Into The Void

by Nigel Findley

  Aelfred’s strong voice cut through the background muttering. “Five hundred gold pieces.”

  So that’s how they’re playing it, Teldin thought. The big warrior would actually be placing the bids, under Estriss’s silent instructions. A good system.

  “I have five hundred gold pieces,” the auctioneer echoed. “Do I hear six?”

  Teldin glanced over his shoulder at the arcane. T’k’Pek stood motionless and silent at the back of the crowd. The giant’s expression seemed a little bemused.

  If Teldin was expecting the next bid to come from the arcane, he was surprised. An affluent-looking merchant in the front row gestured negligently. “Five hundred and fifty,” he announced.

  Aelfred responded immediately. “Six hundred gold pieces.”

  The murmurs started again. Six hundred gold pieces was already much too high a price to pay for a sword, particularly one of an impractical design. All around Teldin, people were speculating on why this particular weapon was worth so much … and whether that puzzle was related to the blue-skinned giant’s presence.

  “Six hundred gold pieces,” said the auctioneer. “Do I hear seven …?”

  “Seven thousand gold pieces.” The arcane’s reedlike voice echoed through the suddenly silent rotunda.

  The auctioneer swallowed again, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his scrawny throat. “Milord,” he began uncertainly, “the bidding is at seven hundred …”

  “Seven thousand gold pieces,” T’k’Pek said again. The creature’s voice was as emotionless as the wind.

  The marble-floored room rang with startled conversation. Seven thousand gold pieces? When seven hundred was already a ridiculous price to pay for such an item?

  The auctioneer was finding this heavy going. He used his brass gavel to rap for silence. It took several tries before he could still the uproar. “The bid,” he said, “is seven … thousand … gold pieces. Do I hear seven thousand five hundred?”

  Estriss and Aelfred were in consultation. Naturally, Teldin could hear only Aelfred’s voice. After a few moments, the big warrior nodded agreement. “Seven and five,” he said clearly.

  “Ten thousand gold pieces.”

  Once more, heads turned, almost quickly enough to dislocate vertebrae, and the noise level reached new heights. If the arcane was even aware of the stupefaction he had caused, he gave no sign. His face was expressionless, and his gaze was fixed unwaveringly on the sword displayed on the stage.

  The man sitting on Teldin’s left snorted in disgust. His plump cheeks were suffused with color; in fact, he looked almost apoplectic. “… just doesn’t understand the concept of an auction,” he was gurgling in outrage.

  Teldin looked back toward Aelfred and Estriss. There was no conversation now. The first mate was looking at his captain, waiting for his next instruction. Estriss was gazing unseeingly forward. Even magically disguised, the creature’s face showed the distress it must be feeling.

  “The bid is ten thousand gold pieces,” said the auctioneer. “Do I hear another bid? I have ten thousand. Final bid?” He looked directly at Aelfred. “Milord?”

  Aelfred glanced once more at Estriss … then shook his head firmly.

  “Final bid, ten thousand gold pieces,” the auctioneer repeated. “And sold!’ He brought down his gavel with a conclusive crack. “Sold to the, er … the gentleman, er …”

  Participants and spectators roared their consternation once more. Serenely, totally untouched by the tumult surrounding him, the arcane glided to the stage, where he handed over a small square of parchment to one of the attendants. Another attendant handed over the bizarre sword, which the giant concealed within the folds of his flowing garment. Then he turned his back on the auction and made a silent department.

  Teldin glanced to his right. Estriss was halfway to his feet, apparently intending to pursue the arcane, for whatever reason. Only Aelfred’s hand on the creature’s arm restrained him. Teldin could imagine what the illithid must be feeling, and he had to grin. He knew what one of Aelfred’s “gentle, restraining grips” felt like. The mind flayer wouldn’t be going anywhere. Estriss recognized the reality of that, too. Grudgingly, he sat down again.

  Rianna was looking at Teldin, her eyebrow raised in question. “Poor Estriss,” he told her. “That sword was the major reason for coming here.”

  “Why’s it so important?” she whispered back. “Ten thousand gold pieces?”

  “Something to do with his life work,” Teldin explained. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

  With the arcane’s departure, the suction returned to at least a semblance of normalcy. The next item – another old portrait – was displayed and bidding commenced in an orderly manner. With the blue-skinned giant gone, it was obvious that nobody really expected any further fireworks. In fact, in the minutes after T’k’Pek’s departure, more than a few spectators and participants quietly left the hall. Probably, in contrast to the short but very sharp bidding war, the rest of the auction was seeming intolerably dull.

  Estriss had settled down a little. The loss of the weapon had hit him hard, that was obvious, but he was still confident that other pieces of interest would come up for bid before the auction ended.

  Bidding on the portrait quickly settled into a contest between two affluent gentlemen in the front row … who obviously hated each other. Already, pride and a refusal to let the other “win” had forced the price up into the low hundreds of gold pieces, and there was no indication the contest would slow soon. Even though the outcome was irrelevant to him – or maybe because of that fact – Teldin was enjoying the acrimonious struggle.

  Without warning, he felt a light touch on his shoulder. He turned quickly.

  Barrab, the arcane’s human representative, was standing behind him. The large man’s cherubic smile was back in place. “Milord Brewer,” Barrab whispered. “My employer, T’k’Pek, would like to meet with you again. Now, if that’s convenient.”

  Both Rianna and Aelfred had heard Barrab. The big warrior shook his head subtly.

  Teldin hesitated. He knew that Aelfred didn’t trust Barrab – and, to tell the truth, he didn’t trust the man himself – but maybe the arcane had some new information, something to help him make the decision that still weighed on his mind. He couldn’t dismiss that possibility.

  “It’s very important, milord Brewer,” Barrab whispered. “My employer says to tell you specifically that something new has come to light, something you should know immediately. Will you meet with T’k’Pek?”

  Aelfred and Rianna were still listening, and even Estriss was paying attention. Teldin glanced at his friends. “Give me a moment,” he whispered to Barrab. “I have to talk with my … assistants.”

  Barrab nodded and withdrew, but not far. At least he was out of earshot if Teldin kept his voice down.

  “Don’t do it,” Aelfred whispered sharply as soon as Barrab had stepped away. “If you want to talk to the arcane again, set up an official meeting.”

  “You don’t trust Barrab,” Teldin said.

  “Less than I trust T’k’Pek, and that’s saying something.” Aelfred was silent for a moment. “I don’t like this,” he whispered finally. There was urgency in his eyes.

  He was right, Teldin thought. But … “It could be important,” Teldin answered. “I think I have to go.”

  Aelfred cursed under his breath. “All right, if you have to.” He started to stand. “I’ll come with you.”

  No. For the first time, Estriss joined the conversation. The creature’s mental “voice” was sharp. No, he said again. Aelfred, you must stay, to bid for me on the items I want.

  The first mate hesitated. Teldin could see the conflict on his face. Even though it was Aelfred who really commanded the Probe, Estriss was still his superior officer. The illithid hadn’t given an order, but Teldin knew that was next. Then the warrior would have to decide whether it was an order he could obey.

  “Aelfred …” Teldin began.


  “I’ll go with him,” Rianna put in quickly. She grinned as Aelfred looked at her with surprise. “I’m used to taking care of myself. I can take care of him, too. I’ve got a good reason: I’m not done with my little playmate yet.”

  Aelfred hesitated, then he smiled as well. “Thanks,” he said, and he meant it.

  Barrab was shifting from foot to foot in nervousness – a rather amusing sight in someone so large and usually so controlled. As Teldin and Rianna left their seats, he smiled with relief. “Thank you,” he said. “I was worried —”

  “Where are we going?” she asked, cutting him off.

  “Not far,” the representative replied. “My employer wishes to avoid the crowds when he talks to milord Brewer.”

  That wasn’t an answer, Teldin realized, as Barrab led them from the rotunda. From the first, he’d felt apprehension about this meeting, even though he knew he couldn’t refuse. Now the anxiety had doubled. He looked at Rianna.

  The woman’s face was grim. She was taking this seriously, Teldin could see. Her right hand hovered near the hilt of her belt knife. He’d never seen Rianna under pressure or in danger, Teldin realized, but there was something about her manner that reassured him. He was glad to have her along.

  Barrab led them toward a door to the outside – not the main lobby through which Teldin and friends had entered the Merchants’ Rotunda, but a smaller portal at the rear of the building. “T’k’Pek has a carriage in the alley,” Barrab answered Teldin’s unspoken question. “We thought it would be more private.” The representative led the way out through the door. Teldin followed, Rianna on his heels.

  He stopped suddenly. There was no carriage, and Barrab had turned to face him. The large man’s smile was predatory rather than cherubic now, and cold steel glittered in his right hand. Flanking him were three men that Teldin didn’t know. He did recognize them by their wiry strength and the easy manner in which they held their unsheathed swords. These were hired bravos – “city wolves,” his grandfather had called them. He and Rianna had been led – neatly and efficiently – into a trap.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Teldin glanced over his shoulder at Rianna. She had her blade drawn and stood in the same knife-fighter’s crouch as the bravos. He saw her eyes flick from enemy to enemy and could almost sense her thoughts. Four on two: lousy odds. Or four on one, since she’d have no reason to believe Teldin could defend himself. But they were only a few paces from the door, and none of the hired blades was close enough to stop them from bolting back inside the Merchants’ Rotunda.

  As if on cue, the door opened behind Rianna. Another figure slipped into the alley; another blade glittered in the sunlight. Rianna spun, trying to keep everyone in her field of vision, but it was impossible. She and Teldin were surrounded.

  Barrab chuckled, grinning hugely. He was thoroughly enjoying this, Teldin realized. “Sorry,” Barrab said, “no easy escapes. Where would be the fun in that?” His expression sobered a little. “I suggest you drop your weapon, milady,” he said quietly, “and that neither of you try anything untoward. Some of my … colleagues would be as happy to rip you as look at you.”

  Teldin looked from face to face. His attention was fixed immediately by the bravo nearest him. The man was as thin as a whip. His eyes made Teldin think of a rabid ferret and he smelled of violence, of death. While Barrab might warn him and Rianna not to try anything, this one was hoping they would. Then he’d be justified in cutting them down. Teldin’s hand had strayed near the hilt of his short sword. Now he moved it, very obviously, away from the weapon.

  Teldin spoke for the first time. “This isn’t necessary,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even, his tone reasonable. “I’m willing to meet with T’k’Pek ….” His voice trailed off.

  Barrab’s harsh laughter confirmed what he’d just realized. “I’m not working for the blue-skin anymore,” the fat man amplified. “The head-eaters from Falx pay much better.”

  Rianna gasped. Barrab’s words obviously meant more to her than they did to Teldin. “You treacherous bastard,” she spat. “I hope you get your throat ripped out.”

  Barrab chuckled again. “Doubtful,” he remarked casually. “The money this’ll net me will take me a long way from here.”

  The bravos – even the rabid-looking killer – listened to this exchange with some interest, and even amusement. Their stares were on their employer and the woman, not on Teldin. He edged slowly to his left, where there was a slight opening. If he moved fast enough, maybe slashing the nearby bravo with his sword as he went past … That should distract them enough for Rianna to get free as well. He knew it was a desperate idea, but he had little choice. He tensed, ready to bolt.

  The bravos’ attention might have been distracted, but not Barrab’s. At Teldin’s first subtle move, he responded. “Oh, no,” he snapped. The bravos’ eyes were instantly back on Teldin, colder and crueller than before. The rabid one smiled, and his eyes looked like death.

  Teldin froze. Again he slowly and obviously moved his hand away from his sword hilt. The other bravos relaxed a little. The rabid one, however, was still tense, ready to attack. Teldin’s throat felt like a cylinder of solid ice. He’s insane, he told himself.

  “Relax, Spak,” Barrab snapped at the feral bravo. “Relax, I said.”

  The rabid one seemed to quiver with internal conflict. I can’t believe how much he wants to kill me, Teldin thought. Spak shot Barrab a speculative look, as though the killer were considering slaughtering him as well, then, with a visible effort, Spak lowered his sword and left his poised half-crouch. Teldin started to breathe again.

  Barrab looked hardly less relieved, he noticed. The fat man’s authority over the bravo had held – just – but he might not win another battle of wills like that.

  The arcane’s representative spoke to the other bravos. “Enough of this, like them,” he ordered, pointing at Teldin, “but don’t harm him.” He grinned nastily. “I’m not concerned about her welfare.”

  Smiling like wolves, the bravos stepped forward. “No!” Rianna shouted in outrage. She flung her knife at the nearest bravo – an underhand cast, neither accurate nor powerful, but the hired swordsman had to block it. That gave Rianna an instant of freedom.

  Her hands swept through a complex gesture, and she barked a harsh syllable. Fire bloomed, a gout of flame that burst into existence right in front of Barrab and spread with a dull roar. “Run, Teldin!” Rianna screamed.

  Teldin threw himself back from the fire, shielding his eyes with his cloaked arm. Even so, heat washed over his face and he felt his skin tighten with it. His eyes stung with tears and with smoke, and the air was heavy with the smell of burning cloth and flesh.

  The roaring fire was gone as quickly as it had sprung into being. Barrab was reeling, screaming and slapping at small flames that still burned on his clothing. Much of his hair was gone, and his exposed skin was an angry red. One of the bravos was down, blackened and unmoving. The other sellswords were wiping streaming eyes or covering blistered faces.

  Rianna was simply gone. No, there she was, sprinting down the alley, heading for the corner and safety. She’d almost made it when Spak, the feral bravo, opened his scorched eyes and saw her. With an animal snarl, he snatched a dagger from his boot and flung it with frightening force. The dagger caught the sunlight as it turned end for end – once, twice – and tore into the fleeing woman’s shoulder. Teldin heard her scream in agony, but she kept running, and an instant later was around the corner. The bravos might still pursue, but she’d gained a good head start.

  The sellswords hadn’t looked Teldin’s way yet. He had a moment or two to react.

  He took the opportunity that Rianna had given him at such cost. He turned and ran down a narrow alley to the left.

  Never had he felt quite so terrified. There was something almost paralyzing about turning his back on people who’d willingly kill him. As he ran, he braced himself to hear the pounding of pursuing footsteps or feel the bite
of Spak’s next thrown dagger in his back. The urge to look around, to at least face his death, was almost overpowering.

  The narrow alleyway forked, then forked again. Both times, he took the left-hand path. Then he crossed another, wider alley. He flung himself around the corner to the right. Still he ran, and still he expected death to strike him in the next instant.

  He didn’t know how far he’d run. His lungs were on fire, and the blood was pounding so loudly in his ears that he wouldn’t be able to hear pursuit even if it were right on his heels. He was lost now. He turned another comer, deeper into a twisted warren of narrow streets and alleys. His foot caught on something, and he fell forward. His knee hit the ground with a sickening crack and he howled with the pain. He jammed a fist into his mouth and gnawed on the knuckle to silence himself. For a time there was nothing he could do but lie there, huddled in on himself, engulfed in the waves of agony from his knee. If Barrab and his sellswords found him now, Teldin knew, he’d be helpless whether they wanted to drag him away or slit his throat where he lay.

  It felt like years later, but eventually the tide of torment ebbed. When his vision finally cleared, he saw he was huddled in a garbage-strewn alley so narrow he’d be unable to He full-length across it.

  It took him a moment, but he eventually realized that one of the piles of garbage was watching him with rheumy and none-too-steady eyes. What he’d taken for a discarded cloak or a pile of cast-off rags was actually a wizened old man, squatting with his back to the alley wall. The figure was enveloped in a huge traveling cloak – or, more correctly, what once had been a traveling cloak – supplemented by other tattered rags. The only bare skin exposed to the elements was the man’s lined face, and even that was partially shrouded by the cloak’s hood and a scarf made from some other nondescript cloth. Beside the man was a small earthenware jug. Teldin sniffed. The alley reeked of urine and garbage, but mostly of soured wine.

  He nodded in comprehension.

  Teldin started to climb to his feet, then hesitated. Might as well cover my tracks while I’ve got the chance, he thought. He closed his eyes and took a calming breath. He let the image of the feral sellsword, Spak, take shape in his mind, then he superimposed that face over his ….