master and all.”

  “What are you talking about?” Merinda said, letting go of the old man’s beard. “What master?”

  “Well, that L’Zari never did take his father’s name. The family were powerful and propertied beyond avarice. He took his mother’s name and was taken back to his home world on Gandri. Made quite a name for himself, he did, though he dropped the use of his first name.”

  The young man sucked in a deep breath. “No!”

  “Aye! Perhaps you’ve heard of L’Zari Targ—of Gandri?”

  25

  Gales and Tides

  The displacement drive suddenly failed.

  “By the Nine!” Merinda slammed her hand down on the command console, another in a series of blows she had inflicted upon the continuously offending instrument. “Now where are we?”

  “We are four parsecs rimward of the Blood Tide Archipelago,” Lindia stated clearly. “The quantum index has shifted radically. Current Q-dex indices indicate the strong probability of phlogiston with ether content. Harpies with both sorceress and psionic abilities highly probable. Mystic drives in the 82.76 range recommended for this environment. Recalibration of drives will require thirty-six minutes.”

  “How long can we go on like this?” Griffiths asked, seated tiredly to the starboard side of the bridge. Lindia had formed a comfortable reclined chair out of the malleable wall for him, though he was feeling anything but comfortable at the moment.

  “The last drive failure occurred twenty-three minutes ago,” Lindia added cheerfully.

  “Well,” Flynn said as he leaned casually against the bulkhead at the back of the bridge, “that’s about ten minutes less than last time. I suppose we will get there eventually.”

  “Eventually is not good enough, Evon,” Merinda responded as she reconfigured the command console to display and control the new drive configuration. “Targ is out there. He’s free and has the entire galaxy looking for us. I’d bet good tanons that he also is personally on his way here looking for us. We haven’t got the luxury of time.”

  “Well, you’ll never stay ahead of them at this rate,” Flynn snorted as he folded his arms across his chest. “Besides, I’d be more worried about that Sentinel than Targ. That wizard not only got here from the outer rim nearly as fast as you did, but he also knew exactly where to look for you. I can’t even fathom how that is possible.”

  “The Sentinels are still powerful in the galaxy despite recent setbacks.” Merinda continued to reconfigure the controls of her command chair as she spoke. “There are no doubt many synths that are still infected with their faith virus. We may have left a trail for him to follow without realizing it. In any event, I wouldn’t count Targ out of the equation just yet. If anything, I think he may be more dangerous now than he was before.”

  “You do?” Flynn said, folding his arms casually across his chest.

  “Absolutely,” she replied, as she struggled with a set of newly formed control surfaces on the consoles around her. “I thought all this was just some maniacal bid for power on Targ’s part—as if the office of Prime weren’t enough power for one man. After that story we heard from that old spacer, I think it’s worse: I think that for Targ this is personal. Perhaps he’s out to prove something to himself. Perhaps he’s out to prove something to his dead father.”

  “If his father’s dead,” Griffiths interjected.

  “Well, either way it makes Targ unpredictable,” Merinda concluded as she stabbed her fingers at the sequencing buttons once more. “If you do not understand a man’s motivations, then you cannot hope to anticipate his moves. If we only knew what Targ—damn! The etheric motivators don’t work at all here! We’ll have to try another drive!”

  “Hmm.” Flynn’s voice sounded almost bored. “Have you ever flown the core before, Neskat?”

  Merinda rotated the command chair back to face him. Her voice had a cold edge to it and was more than patronizing. “No, Flynn, I have not flown the core before.”

  “Well, that, I’m afraid, is obvious.” Flynn flashed his brilliant smile and looked down at the floor planks for a moment before continuing. “Merinda, you are an experienced Vestis but you obviously don’t know anything about sailing the core. This ship of yours is a technological wonder. It’s loaded with all t
he right bells, whistles, and gizmos to take you through just about any conceivable quantum zone that you would run into. Unfortunately, while your ship would run circles around just about anything the rim has to offer—here in the core it’s just the wrong choice.”

  Merinda folded her arms across her chest and flung a defiant look at her old friend. “Fine. I suppose you have an alternate suggestion.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” Flynn said, his own arms crossed as well. You’re used to pointing your pretty little machine in the general direction you want to go, giving the order, and getting there. Sure, you use the prevailing quantum weather conditions and plot your course accordingly but that’s mostly a matter of convenience and economy rather than necessity. Here you can’t just bully your way through the weather with brute force. You’ve got to be a bit more humble in the face of the universe here at the core.”

  “You’re saying I should use the weather rather than work against it.” Merinda sniffed stiffly.

  “That’s the way we do it here,” Flynn said stepping forward as he cocked his head upward to address the synth. “Lindia, please give me the navigation chart for this region. Include our course to date and our projected course as we explained it to you earlier.”

  In an instant, a glowing cube a yard square on the side appeared before Flynn. It was quite suddenly filled with stars, wave fronts, nebula clouds, and navigation markings. Griffiths gazed at it with increasing anxiety. He had used similar charts navigating out to the Tsultak region—with a great deal of help from Lindia—but this chart was far more complicated than any he had looked at thus far.

  “Here’s Tsultak and here’s our course thus far,” Flynn said, reaching into the illuminated cube and pointing at the point of light and the glowing lines projecting from it. “As you can see by these benchmarks, the distance we are traveling per unit of time is getting shorter and shorter—we’re making less headway. However, if we make our way over to the prevailing trade routes here,” he pointed downward toward a milky band below, “just off Griffin’s Turn, then we have some pretty clear lanes down to the Maelstrom Wall—and hopefully the Bonefield Narrows as well. We could be there in days rather than the months it will take us to wallow through these choking little quantum variances.”