Michael A. Stackpole (2 page)

Prepared for anything and everything he thought his journey would provide, he barked out a harsh order that echoed through his breathing tube to the outside.

Distantly he heard a sharp sound, then felt a vibration ripple through the plasma. As his head started down, he reached out and grasped two of the cross braces. He felt himself slowly somersault forward the first time, then again with more speed. The sphere vibrated a bit side to side as it lumbered down the newer section of the ramp, then settled down as it hit the older portion.

Inside, Vrasha’s mind clinically compared the sensations of his current journey with those of the days he had spent in the center of a giant wheel his minions had spun faster and faster. He had accustomed himself to the motion of rolling forward until it no longer made him dizzy, and he felt pride swell in his breast at his own foresight. Aside from the thunderous vibrations shaking him, being in the sphere felt exactly like being in the wheel.

Suddenly the globe shifted ever so slightly, and the rotations started him whirling at an angle. The harness kept him suspended in the middle of the sphere, but the new direction of stress threatened to pull one crosspiece loose. Faster and faster he spun, and wood screamed in protest. He could even begin to feel the sphere shift and become misshapen.

Vrasha slid his right hand along the crosspiece to its joint with another brace and sank his claws into both pieces of wood. 1
will not fail
! The globe slowed almost imperceptibly, and suddenly he felt much heavier. !
cannot fail!

Just as suddenly as the sphere had turned on its axis, the rumbling roar of his ride down the ramp ended. In an instant he realized he was airborne.

A heartbeat later he hit the Chaos Wall.

A net of razors ripped him apart. Millions upon millions of chiggers gnawed on his flesh with their steel teeth. Boring worms made of fire burned tunnels through his bones, and ice-winged wasps flew through the holes to build their frozen nests where their larvae could feast on his marrow. Each hair in his pelt became an agate needle that pierced his skin from the inside out.

His brain boiled within his skull. His eyes saw colors that did not exist, and his ears heard those same colors as the death screams of creatures yet unborn. Unable to think, left only to sensing, dread swallowed him, terror crushed him, and hopelessness ground him into nothingness.

A bone-blasting impact jarred him partway out of the nihilistic darkness closing over his being. In one second he felt pummeled as a shock wave bashed him from all sides, and the pressure closed a tight fist on him. Then, in the next, the closeness vanished, and he knew a moment’s freedom as the ball bounced up. He could tell, from its lightness and speed, that the first impact must have ruptured the skin and sprayed the liquid from it.

The sphere turned over lazily and hit hard again. The stressed cross braces snapped and stabbed through the upper part of his right arm. He screamed aloud and yet louder as the sphere took to the air again and ripped the wood from the wound. He pulled his legs up and hugged his arms in, then waited for the earth to batter him one more time.

His journeycraft slammed into the ground, and the lattice gave way. Splinters peppered him back and flank. The harness’s straps snapped, and he pounded the ground a second after his broken vehicle, then lay stunned as it lazily rolled over and the hide collapsed on top of him.

The tingling weakness in his limbs distressed him at first. He remained very still and forced his mind clear. Slowly, in a deep voice that echoed within itself, even when whispering, he began to speak a spell. As he did so, a reddish gold aura surrounded him, and in seconds he had an accurate assessment of his wounds.

Aside from the hole torn in his right arm, he had not been damaged. Vrasha allowed himself a smile, and instantly banished the concern he felt over the draining effort required to sustain it. Flicking out the claws on his left hand, he sliced through the thongs binding him into the harness. Once he had freed himself from its confines, he slashed away the hides covering him and tore off the blindfold.

Kneeling amid the ruins of his vessel, he blinked blood from his eyes and looked up. He saw constellations gleaming in a black sky that no other Chaos demon had ever seen. He instantly forgot the pain in his arm and found a new energy begin to course through him. Cradling his right arm against his side, he forced himself to his feet and stood, bloody, battered, but not broken, in a world that had forever been denied to his kind.

Vrasha stooped and recovered a section of wood no longer than his forearm. With his claws he carved in it the runes for the message “I Live,” then hurled it long and high back through the Chaos Wall.

“I live.” He breathed the words out like a talisman against all possible evil. “I live, and everyone in Wallfar will soon learn to live in fear.”

H
ere we go again!

I snapped my head to the right, flinging

sweat from my eyes. The dagger in my left hand rotated spasmodically in time with my heaving chest. I held my rapier steady and pointed at my brother’s throat, but I saw no fear in his bullock brown eyes. Poised on the balls of my feet, I waited for him as the afternoon sunlight glinted from his sword.

C’mon, Dalt. I know you. You’re bigger than me. You hate waiting.
He licked his lips and screwed his face into a fierce, angry expression. Sweat dripped down his chest and arms, coating him as it did me. His right toe inched forward through the barnyard dust, presaging the attack I had expected all along. The point of his rapier dipped abruptly, aiming at my left thigh. He lunged.

I let my sword point drop, then I pivoted on my right foot and slid back a half step. This pulled my body out of line with his lunge, which was enough to defeat his attack. Dalt, seeing my move, started to recover and looked surprised when I brought my right arm up and carried his rapier with it. As the blade came up to the height of my shoulder, I locked our hilts and stepped forward, ducking beneath his arm.

At least, that is what 1 meant to do. I had intended to twist his sword free from his grip, then whip my sword back across his unprotected flank, but he locked his wrist and used his incredible strength to prevent my move. His right knee caught me behind my left leg, driving me to my knees, then 1 felt the cool caress of his dagger on the side of my neck.

“You’re dead, lambkin.” Exultant, Dalt threw back his head and laughed.

His laughter died abruptly as an older, taller, more slender version of him chuckled aloud and approached the two of us. “And Locke has just guaranteed you will never sire any children.” Geoff pointed down to where my dagger, the blade lying flat against the underside of my forearm, required only the lifting of my arm before it gelded him. “I think the last laugh would be his.”

“Laughter sounds hollow from the grave.” Our grandfather shook his head and looked quite disappointed at me and my brother. “Dalt, you are taller than Lachlan and have nearly six inches in reach over him. You should never have let him get in that close to you. And you, Lachlan, when will you learn that you are too small to play your strength against a larger, stronger opponent?”

I started to protest. “But, I thought the sweat would loosen his grip. He would not expect it…”

“Dalt has been trained by me, as have you. Do you let your hands get sweaty enough to have a blade twisted from them?”

I looked down. “No, sir.”

Audin nodded solemnly. “1 know you have heard heroic tales about your father or your uncle or the Valiant Lancers and the things they have done, but they are dead! They thought the same sort of thing you did. For every one of them that used an unusual move to gain fame, many died. 1 have taught you to be better than that.”

“Yes, sir.” I stood and walked off the field of combat, my face burning.

The slight breeze cooled me and made Grandfather’s wispy white hair float. “Dalt, you have won the fight with Lachlan. Now you will face Geoff. Let me see that you two have learned your lessons better than your younger brother.”

1 laid my sword on the bench beside the water trough, then followed it with my dagger and sweat-soaked gloves. Bending over slowly to stretch out the muscle Dalt had kneed, I grabbed the edges of the trough and dunked my head full into the water. The cool water washed away the dust on my face and cooled some of the embarrassment.

1 felt a hand on my back and came up with water dripping down over me. “Yes, Grandfather?”

Audin’s brown eyes regarded me carefully. “Let me guess why you tried what you did with Dalt. You read about Driscoll dueling with the ‘giant’ of Port Chaos.”

1 nodded sheepishly. “He’d hit the man in the forearm and the blood and sweat had loosened the man’s grip on his blade. Driscoll twisted the blade free, then stabbed him clean through his armpit. It should have worked against Dalt. I am better than he is.”

The older man sat down on the bench. “You are ranked as an Apprentice and Dalt is ranked as a Sworder. He defeated you.”

I held back because we had discussed this situation before. My grandfather, being the only Bladesmaster in Stone Rapids—and having owned his own sword school until about a dozen years ago—was the final arbiter of our rankings. If he decided, and he had, that I was not ready to progress from Apprentice to Journeyman or Sworder, nothing I could do would convince him.
Especially failing at fancy tactics designed to shame your brother.

“I am sorry, Grandfather, you are right.” I looked up at him and gave him a hopeful smile. “1 should not have tried to emulate my uncle, especially when a bard’s tale is the source of my inspiration.”

“Do not err too far on the other side, Locke.” The old man returned my smile. “Yes, the giant’s blood and sweat did make his sword too slippery to be gripped well, but that is not what defeated him Driscoll, though a tall man himself, recognized his disadvantage and got inside the giant’s guard. You accomplished the same with your dodge of Dalt’s lunge. You could have had him, if you had not tried to impress me with your audacity. And think, which would you prefer being a living Apprentice who is cautious and victorious, or a dead Sworder who is sung of by bards?”

“The former, of course.” I bowed my head and scraped mud from my chest with my left hand. I sat down beside Grandfather on the bench, perching on the edge so I would not put pressure on the muscle bruise Dalt had given me. Grandfather nodded at the other two so they could begin their combat. Though I knew who would win, something about how they moved and played against each other drew me in.

Dalt had Grandfather’s powerfully built torso and thick legs. Making use of that strength, he favored attacks that beat the other fighter’s blade aside or parries that numb a hand with their heaviness. More than once Dalt had used his size advantage to punish me in the process of defeating me. Even so, in doing that, he had forced me to learn how to avoid or counter exactly the sort of tactics he loved.

1 pounded my right fist against my leg. I
had you,
D
alt. I had you, then let you get one step closer to the prize.

I knew Dalt would never be able to use those types of tactics with Geoff. The eldest of my brothers, Geoff is long and lean—just the sort of person that could be formed by adding me to Dalt and splitting us in half. He was quick enough that he could lunge at a candle and snuff it, then resheathe his blade before darkness fell, or so it seemed whenever I had to face him. He formally held the rank of Warrior, but I think that is only because he refused to go to Garikopolis and become a Bladesmaster like Grandfather.

As Geoff circled Dalt slowly, 1 wished 1 was as tall and slender as he was. 1 would have died to possess even a fraction of Geoff’s fluidity. 1 knew, just from watching him back Dalt around the yard, that 1 would never be his equal in swordsmanship. I might have been able to outride him or beat him at chess, but in single combat he did not have an equal in the yard.

Geoff lunged, and somehow Dalt managed to wrestle Geoff’s rapier up into the air. Dalt twisted his wrist and locked their blades together, then both of their daggers came up and trapped each other against the swords. Face-to-face, toe-to-toe, the two of them stared at each other for a second, then Dalt set himself to use his strength against Geoff.

Geoff, smiling, brought his forehead down into Dalt’s face. I winced as 1 heard something crack. Dalt reeled away, covering his face with his hands. Blood leaked through his fingers as he dropped to his knees and hunched over. Sputtered curses sprayed blood over the ground in front of him.

Geoff let Dalt’s blades fall to the ground, then properly saluted Grandfather. “Master Audin, I have vanquished my foe.”

Audin stood and patted Geoff on the shoulder. Turning, the Bladesmaster fixed me with a stare that filled my guts with ice. “Dalt lost in the swimming race, and he has lost here. He has forfeited any chance at the prize. Geoff, your choice of trials will end our contest. What did you choose?”

I swallowed hard, knowing Geoff’s choice would make no difference—he would win and get to go to Herakopolis. Instead of making the decision required by the communique our grandmother, Evadne, had sent all the way from the capital, Grandfather had decided his grandsons would have a contest consisting of three trials. Each of us selected one area of competition and wrote his choice down on a small piece of paper. Audin had restricted us from choosing that which we knew we were best at, then all the choices had been put in a pouch, and Audin had selected the trials at random. Defeats in two of the trials put a contestant out.

1 still considered it incredible luck that my choice of trial had been chosen first. I knew I needed something that would let me beat Dalt and give me a chance to defeat Geoff. I selected a swimming race because Dalt hates to swim, and I can go at a pretty good pace. As it turned out, I beat Dalt going away and would have lost to Geoff, but his leg cramped up in the last part of the race. He waded ashore after disqualifying himself, which put me in the unlikely position of having won a contest.

Dalt, optimistically believing lightning would strike and he would be able to beat Geoff, had selected swordfighting as his trial. 1 knew Audin would have forbidden Geoff to choose swordfighting as his contest, and suspected Dalt had been told he could not pick any test of strength. 1 had hoped Dalt would have been smart enough to stay away from Geoff’s forte, but Dalt’s ego often eclipsed his common sense.

I
wonder what he chose?
I
just love being humiliated in new and novel ways.
I toed a pebble out of the dust.
Of course, it is possible he will have made Dalt’s mistake.
No,
not possible. Geoff is smarter than Dalt, so he wouldn’t lunge to my strength.

His sapphire eyes twinkling, Geoff smiled. “I selected chess.”

“Chess?” I shook my head to clear my ears of any water they still had in them. “You chose chess?”

Geoff nodded, then met Audin’s bemused stare calmly. “1 assumed you would put us through our contests in rank order. As 1 am a Warrior, my contest would go first and Locke would destroy Dalt. I thought that would distract Dalt enough that he would be poor competition. As it turns out, by luck of the draw, Dalt fell to Locke in Locke’s trial, and ! obtained the desired result.”

Audin accepted the explanation, but the tightness around his eyes told me that he did not believe it entirely. “It is a good thing that your leg recovered from its cramp before you had to fight Dalt.”

Geoff’s nostril’s flared as he pulled his head up. “Bladesmaster Audin, if you truly believe 1 would deliberately set out to lose this contest, then you should disqualify me from the competition. Void my defeat of Dalt and let him play chess against Locke to determine who is the victor.”

“You are definitely your mother’s son.” Audin smiled proudly. “You know Dalt would have no chance against him. If you cannot beat him, Locke and not you will escort your grandmother to the Emperor’s Ball on Bear’s Eve.”

“I will do my best, Bladesmaster, as always.” Geoff bowed and walked over to me while Audin crossed to Dalt and squatted down to take a look at his nose. “Come on, Locke. I will play the fly to your spider.”

I shook my head. “This is one spider that knows the buzzing in his web could be a spiderhawk wasp just as easily as a fly.”

“I could only hope.” Geoff laughed as we both passed into the barn and over to the stall that had been remade into an armory. “This time, when we play, I want you to at least look at the board during the game. Do that for me, will you. Locke?”

I slid my rapier home in the bracket mounted on the wall. “You should have chosen ‘self-effacement’ as your contest, for you would have won handily with that.”

The larger man dropped his dagger into the sheath hanging from a belt. “I did not, however, so now you have a chance at winning the prize Grandmother has offered us.”

I smiled despite myself. Grandmother’s message had said that she had been invited to attend the Emperor’s Bear’s Eve Ball and she had requested Audin to send one of her grandsons to act as her escort. While there would be celebrations throughout the Empire of Herak welcoming the new year, the Emperor’s Ball was the largest and grandest party of them all. Though Grandfather had joked that Evadne had been invited just because she’d not yet had the good grace to die, we all knew she had to be someone of importance in the capital to be invited.

Suddenly fear made my mouth go sour. “Geoff, if 1 win, do you actually think he will let me go? I’m hardly the sort of person who should represent Cardew’s family at such an important occasion.”

Geoff clapped me on the shoulders. “What do you mean? You are more than fit to represent us. Grandfather has said it himself—he’s worked us harder than he ever did our father or Driscoll when they were his pupils.”

“But he had his own school back then, not just the three of us. Besides, he is always after me, berating me for failing when I do things the same as you or Dalt did at my age.” My hands tightened down into fists as 1 folded my arms across my chest. “To hear him tell it, I’m incompetent enough to have doomed countless Imperial Legions in Chaos.”

Geoff’s hand snaked past my shoulder and grabbed me by the hank of my long, light brown hair. “You have to remember that he still wakes up with nightmares about his having failed Cardew and Driscoll. He has been tough on us because he does not want our blood on his hands. He’s not had a moderating influence since Aunt Ethelin died, but I also think we have done better than even he dared dream. He would be proud to have any of us go to Herakopolis.”