Grond nodded, conceding the truth of what the elf was saying. “How young?”
“Early adolescent,” xe said. “I was present for some of your training. If I remember correctly, your master tried to sell you to me.”
“And you remember me from that?”
“I forget very little,” xe said. “But I might not have remembered you, were it not for some of the scars. K’Shorr’s brand remains on your shoulder, and I saw you receive the wound across your right collarbone.”
“K’Shorr was always strict about keeping my guard up,” Grond said, running a finger over the scar. The scar was actually one of his less prominent ones. It had been inflicted with a tiny blade, but the blade had been treated with a substance that slowed healing. K’Shorr had always liked for his trainees to remember their mistakes. “He didn’t own me, though. That was Barren. He just hired K’Shorr to do the training. Barren never was much of a fighter.”
The elf raised an eyebrow. “Barren is an elvish name.”
“Yeah. And, yeah, he. Not xe.” Gender was looked upon with distaste by most elves, almost as if it were a birth defect. “He … uh … wasn’t thought of well by elf society for most of the time I knew him. There was a reason he was working the pits and the slave markets, I guess. What were you doing there?”
“I was in training myself,” the elf said. “I’d been sent to kill K’Shorr.”
“But you didn’t,” Grond said. “And you lived through failing to kill him, which makes me doubt the entire story.”
“I was being trained to think for myself,” xe replied. “I determined that K’Shorr did not need killing and did not kill him. As it turned out, that was the correct decision for me to make. Had I attempted to kill K’Shorr, there would have been consequences.”
“Consequences.”
“He would likely have killed me in the attempt, and my own masters would have finished the job if he had been unsuccessful.”
“K’Shorr was a pretty tough son of a bitch,” Grond said. “Is, I guess. I assume he’s still alive.”
“How did you come to escape them? I do not imagine K’Shorr would have been interested in freeing you.”
“You’d be surprised,” Grond said. “Point is I don’t have to deal with him anymore.”
“And here we are,” the elf said.
“Here we are,” Grond agreed.
The elf rose to xir feet in a single liquid motion.
“Let us see how well you were trained,” xe said.
“Excuse me?” Grond said.
“I want to spar,” xe replied. “I have just as much time to fill as you do, and sparring is a better use of my time than meditation. You may set the rules. Hand-to-hand only, or shall we use weapons?”
“Who says I even want to?”
“The look on your face says so,” the elf said. “And you had decided to shoot me first during the standoff, despite the fact that I had drawn no weapon at all. Do not bother to deny it. Your body language was clear enough. Let us see how you would have done.” Xe crouched, opening the door to the berth.
“Weapons seem unfair,” he said. “I’ve already got enough of a reach advantage as is, and I don’t want to have to clean blood out of Namey’s cargo bay.”
“Bravado,” the elf responded. “Back it up.” And xe leapt at Grond without another word. He ducked, the elf sailing over his head and landing lightly on xir feet. He unclipped the cloak at his neck, dropping it to the floor, then put his weapons down next to it. The elf had left all of xir visible weapons in the berth. He rolled his head around his shoulders, loosening his muscles.
“More bravado,” the elf said.
“Worked in the pits just fine,” Grond responded. The two paced around each other, looking for an opening. Grond could tell in moments that he had his work cut out for him. Whoever this elf was, xe was faster than him, smaller, and well-trained. Grond had never been wonderful at sparring as a practice. He’d been trained to kill and kill quickly in a fight and had never forgotten that lesson. It made dialing back to fight in a nonlethal manner more difficult than it should have been.
The elf charged in, feinting at his face then swinging a leg low to try to sweep Grond off his feet. Grond let xir do it. The foot glanced off his shin without budging him. He swiped at xir ankle with a hand but the elf danced out of the way.
“I’m not easy to knock down,” he said.
“I see that,” xe said, and dove for his face again. He slid out of the way, landing a blow on the elf’s abdomen as xe flew past him. Xe rolled to xir feet this time, once again charging in swinging. The next few moments were a flurry of blows from both of them, Grond being struck by as many swings as he managed to block and only getting one good hit on his opponent. The elf was fast. And those punches hurt, especially for someone xir size. Grond probably had a 70 centimeter height advantage and was quite possibly three times xir weight. It didn’t seem to matter much.
Use the height. He stopped focusing on blocking attacks and trapped one of the elf’s arms against his body instead, landing a solid hit into xir ribs and then wrapping a hand around a knee and lifting the elf entirely off the ground. He hurled xir against the nearest wall. Amazingly, the elf twisted in midair and managed to hit the wall feet-first, launching xirself back at Grond even faster.
It was the wrong move. Grond had been leapt at enough times during the fight, and he was ready this time. He caught the elf around the neck with both hands, slamming xir into the ground.
“Dead,” he said. “That’s a broken neck if we’re fighting for real.”
The elf only grinned. Grond felt something at both his kidneys. He looked down. Xe had daggers in each hand, one positioned on each side of him.
“Cheater,” he said, standing up.
“Being righteous would not have kept you alive,” xe said.
“K’Shorr always did think I should cheat more often. But who knows if the fight would even have lasted that long if it was for real,” Grond said. “I don’t spar very often.”
The elf bowed. “Perhaps next time we will try blades. Dulled, of course. I think I will return to my meditation now. I will alert your partner when it is time to head to our rendezvous point.”
Grond nodded, not saying anything. This was not at all how he had expected his day to go. And, worse, he had the distinct suspicion that the elf had been holding back. Then again, so had he.
Ten
Namey woke Brazel up a few hours later. THE ELF IS ASKING FOR YOU, he said. DEMANDING, ACTUALLY.
“I think that’s kind of xir style,” he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I’m guessing we’re about to be on our way.” He stood up and stretched, his fur rippling. An experimental sniff revealed that he probably needed a shower, something he didn’t have time or facilities for at the moment. I should be back at Arradon in a hot bath by now, he thought.
“Tell the elf I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he said. “Xe’s perfectly free to just tell you the coordinates we’re traveling to. They don’t need to be relayed through me.”
ACKNOWLEDGED.
Brazel blinked. The Nameless was being surprisingly polite lately. He and Grond threatened to reprogram Namey at least once every few days. He was comfortable with the ship being a sarcastic, lippy asshole at times but he didn’t remember ever authorizing moody.
COORDINATES RECEIVED. WE ARE RETURNING TO DWARFSPACE, NEARER TO BENEVOLENCE-CONTROLLED SPACE THAN YOU ARE GENERALLY COMFORTABLE WITH. SHALL I ENGAGE?
“Don’t see that we have much of a choice,” Brazel said. “But be careful.”
I WILL DO MY BEST TO NOT BE BLOWN TO PIECES.
There’s my boat, he thought. He thought about his clothes for a few minutes, eventually choosing comfort over tactical usefulness. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to have to shoot anything anytime soon, so there was no reason to dress in clothing he could conceal guns in. If the elf was going to start trouble we would have it already, he thought.
A few m
inutes later he found the elf in the cargo bay.
“I felt the ship shift into tunnelspace, so you gave up the coordinates. Was there something else you needed to talk to me about?”
The elf nodded. “There was. But I will wait for your partner. I dislike repeating myself.”
“I’m here,” Grond said, entering the bay. He was wearing his glasses, an affectation that meant he’d been reading in his quarters. Brazel had never been sure where Grond had managed to find halfogre-sized dumbglasses. Every pair he’d ever seen was live in some way or another. Grond’s were actual glass in polymer frames.
“You said that you thought I was Malevolence. Why?”
“It’s not obvious?” Grond asked.
“Magic is not a sign of the Noble Opposition,” the elf said.
“No, it’s a sign of Benevolence, and since we haven’t been tracked and killed yet, it means you’re probably a renegade. Which means you’d have headed straight to the Malevolence if you have any sense at all. I’ve never met or heard of a renegade magic user. They’re all connected to Benevolence one way or another. If you were never Benevolence, whoever taught you was.”
“There are other ways,” the elf replied, “but I will not speak of them now. Especially since, regardless of your reasons, you are correct. We are en route to a … Malevolence headquarters, a spaceport called Roashan. You need to understand: its location is a closely guarded secret. Roashan’s existence is a closely guarded secret. You will never leave if it is determined that your discretion cannot be counted upon.”
“I appreciate you feeding the coordinates into my ship before telling me that, then,” Brazel said. “But yeah, you’re safe. I have no plan to inform the Benevolence where you are and no reason to discuss your existence at all with anyone else. The three of us have gotten exceptionally good at keeping our secrets to ourselves over the years.”
The elf raised an eyebrow.
“I include my wife Rhundi, who no doubt already knows where we’re headed. This is what happens when you don’t bother telling me that something is supposed to be a secret.”
“I see,” the elf said. Xir face was unreadable. “I will assume your word binds her as well.”
Brazel and Grond both burst into laughter. The elf merely raised an eyebrow.
“You have clearly not met my wife,” Brazel said. “My word very much does not bind her. But she will agree on her own terms. I have no doubt of that.”
The elf nodded. “That will have to be acceptable, then.” Xe returned to xir berth, dropping into a cross-legged position and shutting xir eyes.
“Guess we’re done, then?” Grond said.
“Guess so,” Brazel said.
The coordinates were in the middle of nowhere, even for dwarfspace.
“There’s nothing here,” Brazel said. “The nearest star is half a light year away. Nothing orbits this far out, does it?”
THE NEAREST PLANETARY-MASS OBJECT IS A CONSIDERABLE DISTANCE FROM HERE, Namey confirmed. WE WOULD MOST LIKELY WANT TO REENTER TUNNELSPACE IN ORDER TO REACH IT.
“There had better not be another teleporter coming,” Grond said from his copilot’s chair in his quarters. The last time they’d been directed to mystery coordinates in the middle of nowhere, that had been what they had found, and neither of them had terribly enjoyed the experience of teleportation.
LONG-RANGE SENSORS HAVE DETECTED A SPACE STATION, Namey said. WE ARE BEING HAILED AND PROVIDED WITH DOCKING CODES ALREADY.
“A station? Out here?”
“Makes sense,” Grond said. “If you’re trying to hide the damn place, putting it nowhere is a good way to do that.”
“Bringing us in, then,” Brazel said. “Namey, ask the elf if there’s anything we need to know.”
“You may wish to disable your weapons,” the elf replied, from right behind Brazel. The gnome nearly leapt out of his seat.
ELF, BRAZEL WISHES TO KNOW IF THERE IS ANYTHING THAT HE NEEDS TO KNOW. BRAZEL, THE ELF SAYS WE MAY WISH TO DISABLE OUR WEAPONS. I RECOMMEND AGAINST THIS COURSE OF ACTION.
“Shut up, boat,” Brazel replied. “And do what xe says. Follow the coordinates. No sudden movements.”
ACKNOWLEDGED.
Within a few moments, the space station was visible on the holoscreen. Calling it a “space station” seemed somehow inadequate–Roashan appeared to be several different stations, possibly created by several different cultures, that had all been crudely mashed, cobbled, jury-rigged and bolted together, occasionally with no regard for common gravity. The overall result was disc-shaped, mostly, and perhaps a kilometer wide. There were a fair number of other ships coming and going, and what looked like a ring network of long-range sensors extending another few kilometers outward.
The station was built around what appeared to be the largest ship drive Brazel had ever seen.
“The whole thing can handle tunnelspace,” the elf said. “If you scanned as hostile it would be gone by now.”
“Impressive,” Brazel said. “And too big to be kept out of tunnelspace by a blockship, I’m guessing.”
“Correct,” xe replied. “Once it gets moving it’s almost impossible for anything to stop it. The Benevolence found us once and brought six blockships with them. Not enough.”
“You know that means next time they’ll bring two dozen,” Brazel replied. “And those two dozen will all be a generation beyond the first six they brought.”
“We’ve upgraded since then, too,” xe said.
Brazel nodded. “I hope it’s good enough. What happens when we dock?”
“Land,” xe said. “There’s a force shield to pass through into the dock. You don’t have to connect to an airlock. I’m going away for a while. You can either take temporary quarters on Roashan or wait on the Nameless until someone is able to meet with you and discuss what happens next.”
“Refueling would be nice, too,” Brazel said.
“That will be arranged.”
“This is interesting,” the gnome continued. “I had the idea when you first got on the ship that we were basically being kidnapped. You’re acting like we’re guests now.”
The elf smiled, showing xir teeth, which completely ruined the gesture. “You’ll find that for the next few days or so the two are more or less the same thing. I suggest thinking of yourself as a guest, as it will prove less stressful. You’re not going anywhere anytime soon one way or another.”
“Charming,” Grond said over the comm. “We’ll stay on the boat.”
“As you wish,” the elf said.
Eleven
Sirrys ban Irtuus bon Alaamac sat at the center of a digital web. He was within reach of a dozen fixed displays and four different holocomms, and was monitoring multiple streams of news, gossip, innuendo and the occasional outright lie from multiple planets and artificial habitats across the galaxy, simultaneously.
Sirrys ban Irtuus bon Alaamac was a troll. He had an exceptionally long reach, when he wanted to.
A corner of one of the displays flashed, indicating that something had hit a keyword. Irtuus-bon elongated an arm and brought the monitor closer, touching one of the feeds to bring it to fullscreen. He listened for a moment, then touched an onscreen icon that recorded the entire feed for two hours in either direction.
He turned and tapped the comm on his desk console.
“This is Gorrim,” a deep gnomish voice said.
“I need Rhundi,” Irtuus-bon said.
“She is busy,” Gorrim said. “She said you were to leave a message if you called.” He sounded bored. This was not the first time Irtuus-bon had begun a conversation with those exact three words.
“She is about to be much busier,” Irtuus-bon said. “What you have been told does not matter. It is essential that she speak with me at this time.”
“You said that last time,” the gnome said. “You were incorrect. Why should I assume what you want is important enough to interrupt her now?”
“You shall have to trust me,” the troll sa
id. “This information is for the mistress only.”
“Sorry, Irtuus-bon,” Gorrim said. “I’ll make sure she hears you wanted her as soon as she’s available.”
He cut the connection.
Irtuus-bon’s body underwent a sudden radical shape change, his limbs and torso shortening, transforming him into a squat figure not much different in height from, but much wider than, an average gnome. He stared at his desk console, a mixture of upset and astonishment on his face, then shook his head as if to clear cobwebs. He stood up from his chair and reassumed his tallest shape, removing a chip from the side of the monitor and quickly striding from the room.
He had previously occupied a suite of rooms far below Rhundi’s offices, but soon after discovering what he was doing with them she had had him moved. His new quarters were much more opulent and–more important to him–much more functional in his capacity as the new director of Rhundi’s intelligence operation. They were located much closer to the surface but far enough away from Rhundi to discourage him from visiting in person too often. Rhundi also had quite deliberately put him in a space entirely surrounded by rooms being used for other things, a move designed to make it impossible for him to enlarge his space. When she had originally stumbled upon his surveillance operation he had tunneled through a wall and expanded into the cave system behind his original suite without telling anyone. The rules were clear now: if he needed more room, he was to discuss it with Rhundi, not attempt to find or take it himself.
Well, he was going to have a discussion with Rhundi one way or another, it seemed. He grew to the tallest height he could manage and still avoid scraping his head on ceilings–which were fairly high, since Rhundi’s resort featured a halfogre as one of its most prominent residents and was scaled to accommodate both bigs and what the bigs called “tinies.” Adopting what he hoped was a look of high aggravation (Irtuus-bon had never been great with social cues) he left his quarters and headed for Rhundi’s office.
The Sanctum of the Sphere: The Benevolence Archives, Vol. 2 Page 7
