The Sanctum of the Sphere: The Benevolence Archives, Vol. 2

by Luther M. Siler

  “You have met the Lady Remember, have you not?” Overmorrow said. “And you doubt her capability to know when she is needed?”

  “She basically said that that was how it was going to work,” Grond said.

  “If I may interrupt,” Irtuus-bon said. “My resources, at least in this specific domain, likely rival Remember’s. Perhaps if the artifact could be brought to me, I could…”

  “My kids are on Arradon,” Brazel interrupted. “This goes nowhere near you.”

  Irtuus-bon did not respond. Brazel imagined the look he was probably getting from Rhundi and smiled.

  “This doesn’t tell us what to do in the meantime,” Brazel said. “If you think Remember’s going to find us, we probably ought to find someplace to put this thing in between now and then.”

  “You guys figure that out,” Rhundi said. “I’m going to go find Haakoro.” There was a click as the signal died.

  “Any ideas?” Brazel asked. “It’s not–”

  There was a frantic pounding at the door. Grond opened it, and a handful of dwarves spilled into the room, nearly tripping over each other.

  “What is this?” Overmorrow asked.

  “We got an emergency comm,” one of them said. “9013LV’s being bombed. Our agents there are busy liquidating our safehouses. They’re on to us.”

  Wonderful, Brazel thought.

  Interlude 2

  Then

  Grond had had better fights. The ogre was large for his age, but his sparring partner was a few years older than him, and he’d reached the peak of his growth already. Grond was spotting him nearly a third of a meter and a good thirty to forty kilograms.

  That was before you factored in that the other ogre had a staff and Grond didn’t. He’d lost his a moment ago, and the other ogre was between him and it.

  He ducked, avoiding a high swing at his head, then spun out of the way of the staff’s other end. His opponent smiled, revealing a gap-toothed grin. Grond was responsible for the gap. The other ogre, whose name was Monyx, was not one of his bigger fans. Grond feinted to his left, earning a jab in that direction, and then swiped half-heartedly at the end of the staff. Monyx jabbed again, twice, three times.

  At the fourth jab, Grond pounced. He let the staff hit him in the ribs, rolling to blunt the impact, then backhanded Monyx across the face. He stomped on the bigger ogre’s instep, staggering him, then punched him in the jaw, enjoying the clack the ogre’s jaws made as they slammed together.

  I think he just lost another tooth, he thought. Monyx made an attempt to back up, to get Grond back within range of the staff, but it was too late. Grond slammed an elbow into his jaw in the same place, then snatched his staff away from him, hitting a kneecap and hearing it crack. The other ogre crumpled to the ground and Grond pounced on him, beating him in the face and chest until he heard K’Shorr’s command to stop.

  He stared at the unconscious ogre, waiting for K’Shorr to declare him the winner of the fight.

  And a blow to the back of his head sent him to the floor, seeing stars.

  “Monyx wins,” K’Shorr said. He had a staff of his own.

  “F … fuck he does,” Grond mumbled.

  “You lost track of an enemy,” K’Shorr said. “If I’d hit you just a little harder I’d have caved your skull in. He wins.”

  “You … you weren’t part of the fight!” Grond sputtered, slamming a fist into the ground.

  “One,” K’Shorr said, bashing Grond in the ribs with the staff, “I never said it was one-on-one. Two, even if I had, I was lying. You assumed you’d won and dropped your guard. And then you lost.”

  “To the guy who’s still unconscious,” Grond said.

  “Yeah. He climbs the ranks. You stay where you are until you learn to cheat.”

  “I could kill him now,” Grond said. “He’s out. He can’t stop me.”

  “You won’t,” K’Shorr said.

  “You sure about that?”

  “Don’t get the idea that because I let you talk again that I want to hear a bunch of it,” K’Shorr said. “And yeah. Wanna know how I know? You’re talking about killing him, not killing him.”

  “Fine,” Grond said, snatching his staff from the ground.

  “Don’t touch him,” a voice commanded. Grond dropped the staff again and climbed to one knee, his eyes fixed on the ground.

  “He wasn’t gonna,” K’Shorr said. Bountiful’s wealth and influence had only expanded since he had purchased Grond, and the elf’s clothing now reached a level of opulence that verged on absurd. He glittered as he moved, the muddy yellow light in the filthy training pit still managing to reflect beautifully off the bits of gemstone and spun gold woven into his robes.

  “Is he ready?” Bountiful asked.

  “No,” K’Shorr said. “But he’s readier than anybody else you’ve got. He beat this poor shit unarmed, and Monyx is the best stickfighter I’ve got.”

  I thought you said I lost, Grond thought, but he did not speak in the presence of his master.

  Bountiful sighed heavily. “He will have to do. Have him prepared within the hour.”

  Prepared for what?

  “Explain yourself,” the elf said.

  “A gift,” Bountiful said. “He is well trained in the militant arts. Young. Strong. And not belligerent or troublesome. Use him as a bodyguard, if you like.” Grond was on one knee again, head down, fists pressed into the ground near his feet. He was being presented to another elf, whose simple white robe contrasted with Bountiful’s gaudy pomposity. Bountiful had not bothered to introduce the elf to him. K’Shorr, silent, stood somewhere behind him.

  “You bring me a person,” the elf said, palpable disgust in xir tone.

  “An ogre, at least,” Bountiful said, taking no notice and striding grandly about the room. “Does he not please you? I have others. An elf, perhaps, would be more to your liking? Or a human?”

  “You misunderstand,” the elf said. Grond dared to lift his eyes, hearing Bountiful moving behind him. The other elf reached under xir robe, extracting a silver medallion, a symbol Grond had never seen before. It looked like a spider, or some other multi-legged creature. “You wish this, do you not?”

  “Most ardently,” Bountiful said.

  “You have badly miscalculated how to receive it,” the elf replied acidly. “The gifts of Great Azamoeg are not for purchase, Bountiful. They are awarded to the worthy.”

  “Am I not worthy?” Bountiful said, the other’s tone finally getting through to him. “The priesthood of Azamoeg is of one of the lesser clans, is it not? My influence is wide, and grows wider each passing year. Does the Benevolence not hold slaves? Your objections make no sense to me, sibling.”

  “Yet another reason to deny your request … brother,” the elf said, and Grond’s eyes snapped back to the floor, feeling rather than seeing his master’s anger flare in response to the epithet. “You are a clan-kin. This I cannot deny. You are perhaps capable of the lesser mysteries of the Scouring God, but a priesthood? You insult your siblings and your betters with the very request. That you thought to improve your chances to gain it by bringing me this … this overgrown boy is proof that you lack the judgment for the honor. Azamoeg himself scorns your bribe.”

  The elf did not appear to be finished talking, but Bountiful was beyond listening. His hand lashed out, striking the elf across the face and sending xir to the floor. Grond froze, indecision halting his movement. Bountiful would no doubt expect to be defended. But K’Shorr was in the room, and Grond had received no order to stand or move. He heard the big ogre putting himself in between Bountiful and the other elf.

  Bountiful, for his part, did something entirely unexpected, as Grond heard him fall to his knees.

  “Forgive,” he said, panic in his voice. “Eremite, please … I lost my temper, I never meant to–”

  “Silence,” Eremite said, and xir eyes shone like silver, and the air in the room thickened, somehow, and Grond knew that he had lost the chance to stand e
ven if he desired it. He heard K’Shorr fighting against the spell, grunting and straining to move his limbs. “You are cast out, Bountiful. Your properties and possessions, your effects and clan-marks, are now property of the priesthood of the Scoured God. You are left a tenth of a tenth for your own survival. All else is forfeit.” Grond watched as Bountiful was lifted into the air, unseen hands stripping him of his fine clothes, his jewelry, tearing his hair and leaving him nearly naked.

  Eremite continued, and xir voice boomed like thunder as xe spoke. “I take from thee thy light. I take from thee thy seals and thy station and thy gifts. And I take from thee thy name.”

  “No,” Bountiful managed to grunt. “Please.”

  “Bountiful you are no longer. Bountiful is stricken from our memories. I name thee Barren.”

  Eremite walked to Barren, pausing inches away from him.

  “But we are not merciless,” Eremite said. “We grant you a boon. One only.”

  Xe turned and pointed at Grond, still frozen on one knee.

  “You may keep that. Perhaps he will be useful to rebuild your … what did you call it? Influence.” Xe practically spat the word.

  Eremite left the room, the door closing behind xir.

  It was nearly an hour before they could move again.

  Sixteen

  Rhundi, sitting at her desk in her office, tapped at a few icons and called up nanocam footage from Haakoro’s suite. The man was sitting at the edge of his bed, one leg crossed over his knee. He reached out with his left arm and picked up a glass of water from the table next to his bed and took a drink, then put it back.

  She sat in silence for a moment, watching him. The man’s motives were truly a mystery. If his goal had just been to get the statue into their hands, there would have been no reason for him to follow it back to Arradon. And he’d genuinely not seemed to know what the information was on the datapad. She couldn’t figure out his angle. Why lie to any of them about where it had come from? Was he actively working against them, or just working for himself? She wasn’t especially fond of working blind, and she really had little idea about how to proceed with Haakoro.

  He reached out with his left arm and picked up the glass of water again, took a drink, then put it back.

  Rhundi leaned forward, watching the footage a bit closer.

  “No way,” she said.

  She tapped another icon, turning on her comm link to his room, then shouted at the top of her lungs.

  Haakoro didn’t react.

  And, a moment later, reached out with his left arm and picked up the glass of water, precisely the same way he’d done it the previous two times.

  “Son of a bitch,” she said, signaling her security team.

  “Find Haakoro and bring him to me,” she said over her comm. Every employee she had at the resort would hear the broadcast, from Gorrim to her head of security to her engineers to Irtuus-bon to the lowliest goblin pool-boy on staff. “Bring him to me now, and if you want to hurt him along the way, go ahead.”

  She thought for a few moments, then opened up a specific channel.

  “Lock the hangar and the parking lot down, too,” she said. “Quarantine conditions: nobody goes anywhere for an hour, on land or atmo, unless we find him first.” That son of a bitch, she thought. Her employees at the other end of the comm started sputtering back, most asking for additional details. She shut the comm off and got up, intending to head there herself, when a thought struck her.

  His story about finding them had been ridiculous. But he had found them. And if he could find them, it seemed obvious that others could too. If he’d managed to send a transmission, even if it wasn’t encrypted, anyone could be heading her way now.

  “Gorrim, go run the parking lots,” she said into the comm. “I’m sending you a holo of the kid. Get Tarrysh to run security on the dock. She’s enough of an asshole that nobody’ll argue with her. And I want this image sent to every single person who works here in the next ten minutes. Find this little bastard. We clear?”

  “Clear, ma’am,” Gorrim said immediately. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “I need all sorts of things,” she said. The first was to go find her troll.

  “So, we’re taking this thing with us?” Brazel said. “How long is that stasis spell going to last, anyway?”

  “Not long enough,” Asper said. “Which means that I’m coming with you.”

  Overmorrow and the dwarves stood up. “We have to assume that Roashan’s location may be compromised, so we’re going to be moving immediately. The Benevolence could be on their way already.”

  Overmorrow and Asper embraced.

  “I will let you know when we stop running.”

  “I know,” Asper said. “Good luck.”

  Asper picked up the statue. “I have some things I need to recover from my quarters. These dwarves–” xe indicated the ones that had burst in with the bad news–“will show the two of you back to the Nameless. I will be with you momentarily.”

  “Can we get a resupply while we’re waiting?” Brazel asked. The Nameless wasn’t likely to be screaming for fuel anytime soon, but it sounded like it might be a while before they saw a friendly port.

  “Arrange for it,” Asper said to the dwarves. One of them moved away and began speaking into a comm. The others left, Brazel and Grond following.

  They had almost made it back to the ship when the alarms started.

  The dwarves stopped dead, Grond nearly running over them.

  “Those are boarding alarms,” one of them said. “That’s not proximity. Somebody’s already on Roashan.”

  “How the hell did that happen?” Grond asked.

  “No idea,” the dwarf said. “But hopefully it’s just a few of them and not a few hundred.”

  “Benevolence?”

  “Maybe. Probably not. Why would they board instead of just blowing us apart? Only if they were looking for something.” The dwarf waved the others off and kept moving, Brazel and Grond continuing to follow.

  “Braze, how armed are you?”

  “One gun. Projectile, so not the best choice for a fight on a space station.”

  “Why the hell’d you bring it with you then?”

  Brazel shrugged. “Wasn’t thinking, I guess. It’s my smallest gun. I just felt like I oughtta have something. You?”

  “Not even that much,” Grond said, cursing his decision-making. “Hey, dwarf!”

  The dwarf didn’t even turn around. “I got nothing for you. You just gotta hope that nobody’s landed in the dock your ship’s on.”

  They turned the corner into a hail of fire. The dwarf, riddled with shots, dropped to the floor.

  “Fuck me,” Brazel said. “Namey, what’s going on?”

  TWO RAIDING PARTIES, ALL HUMAN, the ship responded. THEY WERE ALLOWED TO DOCK WITHOUT INCIDENT. I ASSUME THE SHIPS ARE STOLEN.

  “Mercs?” Brazel asked. “They’re not Benevolence, are they?”

  HIGHLY UNLIKELY. THEY LACK ANY ARMOR OR UNIFORMS. OR SENSE OF TASTE. THEY ARE NOT ATTEMPTING TO DAMAGE PROPERTY AT THE MOMENT, ONLY TO ATTACK CIVILIANS. I AM ON FULL ALERT BUT NO ONE HAS APPROACHED ME YET.

  Grond peeked around the corner. He saw no one. He patted the dead dwarf down. She wasn’t carrying anything more deadly than a small energy pistol.

  “Better than nothing,” he mumbled. “Namey, any idea how close we are to you?”

  RELATIVELY, I THINK, the ship said.

  “I think it’s a pretty straight shot from here,” Brazel said. “Trouble is, it’s toward where the shooting was coming from.”

  “Why is it always toward the shooting?” Grond said.

  “It isn’t. We run away from shooting all the time,” Brazel replied.

  The two of them leapfrogged each other down the corridor, which split off at the end. There was also a hatch heading up to a higher level. Grond reflected on how, perhaps an hour ago, he’d wondered how easy the station would be to defend from inside. “Namey? Any ideas?�
�

  TURN RIGHT.

  “Hope you’re right,” Grond said, and turned. The sounds of a pitched gun battle rattled down the hallway toward him.

  “If somebody breaches the station, we’re fucked. There’s probably atmo suits around here somewhere but who the hell knows where they are,” Brazel said.

  “Asper will,” Grond responded. “We just gotta find xir.”

  “Shit, that reminds me–Namey, if the elf shows up, let xir aboard, no questions.”

  PILOTING AUTHORITY?

  “You go nowhere without us,” Brazel said. “But shoot whatever xe wants so long as it isn’t us.”

  UNDERSTOOD. THE ATTACKERS ARE BEGINNING TO TAKE NOTICE OF OTHER SHIPS. MOST OF THEM DO NOT APPEAR TO BE RUN BY AIs OR THEY WOULD LIKELY BE FIRING BACK BY NOW. A GROUP OF ATTACKERS HAS HAVE BROKEN AWAY FROM THE BATTLE. THEY ARE BEGINNING TO START LOOTING.

  “Kill anyone you have to,” Brazel said.

  ACKNOWLEDGED.

  “Definitely mercs. I’m guessing Benevolence found them in the neighborhood and told them to soften the station up. No discipline, so they’re looting already.”

  “Sounds about right,” Grond said. “Problem is gonna be telling ‘em from the good guys. Sometimes uniforms come in handy.”

  “Right,” Brazel said. The sounds of battle were getting louder as they moved farther down. “That’s the hangar right there. And the ship is … of course it’s on the other side.”

  Grond moved up behind him and looked into the hangar. He could see two groups of mercs, one barricaded behind crates and firing out of his field of vision toward what were likely Malevolence forces, and a second merrily breaking into any ships they could find. “They’re not watching our way. Most of the battle’s pointed a different direction.”

  “Let’s go, then,” Brazel said. “Stick close to the wall.”

  The two edged out of the door around the outside of the hangar toward their ship, Grond taking the lead and staying as low as he could. An explosion sprayed shrapnel into the wall above them. Grond shook his head and looked around. The mercenaries had dealt with the Malevolence forces by switching from energy weapons to grenades.

  “Oh, they didn’t,” Brazel said. “No, no, nobody’s that fucking stupid…”