Petrodor atobas-2

by Joel Shepherd

  Sasha put a hand on his cheek and smiled at him. “Thank you,” she said. “But Errollyn…tell me what you feel. What does it feel like? I want…I want to get inside you. I want to know who you are.” Even as the words left her lips, she knew that she was falling in love. It wasn't wise, she knew, but like the passionate lust that drove them to such craziness beneath this blanket, there was nothing she could do about it.

  Errollyn kissed her, long and lingering. “Right now,” he said softly, “I feel only you. And in truth, I prefer it that way.”

  Rhillian leaned upon the ship's railing and watched the small boat struggle against the wind and swell. Two men worked the oars, and a smaller figure waited in the bow. That would be Adele. Adele was good at sneaking. Like Aisha, she'd been running messages at the time of the attacks. It was the main reason she was still alive.

  The wind blew the smoke from Dockside's pyres back onto the slope, wreathing the city in the ashes of the dead. An orange sun set upon the ridge, shrouded in black. Yethel would have thought it a magnificent image, and sought his easel and paints. But Yethel was dead. Feshaan. Ylith. Reshard. Terel. All her friends. Her talmaad. Her responsibility. Rhillian wanted to cry, but the tears would not come. Her heart had broken. Crying now would break her soul. She had to be strong. The storm was coming.

  Adele climbed over the railing and made her way along the rolling deck. Several of the human staff watched blankly from where they sat about the mast. They had come from properties in Angel Bay, the only places to have survivors. Some had nothing left, and departed their home with the only family they'd ever known. Adele's blue-black braids tossed in the wind, her lean face worn with lines that had not been there a few days ago.

  “Neither Patachi Maerler nor his people would see me,” she said tautly as she reached Rhillian's side. “It's over. Patachi Steiner will take command of the Torovan army and march on Saalshen.”

  “I believe the human word is ‘cowardice,’” said Kiel, in Torovan. He had appeared out of nowhere, but Rhillian barely blinked. She was accustomed to that. Kiel's calf was heavily bandaged, but he walked well enough, and held his balance on the rolling deck.

  “Cowardice,” Rhillian corrected in Lenay, gazing at the smoke-wreathed hills. “It sounds better in Lenay.” With all its inflections of honour and blood. It suited her mood. Sasha would know what she meant.

  “Patachi Maerler feels he has nothing more to gain, and everything to lose,” said Adele. “With the priesthood standing so clearly against Saalshen, he cannot side with us any longer. Not if he wishes to avoid displeasing the archbishop. The balance has shifted.”

  “This archbishop's days are numbered,” Rhillian murmured. “One way or the other, he has overestimated his power and has become a liability, for everyone. For the priesthood most of all. But the new archbishop, when he comes, will not be able to undo what has been done. His favour now rests with Patachi Steiner, and the coming war shall make Patachi Steiner even more powerful than before. Or so he hopes.”

  “So it's over,” said Adele, with what sounded something like regret, and a lot like relief. “Do we sail?”

  “Soon,” said Rhillian, faintly. “Very soon.”

  “We cannot just run away,” Kiel said firmly. “We cannot let any human see Saalshen so easily defeated.”

  “Soon also, my friend,” Rhillian assured him. She took a deep breath. “Very soon.”

  “We must stand firm,” Kiel insisted. “There is a storm coming.”

  “No,” Rhillian said softly. “The storm has arrived. And it is us.”

  “Enough,” Sasha gasped, pushing weakly at Errollyn's shoulder. “Dear gods, enough.” Errollyn nuzzled at her ear, kissed her neck and then finally slid off her. She turned away from him, and he pressed close against her back, pulling her to him. Sasha bit back a happy grin…it felt improper to feel so good, when so much else was bad. But it had always been her philosophy to take her pleasure where and when it came, and devil take the consequences. A lamp flickered on the table by the door and their clothes lay together on the floor where they'd tossed them. Their weapons arrayed carefully against the wall.

  “You appeal to the gods now?” Errollyn murmured in her ear.

  “What?”

  “Just now. You appealed to the gods. And several times before. Somewhat more loudly.”

  Sasha tried to frown at him over her shoulder, but that was hard. She knew he was teasing her, again. Errollyn found these things amusing. “I was born Verenthane, they won't mind.”

  “That implies you're no longer Verenthane, in which case they probably will.”

  “You can be quite annoying sometimes, do you know that?”

  “You don't seem to mind too much.” His hand strayed down her flat stomach. “If you prefer my less lucid thoughts, we could make love again.”

  “No,” she protested. “I can't. Damn it, Errollyn, that's five times in a day. It hurts.”

  Errollyn put his arms around her and rested his mouth against her hair. “And how does it feel to be no longer a virgin?”

  From a human man, the question might have been insulting. But from a serrin…Sasha smiled wryly. “I was only ever a virgin in body, never in spirit.”

  Errollyn laughed softly. “Good answer. Almost serrin, in fact.”

  “I suppose if pressed, I could take that as a compliment.”

  For a short moment, she was content. He made her forget about all the killing, and the fear. She found a moment to wonder if that was a good thing…

  A new shroud of gloom threatened to settle, but Errollyn's lips found her neck and his hand explored her thigh, and the gloom lifted. She turned within his arms, kissed him some more and then settled against his shoulder.

  …and was woken by a horrid, acrid smell. Her head spun as though she were falling, even lying in bed. She pressed her face hard to the pillow, trying to hold her breath. Hands grabbed her, a knee pressed to her back, her arm twisted to prevent her reaching for the knife beneath the pillow. Something hit her from the side, perhaps Errollyn fighting back…but she dared not lift her face and risk a lungful of the acrid stench.

  The next thing she knew, she was still facedown on the bed, not knowing how much time had passed. She reached for Errollyn with a hand, and found only sheets. Beneath her pillow, the knife was missing. She risked a sniff of the air, and found the smell strong, yet not overpowering. She pulled the blanket up, pressing it to her face…the air stung her eyes, and someone had put out the lamp. Stumbling off the bed in the dark, she felt for the weapons along the wall, finding nothing. Her impulse was to rush out the door and after Errollyn…but she was naked, weaponless, and her eyes were stinging. What could she do in such a state?

  She reached instead for the washroom door and pushed inside, fumbling on the cold stones for the water bucket. She dunked her hands and washed her face and eyes, and blinked blearily around in the darkness. The room seemed to lean sideways…she took several steps and her bare foot kicked something familiar. She bent and her hands found…her sword. Not stolen, then, but placed in the washroom. Who would…? Who…?

  She swore in Lenay, and heard a distant crash from downstairs. Taking a deep breath, she dashed back through the sleeping chamber, then out the door. The trapdoor to the stairs was open and she ran down fast, the night air chill on her bare skin. Her nudity might have bothered her, were it not for the blade in her hands. The sword gave her more comfort than any number of clothes could have done. Beyond the softness of her own footsteps, she heard a muffled grunt and a harsh whisper of voices.

  Sasha reached the base of the stairs by the wall, and slid the sword free, placing its scabbard silently on the pavings. Statues loomed about, poses softly outlined in the dim light from overhead windows. Hands reaching for the stars, clasping in fury, wide open in exclamation, or grand gesture. Stone faces stared, mouths gaped silently, hard eyes watchful in the dark.

  Sasha held her blade low, two-handed, and took one careful step after anoth
er. Her eyes slowly searched the dark, wide and unfocused as she tried desperately to stop from blinking lest they tear up once more, red and irritable. She stayed close to a row of statues, ready to dive for cover in case of an archer, or to parry hard. Somehow she doubted either eventuality. If they'd wished her dead, surely they'd have slit her throat in bed. But neither was she in a mood for generosity.

  She heard movement over by a far wall, something heavy. She took a careful step around a great figure of a winged god, and found a shadow near the leg of another statue had come to life. The shadow was all blackness, save for a pair of luminescent emerald eyes and a motionless silver blade. The eyes were familiar. Sasha stared in disbelief.

  “Rhillian?” she whispered.

  “Sasha,” came the quiet reply. “Go back to bed.”

  Sasha took a deep, quivering breath. When she spoke, there was a painful lump in her throat. “Not without Errollyn.”

  “You are a beautiful woman, Sasha. You can have any man you like. But not this one.”

  “You…you've gone mad. What in all the hells are you doing?”

  “Restitution,” said Rhillian softly. There was something faintly odd in her stance. A slight sideways edge to her position, a barely perceptible backward slant to one shoulder. Her sword was not raised, held only in one hand, but it was bare. Clearly Rhillian was defending something. Perhaps Errollyn had put up more of a fight than expected, and several strong serrin were having difficulty carrying him. Perhaps one had been injured. For the first time in her life, Sasha found herself hoping so.

  “Get out of my way,” she demanded. She edged a step forward, then another. Rhillian took in the posture, with the recognition of one who read such things as a scholar might read a text. Sasha's head still swam, and her knees were weak. She would not need clothes to take Rhillian, but balance would be useful. There weren't many opponents she was uncertain against, face to face. Rhillian was one.

  “Would you kill me?” Rhillian asked. Her tone was not wounded, as Sasha might have expected. It was bland. Almost cold.

  “Kill you? You attacked me!”

  “You are still alive.”

  “In my culture,” Sasha retorted through gritted teeth, “that makes no difference. You had no right. Now, I do.”

  “Ah,” said Rhillian flatly. “Lenay honour. So, go ahead.”

  Sasha stared at her. To either side of the winged god's legs there was clear space until the next statue. Sasha stepped left, and Rhillian came across to block her. Still Rhillian did not raise her blade. Sasha moved right, and again Rhillian blocked her path. Somewhere in the dark beyond, serrin were hauling Errollyn, probably unconscious, out onto the dock. Sasha braced herself to feint one way and dash past the other…but that was bare steel in Rhillian's hand. She might dodge Rhillian's grasp, but not her blade. If Rhillian swung, she would have to swing back. Very few svaalverd exchanges ended in disengagement. If strokes were exchanged, most likely one of them would die.

  “Damn you, Rhillian!” Sasha shouted. She was trembling. She couldn't do it. She was leaving Errollyn to his fate.

  “He is dangerous to us, Sasha,” said Rhillian. “He knows so much about us. The workings of the councils, the likely actions of various people, even the composition of the armies of the Saalshen Bacosh. He has made clear that we cannot trust him. And so, he must be removed.”

  “He's with the Nasi-Keth, Rhillian! You think we're the enemies of Saalshen now?”

  “We have relied on others for our defences. No longer. The line has been drawn. If Saalshen needs something done, we do it ourselves. The actions of others have disappointed.”

  “Horseshit!” Sasha retorted. “Your actions, your choice, Rhillian. Always.”

  “We have no choice,” Rhillian said shortly.

  “No! You chose!” Sasha levelled her blade furiously. “You could have worked with Kessligh, but you thought you knew better! You could have listened to Errollyn, but you thought you knew better! Now, you make another mistake! Your record is not very good, Rhillian! Don't you think perhaps a wise serrin might learn from this pattern?”

  “I can't let you pass,” Rhillian said softly. “I'm sorry, Sasha. You do not understand.”

  “That's not a reason, that's an excuse. A childish one at that. As well I might excuse the actions of King Leyvaan, or Patachi Steiner, as a matter of understanding.”

  “If you cannot see the difference between my actions and theirs,” Rhillian said, “then truly you are lost.”

  In utter frustration, Sasha put her blade on the ground and walked forward. Rhillian tensed, but did not move. Sasha stopped before her, head tilted back to look the taller woman in the eyes. Rhillian's gleaming eyes were narrowed and cautious. For a brief moment, Sasha felt the overwhelming urge to strike her, bare-fisted. Rhillian held her blade off to one side. One swing would end it, and sudden movements on Sasha's part were probably not wise.

  “Rhillian, what happened to you?” Sasha touched Rhillian's pale cheek. Rhillian flinched back. Serrin never did that. It was the reaction of the frightened, or the traumatised. The emerald eyes were haunted, distant. “Rhillian…I've seen horrors too. Wars are horrible. People die in their hundreds. You can't…you can't just dismiss an entire species because of one such incident…”

  “I saw the thing that will destroy my people,” Rhillian said. “I saw the hatred. I saw…I saw the truth that will accept no other truth. I saw the death of reason, the death of debate, the blind rule of singularity, as all humans pursue their own singularity. Even you.”

  “You're wrong.”

  “You can't reason with the unreasonable, Sasha,” Rhillian said, this time in Lenay. She looked older, there was a hollowness to her cheeks. “That is the nature of the unreasonable. We tried reason. We've tried it for a long time. Look where it got us.”

  “And you think being unreasonable will be an improvement?”

  “I don't care if they think me unreasonable. I want them to fear me.”

  “I don't fear you,” Sasha said quietly.

  “You should.” For the first time, emotion struggled in Rhillian's eyes.

  “And should I grow to fear you, and even to hate you, will you then consider your work a great success?”

  The cold facade nearly cracked. Rhillian caught it just in time. And struggled, her eyes moist. “If it must be.”

  “You know I'm a bad enemy to have, Rhillian. Best that you kill me now.”

  A tear spilled down Rhillian's cheek. “You know I won't.”

  “Then I'll never fear you, and you'll have failed.”

  Rhillian nearly smiled. Her lips twisted faintly. She took a deep, trembling breath. “You're impossible.” She leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “Goodbye, Sasha. Farewell. Try to understand.”

  Sasha embraced her. Rhillian returned it, one-armed, leaving her sword-arm free. “If you hurt him,” Sasha said fiercely against Rhillian's shoulder, “I'll kill you.”

  “I know,” said Rhillian. “You won't need to, I promise.”

  “Don't think for a moment this is over.”

  “Nothing is ever over, Sasha,” Rhillian said sadly. “Endings are only the beginnings of something else.”

  It was only after Rhillian had departed into the dark that Sasha realised she did not know where the Shereldin Star was.

  Patachi Maerler awoke to the realisation that he was not alone in his chambers. A silver blade reached nearly to the tip of his chin, gleaming in the dim light from beyond the high chamber windows. The hand about the hilt was gloved in black. Above a silken handkerchief, emerald eyes shone bright in the darkness.

  At first, Alron Maerler thought he must be dreaming. These were the things of nightmares, the ghost stories about the demons of Saalshen and their ability to walk through walls. Alron knew the defences of Maerler House, and knew that it was impossible for any intruder to sneak through with nary a sound. And yet, here she was.

  Alron's sleep vanished in a rush of frigh
t.

  “M'Lady Rhillian,” Alron ventured. “You look displeased.” From his side came a soft stirring.

  “If she screams, you die,” said the serrin, cold and hard. The girl in Alron's bed turned over, blinking sleepily from beneath the covers…and her eyes widened. Alron's hand clamped hard over her mouth, stifling the scream.

  “Do not speak, do not move, do not think,” Alron told her firmly. “Understand?” The girl only stared. “Understand!” Finally a terrified nod. Alron removed his hand slowly and propped himself on his pillow as the sword retreated a fraction. Some fools refused even now to recognise the martial skills of serrin women.

  He stroked his long, brown hair back into place and made a smile at the demon-lady. It had worked so often before on ladies of all kinds. This particular demon-lady had seemed somewhat affected on previous visits. He saw no reason why he could not reverse this situation also.

  “M'Lady Rhillian,” he said, fluffing a lacy sleeve cuff languidly. “An unexpected pleasure. Pray tell me, what takes your fancy on this lovely evening?”

  “You betrayed me,” she said. From her posture, and the angle of her sword, it seemed to Alron Maerler that this one would be a little more difficult to charm than most.

  “Betrayed?” He gave her an astonished, hurt look. “Surely not. We had an arrangement of convenience, dear lady, nothing more.” The blade moved; a slow, deliberate shift of weight. At Alron's side, the girl whimpered. “Quiet, fool,” he told her. She was the daughter of a cousin of Patachi Haldera, nothing of great significance. And now it was her misfortune to hear everything that was about to be said. Such words could not be allowed to spread. Surely Cousin Taberi could think of a…quiet solution. Delicate, unlike the head-chopping heathens of the north slope. A drop of silverleaf in the soup, perhaps. Or a nasty fall down the stairs.