"Leave it go," Leti cried, swinging alongside him. "It's probably a honeycomb of warrens back there. They could lead you into a trap. I think they've learned enough of a lesson for today."
There was another flash off to their right, accompanied by an echoing shriek and the boiling hiss of steam. A moment later Storm reappeared, rage still glowing in her eyes.
"That should teach the bastards not to interrupt us," she said coldly.
Mark could not help but smile.
"We better get that leg looked after," Leti said.
Looking down, Ikawa saw that the slash was a deep one, going almost to the bone. A cut from a demon was always a tricky affair, since many times it would be poisoned. For the first time he felt pain wash through him, and a rising giddiness that was quickly turning into downright nausea.
Together, the four gained the surface. Putting a protective arm around Ikawa, Mark soared straight upward to alight on the cliff where their clothes still lay.
Leti spoke hurriedly into her communications crystal even as she bent over to examine Ikawa's leg.
"I've alerted the medical team," she said, and pulled the healing crystal from her belt, laying it on the wound to stem the bleeding.
The three dressed rapidly and were preparing to take Ikawa in when from out of the darkness a form landed beside them. Two other sorcerers quickly followed.
Without a word Allic knelt to look at Ikawa's wound.
"It could have been a lot worse," he said reassuringly, looking up at the Japanese officer with obvious relief.
Ikawa felt a swelling of affection for this man, who had come racing out to him the moment he had heard that one of his samurai had been injured. This truly was a daimyo worth serving.
Standing, Allic walked over to the edge of the cliff and looked down. "Sarnak must have kept them as pets, tossing in people he no longer needed."
A sick rage washed over Ikawa at the thought of the human skull he had held only moments before.
"A little interruption, I gather," Allic said, looking over at Storm in an attempt to lighten the mood. .
"Ah, shut up," she replied huffily, and even Ikawa laughed as Allic looked over at him and winked.
The lightness of Allic's mood, however, quickly shifted to seriousness.
"You better be ready to fly tomorrow," he said to Ikawa.
"Brother, are you insane?" Leti said protectively. "He'll be laid up for at least several days."
"I need him--in fact, I need all of you." The tone of his voice ended all dissent. "Word just came from Jartan. We must report to him in Asmara at once. Gorgon has made his first move."
Chapter 4
"My lord, there is an emissary from Boreas waiting to see you."
Pina, chief steward and battle advisor to Allic, nodded to the courtyard outside the main briefing room, where a solitary figure stood in the shadows.
Since Allic's hurried return to Landra on his way to his father's court in Asmara, the audience chamber had been a swirl of activity as the business which had piled up in his absence was quickly attended to.
"He's been waiting for you for three days," Pina said evenly. "I've assured him the delay is not intended as a slight, but he doesn't looked pleased."
"Boreas?" was Allic's astonished rejoinder.
Varma stopped in his rounds of refilling everyone's drinks and interjected, "I've tried to talk to him twice, and he's the coldest, most closemouthed sorcerer I've ever met."
Allic lifted an eyebrow at Pina.
"I agree with Varma--he's one of Boreas' descendants. He definiteiy has a touch of the Frost."
"Interesting," Allic mused. "By all means, bring him in."
As Pina left the room Mark spoke up.
"I don't believe I've ever heard the name Boreas. Is it a place or a person?"
"Boreas is one of the oldest demigods still living. He is the eldest child of Bore, the Creator that Horat killed to start the War of the Gods three thousand years ago."
Allic drained his mug and continued as Varma refilled it.
"Boreas is my cousin by blood, but over the years he has turned into something that I can't understand. His realm is in the far north, in the icefields and fjords of the polar ice cap. He is a creature of ice and bitter cold that few would want or could stand against."
Varma dropped his facade of the jester and once again revealed the brilliant mind that he hid from all but a few.
"The histories of the Great War mention that the Frost Demons attempted to attack Haven during the conflict and confusion. Boreas and his battle team went to their universe to, as he put it, 'have a little discussion.' He decimated three worlds before they were able to buy him off."
"It has never been proven that they bought him off," Allic snapped.
"Well, be that as it may, we can't dispute the fact that something broke the power of the fire demons at the battle of Grada. It has been implied many times that Boreas has a Great Weapon that not even the gods know about. He is a demigod cloaked in legends."
Allic gave a snort of disdain at Varma.
The door opened and Pina entered with a tall, lean sorcerer. Mark was impressed. Even the comfortable temperature of the room seemed to go down appreciably.
The man was dressed in gray and white, and his face was as devoid of emotion as a week-dead fish.
He stood before Allic and bowed.
"Prince Allic, I am Traca. I bring you greetings from your cousin Boreas, Prince of the North."
Allic waved an airy acknowledgment, and responded graciously. "It is always a pleasure to hear from Boreas. Would you care to sit down and join us in a drink?"
"No, thank you. I prefer to stand."
Allic's smile became a little less warm.
"So what message forces you to journey to this land of insufferable heat and effete Southerners?"
Even Traca's smile was wintry.
"Prince Allic, we of the North are not noted for our gregariousness. But, rest assured, I meant no insult to those who have had the honor of destroying the realm of that monster Sarnak."
Mark spoke before he could catch his loose tongue.
"Does that mean that you have had contacts with Sarnak also?"
"I see your education has been sadly neglected, Outlander. The heirs of Bore will hate Sarnak for as long as the universe lasts, and beyond. It is because of him that our father, the Creator Bore, was foully murdered by Horat--may his name be cursed for eternity."
Traca returned his attention to Aliic.
"We have kept the Peace as we swore, though the thought of Sarnak living has been an intolerable burden to us for over three thousand years."
"All of Haven is aware of Boreas' restraint. It saved the lives of many during the exchange of prisoners," came Allic's soothing reply. "Now. Your message?"
For the first time emotion crossed Traca's face: an almost wistful eagerness.
"We of the North hope that you might have some inkling as to Sarnak's whereabouts, since you now have access to his castle and secret papers. I am authorized to offer a score of wall crystals to replace your losses if my lord Boreas has first chance to use such information and successfully takes Sarnak."
Mark could see that Allic was furious, but did an admirable job of keeping his temper.
"Traca, inform your lord that he can keep his crystals. When and if I can find such information, all those who have cause to hate Sarnak may join me in the chase."
"Very generous. In the name of my lord, I thank you!"
For another moment the look of eagerness lasted, and then was gone.
"There is one more matter that I am commanded to discuss. It is known that you have signed all the outlanders"--and here he turned to look at Ikawa and Mark--"to contracts in your service. It is further known that several have left you and are now on the rolls as Unta."
Mark glanced over at Ikawa and knew his friend was as pierced as he was by the knowledge that two of their party were now known as unspeakable and witho
ut honor for breaking their contracts. He turned to see Allic shaking his head at them, as if to say, the dishonor was not yours.
"Yes, it is so," Allic told Traca.
"Then let me inform you that Boreas wishes to buy the contract of the one called Giorgini."
There were gasps around the table, but Allic's face was expressionless.
"I'm sure you realize the implications of your last statement, messenger."
"Yes."
"What is your offer?"
"One wall crystal."
"A wall crystal for a contract that has a little over two years left? Most impressive."
Allic then turned to Mark.
"Mark, he was one of yours. What is your counsel?"
"I don't really understand all of this," Mark said hesitantly, "but if there is a chance to give Giorgini a way to redeem himself I'd say yes."
Allic turned back to Traca. "Inform your lord that I accept."
Traca nodded. "The wall crystal will be delivered in two days. With your permission I will wait until then to take possession of the contract."
With Allic's nod of acceptance, Traca turned again to Mark.
"Know, young sorcerer, that your man Giorgini was on his way back to you when he, uh, was delayed. It is my lord's intention to put his name back on the rolls."
Allic rapped the table with his mug, and with a calm voice that belied the anger on his face said, "Unnecessary, Traca. As of this moment I have ordered Giorgini's name restored to the rolls. Now, unless you have further business to discuss, you are excused from my presence."
Traca bowed and left.
"Would someone please explain to me what is going on about Giorgini?"
Ikawa was the first to answer.
"Either Boreas or one of his people has Giorgini, and they find him valuable. The key point here is when they got him."
Varma glanced at Allic. "The manner in which the contract was offered, and the excessive price, points to a border violation. In my opinion Boreas himself flew here as soon as he knew that Sarnak had broken the Sacred Truce. Boreas would give almost anything for the chance to kill Sarnak himself. He probably got here too late for Sarnak and took Giorgini instead, to get information."
Allic stirred at that. "Yes, that is how I see it. The wall crystal is a very subtle way of apologizing for intrusion and interference."
"Does that mean Giorgini is a prisoner?" asked Mark.
Allic glanced at Varma, who responded, "I'd guess not. The offer for the contract was straightforward."
Allic straightened. "Agreed. Giorgini has obviously offered to serve Boreas. Maybe without Younger's influence he will serve him as well as you have served me. Now let's call it a night. We leave for Asmara at first light tomorrow."
"I must have been dreaming," Imada whispered, looking up into her eyes.
"Just the bad dream, my lover," Vena replied, a gentle smile lighting her innocent features. "I heard you cry out."
Imada stirred and tried to sit up, but the lightheadedness returned. Languidly, he laid back down.
The world was such a kaleidoscope of colors, of drifting images, phantasms that could be real or just imagined. But he did not even care to find out if they were real or not. One should not question this quiet paradise of love.
The bad dream again. Funny, he could barely recall it now. He could still remember his friends, the captain who had always treated him with kindness, even Sergeant Saito, who bellowed like a bull, but was more like an older brother. Even the Americans, Jose and Kraut. He had never wanted to be a soldier, the thought of killing anyone had been so repugnant. And the Americans had proven to be not such bad fellows after all. Yes, he could remember them, and the vague desire to return to them. He must report to his friends, but what was it he was supposed to tell them?
Something had happened to him. Something horrible. He looked into Vena's eyes. Something had happened--but what was it?
"Can you remember your dream?" she asked, her brow knitted.
Had he been swimming? No, no, it had been next to a river, hadn't it?
Leaning over, her lips lightly brushed his.
Was that part of the nightmare as well? Yet even as he wondered, he could feel the first tingle of passion as the kiss became bolder.
A hushed moan of pleasure escaped her. Sitting up, she undid the shoulder clasp of her lavender and silver-laced gown. The gown slipped away, tumbling to her waist. Reaching to her side, she snapped loose the hip clasp and the gown fell away.
Smiling she brushed back her amber curls to expose the beauty of her breasts.
Still feeling lightheaded, but this time from the joy within him, Imada sat up as Vena pulled back the covers of his bed.
Together they fell back, now joined as one, their passion rising together, then ever so dreamily falling away.
Floating in a lovers' embrace, Imada opened his eyes. She lay beside him, her eyes sparkling with love.
"Without you I would be nothing," she sighed. "Don't ever leave me."
Imada pulled her close, and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
"Can you remember the fight, my love?" Her innocent features were aglow with admiration.
The fight? Yes--that was the nightmare. The party had been on patrol when Sarnak's demons had attacked. It had been a horrific siege, pinned down in a glade with no protection. One by one his comrades had fallen. Throughout that long night he had heard their cries as they were dragged off into the darkness to be tortured and killed.
Numbed, he had waited for the coming of morning and certain death, hiding by the river bank, wounded and waiting for the end. Somehow he could remember Yoshida's screams of agony.
Imada tried to block that memory. He had been struggling. It was in the water, wasn't it? Yes, in the water wrestling with a demon. That was it. The demon had pounced on him, and they were struggling in the water when Yoshida had cried out. What had happened to that demon? He must have killed it, otherwise he would now be dead.
With the rising of the sun he had found himself alone, the only survivor of the patrol, in the smoking ruins of the glade, with bodies scattered everywhere. And the enemy was gone.
He must have been in shock, he thought. What did the Americans call it? Combat fatigue. He had wandered, lost.
Lost until the dark smoke on the horizon told him of trouble. The sight of the demons circling the burning village had been the trigger to his rage at what had been done.
He looked back at Vena.
"You're thinking of the battle, aren't you, my love?"
Imada nodded.
"I'll always remember how you came to me," she said, her doelike eyes gazing into his.
"The demons had attacked just after dawn," she whispered, as if reciting a shared memory. "They must have been the same ones that attacked you the night before. We fought as best we could. Everything, everything was destroyed. My home, my friends, and my father." Tears began to fill her eyes.
"Don't cry, dearest," Imada whispered, kissing her tears away.
"Father was ill already," she said, trying to force a smile. "He had been a warrior under our lord Allic. He had always said he wished to die sword in hand, facing the enemy, and not wasted and old. He died as he wished, slaying the demon that killed him, singing his death song. It was as he desired, and for him I should be happy."
"I was ready to die," she went on grimly. "And then I saw you flying in like an avenger borne on the wind, descending out of the sun, flame arching from your hand, your battle cry like thunder."
"Oh, how they fled before your rage," she said excitedly. "I thought first that perhaps you must be a god. Sometimes I still believe that."
Imada blushed at the open admiration in her innocent eyes.
She giggled softly. "Forgive me; I do love you so. I dream of the day I can tell our grandchildren how you came thus to save me."
Imada laughed and hugged her. Never would they be separated! "It's still kind of hard to remember it all."
&
nbsp; She paused for a moment, looking at him with concern. "You do remember most of it, though, don't you?"
"You're helping me to," he replied with a smile.
"You fought your way to me. A demon slashed you here." She pointed to the furled scar on his shoulder. "Yet still you came for me. And picking me up, you flew off. They chased us here, into the mountains, until you finally lost them. Only then did you finally collapse, near the edge of death from your wounds, which were poisoned."
"I knew of this cave. Being on the border marches, Father had prepared this place if there was an emergency. Even as a child, I could have found this place blindfolded. He had thought of everything, hiding bedding, clothes, weapons, and food, if ever we should have need of a place to hide. And so I carried you here after your collapse and brought you back to health."
A look of concern washed over her.
"And now you seem to be healed and ready to travel once again."
"We'll always be one," he murmured.
"But you must go back to your friends, and to our lord Allic."
Yes, that was his name: Allic. Now the memory seemed so much clearer. Allic was his daimyo, his warlord, and he must obey as a samurai. There was actually a moment of pleasure in that realization. He was a samurai of Allic's. In his own world he had never wanted to be a soldier, but as a child he had thrilled with the legendary heroes of the civil wars, and the struggle for the Shogunate. Now he had powers surpassing even those of Norgunata or the forty-seven ronin. He had his duty.
Yet there was Vena.
"You can fly back with me to Landra. As I saved your life, so you saved mine. Nothing will ever keep us apart. I could not live without you."
"You seem so much stronger already, even as you talk about it," Vena said. "Think how excited your friends will be to see you. You've been gone nearly four months, my love."
"Four months!"
Startled, he sat straight up, looking anxiously around.
"The demon's poison worked deep into your soul," Vena said soothingly, sitting up alongside him. "You did not even stir until several weeks back. It took all the skill I had to bring you back to me."
How could this be? Imada wondered. They must think him dead, a prisoner, or even a deserter and coward.
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