“Oh, dear,” Dr. Walt exclaimed. “Well, we will talk about that in a moment. First, I would like to know what happened with Sam.”
Nalia stepped forward. “He tried to save me. While I was fighting, an archer hiding in the shadows was preparing to shoot at me. Sam snuck up on him and stopped him. The archer hit him with his bow stave just before I got there to kill him.”
Dr. Walt looked at Sam. “That was a very brave thing to do, Sam.”
Sam blushed and then winced in pain. “I didn’t do a very good job of it. Instead of helping, Nalia ended up having to save me.”
Nalia tilted her head and looked at Sam. “You could not have known that a single archer poses no threat to me. You put yourself at risk when it seemed to you that I was in danger. Thank you.”
Sam looked awkward, averting his eyes to the ground. He softly said, “You’re welcome.”
Dr. Walt looked Rindu up and down, and then did the same with Nalia, who was also covered in blood. With her, though, it wasn’t as evident because of the dark clothes she wore. “Are either of you injured?” he asked them.
Rindu shook his head. Nalia said: “No, but I have a small cut in my sleeping clothes. I do not think I will be able to wash out the blood stains either, so my favorite sleeping clothes are ruined.”
“Good, good.” Dr. Walt said absently and then started. “I mean, it’s good that you’re not injured, not that your clothes are ruined. Of course, it is unfortunate that your clothes will be sacrificed. I’m just glad no one is seriously injured.”
Looking thoughtful for a moment, he looked at the three, each in turn, and at Skitter, who, Dr. Walt just realized, had been curled up below Sam’s bed the whole time. “We have some decisions to make. This place is no longer safe. We can find a new place in which we can prepare for what we eventually need to do to get Sam home, or we can start on our way to the Gray Fortress. What do you think?”
Rindu answered immediately. “I will do as Sam says. His is the most immediate necessity.”
“Skitter says he’s with me and that it’s my decision.” Sam said, closing his eyes as if his head was throbbing again.
After waiting for Sam to continue, but realizing he wouldn’t, Nalia stood straight, squared her shoulders, and said, “I have been wrong to doubt Sam’s intentions. I have behaved in a manner unbefitting a Sapsyr and would make amends.” Turning to Sam, she continued: “Sam, I will abide by your decision and will do my best to repay you for your selfless act in trying to protect me.”
Dr. Walt added quickly, “It’s your decision, Sam. I will aid you in any way I can. As Rindu says, your need is the most urgent.”
Sam opened his gray eyes, watery in the lamplight. “I can’t be the one to make the decision. I’m the least of us. I couldn’t even hold my own against one man that I surprised. I don’t have the knowledge and wisdom to make decisions for all of us. It’s too much responsibility. I don’t know what to do.”
Rindu put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It is a great responsibility, Sam, but you are up to it. You are much more than you believe. ‘A man does not know his capabilities until he is locked in the privy.’”
Sam looked blankly at Rindu. “Again with the privy? Maybe it’s just a language thing, but I find your sayings to be…awkward.” Dr. Walt fidgeted and Nalia shifted her head away from her father as if she was averting her gaze. From the look on Sam’s face, Dr. Walt saw that he realized that it wasn’t just a language thing. “But I understand the concept. There is an old proverb on Earth: ‘calm seas do not make skillful sailors.’ I think it’s the same idea. Adversity brings out talents and skills we otherwise would not display.”
Rindu looked thoughtful, taking a mental note of the saying. Sam put his hand to his mouth to hide his slight smile, and then winced again.
Sam looked to Dr. Walt. “What kind of journey are we talking about if we choose to go now?”
“Remember how we discussed the ley lines and vortices that occur when the lines of power meet? Well, the Gray Fortress is built upon a very strong vortex. It is approximately the same location as Seattle on Telani.”
“Seattle?” Sam exclaimed. “That’s nearly 1200 miles from here. It would take us months to get there, even with horses.”
“There are no horses here, I’m afraid,” Dr. Walt said. “Though there is another way. We’ll talk about that later, though. Suffice it to say, it will probably take us two months to get there.”
Sam’s face became blank, a look Dr. Walt recognized as meaning he was communicating with Skitter. Of course he would ask his friend. He was uncomfortable with making decisions about unfamiliar things. Everyone patiently waited.
Finally, Sam blinked, looked up at Dr. Walt, then, Rindu, then Nalia. Softly, he said: “Let’s go. Two months is a long time, and the sooner we start, the better.”
There seemed to be a collective sigh, which was broken by Rindu’s voice. “Yes, ‘A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single footstep.’”
Sam looked at the Zouy with surprise. Rindu noticed, shrugged his shoulders, and confessed, “Ok, Dr. Walt told me that one. He said it was popular in your world.”
Chuckling to himself, Dr. Walt pulled out some crude maps and they started to plan.
Chapter 16
Ix had been summoned to the Gray Man’s personal study. The jittery messenger, dressed in his dark gray, almost black, uniform stood impatiently as the assassin took her time in giving him the response he awaited. Looking at the man, she wondered how long he would last.
The Gray Man never lost his temper, but failure could be serious. His power was such that, although he didn’t believe in wasting resources, he could, and did, kill in the blink of an eye. If one proved a liability, failing in some key way, it was not unknown for the Gray Man to instantly and effortlessly kill the offender where he or she stood. Thus, many of the messengers and soldiers who remained close to their leader gradually got more and more nervous until they were unable to fulfill their assignments, bumbling and paralyzed with fear. Truth be told, he very rarely killed anyone in that manner, but stories of the few were rampant. And exaggerated. Wildly. The jittery man would probably be reassigned somewhere not quite so near his leader, but Ix was sure the messenger thought he would be the next story of a man dropping dead, the result of the Gray Man bursting his heart with a thought.
There was no use in tormenting the man. “I will be along in just a moment. You can go back and let the master know.”
Nodding to her and snapping to attention to salute her formally, fist thumping the center of his chest, he turned on his heels and hurried off.
Ix turned to the small table on which her figurines sat and then glanced in the mirror. Jet black hair, cut short for ease of handling, and so it didn’t get in the way during her work, covered her head. She had brown eyes, tilted slightly and maybe just a little too narrow and long to fit in well with people here in the West. Her small flat nose sat in the middle of her face, as if daring anyone to mention it. She was not remarkable, either in beauty or in ugliness, which was good. Being remarkable was not an asset in her line of work.
She was small, lithe, barely over five feet tall. Most women here in the West were several inches taller, with the men being closer to six feet tall on average. Some, like Shordan Drees, were much taller. He was almost seven feet tall. It was a trade-off, though. Her height, at times, was a benefit and at others it was a detriment. The same could be said of any height, she supposed. It was what it was. She used the tools she had.
Being a master assassin, she could change almost everything else about her appearance. She could be just shy of beautiful or she could be hideously ugly. She could be fat or slim, walk with any number of gaits, be any number of people. She had even posed for long periods of time as a man. Several times, in fact.
Though she could change her appearance, her natural looks were perfect for her profession. She was not too beautiful so as to draw attention, but not so ugly that she was m
emorable.
Shaking her short black hair and running her fingers through it, she checked her clothing. She wore her normal work garb: loose black pants and a tunic to match, covering her firm, athlete’s body. She patted herself to ensure her weapons were sheathed and seated securely. Knives were strapped to her calves and on her forearms. She bunched her shoulder blades together to feel the sheathed throwing knives in the center of her back. She felt the ring daggers secured on both thighs, the only weapons she typically did not conceal unless she was playing a role. They were distinctive, but it was a matter of pride to use her clan weapons.
Nodding, she placed her figurines in their storage box. They were the only things in the world that mattered to her. Other than her weapons, of course. Her weapons, the finest available, could be replaced, however, all but the ring daggers. The figurines had belonged to her brother. Picturing his child’s face, she closed the lid on the box and left the room to heed the summons. The Gray Man did not tolerate being kept waiting.
The dark gray stone radiated cold through her thin, soft-soled shoes. The drafts that circulated through the corridors made the wall torches flicker and raised goose bumps on her arm, though she wore long sleeves. She hardly noticed, being occupied in wondering why the Gray Man had summoned her, if he had a job for her. It was definitely not for her sparkling conversation, she thought.
Ix had only been back a week since the last assignment, but that was fine. She had nothing else to do. Her work was all. When she was not actually working, she was training to do her work better. That was the way when you were the best. The last young hero trying to make a name for himself by killing the master assassin Ix had been years ago. There would be others. It was a hazard of the kind of fame she possessed, but there was something to be said for doing a job well, doing it perfectly. She strove to become better and better. What else was there? Nothing. Not for her.
Her ears pricked at a sound a good three corridors before she saw the source of it. Clomping his way down the hall was Shordan Drees, the Gray Man’s Head of Forces. The man was a mountain of muscle. It seemed to her that he was at least twice as tall as she was, but truthfully, she was at a level where she could stare right into his solar plexus, a useful thing when he got a little arrogant. He wore a thick leather tunic over leather pants, which were in turn tucked into very sturdy leather boots. He must have been lounging when he got the summons or he would be in the normal chain mail armor that he wore when at the fortress. When outside the fortress, he normally wore banded mail or plate mail.
From the top of his short brown hair to the end of his scruffy, wire-whisker covered jaw, he looked as if he’d been chiseled out of a hunk of rock. Chiseled badly. By a talentless artist. Or a child. A brain-damaged child. His nose was bulbous and crooked from repeated breakings, one of which she was responsible for. His wide mouth split into a cavernous hole as he smiled at her with his crooked teeth. His tiny brown, piggy eyes, stared out at her, though maybe they just seemed small because the rest of him was so massive. He raised one mammoth arm in greeting. It was bigger than most men’s legs, straining the leather as he moved that tree trunk arm of his.
“Hi Ix. I see Gray has summoned you too” he boomed.
“Obviously.”
He chuckled. “Well, then, we’ll go together.”
“Seems that way, doesn’t it.”
They made a strange pair. The assassin, light on her feet, making no noise at all and the walking boulder, stomping and crashing down the hallway. Ix took the opportunity to cast sidelong glances at him to see how he was armed this evening. Five, no six, large weapons were strapped to various parts of his body. She was sure there were a few smaller ones hidden somewhere in his clothing, too. No, maybe only one or two. Shordan Drees was not much for subtlety. Crush and smash, then ask questions later. That was Shordan.
The unlikely duo arrived at the door to the Gray Man’s study. Ix waved her arm nonchalantly toward the door. “After you,” she said. Shordan swung a meaty hand at the iron-bound wood. It sounded like a mallet hitting a tree.
“Come in, Shordan” the voice said from the other side of the door. It was unmistakably the Gray Man’s voice. Even through the thick wood door, she could hear its rich tones, its resonance. It caused her insides to vibrate slightly. Was that just her, because of her unique affinity for vibrational energy, or did others feel it, too? She would have to ask Shordan sometime.
The pair entered the study. As she was able to maneuver around Shordan’s bulk, she saw that the Gray Man was not alone. One of his Collectors was with him, standing as if he was in pain. Yes, from his body posture, Ix could see that he had injuries on his left leg, left upper arm, and right shoulder, as well as some other minor injuries to his left side. His face still retained bruises, though it was obvious from their fading that the injuries had occurred some time ago. The man did his best to stand straight, at attention, but Ix had made a profession of noticing the small details. Details were life…or death.
She shifted her attention to the Gray Man and saw him staring at her. The light from the braziers set around the room reflected off his pale bald pate. Completely hairless, his pasty gray-white skin shone in the flickering light.
At first, if one was to see the Gray Man in dim light, he would look like anyone else, perhaps with just a little less color. He could be just a pale man with a rounded face, soft chin, narrow nose, and average mouth. In fact, he would be totally unremarkable. Until the observer reached his eyes.
His eyes were gray, the color of charred meat, darker than any gray eyes Ix had ever seen. The most distinguishing feature of his eyes, though, was not the color. It was not even the intensity of the gaze when the eyes locked onto something. No, the frightening part of the Gray Man’s eyes were that the pupils and the iris were ringed completely in a blood red band. The entire sclera was as red as if the eye was bleeding internally and filling with blood.
The Gray Man blinked slowly and then turned those eyes on Shordan. What had he seen in her? Why did he stare? It seemed to her that he was announcing to her that he saw her thoughts, saw that she noticed the injuries on the man. He wanted her to take note that he was observant, too, that he didn’t miss any detail.
Shordan blithely carried on as if the man in front of the Gray Man was not important. “So, my lord, what service can we provide for you this evening?”
Steepling his fingers in front of his lips as he sat in a cushioned, ladder back chair, he glanced at the Collector and said, “This is Drewit Chandra, one of my Collectors in the regions to the far south. Drewit, tell these two what you told me.”
Bowing awkwardly because of his injuries, Drewit stood up straighter, saluted, fist to heart, and said: “Yes, my lord.” Turning to Ix and Shordan, he began.
“I and my group of Collectors, the fourteenth Unit, were following up on some rumors of a camp of some sort that was deep in the Rangi Forest. Our best trackers had scouted the area and found that the rumors were true. There was a large compound that consisted of many buildings. We believed that it was the one we had been looking for, the outworld scholar who is our highest priority.
“We watched the camp from a distance for a week and counted the total number of people there to be thirteen. We had forty-eight Collectors, all of whom came to ensure we could capture the scholar without trouble. We infiltrated the compound late at night when everyone was asleep. The three men keeping watch were dispatched without sound or complication and the force moved into place.
“Before we got to the main building to capture the scholar, though, two…uh…people…attacked us.”
Shordan Drees interrupted. “Are you telling me that two of the ten remaining people attacked a force of almost fifty Collectors? Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
The Collector blanched. “Yes sir. I remember thinking it was suicidal to do so. Nonetheless, the two, a man and a woman, attacked us. I was ten paces away from the men who were attacked first by the woman. It was dark, but she appear
ed to be wearing underclothes and, yes, it was definitely a woman. I watched as in less than two breaths, she had killed four armed Collectors who were attacking her simultaneously.
“I saw only flashes of the man fighting because I was focused on trying to go after the woman, her being closer to where I was. As I rushed forward to attack, the head of one of the men she had just killed hit me in the face with such force that it broke my nose.” Drewit touched his nose absently, gingerly.
“After a few seconds of trying to clear my vision from my watering eyes and the blood splatter, I charged once again. As the woman spun one of our knife experts, the errant blades slashed me in the leg and side. Then, the knife expert too found herself without a head.
“Each time I attacked, I was repelled. Not by the woman or her swords, which had hooks on one end and a cruel razor-sharp point on the other with a crescent guarding her hands, but by other Collectors who were closer to her than I. I suffered a few more minor injuries and was knocked to the ground as she kicked another Collector so hard that the man flew through the air, landing on me.
“Looking around as I got up for the last time, I saw the futility of the effort. There was a bare handful of Collectors left, and they were being rapidly slaughtered by the pair. I decided that this must be reported and that if I stayed, it would serve no purpose, so I fled. I obtained the three manu birds from our camp and rode them nonstop to arrive here as quickly as I could. All three died from the journey and I made the last ten miles on foot.” He looked toward the ground, abashed at the confession.
Harmonic Magic Series Boxed Set Page 12