Nightsword

by Margaret Weis

  Flynn turned at once, drawing his cutlass. The sound of the metal leaving the scabbard rang through the clearing with electrifying effect. The anticipation from the various races of the Venture Revenge crew was instantly palpable.

  “Do you have a problem with my orders, Master Shindak?” Flynn said in a voice that carried to the various types of ears throughout his crew. He held his cutlass firmly in his right hand, pointed directly at the chest of the elf. “Are you questioning my authority?”

  “Captain.” Shindak smiled without warmth as he spoke, his words chosen carefully. “We’ve all been through some difficult times of late, none more so than you …”

  “Get this creature a sword!” Flynn cried out.

  From somewhere among the crew, a cutlass tumbled through the air, landing flatly in the sands near the elf’s feet.

  “Pick it up, Shindak!” Flynn said, his eyes locked on the elf’s gaze.

  Shindak licked his lips. “Captain—you go too far …”

  “Pick it up, NOW!” Flynn yelled.

  All eyes were on the elf. No one breathed.

  Shindak slowly drew his hands and arms open, away from his sides, palms facing Flynn. “No, Captain. I apologize for my remark. It was ill considered. I plead only for your mercy and forgiveness, for it was meant only in jest. I remain your servant. Do with me as you will.”

  “Then,” Flynn said, carefully pronouncing each word, “my will is that you take the crew up into the ruins of the Settlement Ship and await my further pleasure. Are you clear on this?”

  “Perfectly clear, Captain,” the elf replied, bowing slowly, his eyes never leaving Flynn for a moment. “I remain your servant.”

  Flynn held his pose for a moment, the weapon’s sharp tip fixed on its target. Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, Flynn’s sword returned to its scabbard. The captain straightened. “Very well, Master Shindak. See that that sword on the ground is returned to its owner—blunt end first. I wouldn’t want such a dangerous thing lying about. Someone might get hurt.”

  “Yes, Captain,” the elf replied, then turned to the crew. “You heard the captain. All hands aloft to the ruins. We await the captain’s pleasure.”

  A gentle breeze passed through the small clearing as the various crewmembers walked, scuttled, thumped, clawed, and slithered their way up the magnificent stairs of the ancient ship. The humans remained in the clearing, silently watching the bizarre and horrific procession. The last to enter the dark maw of the Settlement Ship was the hulking form of Kheoghi. He stopped for a moment atop the stairs on the landing, and looked back thoughtfully on the humans below him before turning and walking into the darkness.

  When the minotaur had disappeared, Flynn turned to the group. “I think we’re safe enough now.”

  “Safe enough?” Lewis scoffed. “You just declared war on a warrior fleet of dragons so large that their ships block out the sky!”

  “Not to mention,” Merinda said, leaning now on Ellerby for support, “the fact that you seem to have something of a discipline problem with your own crew.”

  “The crew will follow me,” Flynn said, more it seemed for his own benefit than for theirs.

  “Perhaps,” Merinda countered, “but for how long? Zanfib isn’t going to wait forever and neither are those dragons. If he has negotiated a deal with the Sentinels, then it’s only a matter of time.”

  “Well, I bought us time,” Flynn offered. “We’ve got a negotiation in a few hours but the Formal Declarations take three months before the Tsultak actually are allowed to attack. Both sides are supposed to use that time to ceremonially prepare for death and leave some sort of legacy for those who follow them. We’ve got time to figure a way out of this.”

  “I don’t agree,” Merinda said.

  “Excuse me, Merinda, but what the hell would you know about it?” Flynn’s temper finally flared. “I lived with these creatures. I know their customs and their weaknesses. It’s how I make my living out here on the frontier and no stuck-up, brass-brained Vestis with a titanium rod up her …”

  “No, Flynn, listen to me!” Merinda’s voice cut across Flynn’s anger. “You may know the dragons but I know Zanfib. We worked together on several assignments. Admittedly he’s lost his grip on a lot of things. I could believe that he’s crazy but I assure you he isn’t stupid. The man is devious and cunning beyond anyone I’ve ever worked with. He rarely does anything without a secondary or tertiary plan backing him up. He wants Griffiths and he’ll have him one way or another.”

  “Excuse me,” Griffiths interjected, without success.

  “He’s made his play,” Flynn said to Merinda, ignoring the astronaut. “He got the entire Tsultak fleet to come and get us and I stopped that cold.”

  “Yes,” Merinda countered, “but now we’re held here. What happens if we try to sail out of here before the three months are up?”

  Flynn thought for a moment. “The Tsultak would take that to be a cowardly and dishonorable act—it would break the Formal Declarations.”

  Merinda nodded. “It would break the Formal Declarations and the Tsultak would be honor bound to attack us at once, correct?”

  Flynn looked away and nodded his agreement.

  “That Zanfib is a crafty one,” Merinda continued. “Griffiths dashed the Brishan across half the galaxy as fast as the ship could travel. A fleet of ships couldn’t catch us but one man in a small, powerful ship might. Zanfib did. He nearly had us on Tsultaki. He finally bagged us here. If he could capture Griffiths and learn what he needed to find the Nightsword, then that would be just fine. If not, then he’s positioned himself to keep us here until his reinforcement arrives.”

  “Reinforcement?” Tobler asked. “What reinforcement?”

  “If Zanfib truly is a Sentinel for the Order then …”

  “My God,” Ellerby blurted out. “The wraith fleet!”

  “Exactly,” Merinda said huskily. “He can afford to wait. Within a few days—a week on the outside—the wraith fleet of the Order will arrive to question Griffiths at their pleasure. Zanfib won’t have to take Griffiths to the Order—the Order will come to Griffiths. And, I might add, when they get here, they’ll be a lot closer to their objective than they would otherwise be.”

  “Damn!” Flynn ran his fingers back through his hair.

  “I have one solution,” Merinda said evenly. “The Order wants the Nightsword. The last time that weapon was loose in the galaxy it caused the fall of civilization and a thousand years of chaos. That was in the hands of someone whom legend describes as well meaning. In the hands of the Order it would mean a level of destruction unprecedented in all known history. I think my mind has been changed. I came on this journey to find the Nightsword. Now I think I may have come to prevent it from being found.”

  “So,” Ellerby asked, “what’s your solution?”

  “We could kill Griffiths here and now.”

  “What!” Griffiths yelled.

  “No,” Targ said with ultimate finality.

  They turned to look at Targ of Gandri. In the press of their immediate concerns, they had nearly forgotten the powerful and dangerous nemesis they had so recently fought nearly to their own deaths.

  “Targ, listen to me,” Merinda said, walking up to face him directly. “I am most fond of this strange barbarian. He has many wonderful qualities. I have fought to preserve our lives for this alone. You, on the other hand, have come for him to obtain this ultimate, terrible power. I beg you not to do so. It destroyed Lokan long ago. It will destroy you. In ancient times, it doomed knowledge and life from one end of the stars to the other. We have only now, three thousand years later, managed to pull ourselves from the rubble this Nightsword caused and begun to live as a galaxy once more. What is this man’s life on the scales to that of a million, billion others? The Nightsword was safe—buried with Lokan in the core. Its terror died with him. Should it not die with this man, too?”

  “Merinda,” Targ said, his eyes softening as he looked at he
r. “He must not die because we need the Nightsword. There’s a terrible darkness coming. The Dictorae has known it for several years now. The Sentinels are only the minor manifestation of the horror that lurks behind it. You must not kill him, or the Omnet and all that is good in it will fall. It is not enough that we keep the weapon from the enemy. We need the weapon to fight for our very existence.”

  “Then prove yourself by working with us,” Merinda said. “I remain unconvinced, Targ. I don’t know what you are up to, and your actions thus far have hardly inspired my trust. I’m willing to suspend judgment for the time being. However, know this, Targ. If you cross us once more I will kill him—and no one will ever find the Nightsword.”

  “Excuse me,” Griffiths yelled, “but I’ve got something to say!”

  Both Targ and Merinda turned.

  “Look, all I want now is to get myself and my people home,” Griffiths said. “You people can save the galaxy or not for all I care. The high-and-holy Omnet! Bullshit! The only friend I thought I had in this universe—your fine Omnet Vestis representative—just promised to kill me at the drop of a hat, so let’s just cut through the crap!”

  “An interesting expression,” Targ replied. “What crap do you have in mind to cut through?”

  “We all want to get off this rock before the wraith fleet gets here—no one more than I. The Venture Revenge wouldn’t stand up against the Tsultak dragon ships for more than five minutes and from what I understand neither would Lewis’s Phoenix. One of those ships might make it to the Maelstrom Passage—which I will tell you now is a lot closer than the exit from this quantum zone—but only if you had a diversion to keep the fleet busy while you ran.”

  “Diversion?” Flynn asked. “What kind of diversion?”

  “Well,” Griffiths said, turning to look at the still gleaming ruins of the Settlement Ship, “I was thinking of something rather large.”

  37

  Friend or Foe

  The curved doors swung rapidly open, causing the deep dust of the floor to swirl and eddy with sighs and moans. The doors slammed against the walls with a resounding boom, rebounding from the impact with such force as nearly to close. They were too late, however, to catch Griffiths as he strode into the central chamber of the Settlement Ship. Vague cries and lamentations could be heard as Griffiths passed toward the command platform.

  “You cannot be serious?” Flynn asked incredulously, catching one of the doors a moment before it rebounded into his face. “This ship is over three thousand years old, Griffiths!”

  “You see any rust, Flynn?” Griffiths called back as he mounted the platform.

  “No, but after three thousand years …”

  “Then I’d say it’s in a helluva lot better shape than the Venture Revenge,” Griffiths countered as he pulled himself up the access ladder and onto the platform. “Look, we can’t wait and we can’t surrender—either way the Sentinels win. All that’s left is to fight our way out.”

  “Against the entire Tsultak dragon fleet?” Flynn gestured up at the ship-filled sky overhead. “That’s suicide!”

  “Look, why should you care?” Griffiths snapped, leaning over the control console. The anger spilled out all over again. He was tired and felt used by nearly everyone surrounding him. “You want to find your precious treasure, well that’s just fine with me. I’m fed up with all of it. All you have to do is to take Merinda, get your crew, haul, crawl, slither, or slide your cutthroat asses back down to your ship in the bay and wait for my crew and me to take this behemoth the hell out of here.”

  “You don’t even know this thing will fly!” Flynn yelled.

  “She’ll fly,” Lewis said confidently, stepping around Flynn. Ellerby and Tobler were right behind her as she climbed onto the platform. Each of them quickly took positions, examining the inscriptions on the panels as they moved. Lewis turned her attentions momentarily back to the pirate captain. “We’ve activated these before. There’s been zero deterioration of the systems—they’ve just been shut down for a long time.”

  “No.”

  Everyone turned toward the voice echoing from the side of the room.

  Targ stepped through the open doorway. The billowing dust clouds seemed to part as the wizard entered, a whisper of fear drifting quietly through the room. Behind him, Merinda stood leaning casually against the doorframe, her arms folded across her chest.

  “I don’t think you appreciate your position, Captain Griffiths,” Targ said as he moved forward. “Your plan may be the best offered thus far—indeed, I’m inclined to agree with you up to a point: that point being that you are mine, Griffiths. Your barbarian friends here can, no doubt, make this relic dance on a grain of sand. I’ve seen them operate that ship they call Phoenix and they’ve mastered the technology surprisingly well. You, however, are not going anywhere.”

  “Look, Targ,” Griffiths said through clenched teeth. It was obvious he was working hard to rein in his emotions. “You tried to kill me once—and succeeded admirably, I might add—but we can make a deal. I don’t give a damn anymore about your quest or your motives. I had my reasons when I started this thing”—he glanced at Merinda still motionless in the doorway—“but they’re gone now. They probably weren’t even really there in the first place. All I want now is to get out of this mess, this Omnet, this lousy universe and go home!”

  Targ stopped. The color had suddenly drained from his face. “What are you saying?” he whispered.

  “I’m saying, let us go and I’ll give you what you want,” Griffiths replied.

  “No! Griffiths!” Flynn said urgently. “You don’t know what you’re saying!”

  Targ stood stiffly, his jaw working in barely perceptible motions as he spoke. “Let you go and you’ll give me what I want?”

  “Yes,” Griffiths said, his conviction faltering slightly. The sight of Targ’s sudden change had shaken his resolve. “All you have to do is let us go.”

  “He’s lying, Targ.”

  Griffiths looked up with sudden hatred. “Merinda!”

  Merinda lazily straightened from where she was leaning, walking slowly forward as she spoke. Her voice was smooth and condescending. “All this barbarian has to do is lie to you and he’s not only free but has led you off on some fool’s errand. You go chasing off after his phantoms and, in the meanwhile, his crew cuts a deal with the Tsultak for the Nightsword. How do you know the course he gives you is the right one? He’ll lie to you, Targ. He’ll have the Nightsword and make you look like a fool all at the same time.”

  “Merinda!” Griffiths said desperately. “Stay out of this!”

  “Oh, he seems like some kind of backwater fool on first blush,” Merinda continued addressing Targ as she stepped up to the central platform, “but remember, he has the entire wisdom of the Mantle at his disposal. I can’t explain it any more than you can, Targ, but no matter where he goes in the galaxy, the bond his mind has to the Mantle remains in force. Their communication is instantaneous no matter how far he is from Avadon. Couple that vast knowledge with a little cunning and you’ve got quite a dangerous combination. How far can you trust such a man?”

  Targ’s face suddenly went flush as he spoke. “You know this barbarian. Just how far would that be, Vestis Neskat?”

  “This far!” Merinda grabbed Griffiths with both hands by the front of his tunic and swung him around. Behind her she sensed Lewis and Ellerby tense, ready to strike. She hoped the fear of her she had instilled in them on their first meeting would hold: a general combat was not her intention. Fortunately, they waited a moment too late. Merinda stopped suddenly and shoved Griffiths backward off the platform. Her timing was still good, she noted to herself. Griffiths fell backward directly toward Targ of Gandri. The Vestis Prime caught Griffiths before he fell completely to the floor and hauled him to his feet.

  “Flynn,” Merinda called from the platform. “Take the prophet here and Targ back to your crew, then get everyone moving toward the bay. Quietly, you understand. The Ts
ultak may have posted guards to keep an eye on your ship. We’ve got to get everyone aboard without the dragons knowing about it or the game is up.”

  “Damn you, Merinda,” Griffiths yelled, his collar firmly in Targ’s grip.

  “Why are you doing this, Neskat?” Targ said, his eyes narrowing.

  “Let’s just say that I’m not ready to make my decision yet, Targ. If you are correct and the Omnet is indeed endangered without the Nightsword, then I am sworn to back you. If, however, this is some personal bid for power, to the detriment and destruction of the Omnet, then I am sworn to oppose you. I don’t yet know what game you are playing at, Targ, but until I find out, I’m not willing to concede.”

  Targ chuckled. “Question everything—the unofficial motto of the Vestis. Very well, Neskat. We’ll continue playing the game—so long as you realize just how very high the stakes are.”

  Merinda nodded, then turned to the pirate. “Get them out of here, Flynn. I’ll set up the diversion with Lewis and her crew and join you shortly.”

  Flynn eyed Merinda for a moment as though trying to fathom her motivations, then shrugged and turned to Targ. “This way, if you please.”

  Griffiths looked up at Lewis. “I’m sorry, Lewis. I’ll get you home when I can.”

  Targ pushed Griffiths toward the exit. Flynn closed the doors behind him with a resounding boom, as Merinda turned to face what remained of Griffiths’s crew.

  Lewis returned her gaze with contempt. Anger, pain, and rage registered on the faces of Ellerby and Tobler. Merinda watched them all carefully for a time but there was no sign that any of them would soften to her words.

  “Lewis,” Merinda said at last, “I need your help.”

  The lieutenant folded her arms across her chest and said nothing.

  “We are in very real danger and unless we learn to trust each other, right now, there may be little hope for any of us.”

  “We are in danger?” Ellerby scoffed. “Just what ‘we’ are you talking about?”