Daysider n-1

by Susan Krinard

  “And you claim to know Theron?”

  “I was his student. If you are familiar with his philosophy, you must realize that he regarded my people as equals to Opiri. He treated me as such when I knew him in Erebus.”

  He could hear the stark skepticism in the Opir’s silence. “I have no reason to accept your claims,” he said. “We know the Expansionists have their own agents watching us constantly. Why should I believe you?”

  “The Expansionists would never use Darketans to do their work,” Damon said. “I encountered a few of their operatives, and now they are dead. I have important information for Theron that cannot wait.”

  The Opir grabbed Damon’s shoulder, his fingers pressing so hard they numbed Damon’s arm all the way down to his healing wrist, and spun him around to face Alexia.

  “Who is she? ” he asked.

  “My serf,” Damon said.

  “A dhampir?” The Opir leaned toward her, his eyes barely visible through the tinted visor, and inspected her badly torn and stained clothing, her dirty face and tangled hair, all arranged specifically for this moment.

  “She was in the company of one of the Expansionist operatives,” he said. “I found her as you see her now.”

  “And the operative?”

  “Dead, like the others.”

  The Opir’s expression was invisible, but his scorn was evident in his posture. “Why do you bring her here?” he said, giving Damon a hard shake. “Darketans keep no serfs.”

  Damon refused to react to the provocation. “As I said, I am not like other Darketans. I have no weapons, and any Opir has strength superior to mine. You have nothing to lose by taking me to him.”

  For a few moments Damon was certain he had miscalculated in his confident approach.

  He caught Alexia’s eye, and she nodded slightly. They were together in this, even if they could never be together in any other way.

  If he was never to touch her naked body again, move deep inside her, feel her mouth pressed to his neck while she drank his blood, he would cling to those memories in the last instant of his life.

  But it seemed that moment was not to come just yet. Abruptly the Opir dropped his hand from Damon’s shoulder. Without lowering his weapon, he faced the settlement and raised one hand in a gesture obviously meant as a signal. Two colonists, both in the same bulky clothing he wore, emerged from the gate set in the settlement’s high wooden wall.

  One figure was smaller than the other—female, Damon guessed—but just as heavily armed as the taller one.

  The Opir continued to hold them until the other two had come half the distance across the open field. As soon as they had trained their own weapons on Damon and Alexia, he turned back toward the hills.

  Damon made no attempt to talk to the two new guards, nor did he try to communicate with Alexia in any way, though he was constantly aware of the humiliation she must be enduring every moment this masquerade continued. The larger of the two new colonists moved in to pat Damon down while the other continued to stand guard, and then the smaller did the same with Alexia. After a seemingly endless wait the first Opir returned, carrying the weapons Damon had left behind as a sign of good faith.

  The shorter of the two guards gestured with her rifle, making clear that Damon and Alexia were to precede her while the other two fell in behind their prisoners. The five of them covered the distance quickly. Though the area was quiet and Damon had never sensed the presence of other Opiri or Darketans in the area since he and Alexia had left their camp, the behavior of the colonists made clear how threatened they felt.

  The gates swung open soundlessly as they came within a dozen meters of the wall.

  More well-armed colonists in protective suits met them just inside. As the gates closed, Damon made a quick assessment of the area immediately inside. It was bare dirt, clear of anything that might impede movement or catch fire. The colony proper—several clusters of buildings of various sizes, a half dozen well-tended gardens, a barn for livestock and other facilities appropriate to a small, self-supporting community—lay scattered around a commons, stretching some one hundred and fifty meters to the far wall built up against the eastern hills at the foot of the Sonoma Mountains.

  The Opir who had first confronted Damon strode past him and gave Damon’s various weapons to the men who came up to take them: two male humans, one dark and short, one tall and fair, both dressed in typical serf’s tunics and pants. The immediate difference Damon noticed was that neither man wore the usual mark of ownership. One had a leather cord strung around his neck, what looked like a melted piece of metal hanging from it, and the other wore a colorful armband of cord and beads. At second glance, Damon saw that even their tunics were different in design and detail, as if the humans had been personally responsible for the decorations.

  The two men glanced at Damon with open curiosity, looked with more intense interest at Alexia behind him, and carried the weapons toward one of the nearby buildings.

  Damon heard a whistle from overhead and saw that one of the several guards pacing the battlements at the top of the wall was waving to Damon’s original captor. He, too, was human.

  “Fresh blood, Sergius?” he called down, startling Damon with his familiar manner of address.

  “We shall see,” the Opir said. He bent to speak to the shorter of the two Opiri watching over Damon. She gave a quick nod and set off toward a low building with rows of windows that Damon guessed was a serf’s dormitory.

  “Where is Theron?” Damon asked.

  Sergius’s visor swung toward him. “Be silent,” he commanded. “You have no status here, Darketan.”

  “I am not seeking status,” Damon said, making his scorn clear in his voice. “I said I have urgent—” He broke off as a crowd of humans, most dressed in the same cut of shirts and trousers, a few of the females in well-cut shifts embellished with ribbon, leather and colored thread, gathered in a loose crowd to stare at Damon. If they had come from Erebus—which was Damon’s understanding—they might have seen a Darketan in passing, but it would be a rare occurrence.

  What seemed odd was that none of the Opiri appeared to notice or disapprove of their gathering. Serfs in Erebus were not permitted to congregate in numbers above a handful unless they were all the property of one Opir. And in a colony like this one, each of these humans would have a well-defined task to keep the settlement running.

  But no one interfered with the humans at all, and after a short time another Opir joined them, speaking casually to the human nearest him. There was nothing in the posture of either one to suggest mastery or servitude. The human neither bowed his head nor flinched away.

  Despite his earlier resolution, Damon glanced again at Alexia. She, too, was staring at the crowd, a faint frown on her face. She looked at Damon and cast him a puzzled glance.

  Neither one of them had much time to consider the implications of the Opiri’s strange behavior, for the female Opir whom Sergius had sent away was returning, without her helmet and suit. Her pale hair was loose around her shoulders, and her honey-colored skin glowed with health and well-being.

  She was not Opir, but human. She walked past Damon without a glance and stopped before Alexia.

  “My name is Emma,” she said, offering her hand. “You’re welcome here.”

  Alexia stared at Emma’s hand and then looked toward Damon in confusion.

  “Don’t look at him,” Emma told her. “You are no longer his property.” She took Alexia’s arm in a firm but gentle hold. “What is your name?”

  “Alexia.” She hesitated. “Alexia Fox.”

  “You are safe here, Alexia Fox.” Emma tugged on Alexia’s arm. “Come, now.

  Everything will be all right.”

  “Let her go,” Damon said, starting toward them. Sergius grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back.

  “Don’t even think of trying to keep her,” the Opir warned. “She doesn’t belong to you.”

  Damon wrenched free of Sergius’s hold and spun
to face him. “I claimed her fairly, in challenge. You have no right.”

  “No right? Where is your sigil of ownership?” He spoke again before Damon could find an answer. “You do not have one, because you are Darketan, and your claim would never be sanctioned.”

  Damon knew there had always been a chance that his and Alexia’s plan would involve separation, but he hadn’t expected the challenge to come so soon. He backed out of Sergius’s reach, swept his gaze over the other Opir guards and then met Alexia’s eyes.

  Her expression was strained as she tried to determine what her next move should be.

  Damon had no intention of leaving her alone with Opiri who would be eager to claim such a prize, even if they would be breaking the Treaty by doing so.

  Since they had already broken the Treaty merely by existing, that would seem a very small infraction.

  “I said I had information to give you,” Damon said, “information that may save your settlement. But my price is the girl.”

  “You cannot have her,” Emma said, stepping between him and Alexia. “You may have forced her to submit to you, but that’s over now.”

  The confidence of her words left Damon at a loss. She spoke as if she had power in the colony, and she had gone out with the other Opir guards, disguised as one of them, to confront him and Alexia. But while it was clear human serfs were much more leniently treated here than most in Erebus, Emma’s assertiveness went far beyond the privilege permitted a well-favored servant.

  “I will Challenge anyone who attempts to take her,” Damon said in his coldest voice.

  “Even if you did,” Sergius said behind him, “no one here would accept. And you will not get the chance to make such a Challenge.”

  Damon worked his hands into fists, carefully noting the positions of the Opiri around him. The humans would be no trouble, but the Opiri would likely shoot him before he got anywhere near Alexia. They wouldn’t even bother to pit their superior strength against his.

  He had made a terrible mistake in bringing Alexia here, a miscalculation for which he could not forgive himself.

  “If you move against any of us,” Sergius said, “you will die. But the dhampir will live no matter what happens to you. Make your choice.”

  “Don’t hurt him,” Alexia cried, breaking away from Emma. “Please.”

  As much as she tried to sound frightened and uncertain, Alexia was incapable of behaving like a serf or a beaten prisoner. Her voice was too strong, her manner too bold.

  Everyone looked at her, some with surprise, others with calculation. Emma regarded her face with extreme interest.

  “He said he found you with an Opir. Is that true?” she asked Alexia. “Did he challenge for you and win?” She leaned close, her voice soft with concern. “What did he do to you?”

  “He saved my life,” Alexia said, meeting Damon’s eyes.

  They gazed at each other, and Damon felt as if they stood alone again in their hilltop camp, speaking as equals, bickering and threatening and making love.

  Making love. A human phrase that had no equivalent in the ancient Opir tongue.

  “You owe him nothing,” Emma said. “Whatever you need you will find here.” She tried to take Alexia’s arm again, but Alexia backed away.

  “Why should I trust you?” she asked. “You’re from Erebus. I was taken...” Her lower lip trembled. “All of you are alike!”

  “You’re wrong.” Emma held out her hands, palms up. “We want to help you.”

  “Then let me go!”

  “That would be too dangerous for you, Ms. Fox,” Emma said. “But you will not be treated as a prisoner here.”

  “Do you speak for the rest of them?” Alexia demanded, gesturing toward the Opiri who had gathered around them. “For them? ”

  “I swear you will be left alone.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Alexia said, “if you swear you won’t harm Damon.”

  Frowning, Emma looked at Sergius, who inclined his head.

  “He won’t be harmed,” Emma said. “Come, now.”

  With a last, hooded glance at Damon, Alexia went with the other woman, her feet dragging with reluctance. Damon knew she was afraid for him. She understood that both their positions were precarious, and the colonists were making no secret of their hostility toward him. But she knew that she would better be able to gain intelligence if she pretended to cooperate.

  Damon couldn’t blame her. But their separation was doing something to his heart, threatening to pull it through his ribs and out of his chest.

  “Where are you taking her?” he asked Sergius.

  “That is no longer your concern,” the Opir snapped, abruptly switching to the ancient Opir tongue. “Emma may have promised that you would not be harmed, but ‘harm’ is a matter of interpretation.”

  “I don’t expect you to abide by the word of a serf,” Damon said with unfeigned scorn.

  “I see you will have to be taught to speak with respect.”

  “To you?” Damon asked with a curl of his lip. “An Opir who will not accept the challenge of a Darketan?”

  Sergius seized Damon’s arm in a punishing grip, jarring Damon’s nearly healed wrist.

  “You aren’t worth it,” he said. He removed a short, dark rod from his belt: a prod, used on uncooperative or rebellious serfs. “Move ahead of me.”

  Damon knew that resisting would be worse than foolish, yet a familiar anger was festering inside him, the anger he had felt when they had taken Eirene away, when he had believed Alexia might die, and again when he had found her with Lysander. It made his fists clench and his muscles harden, his vision grow sharper and his sense of smell become so acute every scent was like an assault.

  “Get going,” Sergius said, poking at Damon’s spine with the prod.

  Damon moved, looking for Alexia. The women had crossed the perimeter and were walking toward one of the dormitories. Sergius steered Damon toward a small wooden building that stood apart from the rest.

  “Where are you taking me?” Damon asked.

  “To a holding cell.”

  Digging his boot heels into the dirt, Damon came to a halt. “Tell Theron I am here. He will see me.”

  Sergius pushed his visored face close to Damon’s. “You have a choice, Darketan.

  You’re less than nothing in Eleutheria, and my authority overrides Emma’s. Do as you are told.”

  Damon hardly heard him. Eleutheria, he called this place. It meant “freedom.”

  Freedom from Erebus. But not for him, or Alexia.

  “You have one more chance,” Sergius said. “If you—” Before he had finished speaking, Damon was spinning, striking out at the least protected part of Sergius’s body. The side of his hand slashed into Sergius’s neck in a disabling blow. The Opir staggered back, choking and coughing as he reached up to protect himself. Damon ripped the prod out of Sergius’s hand.

  He had no chance to use it. There was a flash of movement behind him, and he felt a stunning blow to the back of the head.

  After that there was nothing but darkness.

  Chapter 15

  Damon woke up with a head as heavy as the great statues of the Sires in the Grand Concourse and a clot of intense pain at the base of his skull.

  “Get up,” a masculine voice ordered.

  Faint light seeped through Damon’s half-closed lids. The floor on which he lay was hard, and the room was dark, but that dim glow gave him a sense of the details before his eyes came into focus.

  The holding cell was perhaps two by two meters, bare except for a wooden chair in one corner and a heavy door, currently blocked by the Opir—Sergius—standing over Damon. The sliver of light came from outside, where the door must open onto the commons. The smells were those of night, and Sergius wore not the protective daygear of before but a long, loosely belted tunic and close-fitting pants tucked into high boots.

  Damon struggled to his knees, gasped as a white lance of pain plunged into his skull, and planted his hand on t
he wall for support as he stood. His formerly broken wrist protested the incautious movement with a deep throb of discomfort.

  “I see you have survived,” Sergius said in a dry voice. His eyes reflected red in the darkness, and though Damon’s vision was slow in returning, he knew that the Opir was smiling. More or less.

  “How long?” Damon asked, resisting the urge to rub the back of his skull.

  “Six hours,” Sergius said.

  Blinking several times, Damon struggled to make out the Opir’s face. Though the details remained blurred, Damon recognized the long elliptical shape and finely sculpted features typical of high-rank Opiri. Sergius wore his hair cut level with his shoulders and swept back from his forehead, held in place with a small silver circlet that might have represented a dragon. Everything about him exuded elegant disdain.

  It was difficult to believe he was the same man who had behaved so roughly before.

  Sergius’s stare suggested that his opinion of his prisoner had not improved over the intervening hours. Damon was keenly aware of the fact that his vision had not yet recovered, but he had no intention of letting Sergius know he was vulnerable.

  “Where is Alexia?” he asked.

  Sergius sighed. “We’re back to that again? Nothing has changed.”

  “Are you taking me to Theron?”

  “Not like that. ” Sergius moved away from the door. “You will clean yourself first.

  You stank even before you came through the gates.”

  Damon bowed mockingly. “I will endeavor to correct my condition.”

  Without comment, Sergius indicated that Damon should precede him out the door. If he was armed, he made no attempt to advertise it, and he offered no threats. He followed Damon out onto the commons, lit with lanterns hung on sturdy poles spaced just closely enough for night-blind humans to find their way from one area of the settlement to the other. The windows of the several dormitories were mostly dark, and only a few Opiri were abroad. Vague shapes—sentries—moved along the battlements.

  At the end of one of the dormitories was a lavatory, where Damon and Sergius met a human coming out. The human, a young male, raised his hand to Sergius, glanced at Damon and continued on his way without any further sign of respect, let alone the wariness or outright fear most serfs displayed in the presence of strange Opiri.