The spheres cry
out, they sing the song,
Of wanderings far and journeys long.
I hear their call, it holds my
heart.
My road the void,
my path the stars
"Sorry," the dwarf said. "No Seekers on Syrrus B. Never have been, far as I know... Seekers," he added with a shake of his
head. "What would Seekers want
with a place like this?"
"Thank you," said Reanyn. "Two silvers, you said?"
The dwarf nodded.
"Two per week. That gets
you docking priviledges, no more. You
want to load or unload, it's an extra five for every forty tons." He pursed his lips and gave the Nightwarder
a considering look. "We don't
patrol the docks or protect the boats either.
Someone comes along and decides to pirate your ship, don't complain to
us. If I was you, I'd post some of the
crew to guard her. She's a pretty
little thing; she'd fetch a fair price on the black market."
"Good enough."
Reanyn proffered the required silver.
"Any other ordinances or laws I should know about?"
The dwarf mulled that over for a moment. "Not really any other laws here, so I
guess not."
Reanyn nodded and turned back to the Nightwarder. The dwarf gave
the ship one last look, then turned and trundled away down the dock.
"Different dockmaster," said Keryth as Reanyn
swung over the rail. "Last time it
was a human."
Reanyn shrugged.
"Different rates, too. No
doubt there's a new council member in charge.
The politics here..." He
shrugged again. "Still, they
always respect gold. That much never
changes."
"There was no
dockmaster, last time we were here," rumbled Barundar. "It doesn't seem right, somehow, to
have to pay now when we didn't have to pay then." He grumbled as if it were his silver that
had been spent, and not Reanyn's.
"And the Seekers?" asked Nym. The dracon was lounging by the port railing,
busily cleaning his arquebus. As he
spoke, he hefted the weapon, eyeing the barrel tube critically.
Reanyn shook his head.
"He said there aren't any here, and never have been."
"Doesn't mean much," said Barundar. "I never heard of Seekers on Syrrus B
either. Just means they're keeping a
low profile."
"If they're here, we'll find them." Reanyn turned to Keryth. "I want the ship ready to lift the
moment I return."
"The crew is tired," said Keryth. "We're undermanned, and Gryth has had
no sleep for two days. Chowat is in no
better condition. They need rest. I would not wish to navigate the Devros belt
again with either of them manning the helm."
Reanyn shook his head.
"The moment I return, we lift.
We don't have to go far, just away from here. Every two-bit bounty hunter and soldier-for-hire in the universe
is after Windhook. Once we've got him,
we lift."
The gnoll nodded somberly. "As you say, kitchva-lanrac." He hadn't complained on his own behalf, but after thirty hours
with no sleep, Tianna realized that he must be flagging as well.
"Post a guard while we're gone. The rest of the crew can rest." Reanyn turned to Barundar and Nym. "I assume you're coming along?"
The dracon smiled.
"Wouldn't miss it."
"Then let's go.
I want to get this done as quickly as possible." He jerked a nod toward where Tianna
sat. "You're with me. You know Windhook by sight; you can verify
I've got the right man."
Tianna groaned.
Ordinarily, she would have been happy to be included, but at the moment
there was nothing she would rather do than collapse in her bunk and get some
much-needed rest. The journey through
the Devros belt had not been easy, and every hand had been needed. "Right," she sighed, hauling
herself up to her feet.
* * *
Jack brought the small brass spyglass to his eye,
adjusting the focus of the lens. Yes, he thought, they've arrived. Just as
expected.
He crouched on one knee, peering through the broken attic
window, three stories above the street.
Below him, a man and a woman argued, the low rumble of their shouts
vibrating the shaky wooden floor. It
was a sheer drop to the street, but the old building was constructed of aging
wooden planking, with plenty of uneven places to afford a handhold, so Jack had
no difficulty climbing it. Getting up
without being seen had presented more of a problem, but in a city of eternal
night, keeping to the shadows was a relatively simple task.
Across the street, two men in gray cloaks waited
impatiently on the steps of the two-story building which stood there. Glancing furtively around, one of the men
stepped to the door again and knocked, a complex series of taps.
"Three quick... two slow... then three quick
again," said Jack quietly, impressing the code on his memory.
A few moments passed, then a small shutter opened, and a
pair of suspicious eyes peered out.
Jack tightened the focus, zooming in on the man on the steps. He leaned forward and spoke a single
word. The angle was good; nearly
three-quarters of the man's face was visible, and most of the mouth, but
reading lips was tricky at the best of times.
"Slytentacles," said Jack under his
breath. His lips twisted in amusement
as he spoke. It was a nickname for
Trytius; he doubted the illithid would be pleased to learn his men were using
so obvious a codeword.
The door opened and the two cloaked men were
admitted.
Several minutes passed with no visible action. Then the door swung open again, and two
different gray-cloaked men emerged. As
Jack watched, they stepped out into the street, laughing and joking, and after
one of them had paused for a quick stretch and yawn, made their way down the
avenue.
"And so the guard is changed," said Jack,
swinging the spyglass upwards, to focus on the small, barred window on the
third floor.
It was still darkened.
"And our prisoner sleeps on."
He knew from past observation that the window was too small to see
anything of the room beyond, even when dim light spilled from it, but he waited
a moment longer before lowering the spyglass.
"Simple enough."
Moments later, he was standing before the door, swathed
in a gray cloak.
He tapped out the code, just as he'd watched the other
men do.
After finishing he positioned himself so that he was
looking back out at the street. It
would appear that he was watching for passerbys, but from this angle anyone
looking out the door would have a difficult time making out his face.
The small shutter slid open. "What do you want?" a rough voice demanded.
Jack half-turned, meeting the other man's eyes. "Slytentacles," he said softly,
urgently. It must appear urgent, if he
were to break routine without arousing suspicion.
The man on the other side of the door gave him a hard,
measuring look, then slid the shutter closed again.
A moment passed, then there came the heavy sound of a
bolt being turned, and the door groaned inward.
"What is it?" asked the man, blocking the
doorway.
"Important," Jack said, looking up and down the
street. "Can't discuss it
here. You going to let me in, or do I
put you on report?"
The line of the man's lips hardened in anger, but he
stepped aside. "Get in then."
Jack nodded and swept past him, into the room beyond...
and found himself staring at the business end of a crossbow. The second guard was holding it, his finger
on the trigger mechanism, and a hard look in his eye.
Behind him, Jack heard the door being closed, and the
lock being engaged again.
"Nice try," said the crossbowman. "Almost got it right. Password's 'skytentacles', not
'slytentacles'. Who are you? Answer quick or you’re dead."
Jack shrugged.
"Lips are hard to read at twenty yards in the dark. Doesn't matter, though." He looked from one to the other.
"Why not?" asked the man behind him.
"Because I'm inside now." Jack exploded into action. He took a quick half-step forward, his hand
darting out in an incredibly quick motion.
Steel flashed in the dim light.
The crossbowman fired, falling backwards, but the bolt
never flew. Instead, the weapon
exploded in his hands as the severed bowstring whipped backwards with
tremendous force. He uttered a
strangled cry as the bowstring brushed past the left side of his face, severing
his ear as if it were a knife.
Jack whirled as the second man attacked, a length of
bared steel in his hand.
Seeing that Jack was armed, the man stepped back, using
his sword's superior reach to hold Jack at bay. "Palthos!" he cried in alarm. "Palthos!"
Jack used the momentary pause, his free hand snapping
back towards the crossbowman, who was staggering backwards, hand clapped to the
side of his head. He seized the
remnants of the crossbow, yanking it from the man's hands.
At the same moment, the swordsman leaped forward, his
blade sweeping out in an expert manuever.
Jack half-leaned, half-ducked as the point of the blade
whistled past. His dagger struck again,
and the man staggered back, a ragged gash torn into the leather armor which
protected his torso. The wound was on
the man's left side, but to his credit, he did not glance down at it or move to
cover it. Instead he darted forward
again, thrusting, and Jack was forced momentarily to give ground. "Palthos!" the man shouted. "Palthos! Gods above, man! We're
under attack!"
From overhead came the quick clumps of boots on wood.
Smart, thought
Jack grudgingly, a third guard.
He hurled the broken crossbow at the swordsman.
The swordsman was thrown off guard only for an instant as
he knocked the wreckage away, but that instant was enough. Suddenly Jack was within striking range, far
too close for the man's sword to be effective.
The man tried to fall back, but Jack seized his sword arm
at the wrist, applying a painful lock, and with a cry the man was forced
forward.
He crumpled like a wet rag as Jack's dagger found its
mark, sliding between the man's ribs and under his breastbone, piercing the
heart.
Jack jerked the weapon free and half-turned, then was
flung forward as powerful arms seized him from behind. It was the crossbowman, who had lurched
forward and locked Jack in a powerful grip.
The man's grasp was strong but untrained. Jack shifted slightly, loosening the man's
hold, and swept his dagger back, burying it in the back of the man's throat.
He made a gasping cough and went limp, but his arms locked
onto Jack in a death grip, tangling him and pulling him to the floor.
At the top of the stairs a third guard appeared, running
and cocking a second crossbow.
If he gets the
chance to fire, thought Jack distractedly, his eyes measuring the distance,
he won't miss, not at this range.
Jack was grappling with the hilt of the dagger, but it
was caught in bone, and at this angle he could not force it free.
He looked around, then spotted the unfired bolt from the
crossbow, laying on the floor a few scant feet away.
It'll have to do,
he thought, snatching it up.
The third guard had halted in the middle of the
stairs. He had finished cocking the
weapon and was now raising it.
Jack slung the arrow with all his might.
There was a meaty sound as the point connected with the
guard's left eye. The man toppled
backwards soundlessly, his weapon discharging as his trigger finger reflexively
contracted. The bolt went whistling
over Jack's head, thunking into the body of the guard who had seized him.
Jack disentangled himself, standing. He peered up the stairs at the third guard's
body, then ascended.
He looked down at the corpse. The bolt he had flung protruded several inches from the eye
socket. There had not been enough force
behind the throw to sink it deeper, but apparently it had gone in far enough to
reach brain tissue.
Jack shook his head.
"Clumsy," he muttered.
"Blind luck I'm not dead."
Not one throw in a thousand would
be so lucky.
Then he started up the stairs.
At the top he found a small room, lit by a sullen yellow
lantern which rested on a makeshift table that had apparently been made by
setting an old door atop a pair of crates.
Three old chairs of different makes were pulled around the table, and a
deck of cards lay there, arranged into three different hands.
On the far side of the room was a heavy, oaken door, set
with three different steel bolts. The
mechanisms were rusty but workable, and in moments he had unlatched it.
He snatched the lantern from the table, pushing the door
open.
"Jarren Windhook?" he asked, peering into the
darkness.
There was a groan to his right, and he turned, hefting
the lantern so he could see.
A pale-faced girl, blinking in the unexpected light, was
cowering back in a makeshift cot, ratty blankets pulled high over her
nightgown. "Who?" she asked,
frightened. "Please don't hurt
me! What do you want?"
* * *
"Sorry," said the round-faced man, "don't
know anything about Seekers."
"You are Hyrund Skaltos?" asked Reanyn.
The man nodded.
"That's right. All my
life. Just like it says on the
sign." He jerked a thumb towards
the door. It wasn't visible from
within, but just above the sill hung a rough wooden sign, weather-stained and
beaten, which read: 'HYRUND SKALTOS -
HERBS, POULTICES, HEALING AND RELIEF FROM PAIN'.
Hyrund was a short man, vigorous and healthy but with a
roly-poly body which bordered on fat.
The fringe of hair which surrounded the dome-shaped bald head was gray,
and his eyes were brown.
"Hyrund Skaltos was the name given to me by the
Seekers on Bral," said Reanyn.
The bald man shook his head again. "Sorry, like I said, I don't know
anything about Seekers."
"I was told you were the contact person for the
Seekers on Syrrus B."
The man offered a gentle smile. "There are no Seekers on Syrrus B."
Reanyn glanced back at Barundar and Nym. The dracon shrugged.
Tianna had been wandering through the little shop,
picking at the little packets. Reanyn
caught her eye, then glanced at the bald man.
In reply to his unspoken question, she gave a nearly imperceptable shake
of her head.
"Is it possible there's another 'Hyrund Skaltos' in
the city somewhere?" asked Barundar.
The man considered.
"No," he said at length.
"Not that I've ever heard of.
Be a pretty fair coincidence, wouldn't it?"
"This is a
pretty fair coincidence," said Reanyn.
"They gave me your name and your description, and told me to come
to you."
The bald man shrugged.
"Well, who can figure Seekers, right? Now, if you don't mind, I've got to get back to business. So unless you were looking for a special
herb, or had a malady I could help with... ?"
"If this is a question of money-" started
Reanyn.
"I'm always interested in money," said the man,
"but if you're after Seekers, I fear I have nothing to sell you."
"Do you have anything for headaches?" asked
Tianna. She glanced up, somewhat
surprised to find she'd spoken aloud.
"Sorry," she said, feeling Reanyn's eyes on her.
"Why yes," said the short man. "Whistleweed, thorndown, Kyllian
bark... I've got a hundred things for headaches. As to which is most effective, well, that depends on the
symptoms."
"Well," said Tianna slowly, as if uncertain
whether to continue, "I don't know if it's all that important..."
Reanyn gave her a half-shrug. "Go on," he said.
"I didn't know you had headaches."
"Just recently," she said. "They've been getting worse." She turned to the short man, placing
fingertips to her temples. "It
pounds... not really here, but inside.
This is the general area."
She lowered her hands, feeling foolish.
"Well, it's just a headache, that's all."
"May I?" asked the short man, stepping forward.
Tianna was confused by the question, but before she could
refuse he had gently placed a palm on the left side of her head and pressed the
fingertips of his other hand to her temple.
He stood up on tiptoe, slowly turning her head from left to right,
looking into her eyes as if seeing something beyond them.
"Well!" he exclaimed, releasing her. "This is surprising! I'm afraid conventional remedies will be not
be effective, no indeed."
"What do you mean?" asked Tianna.
The bald man ignored her. He looked instead at Reanyn.
"Who did this?"
"Did what?" asked Reanyn. "You see something amiss?"
"I see the deft touch of a master mindbender,"
said the short man. "Blocks upon
blocks; wards. Whole areas of her
memory have been sealed off. This is
very serious indeed."
"You mean you...?" asked Reanyn, surprised.
The man gave a self-deprecating bow. "I have some small training in the Art,
yes. Nothing compared to the one who
did this."
"Can you... restore her?" asked Reanyn,
suddenly very interested. "Unseal
her mind?"
The man shook his head.
"Not I. My skill does not
even approach the magnitude. These
blocks... they're warded. Should I make
a single mistake... her mind would be shattered, and likely mine as well."
"Damn Tavras," said Barundar, shooting Reanyn a
look. "I knew he was
trouble."
Tianna had paled while listening to the man speak. "What... what did he do to me? This is why I'm having headaches?"
Reanyn stepped closer.
Hyrund gave a painful yelp as Reanyn brushed his shoulder, clapping his
hands to his ears. "Back!" he
cried.
Startled, Reanyn took a step back. "What?"
The short man gave him a withering look, shaking his head
as if to clear it from ringing.
"Don't you know what your little toy does?" He jabbed a thumb towards the starjewel
which rested around Reanyn's neck, hanging over his breastbone. It was concealed under his clothing, but the
man pointed as if he could see it.
"My... toy?" asked Reanyn.
"Your starjewel.
It emits white noise - the psionic equivalent of a volcano's
explosion. Put it too close to an
unshielded mindbender and you'll turn his mind to jelly. Here I am, trying to help your friend, tuned
in to her mind, and you come sneaking up on me with that thing."
"Sorry," said Reanyn. "I didn't know it worked that way."
Hyrund was still massaging his ears. "Well, now you know. Keep back, so you don't hurt me. As for her, there's nothing I can do that
would not damage her further."
"Nothing?" asked Tianna, fighting down a wave
of fear and nausea. "What about
me? What can I do?"
Hyrund shook his head sadly. "There is nothing you can do. At least his workings are stable - beyond a few headaches, it
shouldn't worsen."
"There must be someone, surely, who can help,"
said Reanyn.
"Master psionicists are a very rare breed,"
said the man. "I know of only two
men in the entire universe who could handle a problem this complex, and them
only by reputation. They might be able to help, but I doubt
it. Only the one who did this to her
will be able undo it with surety."
"He's dead," said Tianna.
"Dead?"
Hyrund was surprised at the suggestion.
"Oh, I think not. His
signature pulses with life. The link he
forged between you is active."
"Link?" demanded Reanyn. "What link?"
"One of the strongest I've ever encountered. With it, he could track her into the
planes."
"He can... read her thoughts?" asked Reanyn.
The man shook his head.
"No, no, nothing like that.
But he can home in on her with it.
He can track her across the Void."
Barundar and Nym exchanged glances. "That means he can track us, as well" said the dracon.
"Can you disable it?" asked Reanyn.
The man shook his head.
"I wouldn't try. One
mistake - one - and her mind would be destroyed."
Tianna looked at Reanyn.
"Then I endanger the mission.
I'll have to separate from you - charter a ship..."
Reanyn shook his head.
"No. We'll use Tavras's
little ploy against him. He said he was
acting under orders. I want to know
whose orders. And if he's the only one
that can undo the damage to you.... He doesn't know we've learned of his link. We'll set a trap for him; wait for him to
come to us. Just as soon as we get
Windhook and get off this rock."
He shot the Hyrund a look.
"Which brings us back to why we came here in the first place."
The man threw up his hands. "Don't look at me. I
told you before, I don't know any Seekers.
I've no idea why they would send you to me. And as far as Jarren Windhook goes... I've never even heard of
the man before."
Reanyn stared at him.
"It would seem your psychic abilities are more refined than you led
us to believe."
"What?"
"Windhook. I
don't remember mentioning his first name.
Yet you seem to know it."
The man looked flustered. "Well... well of course I know it," he managed after a
moment. "Why, everyone does. He's the one that all those bounty hunters
are after, right? You can't blame me
for having... for having common knowledge."
"A moment ago you said you'd never heard of
him."
"Well... well, it took me a moment to place the
name, didn't it? Knew it sounded
familiar... Look, that doesn't mean I know him."
Reanyn drew an envelope from his vest. "Recognize this?" he asked, proffering
it.
"No," the man said reflexively, peering
forward.
"Take a long look.
It's the official seal of the Seekers.
You'd know it if you were one of their operatives."
"But I told you... I don't know anything about the
Seekers..." His voice trailed off.
"You'll notice the seal isn't broken, and that the
letter is addressed to you."
Reanyn handed it to him.
"Go ahead, open it."
The man took the envelope, uncertainly, slowly turning it
over and over in his hands, peering first at the seal and then at the scrawled
handwriting.
"Open it," repeated Reanyn.
The man looked up uncertainly, then, with a shrug, broke
the seal and removed the paper.
"It's a missive from Nychus," said Reanyn,
"head of the Order of Seekers in this sphere. He directs you to surrender Jarren Windhook to us upon arrival,
as agreed."
The man's brows furrowed as he read. He looked up at Reanyn, then down at the
letter again. A second time he read
through the brief order.
"Well?" asked Reanyn.
"They sold him out," muttered the man in
disbelief.
"Not quite," said Reanyn. "They realized the wisdom of handing
him over. Windhook will be safer with
me than anywhere else in the universe.
Am I to take it that you admit you are a Seeker, now?"
"Oh... Well,
as to that..." He offered a weak
smile. "Can't blame me for trying
to protect a brother." He tapped
the missive chidingly. "You should
have showed me this first off. First
off."
"Done is done," said Reanyn. "Now, if you don't mind, we'll just
collect Windhook and be gone."
"Well, that presents something of a problem,"
said the man.
"Problem?" asked Tianna. "What problem?"
Reanyn hushed her.
"What problem?" he asked.
The man gave him a determined look. "They
might have sold him out," he said, tapping the letter, "but I
haven't."
He took a step forward.
"You see, he's a friend of mine.
And this is Syrrus B, where we do things a little differently. So this,"
- he raised the missive - "doesn't mean a whole lot to me. You want Windhook, fine, maybe I can arrange
something... if the price is right."
Barundar snorted, a light chuckle that turned into a
hearty, rumbling laugh. "So it is
about money, after all!"
"We can come to an arrangement," said Reanyn,
ignoring the giff.
The man eyed the giff narrowly, but nodded. "Good.
I can arrange a face-to-face meeting between you and Windhook, as long
as you meet my price. But understand,
if he doesn't want to go with you he doesn't have to. And if he doesn't want to meet with you, too bad."
"He'll want to," said Reanyn. "When can I see him?"
The man gave a half-shrug. "It'll take time to arrange," he said. "Two days."
"One," countered Reanyn. "I don't have that kind of time to
waste."
The man considered.
"Tomorrow," he agreed, after a moment. "I'll arrange a time and place after
I've spoken to Windhook."
Reanyn nodded.
"And the price?"
The man pursed his lips.
"Well, I don't want to be greedy... Shall we say two-thousand gold?"
Tianna snorted.
"That's outrageous!" she sputtered.
Reanyn ignored her.
"Done."
The man's eyes widened.
"In that case, make it three-thousand."
Reanyn stared at him.
"I thought we'd settled on a price."
"You agreed too quickly. On Syrrus B that means you were willing to pay more." He grinned.
"I told you we do things differently here."
* * *
Julian ducked back behind the corner of the building.
In the street ahead, a fire raged, mingled with the
shouts of soldiers.
It was the inn that was afire - Lem's Pride.
Their inn.
In the street, facedown in a pool of black blood, was the
bald innkeep. Nearby lay seven other
bodies, all still and broken. Two of
them he recognized as the prostitutes from the common room; the others he could
only assume were other patrons.
Twilight Jack was not among them.
Idiot, thought
Julian, did you really expect he would
be?
He peered around the corner, trying to keep his breathing
calm, and get a clear look at the soldiers.
Jack had discussed this possibility with him, made backup plans.
Remember their
uniforms, he thought. Jack had been
specific about that. If one of the
power groups in the place had decided to eliminate them, he wanted to know
which. But in the bright light of the
roaring fire, all he could make out were the soldier's silhouettes. Still, he strained his eyes, looking for any
identifying marks.
"No sign of the elf or the human, mistress,"
reported one of the soldiers, his voice a faint rasp over the roar of the
distant flames. The comment drew
Julian's attention; it was that of an underling to a superior. And if he could spot the superior...
One of the soldiers stood taller than the others - well
over six feet, Julian estimated - and the armor he wore seemed to sparkle
silver in the light of the flames.
"Widen the search. One or
the other will be nearby. We need them
neutralized." It was a woman's
voice, and Julian stared in surprise.
Was it possible? Is it her?
Abruptly a chill came over him, and he ducked back behind
the corner again. The uncertain light
made it impossible to tell, but it seemed to him that she had turned, and
stared straight towards him.
"Good enough," he said aloud, his voice
shaky. "Good enough." He turned and sprinted down the small
alley. Jack would find him; he had said
he would if this happened. The
important thing was to get somewhere safe.
And the safest place was the middle of an anonymous crowd.
An inn ransacked; soldiers combing the streets for him;
Julian reflected with amusement that it was not the first time this had
happened since he'd met Twilight Jack.
As adrenaline rushed through him, a fierce grin split his
face. He knew where to go.