Ibenus (Valducan series) (30 page)

"You want me to move it?" Matt asked, dumping the laundry into a basket. "I can move her closer to the bed if you like."

"Him," Allan corrected.

Matt's helpful smile vanished, his face an unreadable blank. "It doesn't…feel right."

"I agree, but that's how Victoria sees him, so that's what he is."

"I don't care what she wants," Matt said. "She sold us out. Ibenus is yours."

"No he isn't. Not any more. He bonded to Victoria. She sees him as a he so therefore he's a he," Allan said rapidly, forcing the words before his voice could crack.

"But she doesn't deserve him."

"That's not your call. It's not mine, it's not Master Turgen's, or anyone else's but Ibenus'. He chose her and if he hadn't I'd be dead. Even if he hadn't," Allan gestured to his extended leg. "My life as a hunter is done. I can't carry him."

Matt tightened his lips and shook his head. "It's wrong."

"The weapons decide."

"I know. I mean calling Ibenus he."

"Akumanokira was a she until Luiza bonded to him. It's no different."

"That was different. Kazuo was dead. You're not."

"That doesn't matter," Allan said. "Ibenus has chosen. Victoria sees him as male. It's that simple."

Matt glared at the khopesh. "I don't like it."

"Please," Allan said. "For me. Ibenus is a
he
. It helps me…deal with it. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Matt said with a noncommittal nod. "For you."

"Thank you." That tinge of betrayal rustled in the back of Allan's mind. He eyed the bronze sword. "I have a question."

"What's that?"

"Does Dämoren ever talk to you?"

Matt blew a breath. "I'm not the best one to ask this, but yeah. She has. Ibenus talking to you?"

Allan shook his head. "No. Never with words. But sometimes I get these feelings, you know? Like, I've had it where out of nowhere I just have to blink for no reason and I end up moving out of the way of something just in time. Taking Victoria was like that. I just had a feeling and I acted on it."

Matt grunted. "No Dämoren's never warned me like that before."

"So I keep wondering why Ibenus would have told me to take Victoria on. Did he know what would happen to me? If so, why didn't Ibenus warn me?"

"Ibenus couldn't have known this was going to happen, man."

"Why not?" Allan asked.

"Because Ibenus loves you, that's why. Do you really think she…he wouldn't have warned you?"

"Maybe he knew he couldn't stop it so he chose Victoria to prepare."

Matt shook his head. "No. If Ibenus knew what was going to happen to you, he would have known about her."

"You're probably right." Allan scratched his arm. The painkillers were wearing off.
Time to beg Mal for another dose.

Matt blew a sigh, washing away the distasteful expression. "So how about some food? You hungry?"

Allan's stomach gurgled at the mention. "Very. I'd even eat Orlovski's eggs right now."

Matt laughed. "I think we can do better than that." He opened the bedroom door and began wheeling Allan toward it, when Master Turgen stepped inside and rapped lightly on the frame. Schmidt stood behind him.

"All settled?" Turgen asked.

"Fine," Allan said. "About to get some food."

"Understandable. Do you have time for a word?"

"As long as there's food involved."

"Easy enough." He looked at Matt.

"Well, then," Matt said, taking the hint. "I'll go see if Luiza needs anything." He pushed Allan out into the hall. "I'll catch you later, okay?"

"All right," Allan said.

"Is the room satisfactory?" Turgen asked as Matt left.

"It's fine." He turned up to Schmidt. "I wanted to thank you for coming for me. That was…that was incredible."

Max smiled. "No need to thank me. I would have done that for any of our knights."

"Well you did it for me, so thank you. I can't imagine how difficult that was."

"Extremely." He took the back of Allan’s chair and began slowly pushing him toward the dining room. "My body is reminding me of that. There was a time I could have done that far faster and with less…bumps along the way."

Turgen shook his head as he walked alongside them, his cane tapping the floor. "You're fortunate you didn't break anything or kill yourself attempting that."

"I wouldn't have attempted it if I didn't believe I could. As for risk, that is our business. It feels good to be earning scars again."

"Now you'll be here again, mending them."

Allan caught the image of the three of them in one of the floor to ceiling mirrors in the hall; a sad picture of lost glory.

"We'll provide you with the best doctors to help you adjust," Turgen said to Allan, his free hand gesturing as he spoke. "Physical therapy and recovery. Don't worry about any of that. I had been considering installing a lift for some time so we will go ahead with that modification if we decide to stay."

"We're leaving?" Allan asked.

"Very likely, depending on what TommyD knows and what he's capable of. Some of our more…precious items are being sent back to Chile. Luc will go with them."

"Are we sure Chile is safe?"

The old man opened his hand. "Victoria never knew where it is. So it's reasonably safe. Still, this madman has proven to be very resourceful."

Allan frowned. He liked this house. Loved it, actually. He'd designed the library and had spent countless hours hanging portraits and setting tiny tiles. His knees and back ached at the thought of doing that all again. Well, the tiling at least. Someone else would have to get portraits now.

Schmidt steered him into the dining room and set him before the table. The smell of cooking cheese and meat from the kitchen roused another grumble in Allan's stomach. Schmidt limped off through the door and Turgen filled water glasses.

He took a seat opposite Allan. "My deepest condolences, Allan. This is a terrible business."

"Thank you." He eyed the kitchen door. The old man could at least let him eat before the guilt-trip came down.

Master Turgen touched his glass, slowly rotating it like a jeweler inspecting a stone. "Wounds heal. But the loss of a weapon is more than physical." He met Allan's eyes. "I want you to know that if you need anything, anything at all, or just need to talk, Max and I are here for you. We understand."

"I will. Thank you."

Turgen sipped his water. "The bond will never go away. It merely changes, but only on the weapon's end. For us, relinquishing our control, our duty, is extremely difficult. I don't want you to feel alone."

"I won't."

The old knight leaned back into his seat. He idly twisted the ring on his little finger. "It is a misconception that hunters are immune to depression and that no hunter has ever taken their own life. However, there is a difference between suicide and giving up. Many former knights have wasted away, become dependent on alcohol or other vices. Tom and I used to spend many hours together after he had lost his leg. Eslarin was under Yev's protection at that time and Rowlind was under Gabriel's. We were proud of our former students, but…seeing our blades in the hands of another, no matter how much we loved them, was never easy. When Gabriel was killed and Rowlind broken, I thought I was going to die."

Allan had been reaching for his own glass, but stopped at Master Turgen's mention of Rowlind. Master Turgen had never once discussed his sword after she was destroyed, her broken blade driven through his former apprentice.

"The only thing that kept my sanity," Turgen continued, "was the need to protect the Order. After Yev's murder and the destruction of Eslarin, Tom gave up. Of course he assured me that he was only grieving but I could see it in his eyes. When Anya betrayed us and set fire to the archives, Tom didn't hesitate. He saved the library, but I have no doubt he knew he would die to do it. I believe he wanted his final act to mean something."

Afraid speaking might shatter this strange openness, Allan sipped his water.

"You never knew Max before he'd passed Lukrasus to Jean. To you he's always been a Master, even after Jean's death. The man you hunted with in Paris was the old Max. Malcolm commented how unusual he was, joking and showing off, always insisting on being first to the danger. That was the Max I first met. Age didn't change him, not in that way. Passing his sword to another was what made him the…bulldog, I believe you've called him."

Allan smiled guiltily. He glanced to the kitchen door, making sure Schmidt wasn't there. "Among other things."

"I don't want your grief to make you a bulldog. I don't want you to give up and run towards death. I failed Tom, and to some extent I failed Max. I don't want to fail you, Allan."

The kitchen door opened and Schmidt came through carrying a plate.

"Promise me you'll talk to me if you need to," Turgen said as Schmidt set the plate down. Steam rose from the croque-monsier, blanketed in melted cheese and folds of ham peeking from the edges. Allan's mouth watered at the aroma.

"I promise," Allan said, picking up his utensils. "Thank you, Master Schmidt."

Allan scarfed the sandwich down as fast as he dared without burning his mouth. The two men sat silently until he was finished.

"Better?" Turgen asked.

"Very much, thank you."

Schmidt smiled. "My pleasure. I would offer you a drink but…medication does not mix well."

Allan glanced at the crystal bottle of brandy against the far wall. "It's all right," he lied. A drink sounded marvelous.

"Allan, we wanted to discuss with you your new duties," Turgen said.

"I see." He really did want that drink now.

"We had previously discussed me taking you on as my replacement with antiques and my network. With recent events, I would like to move forward with that."

"I…I see," Allan said. He'd wanted this for so long, dreamed of it, and now that it looked to finally be happening he didn't feel anything. "I would enjoy that."

Turgen's somber face cracked with a moment's grin. "It's a slow transition. It will take years and, even then, not all of my contacts may follow along, so you'll need to make new ones, maybe even cultivate some that I could not."

"I understand."

"Your duties as Librarian won't change of course," Schmidt added. "This will simply be something additional."

Allan nodded, feeling a bit of relief, though the idea they'd revoke his job as Librarian hadn't even crossed his mind.

Turgen leaned forward, folding his hands atop the table. "The topic we wanted to discuss is that we have agreed that you would be a perfect choice for Master Knight."

Allan blinked. "Master?"

"Yes. You more than meet the required attributes."

Meaning I no longer have a weapon
.

"You're a leader," Turgen continued. "Well respected, and we believe you can handle the higher operations and responsibilities."

"My leadership got Gerhard killed."

Turgen gave a resigned nod. "Knights have perished under all of our commands. It's a difficult burden and it never becomes easier. Quite the opposite, truth be told. To achieve Master, a knight must be very intimate with loss."

"And all of you agree? Even Master Sonu?"

"Master Sonu especially," Schmidt answered. "He suggested you as a potential candidate two years ago."

"I see."

"You don't appear very," Turgen rolled his hand as if reeling out the words, "amenable to the idea."

"It's…uh… I'm just a bit overwhelmed," Allan said. "Forgive me, it's just with the past few days this all feels so sudden."

Turgen raised a hand. "There's nothing to forgive."

"Do you need an answer now? Can I have some time to process this?"

"Of course."

#

Allan sat in his new room staring at his laptop. He knew it would be days before Master Turgen requested a field report. The others, as well as the video footage, would detail most of it. But he needed to remember everything now, as crystal clear as possible. And not just the report from the catacombs, but everything that had transpired since meeting Victoria. Her life might very well hinge on something he recalled, and he was running out of time. They'd called for a meeting.

He glanced at Ibenus on the stand beside him, hoping the sword might somehow jog his memory. Instead, a sharp pain started in his missing toes, like long needles being slid into each one, joining near his heel. Clenching his teeth, Allan pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
You're not real. You're not real.

After a very long minute the pain receded, leaving an annoying tickle. Allan let out a breath and checked the clock in the corner of the screen.

Twenty more minutes.

Surely someone was coming for him. They couldn't possibly have this trial, or tribunal, or whatever it was without him. He shook the idea from his mind.
Just nerves
. He clenched his hands and continued to type.

A knock came from the door. "About ready?"

Allan turned as Matt stepped inside. "Yeah." He reviewed over his notes and closed the laptop.

"So what did Turgen want?"

"They, um, offered to make me a Master."

"Wow." Matt's eyes widened. "Can't say I'm surprised. Well deserved."

Allan shrugged. "I don't know. It just doesn't feel…earned."

Matt snorted. "Really?"

"It's like they're just giving it to me as some consolation prize. Oh, you lost your foot and sword? Here's a promotion."

"That's not it at all." Matt shut the door. "Allan, they're offering it to you because you deserve it. Tom never became Master when he was hurt."

"Yeah, but—"

"No." Matt folded his arms. "Seriously, if Schmidt, Turgen, or Sonu were to die today, who would replace them? You killed a god, man!"

"Naked," Allan said. "No one ever mentions that part."

Matt nodded. "Yeah, that does add to the story, doesn't it? But seriously, who would you choose? Malcolm? No. He's all barbecues and Mardi Gras floats now. Luc? Sure. He'd be good."

"Luiza?"

"She'd be great, too. Me? No, they won't even give me a team. You heard Schmidt earlier. They were joking but it's still true. Taras? Maybe one day. He's too…intense. Uwe?"