Lady of Blades

by Saje Williams

  "But of course she has magi working for her."

  "No, she doesn't. She doesn't want anyone on her team who might jeopardize her position."

  "But I've seen her work magic...” Jaz mused aloud, with a questioning glance at Cowen.

  His answering smile bordered on condescending. “She's a wizard—bound to a pair of gems that work magic FOR her. Wizards are generally much more powerful than a standard mage,” he explained in bored tones, “but they're limited by the mage-gems and their imperfect sentience. Something like you did, unraveling the ward sigil to enter through the door, are quite beyond their abilities."

  "Huh.” She frowned. “How do you mean ‘more powerful’ though?"

  "How many threads can you juggle?” he asked.

  "Eight, maybe ten.” And maybe more as I get more experience at it.

  "A wizard can manipulate several dozen threads at once. Mage-gems, for some reason we don't understand, have a higher capacity than any human or humanoid mind we've been able to find. They're not all that great at subtle work, but, in terms of sheer brute force, they can literally overwhelm a mage's defenses in seconds."

  "Thanks,” she said earnestly. “That was something I needed to know.” I wonder how many threads Raven can handle. “I understand your concerns—I really do. But I can't think of a single thing I can do to reassure you that I have no intention of taking her place. I have no imperial designs. I'm not even all that comfortable leading a strike team, much less trying to rule anyone. I'm a loner by nature—leadership requires a level of trust I'm not willing to give anyone."

  This comment elicited the tiniest of smiles from Diamond. She bit back the urge to question him on it. She really didn't need to know what he found so amusing. Or so she told herself.

  It was a fight to keep her gaze from him. He was gorgeous, and radiated something that she found nearly irresistible. Goddam it, she swore at herself, keep your mind on business! “Contact the members of my team and see what they have to say about it."

  "We have to find them first,” the Steward remarked dryly. “How are you staying in contact with them?"

  "I've got an imp doing it for me,” she answered. “Of course, he's absent at the moment. Disturbingly so, she added mentally. What the hell is the little maniac up to now?

  She wasn't even sure she wanted to know. Where Quickfingers went, chaos was sure to follow. With any luck, he's causing Hecate headaches and softening them up for our initial assault. That is, if he wasn't distracted by something he found more interesting.

  "An imp? What the hell is that?” Cowen asked with a brutal scowl.

  She matched his grimace with a sweet but insincere smile. “A very slippery ally of mine."

  If ‘ally’ was the right word. She wasn't about to call him a ‘minion’ or ‘lackey,’ but calling him an ‘ally’ seemed rather strange as well. She shrugged inwardly. As good a description as any, she decided. “Let's just say he's been extremely helpful so far."

  "If he can get around here and find your people, why can't he just bring them back here?” Gimp wanted to know.

  "Good question. There's something about the way this place is constructed that's making it difficult for him to get around as easily as he's used to. He's afraid if he tries to teleport anyone else, he'll lose them somewhere along the way—maybe inside an inconveniently solid object."

  All of them winced in unison. “Ah,” said Cowen, nodding. “I see your point."

  "So have you all reached a decision yet?” Jaz asked, patience running thin. “Every minute she's running things over there is another minute she could be doing irreparable harm to someone else."

  "We'll help you,” Veramyth said, with a searching glance at the others. “Your assurances do you no good, however. If it looks for a moment like you're planning on betraying us—we'll kill you."

  Easier said than done, Jaz thought. But they didn't need to know that. She nodded. “Fine. I'll accept that. Now what can you do to help me find the rest of my team?"

  Sixteen

  The Thirst gnawed at him and he began his ascent from the Earth where he'd buried himself. He emerged from the soil nearly sobbing under the fury of its assault. He stood in the moonlit grove, panting, as his eyes scanned the surrounding forest.

  It took him a few minutes to remember where he was, and why. He'd been injured, and had returned to the Earth to heal. Yes. He glanced down at his naked form and let loose a relieved sigh. Despite his outward assurances, he hadn't been so certain he'd be able to heal the damage he'd sustained. Yet here he was, some days later, hale and hearty once more.

  But starving.

  He staggered through the woods to his secret cache, reclaiming his clothes and weapons. He hurriedly dressed and flung out a transit tube to take him to the park entrance. He strode through the mist falling softly upon Ruston Avenue, seemingly oblivious to the eyes probing at him from the shadows. His inner senses told him that there were others like him out there and that they recognized him for what he was.

  There were also lycanthropes lurking nearby—he could smell them. They too watched him with no small amount of trepidation. He was a legend already, the vampire killer. The vampire boogeyman. Be good little bloodsuckers, or else Raven will come and drag you down to Hell.

  He chuckled silently as he sensed the monsters slinking from their hiding places, following him down the street in a frenzy of curiosity. What brings Raven out here? they wondered. Is someone going to die tonight?

  Maybe. Maybe not. He pulled down another thread and flicked it toward the city, stepping through and repeating the action several times until he finally emerged on top of the Shea Building. The storm cruising overhead finally broke and rain slashed down at him. He amused himself for a few minutes by trying to dodge the droplets, an insane dance that left him thoroughly soaked and momentarily immune to the call of the Thirst in his breast.

  He opened the rooftop door as laughter bubbled up from his throat.

  "Having fun?"

  He turned slowly, meeting Renee's gaze as a remarkable sense of clarity came over him. “Actually, yes. You should try it some time."

  "I have,” she replied. “It's futile, but quite fun. You must be feeling better."

  She couldn't read his mind—this much he knew—but his state of mind had to be pretty obvious. “Other than the Thirst, I'm good."

  She raised an eyebrow. “You're handling it fairly well,” she noted wryly.

  "I'm used to it,” he answered tersely. In truth, he had learned to manage the Thirst better than any other vampire he'd met. Long practice, he thought with an irritable shake of his head. “So ... you on your way back to Strihava?"

  "As soon as I get back to the ‘gate,” he answered. “I'm sure I can find someone to eat when I get there."

  "Considering that you're going to war, I think it's a pretty good assumption."

  He nodded absently. “It's good seeing you again, Renee. I guess I'll catch up to you after it's all over."

  "Guess so. Take care of yourself, Cory."

  Always do. He grabbed a passing thread, snapped it downward into the sub-sub-basement, and made the leap.

  * * * *

  Loki lifted his gaze as the vampire materialized just inside the blast door. “Feeling better?"

  "Much."

  "Good. Ready to go back?"

  Raven gave him his best fanged grin. “You have no idea."

  "Step right this way, then.” Loki matched his grin with one of his own.

  * * * *

  The ‘gate spat him out in a location unfamiliar to him. It was a garden beneath a lime green sky. He stood atop a low hill, and, to him, the garden seemed to extend forever in all directions. Above him was a friendly yellow sun that, miraculously, didn't burn him at all. Obviously artificial, he thought. Shit—this place is such a fucking maze.

  "Raven!"

  It took him a moment to place where the voice originated. He turned slowly, shading his eyes from the bright light, so
unaccustomed was he to its harshness. “Who is it?"

  Laughter met the question as two figures strode from the surrounding orchard—one an immense man wearing a set of blue denim overalls, his skin black with irregular patches of white—like a Holstein cow or a killer whale, Raven thought, echoing the observation he'd made the first time he'd met the man—and the other a small, wiry fellow with a long, drooping mustache and a ready grin. “Jaz said we'd find you here,” the smaller man—Cecil, Raven recalled—told him.

  "Well, she was right. Where is she, anyway?"

  "Waiting at the bazaar,” the giant rumbled, “where we're supposed to be taking you."

  The vampire nodded. “Lead the way."

  * * * *

  Jaz looked up from the map spread across the table as the two lycanthropes ushered Raven through the open tent-flap before turning and disappearing back into the masses thronging the huge square. She treated him to a rare smile and skirted the table to give him a hug. He returned it, wincing inwardly at the pain as his incisors bit into his lower lip. The Thirst grew stronger—he knew he wouldn't be able to resist it much longer. He needed to feed.

  She pulled away, looking into his eyes. “You're in pain,” she said suddenly.

  He offered up a shrug. “I'll live."

  "So to speak,” she snorted. “You need to feed, don't you?"

  "That's one thing I didn't dare do on Earth. After taking that kind of injury, I wasn't sure I could control it."

  "Makes sense. You'll have to make do with one of Hecate's minions. That is, if you can hold on a couple more hours.” Her tone made it clear that he'd better hold on a couple more hours.

  "I'll manage. So what's the plan?"

  "Still working on it. I could really use someone with some assault training on this one,” she sighed. “That's the one side of it I didn't consider before."

  "You need Ben."

  "He'd do. Hell, so would just about any ex-cop or soldier, for that matter. My training, such as it is, didn't prepare me for this sort of thing."

  "Isn't there anyone here you can ask?"

  "That I trust implicitly? Hell no. They've got mercs here, but I wouldn't trust them as far as I could throw an armored personnel carrier."

  "So then what?"

  "We wing it."

  "Good plan,” he murmured, shaking his head. “So what are we up against, exactly? Do you know?"

  "I have an idea, and the Stewards are gathering intel to give me a little extra. Hecate is our big bad, but her foot soldiers are some sort of semi-neanderthal human-gorilla hybrid thing.” She shivered. “Believe me, they're big, ugly, and damn tough."

  "Not tough enough,” Quickfingers said as he materialized atop the map. “I'd mop the floor with them!"

  "Uh-huh. Assuming you could bring yourself to do anything overtly violent.” Not that it's a bad thing you can't, she added to herself. Having an invulnerable ass-kicking machine running point would be useful, but not if it wasn't completely under your control. And Quickfingers most certainly wasn't completely under her control. “You mind getting your little blue ass off my map, though? I was just about to go over the plan with Raven."

  "Sure, boss. Give me a sec.” He popped out, reappearing by the door. “Hey, boss ... company coming."

  "Good or bad?"

  "I don't know. You tell me. They're armed and running this way."

  Jaz glanced at Raven, who straightened and threw back his trench coat, revealing the butts of his twin automatics. He gave her a swift nod and drifted toward the flap.

  Jaz went to magesight and snatched the first offensive sigil she spotted. As it thrummed against the captivity of her enclosed fist, she tucked it against her body and moved to stand next to the vampire. “You recognize these goons?” he asked her.

  She squinted into the harsher light outside the tent and grimaced. “Not really."

  They wore military fatigues and carried what looked to be some sort of assault rifle. People scattered out of their way, less in fear than in open disgust. The soldiers ignored them, gazes locked on their goal.

  "Shit. I should have expected this."

  "What?” Raven shot a wondering glance over his shoulder at her.

  "These people don't operate in a vacuum. Hecate must have some influence here. I can't see her leaving this area completely outside her power.” She cursed herself for not thinking of it earlier. Stupid!

  Raven shrugged. “So—we fight?” He drew both pistols in a single, flowing motion.

  "Wait,” she murmured. “Let's see what they have in mind first."

  "Oh, that's brilliant, Boss,” the imp snorted. “What if they shoot first and ask questions never?"

  "Then they'll die screaming,” she replied curtly.

  The six men skidded to a halt in front of the tent, raising their weapons to point at the three of them. “Don't move!” one snapped out—a tall, bald headed man wearing some sort of rank insignia on his lapel. To Jaz it looked like a badly-formed dragon. She figured him for the squad commander.

  "Can I blink?” she asked.

  "What?"

  "I asked—can I blink? Technically, that could be considered moving."

  This didn't help. He still didn't get it. “Put down the guns,” he told Raven.

  "Go fuck yourself,” the vampire answered coolly.

  "Is it just me,” Quickfingers asked, “or are these guys about as sharp as a bag of sand?"

  Raven chuckled, nodding. “Bag of sand. I like that."

  Their leader thrust the barrel of his weapon at Raven. “Drop ‘em."

  "No,” Raven answered simply.

  This left them all a bit stunned, obviously uncertain of what to do next. “Who are these yahoos?” Jaz wondered aloud. And I thought her Neanderthals were scraping the bottom of the barrel. Compared to these guys, they're fucking geniuses. “Don't kill them all. I want to question a couple of them ... see what they know."

  They all exchanged glances, taking their eyes off their would-be captives just long enough for Jaz to release the spell waiting within her clenched fist. The leader writhed, impaled on a rod of fire that lanced outward from her extended hand. He screamed, hanging in mid air with flames erupting from every facial orifice. Jaz released the spell and he felt as a smoking heap to lay unmoving on the floor. “I call it ‘nerve fire,'” Jaz announced. “Looks painful, doesn't it?"

  "I'd say so,” Raven cast his gaze over the rest of them. “So—which of you wants to die first?"

  In an eye-blink, he was in their midst, snatching two up by the backs of their fatigue jackets like a pair of miscreant kittens. He slammed them together and tossed them aside with clear disgust. “You just can't get good minions these days."

  The remaining three scrambled to regroup while keeping all three off-worlders covered. An abysmal failure, at best. Quickfingers faded from view as they tried to edge past Raven, interposing their weapons between themselves and the vampire. They seemed afraid to actually fire their weapons, Jaz noted. They're under orders to capture us! Orders from whom? Hecate? If so, why? But who else might want to take us prisoner? Or hostage?

  "Are you guys suicidal, or what?” Quickfingers asked, his huge, mobile face twisting into a puzzled frown. “Go away before I start kicking your ass."

  That I'd like to see, Raven thought—though he was pretty certain it was an empty threat. As long as he'd known the imp he'd never known the creature to actually hurt anyone. Annoy the hell out of them, certainly, but deliberately injure? Never.

  Then suddenly the soldiers were airborne, swept aside by one swing of the black and white giant's arm. “Everything okay here, Jaz?” he rumbled, in a voice so deep it almost sounded like distant thunder.

  Raven retrieved the weapons and looked them over as the two lycanthropes quickly bound the prisoners and dragged them into the tent. “Everything's under control now,” he said to the crowd, before following them inside and loosening the flap so it fell closed.

  The six men were on their k
nees in the middle of the tent, the big man looming over them threateningly. Jaz leaned against the table, arms folded in front of her chest as she looked down at them. “Well. Anybody care to tell me what this was about?"

  Their leader, apparently having regained some semblance of sensibility, rocked forward on his knees and spat at her feet. She sighed in disgust and resisted the temptation to kick him in the face. She refused to be the kind of person who'd strike a bound prisoner. “Anyone?” She sure as hell wanted to, though.

  Seeing that their leader wasn't punished for his temerity gave the others courage. They added their collective spittle to the conversation. Orcus leaned forward, lifting one huge fist, but stopping mid-swing as Jaz lifted a hand. “No,” she told him. “These guys don't want to cooperate, fine. All we have to do is bring one of the mind-reading Stewards in and she'll learn everything we need to know in no time."

  This wasn't well received. Jaz wasn't even sure the threat would work, but the glances between the prisoners spoke volumes. They'd do almost anything to avoid having a Steward rummage around in their heads.

  It made Jaz wonder exactly what else they were hiding. “Cecil. Run and find Vereamyth. See if she can get a telepath to attend."

  He nodded and dashed off.

  She turned a feral grin to the men. “I might be persuaded to forgo that particular gambit if you tell me what I want to know.” She might not want to beat on them, but lying to them posed no particular ethical quandary. She wasn't constrained by the Constitution or anything but her own conscience. And, as various people had observed from time to time, her conscience was somewhat ... stunted. Does it make me a bad person that I don't care my conscience doesn't seem to work quite right?

  Depends on who you ask, I suppose. Sure doesn't bother me. “Who sent you?"

  The more she thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed that Hecate was behind this. It was too clumsy for an immortal, she thought. Of course, I could be wrong. But somehow she didn't think so. So who does that leave?

  Who else had motive? she wondered. No one came to mind, but she still wasn't sure about the politics of this place. The council seemed rather informal to her, so it was a good bet that a lot of deals went on in the background. Just because they were part of the council didn't mean they were the only movers and shakers in their particular community. In fact, it was a good bet that they weren't.