Beka scanned the platform for someone who looked important enough to be Grand Admiral sus-Airaalin, architect of the Republic’s destruction. He wasn’t obvious. The most sinister thing in the whole place was a group of Mages in black robes and masks—not that Mages weren’t worrisome, but these weren’t doing anything, any more than the pair at the door had been.
A soft voice from beside her interrupted her thoughts. “My lady Domina Beka Rosselin of Entibor? I am Grand Admiral sus-Airaalin. At your service and your family’s.”
Beka turned. The man who had addressed her wore the same sort of brown uniform as most of the others on this ship. She supposed that if she could read the insignia on his collar she’d be impressed. Far more impressive, however, was the black-and-silver staff that hung by a clip from his belt.
I won’t get any closer than this, she thought.
Pulling her blaster from its holster, she fired three full-power bolts in quick succession, straight at the Grand Admiral. None of them seemed to have any effect. With a cry of frustration she threw the blaster at his head and launched herself at him, dagger in hand.
He was fast—as fast as the Prof had been. The short staff was in his hand, and a moment later she was on her back on the deck, with her dagger gone and her wrist stinging.
The Grand Admiral stood looking down at her. “Your pardon, my lady, for the indignity. Please be assured, I hold you in as high regard as before.”
“Damnation,” Beka said, rolling to her feet. Mid-Commander Taleion handed her back her dagger, grip first, and her blaster as well a moment later. She sheathed the blade and, as always, checked the charge and safety on the blaster before holstering it. The thing showed normal readouts, the charge almost full.
“Damnation,” Beka repeated. “My lord Grand Admiral, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is mine,” sus-Airaalin said. “Believe me, my lady, though you are my prisoner, I desire nothing from you that you cannot in all honor perform. When all is said and done, we both seek a just and lasting peace.”
“If you want peace, why not take your whole damned fleet back the way you came?”
“It’s too late for that, my lady. All our reward for staying on our side of the Gap Between was slavery and destruction.”
“So you decided to come over here and spread the happiness around. Never mind—for reasons of your own, you went to a lot of trouble to find and capture me. Why?”
“As I said, for peace.”
“And that’s why you had my mother killed, and why you had assassins tracking me and my brothers all over the galaxy?”
sus-Airaalin shook his head with what looked oddly like genuine puzzlement. “I fear that the assassins you allude to were none of my doing. More likely, they proceeded from the machinations of other groups within the Resurgency, factions which saw only a military solution to our woes. My own hopes were … otherwise … but when that hope ended—there’s a saying on Eraasi, that once blood has covered your boot tops you might as well wade in it up to your neck.”
He bowed briefly to Beka. “We shall speak again. My apologies for leaving you so abruptly, but I have a battle to conduct. And while we stand here talking, the peace we both pursue has run a little way farther off.”
Grand Admiral sus-Airaalin turned his back on the young Domina and walked steadily out of the observation room, Mid-Commander Taleion following a pace or so behind. As the door slid closed behind them, sus-Airaalin collapsed heavily against the nearest bulkhead. Through a haze of pain, he heard Taleion calling for a physician.
“That was foolish of you, my lord,” Taleion said. “I told you when Lisaiet made contact that the woman was dangerous and shouldn’t be allowed to go armed.”
“And I told you it was necessary,” sus-Airaalin said. “She is important to the weave of the future. I have willed it.”
Gritting his teeth, he fumbled at the fasteners of his tunic and pulled it partway open, revealing the edges of a piece of blast armor. One of the hits had partially penetrated. The other had just missed the edge of the plate, and an ugly burn marred the Grand Admiral’s shoulder.
The Sword’s chief physician arrived at a run. When she saw the burn, she pulled open her emergency pack and began swabbing the open flesh.
“Good thing the prisoner didn’t try for a head shot,” she remarked. “Get yourself killed, my lord, and what will all the rest of us do?”
“The prisoner did try,” sus-Airaalin said. He gasped as the antiseptic bit into the open wound. “She’s a strong-minded one, and a luck-maker on top of it. I barely managed to deflect her aim and still present a convincing illusion afterward.”
“Thank your own luck, then,” the physician said. She reached into her pack again. “There’s nothing wrong with you that a bit of eibriyu can’t cure. But next time be careful, would you?”
“The time for being careful is over, I think.” sus-Airaalin felt the synthetic tissue going onto the burn—first a cool sensation, easing the pain, then a pleasant warmth. A night’s rest and the burn would be gone without a scar; but for the next few hours, while the undifferentiated tissue conformed to his own body and took on purpose, he would be vulnerable.
So be it, he thought. If the Circle needs a death for this battle, let it be mine.
More hasty footsteps in the passageway heralded the arrival of one of the Sword’s troopers, a runner from the flagship’s Combat Information Center. “The Adept-worlders have changed their tactics, my lord, and appear to have new units available. The watch officer tells me that he suspects them of bringing in a new commander, one far more competent than the last. Your presence is requested.”
“Tell Captain syn-Athekh that I trust his judgment,” sus-Airaalin said. “We are approaching the crisis, and our Circles need me more. I will be in the meditation room, working to bring luck for the fleet.”
The physician was finished with her work; sus-Airaalin refastened his tunic and turned to Mid-Commander Taleion. “Mael, escort the Domina back to her quarters, then join me.”
Owen had been right as usual, Klea reflected. When the Mage battleship dropped out of hyperspace, a squadron of fighters issued from the docking bay like mud-hornets from the bank of an irrigation ditch. In all the haste and activity, nobody seemed to notice a pair of Adepts in pressure-suits entering through the open doors.
The Adepts in the holovids used to turn themselves invisible all the time, she thought. Maybe if I’d believed in it then I wouldn’t be scared now.
The bay was huge, divided with force fields into pressurized sections. It still contained a squadron or more of empty fighter craft awaiting refueling or repair. In the shadow of one such, Owen and Klea shed their p-suits and retrieved their staves from the carrying clips.
“Somebody is going to find the suits,” Klea said. “And when they do, they’ll know they’ve got intruders on board.”
“Someone will find the suits,” agreed Owen. “A pilot who’s too busy planning her next sortie, or a maintenance tech with his hands full of gear, or a trooper who’s more worried about the sergeant than about the enemy. Maybe they’ll report it, or maybe not. If they do report it, it’ll still take a while to go up the chain of command to someone who not only knows enough to look for Adepts, but knows how to find the Adepts he’s looking for. By then we’ll be gone.”
He took his staff in hand and began strolling toward the entrance of the bay. Klea glanced about nervously and followed.
“I still don’t like it,” she said. “Why isn’t anybody pointing their fingers at us and yelling?”
“Because they aren’t looking where we happen to be walking,” Owen said. “Self-effacement is a useful talent; most Adepts come by it naturally. I’m sure you’ve met people yourself from time to time whose gaze you wished to avoid, and who somehow didn’t happen to see you.”
Klea thought back to some of the customers at Freling’s Bar. “Yes,” she said. “Thanks for reminding me. Whatever happ
ens, this is better.”
“I’m glad you still think so. In the meantime, just work on making yourself not-noticed—tell yourself nobody’s going to pick you out when they can have somebody else. It’ll work.”
“But these are Mages—”
“Not exactly. Mageworlders. The first real Mage we run into is going back with us to Warhammer.”
“If we can find it,” said Klea.
“Don’t be a pessimist. Finding the ’Hammer isn’t going to be a problem. We never got more than one bay over while we were crawling around outside on the hull.”
“What makes you so certain we can find a Mage without getting lost ourselves?”
“A feeling,” said Owen. “A familiar pattern in the currents of the universe. One of the Mages on this ship is someone I have dealt with before.”
They had reached the door of the bay by now, and passed through it into a narrow, white-painted passageway. Not far beyond, the passage came to a four-way branch. Ladders ran up and down from the intersection, leading to what Klea supposed were other decks in the huge battleship. A black-clad figure stepped out from around the left-hand turning: a small, dark-skinned woman who carried a mask in one hand and wore a black-and-silver staff at her belt.
“Hello, Owen,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Llannat Hyfid,” Owen said. “I’ve been hunting for you—though I didn’t know it. I thought I was on the track of a Mage. And it looks like I was right.”
Klea stared at both of them. “You know each other?”
“Oh, yes,” Owen said. “This is a woman I’ve met. I even helped to train her.”
“You trained Mages?”
“Apparently so,” Owen replied. Then, without taking his eyes off Llannat, he said, “Look behind you, Klea.”
She turned, and bit back an outcry that would surely have betrayed them. A giant of a man had come up behind her—big as one of the Selvaurs that she’d sometimes met back on Nammerin, with a blaster at the ready in one massive hand.
I’ve had it, she thought as she brought her staff up into the guard position. Even if he doesn’t shoot me, he’s big enough to take away my staff and use it for a toothpick if he wants to.
But the big man was putting up the blaster and bowing, as smoothly as a holovid hero. “My apologies, gentlelady. Owen, if I were you I’d speak politely to Mistress Hyfid.”
“Ari,” Owen said. He looked impatient. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’d be well advised to stay away from her. She’s a Magelord now,. or the next thing to it.”
The big man didn’t back down. “She’s also my wife, baby brother, so treat her with respect.”
Klea stared at Owen. “This is the brother you talked about back on Nammerin? How many other siblings do you have?”
“Beka and Ari are the only two I’m aware of,” Owen said. “I think you’ll agree they’re more than enough.” He turned back to the dark woman. “Now—sister-in-law—it’s time you told me what you’re doing here.”
The woman shrugged. “We were captured. The Eraasians don’t know what I am, exactly, so they’ve apparently decided to treat me as a Mage until further notice. I’ve got the freedom of the ship, at least until somebody decides to take it away from me, and when I insisted on Ari as part of the deal, nobody squawked.”
“That’s all very well,” said Owen. “The question is, which side are you on these days?”
“I haven’t broken my oath,” she said. “‘ … To seek always the greater good,’ remember? I’m still looking for it. I had a feeling I might find a piece of it down here by the docking bays, and I found you instead. What are you doing here?”
Owen laughed quietly, without much humor. “Looking for a Mage, as it happens. Beka’s here, and she needs one.”
“You mean the everlasting apprentice has found a task that he can’t perform?” said Ari. “I won’t allow you to use my wife as your tool, Owen.”
“Why don’t you let your wife tell me what she’ll do or not do?” Owen demanded. “I don’t see a sign that says ‘Keeper’ tacked to your forehead. Llannat—come with us back to Warhammer and I’ll tell you what this is all about.”
“Bee brought the ’Hammer aboard a Mage warship?” Ari asked. “I knew she was crazy, but I never thought she was that crazy—and I sure didn’t think that the Mages were crazy.”
“We got captured, same as you,” Owen said. “And I don’t think anybody’s going to give me the freedom of the ship if they happen to catch me. Let’s get moving.”
“All right,” said Llannat. She nodded toward one of the passages. “The main bay entrance is back this way. Come on.”
They started off, four together, in the direction she’d indicated. Owen spoke quietly as they walked.
“The first thing you should know is that there’s a replicant aboard Warhammer that needs wakening—‘filling,’ the technician says. The technician also says that it takes a Magelord to do that part of the work. So I told her I’d find one.”
The dark woman looked at him doubtfully. “I don’t know how to do anything like that.”
“You have a teacher,” Owen said. “Ask him.”
“Had. My teacher is dead.”
“Dead is such a relative word,” Owen replied. “We know where he is. Klea’s seen him, waiting in the Void. And our mother with him.”
“Don’t say things like that, Owen.” The big man’s voice was gentle, but the warning note in it was unmistakable. “The joke isn’t funny.”
“If there’s a joke here,” said Owen, “it’s on all of us, for thinking her truly gone and despairing accordingly. The man we called the Professor was your teacher, wasn’t he, Llannat? Before he died, he prepared a replicant body for his liege lady Perada. He’s with her now, waiting for a Mage to come and put her life into the empty body.”
Llannat Hyfid made a choking noise that might have been either laughter or disgust. “And you’re calling me a Mage! This is—is—what will Master Ransome say when he finds out what you’re planning to do?”
“He has nothing to say,” Owen said. “I am the Master of the Guild now, and my word is final.”
“Fortune save the galaxy,” muttered Ari.
“There is no fortune,” said Owen. “Only what we do for ourselves. And that’s the true cream of the joke—I don’t just need a Mage for the final stage of the replication process, I need a Mage if I’m going to find Mother at all. Because if I’m going to find her, I have to go walking in the Void.”
“I’ve been to the Void,” Llannat said. “I didn’t like it.”
“Neither did I, the little I saw of it,” Owen said. “I’ve only been brought there, never gone there on my own. But the Mages—I’ve seen them go in and out of the Void like starships dropping in and out of hyper, so I know that it can be done.”
“You want me to go back there?”
“Yes. And take me with you.”
Llannat nodded. Her eyes were dark with some emotion that Klea couldn’t identify. “I saw you in the Void once, when I was cast into it by the Mage I fought on Darvell. I saw myself, too, and a stranger with us.” She paused. “I don’t think I have any choice except to help you. If I can.”
The woman put the mask over her face. The black plastic hid any fear or uncertainty she might have been feeling. All Klea could see was the featureless, unmoving surface.
“Yes,” Llannat said. Coming from behind the mask, her voice had all its warm overtones suppressed and distorted, making Klea think suddenly of the Mages she had fought on Nammerin. “Yes. I can help you. If I look between the patterns, I can see the way clearly. We go … here.”
On the last word, both she and Owen vanished, leaving Ari and Klea alone in the passageway.
IV. WARHAMMER: CAPTURED
GYFFERAN SPACE: RSF VERATINA
THE VOID
ABOARD THE ’Hammer, Nyls Jessan was rummaging in the toys and entertainment drawer in the captain’s cabin. H
e found what he was seeking—the miniature holoprojector he’d picked up on his first visit to the asteroid base. He dug up the recording of one of his favorite plays and walked out again.
All the fighting and scheming to save the civilized galaxy had come down to looking for a way to pass the time. Somehow, though, playing cards with Ignaceu LeSoit had lost its savor when he’d learned that the former gunfighter was in fact a Mageworlds agent.
“If you’re inviting Mages to our councils we have no hope of success at all.” Owen Rosselin-Metadi had said that at the conference on Innish-Kyl—but the Adept had been looking the wrong way. So that’s why LeSoit was so nervous. Afraid someone would find him out.
Jessan walked back through the common room, pointedly ignoring the man who sat at the table shuffling and dealing himself random hands of cards. Instead the Khesatan walked over to the starboard passageway and the hatch leading to number-one cargo bay.
He climbed down the ladder into the echoing hold. The light there was harsh white, casting black shadows as featureless as space itself. The stasis box containing the replicant of Perada Rosselin was griped down against the far bulkhead—the same kind of traveling stasis box that Beka had lain in as the seemingly dead Tarnekep Portree, back on Eraasi in the last moments before the war began.
Doctor syn-Tavaite was there too, sitting on the deck beside the box, her eyes closed. She looked up when Jessan’s feet hit the deckplates.
“What’s going on up above?” she asked.
“Nothing of any importance,” Jessan said. “I grew tired of the card game and decided to watch a play instead. Would you like to join me?”
“If you wish,” syn-Tavaite said.
She didn’t sound too enthusiastic, but neither did she object. Jessan set the holoprojector beside the stasis box, aimed its projection surface into the bay, and flipped it on. He sat down beside syn-Tavaite, leaning back against the side of the box, and watched the other end of the bay vanish, replaced by a brightly lit stage. An actor in an elaborate costume of rich brocade entered from one side and began to speak.
By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3 Page 35