Mickey Zucker Reichert - Shadows Realm
Page 32
No one hazarded an answer. The grip on Taziar’s arms went warm as sweat leeched through the sleeves.
“He did it to help a friend. Do you really think he’d risk his life and everything he has to help one friend after informing on the others? Just how stupid are you?”
“Taz has confused you, too.” Gerwalt went taut, his hand sliding to his own hilt. “I hate Harriman as much as anyone. I’m loyal to the underground and its leaders. The other leaders told me Taz admitted turning them in, and that he helped Harriman take control.”
“Gerwalt, you’re an idiot.” The crowd fidgeted, the buzz of their exchanges soft beneath Asril’s insult. “None of the other leaders really feels that way. Do you see any of them here clamoring for Taziar’s blood? The only two prisoners here now are me and Shylar, and both of us are calling you stupid. Consider this a friendly warning. Before I let you do anything to Taziar, I’ll slit your ugly throat.”
The group thinned as men slipped quietly beyond sword range. Gerwalt went defensive, his tone losing some of its brash confidence. “Asril, why are you bullying me?”
“Because you’re dangerous.”
“I’m dangerous?” Gerwalt glanced about the room, belittling Asril’s comment. “Taz is the traitor.”
Asril’s sword left its sheath, as soundless and quick as a springing cat. “Taz is not a traitor. He’s honest and loyal to his friends, exactly the kind of person we need to keep the underground alive. You’re swayed by every slick-talking animal with enough connections to back up his lies. You act without knowledge. You’re dangerous. If there’s any threat to us here, it’s you, not him.”
Guiltily, the hands fell away from Taziar’s arms. Gerwalt’s gaze jumped from man to man, seeking support. Apparently finding none, he moved his hands away from his sword to indicate surrender. When Asril lowered his blade, Gerwalt whirled and ran for the door. Mercifully, everyone stood aside and let him leave.
Shylar hopped to the floor, the flush fading from her cheeks, but her voice still tense with annoyance. “Nicely spoken, Asril. You had me worried back there in the prison. You sounded as bad there as this idiot here.” She pointed at the door slamming closed behind Gerwalt.
Asril sheathed his weapon mechanically. “Stupidity strikes the best of us. But the way Taziar and Allerum stuck together convinced me. They were both willing to fight and die for each other. Someone who treats his friends that way doesn’t change.” He slapped Taziar across the back. The force drove the Climber forward a step. “It took me a while, but I remembered how good a liar Taz was.”
“Thanks,” Taziar said sarcastically. He stared at Asril, as impressed by the street fighter’s loyalty as Asril was by his. “Just to satisfy my curiosity, tell me. Would you really have killed Gerwalt for me?”
Asril whipped a knife from his pocket and picked idly at his thumbnail. “I guess we’ll never find out.”
* * *
Epilogue
Shadows blurred and spun through Al Larson’s world. He fought for clarity of mind and met sharp, unfocused pain. His thoughts swam through darkness, pinned by the same lead weight that held his body in place. He tried to roll, but his limbs would not respond. His breaths were rapid and shallow against the agony jabbing his lungs.
Gradually, Larson’s senses returned. First came touch, and he realized he lay on a bed. A hospital? The indecipherable roar of conversation touched his ears, completing the picture. A childhood memory rose, a remote recollection of awakening amid a sea of white coats and strange faces, the odor of chemicals harsh in his nostrils. Mom? Dad! Larson attempted to scream, but not even a whisper of sound emerged. A different recollection floated, unan-chored through Larson’s consciousness, a female voice, thick with grief, speaking words that made no sense to him then or now: “I’ve done all I can to stabilize him until my life energy returns, but it’s not enough. The only thing that can save him now is his own stubborn force of will.”
Other memories, descended upon Larson now, the smells of excrement, gasoline, and death, muzzle flashes and the scream of jets. The war. My god, I was injured in the war! Larson remembered a desperate charge intro the waiting AK-47s of a Viet Cong patrol. Jesus Christ! Don’t tell me some gung ho surgeon sewed the pieces back together.
Alarmed by what he might find, Larson gathered enough strength to wrench his eyes open. The pale glow of a lantern blinded him after the dark depths of his unconsciousness; its light revealed a group of people sitting on the floor in a circle as ragged and imperfect as a young child’s drawing. Slowly, Larson’s vision adjusted, and he identified them. Astryd, Silme, and Shylar kept their backs to him. Taziar’s position gave him a sideways view of the bed. Only Asril faced Larson directly. The violet-eyed thief was picking at a splinter in the floorboards, and no one seemed to notice Larson had awakened.
Larson allowed his lids to sink closed, and, finally, Shylar’s words became clear to him. “... never in any danger from the guards in the prison. You can’t believe how much respect my position commands. Harriman may have had the higher ups’ ears, but I had their privates. And where men are concerned, the latter is more important.”
A wave of polite laughter followed Shylar’s pronouncement.
Astryd pressed further. “But if you hold so much power, how did Harriman get you arrested?”
“Even more power and connections. Harriman was the bastard of the duke as well as a competent diplomat. He’d had dealings with the baron for decades, and he learned how to arrange things so people always felt they got the best of any bargain. Once he wrested control of the girls from me, he had everything. But it’s not going to happen again. I don’t think it could.”
Larson recognized Taziar’s voice. “What about you, Asril? Shylar’s probably safe, but the guards will double patrols looking for you and the others.”
Larson opened his eyes in time to see Asril shrug.“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve gone into hiding,” He threw the question back to Taziar. “What about you? Are you staying?” He added hastily. “You know your friends are welcome, too.”
Shylar nodded in silent agreement.
Taziar shook his head. “Much as I’d like to, no. We still have a fight to face. Harriman was only a pawn. Our real enemy is a sorcerer willing to destroy people and things to hurt me.”
Hopelessness touched Larson. The voices dulled, and darkness clotted his vision.
Asril’s reply was shrill. “Are you telling me this person almost got me hanged because he was mad at you.” He did not wait for affirmation. “Taz, forget what I said about hiding. I’m going to kill the bastard!”
“No.” Silme’s voice lulled Larson. Pain faded, replaced by a comforting void, and he slowly began to give himself over to the darkness. “Asril, you don’t understand. We’re not going against some farmer. Bolverkr has power you can’t begin to understand. We have no choice except to oppose him, but it may prove impossible ...”
Taziar glanced toward the bed. Larson let his eyes sag fully closed, but not before he saw the Climber make an abrupt gesture that silenced Silme. “We’d welcome your sword arm, Asril, but we don’t need it. Of course, Bolverkr’s a challenge. Everything’s impossible until someone accomplishes it. They said no one could escape the baron’s dungeon, but I’ve done it. Twice. And I’m just a little thief who fights like a girl. A jerk. A creep. A swimmer who drowns in his own damned city!”
Taziar’s shout cut through the buzzing in Larson’s skull. He anchored his senses on Taziar’s words.
Taziar leaped to his feet. “Allerum killed a Dragonrank Master after the finest swordsman in the world failed. As if that wasn’t enough, he went on to slay a god in the same afternoon. With Allerum on our side, we can’t lose. In fact, Asril, maybe you should join Bolverkr. He’s the one who needs help!”
Larson fought aside the numbness clutching at his senses. A whisper of vitality returned, awakening the agony he had tried to escape. But now, Larson savored the pain and the life that accompanie
d it. He struggled to one elbow, his eyes open and alert. “We’ll kick Bolverkr’s ass!”
“What?” Taziar asked in confusion. Every gaze spun toward the bed.
Larson managed a shaky smile. “Never mind,” he said.
* * *
TK scanned and proofed. 2012 september (v1.0) (html)
Table of Contents
Prolugue
CHAPTER 1 : Shadows of Death
CHAPTER 2 : Shadows in the City
CHAPTER 3 : Shadows of the Truth
CHAPTER 4 : Shadows of Magic
CHAPTER 5 : Shadows on the Temple Wall
CHAPTER 6 : Shadowed Alleys
CHAPTER 7 : Ladies of the Shadows
CHAPTER 8 : Dim Shadows of Vengeance
CHAPTER 9 : Shadows of Justice
CHAPTER 10 : Dust and Shadows
CHAPTER 11 : Shadows of the Gallows
CHAPTER 12 : Shadows of Doubt
CHAPTER 13 : Shadowed Corners of the Mind
Epilogue
Unnamed