A Matter of Oaths (37 page)

Joshim and Ajir followed him, Peri and Caruya bringing up
the rear, all of them careful not to turn their back on the guard. The further
they travelled from the surface, the harder it was to believe that they were
not walking into a trap. For the hundredth time, Joshim reviewed the orders he
and Vidar had given to Jualla, looking for any eventuality they had missed. If
Bhattya
was fired upon, if they lost
contact with the landing party, if Rafe alerted them to any danger, she was to
retreat to Central. He prayed that she had the sense to do as she had been
told.

“How much further?” Peri asked quietly as the riser carried
them down.

“The gods know,” Joshim said frankly. “Rafe told Jualla that
he was on one of the deepest levels.”

He did not add what they all knew, that there had been no
word from Rafe since that message. No word, no indication of why he could not
come to meet them, no explanation for why he was still relaying his comms
through
Bhattya
instead of using a
direct voice-link. Injured, Joshim’s treacherous imagination suggested. Or a
prisoner, doing only what he was told.

“Bottom approaching,” Vidar warned, readying his bolt-beamer
to cover the corridor that awaited them. Joshim copied him, gaining a false
sense of security from his weapon. If it came to shooting, they could not win
but they could refuse to be taken alive. That would be his choice, guessing how
Julur would react to the face he shared with Ayvar, knowing how he could be
used to torment Rafe, how Rafe could be used to torment him…

The tunnel they emerged into was vastly different from the
corridors above. Joshim shivered, making a comparison with the dungeons that he
had known as Salu’i’kamai. The walls pressed eagerly in upon him and their
distance from safety seemed to double abruptly.

There was a single guard waiting for them, faceless in the
same dark visor as their previous guide, carrying the same holstered weapon.

“That way,” he greeted them curtly, pointing to their left.

“How much further?” Vidar asked.

“Round the corner, to the door at the end of the tunnel.” He
paused, listening to something inside his helmet. “Wait here. Orders are to
clear the tunnel before we send you in.”

“Why?” Joshim asked suspiciously.

“Orders,” the guard repeated.

There was the sound of feet approaching from the direction
they were to take. Joshim tensed, knew that the others with him were equally
alert. Nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. As naked as the stone walls. From the
corner of his eye, he saw Caruya’s finger tightening on the trigger of her
beamer, her aim steady in the centre of the tunnel where it turned the corner. Joshim
picked his own aiming point, ears straining for footsteps from the other
direction, for the sound of more guards coming down the riser…

He breathed again as a group of maybe fifteen people came
around the corner, both guards and civilians, their faces grim — the ones that
were visible — but their weapons not in their hands. They seemed to be arguing
among themselves, but fell silent as they came within earshot of the small
group by the riser. All except one, who said loudly, “He won’t get away with
this. None of you will.”

“The Guild looks after its own,” Joshim retorted angrily.

“By threatening the Emperor’s life?” the civilian demanded.

“If you care about it that much, you’d better get out of
here,” Vidar intervened. He reinforced the message by gesturing with his
beamer.

Joshim watched without speaking as the riser carried them
out of sight. Threatening the Emperor’s life? If Rafe had a weapon aimed at the
Old Emperor, that would explain a great deal. And Rafe — with his knowledge of
Ayvar — was possibly the only person who could threaten to kill an Emperor and
make himself believed. Gods be thanked, they might yet walk out of this safely…

“Left, around the corner to the door at the end,” he
repeated impatiently. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 
[Message for
landing party,] Rafe sent, using the little strength he had been saving for
this moment. [Maximum thirty seconds from reaching the door to enter. Expect
two enemies inside plus self in web.]

The danger would come as Joshim and the others came through
that door, when it would no longer be possible for him to control his hostages
by threatening to suffocate them, when there would be a chance for Julur and
Braniya to escape. He had done what he could to reduce the risk. He had forced
them to remove their armour-cloth and force shields, made Braniya drop her
weapon, insisted they had the corridor outside emptied. It would have been
safest to knock them out by withdrawing the air before unlocking the door but
he could no longer do so, not with any certainty of remaining conscious
himself.

[Landing party acknowledges,]
Bhattya
relayed. [Approaching door now.]

Rafe started to call up the schematic of the corridor
outside, gasped as another onslaught of cramp racked him. Desperately, blindly,
he released all the locks: door, web and hood; he could not distinguish between
them in the surge of pain before he passed out.

* * *

As Joshim pushed through the door, he saw Braniya
fumbling inside an ornate metal case, Julur scrabbling on the floor for a
beamer. He kept moving fast, to allow the others in. Behind him, he heard Vidar
curse and fire. Julur dropped the beamer, clutching a hand burnt by the
suddenly heated metal. One part of Joshim noted Vidar’s marksmanship with
approval, even as he took his own aim at Braniya.

“Leave him!” he snapped.

“Freeze or I pull this,” Braniya countered. In her hand, she
showed him the unmistakable braided linkage of a web-contact. “The shape he’s
in, yanking this could cripple him,” she added, telling Joshim what he already
knew. “If it didn’t kill him.”

“How do we know he’s still alive?” Joshim demanded, thinking
frantically. If he shot her, her falling weight would still drag the contact
away from Rafe’s neck. He must be unconscious. Had he disengaged from the web? If
not, could he survive that degree of disruption so soon after the overload and
whatever Julur had done to him?

“You’ll have to take my word for it,” Braniya was saying. “Although
I can’t guarantee that he’ll survive long whatever I do. Every attack of cramp
he has is worse than the one before. Would you care to speculate how long you
have to resolve this stand-off before his death does it for you?”

Julur was rising to his feet. Joshim spared him only a
glance, confident that Vidar and the others had him covered. Web-cramp. Of
course, after so long out of the web… How long would Rafe remain unconscious? It
depended on how many previous episodes he had suffered, on how long it had been
since the first one. If he had not disengaged, if he had another attack while
he was unconscious… Joshim made himself remain calm, made himself remember that
there were others besides Rafe whose lives depended on his decisions now.

“If he dies, you die,” he said brutally. “Julur we need to
get us safely out of here. You we don’t.” It was not an empty promise, he
assured the Gods silently.

“Hardly a satisfactory resolution for anybody.” Braniya
wound the linkage more tightly around her hand. “You and he both seem
remarkably careless with his life.”

Julur was moving to her side. “Remarkable indeed, when he
expresses such a deep — if confused — affection for you under Gadrine.” Devoid
of recognizable emotion, his voice had none of Ayvar’s redeeming humanity. “I
think, however, I must trust his judgement about you, and believe that you
would allow him to be killed to save your companions’ lives. For some curious
reason, he finds that admirable in you. I find it wholly alarming.” He glanced
into the web. “You may wish to know that he is conscious again.”

“And in control of the air.” The voice was thready, but
recognizably Rafe’s. “Don’t worry, Braniya. If I shut it off, disconnecting my
contacts won’t restore it. You could go down in history as the woman who killed
an Emperor.”

“You’re bluffing,” Braniya snapped.

“Call it,” Rafe suggested. “But oughtn’t you ask Julur’s
permission first? He’s got more to lose than the rest of us.”

“Release the linkage,” Julur ordered, chopping his hand
viciously down onto Braniya’s wrist, pinning it to the edge of the web-casing. “I
have decided. There will be no deaths. There is more at issue here than any of
you understand.”

“More than your sweating pink skin?” Rafe mocked. “Somebody
get me out of here. Before I throw up.”

He allowed Joshim to remove his web-contacts and help him
off the couch, but pulled determinedly free of his support when he was standing
upright.

“Somebody should shove the point of their beamer in Julur’s
ribs,” he said. “To make sure he behaves himself on the way out. And to make
sure that nobody tries to stop us.”

“I have sworn there will be no trouble,” Julur objected.

“We know how much that’s worth,” Joshim said grimly,
following Rafe’s advice. “Vidar, take care of Braniya. Peri, help Rafe if he
needs it.” Even if he did not want Joshim’s help, he would be grateful for
another shoulder to lean on. And Julur as hostage was a better guarantee of safety
than any number of ready beamers.

* * *

 
“Message from
Bhattya
, ma’am.” In his excitement,
Fadir forgot to knock. “They’re on their way back. With Rafe and the Old
Emperor.”

“I should hope so,” Rallya growled. “Joshim and Vidar
learned to look after themselves years ago. Which is probably more than you’ll
ever manage.” She looked up at the apprentice, wondering why he had stayed to
plague her instead of stowing away for the second time. “Tell me, Fadir, are
your pants too tight, or is there some better reason for you to be dancing from
one foot to the other?”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Don’t apologize. If you don’t take the Oath, you could
almost make a living as a clown.”

“Not take the Oath, ma’am? But…”

“It was a joke, Fadir. Now, get out of here. And tell my
fool of a secretary to arrange accommodation for another damned Emperor.”

…The Emperors Julur and Ayvar are both currently visiting
Central to discuss the renegotiation of their Oaths. This historic occasion is
the first time the Emperors have met each other since the Empires were divided…

“You’ve got the gods’ own luck,” Rallya accused Rafe. “Or
has Joshim finally learned some prayers that work?”

“I knew you’d be pleased to see me.” Rafe slumped into the
nearest seat, wearing a hands-off look that was keeping Joshim at more than arm’s
length. “Especially if I brought you an Emperor to argue with.”

“Two,” Rallya said smugly. “The other one is here as well.” And
neither of them would be leaving before she had their new Oaths. Oaths so tight
it would slit their own throats if they broke them.

“Ayvar’s here?” Rafe’s voice was flat with weariness and
something beneath that. “Does he know I’m safe?”

“If Fadir didn’t forget the message I gave him.”

“Then he’ll be here soon.” Rafe glanced at Joshim and away
again guiltily.

“You need some sleep,” Joshim said. “Everything else can
wait.”

“About a year of sleep,” Rafe conceded. “Is it Guild
Commander Rallya now?”

“Gods and Emperors, no,” Rallya said vehemently.

“She’s the only one that doesn’t admit it,” Joshim
contradicted her. “There’s still a Council, but she decides everything
important.”

“Only until they can be trusted to get it right,” Rallya
insisted.

“A few years then.” Rafe closed his eyes, hiding behind grey
lashes. “Gods help us all.”

“Huh. Why don’t you stop making my office look untidy and
let Joshim take you to bed?”

Rafe shook his head. “Nobody is taking me to bed. I can get
there by myself, if I’m pointed in the right direction.”

“It looks like it,” Rallya said scornfully. It looked like
Rafe was holding himself together by willpower alone. If he managed to leave
that chair, it would only be because somebody picked him up and carried him. A
pity Joshim showed no sign of doing it.

“He’ll be in here, sir.” Fadir’s voice, as proud as if he
had rescued Rafe personally.

“Thank you.”

Ayvar came straight to Rafe’s side, knelt beside him and
kissed him on the mouth, long and lovingly. Rallya looked away, angry — hurt —
for Joshim. Joshim did not move.

“Gods, Lin, I’ve missed you,” Ayvar said eventually,
gripping both Rafe’s hands. “To think you were dead, and then to know that
Julur had you…”

“I… didn’t miss you,” Rafe said shakily. “The identity wipe…”

“I forgive you,” Ayvar said lightly.

“You haven’t much choice.”

“I forgive you most things.”

“Eventually.”

“You should be in bed.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“The only question is whose,” Rallya broke in, unable to
bear Joshim’s stillness any longer. Somebody had to make him fight.

“I’ve told you. Nobody’s.” Rafe pulled his hands away from
Ayvar, stood up, managing not to take the help Ayvar offered.

“There’s a spare bed in my suite, Lin.”

“Please, “Var… Rafe is easier…” He stopped by the door with
his back to all of them. “I can’t throw ten years away. Not any of it.” Rallya
could not see his fists but she could hear that they were clenched.

“I’m not asking you to. I’m not asking you for anything,
Lin. Rafe.”

“You are. You will.” Rafe turned round with an effort. “I know
what you’ll ask me for. You’ll ask me to stop webbing. You always do. Every
time I’m in combat. Every time I get a new assignment to an active zone. And
now you’ll use what Julur’s done to try to persuade me to stay with you. Won’t
you?”