Other Worldly Ways (Anthology 1)

by Connie Suttle

  "I do my job. I don't attend parties for the usual reasons."

  "I don't suppose I might convince you otherwise? The San Gerxon brothers might be swayed by your beauty long enough for me to ask discreet questions elsewhere."

  "I don't do that. It plainly states on our agreement that there will be no sex, flirting or anything that might be construed as such."

  "At least take your hair out of that ridiculous braid—your hair is an unusual color and I imagine many would admire it if you showed it to your best advantage."

  "The best advantage is keeping it where it is," Glinda replied coolly. "It stays in a braid."

  "Very well," Erland grumbled. "Are you ready? It's time we made our entrance."

  * * *

  "Ah, Master San Gerxon," Erland waved a hand expansively. "Please, have a drink." He gestured toward a waiter making rounds through the gathering crowd.

  "Who is this?" Divil San Gerxon stepped toward Glinda, who stood at Erland's elbow.

  "My bodyguard," Erland smiled and nodded.

  "I admire your ability to choose such an effective employee," Divil responded, his voice smoothly contemptuous.

  Lie, Glinda sent mindspeech to Erland.

  Erland betrayed no surprise as he thanked Divil. You have mindspeech? He hissed in return.

  Yes. I know you have it too, as you are what you are.

  "Master San Gerxon," Erland said, ignoring Glinda's response, "I'd like to arrange a meeting with you to discuss ah, our working relationship here on Campiaa."

  "I'd be happy to talk with you. Are you available tomorrow morning? We can meet at my home at ten bells."

  He's not happy to meet with you, Glinda reported. That part was a lie.

  I got that already, Erland huffed. Stop stating the obvious.

  I can hit you over the head with it instead; Glinda's reply was calmly disrespectful. Erland grinned at Glinda's response and offered his hand to San Gerxon.

  "Bring your bodyguard," Divil flung over his shoulder as he walked away. Erland lifted an eyebrow—two warlocks he didn't recognize peeled away from the crowd and followed discreetly behind Divil.

  * * *

  "Are you sure about this?" Erland pulled a protective vest on before slipping into a dress shirt. Glinda watched as he fastened buttons quickly. "I hate wearing these things," he grumbled.

  "I can't protect you from projectiles or weapon blasts. I can protect you from power," she said. "If you're foolish enough to stand in front of a disruptor, I may not be able to move swiftly enough to save your life. That holds true with any bodyguard, no matter how strong or multiple-armed he or she may be."

  "That four-armed behemoth looked much more impressive than a minuscule woman with a knife," Erland pointed out.

  "I don't need any other weapon," Glinda said. "You'll see."

  "What will I see?"

  "You'll be late if you keep talking instead of dressing. I hear it's raining, too."

  "I heard that as well. Come along," Erland mumbled, grabbing a jacket and heading for the door.

  * * *

  "Ah, Master Morphis, how nice to see you," Divil's greeting was expansive as Erland and Glinda were shown into his private study.

  Lie, Glinda responded.

  I know that, Erland said, shaking Divil's proffered hand.

  You keep an eye on San Gerxon. I'll watch the warlocks in the corner, Glinda replied.

  You know they're warlocks?

  I listen to rumors and gossip. I know what's true and what isn't.

  "Please, sit," Divil offered guest chairs as he rounded the corner of his desk. Erland sat; Glinda remained standing behind his chair.

  "Now, what sort of business did you wish to discuss?" Divil sat and steepled his fingers while studying Erland expectantly.

  "I'd like to negotiate the percentage you ah, expect from me," Erland began.

  "I don't negotiate."

  Lie.

  "Come now," Erland said. "My casino hasn't been open long. Thirty percent is quite steep for a new business. Surely you realize that initial profits must be reinvested in the business in order to make it successful. Taxes take another twenty percent, which cuts into any earnings dramatically. My business could fail quickly, given that sort of burden."

  "There are those who would leap at the opportunity to fill any void you leave behind, Master Morphis," Divil's response was cold. "I suggest you leave now and consider how you might meet your obligations. I assume you realized there would be obligations when you constructed your casino?"

  "I knew there would be some, yes. Yet you failed to make them known until I opened my doors to the gamblers."

  "Why frighten away business?" Divil studied his fingernails.

  "What if I refuse to pay?" Erland said.

  "Are you prepared for what might happen?" Divil answered Erland's question with his own.

  "If I must," Erland's anger became evident as he stood stiffly. "I'm willing to pay ten percent. Nothing more. Take it or not."

  "Ferth," Divil snapped. One of the warlocks in the corner moved as his command.

  "Stay where you are," Glinda's knife was at the warlock's throat before he could blink or call up a spell.

  "You think that knife will do anything against a warlock?" the second moved in and raised his hands to launch a power blast. He was left staring at his hands as the power blast missed Glinda and blew a hole in the wall of Divil's study twenty feet away.

  "Please, remain calm," Erland held up his hands as Divil drew a Ranos pistol from a desk drawer.

  "Fire that and you die," Glinda hissed at Divil while knocking the first warlock's head into the wall, rendering him unconscious. "You wish to be next?" she lifted a delicate eyebrow at the second warlock.

  The second power blast he sent was deflected, blowing out the large window behind Divil's desk and spraying glass across the front lawn of Divil's palace.

  Divil turned his Ranos pistol toward Glinda. Erland shouted.

  Glinda changed.

  Divil screamed as the fifteen-foot, white-scaled demoness backhanded him, knocking him through the doorway of his study and into the hallway beyond.

  The second warlock, terrified, jumped through the open space where the window used to be before folding space on his way down. He'd discovered he couldn't use that ability in such close proximity to a High Demon.

  "That was interesting," Erland muttered, moving toward the gaping hole and glancing downward. Several guards stood below, afraid to fire. They could see Glinda easily, as large as she was.

  To impress them, Glinda unfurled her wings and stretched them lazily in Campiaa's morning light.

  I believe Master San Gerxon may be waking, Glinda sent to Erland.

  "Let's go, then," Erland nodded.

  We'll do this first, Glinda replied, placing a hand on the wall above the doorway and pushing. The wall fell, crashing around Divil as he struggled to rise.

  "Ten percent," Glinda's Thifilatha leaned down and lifted the Ranos pistol from the floor beside Divil. "Nothing more."

  "Y-yes," Divil's voice quavered as he nodded.

  "And don't try this again." Glinda crushed the pistol in her hand and dropped it beside Divil. "Lord Morphis, are you ready?" she asked politely, turning to Erland.

  "Very much so," Erland nodded.

  "Good." Glinda lifted him carefully and launched herself from Divil's study, flying toward Erland's casino at the end of Campiaa's half-moon bay.

  * * *

  "What in the Dark Realm is that?" Baxter breathed as he and Templir watched Glinda's Thifilatha stride through Erland's casino, bearing Lord Morphis carefully in large, white-scaled arms.

  "I believe you'd call that a bodyguard," Templir slapped Baxter's back and laughed.

  CANCELLATION

  Note: This story is about the Mayan calendar and the supposed end of the world. Perhaps this is the reason we're not all hip-deep in oblivion right now.

  "Has that calendar expired already?" G stared
at a copy of the thing. It wasn't something he studied often, but it did look good on the wall.

  "It's about to. Just as well—they misinterpreted most of it anyway. Come on—not washing or combing your hair on certain days? What does that have to do with anything?" J gave G a puzzled frown.

  "You should have realized how superstitious they were," G replied, tapping his forehead. J nodded sagely at G's observation.

  "What do you think we should do?" J asked. He knew his assignment—he was supposed to go back. Not because G demanded it—the people had a written mandate. It didn't seem to matter that they'd written the mandate themselves—J was obligated simply because he hadn't said no.

  "I know what you're thinking," G said.

  "You always do," J grumbled.

  "Is that any way to act?"

  "I wasn’t acting, I was thinking. Don't you have a dictionary?"

  "I stopped using paper years ago. Bad for the environment." G did enjoy his debates.

  "What about that library of books you still own?" J had hands on hips, pretending indignation. Most people never suspected he actually had a sense of humor.

  "Well, I can't just throw everything out. What good would that do?"

  "Yet you tossed away the dictionary," J rolled his eyes.

  "Along with a few other things cluttering the shelves," G nodded. "I'm the boss. I decide what stays and what goes."

  "What did you keep, then?" J asked. "The records holding all the lies?"

  "For your information, and you can verify this yourself, I didn't keep those, either. I got tired of keeping track of all that. You know—the wars and the killings, the stupid laws and the killings, the lists of kings, despots, tyrants, dictators, bullies, autocrats and their killings—you see I kept the thesaurus, don't you?" G was smiling, now.

  "You always loved words," J acknowledged.

  "Nobody talks anymore—have you noticed?" G sighed. "They want to kill anybody who disagrees with them. They only surround themselves with the ones who think exactly as they do, to bolster their own views. If you go, the ones who say they know you best will recognize you least."

  "I know," J agreed. "But I feel I should."

  "This is my suggestion, then," G offered. "Wait three days. See how you feel then."

  "All right, I'll wait three days. It's not like I haven't done it before."

  "I still am at a loss to explain that," G said. "And I generally understand all your motives."

  * * *

  Three Days Later

  "Did you decide?" G casually browsed the titles in his library. He'd just placed a new book on the shelf, hoping J hadn't noticed.

  "Yes. You're right, as usual—I did some observing."

  "And?" G held off on smiling.

  "I'm canceling—I've decided to go elsewhere and spend a little time."

  "Are you going back after that?"

  "I don't think so. It's a hopeless cause, I imagine. They'll have to work this out among themselves. I'm washing my hands of them."

  "Somebody did the same for you, as I recall."

  "One of them," J nodded. "I'm off. I'll see you when I get back."

  "Have a good time, son." G ran a hand over the new book on his shelf as his only begotten child disappeared. The title of the book appeared in gold leaf beneath his fingers as he traced the spine. The Fall of the Human Race unfolded before his eyes.

  SAVING PHERAN TIGER

  When Belen gave me this assignment, I never realized I'd spend three months on Falchan. Nevertheless, I had. I was home, now, my boots crunching on the snow outside Griffin Manor as I walked toward the house. How do you walk blithely in and announce to your adoptive parents that you're pregnant? No idea. I was making this up as I went along.

  Three months earlier, Belen sent me to Falchan in the past to collect Pheran Tiger. I'd been given specifics on where and when to go and given leeway to, in Belen's words, help Pheran as much as I could before his apparent demise, pull him away just before the moment of death and deliver him to Andelida, who would then transport him to those above her to make him Saa Thalarr.

  None of us recalled being made Saa Thalarr—we only recalled waking to a smiling Belen and Andelida, and then being transported to those waiting to teach us what they knew. Usually that was my adoptive parents, Kiarra and Adam, with help from Merrill, Pheligar and the others.

  It had been barely a year since Dragon and Crane sent me into the past to participate in the Solstice Trials. I'd surprised myself by winning. I hadn't surprised either of them—they'd already seen it in their mortal past. I was still a little pissed at them about it, so we generally skirted the topic. Dragon always made a production of kissing my dragon tattoo whenever we were in bed, however.

  Pheran Tiger, Dragon's Lord Marshall, had been kind to me after I'd beaten him at the Trials and that still amazed me—that he could lose so gracefully to an untried upstart. When my assignment began, I was looking forward to playing the Falchani warrior. Raiding bands of the enemy had infiltrated the hills on the border of Falchan, and they'd stolen or burned much of the crops in the valleys below before escaping into the mountains afterward.

  It was early fall on Falchan and the snows would fall soon in the higher elevations when I arrived. The Dragon Warlord had authorized a small force to travel into the hills and hunt the raiders, before winter came and convinced them to increase their attacks. Dragon, I'm sure, worried that they'd move in, take over the smaller settlements and entrench themselves, waiting for reinforcements to arrive in the spring.

  I agreed with Dragon on this—they didn't need a toehold in Falchan. They needed to be driven back across the border or killed—they'd already killed enough Falchani farmers to warrant a death sentence. With the Falchani army engaged on another front, there hadn't been forces to send to deal with these raiders—until now.

  Pheran had been assigned to lead the force against the raiders, leaving the Warlord far behind with the army. That suited me fine—I didn't need another meeting with the mortal version of the Dragon Warlord. I had enough trouble dealing with the Saa Thalarr version and his twin brother, the former Falchani General.

  * * *

  With my blades strapped to my back and a pack of supplies, I'd folded to Falchan—to the small settlement called Rosegap. There, I purchased food and two horses. I'd have to ride several days to catch up with Pheran; he was already well on his way.

  Although it was fall, it was nearly ninety degrees in Rosegap as I peered up at the cloudless sky and relentless sun. The drought had persisted from the previous year, and very little grass remained. All of it was dry and parched where I stood.

  Thankful that I'd brought my sleeveless vest as well as the warmer one, I tied my purchases onto the packhorse—I'd been forced to buy grain for both animals as the grass was sparse away from the Rosegap River. Needless to say, I intended to travel alongside the river as much as possible—I hated being covered in dust at the end of the day with no way to clean it off.

  It would take almost a moon-turn for Pheran's forces to reach the lower edges of the mountains, and the farther up they went after that, the colder it would become. With fall underway, the snow would likely be coming early on those slopes.

  The cold actually sounded good at that moment, with the heat beating down on me. Dust kicked up anytime a wagon or a horse came through the narrow, dirt track leading through Rosegap. That dust was fine and powdery, and got into everything. I'd have to wipe down my leathers when I left town, and hoped to keep the dust to a minimum after that.

  With the unseasonal heat wearing the horses down, I watered them often as we made our way north along the Rosegap River. Nights were better—cooling off quickly as I tended the horses, bathed in the river and cooked a sparse meal before setting my shields and falling asleep on the ground.

  On the last day of my trek, I was forced to travel away from the river. Neither my horses nor I appreciated that fact. I'd been given permission to use power, but mostly in emergencies.
I was equipped, as Belen pointed out, to fight with the blades I carried.

  Crane had given me throwing knives made by Grey House for my victory in the Solstice Trials, and I had those in addition to my blades. If an enemy got close enough after I'd used all six of those blades, they'd have to fight me with steel. My Driskilhin Night Hawk would be held in reserve, unless there was no other way.

  The eight-day's ride to the cut off passed peacefully enough, and I didn't see another traveler during that time. With only the horses for company, I had plenty of time to think, which I did in abundance.

  * * *

  The Lord Marshall sat outside his tent, writing a message to the General when the horse and rider appeared at the edge of his encampment. Scowling in the bright light of the noon sun, he could barely make out the figure sitting atop one horse and leading another. It looked like a child, at first, bouncing easily on that tall buckskin mare, leading a smaller, brown pack pony behind.

  Shading his eyes, he managed a better look as the rider came closer. There was no mistaking the hair; it shone in the early afternoon sun. Pheran was ready to roll up the message and hand it to the waiting courier when his attention had been diverted to this latest arrival, and he glanced up at the courier, back to the girl, then carefully unrolled the parchment and added a single line to the letter before rolling it up again and handing it off.

  The courier took three strides to his waiting horse, leapt into the saddle and rode off at a gallop. Pheran rose and stretched while watching as the girl asked the guard at the perimeter of the camp a question. She then headed unerringly toward him. He crossed his arms and mentally chided himself for his impatience.

  * * *

  I slid off my horse in the Lord Marshall's presence, bowing respectfully to him in the proper manner. Pheran waited for me to straighten up.

  "And I was beginning to believe I would never see you again," he said gruffly.

  "As you see, Lord Marshall, I am here." I held out my arms in a grand gesture. "That's what you get for thinking." I offered a tentative smile.

  "Is that the major flaw, in all this?" he asked. "The fact that I was thinking?"