Sunset warrior, p.18
Sunset Warrior, page 18
‘There was no—’
‘Silence!’ the Salamander roared. His face was coloured by rage. His enormous bulk loomed over Ronin, the threat of death. ‘Do not presume,’ he said quietly, icily, ‘to tell me what I already know.’ He bent forward and Ronin felt Voss very close at his side and slightly behind him, out of his peripheral vision. ‘I should have seen it; you lacked the initiative. It all came so easily to you, you never regarded the mental processes as important. That was a mistake; a fatal mistake.’ The stygian eyes were glittery and fever-bright as they stared at Ronin. ‘Now Voss has initiative. He—eliminated two other Students of mine in order to ensure his position as Chondrin.’ He laughed, a short strange sound. ‘I would not trade him for you. What conceit!’ He stood up and looked past Ronin’s head for a moment before his eyes returned. ‘Now we shall see how long it takes for you to tell me what I want to know.’ He signalled to Voss. ‘Bring the—’
At that moment the door to the hallway was thrown open and a Bladesman came hurriedly in. The Salamander looked up.
‘The Magic Man,’ the Bladesman said, ‘has escaped from Security.’
The Salamander’s eyes flicked again behind Ronin, and he heard a slight movement. ‘Oh, that fool!’ He looked at Voss and threw him the gauntlet. ‘You know what to do.’ He whirled and followed the man from the room.
‘On your feet,’ Voss said coldly. He tucked the gauntlet into his leather belt.
He got up and they went out the way they had come in. Six men were in the outer room, two guarding the double doors to the Corridor, and Ronin thought, In that Freidal told the truth: it has begun.
They went out through the doors and Voss prodded him to the right, down the Corridor. He heard a distant clamour, the pounding of boots, the clang of metal, intermittent shouts. He felt the tip of Voss’s dagger at his back.
‘Where are we headed?’ Ronin asked.
‘You do not expect an answer to that.’
Ronin shrugged.
‘How could you have done it?’
Ronin turned his neck, felt the bite of the iron tip. ‘What?’
‘Gone away from him.’
‘I am what I am.’
‘Huh! He is right, you are a fool! Did you not realize that you were bound to him?’
Ronin said nothing.
‘You had a moral obligation—’
And he almost missed it. The sliver of shadow along the wall ahead of them, around the arc of the Corridor, so that he did not think that Voss had seen it. He kept his pace steady, and thought, Any diversion must be used; he is most vulnerable here in the Corridor. Once we get to a destination, there will be little chance. He thought then of the whirring in the air, angry and hot, cutting through the sounds of the birds, the accuracy of Voss’s throws.
A man was in front of them, and Voss still had not seen the small slice of shadow. He must be pressed against the wall, Ronin thought.
‘You owe him your life,’ Voss said. ‘Including your loyalty.’
The figure came out from the wall and Ronin dropped, rolling to the right, across the Corridor, came up with right arm extended to ward off the expected dagger blow. But Voss was not even looking in his direction. He stood facing the figure, his face registering shock.
And Ronin felt the adrenalin pumping. Nirren! Nirren stood before Voss, bright sword unsheathed, held before him.
Voss unfroze. ‘What are you doing so far Upshaft?’
Nirren grinned, his mouth a tight line. ‘Where were you taking Ronin?’
‘That is no business of yours. Out of the way!’
‘And if he chooses not to accompany you?’
‘The choice is not his to make.’
‘I say it is.’
Voss’s hands became a blur and simultaneously Nirren lunged like a dancer, extending his front leg very low. The sword shot out as the air hummed. Voss’s face held a measure of surprise. His eyes were still looking at the jewel-hilted dagger lodged head-high in the far wall as the blade pierced his chest. He stood that way for a moment, his blood running hotly along Nirren’s blade. Then his right hand twitched once and, as Nirren withdrew the sword, he crumpled over as if he were made of fabric.
Nirren touched the face with the toe of his boot, the head turned slackly. He swung to face Ronin and grinned. ‘It is too bad. I would have enjoyed seeing you take him.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, where have you been? And G’fand’s gone missing.’
Ronin went across the Corridor, took his weapons from Voss’s corpse. He pulled the gauntlet free from the other’s belt. ‘I have been on a journey Downshaft, for the Magic Man—’
‘Then you got through to him!’
‘Yes, and I have much to tell you,’ Ronin said, strapping on his scabbard. They moved towards a nearby Stairwell. ‘But first I must find the Magic Man. He has escaped from Freidal.’
Nirren nodded. ‘All right. I am in the midst of following that Rodent. At last I believe I know who it is, fantastic though it may seem—’
Ronin cut him off. ‘Listen, fantastic is the word for what I have learned. The Magic Man is correct; we are not alone on this planet—’
‘What?’
They both caught the flash at once, but the thing was already in the air. Nirren’s jaws swung wide and he threw his hands up in a vain reflexive motion. A gout of blood erupted along his neck. He staggered back and fell clumsily to the floor.
Ronin raced into the Stairwell but the commotion of running feet and raised voices echoing in the Stairwell made it impossible to tell which way the assailant had fled.
He ran back into the Corridor and knelt beside Nirren. The front of his jerkin was soaked in blood. He ripped off a length of the Chondrin’s shirt, withdrew the dagger at his neck, his fingers cold on the jewelled hilt. He put the fabric against the wound. White cloth stained red.
Nirren’s eyes were still clear and bright with intelligence. Ronin expected him to ask about the Magic Man’s project. Instead he said, ‘What happened to G’fand? You know.’
There was pain in Ronin’s eyes. ‘I took him with me. I thought he would be of help with his knowledge of the glyphs.’
‘And was he?’ The breathing was laboured as the body struggled with the shock.
‘Yes.’ Ronin looked into his eyes. ‘He was killed. He—’
Nirren’s body trembled. The cloth at his neck was entirely crimson now. He gripped Ronin’s arms and a sadness that Ronin could not understand danced behind his eyes. ‘The Rodent,’ he managed to get out with difficulty. ‘I am sure now, the dagger, go Upshaft, after—’ His head fell and Ronin held it. ‘Last time, follow Up—’ He tried to laugh then, choked instead. The light in his eyes was fading; they were opaque, like stones. ‘Just thinking—team—what a team.’ His eyes closed as if from fatigue. ‘All gone now—Ronin, I am sorry.’ Then the blood, which he had been holding back with a last effort, came out of his mouth.
Up and up and up. The darkness rushing by and the clamour from below fading, but it was as if a strong wind rushed in his ears and he heard Nirren sighing again, All gone now, and knew it was true. The world had collapsed and he was adrift in the dark, directionless. But his legs did not understand. They pumped strongly, up the Stairwell. Follow Upward, Nirren had asked, and he would do it now, and he felt the burning within him, the hate growing and pulsing, fed from the secret fires of many events. Surely it was the Rodent who had slain Nirren, for he had been on his trail and had been very close. Closer than he knew. His lungs worked as he raced through the Levels of the Freehold. Upward, ever upward. Once he stared down at his hands, saw with some surprise that he had slipped on the silvered gauntlet and that he clutched the dagger that had killed the Chondrin. Jewels on the hilt? And then Borros came into his mind. Escaped and gone where? Upshaft surely.
He climbed the stairs as far as they would take him. He emerged into a bright Corridor painted a brilliant yellow. Dust lay thickly along the floor, clung to the walls. He looked down. Bootprints in the dust, confused, but certainly more than one pair.
He sprinted down the Corridor and gradually the colour of the walls deepened. There were no doors. On he ran, the hate a living thing within him now. Existence narrowed.
And the Corridor ended. Here near the summit of the Freehold, the Corridor did not describe a complete circle. He faced the black bulge of a Lift’s doors. He stabbed at the black sphere and the doors yawned. He stepped inside. Up, ever up. There was one sphere and he pressed it. He ascended. Eyes like stones. Ronin, I am sorry, he said. What had he meant? I am the one who is sorry, Nirren. But death comes and there is no way to stop—
The Lift sighed to a halt and the doors opened. Above him the surface of the planet, so near. Perhaps just steps away? He went into the room before him. It was an ellipse, painted red. In the centre was a black platform from which a metal ladder ran vertically into a round section cut out of the ceiling. Low doors in the solid platform were open, and he saw what looked like neat piles of clothing. One stack had been tipped over. And the thought grew in his mind. Borros—
A tiny whistle in the air, like a tickle at his ear. He drew his sword and spun. The dagger was in his belt. A sword drove into his, scraping down the length of the blade, smashed into the hilt. Slight, deceptive twisting of his wrist and disengagement was accomplished.
He looked at his opponent and a shock ran through him. Blood pounded in his temples and for a split second the scene before him seemed to blur.
She stood before him, in leggings and jerkin of a soft tan colour. Across her chest ran a thin leather strap to which was attached a red leather scabbard that hung between her breasts.
She stood before him in the oblique combat position, legs apart, knees bent, leading with her shoulder to present a narrower target. Her pale hands gripped a sword the same length as Ronin’s. The black torrent of her hair was held back from her face by a plain gold band. It had the appearance of a helm.
She stood before him, small beads of sweat glinting at her hairline. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, the pupils contracted so that they seemed to be all iris. She smiled and it was like the coming of the frost. Her white teeth gleamed, small and even. She looked quite deadly.
‘K’reen,’ he breathed.
She laughed sharply, a bitter sound. ‘How I have waited to see you at this moment!’ she said in a tight voice. She swung at him and he parried solely by instinct. He felt as if the floor had suddenly become molten. He was sinking into it. He could not move. He could not take his eyes from her. She circled him, and they moved out on to the floor, like slow dancers moving to metalled music. She struck again and he parried.
‘A Bladesman,’ he said softly. ‘Can it be?’
‘Come,’ she said thickly. ‘Come and find out.’ She slashed again and again at him, drawing him out, and her eyes flashed coldly, triumphantly as he moved towards her.
He stared at her and realization suddenly flooded him. Because now she was not beautiful or pretty or any of the other words he would normally associate with her. She was naked to him now, stripped of the layers of femininity. She was at once more and less than she once was, pared and honed and transformed.
She was elemental.
Metal rang against metal in the small oval.
‘Here is what I really am!’ she said savagely. ‘Not what you made me out to be. The Salamander saw the potential in me—to be a Bladesman. He was not afraid to reject Tradition. Years we worked in secret, lest the other Saardin suspect and forbid it.’
They moved around the oval, she advancing, he retreating. She struck at him continuously, testing, probing.
‘Why?’ asked Ronin. ‘Why did he train you?’
She smiled coldly. ‘Part of the gathering of power.’ Then she sneered. ‘Something you would know nothing about.’
But it was not right, somehow, and he heard the Salamander saying, A reason behind it all. But there was no time; she swept it away. ‘You could have been his Chondrin!’ she hissed, striking at him. ‘You would have been with him when I came. He would have put us together, and then we could have had everything!’
There was an odd sensation inside him, and he looked at the feral glow in her eyes, the sweat running down her cheeks, her heaving breasts. And he saw what he had not wanted to see before: the jewel-hilted dagger between her breasts. And his gaze moved, as if of its own accord, to her flank, to the scabbard hanging empty there.
‘It was you,’ he whispered. ‘The Rodent. You killed Nirren. Why? He was our friend.’
She shook her head. ‘The enemy,’ she said deliberately. ‘He was the enemy. Just as you are now the enemy—’
‘But this makes no sense—’
‘You turned your back on him. After he taught you and trained you, you would not serve him. You would not aid him now.’
Still he retreated under her blows. ‘I serve no one,’ he said softly. ‘It is the only fact of which I am certain.’ Then, as if suddenly realizing what she had said: ‘You were in the room, behind me!’
‘Yes!’ she hissed. ‘Ready to embrace you, if you joined us.’ She swung at him. ‘He gave you a chance to amend your insult. You mocked him instead.’
Where was the woman he had known? Whence had she fled? Could she have felt any fondness towards him? But the emotions he knew, when they had been there, had been genuine. He recognized the fault within himself. Surely he could have seen this side of her, had he only looked. But he had turned from her too many times, and this, he knew, as much as her training, as much as the purpose set for her by the Salamander, was the cause of this confrontation.’
‘But Nirren—’
‘He delayed me,’ she cut in. ‘I had not expected him to be so close.’ He wiped the sweat from his forehead, stood his ground. Sparks flew from the meeting of their weapons. ‘The delay cost me,’ she said bitterly. ‘The old man was faster than I had imagined. I missed him by seconds.’
‘You mean Borros is on the surface?’
‘What is that to you? He will be dead soon enough, frozen and buried under the snow.’
But part of him exulted and he knew now what he must do. He shook his head. ‘You are wrong. He will live. And I will follow him.’ And he thought, But she is Nirren’s killer. In friendship he asked for revenge. I serve no one. Sweat rolled along his neck, and he felt a chill. Ronin, I am sorry.
She snarled and her teeth looked like those of a small predatory animal. ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘This is your tomb.’ And she lunged at him, arching her blade with all her might, catching him off guard with the unexpectedly powerful blow, and he realized at once that he had underestimated her cunning. They locked blades, and he twisted again, moving his wrist. But she countered and the blades ground together at a peculiar angle. Her sword snapped abruptly, the released force causing his weapon to jump away. She reached between her breasts, withdrew the jewel-hiked dagger. His palm closed over the hilt of the sister blade and he held it before him. This is what she wants, he realized. She is most proficient with the smaller weapon.
They circled each other in the confined space, judging distances and the switch to lighter blades. He wished his head were clearer, but conflicting emotions darted like lightning in his mind, squirting too fast to catch.
Perhaps she saw a hint of this confusion in his eyes, and perhaps that is why she threw herself against him unexpectedly. They tumbled to the floor, locked together, hand clutching wrist, rolling over and over.
Her hot panting breath was against his face and he smelled her scent as their legs twined and their bodies heaved. They grunted and clung to each other, desperately fighting for position. He stared into her eyes. They were large and deep and liquid and he felt a stirring inside. He thought of what she had done, of what she wanted, and knew the hate was there. He fought to push down the edge of the other emotion. Her enigmatic eyes stared at him and he could not tell whether there was hate or hunger there.
Her heat and her sweat melted into him. Her long hair whipped his face. Her flesh was both hard and soft as it writhed against him. ‘I’ll kill you,’ she hissed. ‘I’ll kill you.’ Her thigh was between his legs, imprisoned. She moved it against him and her other leg came over his hip and her calf pressed his buttocks. Desire rose in him like a great feathered bird gaining the air currents. Her voice was low and thick as she said it again, ‘I want to kill you.’ But it was almost a moan. Their bodies ground together. He was aware of the press of her breasts against his chest.
Something slammed into the back of his head and a red film clouded his vision as pain lanced through him. He had fetched up hard against the platform at the centre of the oval. Dazed, he still clung tenaciously to her wrist, but using all her strength she wrenched it away from him and the honed blade of the dagger seemed to pulse in the light.
She was panting through her open mouth, the lips pulled back from the pearl teeth, and her thighs gripped him convulsively as she rocked hard against him. He wanted to lie back and embrace her. He shook his head but it would not clear. She began to shudder. ‘Kill you,’ she choked. ‘Kill you.’ And with an effort she stopped her eyes from closing. She gripped the dagger, knuckles as white as bone, and she moaned a little as she drove the blade point first towards his throat. Her pelvis ground against him in waves and he looked up to see that her eyes were wet. He saw dimly the terrible flash of light along the moving blade and wondered that he still felt the power of her groin moving against him. He felt suffocated by a great heat and instinctively he put up his hand. As Nirren did; vainly, he thought.
The point of the blade caught his palm. It was his gauntleted hand. The honed tip hit the scales, skidded off harmlessly. Within, his hand never even felt the force of the blow. He shook his head again, and grasped the obliquely moving blade, trying desperately to hold it. But she had both hands on the hilt now and she had the leverage and he had none and she began to force the gleaming point back at him. The cutting edge creased his throat, broke the skin. Blood welled up. But his left hand was free now and it scrabbled along the floor at his side until he found the hilt of the dagger he had dropped. And it was all reflexive now, no thought involved at all. He brought it up very quickly between their bodies, the blade quivering at his throat now, and buried it hilt-deep in her stomach.
