Larson waited until a break appeared in the traffic, then darted into the street.
A canary yellow taxi careened around the corner, honking a continuous blast at Larsen.
Larsen came to an abrupt stop. Still in the car’s path, he swung Timmy to safety.
The cab screeched to a halt inches away from Larson, horn blaring. The driver poked a darkly-bearded head through the window. “Are you deaf and blind or just stupid? I could have killed you!”
“I need a cab.”
The driver glanced at the lit sign on the roof of his vehicle. “Well, surprise. You found one.” He made a circular gesture, his smile softening his sarcasm. “Most of my fares come in by the door instead of the windshield.”
A driver in a powder blue Dart behind the taxi leaned on his horn.
The cabby made an abrupt, obscene gesture through the window, and a line of vehicles squeezed around his taxi.
Seizing Timmy’s hand, Larson sidled to the door, wrenched it open, and slid inside. Timmy took the seat beside him, then pulled the panel shut.
The cab threaded back into traffic.
Larson sank into a vinyl seat rank with cigarette smoke. He gasped for breath, only now realizing how much his lungs ached. His heart pained him, too. I love Silme so much. How could I let this happen? A worse thought filled his mind. What if I have to hurt her? Horror tightened its hold. What if I have to kill her? Or she kills Timmy?
Timmy touched his brother’s hand in question.
The cabby cleared his throat. “You want to go any place in particular or just ride in circles?”
“Manhattan,” Larson said at random. Shaken back to reality, it occurred to him that he might have no money except rude gold and silver coins. He reached into his back pocket, reassured by the bulge of a wallet. Removing it, he flipped it open, discovering more than enough bills to afford the trip from the Bronx to anywhere in Manhattan. His driver’s license met his gaze, and he thumbed it free. The smudged photo seemed familiar yet distantly alien, the man he used to be.
“You from I-o-way, kid?”
“What?” Drawn from his reverie, Larson looked up.
“Manhattan’s a big town. You want to go any place in particular?”
Larson knew only that he had to keep moving, had to lead Silme away from his family’s home in the Bronx village of Baychester. She can read my thoughts. I can’t even think about home or she’ll find Mom and Pam. She might hurt them or use them to lure me into a trap. “Broadway Theater.” Feeling a strange need to explain his choice, he continued, “Every time one of my out of state relatives calls, they always tell me to give their regards to Broadway. This seems like as good a time as any.” Hoping to confuse Silme, he filled his mind with images of Claremont Park, a broad square of Bronx greenery where he used to take Timmy when his brother was an infant while his mother and sister shopped at Sears.
“Yeah. Right.” The cabby shrugged, and in the rearview mirror, Larson could see the man shaking his head.
Larson considered Claremont Park in rapt detail, purposefully diverting his thoughts from his family. Experience told him that sorcerers could only magically transport to places they had studied personally, but Astryd had once entered a prison she had seen only by accessing Larson’s thoughts and looking through his eyes. Uncertain whether Silme could transport to a place Larson saw only in his memory, he repeatedly detailed the route from St. Raymond’s Cemetery to Claremont Park. Silme doesn’t know about cars. She’ll have to assume I walked. If I can get her to walk, too, it’ll keep the baby alive a little longer.
“Al, what’s going on?” Timmy sounded frightened. “Why aren’t we going home? How come I know you’re going to die?” He huddled closer, his tears warm and wet on Larson’s arm.
“Just a second, Timmy.” Larson put his brother off a little longer, as a new idea disturbed him. What if this is an alternate reality? The park I remember may not exist. He addressed the cabby. “Driver, you familiar with Claremont Park?”
“Yeah, just took a couple of kids there this morning, in fact. Boy carrying this duct tape sword with a girl dressed like she come out of a fairy tale.” The cabby shook his head at the memory. “There’s some sort of group meeting there. Society for Creating Anarchy-ism or some such.” He glanced back. “Why? You want to go there instead?”
“No,” Larson said quickly, hoping he had not inflicted a Chaos-cursed sorceress on a crowd of college students. I can’t change focus now, or she’ll know I’m diverting her. It’s a big park. And I don’t think she’ll harm anyone if she doesn’t find me there. He turned his thoughts back to the route, keeping it always in a conscious pocket of memory.
“Al,” Timmy whined.
Larson sighed heavily, aware his tale might better pass for an episode of Star Trek, yet knowing he had to tell the boy something. He wrapped his arm around the child. “Timmy, favorite brother of mine, you’re not going to believe this. ...”
* * *
CHAPTER 9
Chaos Transport
Nothing, I am sure, calls forth the
faculties so much as the being obliged
to struggle with the world.
—Mary Wollstonecraft Thoughts on the Education of Daughters
Taziar Medakan jolted awake. He kept his eyes closed and, for a moment, he heard and felt nothing. Unable to remember where he was nor how he might have gotten there, he tried to orient in his mind. Instantly, agony hammered and squeezed him. His legs throbbed with bruises, his back stung from burns, and his wrists and ankles felt raw. A soft, unfamiliar cloak touched the damaged skin on his back through holes charred in the cloth of his climbing shirt. He discovered he was kneeling on stone, head sagged to his chest. It seemed an odd position for sleeping, but pain forestalled curiosity.
A voice tore open Taziar’s dark void of pain. “Answer me, bitch, or Til tear open your throat and watch you bleed.”
A choked whimper followed, then Astryd replied, her tone weak and fearful but still vividly conveying frustration. “I told you I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
Taziar’s eyes snapped open. In the center of an unfamiliar room, Bolverkr supported Astryd with an arm wrapped across her abdomen. Her hands and feet were bound. The sorcerer’s other arm looped around her neck, a dagger pressed tightly to her throat. Taziar knelt in a corner, opposite a heavy oak and brass door. Otherwise, the room stood empty.
Taziar lunged at Bolverkr, but his numbed legs did not obey him. The abrupt movement tore pain through his hands, and resistance jarred him backward. Only then did he realize ropes lashed his wrists so tightly that the hemp had abraded them raw. More rope encircled his ankles, tight enough to leave impressions in his boots, though the leather protected his skin. He howled. “Leave Astryd alone! Let her go!” He struggled madly. His efforts sprawled him to his side. He fought the ropes, pain flashing through him until it overcame vision and thought.
Bolverkr laughed. “So the little thief’s awake. Things should get interesting now.”
Taziar went still, curled against the pain. The ropes chewed into his flesh, and blood trickled across his palms. He rolled a sideways glance at Bolverkr. “Please. Let Astryd go. Free her, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Briefly Taziar wondered why a sorcerer of such power chose to use brute force as a means of questioning. And why doesn’t Astryd leave magically? Taziar knew most Dragonrank mages learned transport escapes early, and he had seen Astryd use spells to travel before.
Bolverkr’s grip stiffened. The blade grazed Astryd’s neck, but she did not seem to notice. Her expression combined desperation with defeat, and fatigue stole the sparkle from her eyes. Her usually feathered blonde locks now hung in limp, sweat-dampened bangs.
She’s exhausted, her life energy wrung out. Taziar recalled hazy details of the battle, aware Astryd had spent her aura on a spell that his frantic dive to protect her had dispelled before she could finish its casting. How ironic. I threw myself in front of her, ready to die to spare her. And s
he drained her life energy on a spell that was probably intended to protect me. Answers wove through Taziar’s anguish-fogged mind. He knew that, aside from Bolverkr, no Dragon-rank mages held enough power to bring other people with them during transports. It would cost Astryd huge volumes of life energy to break Bolverkr’s grip. Bolverkr would know that, too, and it explained why he had chosen a physical means of interrogation.
Bolverkr studied Taziar, a grim scowl tracing aged features. “Where did Silme and Allerum go?”
Taziar blinked, stunned by the question. A myriad of emotions swirled through his mind: relief that some of his companions had escaped safely, shock that Bolverkr could not locate the pair with his magic, and grinding terror that the sorcerer demanded information Taziar did not have. When Bolverkr finds out I can’t give him an answer, what will he do to Astryd?
“Well?” Bolverkr said.
Stalling, Taziar licked his lips, glancing at Astryd’s haggard face for some clue. Another thought dazed him deeper into silence. Gods, what if she does have enough energy to transport but she doesn’t want to leave me? Astryd’s obvious exhaustion precluded the possibility, but pain and concern stifled Taziar’s ability to think clearly. He wanted to scream at her to save herself, to see to it that at least one of them survived the ordeal, but he needed to address Bolverkr’s query first. He tried to sound matter-of-fact and unafraid. “When Astryd and I fell unconscious, Silme and Allerum were still fighting. Neither of us could know where they went.”
Bolverkr tensed in rage. The blade bit into Astryd’s flesh, and blood beaded down a line across her neck. “Where are they? Damn it, don’t play games with me, or I’ll hack your woman into pieces and feed them to you. You’ve got until I count to ten. One, two ...”
“Wait!” Taziar screamed, needing time to think.
Bolverkr granted no quarter. “... three, four, five ...”
“At least tell me enough to figure out what might have happened!” Taziar shouted over the next three numbers.
“... nine....” Apparently recognizing the merit of Taziar’s question, Bolverkr dropped his count. “Fine. Silme disappeared without transporting. Allerum collapsed before my spell hit him, then disappeared before I could finish him. Now, where did they go?”
Taziar covered his joy at his companions’ escape with a blank expression of confusion. As a child, he had won some of his food money by con man’s tricks and feats of skill, including freeing himself from ropes. He plucked at Bolverkr’s knots, drawing the sorcerer’s attention away from the attempt by meeting his gaze. “Why don’t you just use a locating spell?”
Bolverkr’s blue eyes narrowed. “Of course, I tried a location triangle, you little bastard! It didn’t work. I couldn’t contact Allerum’s mind either. It’s as if they disappeared from the nine worlds. And I want to know why!”
Because they have disappeared from our nine worlds. The answer came easily to Taziar, based on his conversation with Larson after the attack on Bolverkr’s keep, but he preferred to give the enemy as little information as possible. Astryd was unconscious during that discussion. She probably really has no idea where they’ve gone. “I can’t tell you where Silme and Allerum went. I don’t know.”
“You don’t?” Bolverkr’s scowl disappeared, replaced by calculation. His grip on Astryd’s abdomen loosened. “Strange coincidence. There are things I don’t know either. Like mercy.” He drove his fist into her gut.
Astryd stiffened, then sagged in Bolverkr’s grip, fighting for breath. Panic scored her features.
Taziar cringed in sympathetic agony. The knots defied him. So far he had managed only to draw their opposite sides deeper into his flesh. “Stop! Bolverkr, please stop. Let her go, unharmed, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
Sweat spangled Astryd’s forehead. She gasped in several lungfuls of air.
“So you do know where they’ve gone?” A slight smile appeared on Bolverkr’s face.
Taziar knew his own survival and Astryd’s depended on Bolverkr’s belief that the Climber had information. As his pain became more familiar, his mind was clearing, allowing logic to slip to the forefront. If we convince him we know nothing, he’ll kill us. If he thinks we’ve told all we know, he’ll kill us. My life lasts only as long as my silence and only as long as my pleas of ignorance don’t convince him. Taziar had survived torture before, but this time Astryd’s life and limbs hung in the balance as well. “Maybe I know where Allerum’s gone. And Silme. Don’t hurt Astryd. Free her, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
Bolverkr paused, apparently taking the deal under serious consideration. “That’s fair. I have no feud with her. Fine, weasel. Talk.” He stared at Taziar, aloofly menacing.
“Don’t.” Astryd wheezed, raising a glimmer of her usual emotional strength, now sapped by fatigue. “Don’t tell him anything.”
Taziar maneuvered back to a kneeling position, preferring to face Bolverkr as nearly upright as possible. “Let her go. Then I’ll talk.”
Bolverkr snorted. “First you say you know nothing. Then you say you know something. And I’m supposed to believe you when you say you’ll talk? Without Astryd, what’s to keep you from claiming you don’t know anything after all?”
Taziar finally managed to work his smallest finger through one of the knots. “The same thing that will keep you from killing Astryd after I talk,” Taziar admitted. “Nothing. But it’s a lot more likely you can get me to talk than that I can get you to release Astryd. Let her go, and I promise to tell you where I believe Allerum and Silme have gone.” Taziar did not bother to contemplate too long. He had no idea what he would tell Bolverkr, only that he needed to stall as long as possible in the hope that he could free himself or that Astryd would regain enough power to transport.
Bolverkr continued holding Astryd just as solidly. “But, you see, I’m not in a position where I have to bargain. I’ve agreed to let Astryd go when I could have simply promised to kill her quickly and without torture.” No emotion radiated from Bolverkr. His expression went grave, matching the straightforward seriousness of his tone. “Here’s the deal. There will be no other. I’m going to count to ten again. If you haven’t told me everything about where Silme and Allerum are by that time, I’ll cut off Astryd’s head and throw it to you. Then I’ll smash a gaping hole in your mind barriers and extract the information myself.”
Taziar went rigid. Sweat trickled from every pore, and his mouth went so dry he doubted he could speak. His every instinct told him that Bolverkr would not threaten idly, and he knew the Dragonrank mage was capable of fulfilling his promise. The only being in history with enough power to rupture the natural mind barrier of any man, Bolverkr had gained his previous lackey, Harriman, by that method. Taziar picked more desperately at the knots. Their stiffness gave him almost no room to work, and his own blood slicked the coils, making a grip nearly impossible.
“One, two, three ...”
Broken at last, Astryd began to cry.
“... four, five ...” The razor edge of knife blade turned the scrape at Astryd’s throat into a welling line of blood. “... six ...”
The ropes continued to defy Taziar. Hot tears of frustration blurred his vision. Why does it matter whether I tell Bolverkr where I think they are? He can’t get to them anyway. A thought flitted past. But if they went to Allerum’s world, why did his elf body disappear? Taziar discarded the latter question for more dire concerns.
“... seven, eight....”
Out of time. Fingers still entangled in the biting ropes, Taziar blurted. “They went to Allerum’s world. Now let Astryd go.”
“Allerum’s world? What do you mean?” Bolverkr interrupted his count to ask.
Astryd shivered in his grip, her eyes clenched shut.
Taziar cleared his throat, speaking slowly, trying to use the opportunity to gain more time. “Well ... um ... you see. The truth is that I know that Allerum isn’t really an elf. He—”
Bolverkr cut Taziar off. “I know all that
! But he’s displaced in time. No one can transcend time. How could they get to Allerum’s world?”
“Well,” Taziar started again. He feigned a coughing fit.
Bolverkr shifted from foot to foot. His glare warned Taziar he would take little more of his stalling.
“Well, I don’t really know. I mean, I’m no sorcerer....” Taziar trailed off, but Bolverkr was no longer listening.
The old sorcerer’s eyes rolled back. His grip on Astryd’s abdomen cinched, though the knife retreated slightly. His face lapsed into wrinkles.
“What’s he doing?” Taziar redoubled his efforts at the ropes with little more success.
“I don’t know,” Astryd whispered, her voice a pale ghost of its usual resonance.
Bolverkr appeared to pay no attention to the exchange, so Taziar took a chance. “Listen, Astryd. Get yourself out of here. There’s nothing you can do for me, except maybe to get some help.”
Astryd swallowed hard. “I know. But I only have a shred of life energy left. It’s all I can do to stay awake. Casting anything would be sure death.” Her voice went tremulous. Just the effort of speaking drained her.
“Don’t waste your power talking,” Taziar said.
Astryd widened her eyes to indicate need. “It’ll be half a day or longer before I gain enough energy to do anything else, and you have to know this now. To take control of my dragon, Bolverkr broke into my mind barriers....”
“Gods, no.”
Astryd continued, “I don’t believe he’s manipulated anything yet, but he’s got access. Don’t trust me. If I start acting strangely, it means he’s rearranged my thought processes. Whatever I might do, remember it’s not really me. I love you so much.”
Taziar caught and held Astryd’s urgent gaze. “I love you, too.” Still wrestling with his first knot, he turned his attention to Bolverkr. “I’ll get you out of this. You know I will.”
“I know,” Astryd said, without a trace of doubt. “Listen, though. The spell Bolverkr used against my barriers. It drained more life force than I would have believed anyone had. I’m not sure he’s got enough left to do it again soon. Even if he does, I doubt he’d take a chance on letting his aura drop that low, especially when he doesn’t know where his enemies are. I don’t think he’ll carry through on his threat to use the same spell on you.”
Mickey Zucker Reichert - By Chaos Cursed Page 17