A Girl From Nowhere

by James Maxwell

  “Is that . . . is that Blixen?” asked one of the former prisoners.

  Another glanced at Vance. “It must be.”

  “Be prepared for anything,” Vance muttered in reply.

  While Elsa continued walking toward them, the imposing bax stopped to crouch beside one of the bodies of the soldiers. He reached out and gripped the dead man’s chin. He then tilted the soldier’s head from side to side and stared into his glazed eyes. When he straightened, the folds above his dark eyes gave him a satisfied expression.

  “Yes, you are looking at Blixen, Warden of the Rift Valley,” Elsa said to Vance, coming to a halt. “Now I need you to stand aside.”

  “But Taimin said—” Vance began.

  “Taimin is the one who brokered this arrangement,” Elsa interrupted. Her eyes narrowed with impatience. “Do as I say.”

  Vance turned and nodded to the others. “Let them in.”

  His companions moved away from the tower’s entrance and allowed Blixen and the mantorean to approach the door, with the six axe-wielding warriors flanking their leader.

  Before he tried to enter, Blixen addressed the mantorean. “You may remain outside, Rei-kika. If you say you cannot find her, I believe you. No matter what happens next, I release you from my service.” He turned his grim attention to the tower. “The only man who might give me some answers is inside.”

  The mantorean bowed her head.

  Blixen then turned to Elsa. “I will consider our agreement broken if the Protector is not within.”

  Elsa gave Vance an inquiring look.

  He spread his hands. “I came as soon as Taimin asked me to. No one has come in or out, not while I’ve been here.”

  Blixen swept his gaze over his warriors and beckoned them to follow. He then walked to the heavy door, but rather than open it he lifted his leg and, despite the door’s size and thickness, he kicked hard. A sharp clatter split the air as the hinges broke. With a crash the door fell inward and tumbled to the ground. Vance jumped when it made a resounding boom. Blixen then entered the tower, and his escort followed.

  It was the last thing Vance wanted to do, but all he could think of was Cora, and whether she was inside. He turned to Elsa and inclined his chin in the direction of the doorway.

  Elsa thought for a moment and then nodded. “Go with him.”

  Vance took a deep breath. Then, without thinking too hard, he hurried to the tower and stepped over the splintered door.

  A circular space confronted him, paved with stone. Moonlight shone through a row of high oval windows. Already Blixen and his escort were climbing a winding series of oversized steps that curved around the inside of the tower’s perimeter.

  As Vance began to climb, Blixen glanced over his shoulder and saw him.

  Vance swallowed. “The Protector should be on the highest level,” he said.

  Blixen didn’t reply but continued his ascent. Vance trailed behind the group, not wanting to follow too closely. He passed archways leading to storerooms filled with crates and saw corridors lined with linen mats that might lead to sleeping quarters.

  Still thinking about Cora, he saw that Blixen’s group had come to an abrupt halt.

  The bax were several levels below the uppermost floor, but something had definitely attracted Blixen’s attention. Vance climbed the steps to see what it was. A wide archway opened up near the stairs, where it was easy to see through while passing. Vance couldn’t yet see what Blixen was looking at. A bax’s thick body was blocking his view.

  Vance instead watched Blixen.

  Blixen’s chest rose and fell but he stayed where he was and said nothing to his companions. They too remained silent. Vance hung back, waiting for them to move, and then they did. Blixen left the steps and walked with a heavy tread toward the archway. His breathing sounded labored.

  Vance climbed higher. He gasped. From his new position, he finally understood what Blixen had seen.

  Through the archway was a wide, open space. Vance’s stomach churned when he saw corpses that had been stuffed, mounted, and arranged on display. Closest was a trull, powerfully muscled, with a bare chest and his jaws open to display his curved incisors. A pair of young skalen, a male and a female, stood together. The diamond pattern of their skin reflected the pale light that poured through the windows.

  Vance walked slowly as Blixen and his escort entered the arched opening. Vance’s hesitant footsteps finally faltered. He stopped at the room’s entrance.

  The Protector’s macabre museum was fully revealed. Vance saw a pair of bax, one from each gender, standing above three bax young. A mantorean had his body arched, posed with a bowstring against his triangular face. All of the different races held weapons appropriate to their kind: a club for the trull, javelins for the skalen, and axes for the bax. Every creature was perfectly still, supported by sharp poles embedded in their bodies.

  Vance didn’t want to go on. He watched Blixen come to a halt in front of a female bax. As he reached out and touched her face, Blixen’s body quivered with suppressed emotion.

  Vance knew that it was time to leave. Keeping his head bowed, he retreated and waited. Soon he heard footsteps climbing the stairway once more.

  Blixen was on his way to the top of the tower.

  Darkness seeped into the observation room, banished only by the moonlight and the cool green glow of a handful of aurelium lamps. At the end of a normal day, the Protector would be enjoying his dinner. But this wasn’t a normal day.

  “Galen didn’t make it,” he said softly.

  He stood near the edge of the observation room’s floor, where he had a direct view of the army outside the city. Strangely, the mass of distant figures remained half a mile from the wall. In the time since he had last looked, the gates had parted, and now stood wide open. He struggled to make sense of it.

  The Protector’s mind worked furiously. There had to be some way for him to salvage something from the wreckage of his reign. He was the city’s rightful leader. His great-grandfather had given the city its name and made Zorn what it was.

  He turned and glared at Merin, who was watching him, pale faced. “There must be a way out of this tower.”

  “It’s secure.” Merin’s voice was shaking. “We made sure of it.”

  The Protector grimaced. The fact that there was only one way in or out was now working against him. Over the years, he had kept various mystics captive while Arren and Merin forced them to watch over the city and its surroundings. Now rebels stood guard outside the tower. And it was he who was their captive.

  Why hadn’t anyone come to seize him? Surely it was only a matter of time.

  Even the arrival of Blixen’s army hadn’t caused the people to regret their revolt. He couldn’t believe it: they had made peace. It was the only explanation.

  The Protector considered plans and then discarded them as he tried to think of something he could do. He swallowed as he realized that his position might not be his primary concern. He now had to think about his own life.

  “What now?” he asked. His eyes narrowed at Merin. “You think you’re clever. Well? What are we going to do?”

  “We could try to climb—” Merin ventured.

  The Protector snorted. “You think they aren’t watching?”

  “We have to try, don’t we?”

  “There must be another way.” He scowled impatiently at the stocky mystic. “Can’t you do something with your talent? How do you plan to get me out of this?”

  Merin’s mouth dropped open. His skin went gray.

  “Answer me,” the Protector snapped. Merin’s eyes were wide open, showing the whites. Something had taken hold of the mystic, and it wasn’t fear of him. He was looking past the Protector’s shoulder, toward the stairs sunken in the floor.

  The Protector whirled.

  Fear stabbed into his heart like a sharp, red hot poker.

  Blixen, Warden of the Rift Valley, entered the observation room with six strong, axe-wielding warriors behind
him. The Protector knew without doubt who he was; the huge bax had been described in detail by the captives he had questioned.

  Blixen’s face was murderous. He was shivering with barely contained rage. He turned and snatched an axe from one of his warriors.

  The Protector stood paralyzed with terror.

  Vance lost track of how many doors he had opened. He had discovered rooms where food was prepared and rooms filled with discarded furniture. Now his heart had started to beat more rapidly. This time he was excited.

  He faced a nondescript door at the end of a stone-walled corridor. As with the other hallways leading to living quarters, a long, woven mat lined the floor. But this door was different. It was locked.

  The latch was on the outside, which meant that it was designed to keep someone in. Vance told himself that he shouldn’t believe that the kind, gentle, golden-haired woman he had loved would be inside.

  With a shaking hand he reached out and unfastened the latch. He opened the door slowly.

  “Hello?” he asked hesitantly.

  He stepped through the doorway. The bedchamber he entered was well-ordered and clearly lived in, with a bed, desk, oval mirror, and clothing chest. Vance’s vision blurred.

  His gaze rested on the room’s occupant.

  She was standing on the bed to peer out the sole window at the city below, evidently trying to gauge what was happening outside. The woman turned when she heard Vance calling.

  She wasn’t Cora.

  Disappointment struck him with force.

  Instead of Cora, he was looking at a young woman with short, wavy hair a dark shade of red. She was pretty, with a wide mouth and full lips, and wore a vest and tight-fitting leather trousers.

  She climbed off the bed. Her brown eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

  It took Vance a moment to speak. He told himself that hope remained. She might know where he could find Cora.

  He found his voice. “I’m Vance. Who are you?”

  “I’m Ruth.” She regarded him seriously. “What’s happening out there?”

  “The Protector no longer rules Zorn.” Vance left out the fact that, given Blixen’s justified rage, the Protector was most likely dead. “There’s been an uprising.”

  Ruth’s eyes grew larger and larger. For a time she looked stunned.

  “Your door was locked. How long have you been here?” Vance asked.

  Ruth shook herself. “In this room? Not long. They locked me in here. If you mean in this tower . . .” She let out a breath. “Too long.”

  “Well, you’re free to go.”

  Ruth thought for a moment, and then without a word she went to the corner and grabbed a cloth satchel. She crouched at the wooden chest and lifted the lid as she began to stuff items into her bag.

  Vance was nonplussed. “Did you hear me? I said you’re free.”

  She scowled at him. “Leave me here if you want to go. I’m a healer. I need my things.”

  “Fine.” Vance let out a breath. “Do what you want. But I’ve helped you, so I want you to help me.”

  “What do you want?” she asked while she continued to fill her satchel.

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  “Who?” Ruth asked absently. “I’ve been stuck in this tower. I don’t see how I can help.”

  “Her name is Cora.”

  Ruth stopped what she was doing. She looked down, not meeting Vance’s eyes, and then set her bag on the floor and straightened. She now gave him a sad, steadfast expression.

  Vance paled when he saw her face.

  “Vance,” she said his name softly. “I remember now.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s dead. I’m sorry.”

  “How?” Vance whispered.

  “There’s no easy way to say this. The Protector beat her. I tried to help her, but I couldn’t.”

  Vance was utterly still for a time. Ruth kept staring into his eyes; she looked surprisingly understanding. He wished she would return to her packing.

  Cora was dead. He knew it had been an impossible hope that she might be alive. He had been thrown into the arena for the risk he had taken. But she had been beaten to death. She was gone.

  He didn’t know if Ruth called out anything when he raced from the room. He crossed the floor and launched himself at the stairway. In moments he was climbing as fast as he could. Level after level passed him by. He ascended a last set of steps and burst into the open-sided room at the top of the tower.

  Wind blew throughout the observation room. The cool green light of aurelium lamps banished the darkness outside.

  The bax were already gone. They had left behind two corpses. One was a round-faced, stocky man, who stared back at Vance with glazed eyes.

  The other man’s features were unrecognizable, but his expensive clothing marked him out. As always, his gray hair was neatly combed.

  44

  Selena had no idea how much time had passed. Her perception had shrunk to a narrow focus. There was only her, and the wiry man standing in front of her with a snarl on his face and a dagger in his hand. He had been poised in the same position for what felt like an eternity. Night had settled its dark curtain over the arena.

  Selena was also frozen in place as she tried to burrow through Arren’s defenses and the maelstrom of his thoughts to stop him from burying his dagger in her heart. If she tried to move physically, her concentration would be gone, and she would be dead in moments.

  Arren’s dagger came a little closer.

  Anyone watching would have seen two figures facing each other, both grimacing, with barely any shift in their posture. Selena’s fists were clenched at her sides. Fatigue washed over her. Her abilities were being tested like never before.

  The bloodstain across Arren’s chest had grown wider. Each breath came labored. But determination filled his narrowed eyes. He was going to kill her, even if it was his final act.

  Selena’s only hope was to break his will.

  Every time she tried to thrust a thought into his mind, she could only hold on to it and make it strong enough to be a command for a short time before it vanished, forcing her to try again. Arren’s thoughts weren’t like Blixen’s: they were slippery. His skill was ensuring that even if Selena could slow him down, she couldn’t stop him altogether.

  The dagger moved forward, before Selena sent a sharp directive into the mystic’s mind. Stop.

  The dagger ceased moving, but Arren’s lips curled in a smile of triumph. He knew he was winning. The sharp point of the steel dagger was now just three inches from Selena’s heart.

  Taimin walked swiftly, frantically, as he paced the plain and scanned the sky. As nightfall set in, his anxiety grew. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to see wings against the darkness. Perhaps Griff had landed? If so, where? Selena was the reason Taimin was alive. He was desperate to find her, to know that she was safe.

  He made a decision and began to head toward the city gates. Then, as he approached, he saw movement. Several figures exited the city. Blixen was among them.

  Even from a distance, Taimin couldn’t help but notice the burden in the huge bax’s arms. Some of the members of Blixen’s escort were similarly weighed down by bulky loads. The mantorean, Rei-kika, trailed at the back of the group.

  Taimin focused on Rei-kika.

  As he hurried toward Blixen’s group, soon Taimin was close enough to see more clearly in the moonlight. He drew in a sharp breath. Blixen was covered in blood and it wasn’t his own. His face was grim and he carried the body of a bax female. Some of his warriors also carried bodies. Taimin could barely bring himself to look at them.

  Blixen recognized Taimin and muttered something to his warriors, bringing the group to a halt. “I have what I came for,” he said in a hoarse, rumbling voice. “The Protector is dead. We will camp here tonight, and tomorrow we will talk.”

  Blixen made to leave.

  “May I speak with Rei-kika?” Taimin asked.

  Blixe
n glanced back at the mantorean. “She has her freedom. She can do whatever she wants.” He barked for his group to resume, leaving Taimin and Rei-kika to talk.

  The mantorean faced Taimin with her head slightly tilted.

  “I need to find someone,” Taimin said. “A human. Will you help me? Her name is Selena.”

  Rei-kika made a swishing sound. “I know Selena.”

  Taimin felt a stirring of hope. “Can you find her?”

  “Wait.” Rei-kika lifted a hand.

  Taimin paced impatiently, forced to wait while the mantorean searched. He saw the twinkling lights of campfires, marking out Blixen’s army. Blixen and his escort of warriors had now been swallowed by the encampment. There would be no fighting today.

  Then, even as Rei-kika farcasted, a piercing shriek split the air. Taimin lifted his head and a pair of wings grew larger and larger. Griff flew high above the rooftops and passed over the city wall to head directly for Taimin’s position.

  Relief flooded through Taimin’s body. Griff’s line of flight was clear, and his attention was focused on the man who had rescued him long ago. Taimin smiled, happy to be reunited with his friend.

  But as Griff landed in front of him, and Taimin wrapped his arms around the wyvern’s neck, Taimin’s anxiety returned. Griff’s back was empty.

  “Where is she, Griff?” he asked. “Where is Selena?”

  Taimin turned when he heard a clicking sound. Rei-kika shook herself. When she spoke, her tone was urgent. “The place where they watch fights . . .”

  “The arena?”

  “Yes, the arena,” said Rei-kika. “She is in danger. We must hurry.”

  Selena was desperate. Arren’s knife had moved forward another inch. Triumph lit up his eyes.

  She and Arren faced each other on the sand. Arren’s breath wheezed in his chest as he tried to bring his dagger just a little farther forward to end Selena’s life.

  Meanwhile sweat coated Selena’s forehead. Fear made her want to turn and run, but she knew that if she did she would die with a knife in her back. Only her talent could save her life from an armed opponent. Yet what she was doing wasn’t working.