by Troy Denning
“You are accepting his insult?”
“I am considering my response,” Castor said. He had hoped to repay his dead war-brother Orsun’s loyal service by preparing Krelis for a higher station, but it was becoming apparent that his old friend’s son may have too much pride and not enough wisdom to succeed. “What does the sensor master hear?”
“I will ask him.”
“Do it quickly,” Feodruz growled. “Your dokab needs your obedience, not your opinion.”
Krelis spoke into the cockpit relay, then quickly replied, “The sensor master reports laughter and boasting. They are bragging that your head is Deukalion’s for the taking.”
“Let them brag.” Castor lifted his gravity hammer. “If they are bragging, they are not preparing for battle.”
He started forward, only to have Feodruz take his arm and stop him. “Ballas has yet to show himself.”
“But he will,” Castor said. “Only a fool lays a trap one-against-two, and Ballas is no fool.”
As Castor spoke, the warrior in question appeared in the loading hatch of the Phantom on the left, dressed in his signature red armor. A short, stocky Jiralhanae almost as wide as he was tall, he filled the opening so completely it would have been impossible for his longshooters to fire past him. Like Deukalion, he stopped there and bellowed unintelligibly across the glass.
“Dokab, he assures you there is nothing to fear.” Krelis’s voice trembled with outrage. “And he commands that you show yourself.”
Castor gnashed his tusks. It was merely a taunt, but one that gave him a choice between acting a coward or a thrall. The only reply that would not appear weak would be one that was equally insulting—and while that might prevent the other chieftains from escalating the situation, it wasn’t likely to win their cooperation either.
Castor thought for a moment, then stepped into the loading hatch. “I fear only the gods and obey only my conscience!” he called. “But I have sworn service to Atriox, and it is in his name that I tell you to come forward and parley!”
“Excellent,” ‘Gadogai whispered. The blademaster stepped to Castor’s side, then took the energy sword from his belt and passed it to Feodruz. “Now, leave the gravity hammer behind and start walking.”
“What?” Feodruz accepted the sword, but shook his head at Castor. “Ignore this madness, Dokab. It will get you killed.”
“Nonsense,” ‘Gadogai said. “I will be there as well.”
“You are a single unarmored Sangheili,” Feodruz said. “And now you do not even have a weapon.”
‘Gadogai dropped his head and swung his mandibles from side to side. “Ah, Feodruz. Always watching, never seeing.”
The Sangheili started down the ramp, then seemed to notice that Castor wasn’t following. He stopped and cocked his head so that one oval eye was looking back over his shoulder.
“What are you waiting for, Dokab?”
“You, to return to your senses,” Castor said. “If I arrive without my hammer, they will think I come to them in weakness. They will refuse to join in the portal search.”
“They will see no weakness if you show them strength.” ‘Gadogai began to descend the ramp again. “Trust me or not, Dokab. The choice is yours.”
Castor passed the gravity hammer back to Feodruz and caught up to ‘Gadogai in a single long stride. “You are certain this will make them listen?”
“I am certain it has a better chance than your gravity hammer.”
“The gravity hammer is not for talking. It is for fighting.”
“And which are we here to do?”
“To talk,” Castor said. They reached the bottom of the loading ramp, and he forced himself to start across the glass unarmed. “But talking has a way of turning into fighting, and a good warrior is always prepared.”
“Then be prepared.”
“Without weapons?”
‘Gadogai stopped and faced Castor, and Castor found himself halting as well. “Is it the warrior with the best weapon who wins the fight?” the Sangheili asked. “Or the warrior who is the weapon?”
“This is no time for your riddles.” Castor started forward again. He had fought alongside several blades of the Silent Shadow, and there could be no denying their effectiveness. But he was affronted by the mysticism so many of them embraced. Instead of honoring the gods who bestowed their prowess, they claimed it to be the manifestation of some mysterious force that lived in their individual beings. “Next you will be suggesting that I give up my armor.”
“Armor is an illusion.”
“Remind me of that when there are twenty longshooters firing at us.”
“One or twenty,” ‘Gadogai replied, “they will not strike me. But you—your armor will be the death of you.”
“Because armor is an illusion?”
“Because the best armor is not needing armor,” ‘Gadogai said. “You will see, Dokab.”
“Let us hope not,” Castor said. “We are here to talk, remember?”
“Indeed. You are learning.”
Castor snorted his disgust. “Enough learning for today. My ears hurt from so much sacrilege.”
He shifted his attention to Deukalion and Ballas, who were about halfway to the center point of the meeting area. Like Castor, they had each been assigned a third of the world to search for the Portal under the Mountain, with all three sharing responsibility for searching the Eposz supercontinent—Ballas the southwest third, Deukalion the southeast third, while Castor took the north. But they had allowed themselves to become bogged down in a battle to subdue the human reclamation farmers who overlapped both their territories in the Arany Basin, then had foolishly begun to compete for the same bases and fallen into a fight against each other. Both were wearing full helmets and ornate suits of power armor, Deukalion in black trimmed with silver and Ballas in pure crimson, and both were holding their gravity hammers close beneath the heads. And, most notably, both were being careful to stay clear of the firing lanes from their Phantoms.
At thirty paces from the center point, the lechatelierite assumed a golden tint and began to bulge upward like an inverted bowl. A faint gurgling was audible beneath it, and Castor could not help looking down through the jaundiced glass.
Below he saw the same thing as the last time he was here—a curtain of yellow steam circulating over a pool of boiling water. During the cleansing of Reach, a plasma strike had fallen atop a hot sulfur spring and melted all but a thin layer of the stone above it. As the lechatelierite cooled, the sulfurous steam rising from the water was trapped beneath it, creating so much pressure that it collapsed the sandstone cap and forced the glass upward, creating the yellowish, semitranslucent dome upon which Castor and the others had agreed to hold their parley.
The thinking was that the meeting would be less likely to turn into a brawl since a single gravity-hammer blow would be enough to shatter the dome and drop them all into the boiling water below.
Except that Castor didn’t have his gravity hammer.
He reached the top of the dome, where plumes of sulfurous steam rose from small vent holes in the center, then stood waiting as Deukalion and Ballas climbed the last few paces. The lips of Deukalion’s blocky muzzle were pulled back in a sneer, revealing the white roots of his etched tusks, and Ballas seemed even more immense than he had three months earlier, when Escharum had first called them together to begin planning for their assignments.
Deukalion stopped and began to rest the head of his gravity hammer, Black Death, on the glass—then, scowling at a plume of steam rising between his boots, chose to cradle it in the crook of his arm instead. He studied Castor for a moment, then glared at ‘Gadogai.
“What is the Four Jaws doing here?”
‘Gadogai met Deukalion’s stare in silence, and finally Deukalion grew uncomfortable and looked back to Castor.
“I await my answer.”
“Is it not obvious?” Castor replied. “The blademaster is here because he wishes to be here.”
&nb
sp; “This parley is between clan chieftains only,” Deukalion said.
Ballas finally arrived, positioning himself equidistant from Castor and Deukalion. “Yes. That is what we agreed.”
“Think of me as an observer,” ‘Gadogai said. “On behalf of Escharum.”
The four speakers were now arrayed in a diamond, standing about ten paces apart, with the blademaster at the bottom of the diamond, closest to Castor’s Phantom. It did not escape Castor’s notice that the Sangheili had managed to place himself so that he was shielded from rival longshooters by Castor on one side and Ballas on the other.
“If you do not want the blademaster observing,” Castor remarked, “you are free to ask him to leave.”
“Not that I expect anyone to do so,” ‘Gadogai said. “No one here has anything to hide from Escharum… do they?”
Deukalion’s eyes flashed emerald, and Ballas merely grunted.
“I thought not,” ‘Gadogai said. He turned to Castor. “I am not here to participate, so perhaps you should offer the good news.”
Ballas’s eyes grew round, and Deukalion’s jaw fell open.
“You have found it?” Ballas whispered.
“The portal?” Deukalion added.
It was not the way Castor had planned to open the parley, but he had to admit the gambit had a disarming effect.
“I have not been there yet,” Castor said carefully. “But I do know where it is.”
The faces of both chieftains tensed with alarm, and their hands tightly grasped the shafts of their gravity hammers. They shot each other wary looks, and Castor knew they were expecting someone to attempt a clan merging.
‘Gadogai knew it as well. “Before either of you does something reckless,” he said, “you should ask yourselves why we carry no weapons.”
Deukalion thrust his lower tusks forward. “Because you are fools.”
“Not at all.” ‘Gadogai looked to Ballas. “Why not venture a guess? You have always seemed like the more clever one.”
Deukalion glowered and started forward—until Ballas warned him off by baring a chipped fang and glancing skyward. Deukalion stopped and looked up, searching for a strike craft that was not there.
‘Gadogai rattled his mandibles in a Sangheili expression of mockery. “Do not concern yourself,” he said. “I would never be that obvious.”
“Obvious or not,” Ballas said, “bringing extra guards breaks the parley pact.”
“Does it now? I will be sure to mention that when Escharum asks what became of you.” ‘Gadogai faced Castor. “I must say, I do not think they want to help.”
Castor stared at ‘Gadogai for a moment, trying to decide what the blademaster was playing at. Was the Sangheili trying to extract them from a deteriorating situation, or hoping to bluff the two chieftains into submission? Finally he simply asked, “Why not?”
“I have no idea,” ‘Gadogai said. “It seems foolish, does it not?”
“I never said the Ravaged Tusks would refuse help.” Ballas turned to Castor. “You have not yet explained why we are here.”
“Yes, he did,” ‘Gadogai said. “He just told you—he found the Portal under the Mountain.”
“I know where it is,” Castor clarified. “But I need help—”
“He needs help securing it,” ‘Gadogai finished. His voice grew more menacing, and he stretched his neck toward Deukalion. “Or have you forgotten that is why Escharum sent the Legion of the Corpse-Moon to Reach in the first place?”
“I forget nothing, Four Jaws,” Deukalion replied. “The Legion of the Corpse-Moon has been pacifying the humans, so the Banished will be able to hold the portal after we find it.”
“My apologies, then,” ‘Gadogai said. “I fear my last report said the Legion of the Corpse-Moon and the Ravaged Tusks were fighting over human farmholds, while the Keepers searched for the portal… alone.”
Deukalion’s nostrils flared. “What report?”
“The one he sent to Escharum,” Ballas said. “That is who he serves, remember?”
“In truth, I serve Atriox through Escharum.” ‘Gadogai paused to give a little head shudder, then added, “I can only imagine what Atriox’s reaction will be.”
“Atriox is back?” Deukalion asked.
“Fool,” ‘Gadogai said. “When Atriox finally loses patience with your contrivances, it will be you who goes to him.”
Providing they could find the Portal under the Mountain and prepare it for activation, of course. But Castor was not about to explain that minor detail to the other clan leaders. The more accessible they thought Atriox was, the more likely they would be to help.
“That is why we must secure the portal at once,” Castor said. “Before he loses patience with all of us.”
“And you are willing to let us share in the honor?” Deukalion asked.
“I am,” Castor said. “Provided you share in the effort.”
“Why so generous?” Ballas tilted his round head sideways. “There is something you are not telling us.”
“There are many things I am not telling you,” Castor said. “And more things that I will not reveal until I have your agreement.”
“Then you do not have it,” Ballas said. “You cannot expect us—”
“He can, and you will,” ‘Gadogai said. “Do not make me threaten you with Escharum’s retribution again. It is growing tiresome.”
“For us all,” Ballas said.
“And there is more than one way to stop it,” Deukalion added.
‘Gadogai’s mandibles splayed at the threat. “You could try.”
He started across the dome between Castor and Ballas, heading for Deukalion. Castor had no idea whether the blademaster was bluffing or truly meant to kill a fully armored chieftain with his bare hands—and neither did the chieftain. Deukalion’s eyes bulged wide, and he watched in confusion and alarm as the Sangheili rapidly approached. But if ‘Gadogai reached him, he would fight, and Castor had no doubt what would follow.
Rifle spikes and carbine bolts.
And, if they survived that, a final fate of falling through the lechatelierite to drown in a pool of hot sulfur water. Castor took a deep breath and stepped forward, talking as he moved.
“What I can tell you about the portal is this.” He caught Ballas’s eye and glanced at the glass, hoping to remind him of their danger. “It is in the Highland Mountains.”
Castor used the human name. Rather than rename every location on Reach—or even Reach itself—it was more efficient to utilize the references that the Banished had learned from the maps and prisoners they had captured.
“In the Highlands? You are certain?” Instead of interposing himself between Deukalion and ‘Gadogai as Castor had, Ballas was backing toward the edge of the dome. “How do you know this?”
“Because the Spartans know, and that is the direction they are headed,” Castor said. He caught ‘Gadogai by the shoulder and—hoping he wasn’t taking his life in his hands by doing so—held the blademaster back. “We have been following them.”
‘Gadogai made a show of dropping his head in exasperation, but stopped three paces short of Deukalion and looked back at Castor. He could not read Sangheili expressions well enough to tell whether ‘Gadogai was truly disappointed, but the blademaster did eventually allow himself to be drawn back toward their side of the dome.
The alarm began to drain from Deukalion’s face, and he shifted his attention to Castor. “What do Spartans have to do with the portal?”
“They are here to destroy it.”
“How do you know that?” Deukalion was careful to avoid looking in ‘Gadogai’s direction. “A communications interception? An interrogation?”
“My Seraphs forced down their dropship a day and a half ago,” Castor said. “The Spartans escaped, but we found signs of excavation equipment near the crash site. We have been watching them ever since.”
“Because they have excavation equipment…” Deukalion sounded doubtful. “That is all the int
elligence you possess?”
“It is enough,” Castor said. “They need it to reach the Portal under the Mountain.”
“Or to attack me,” Deukalion said. “You did not see the fight in the Kisköre Canal yesterday.”
“How could I?” Castor replied. “Your base captain sent ten Banshee talons to chase us off. We lost sight of the Spartans.”
“And we lost a talon and a half of Banshees,” Deukalion shot back. “To the Spartans.”
“In the canal?”
“Is that not what I just said?”
“But the Spartans were in the river channel,” Castor said. “We followed them all morning, until they drew close to Kisköre Base and your captain messaged us to keep our distance.”
“And you chose not to warn us?”
“So you could try to drive us away and follow them to the portal yourself?” Castor asked. “I am no saphead.”
“You must be,” Deukalion said. “For only a saphead would believe those tunneling machines are here to dig up the portal.”
This was enough to draw ‘Gadogai back into the conversation. “You have another explanation then, Legionmaster?”
Deukalion’s tone grew instantly less contentious. “Yes. And a better one, I believe. The demons brought the machines here to prepare surprise attacks against us.”
“Against the Legion of the Corpse-Moon?” ‘Gadogai asked. “Or all of the Banished?”
Deukalion rocked his head from side to side. “That remains to be seen, Blademaster. All I know is they used a tunnel to attack the Kisköre Base. That is how they came so close before our Banshees saw them.”
“Your Banshees saw the Spartans in a tunnel?!” Castor asked, incredulous. “No Banshee I have seen carries ground-penetrating sensors.”
“The demons were not in the tunnel when we saw them,” Deukalion said. “They were already outside of it, preparing to attack our shield barrier.”
“And that is when your sentries saw them?” ‘Gadogai asked. “I admit I am growing confused.”
“What does it matter when my sentries saw the Spartans?” Deukalion’s tone had grown impatient—a sign he felt shamed by the poor performance of his sentries. “My Banshees drove them back into their tunnel before they could breach the perimeter.”
