Souldancer (Soul Cycle Book 2) (40 page)

A muscular Lawbringer with black hair and deeply bronzed skin strode to the head of the stairs. “I am Saniyan-Captain Amargos, commander of the Mithgar chapter.”

To Astlin’s knowledge, most greycloaks were bullies fond of throwing their weight around. This man’s proud bearing and intense presence named him something far worse.

“Who are they?” she asked, indicating the people of all ages and both sexes hemmed in by Shaiel’s priests.

The greycloak captain’s face hardened. “It’s discourteous to question someone before introducing yourself.”

Sulaiman set his foot on the first step. “I am Sulaiman Iason. These are Tefler priest of Thera, Cook the ship’s cook, and Astlin Tremore of Keth. Answer her.”

Amargos’ dark eyes fell on Tefler. “Priest of Thera? You esteem your office so lightly?”

“Don’t worry,” Tefler called up to him. “Neither of us will be priests for long.”

“I dislike evasions.” Amargos drew his grey scimitar, and his men followed suit. He waved his blade at the hostages.

“The situation is simple. These folk are kin to the traitors aboard the
Serapis
. The shipwrights will surrender the vessel on pain of their loved ones’ deaths.”

The Fire roared in Astlin’s soul, but Xander said,
Do not test this man. He’s not like the other greycloaks; nor are his men.

Astlin gestured to the hostages. “It’s
their
ship. You talk about law, but this is just theft.”

Amargos scowled. “The
Serapis
would be a useless wreck but for the aid of Shaiel’s priests.”

“Who lately sought to destroy the same ship,” Sulaiman said. “I would deem their claim forfeit.”

“I will not debate our case with you. Shaiel claims the vessel by right of his Will.”

Amargos pointed from a greycloak to a boy in the crowd. “Bind that child’s shade to your sword.”

Without hesitation the greycloak pulled the screaming boy from his parents. Several other hostages aided the mother and father’s attempt to rescue their child, but a fence of dark swords held them back.

Astlin felt Xander exert his gift on the grey blade at the child’s throat. His will faltered so she added hers, but increased power came with reduced control. Instead of simply losing his sword, with a wet tearing sound the greycloak lost his arm the shoulder.

The response was immediate. A sickly golden glow fell over the crowd. The hostages crumpled to the ground as their skin discolored and blistered.

Astlin nearly missed the shadows that stretched toward her and her friends from three of the greycloaks’ blades, whispering as they flowed down the stairs like a night-black tide.

Sulaiman leapt in front of Astlin and loosed a burst of white radiance. Amargos gaped as the shadows boiled away like mist.

Astlin used the diversion to invade the greycloaks’ minds. Aiding Xander had drained her more than expected, so she could only confuse them. To her relief the yellow light faded.

Amargos still fought Astlin’s influence. She knew that higher order beings like Hazeroth had a natural resistance to nexism, but she’d never found a mortal will strong enough to resist her.

Get to the ship!
she urged the hostages just as her hold on the greycloak captain failed.

“Shaiel’s anointed serve his Will,” Amargos raged. “What sinful pride to think we’ll serve yours!”

He raised his arms and pronounced an invocation in strange, thundering syllables. Somehow, Astlin knew he was speaking Nesshin.

What’s he doing?
she asked Xander.

Xander?

His presence stirred in the back of her mind.
I am sorry,
he said slowly.
It’s hard to concentrate.

Astlin rebuked herself. Her use of nexism seemed to drain Xander’s will, and she’d been too reckless with it.

Just rest,
she told him.

Cook was leading the hostages toward the
Serapis
. Tefler and Sulaiman stood at the foot of the stairs and bathed them with prana as they ran by. Their frostbite had vanished by the time Cook ushered them onto the ship.

Astlin realized what Amargos was up to when the other greycloaks slipped her mental bonds.

Astlin looked to Sulaiman, who nodded as if aware of her nexic struggle.

“No innocents remain to shield you,” he told the greycloaks. “Withdraw, and hinder us no more.”

Amargos signaled to his men. Golden auras enveloped each of them.

“Freeing our prisoners—is that your victory? You’ve merely traded a clean exchange for a bloodbath. You can still prevent it by surrendering now.”

A nexic pulse cascaded over Astlin—one far stronger than a nexus-runner’s wake. She’d only felt such power during the Ostrith Guild hall’s collapse.

“Someone just used more nexism than I’ve ever felt before.”

Sulaiman’s jaw clenched. “Thurif has set the smith to work.”

“They’re somewhere above us,” Astlin said. “I think I can track them.”

“Then go,” said Sulaiman. “Wrest the souldancer of Kairos from Thurif before Shaiel does.”

Nine greycloaks marched down the stairs in a staggered line, their blades drawn, while two remained at the top and radiated Void.

“What about them?” asked Astlin.

A flaming blade sprang from Sulaiman’s hand. “We shall deal with these heathen priests.”

Cook strode to Tefler’s side and assumed a fighting stance. “You feeling up to it?”

Tefler’s grin bared his teeth. “Most of my revenge fantasies start like this.”

Astlin exchanged a last look with her friends and broke from the battle.

“After her,” Amargos shouted.

Astlin ran, taking the steps two at a time.

The rapid clatter of booted feet pursued her.

Tefler couldn’t help admiring Sulaiman. The priest of Midras had made it halfway up the stairs from the dock, fiery blade flashing, before two Lawbringers at the top had engulfed him in Void. Deprived of his flaming sword, Sulaiman was still holding off Amargos and two other greycloaks with only his dagger.

Wish I’d been more serious about my swordsmanship.

Clutching a scimitar he’d pried from a severed arm, Tefler made a fighting retreat from a similar blade wielded by a much more capable greycloak.

Up above, a flurry of motion that Tefler’s eye barely followed left the third greycloak’s sword in Sulaiman’s grip and its owner bleeding on the ground. But indigo light shone from the grey blade, blistering the hand of its new wielder, who dropped it with a curse. In a few swift strokes Amargos relieved Sulaiman of his dagger and drove him to his knees.

Cook broke from the Lawbringer he’d been fighting at the foot of the stairs and rushed to help Sulaiman. At first he evaded his pursuing foe with a dancer’s nimble ease. But the greycloak who’d fought beside Amargos headed him off. Caught between two blades, Cook surrendered.

Tefler weighed his chances against six Lawbringers. They could all manifest Void, making prana useless. He could do the same, but his former brethren had him at a greater disadvantage with Malefactions than with a sword.

Amargos looked down on Tefler, his bronzed face grave. “Your allies are beaten.”

“Fine,” said Tefler, “Don’t put yourself out. I know the way to the brig.”

Amargos’ smile formed like a crack in a cliff wall. “Prison? For these two perhaps. Apostasy aggravates your crimes.”

He pointed his blade. Three more Lawbringers joined Tefler’s assailant while Amargos and the final greycloak guarded Sulaiman and Cook.

Tefler backpedaled, racking his brain for a way out. He saw that he’d soon run out of dock, and a thought occurred to him.

“Zan,”
he subvocalized through the sending Worked into his cloak,
“bring the ship about on her drifters.”

“Are we taking off?” the air souldancer replied.

“Sort of.”

“But not everyone’s on board.”

“Just do it,”

Tefler’s four executioners still advanced with grim purpose. Men like that were too disciplined to rush forward and cut him down—with any luck.

As he continued his hopeless retreat, Tefler thought of everything that could go wrong. Zan might misunderstand. Gid could veto the order. Even worse, Tefler might get what he asked for, plus a far worse death than the greycloaks had planned for him.

“Your friends abandon you,” Amargos said. “Just as you’ve abandoned Shaiel.”

Tefler glanced over his shoulder and saw the huge ship pivoting its stern toward the dock. He moved to within a few yards of the open blue sky and stopped. So did the greycloaks.

Damn it. Now’s not the time to start questioning orders. Keep coming!

The Lawbringers resumed their advance. Tefler wondered if some of Astlin’s power had rubbed off on him, but willing them to drop their pants produced no results.

It’s good that I can’t really control people’s minds,
Tefler thought with an inner smile.
I’d make Astlin look as harmless as a flower girl.

His killers were almost upon him when he sent to Zan:
“Dump the prana in the fuel line, and purge the exhaust.”

Tefler cloaked himself in Void and squeezed his eyes shut. An agonizing moment passed, but nothing happened. Looking again he saw the greycloaks within arm’s reach, raising their blades. He fell back even closer to the dizzying edge—and the ship’s exhaust vent.

“Purge it, Zan!” Tefler shouted, not caring who hear him.

“I don’t know how.”

The Lawbringers’ eyes widened. They stared at the
Serapis
; then turned as one to flee.

“Now!” cried Tefler.

Zan mumbled as if talking to someone on the other end. For a moment Tefler thought he heard another voice, smooth and calm, explaining how to dump an ether-runner’s fuel and purging the raw prana as elemental fire.

Tefler didn’t have time to shut his eyes. A burning tidal wave caught him up and flung him forward like a spoiled child throwing a doll. The heat exceeded his estimate by orders of magnitude; not just burning his skin but filling his insides like a ravenous ant colony. He begged the goddess he hated to end the pain. He struck something hard, and it did.

Astlin followed the nexic pulse along the deserted dock branch to the
Irminsul’s
trunk. There, an old airlock door was set into the tree’s living wood. The door was sealed, so she battered it down.

Air thick with decay escaped from the narrow lightless passage beyond. The steep grade slowed her ascent.

Where do you think this leads?

Xander didn’t respond.

Astlin’s thoughts carried her regret.
I’m sorry I pushed you so hard.

To her relief, he finally spoke.
The fault is mine. I mistook your thoughts for my own.

Hurrying footsteps echoed up the tunnel from behind, followed by sallow light.

It’s the greycloaks,
thought Astlin.
I can’t outrun them.

Then make
them
run,
Xander said.

Astlin stopped at a bend where the path leveled off. The sounds of pursuit grew louder until four Lawbringers appeared below, wreathed in Void. Two of them advanced on her while the others stood their ground and chanted in Nesshin. Astlin readied herself to loose the Fire, but bitter golden light quenched the flame.

The passage wasn’t wide enough for both greycloaks to attack at once, but the man in the lead fought well enough for two. His scimitar cut through Astlin’s armor, and the icy blade scored the Worked flesh of her forearm.

She glared at her attacker. “I just had this patched again.”

Ignoring Astlin’s complaint, the greycloak stabbed at her face. A steel ring at her shoulder caught the thrust as she twisted aside. She grabbed the blade with her left hand and drove her right fist into her attacker’s side. Bones crunched under her knuckles, and the greycloak collapsed with an agonized grunt.

Astlin cast the sword aside and stared at the next man in line. He fell back to join his chanting brethren, and the bitter cold became unbearable.

Astlin felt Xander grasping for his gift.

Are you sure we should do this?
She asked.

Somewhere above, the nexic wave peaked.

We must,
said Xander.

Astlin buried her doubts and joined her will to Xander’s. Concentrated by the narrow passage, the pressure wave scoured the greycloaks away like storm-blown leaves.

When her ears stopped ringing, Astlin stood alone in perfect silence. Even the Nexus was still, though it seemed less like peaceful dreamer than a brooding judge.

I think Smith finished whatever he was doing up there. We are too late!

Astlin turned to the upper path but paused. Were those her thoughts or Xander’s?

I’m still with you.
It was difficult to tell the thought from her own; like talking with an imaginary friend.

Terror replaced confusion. Sharing her knowledge of the Wheel had nearly absorbed Xander’s mind. His soul’s return to her body and the blurring line between them led to a horrifying conclusion.

You have what I lost,
Astlin recalled.
My soul is eating yours!

When we use nexism,
Xander may have thought.

The floor seemed to tilt, forcing Astlin to brace herself against the rotted wall. Of all her torments, none had made her feel so helpless.
Not again.
Please.

We must stop Thurif.

It’s over. It’s all over.

No. We would have felt his ship. Find him before he flees.

Astlin wearily stood up straight.
Alright, but no nexism.

She took Xander’s silence as consent and trudged upward.

Kneeling on the stair at Amargos’ feet, Sulaiman considered the man who’d beaten him—pious in his own deluded way and undoubtedly skilled. But the greycloak captain’s rigid faith in law and method left him vulnerable to unorthodox thought, which Tefler proved when he led four greycloaks into the fires that poured from the
Serapis
.

The flaming torrent surged halfway to the stairs before it ebbed, and the greycloaks braced themselves against a searing wind that swept over them. The moment’s distraction gave Sulaiman time to call his flaming sword and hold it to Amargos’ throat.