by Jason Fry
“HEJI! NO!”
Hejira’s sword bit through the sand. The roof of the cavern seemed to shiver, and then it came down with a roar. Sand filled the air around Stax and Ramoa, getting in Stax’s eyes and mouth. He coughed and spat. Behind them, all was silent and still. Sand filled the cavern. Stax saw no sign of the raiders who had been behind them when Hejira brought the ceiling down: They’d either been buried beneath it or were cut off behind it. But he knew where Hejira had been standing, and there the sand was silent and still.
“A foolish sacrifice,” Miggs said, and Stax tore his eyes away from the mountain of sand. “There’re still a dozen of us and only two of yeh.”
“Let’s see if we can even up those numbers, then,” Stax said, teeth bared.
The raiders just laughed.
“Stax, there are too many of them. We don’t know where Osk is, and we’ve lost Heji,” Ramoa said. “Don’t throw your life away. Not like this.”
“Yer friend’s smart,” Miggs said. “Are yeh gonna be smart, kid?”
Stax looked from Ramoa’s grim expression to the eager raiders and the weapons in their fists. He was willing to go down fighting—but not to make that choice for Ramoa.
With a sigh, Stax lowered his sword.
A recollection of bygone perils * Morning visitors * A confession
The doors Stax had glimpsed in the rocky cavern turned out to be jail cells. Miggs’s raiders stripped Stax of his diamond armor, took away his weapons and Ramoa’s, and shoved Stax and Ramoa into one of the little rooms.
Ramoa immediately began examining the walls and doors for a way out, but Stax told her to stop wasting her time. The cell walls were made of obsidian, leaving just enough room for two beds with lumpy, dirty woolen mattresses. It would have been a huge effort to dig through the walls even with proper tools, and the guards would have to be actually unconscious to ignore the noise it would make.
“You’re right, there’s no way out,” Ramoa said with a sigh, sitting against the wall next to Stax. “Still, don’t despair. I’ve been in worse situations than this.”
“You have? When?”
“I was taken prisoner by the Priest-Kings of Dahver-Nod,” Ramoa said. “For daring to look upon the sacred waters of the Great Cataract as a heretic. Totally worth it, by the way. But when that cell door closed, I thought I was a goner.”
“How’d you escape?”
Ramoa’s face fell. “Heji rescued me. Oh, Heji. I wish something in his crazy code had stopped him. It’s forbidden to dig sand above your head, or something.”
Stax said nothing, remembering his last look at Hejira’s slim, black-clad figure before the ceiling came down with a roar.
“At least Osk got away,” Ramoa said. “Poor kid. She wasn’t really cut out for swords and bows.”
Stax tried to imagine Osk getting help and somehow returning to rescue them, but stopped himself. The artificer would be lucky if she got back to their horses without running into more of Fouge’s gang. Stax hung his head at the thought.
“What do you think will happen now?” Ramoa asked.
“Oh, I imagine Fouge will come to gloat. And have his revenge.”
“Which will be what?” Ramoa asked.
Stax just shook his head. “I’m glad to say I don’t know what it’s like in that man’s brain.”
He thought about adding that he knew whatever Fouge came up with would be worse than anything he could imagine, but decided not to. Their situation was bad enough as it was.
“Heji liked you, you know,” Ramoa said. “He said you didn’t understand how resourceful you were, and that your instinct was to help others. He said lots of people figured out that first part, but people either helped others or didn’t. He told me he really wanted to know what your destiny would be.”
Stax smiled, but shook his head. “I’m glad he didn’t get an answer, then. Because this sure wasn’t the destiny I had in mind.”
“Me neither,” she said. “But I’m still glad I met you. It’s like I told you, back when we met: People need people. I’m glad we got to be each other’s people, Stax. I could have done without the Being Captured by a Psychotic Bandit part, but that’s regret for you.”
“Quiet in there, you two!” growled a guard.
“Or what?” demanded Stax. “You’ll throw us in jail?”
Ramoa laughed, and a moment later, despite everything, Stax was laughing too.
* * *
—
Stax expected it wouldn’t be long before Miggs or someone else came to bring them in front of Fouge Tempro, but minutes stretched into hours and nothing happened.
Finally, a bandit brought them some stale bread and a curt message: The boss would deal with them later. They should get some sleep, because they’d need it.
Stax didn’t think he’d be able to sleep while knowing that in the morning he’d be at Fouge’s mercy all over again. But to his surprise, after a few minutes of tossing and turning he succumbed to exhaustion.
He woke up because Ramoa was shaking him.
“Stax! Wake up already! Can’t you hear that?”
A moment later, anyone in the immediate vicinity of the mountain could have heard it: steel on steel, accompanied by grunts of effort.
Something clattered to the ground outside their cell. They heard footsteps. Then heavy breathing.
The cell door opened.
Hejira Tenboots stood in the doorway, shoulders hunched, leaning on his sword. He was breathing hard, and he looked awful. His black cloak was streaked with sand and his face and arms were bruised and cut. Behind him, Stax saw Osk Fikar peering into the cell.
“You’re alive!” he exclaimed.
“Heji!” yelped Ramoa, and threw her arms around her friend.
Hejira stumbled backward, dropping his sword and emitting gasps of pain until Ramoa realized how badly hurt he was and let him go.
Stax was stammering something that wasn’t exactly a sentence, more a jumble of hows and whats, and Hejira was trying to answer him.
“Osk dug me out of the sand,” Hejira said. “The other raiders had fled. I did not suffocate, not quite, but it was not an experience I care to repeat.”
“I’m sorry I ran off and left you guys. I just got so scared. I was halfway to the entrance when I heard the ceiling come down and I realized I was the only one who could help,” Osk said, looking down at her feet. “So I hid until the coast was clear and snuck back in, but you were all gone. I managed to find Heji, but I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them from taking you two.”
“You ran off, but you came back,” Ramoa said, and hugged Osk, who had no injuries that would allow her to escape Ramoa’s embrace.
“But how did you get past the guards?” Stax asked.
“Stealth is an excellent strategy,” Hejira said. “Particularly when you are not capable of prolonged combat. The last guard saw me before I could sneak up on him, unfortunately. I persuaded him to depart. But now I am winded.”
Hejira put his hands on his knees and tried to get his breath.
“We need to get you back down the mountain,” Stax said.
“No,” Hejira said. “We must press on. This may be our only chance to take Fouge Tempro by surprise. Unfortunately, they have taken your weapons and armor to the tower. I suggest you salvage any useful gear you can find.”
“You’re not going to go down the mountain, are you?” Ramoa asked Hejira before Stax could protest. “No matter what we say or do.”
Hejira just shook his head.
“Impossible man,” she muttered. “All right, then. Stax, let’s see what we can find.”
They were able to find a pair of swords abandoned by the fleeing guards, one of which was badly notched but useable. So armed, they stood at the foot of the stairs leading up.
“Before
we ascend, I have a confession I must make,” Hejira said. “It is painful, and you will think less of me. When Osk found me, I was badly hurt. So we found shelter a level below, and I slept. In a bed.”
Ramoa, Stax, and Osk looked at one another.
“We’ll never tell,” Ramoa said. “That’s a promise.”
The bandit king’s hideout * Hejira, preceded by his reputation * Fouge, at last
This time Stax was in the lead, with Ramoa and Hejira behind him. They took the stone steps slowly, out of concern for Hejira’s injuries.
The stairs ended at a pair of doors made of dark oak. Stax pulled the ring on the left-hand door and found himself at the end of a long hall. There was a table in the center, lined with low chairs on either side and with two high-backed ones at each end, and windows on the far side of the room. Everything was covered with a thick layer of dust.
“This place is old,” said Osk.
“So were the rooms in the mountain and the ruins around it,” Stax said. “Fouge either found it, or took it away from somebody. I doubt he’s ever built anything in his life.”
“Stax, look.”
Stax saw what Ramoa was pointing to: a path through the dust, made by a multitude of feet. They followed it to another door that led to a long corridor with many rooms off it.
“It would be good to find our weapons,” Ramoa said.
“But bad to find more guards,” Stax said. “Osk, wait—”
But it was too late. Osk, who had just been muttering about “something curious,” opened one of the doors and stood in the entrance, mouth agape. A strange purple light played over her astonished features.
Stax looked over Osk’s shoulder and peered into the room. The door opened onto a balcony with an iron railing, with ladders leading down to the lower part of the room. Below, a massive frame of obsidian enclosed roiling purple light, shot through with traceries and sparks.
“What is that?” asked Stax.
“A nether portal,” Osk said. “A gateway to another dimension. That must be what those guys back in the mountain meant when they said their boss was studying. Stax, if Fouge has gone through there, you might never find him.”
“Then let’s hope he hasn’t,” Stax said. “Come on, Osk.”
He heard a whine of hinges and turned to discover Ramoa opening another door.
“What?” she asked. “Our weapons might be around here somewhere.”
“Seriously?” Stax asked.
“I am both tired and injured,” Hejira said. “I do not think I will be able to free you from captivity a second time.”
“Nobody open another door unless we all agree, okay?” Stax asked, and led them down the hallway. It jogged to the right, merging with another corridor to form a foyer. Behind them lay a door of oak; ahead of them, three broad steps led to double doors. On either side of the doors sat low columns topped with torches.
“That looks like an important place,” Osk said.
“It does,” Stax said. “Everybody ready?”
The doors yawned open. Beyond them lay a wide hall. There was another long table in the center, and one side of the room was piled high with objects—some scattered on the floor, some spilling out of chests and discarded on chairs. Much of the stuff was valuable, or at least looked like it might be; there were gems, bars of gold, paintings, maps, pieces of armor, banners, and many other things besides.
But at that moment, Stax didn’t care about any of those fascinating objects. Because sitting at the end of the hall, in a high-backed chair with a velvet cushion, was Fouge Tempro.
Stax recognized Fouge’s bright blue eyes at once, and his unnerving, intent stare. And he was wearing mismatched clothes, as he had when he’d first arrived at the Stonecutter estate. But he was pale and haggard, with deep bags under those hypnotic eyes.
Standing next to Fouge was Miggs, who’d been speaking urgently with him. Three other guards were lounging nearby, and sprang to their feet.
“What’s this then?” asked Fouge crossly.
“Stax Stonecutter,” said Miggs. “The prisoner I told yeh about, boss. But how—”
Stax had spent a number of sleepless nights imagining what he’d say at this moment. And he did open his mouth. But before he could speak, Hejira stepped forward, head high and sword held almost carelessly in one hand.
That was amazing enough, but then Hejira did something Stax found even stranger. He looked at Stax and winked.
“The man in black!” one of the other raiders said. “But the roof fell on him! Buried him alive! It can’t be!”
“It is,” Hejira said, his voice even and calm. “The mountain is empty. You are the only defenders left, and now I have come for you. Run while you can.”
“What is all this bother?” asked Fouge, more crossly this time. His hand strayed to the diamond sword at his hip.
“A ghost!” yelled one of the raiders, running from the room. Hejira continued to advance on the others, his strides slow and deliberate, his eyes fixed on Fouge and his minions. He raised his sword, the point held unwaveringly in his hand.
That was too much for the other raiders. They ran as well, eyes wide with fear, leaving Miggs alone at the side of his master.
“Your luck’s run out, Miggs,” Stax said, following a step behind Hejira. “Now you’re the one who’s outnumbered. You’d better go, and this time you’d better stay gone.”
Miggs’s eyes jumped from Hejira to Fouge and back again.
“I lifted you up from nothing, Miggs,” Fouge growled. “I can make you nothing again. And if you cross me, I’ll do far worse.”
“You don’t have to be afraid of him, Miggs,” Stax said. “He’s never leaving this place again. That’s a promise.”
Miggs hesitated, and then he too hurried from the hall, and Stax heard him break into a run once he’d reached the doors. Hejira stopped a few blocks from Fouge, now sitting alone in his chair. His shoulders slumped and he lowered his sword.
“I think I need to sit down,” he said, fumbling for a chair.
“You were bluffing!” said Fouge, admiration and anger chasing each other across his face.
“In my experience most brigands are weak people, easily led by anyone with enough bluster and bravado,” said Hejira, slumping in a chair. “This also makes them easy to deceive.”
“Hard to get good help these days,” muttered Fouge.
“Stax,” said Ramoa. “I think I found some things that belong to you.”
Stax looked over and found Ramoa standing by a pile of diamond armor. She had already picked up her bow and was gathering arrows.
“Stax Stonecutter,” said Fouge, his blue eyes studying Stax.
“Yes,” Stax smiled with grim satisfaction. “It’s been a long time, Fouge.”
“Miggs told me your name, and how he had you and your friends locked away,” Fouge said. “But I’m afraid I don’t remember who you are.”
At first Stax thought Fouge was lying in an effort to provoke him. But the confusion on his face was real. He had actually forgotten.
“I lived in a house of diorite and granite, on a little peninsula by the sea,” Stax said, his voice tight with anger. “With my cats and my flowers. And my family’s mine in the back garden.”
Fouge’s face brightened.
“You had a little pool above that mine!” he said. “Built out of that black-and-white speckly stuff. I remember now!”
And he grinned; not that predatory grin that Stax had found so unsettling, but a real smile of delighted recollection. As if he and Stax were old friends, meeting again after many years apart.
“You destroyed the pool,” Stax said. “And the mine, and the house. And then you carried off everything that had belonged to my grandmother and father. And left me on a desert shore to die. Do you remember that now too?�
�
“More or less,” Fouge said. “But that was so far from here, Stax. Did you come all this way for revenge?”
“For justice,” Stax said.
“Oh, call it what you like. What a waste of time and effort. You’ve done all right for yourself since we parted ways, Stax. Diamond armor doesn’t come cheap. I’m betting you could build four or five houses like the one I visited and fill them with more stuff than even my raiders could take away. But instead, here you are wanting to settle some boring dispute from a long time ago.”
“It’s not a long time ago to me,” Stax said, and turned to wave at the gems and treasures piled up in the hall. “And I bet it’s not a long time ago to all the other people you’ve stolen from.”
“I see you’re determined to be tedious. Very well, Stax. So what’s it to be? A duel to the death? Or is your excitable friend here going to simply shoot me where I stand?”
And Fouge inclined his chin at Ramoa, who was standing astride Stax’s armor with her bow drawn back and an arrow aimed straight at Fouge.
Stax felt his anger rise. It wasn’t just that Fouge had forgotten him, it was the casual way he referred to all the misery he’d caused.
Fouge got to his feet, almost lazily, only to start in surprise when an arrow thudded into the back of the chair beside him.
“You missed,” he told Ramoa mildly.
“I didn’t,” she replied. “Stax gets to buckle on his armor and take up his sword, and you’re going to sit back down and hold still while he does it.”
Fouge fixed Ramoa with a look of pure malice.
“Osk, help him,” Hejira suggested.
Stax kept a close eye on Fouge as he crossed in front of the table and stood beside Ramoa. He nodded at her and knelt to pick up his diamond sword, then turned to face Fouge. Osk strapped him into his chestplate, cinching it tight, then knelt to affix his leggings.
“This hardly seems fair,” Fouge said. “I have no such protection.”
“Was it fair when you invaded my house with boats full of bandits?” Stax asked, picking up one foot so Osk could fit a boot over it.
