Nett’to the Nan’Se La looked somehow diminished, sharing the sand with the red king. Even though they were nearly of a size, with the four-armed alien perhaps the taller of the two by a hair, just by his nonchalant attitude, the Variyar showed himself to be the master here. And there was no hiding the sudden wash of surprise and fear that spread across the armor-like plates of Nett’to’s face.
Angara knew that the Nan’Se La had lost before the first blow had been struck.
Although she did not enjoy watching the arena combats, social pressures and the requirements of babysitting Uduta Virri for as long as she had meant that she had sat through more than her fair share. She explained the preliminaries to Justin Shaw as below on the sand the two combatants were brought together by a robed Leemuk judge who checked the weapons with his glistening hands, making sure none were sharpened or charged, and then sent the fighters to their corners.
“So, if the weapons aren’t sharpened, that means it’s pretty safe, right?” Justin’s brow was furrowed as the reality of what he was about to see dawned on him. She appreciated that small show of concern, at least.
“Well, the combats are structured so that deaths are …” she looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Deaths are uncommon.” She shrugged, looking back down again. “There is plenty of blood for the crowd to lap up, never fear.”
“Not when the king is fighting.” The Subbotine, hanging off Justin’s other shoulder, simpered. “That huge club of his breaks bones and sends his opponents flying.” She cuddled closer. “It’s quite a show.”
Angara knew that Justin had been spending a lot of time with several females since his arrival. She had found the thought vaguely off-putting, despite the fact that they had all been Children. But tonight he seemed to hardly notice the girl … what was her name … Fiearra?
“Means the wagers will be pretty thin on the ground.” Elam’s words were bitter as the little furry creature leaned heavily onto the railing. “Profits dry up when K’hzan takes the sands.” He opened one little hand as if dropping coins over the edge. “Great show, no credits.”
Justin turned around. “They don’t take wagers when he’s in the match?”
Elam looked at the disguised Human as if he had sprouted a second head. “They’ll take anybody’s money. But who would give it to them under the circumstances? The odds are so one sided you’d need to give them a fortune to make anything betting with the king, and you’d have to be a fool to bet against him. And when there’s a change of schedule like this? All wagers are rendered void and must be resubmitted.” One small shoulder rose in a shrug. “Only an idiot would do so.”
Justin nodded absentmindedly, turning back to the scene below, and Angara felt a sudden rush of nerves. “Don’t think about it, Justin Shaw. I don’t know where your credits have come from, but you don’t have enough to risk on this.”
He smiled at her and she felt a little of the tightness ease. “Don’t worry. I’m not an idiot.”
Down below, the judge had clapped his hands with a wet slapping sound and moved away from the two fighters, watching them both with intent, wide-set eyes.
Angara could see at once that her initial thoughts had been correct. K’hzan Modath walked tall, circling his Nan’Se La opponent, who had lowered his considerable height into a fighter’s crouch. He was moving with quick, skittering steps, feinting first one way and then another, the blades spinning like propellers on primitive aircraft.
“He’s not really interested in giving a good show, is he?” Justin nodded at the fight. “He just looks pissed off.”
Angara nodded. “K’hzan Modath does not often fight, but when he does, he does a workman’s job of it.”
Elam snorted, turning away to pick up a drink. “He only fights when he feels he has a reason, or he hasn’t been able to sneak away for some time.”
“He hasn’t left Penumbra since the new administrator’s first meeting.” The Leemuk, Skrish, put in with a quick glance at Angara. The group had not objected to her joining them after Justin convinced her it would not jeopardize his identity. But they did not often speak of Marcus Wells in her presence, and when they did, it was either passive aggressive barbs from the Subbotines, or incidental comments like Skrish’s. “He’s not the Human’s biggest fan.”
Elam snorted again. “The depth of this group can’t be underestimated.”
Justin was not paying attention to the others, however. He watched the giant red demon stalking the four-armed fighter without apparent concern for his own safety, and leaned away from the Subbotine and back toward Angara. “I don’t get it. If they don’t make any money, and he doesn’t give a good show, why do the owners of the arenas indulge him?”
Her eyes narrowed. “The king? Why do they indulge the king?” She waved a hand down in the direction of the arena. “Have you seen him? You tell him no!”
“Besides,” Elam muttered. “There’s definitely a market for the tall, brooding, blunt-object type.” He nodded his head at the moist-eyed girl, Fiearra.
Justin chuckled at that, and Angara was glad to hear it. Then her gladness stopped her short. The fact that she cared did not sit well with her, and she went back to watching the fight unfold, hoping the issue would slip from her mind.
The Nan’Se La had become skittish, unnerved with K’hzan’s relentless, unreadable pursuit. He kept shooting hooded glances into the stands, but no help was forthcoming from that quarter. He was dancing around the periphery of the arena, all four hands rising to urge the crowd to greater vocal efforts. Judging from the hooting and the catcalls, however, the rising attitude of the audience was starting to turn against him.
The spinning four armed dervish pivoted on one planted foot in mid-twist, and one long blade, shining dully in the light, curved in at K’hzan’s left calf with a howling war cry. Just the kind of ridiculous grandstanding that brought a tired, dismissive snarl to her face at these fights.
K’hzan, possibly warned by the howl, perhaps reading his opponent’s body language, or perhaps just by chance, took a casual step to the side and the blade whisked past. The other blades came in, flashing toward the red king’s legs as the other fighter continued to spin. The next two blows missed as well, and the final blow, with the creature’s other long blade, clanged off the dark staff with a dull, heavy sound.
At no time did K’hzan Modath look as if he was exerting himself in the slightest.
When the staff suddenly spun up and around in a lazy arc, Angara almost missed it. The movement seemed idle, unconcerned with the rest of the activity in the pit. And yet the gem-sporting head of the big weapon, moving casually, just happened to sail through a piece of air that Nett’to, the undefeated Nan’Se La warrior, had moved into a split second before.
The weighted staff crashed into the elongated rib cage between the two left arms. There was the distinct, wet-crack sound of bones breaking, and Nett’to was flying through the air.
Nett’to’s grunt echoed off the arena walls as he came rolling up onto his knees with a dizzying motion. The young warrior leapt back up to his feet and continued to move in his careful circle. He was crouching in a lopsided stance now, favoring his wounded side. He had dropped one of his smaller blades, as well. He no longer spun the weapons in grand arcs, but held each loosely in a practiced grip. The heavy, sea-green face was immobile as he watched K’hzan from deep within the shadowed pits of his eyes.
“You don’t have to be a show-off to give a good show.” Fiearra said with a smile that was directed at Justin, but caught Angara in its peripheral heat.
The bitch.
K’hzan continued to move with the same slow, unhurried pace. The staff was now in his other hand, and he moved obliquely with Nett’to, angled away from him even as every step somehow brought them closer together.
The four-armed fighter growled again, and then barked, lunging at his foe in a sharp, jerky motion, arms wide, before withdrawing. The heavy-featured face was not easy to read, but the despe
ration in his voice and his posture was clear. As was a growing sense of fear.
K’hzan did not rise to the wordless challenge, and instead continued to move toward his prey with slow inevitability.
It was almost a blessing when the big brute lunged forward with abandon, his patience at an end and his four arms blurring as they moved, lights glittering from the dull blades.
And it was a resounding anticlimax when K’hzan thrust his staff forward, the gnarled top striking the malformed chest with another crack. Nett’to stopped in his tracks, his arms falling to his sides, and stood, swaying gently, looking at the big red demon with what almost seemed to be mild annoyance.
With a slow, graceful motion, he began to fall. Before the big body could drop, however, the red king’s massive staff came up and around again, catching his opponent on the side of the head with enough force to snap the creature’s neck. The body did fall this time, jerking spasmodically to the sand where its erratic movements slowed, and then stopped completely.
Around Justin’s table, his friends and associates seemed to run the gamut from elated and entertained to shocked. Elam shook his head and looked across the table at Angara.
“He usually takes a little longer, at least. That was hardly fitting for the main event of the evening.”
Skrish shrugged his sloping shoulders. A massive tongue lolled out and moistened the snaggled teeth and exposed field of gum. “His work is usually not so … final, however.”
A suspicion had begun to build in the back of Angara’s mind. Memories of the attack they had witnessed in the docking bay came back, as well as her thought that the Mnymian assassins could not have been working alone.
Below them, K’hzan was taking a victory stroll around the arena as a Tsiiki and a Namanu dragged Nett’to’s corpse out through a small service entrance. The red-skinned beast walked with a business-like gait that gave no acknowledgement of the crowd screaming themselves hoarse above him. His gleaming black horns shone dully in the overhead light, and the gem at the head of his massive staff had started to glow.
Justin was staring down at the Variyar warrior king, a slight furrow between his eyes. Angara could not tell what the Human was thinking, but she thought there was an uncharacteristic dullness behind the white lenses.
“Perhaps we should leave, if you have seen enough?” She tilted her head toward the exit to the box. “It is late, and I am certain you have empires to expand in the morning.”
He smiled faintly, but his eyes remained on the sand below. He nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”
When K’hzan Modath stopped suddenly in his progress, Angara noticed at once. The rest of the crowd, their howls and cries winding down, faded even more quickly into silence as the armored warrior paused.
Below them, K’hzan’s prominent nose wrinkled as the craggy features drew back in a sneer, as if he had smelled something foul. The glittering dark eyes drifted upward and began to scan the very top levels, raking across the private boxes.
Angara felt something cold drop into her stomach, and was moved with a sudden need to leave the fighting pit and get as far from this tower as possible. She reached out for Justin’s arm, meaning to pull him from his chair, when the last voices fell away, and silence reigned within the confines of the arena.
She did not want to look down, but forced herself. Below, K’hzan was glaring upward.
The dark eyes glittered in the gnarled face. There was no doubt in her mind that, even at this great distance, the red king was staring straight up into their box, directly at Justin.
“I smell you, coward!” The words echoed up from the sand, and most of the Human’s acquaintances sidled away from him, not knowing what was happening, but sensing the target of the Variyar’s displeasure. She smirked when the Subbotine, Fiearra, backed away, and a spiteful little voice in her head hoped that Justin had seen the pale bitch flinch.
“Justin, we need to go.” She pulled on his arm again, but he was still and stiff, unmoving as he stared down into the demon’s eyes.
“I smell you, coward! And I call you out from among those with whom you seek to hide!” The snarling voice echoed up from the pit, filling the air around them.
“What’s he mean?” Skrish turned to Nomen, one of the quiet, thoughtful Namanu that had been instrumental in helping Justin build his network in the city.
The Namanu shook his head, looking around as if there might be some being with a sign proclaiming them a vile coward somewhere in the box.
“Justin, honestly, we need to go.” She pulled him more forcefully, and he came slowly off his seat, still looking down as if he could not tear his eyes away.
“Your stench fills this vast chamber, Human!” K’hzan punched the heavy club up into the air, straight toward Justin, and the coldness in her gut froze into a jagged chunk of ice at the word.
In the box, Justin’s companions were looking around more frantically, still not understanding.
“Did you think your pathetic disguise could hide your true nature, thewless worm?” The staff lowered, and the dark eyes burned. “I challenge you, Human, here and now. You wish to watch me fight? You wish for me to dance for your pleasure? Come down onto the sand and dance with me, if you are worthy of your heritage.” The thick lips pulled back in a sneer, revealing jagged teeth. “Let us see the cut of your valor, and the color of your blood.”
Justin finally pulled his eyes away from the scene on the sand and turned to Angara, his white eyes desperate. “What the hell’s he talking about?”
Around them, light had finally dawned on the Human’s companions, and they were rising all around the table, their faces a jumble of emotions. The Subbotine, in particular, looked horrified, as if Justin had become some horrible, diseased wretch before her eyes.
“Justin, we need to leave.” She pulled him toward the door. This time, he came willingly, his body limp.
“But, what was he talking about?” Receiving the full weight of K’hzan’s attention had unnerved him, and he was not even thinking about the blow to his disguise.
As she pulled him away from the railing, the Variyar bellowed louder from beneath them. “Run, worm! You contaminate the very air with your presence!” The voice changed, becoming less directed, and she imagined the big creature addressing the audience as they made their escape. “I will not share air with such a wretch! It contaminates the substance of the city with the tread of its craven feet!”
Angara pushed Justin out into the narrow connecting hall. This high up in the venue, the corridors were narrow to accommodate the larger boxes. He turned to the stairs, but she pulled him around and behind her, dragging him in the opposite direction.
“There’s a small docking port at the top of the tank. We’ll call for an Administrative shuttle.” She tightened her eyes and scanned through the options and frequencies to make the request.
“I don’t understand.” Justin muttered. He was coming out of his daze, and had probably realized that all of his careful work had been unraveled with the Variyar king’s denunciation. “What’s that asshole got against me?”
Angara shook her head, although she knew he probably was not paying any attention to her as she led them up into the close confines of the service access conduits. “It’s not you. It’s Humans.”
“Of course it’s Humans.” Justin nearly spat the words. “Let me guess, we somehow offended his ancestors as well?”
That almost brought a smile to her face. “You might say that.”
For some reason, he left that alone, which she found alarming. “But how did he know about me? How did he know I was Human?”
The cold returned. How did K’hzan know about Justin? “I’m not sure. There are tales of a deep connection between Variyar and Humans that stretch back before recorded history. If you are inclined to give credence to such stories, he could most likely sniff you out of a large crowd without much effort.”
They came to the plain service hatch and she ushered him through, looking behi
nd to be certain they had not been followed. A shuttle from the administrator’s office was already waiting for them in the small docking bay, and she gestured for him to board before entering herself. She moved immediately to the controls and sat in the stiff, still seat. No self-respecting Tigan would ever allow an automatic system to fly a ship she was in.
“Well that was … odd.” His voice was distracted, and she took her eyes from the viewing field long enough to cast a quick glance back at him. He seemed far less troubled than she would have been herself, in his position. He stared through the viewing fields at the tall ships passing by around them, his eyes lost in thought.
“Have you no concern for your safety or your enterprises, now that K’hzan has stripped you of your Mnymian mask?” She made sure to keep away from regular shuttle traffic as she brought them down toward an out of the way docking station on the Concourse.
“Hmm,” he grunted. “Not really. I’m sure I can come up with something. He’s not that familiar to most in the city, from what I gather. I can play on that. I’ll be fine.” And he sounded as if he truly believed that.
For some reason, it bothered her. “Some of your companions seemed most distraught. The Subbotine, Fiearra? Appeared upset at the thought that you might be Human.” Damn! Now, why had she said that? She jerked the controls of the shuttle around harder than anticipated, and their viewing fields veered wildly, although the inertial compensators of the shuttle prevented any of the force of the turn from getting to them.
She did not like the sound of the short chuckle from behind her. “Angara! I’m shocked, really. Jealousy does not become a warrior woman such as yourself.”
The coldness that had gripped her in the arena had faded, and was now replaced with a burning heat that threatened to rob her of all discipline. She wanted nothing more than to deny the charge, but knew that any attempts to do so would make her look only more envious. Her lips tightened and her teeth ground together behind them. She was most certainly not jealous!
Legacy of Shadow Page 25