by Sharon Lee
“Syl Vor!”
The taxi stopped, the back door opened and a small boy with very bright yellow hair leapt out, followed more slowly by an elder brother. This one paused to look carefully about him. The boy, however, rushed forward, heedless.
Malda barked, and leapt into the air, then sat down by the child’s knee, quivering with joy.
“Hello, Rascal!” the boy said, bending down to ruffle pert ears. The sleeve of his jacket twisted as he did so, and Silain saw a glint of copper ’neath the cuff, which would be the bracelet Kezzi had told her of. He gave the dog’s ears one more robust rub, and straightened.
“I’m glad Isart found you,” Kezzi said.
“Is that his name? He didn’t say.”
“Well, I didn’t tell him to give you his name, only my message. With Isart, you need to be clear.”
“We came as soon as we could. Have you been waiting long?” he asked.
“No. Is Mother coming?”
“Yes, with Cousin—with Boss Conrad and Mike, and Mr. McFarland. They should be here soon. Is the rest of the school here?”
“Not yet.”
They had by this time returned to their small knot. The boy raised his head and smiled.
“Good morning, Nathan.”
“Good morning, small dragon. Streetman Gavit.”
“’Morning,” the watchful one said.
There was a pause. The boy looked to Kezzi.
“Will you introduce me to your grandmother? Or should I go away?”
“Are you going to be stupid on our very first day in the new school?” she asked him, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward. “Grandmother, this is my brother Syl Vor. I hope he finds favor with you.”
Silain smiled.
He was a slight boy. Had she not had the experience of Rys, she would have said, an undergrown boy. Knowing what she knew, she saw a boy who was slight, but supple, and perhaps even well-grown for his age. His face was thin, his nose was straight, and his mouth was firm. Had she not already known who he was, his eyes would have told her that he belonged to Nova yos’Galan.
“It makes my heart glad, to meet the brother of my granddaughter,” she told him, which was only a little different than what she might have said in their own tongue. She gave him her hand.
He took it, his fingers cold, his grip respectful.
“I’m happy to meet you, ma’am.” He hesitated, looking up at her seriously. “May I call you Grandmother?”
“Yes. That will do very well. Now, you must introduce me to your brother.”
“No, ma’am,” that worthy said earnestly. “I’m not Silver’s brother. One of Boss Nova’s ’hands, that’s me, come to keep the boy outta trouble.”
“But you still need to be introduced,” the boy said. “It’s polite.”
“Well go ’head then,” Boss Nova’s ’hand answered. “Might as well get some polite done to wash out the rude.”
The boy turned, and inclined his head.
“Grandmother, this is Gavit, of my mother’s household. Gavit, this is my grandmother.”
“Ma’am,” he said, giving her a quaint and grave little bow.
“I’m happy to meet you, Gavit,” Silain said. She gave him a smile, but not her hand.
“Here comes Mother,” Syl Vor said, turning to point at yet another cab drawing into the crescent.
* * *
Udari watched as Mike Golden emerged from the car, followed by a very large man wearing a very large gun on his hip. A much slighter man, followed him, and then Nova yos’Galan, looking even more beautiful in the free sunshine.
Udari expected them to pass on, as had so many of the others, but no. All four came directly to them, as if they were Bedel, and not gadje at all, to give respect to the luthia.
“Good morning, Grandmother,” Nova yos’Galan said to the luthia. “Please allow me to present my cousin, Boss Conrad. Cousin, here is the grandmother of whom I spoke.”
“Grandmother.” The man bowed with evident respect. “I am very happy to meet you.”
“As I am happy to meet the Boss Conrad,” the luthia replied with a smile that said his manners pleased. “The headman dreams upon a proper course, and I am hopeful that you and he will soon share a pipe.”
“I look forward to that, most eagerly,” he said. “We are somewhat ahead of our colleagues, the other Bosses. And it would appear that we are somewhat ahead of our scholars, too. Mr. McFarland, would you mind a walk about the courtyard in my company?”
“’S’what you pay me for,” the big man said, giving him a glinting grin.
“Ah, yes, how could I have forgotten?” The Boss Conrad bowed again to the luthia.
“Grandmother, I take my leave. I look forward to talking with you much more, when we can both be comfortable.”
The luthia released him with a gracious nod and he moved off, the big man at his back.
“I expect it will be some minutes before the program begins,” Nova yos’Galan said, looking over her shoulder at the line of cabs inching up the crescent.
“Malda needs a run,” Kezzi said, “if he’s going to have to be still and good while people talk.”
Mike Golden laughed.
“I don’t know as they expect to talk all that much,” he said. “But it might be a good thing to be sure he don’t get restless.”
“My granddaughter is wise,” Silain said, and caught Udari’s eye. “Will you accompany your sister, my son?”
He met her eyes, saw in them her command.
“Yes, Grandmother.”
“May I go, too?” Syl Vor asked, looking to his mother.
She smiled.
“Certainly.”
* * *
Malda speedily took care of his concerns in the rock-laced grass patch at the side of the building. Kezzi found a thin piece of wood by a garden shed and threw it. Malda ran after the toy and brought it back, laying it at her feet, then backing away, front legs flat on the ground, tail stuck high in the air, tongue lolling; his whole body quivering while he waited for her to throw again.
“Here, you throw it for him,” Kezzi said, handing him the stick.
Syl Vor took it uncertainly, then grinned when Malda, seeing that his toy had changed hands, barked and jumped and spun in a circle.
Laughing, Syl Vor threw, sending the stick end over end, down close to the building. Malda rocketed off after it, picked it up—and then dropped it, nose to the ground, and tail suddenly gone still.
“Oh, no,” Kezzi said. “I hope it isn’t a rat.”
“Best to call him back, sister,” Udari said.
“Yes. Malda! Come!” she called, snapping her fingers.
But the little dog didn’t seem to hear her. He continued sniffing the ground, his tail stiff, gave three high-pitched yips and ran full-speed down the school building.
Kezzi said a word Syl Vor didn’t know and leapt into a run.
“Come on!” Syl Vor cried to Udari, and raced after her.
* * *
The dog vanished ’round a corner and set up a series of yips; the sound that meant he had found what he had been hunting.
A rat, then, though Udari, between annoyance and relief. The dog knew very well how to deal with a rat.
Ahead, Kezzi flashed around the corner, her brother not two steps behind her; Udari only four long strides behind him.
The dog stopped barking.
“Rys!”
Udari came round the corner and stopped, staring down at his brother, who had the dog gathered to him, gloved hand holding the pointed muzzle tight.
“Brother?”
“Udari.”
The other lifted his face, and Udari near cried out, Brother, was has happened to you?
It was Rys, and yet it was not Rys. He looked into eyes that had seen terrible deeds done, bleak and bladk in the face of a man who had performed horrors.
“Udari,” this apparition said, in his own brother’s precious voice. “For love of me, take th
e children and the dog, and go! Soon, there will be an explosion—a small explosion, nothing to worry you. After, unless I can stop it, there will be another—and that one will be very bad. Go now. Please. Take the children. Try, if you can, to move those who have gathered away from the building.”
“Let me help you, Brother,” Udari said. “Kezzi, Syl Vor—take Malda and go. Do as Rys asks.”
“You help best me by going with them. By keeping safe,” Rys said, and it seemed to Udari that he saw his brother’s soul draining out of his eyes, leaving only a terrible stranger. “Brother, will you go?” he whispered.
“Yes. Kezzi, take the dog.”
She leaned down, received a shivering Malda into her arms.
“Rys,” she whispered. “Do you remember now? Everything?”
“Too much,” he told her, his soft voice harsh.
He rose, holding the door open wide, beyond was a long straight hallway.
“Follow this; it leads to the main entrance. Go now, little sister. Please.” He looked past her to the boy. “Child of Korval, mind your duty.”
The boy went back a step, as if the words had been a blow, then snatched Kezzi’s arm.
“He’s right. If there will be an explosion, we have to warn people to move!”
He pushed past Rys, pulling her with him. In a moment, they were running down the wide hallway.
“Brother,” Udari said, tears in his eyes. “You have a place at my hearth, always.”
He followed the children. When he had nearly overtaken them, he looked back, but the door was closed, and Rys was gone.
- - - - -
Kezzi had put the dog down, and he ran ahead of them, claws scrabbling and sliding. The hall bent; the children slowed, wary of the slick floor, and Udari came into the lead.
The door directly ahead of him was flung open. The dog shot past and was gone, before a small, yellow haired woman came out into the hall.
Udari skidded on the slick surface, went to one knee, and leapt up again, his knife in his hand.
“You!” he cried, and lunged.
There was a sharp crack, a sensation of impossible, encompassing pain…and nothing.
* * *
Syl Vor saw the door begin to swing open, grabbed Kezzi and pushed her into the alcove of a stairway.
“You!” Udari’s voice echoed against the walls.
So did the sound of the shot, a moment later.
Beside him, Kezzi stood silent, scarcely seeming to breathe.
Syl Vor inched to the edge of their hiding place and peered around.
Udari lay on the floor, unmoving, blood on his coat, on the floor under his arm. Over him stood a yellow haired woman. Syl Vor bit his lip, watching as she slid her gun into her holster, and raised her other hand, in which she held something that looked like a remote.
She pressed a button.
A flash lit the length of the hall. Thunder roared, rolled, and died.
The woman stood, in an attitude of waiting. Then, with an exclamation of annoyance, she began to walk toward them.
“She’ll find Rys,” Kezzi breathed.
Syl Vor didn’t tell her that before she found Rys, the enemy would find them.
Instead, he swung into the hallway, and directly into her path.
* * *
A blare of noise came from the mic, followed by Penn Calhoon’s voice, asking rather irritably, and at volume, “Is this thing on?”
Mike Golden grimaced, and exchanged a look with Gavit, who shrugged.
“I think we may be approaching a beginning,” Nova said from beside him. “Where are the children, I wonder?”
“Have been gone a bit,” Mike said, like he hadn’t been worrying this while. He pushed his sleeve up and consulted the tracker strapped there, noting the location of Syl Vor—or at least, of Syl Vor’s bracelet. Not too far away, either. He looked down at his boss and jerked his head toward the back of the school.
“They’re over that way. I’ll go ’round ’em—”
A flare of light erupted from the right, beyond the edge of the school building. Thunder rolled, deafening.
Mike Golden leapt into a run—toward the explosion.
Where Syl Vor had been.
He was halfway down the side of the building before he noticed that Nova was keeping pace with him.
He thought about yelling at her, but he didn’t have the wind.
Wouldn’t’ve made a bit a difference, anyhow.
* * *
He had to be quick; he knew that. Surprise was his only advantage.
The woman checked. Syl Vor was already moving, launching himself into the air for a mid-chest kick.
She dodged to the right, then spun back, backing the punch with her full weight, connecting so hard that he saw stars, and wasn’t sure if the crack he heard was a bone breaking or his head, hitting the floor.
It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had to roll, to jump to his feet. He head to raise the gun he had snatched from her holster, holding it firm in two hands, like he’d been taught, aiming directly at the enemy’s chest.
She stared at him, but she didn’t make the mistake of looking down at her belt. Instead, she held his eyes, and raised the remote.
Unless I can stop it, the second will be very bad…
Syl Vor took a deep breath, kept his eyes open, and pulled the trigger.
Crimson dyed her shirt and she crumpled without a sound.
Syl Vor carefully lowered the gun, staring with bare comprehension at the Liaden words over the toggle. Deliberately, he pushed the action switch from fragment, to single, to null.
Kezzi slipped out of the alcove, kicked the detonator away from the enemy’s hand, came over to him, and asked, very calmly.
“Are you hurt?”
“I don’t know,” he told her, and looked up at the clatter of footsteps down the hall, to see his mother and Mike Golden arrive.
His mother’s face—she wasn’t angry. He didn’t think she was angry. He took a breath, to tell her, but he didn’t seem to know any words, Liaden or Terran.
“Are you injured?” his mother asked. “Syl Vor? Kezzi?”
“No,” said Kezzi.
He shook his head, then looked sharply over his shoulder, tracking the sound of voices and footsteps.
“Right,” said Mike Golden. He stepped forward and held out a broad hand. “Gimme the gun, Silver. That’s it. You’d best let ’em think I took that shot, right? Boss, you wanna take these two in hand?”
“Yes,” Mother said, and opened her arms. “Come here, children, and stand with me.”
* * *
The first of the Agent’s bombs had speedily yielded to his suasions.
The second, attached to the underside of the massive heating unit, was being more difficult.
Quite a bit more difficult.
The matter was made worse by distracting flares and flashes of…light…or of some new sort of pain so intense his nerves were unable to process it. His vision flickered…off and on. That had been more of a handicap during the first disarming. For now, he had his hand on the cap that was hidden from view, but could not trigger the deadman switch.
Worst of all were the voices—railing and screaming at him to honor the mission…
But, this was the mission, now.
He held on to that with what clarity was left him. The mission was to disarm the bombs, to preserve the lives of those who had gathered. The mission was that…The mission was that he would not allow this—these deaths, this destruction. He, Rys Lin pen’Chala had set the mission, and he would, on his brother’s honor, he would fulfill the mission.
Rys checked his internal clock, and felt a surge of panic. From the moment the Agent had bestowed the mission upon him, he had known that he would not survive it. That was not the issue.
Very well, if he could not trip the deadman, he would have to separate the cap from the base and the activation plug. There was a chance that the cap would flare out if he d
id so, but it would certainly bring the building down if he did not.
He closed his eyes, which did nothing to block out the savage flaying of the light, and inserted his gloved hand under the broiler.
Gripping the cap, he explored it, the mesh covering his fingertips imparting an exquisite sensitivity to his touch. The seal was…here. All he need do was break it.
He gripped the cap firmly, hearing the sigh of the tiny motors, and exerted pressure, twisting as he did.
The seal held.
Rys exerted more pressure, and it seemed he felt the crushed bones in his hand grind together as the glove emitted a scream.
The seal broke.
He rolled, bringing the cap out from beneath the broiler, hardly believing that—
It flashed out in his hand.
He felt no pain at all.
Epilogue
It was a kindly cell, as cells went—clean and bright. He could dim the lights, to a point, though he did not go so far as to assume that he had privacy.
In all, it had ended—it had ended well.
Udari had survived his adventure and rested in the care of the luthia and her apprentice. The Dragon was, if not safe, at least safe from any more threats from his hand. And he…
He had his soul back.
So said Lady Anthora, the Witch of Korval, to whose examinations he had submitted of his own will, Silain at his side, and her hand holding his.
Silain said that the soul and the heart were inseparable. That a man passed as himself through the door into the World Beyond.
Perhaps he would know this for himself, soon. Such a soul as his was no small burden, but now that it was returned him, he had no wish to put it aside.
There was a step in the corridor outside his cell.
Rys rose, feeling a minute hitch in the working of the brace. He had told Silain that she was to be sure the brace went back to Rafin. It would be a shame to waste the metals.
He centered himself, and faced the door, his arm peaceably at his side, the empty sleeve neatly pinned up and out of the way.
The door opened to admit a tall man near his own age, his brown hair falling into brilliantly green eyes.
He wore the leather jacket of a Jump pilot over a plain sweater and work pants.
