Flare Shifter

by Erin MacMichael

  The loud rev of an engine cued Ryder to step back into the shadows of the side street while a bulky vehicle emerged from the mansion and sped down the road past him. He waited several minutes before casually walking out onto the sidewalk and over to the guard posted just inside the driveway opening.

  “I’m here to see Captain Serik.”

  “Just left,” the Drahk grunted. “Come back tomorrow.”

  “I have a delivery for him that he wants right away. Where should I take it?”

  “Garrison 9 up at the Hub.”

  Ryder nodded and hurried away, heading for the noisy, divided boulevard which ran straight through the city. On foot, it would take him at least half an hour to make it up to the old warehouse district and then navigate his way to the garrisons at the landing field. He had been to the trade sector many times to pick up special deliveries of precious gems from a Drahkian receiving office, but he had never had reason to go anywhere near the landing fields, so he wasn’t quite sure what to expect once he reached the central hub of Drahkian off-world trade activity.

  He traveled along the busy boulevard until it flowed into a roundabout at the heart of the city which was congested with honking vehicles. The sidewalks were filled with Drahks on foot, all moving in the direction of the colossal sporting arena northeast of city center in order to attend today’s fights. For Ryder, it was exceedingly unnerving to be one of the few Algolians in the moving crowd and he had a difficult time avoiding contact with large reptilian bodies as he worked his way through the slow-moving clot of tournament spectators.

  Foot traffic all but disappeared as soon as he made it to the arm of the boulevard leading northward to the Hub. The foul odor of animal waste permeated the air. The saurs, along with their Torg keepers, were housed in huge stockades spread out across a vast area somewhere east of the boulevard between the arena and the landing fields. He was blocks away from the pens, but there was no escaping the smell, so he sped up his pace until he reached the long blocks of the trade district lined with offices, shops, and storage facilities where the scent of saur was not as pungent.

  The busy noise of the landing fields reached him as he neared the end of the boulevard. Walking past the last of the long, colorless warehouses, Ryder found himself at the edge of a vast ocean of concrete. As far as the eye could see stood vessels of all sizes. Compact single-pilot crafts took off and landed; mid-sized, bulky transports stood waiting to be filled with the latest harvest of live property; and at the far side of the expanse rose the dark gray hulks of countless Drahkian warships, mute and ominous, standing guard over their prime Algolian real estate.

  For a moment, it took Ryder’s breath away. He couldn’t think of anything else he’d ever experienced that drove home as poignantly the complete and violent destruction of his culture. He drew in a deep breath and fought back pangs of despair so he could finish what he came here to do.

  Scanning the perimeter of the open area reserved for aerial vehicles, he discovered clusters of what could only be described as prison zones. High fences topped with barbed wire enclosed large, windowless groups of buildings, each bearing the insignia of one of the ruling houses. The gates facing the field were posted with large Drahkian numerals which he scrutinized until he spotted the sign bearing the equivalent of “9” far down the row of garrisons to the left.

  Ryder shook as he stepped out and started walking across the pavement, knowing the guild badge on his sleeve was his only shield of protection. He passed several squads of weapon-toting soldiers who glanced his way but gave no indication of being concerned with his presence, so he made himself walk steadily on with his eyes focused ahead.

  The gate of Ataan’s garrison was open and Ryder realized with mounting apprehension that a transport ship stood a short distance away with armed Drahks stationed beside its loading ramp. He walked hesitantly through the garrison gate just as Serik emerged from one of the buildings inside the compound, issuing orders in Drahkian to several soldiers beside him. The captain was very plainly flustered and in a hurry, but he stopped when he spotted the goldsmith, waiving his subordinates on with their tasks.

  Ryder quickly pulled out the pouch containing the two gold armbands the officer had commissioned and handed it over. “Captain Serik, I thought you would like to have these for the tournament.”

  The Drahk pulled the bands out of the bag and held them up for inspection. “Damn, Dundalk,” he said, switching to Mothertongue. “These are fine. I didn’t think they’d be ready in time.”

  “Do you compete today, Captain?”

  “Yeees,” Serik answered distractedly, slipping the bands into place on his upper arms just as the soldiers behind him opened the door of the front building and began to usher out a group of captive Algolians. “We’re leaving as soon as I get rid of this last load.” The captain spun back toward the line of people and snapped out curt commands. “Hurry up, all of you. Out!”

  Ryder shuddered. It was one thing to know this trade in flesh went on, but it was quite another to see it happening right in front of him. The Algolians were herded single file through the gate and out to the ramp of the waiting transport, their faces masks of resignation or fear. Stricken, Ryder examined each one, afraid that he might see Stani or Ilánn among the prisoners, but they were nowhere to be seen. If these were the last of Ataan’s current stock, he could only conclude that Kea’s family must already be gone from the planet.

  “Is that all of them?” Serik called out to the soldier at the door who nodded and flipped off the light inside the building. “Alright, let’s lock up and get going.”

  Stepping back outside the gate, Ryder stood miserably and watched the last of the captives walk out to the transport. There wasn’t anything he could do and yet he still felt that he had somehow betrayed them or let them down. He was grateful that none of them had seen him standing there, witnessing their last moments on Mindaris, and he wondered what kind of life ... or death they faced on some far-off, unknown world.

  Serik walked past him toward a vehicle which had just pulled up. “I’ll send over final payment tomorrow, Dundalk, and a bonus for bringing them early.” The captain and the rest of the soldiers piled into the vehicle and drove off in the direction of the arena.

  With a heavy heart, Ryder turned and started the long walk back to the studio. He heard the hatch of the transport click closed behind him and the engines fire up, sending a rumbling through the pavement under his feet. Lost in despondent thoughts about what he was going to tell Kea when he got home, he was startled by the sharp high-pitched whine of a small ship cutting through the air as it descended and landed on the concrete a short distance in front of him. Coming around the back end of the sleek craft, he spotted the same insignia he wore on his sleeve—the distinctive mark of the House of Tiro was emblazoned on the outer hull near the front windows.

  Ryder stopped in his tracks, dead certain he did not want to be any closer to Tiro or his henchmen than he already was. The vehicle’s small hatch opened on the far side away from him and he could see the legs of Drahkian soldiers disembarking as well as those of two Algolian assassins dressed in dark navy. The group hurried forward past the craft and came into view, moving quickly in the direction of a black sedan waiting for them near the end of the open air field.

  Something about the party didn’t seem quite right and Ryder squinted his eyes, shocked to discover that the hands of the two Algolians were bound behind their backs. With a sudden sinking feeling, he began to run. When the party reached the parked car, the Drahks shoved the two shorter figures roughly into the back and climbed in after them, and in the split second their faces were turned in his direction, Ryder could see with sickening clarity that one of them belonged to Stani. The vehicle’s engine came to life and it lurched forward, careening in a tight circle to speed off the landing field where it disappeared down one of the avenues in the direction of Tiro’s holdings.

  “Oh god, no,” Ryder groaned as his stomach constricted with
fear. Instead of being taken off-world, the two had apparently been sold into Tiro’s guild out of Ataan’s haul of captives from Silverloch. The look on Stani’s ashen face burned in his mind and he tore down the deserted streets of the trade sector as fast as his feet could carry him, desperate to reach the forbidding Hall of Assassins. He had no idea what he would do once he got there, but the compulsion to find Stani overrode all other thoughts and drove him blindly forward.

  As soon as he reached the high, gateless wall of the compound where the assassins’ families were quartered, he could tell something disturbing was happening in the hostage community on the other side. A loud, blaring siren pierced the air and he could hear a commotion of people’s voices as he raced along the outer perimeter of the wall.

  Passing beneath one of the high guard towers, he spied the columns of the Hall’s monumental entrance a short distance ahead and saw to his amazement that the threshold was uncharacteristically void of sentries. The only other people in the streets were a handful of reptilian servants who were all hurrying silently toward the wide open gates. Without letting himself think, Ryder ran past the steps of the entrance and extended his arm loosely behind him, grazing the skin of one of the scuttling servants as he passed by. He suppressed his body’s reaction to the pathetic impressions that came through his fingertips, firmly pushing them out of his mind—he had the feel, the pattern he needed. Racing into the shadows of the first narrow alley he came to, he darted a quick look around to make sure he was alone and transformed himself into a linen-clad reptilian.

  The street was completely empty when Ryder flew back to the entrance and dashed up the steps past the gates. The lofty courtyard beyond the entrance was eerily vacant and so were the many corridors leading away into the depths of the vast building, but the cavernous space rang with the pealing siren and riotous clamor of many voices coming from somewhere off to his right. He followed the noise down a long, arched hallway which opened out onto a wide plaza surrounded by ornate residential buildings. The cobblestone square was packed with hundreds of Drahkian soldiers and richly-garbed elite as well as scores of navy-clad assassins, several truthsayers, and countless well-dressed Algolians of all ages pouring in from the streets beyond.

  Ryder kept himself to the back of the throng near the hallway entrance where most of the servants huddled, their rapt attention directed across the square to a stone platform jutting out from one of the building fronts above the heads of the crowd. When the siren abruptly ceased, a loud, agitated murmur emanated from the crowd as four Algolians were led by armed guards out of the building onto the platform and forced to their knees near the front. Ryder’s insides twisted with horror when he recognized the pale faces of Ilánn and Stani and realized what was about to transpire.

  Tiro’s towering gray form draped in a dark navy cloak stepped onto the platform and strode to the front, raising a muscular arm into the air which elicited a roar from the reptilians in the crowd. The Lord of the Assassins Guild radiated anger and tautly controlled violence as he turned and stormed around the platform, making a full circle around the trembling figures on their knees. The long spikes of his crest rippled with rage as he halted again at the front, waving his fist in the air.

  “I ... will ... not ... tolerate ... disobedience!” Tiro yelled in Mothertongue, driving home his message to the captives in the sea of faces below him. He stalked around behind the kneeling Algolians and pointed at the two young men dressed in navy. “They were returned to me by Lord Chira because they failed to make their kill,” he called out across the square. “They disgraced my house! They disgraced me!!”

  Raucous jeers and bellows rose from Drahkian throats while the Algolians in the square looked on with stony resignation. Tiro unclasped his cloak and tossed it to a soldier at the back of the platform. He wore the same sleeveless navy clothing as his infamous league and wide, ornate gold bands on both wrists. He walked up behind Ilánn and pointed down at her. “This woman could have lived here under my protection if her son had not failed me,” he shouted, “but failure has its price!” Unsheathing a long, sharp blade, he reached down and slit her throat. The Drahks in the crowd roared their approval while tears poured down Stani’s face.

  Ryder fought down a surge of nausea and snapped his eyes tightly shut. He had already seen too much of this brutal execution and knew Kea would pick up the images as soon as she touched him. He was about to step back away from the shouting crowd when a deep voice close to his ear nearly shattered his composure.

  “Come with me.”

  Ryder froze in terror. “Now!” the voice hissed roughly, cutting through the sounds of Tiro’s virulent shouting.

  He turned around slowly and found himself face to face with a looming figure in a dark blue cloak. The same steely eyes which he had seen in Tiro’s house weeks ago pinned him mercilessly, drilling past his outward disguise.

  “This way,” the truthsayer commanded and pivoted to walk briskly toward the corridor leading back to the empty Hall. Ryder’s heart pounded in his chest, but he followed with his head bowed, playing the part of a servant for any wandering eyes until he could get past the arched hallway and make a break for the unguarded entrance to the street.

  The instant they reached the courtyard out of sight of anyone back in the plaza, the truthsayer whirled, and in a flurry of blue robes, seized Ryder by the wrist before he could run and pulled him savagely down a side hallway. Winding his way hurriedly through the maze of corridors, the tall man pushed him into an empty room well away from the central courtyard and backed him against a wall.

  “Drahkian servants don’t recoil at the sight of blood!” the truthsayer growled angrily into his face. “What the hell are you doing?” Ryder jerked his arm several times attempting to break free, but the man gripped him like a vise. “They’ll slice you to ribbons if they catch you like this.”

  Ryder’s reptilian features contorted with fear and confusion. “But you’re—”

  “I don’t betray my people unless the beasts force me to!” the man spat viciously. “Now, who are you?”

  Ryder dropped his eyes without answering, knowing the truthsayer could very well read exactly who he was.

  “I know you,” the man began, loosening his grip by a slight degree. “Dundalk. Jeweler. Master guildsman. I saw you that day at Tiro’s residence. No, wait—” His eyes narrowed as he studied the reptilian face in front of him as well as the images he was seeing in his mind. He pulled in a short breath. “You’re ... more than you let on. You play a dangerous game, Dundalk. Very dangerous.”

  Lifting his gaze, Ryder stared back at the truthsayer. “And?” he asked softly. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m not your enemy,” the truthsayer snapped. “But why in the hell would you risk yourself by coming in here?” he demanded again, clearly puzzled. “Who are those people to you?”

  “The brother and mother of—” Ryder began before his throat closed, choking off his words.

  “Lover,” the truthsayer whispered as he caught glimpses of Kea’s image. His grasp on Ryder’s wrist gentled and his eyes softened. “You came in here for her.”

  Ryder nodded gravely, quaking as the horrible image of Tiro’s knife rose up again in his mind’s eye.

  “They’re already dead, Dundalk. Tiro always makes a hideous example of anyone who crosses him—that’s what he’ll do to you if he finds out you’ve been hiding from him. It’s how he keeps us all under control.”

  The truthsayer abruptly let go of Ryder’s wrist and spun around to pace the room like a caged animal, his dark blue cloak flying in a swirl of angry motion. “He should never have sent those two out—first time off-world, next to no training or conditioning, way too young and full of fear. There were plenty of others he could have used, but the fucking bastard doesn’t care, as long as it serves his perverted whims.” The man’s words were harsh, venomous.

  Ryder rubbed his aching wrist, watching the truthsayer intently. A tumult of f
aces and feelings had come through the contact and he knew with certainty that the man’s bitter denunciations carried layers of meaning tied to someone he loved. “What happened … to your daughter?” he probed carefully.

  The truthsayer’s head flew up, lancing him with a defiant glare. “That’s right, I forgot that you could read me, too. Most people don’t get the chance to speak after I touch them.” He began pacing again before he answered Ryder’s question. “Tiro took her as a mistress. I protected her for fifteen long years, but Corinn is very beautiful and Tiro takes what he wants. She now carries his child ... and it will probably kill her.” He stopped and closed his eyes, shaking silently where he stood.

  “So much brutal, unnecessary death,” he murmured at length, “which is why I had to grab you when I saw you standing at the back of that bloodthirsty mob.”

  “Then I need to get out of here,” Ryder replied, nervously glancing toward the open doorway.

  The truthsayer stalked back over and stopped a foot in front of him, staring him straight in the eye. “You need to get out of Tessin.”

  For a moment, Ryder didn’t know what to say, shaken by the man’s blunt conviction. “I can’t just walk away.”

  “No, you can’t. You’re valuable property. Tiro would hunt you down if you just disappeared. He’ll need to think you’re dead.” The truthsayer reached out and gripped Ryder’s shoulder. “Do it for her,” he said with pained urgency. “Your feelings are deep. I felt that way about someone once and didn’t get her out in time to save her or our daughter from this nightmare. You still have a chance.”

  The strains of strident voices coming down the hall made both men jump.

  “This way,” the truthsayer ordered sharply as he hurried over to the back wall and pressed a piece of trim in the gilded wainscoting. A narrow panel opened and he shoved Ryder through into a concealed passage, hastily pushing the panel closed behind them. “First rule of assassins—never enter a room with only one exit,” he uttered in a low voice. “Follow me.”