Mid-Arc

by David Gosnell

  “Yeah,” I say back absently.

  “When does the plane leave? You must be looking forward to seeing family,” Christophe asks.

  “Red-eye, about eleven-thirty tonight.”

  “She still has not contacted you,” he asks; the shift from “it” to “she” being very appreciated.

  “No.”

  “I wish you had come with us last night, the restaurant was quite colorful.” Christophe puts his hand on my shoulder and I turn to regard him. “It disturbs me to see you so unhappy. You should allow yourself some little distractions.”

  “I'm flying to the happiest freaking place in the world tonight. I'll be distracted plenty, soon enough.”

  I think maybe my words were delivered just a little too bitterly, but then, that's how I feel. Christophe shakes his head knowingly and stands. “No more tests for you. Please, promise you'll take dinner with us tonight before you go.”

  What do you say to that, except, “Of course.”

  He parts ways with me, bidding me well for the afternoon, leaving me alone in the exam room. My summonlings, I think, have had enough of my moodiness. I don't blame them for that. They are, after all, quite sensitive to me.

  That, and I know the loss of one of theirs is both disturbing and heartening at the same time.

  The door opens abruptly and in walks Gunter, sword strapped to his back. “You are needed. Protectorate meeting downstairs, the topic will be the new flesh and blood horror that walks our planet.”

  I don't bother moving. I just fix him with my “I don't give a rat's ass” gaze.

  “You promised to take up the fight. Be true to your word.”

  Great. I suppose next I'll be given the honor of taking her head. That I don't have to accept, but he's right. I gave my word to help protect this realm. I gave my word to not leave Yayne alone anymore either.

  I've stuck by my word and told that sword what I thought of it every morning, with it sitting on my lap, just so our “telepathic bond” can share just how deeply pissed I am.

  “Alright,” I say standing and follow Gunter out to the very slow moving elevator. No words are exchanged until we start the slow ride down.

  “How's the jaw,” I say to break the ice.

  “Better. They are much stronger than they appear. Has it... she… made contact with you yet?”

  “Nopes.”

  The door opens and I follow Gunter down the sterile halls to a non-descript meeting room. It's no Techno-Mage guild. There's an array of six large screen televisions with the usual faces on them and of course, Alistair, front and center.

  I catch drift of the last topic, which appears to be about the goings on in Russia. I'm really waiting to see how the braid-bearded Alistair spins Znuul's helping rescue the survivors of the school collapse as further testimony to his embodiment of evil. Gunter signals me to hold tight and whispers that he'll let me know when they're ready.

  Time passes, talk of deployment of resources to Russia continues, and it's all blah, blah to me. But something catches my ear: “No, the Sword will be needed in the United States for our next topic of conversation.”

  I'm waved on to the table and I sit down, taking Dr. Bart's place.

  “Long time everyone,” I say to break the ice.

  There's really no breakage in the ice.

  “Yes, our quasi-traitorous friend Arthur MacInerny returns,” says Alistair. “Past is no never mind here today. Your transgressions with the beast Ahtsag Znuul are not for discussion as we must discuss this new threat. It appears we have another flesh and blood Cubati amongst us - one that is killing brazenly.”

  Crap sticks. Sil. I'm sure all the blood has run from my face. I look at the screens and realize I'm talking to the would-be planners of her assassination.

  “Surely you had to know it was coming to this,” says Frederick Reigner, the leader of the Order of Light, the Paladins.

  “Has she… has she killed again,” I ask.

  “Not that we know of,” replies Alistair, “but they are adept at covering their tracks. You will help us, Arthur - won't you?”

  “Well Alistair, I fear I may be emotionally compromised,” I say to remind all of how he totally screwed over Karen Redditch using the same excuse.

  But, the braid-bearded one doesn't miss a step. “It's truly good you recognize that Arthur,” he says in a fatherly tone, “There yet may be hope for you. We will make sure not to directly involve you in its hunt and destruction. But you will help us with information, correct? I mean you spent close to a year using it for your own gratification, surely you must have some insights.”

  Fatherly tone or not, I'm being badgered. Negative emotional outbursts aren't supposed to be healthy for me. That is the only reason I don't tell that man to shove it. So instead, I just look into the camera with the dead stare I used to give Sil to back her off.

  “Guys, I'll tell you what I can. But I'm totally opposed to this whole destruction thing. She didn't ask for this to happen and I demand she be given a chance.”

  “Oh, I'm sure being freed from eternal slavery to a human, no less, just completely ruined its day. And, oh yes, I'm sure it is not thinking that humanity is little more than a buffet with built in slave labor,” says the voice of a man I have never seen before dressed in clerical vestments. “It's just probably waiting for the perfect time to turn itself in and maybe even join a nunnery.”

  I don't know this man, but I do know I don't like him very much. I bite my tongue.

  “Arthur,” says Alistair, fatherly tone intact, “we have to know if you are on the side of mankind or not. We need your input. So please answer this very simple question with a yes or no. Will you help us hunt and bring to justice this murderous beast Silithes?”

  “It's not that simple as...”

  “Yes or No,” he shouts, “It is that simple!”

  Cornered. Trapped. I'm either for humanity or against it. Not fair. And it's not that simple.

  “Yes,” I say meekly.

  “You will help us hunt this murderous beast Silithes – with information?”

  “She’s not murderous. I’ll help you find her…so we can bring her in… for her safety.”

  “Good. We understand this is hard for you Arthur. You are indeed emotionally compromised - just a few questions and that will be it,” he says, that damned you-can-trust-me tone returning to his voice.

  The next while is spent answering questions as best I can. They range from “what kind of man does she prefer?” to where she may go. It's an ordeal. I share with them that she's of the order of Nilisarna and what that means. I share that she was studying magic with Karen and that she was getting pretty good at it, until we took our ten month detour.

  In the end I feel dirty. Like I sold out my best friend for twenty-nine pieces of silver, not even thirty. They dismiss me and I'm about ready to leave, when I stop.

  “Please, give her a chance. Greg, you know her - don't just… don't just cut her head off man, give her a chance.”

  I think my plea registers with him a little, but his answer chills me.

  “That's one scary bitch Arthur. I know what they can do. I can't give her the opportunity to do it to me. Sorry. Just how it's got to be.”

  “Well said, sword,” says Frederick boisterously.

  I want to be mad at Greg. It's becoming very hard to keep my emotions in check. I know it has to show.

  “Again, Arthur, you are dismissed,” says Alistair.

  I get up and get out. The cold, sterile hallway seems appropriate.

  My phone beeps from a text. My heart races, it could be her. It has to be.

  I snap the phone off the clip on my belt - it's Greg. What a let-down.

  I open up his message.

  “Hang in there. DTA”

  Nice... don't trust anyone. I hope that means him too.

  Chapter 32

  Veliky Novgorod

  Ahzna's ears are ringing as she hobbles herself up the stairs towards the roo
f of the building. “How did they find me? Were it not for the searing pain and poison of the Chorigan's tentacles rending her flesh, she would be dead no doubt, as she was well under the spell of the mind reaver.

  That pain snapped her back into reality.

  Limping as fast as she can, hopping up the stairs, she listens for signs that they are following her.

  Four Dzemond and two summonlings attacked her; now only three Dzemonds remain, thanks to her violent escape. The disruption grenade will keep them down for a little while, hopefully long enough for her to get to the roof and to wing. Finally getting to the top, she blows open the door with the force cannons on her arm. Then she turns them on the stairs trying, hoping, to slow her pursuers.

  She reaches to the pocket on her suit and gives the command for it to open. She fumbles with the kit, her vision blurring from the Chorigan's poison. She instructs the suit to open on her thigh above her ravaged calf and she jabs a syringe into her leg.

  “They surprised me,” she tells herself. “I wasn't ready.”

  Realizing she's wasting time, she throws herself off the side of the building, unfurling her wings. The pressure off her leg helps, but then she realizes the bastard was working her wings too.

  At least it’s a superficial pain, unlike her leg.

  She looks over her shoulder to see the group of three has finally made it to the roof. None of them are natural flyers and works to put more distance between herself and her adversaries. “Track enemies as long as possible,” she tells the suit through their neural link.

  Moments pass and the suit reports. “They have a fly-disc and are in pursuit.”

  Ahzna knows she can't outrun the disc in her condition - hurt wings, hurt leg, and poisoned though no longer life threateningly so. She knows she's in no condition to take on the three of them. A plan formulates and she begins to take her flight higher, much higher. Exhaustion is setting in, she knows she'll need the altitude to glide in to her last desperate destination.

  She mutters the words to one of the only spells she knows. All Baalig are taught this spell. Well, Baalig of a worthy house. She feels the spell connect and banks her flight to the left in its direction, then begins her descent.

  ⁂

  “Be patient Red. She'll show soon enough,” says Znuul with a smirk.

  “I've been bloody patient enough, we need to do something,” she says back, getting up to pace around the room - again. “She's your family, can't you do that blood finding spell?”

  Znuul smiles, “Yes, but then she would know we are looking for her. And it would also remove the glyphs keeping me invisible to magical prying eyes. You know how many protectorate types would love to get their hands on me. The town is crawling with them.”

  “I'm going crazy being cooped up in this room for days!”

  “There's an idea... let's get crazy. Little distraction to pass the time?”

  Znuul's tongue dances across his teeth, leaving little room as to what he means by getting crazy.

  “You have a one-track mind and...” Karen says before stopping abruptly and shaking like she had a chill, “What the bloody hell was that?”

  “Feel like an ice-cold snake running up and down your spine?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  Znuul stands and walks over to the patio doors leading to the balcony and stares outside. “You didn't put up the Glyphs did you?”

  Karen's face becomes as red as her dress. “Bullocks. No. Was that… the spell I was just talking about?”

  “I'm guessing yes, it was. Based on your description, and the Baalig warrior that seems to be barreling for our room from up high.” Znuul turns around to her and walks back with a grin. “See I told you - a little patience. She's probably going to circle the building to figure the most advantageous entry.”

  Karen produces a small metal shaft with a leather hand-wrap - her favorite wand, or foci, for lightning and electrical evocations. Znuul cracks his knuckles. They both jump when the porch door glass explodes and the winged vision of Ahzna Luunz comes skidding through the shards on her belly.

  Instinctively, Karen throws out a bolt before Ahzna can even lift herself up from the ground. The force of the bolt propels Ahzna into the air back towards the porch, scorching the carpet and leaving the smell of ozone in her wake.

  “Interrogate first, please,” murmurs Znuul, impressed at the off the cuff display.

  “She was like a damned missile coming through there,” Karen says in her own defense.

  Ahzna raises herself up with her arms, “Wait! I wish to discuss terms of surrender,” she says in perfect Russian. “I bring fair trade for consideration.” She stands shakily and starts to limp towards them.

  Karen stops Ahzna's limping progress with a casting of stinging electricity that drops her back down to all fours.

  Karen and Znuul take a moment to look at each other in confusion.

  “Please, they are coming,” Ahzna continues in Russian. She crawls closer on all fours. “I have trade, you know the truth of me, progenitor. I will give you one egg in return for my safety. Purer blood of yours you will not find.”

  “What did she say?” asks Karen.

  “She's offering herself as breeding stock.”

  “She’s what? You can't be serious,” Karen says training the rod on Ahzna.

  “Please keep your blooded slave in line,” Ahzna says to Znuul, right before convulsing due to the larger, stronger pulse of electricity.

  Znuul steps over and puts his hand on Karen's wand, pushing it gently down. “I have this.”

  “You are not trading her safety for… oh my God.”

  “Faith in Ahtsag Znuul, please.”

  Ahzna, recovering from the static burst, begins to sit up on her knees. “Do you accept my offer?”

  “No. Tell me who is coming and their numbers,” he responds in Russian.

  Znuul scans over her, noting particularly the wounds on her face, wings and ravaged calf. Surely signs of a Chorigan's attack. That damage was not inflicted by lighting, though her beaten armor shows plenty signs of other scorching.

  “Three, on flight disc. Coming. I will give you two eggs, willingly. I am of your direct…”

  “No. I'm not interested in your ovaries.”

  “Five! Five pure-blooded sons and daughters of Znuul, a bounty by any measure.”

  “I said, no.”

  “They are going to kill me,” Ahzna says desperately, “They will try to kill you too.”

  Znuul and Karen exchange glances. In unspoken communication, Karen walks off towards the porch.

  “Looks like company's coming,” she reports.

  Ahzna, desperate, looks up at a dispassionate Znuul. “What is it you want?”

  She sees Znuul smile and hold out his hand. A ring of blue light appears, inset with runic symbols. It spins very slowly.

  “I want your free will. Your will bound to me as a slave. All that you are. All that you will be.”

  “Then you can take all my eggs and use me as your concubine! No. I will not be a slave. Not to you.”

  Znuul leaves his hand out with the spinning ring. “Fair enough. We'll just have to watch them kill you. It should be a good show.”

  Karen, who has moved away from the porch announces, “Company arrives in less than a minute.” She walks back to Znuul, paying no heed to Ahzna. “I recognize Gorfun Izzuit, the others are probably Dzemond too. Looks like the bitch did bring a party with her. Did she say anything else I need to know.”

  Znuul's eyes turn to Karen's for a moment and he says, “This will be fun.”

  Both Znuul's and Karen's eyes turn to the porch as the disk stops and the three jump down onto the balcony.

  “I accept!” screams Ahzna who lunges forth and takes Znuul's outstretched hand. Her body jerks and is permeated by the blueish glow, then she falls limp to the ground, her hand still in Znuul's grasp.

  “Interrogation should go a whole lot easier now,” Znuul says to Karen with a grin,
releasing Ahzna's hand to let her arm fall limp beside her.

  Karen rolls her eyes at him.

  “I see you have taken care of our business for us. Thank you, great one. She has been rather problematic for us all,” says Gorfun, masquerading as a human. “She is dead, yes?”

  Znuul looks down at Ahzna and gives her a little kick. “No, she's still ticking, as our human friends say.”

  “Then, please allow us to finish this. She's did kill one of my associates and destroyed a number of summoned helpers. I was rather fond of my associate. Allow us, me, due revenge.”

  “No… Sorry, she's mine now,” Znuul says with a cheerful, upbeat tone.

  “Fool!” bellows out Tzek, the being standing to Gorfun's left. “There are three of us and only you and... the red witch?” He looks at Karen with confused eyes.

  Gorfun waves him off. “Welcome to the ranks, Ms. Redditch. I imagine you serve Znuul well.” He turns back to regard Znuul, “The red witch a blooded servitor, this is most delicious. Now, to my associate's point. We are not leaving her without knowing that one is dead. I'm sure you understand.”

  “Completely,” replies Znuul matching the affable tone. Then he turns to Karen.”Honey, would you mind showing these fine gentlemen back out the way they came?”

  ⁂

  The van pulls up across the street from the building where they had tracked the demons. Vasily jumps out, with binoculars in hand and looks up at the building.

  “There. The magical disk is there,” he says pointing up to where the disc sits at the edge of a hotel room’s patio.

  The back doors to the van open and out comes Lev with another golem, Timur, and two other protectorate defenders.

  “We should wait for back-up,” says Lev, “We do not wish for a repeat of our prior effort.”

  “Agreed,” says Timur, now reaching for his phone.

  “Three of them, the other flesh and blood must have fallen in line with it,” says Vasily pondering out loud. “I wonder what the significance of this hotel is.”