Oblivion's Peril

by M. H. Johnson

  Val nodded, facing her once more, curious as to what she might say before he embraced his plans fully.

  The girl flashed a grateful smile that only highlighted her sensuality. “Thank you, my master. My given name is Bethany, though you may of course call me whatever you wish. You now own three beautiful daughters of noble blood, as you know, but there are things about us you don’t know. Things that would allow us to enrich you greatly, in the days and years to come. My sisters are far more than simple flowers to adorn your harem, and are capable of so much more, if you let them." She pointed to the blond-haired girl. "Lisa is a talented musician and an artist. She designed our father's palace, once upon a time, and could transform your home into a sanctuary even the Overlord himself might envy. She also has an excellent eye for value, having trained under the most exclusive of masters, and once upon a time assisted our father with her skills as a collector and judge of relics and fine works of art. She can both appraise the worth of your finds, whether they be ancient artifacts or modern works, and perhaps even deduce their history. She can also assure that no merchant or craftsman ever gives you less than the highest quality of goods or service.”

  Bethany then turned her gaze to the ebony-haired girl soothing a still sobbing Lisa as best she could. “Sasha is our eldest, a brilliant mathematician and financier. She is excellent at judging the markets, finding hidden value, and timing trades. Once she was given free rein to invest as she saw fit, she managed to double our father’s wealth in just a few short years. If you wish to see your fortunes grow, you could do far worse than seek her counsel. Sparing her dignity and thus earning her eternal devotion would assure you exclusive access to the best financier on Jordia, perhaps within the entire system.”

  Brilliant emerald eyes pinned his own. “And if you are looking for a girl to soothe all your worries and care, to willingly, gratefully, do all she can to make your nights eternal bliss… I… I will be that girl for you.”

  Bethany looked down at the silver leashes leading to Val’s hand, trembling. “You are our master. The contracts already assure it. And if you were to please, I beg of you, consider confining your hungers to myself alone… I would not just endure it, I would revel in your touch, and my gratitude to you for sparing my sisters would be real, heartfelt, and genuine.” She swallowed, lowering her head. “I would nurture and care for you, doing my best to bring you bliss and soothe all troubles and worry away. And once I quicken, I will train our children with joy, teaching them to love and honor their father in all things, a just and good man they can forever be proud of.” Desperate eyes met his own once more. “But spare my sisters, and I will be all you could ever want in a wife, forever more. This I swear.”

  Sasha’s eyes widened. “No, Bethany, you shouldn’t have to...”

  The beautiful flame-haired girl raised a delicate hand. “Silence, sister.” Her eyes carefully measured Val, who said not a word. She nodded softly to herself. “He is a good man. I can see that already. I can only pray that he can see the value and worth in having three devoted allies who will aid him in all things, and a woman who would cherish him and all their children. To see the merit this has over three broken, bitter slaves in a house of misery and woe. No, sister. I believe our master to be a wise and just man. And undeniably handsome,” she softly said, gazing up at Val once more. “I lack your gifts, Sasha, but even I can sense his potency. I don’t think it would be hard for gratitude to turn to love.” She swallowed and forced a smile. “Not hard at all.”

  Three desperate pairs of eyes met Val’s own. He did the only thing he could.

  Critical success! Your understanding of this artifact is now on par with the original creators. You will enjoy a 20% bonus to the potency and durability of similarly crafted artifacts!

  Val closed his eyes, putting both hands on the collar, feeling the arcane and psionic currents rippling through the strands of Elementium forged as tubule micro-constructions filled with Silbion and Altersian crystal flecks, the entire construction in all its complexity blazing upon his mind's eye. He was hit by the strange certainty that, given enough time and practice, he could deduce the tools and techniques to make similar artifacts, even how to better fine-tune the Silbion-Altersian calibration.

  He shuddered at the thought of making anything so hideous as these slave collars but had no doubt that he could. And that in the right circumstances, they just might be useful.

  The trio of girls gasped, eyes widening as their three collar clasps opened with the tiniest of clicks, Val carefully removing them from each of their necks before sending the artifacts into storage with a surge of his will.

  Bethany was looking at him with wide-eyed wonder.

  Val jerked his gaze away from her brilliant stare, acutely aware of how vulnerable he was before her, even with most of his mind so carefully hidden within Shadow.

  Because blazing before him were three very powerful, recently traumatized Psionicists who Val had no doubt could lay him low with a single Psionic Blast if he wasn't careful.

  The pair of girls on the ground were now sobbing with surprise and joy. Bethany’s delicate fingers caressed his cheek. “Thank you, master. But why?”

  Val blinked away the sting in his eyes. He was half in shadow. How could these girls’ tears affect him so deeply? Roughly, he shoved the three contracts into Bethany’s surprised hands. “Here. Take them. They are yours, now.”

  Bethany’s wonder only grew, a single tear running down her cheek. “With all that we have endured, that you would do this for us when you spent so much… I don’t have the words. Just…”

  She burst into tears, and somehow Val was holding her, feeling her generous breasts pressing against him. What was wrong with him? After all that she had been through? But it was her holding onto him as if for dear life, as her veneer cracked and the sobs poured forth. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She laughed through her tears. “I feel like we’ve been cast adrift in a nightmare without end, only to stumble upon an angel. Saints’ mercy, master, I can never repay you for what you’ve just done. Never!”

  “Please, just call me Val,” he urged. “And whatever happens next, promise me you won’t peer into my mind, or strike at my psyche. Can you three do that for me?”

  Sasha gazed at Val with surprised disbelief. “He freed us, realizing what we are? Knowing we could fry his brain effortlessly? Saints’ mercy indeed, sister. He is either the most glorious of fools, or truly heaven sent. Either way...” She bowed her head. “I, for one, swear never to strike the one who saved me in my time of greatest peril. Thank you again, Terran. I fear words alone can’t convey the relief I feel to embrace my powers once more. To know that I won’t be subjected to...” She gave a disgusted shudder. “That, any more.”

  Val caught her gaze, clenching tight the hilt of his Psiblade. “I won’t let anyone do that to you, to any of you. I will strike them dead if they try.”

  Sasha paled, catching sight of what he wore at his hip. “By the gods, this Terran carries a Psiblade! What kind of adventurer are you to achieve such a feat? Don’t tell me you can actually use it? And not once did that bastard Kentric or his pimp even comment upon it! How did you manage to hide it in plain sight?”

  Val grinned. “Let’s just say its use isn’t entirely unfamiliar to me. And my Shadowcloak does an excellent job of hiding things.”

  Lisa, the youngest, was adamantly shaking her head. “No, no, no! The cloak wouldn’t have hidden it alone. You must have done it somehow.” She swallowed, trembling. “You must have hidden it with your powers.” Her eyes widened. She slowly got up, a tentative hand touching the hard ebony plates underneath his cloak. Her haunted gaze met his own. “Does no one else realize? Does no one see?”

  Val frowned. “What’s wrong, Lisa?”

  She lurched back. “He’s covered head to toe in dwarven armor! Armor made for camouflage.” She swallowed. “Made for cloaking.”

  Bethany furrowed her delicate brow. “Lisa, what
are you saying?”

  Lisa turned to her sister, speaking in a whisper. “Isn’t it obvious? He claims to be able to wield the blade at his hip, a blade no one else could even sense until he pointed it out! He’s wearing a Shadowcloak and armor so rare and priceless no one’s seen its like in centuries! And no one even remarks upon it? Isn’t it obvious what he is?”

  Val frowned. “What exactly am I?”

  "Dauda!" Lisa's eyes widened with her own words, hands desperately covering her mouth.

  Sasha’s brow furrowed as she gave Val a slow, appraising once-over. Val buried as much of his psyche in the shadows of his soul as he could, while still retaining visibility physically.

  "I think you're right, sister. I can't get a grip on his mind, and no Indomitable Will or Castling stops me. Rather, it's like nothing is there. His mind is hidden in shadow, even as he stands right before us." She gave a nod of respect. "He must be talented indeed, to hide his mind so well. As long as he can avoid our gaze and keep in a state of icy calm, he’s almost untouchable.”

  Bethany flashed an apologetic smile to Val. “Not that our hero will ever have to worry about protecting himself from us. Whether Terran or Dauda, I care not. Only that he chose to save us.” She swallowed, taking a tentative step closer to Val. “Right now we are powerless, defenseless, all hands turned against us. We owe you our lives, our dignity, and our gratitude. Whatever you need from us, friend Val, we are here for you.”

  Val frowned, taking in their scant attire, Lisa's nervous gaze, Sasha's calculating one. "First things first. We get out of here, avoiding Phelp, if possible. From there we grab a cab and we get you some fresh clothes, assuming general stores like that are open. From there we find a safe place where you three can stay. I don't suppose your clan has friends here in Newford? Bank assets we can use to buy you first-class tickets and a fresh start on a world far away from here?”

  Sasha slowly shook her head, the other girls now wearing downcast expressions. “I am afraid not, Lord Val. As per Dominion protocol, all Calvar assets were instantly transferred to Lord Kentric, the moment that bastard cut off our father’s head and claimed the Calvar Domain for his own. As Kentric has made his utter contempt for our clan painfully clear, no former ally would dare other than betray us and turn us in immediately, should we make any kind of plea for aid, or be seen anywhere without slave collars around our necks. Never mind that such are actually illegal within neutral Jordian port cities where commerce and tourism with other worlds is the norm, slaves and mind-bonded servants are very much a part of life within privately held territories, and during times of ascension, many niceties are overlooked in favor of political expediency. And rest assured, with that burden upon us, we would be hunted down more intently than any hardened criminal, and are as likely to escape customs as a southern wizard spraying fireballs would be.”

  Bethany gave a sad nod. “Even our clan psionically oathbonded all our house servitors. A necessary precaution to assure loyalty and avoid theft or bodily harm, I had once thought. Now? I am forced to wonder for the first time in my life if perhaps those servants were not at peace with their bonding. I am now forced to ask myself if I am any better than the monsters who did this to me.”

  “Nonsense,” Sasha interjected. “They felt no pain, and the oaths were strictly voluntary. I administered all the later oath-bindings myself, as you know, and I assure you, whenever I sensed any sort of… disharmony, I removed my bond with the lightest of touches from those whose minds were unable to bear the burden. I then sent those servants back to their family homes with coin in their pockets and no stain to their honor, so long as they had perpetrated no crimes while in our employment.”

  Bethany flashed a relieved smile. “Thank you, Sasha, that does make me feel a bit better.”

  “Good,” Sasha said, “because our situation is still extremely dire. We have no resources, no allies, and our very survival depends entirely upon the goodwill of a man we have only just met, who has already gone above and beyond what anyone has a right to expect.” Her gaze then fastened upon Val’s own, dispassionate demeanor cracking to reveal the frightened woman underneath. “We can only pray that he will continue to help us in our time of dire peril.” She flashed a rueful smile. “And you’re right, Bethany. Fewer things will pierce a woman’s heart so deeply as the grace of a hero daring to pull a girl free of desperate straits.”

  Val flushed, more acutely aware than ever that no matter what talents they might have, these three girls were depending upon him utterly. “Alright. Well, if we continued with our original cover, there is nothing to stop me from leaving Jordia with you three in my custody as my property, right? We have the contracts. And if absolutely necessary to use, we have the silver collars as well.”

  Lisa paled and trembled at those words. Bethany looked hopeful, but Sasha slowly shook her head. “Read the contracts you paid so dearly for, Val. Within the stipulations, it is made quite clear that you can do almost anything you want with your so-called ‘prizes of war.' Except leave Jordia itself.”

  Val clenched his fist. It was everything he could do not to drive it through the brightly colored wall. “Come on,” he said at last. “Let’s catch a taxi and get you all clothes and a safe place to stay. We can plan our next move from there.”

  33

  Val found it surprisingly easy to slip back into the crowd of milling job seekers and recruiters, seeing more clearly how the convention center catered to clientele working in fields closer to the fringes of society than not. He even spotted more than one cluster of mercenaries, now that he knew what to look for. But just as he thought, there was no trace of anyone buying or selling the services of battle-mechs or mech pilots. Even the couple innocuous questions he asked earned him considering glances, especially with the trio of beautiful young women behind them, hungry eyes roving over them as if their scantily attire meant exactly what was implied. Fortunately, one look at Val’s cold gaze kept more than a couple of mildly inebriated would-be customers at arm's length as Val and the girls made their way to the exit suddenly in clear sight, with no sign of Phelp whatsoever.

  “There it is. We’re almost out of here!” Lisa gushed, suddenly clenching Val’s hand. “Come on. I can’t get out of here fast enough!” She ignored her sister’s reproving glances.

  “Calm, sister,” Bethany hissed. “We’re almost home free. Be calm.”

  Val nodded. “Take a deep breath. We’re here.”

  Then Val felt it. A tingle of icy intent. A heartbeat’s warning.

  Basic Danger Sense activated! Just a heartbeat in time. What will you do with it?

  Abruptly dodging as a silver collar radiating deadly energies darted from the crowd for his neck. Twisting as Lisa gasped. A quick shove with his left hand as his right drew his crackling Psiblade, alive with a sudden angry hum.

  A slash as fast as thought as he spun to his left, Psi-shield activated a heartbeat later, gazing upon the blinking, startled form of Philip, the once handsome favored toy of the inebriated Highlord whose poppy haze had so expertly cloaked her towering psyche only now blazing to the fore. Philip managed one final discordant blink as the two halves of his body slowly collapsed in pools of blood and the screams of shocked conventioneers, the artifact in his hand utterly inert, shattered by Val’s terrible weapon as easily as it had cut through the flesh of its owner.

  A soft tisk filled the silence as the sensually strutting Highlord made her way past speechless onlookers. “What a shame. I thought dear Philip would have caught me a juicy young prize, fit for my harem.” She flashed a chilling smile, and Val could feel the waves of hostile intent howling overhead, grasping for a mind safely buried in icy shadow.

  But even ice could crack, over time.

  “Here, like nowhere else, where all rules have flex, I expected to feed to my heart’s content. But you, boy, are something of an enigma! Your mind is hidden, slippery as an eel, for all that I see you before me, ancient blade in hand.”

  Val heard
the crackling hum of a second Psiblade activated. Shorter than his own, it could still cut through any amount of material, no matter how dense, as effortlessly as air. It was, after all, the event horizon of a singularity sealed and contained only by the most brilliant feats of engineering, first crafted by the dwarves, and only later imitated by Jordian counterparts. It embraced the most terrible of magics and was utterly unusable by anyone who lacked the Psionicist’s gifts.

  A shield was catalyzed as well. And Val’s immediately extended Psi-sense detected no electromana emanations suggesting blasters were in play.

  He gave a satisfied nod, putting away his own forceshield even as his foe held up her own, Val instead committing both hands to his blade, earning a frown from the woman he faced.

  Eyes now clear of intoxication suddenly tried to lock with his own. But only her lush lips and pearl-white teeth did Val allow his gaze to linger upon. That and her shoulders and hips, getting a sense of her stance and balance, preparing himself for the duel at hand.

  “So, you would forgo your wonderfully enhanced Psi-shield for the sake of a two-handed grip on that ancient relic? How quaint. Perhaps this will be an interesting evening after all! Very well, boy, I see you have some potential. You’re someone’s apprentice, no doubt, wandered away from the safety of your master’s demesne only to wander into my own.” She tutted theatrically. “Ah, what a shame. From safety to peril so quickly did you fly. Daring to strike down one of my own men, who intended nothing more than a simple prank, you see. No more than that. And you killed him.”

  She boldly stepped forward, her blade raised in a hanging guard. “Very well. I, Maja Ironwill, mistress of this mercantile gathering, do claim offense! You have struck down my pawn upon my territory, and I will have your head or your lifelong servitude. Kneel before me, child of Jordia, or be made to kneel by my blade and will!”