Schism: Part One of Triad (21 page)

After his opponent acknowledged the win, Eldrinson glanced at Vitarex. The Aristo was leaning against the tree at the edge of the clearing again.

Eldrinson couldn’t sense much from him, especially now that his captor had moved farther away, but he had the impression it both annoyed and intrigued Vitarex that his prisoner so easily defeated two of his supposedly best swordsmen.

Eldrinson’s third opponent wielded his sword with his right rather than left hand. He otherwise had little more skill than the previous two, but the man’s unusual style, coming in at unexpected directions, probably made him successful as a fighter. Eldrinson didn’t really care. Many of his sons were right-handed. For some reason this was a common trait among offworlders. He had plenty of experience with such opponents and easily defeated this one.

Vitarex was growing more annoyed and less intrigued. Eldrinson couldn’t untangle the unpleasant maze of the Aristo’s mind, but for some reason Vitarex found it offensive that an empath exhibited prowess with a sword. Eldrinson couldn’t see what being an empath had to do with anything. True, it helped if he could judge his opponent’s mood. But empathy in combat was a weakness more than anything else. Experiencing the fear or hatred of his enemy disturbed him; feeling them die was devastating.

His fourth opponent actually knew how to fight. They parried back and forth across the clearing, Eldrinson driving hard, wearing down his endurance. His aching muscles slowed him down and sapped his strength, but when he went into combat, he tended to blank out pain. Roca said it happened because of his adrenaline. Well, perhaps. He had

never really understood adrenaline, but he did know that all his concentration focused on the fight.

It took longer this time. Eldrinson’s injured arm felt heavy and slow. He finally managed to trip his opponent. The fellow went sprawling, losing his sword, and Eldrinson stood over him, his weapon ready to pierce his heart. His flustered opponent quickly acknowledged him as the victor.

Vitarex was not pleased.

Eldrinson stiffened as his fifth challenger entered the clearing. The boy was hardly more than sixteen, just a slender youth with pale yellow hair. He reminded Eldrinson of Shannon, who might be wandering in the mountains, lost and in trouble because his father had failed him, first leading him to believe he was unwanted and then becoming a prisoner instead of finding him.

Suddenly the boy lunged. Eldrinson almost didn’t parry in time. The youth could have cut off his arm. Vitarex had finally figured out he wasn’t going to succeed in humiliating his captive with hulking warriors who were as slow as molasses; this one moved like liquid silver. And Eldrinson had no doubt that Vitarex wanted to humiliate him. The Aristo didn’t just feed on physical pain, he hungered for the emotional as well.

As they engaged each other, lunging back and forth across the clearing, Eldrinson found himself pulling his blows. Their match lasted longer than his previous fights. It drained what remained of his strength. Exhaustion slowed him down and seemed to make his sword weigh more. In the end, he bested the youth on sheer skill, but it was close. Had the boy been more experienced, Eldrinson would have lost.

After his challenger left the field, Eldrinson stood in the center of the clearing, sweat pouring down his face and soaking his clothes, his chest heaving with his strained breaths. When boots scuffed on the ground, he tiredly raised his head, knowing who he would see, but looking anyway with a morbid fascination.

The Aristo stopped several paces away. “You smell unpleasant.”

“Tie a man up for two days without a bath,” Eldrinson said, “then work him this hard, and yes, he will stink.”

An unpleasant smile spread across Vitarex’s face. “I have more challengers for you.”

Eldrinson pulled himself up straight. He doubted he could win another match; he had reached his limit. But driving himself to exhaustion was better than being tied up. The longer he stayed out here, the better the chance Roca and Brad would locate him.

Vitarex left the field, idly motioning to a man among the audience. Most everyone in camp had gathered around the clearing by now, about fifty men, Eldrinson estimated. In octal. Forty, in decimal. He wondered at his mental state, that he was doing numbers in his head when he should be readying himself to fight. His opponent walked into the field— and Eldrinson froze.

He knew the man.

Eldrinson had ridden into battle with him, laughed with him, drunk ale with him, fought at his side. His name was Tarlin and he had long served as a warrior in the army of the Rillian Bard.

Tarlin raised his sword in a salute. “Ho!” With a grin, he added, “So we meet as competitors, eh?”

Gods no. Tarlin was about to give away his identity. Eldrinson stared hard at him. Don’t reveal me. Tarlin was no psion, but if Eldrinson concentrated enough, he might send an impression to the other man. Don’t give me away.

Tarlin hesitated and his forehead furrowed. Eldrinson continued to stare, his posture and expression implacable so Vitarex wouldn’t suspect. Tarlin’s smile faded, but into anger rather than comprehension. He apparently took the intense silence as a rebuff.

Eldrinson tiredly lifted his sword, then lowered it again. He couldn’t best Tarlin. He had managed a few times in the past when he had trained with Lord Rillia’s men, but he was too exhausted now. Tarlin was ten years younger.

Physically, they were evenly matched, or would have been had Eldrinson been in his top form. The “cell repair nanomeds” Roca’s people had put in his body delayed his aging and kept him fit, making him a tough opponent even for a younger man. But today Skolian tech wouldn’t be enough.

They approached each other and halted a few paces apart, each in a half crouch. They lunged forward in almost the same instant. As soon as they began to fight, Eldrinson knew Tarlin was restraining his attacks. His friend might not understand the situation, but he seemed to realize something was wrong.

They parried around the clearing, engaging and disengaging, metal vibrating when the blades met. Eldrinson’s fingers throbbed as he clutched the hilt of his increasingly heavy sword. Even the hinge in his hand hurt.

Tarlin stepped in fast, right up to him, and Eldrinson barely had time to bring up his weapon. His blade caught Tarlin’s, both swords pointing up to me sky, Eldrinson and Tarlin pressing in on each other, their faces only a few finger spans apart. They strained, each trying to break the impasse, to free his sword, neither able to wrest free.

Eldrinson whispered, “Help me.”

They broke apart and stumbled backward. Eldrinson staggered, then lost his balance and sank to his knees, his sword hitting the ground in front of him.

He tried to lift it, but he had lost even the strength to pull it up out of the glitter they had trampled into a dirty powder.

Tarlin stood a few paces away, his sword lowered, his chest heaving. Eldrinson stared dully at him, then he raised his hand, palm outward, accepting defeat.

Tarlin inclined his head and Eldrinson did the same. With relief, he let his aching arm drop to his side again. Then it was over.

“Well, well.” Vitarex’s voice oozed. “You put on a better show than I expected.”

He looked up. Vitarex stood a few paces away, obviously pleased to see his pet empath humbled. Eldrinson wanted to punch mat smirk off his arrogant face. The Aristo’s only saving grace was that he had no empathic ability; otherwise, he might have picked up the added tension between Tarlin and his captive.

Eldrinson knew he should stand, if only to save his pride, but he was so very, very tired. As his adrenaline

abated, he became more aware of the pain in his body. Every lunge, parry, blow, and counterblow had exacerbated the aches. His muscles were on fire.

“Ah.” Vitarex let out a long breath. “That is better.”

His nausea surged. It surely had to rank among the most heinous mistakes of the universe, that monsters such as Vitarex had built the greatest empire known in human history. The only advantage Roca’s people had against the Traders—the reason they hadn’t fallen to that massive empire—was the Kyle web, a mesh outside of spacetinie where the speed of light was irrelevant. He had never understood why that mattered or what it meant, but right now, staring at Vitarex, he was immensely grateful for that advantage.

He had no intention of giving this Aristo a Rhon psion who could make a Kyle web for the Traders. He would rather die.

Vitarex waved his hand at Tarlin. The Rillian warrior bowed stiffly, with a glance at Eldrinson. Then he left the combat field.

“Get up,” Vitarex said.

Clenching his teeth, Eldrinson struggled to his feet. Even at his full height, he was a head shorter than Vitarex. The Aristo studied his face as if searching for answers to the mysteries of empaths. He motioned to three men, members of the octet that had captured Eldrinson, and they took up positions around their prisoner, for all appearances an honor guard. Their tension radiated to Eldrinson’s mind. He gritted his teeth and hoped they saw his hatred. He would never forget they had murdered his men. Ah gods, Jannor, my friend.

Tarlin stood on the sidelines, watching them. Perhaps he sensed trouble. If he rode with Vitarex, however, he couldn’t still be a member of Lord Rillia’s army. Eldrinson had no idea where Tarlin’s loyalties lay, whom he would protect first, his new master or his old friend. That he hadn’t yet revealed Eldrinson might be promising, but it could also mean he preferred to speak to Vitarex in private.

The Aristo spoke to his men in a low voice. ‘Take him to the tent.”

“As he was?” one of the man asked. “Bound?”

“Yes.” Vitarex’s eyes glinted. “Exacdy.”

“No.” Eldrinson rasped die words as one of die warriors reached for his sword.

He pulled the blade back and lifted it at his side. He couldn’t bear to be bound to that pole again.

Vitarex spoke with no trace of sympadiy. “Recall an oath you made to me, empath, when I agreed to this competition. Remember the consequences.”

Sweat trickled down Eldrinson’s neck. He had no doubt Vitarex was capable of quartering him alive. The only way to ensure the Aristo didn’t kill him would be to reveal he was a member of die Ruby Dynasty. Which he would never do. He walked a narrow path now, with death on each side. He didn’t want to die. He wasn’t that desperate. Yet.

Widi an exhale, he relinquished his blade. The Tyroll warrior took it widi no expression. As Vitarex and die tiiree men escorted Eldrinson to tile tent, his nausea increased. He couldn’t go back to mat agony, bound day and night, especially not after die beating he had taken in me competition. He had bought himself a few hours of respite, but he had ended up in worse condition man when he started. He also felt mat strange sense of dislocation mat presaged his seizures. He needed his medicine, and if tiiey put him back in mat tent, tied to a pole, he wouldn’t get it. In his youtii, before Roca’s people had treated him, he had suffered bouts of status elepticus, or continual seizures coming back to back, one after anotiier. If that happened now, it could kill him.

To die east, the Backbone Mountains were visible tiirough me trees and drifting spheres. Would Vitarex kill him if he ran? Perhaps. But if he let Vitarex tie him up again, he might lose his last chance to escape. Although tiiey were only ten paces from the tent, tiiey had gone beyond me reach of die otiier warriors in the camp. Only Vitarex and tiiese tiiree men guarded him.

Eldrinson quit analyzing—and ran.

He sprinted between the two warriors. One reacted faster than the other and almost caught his arm, but Eldrinson jerked away in time. He raced through the forest, his hair whipping back as he dodged through the trees. His adrenaline had to be pumping again, because he no longer felt pain. Feet pounded after him, but no one called for help. It didn’t surprise him; an alert would reveal he was a prisoner rather than a guest. Whether that would hurt or help him, he had no idea. He thought of shouting, but he knew a good chance existed that it would only make his situation worse.

He broke out of the forest into a meadow of bubble-tipped reeds that he trampled as he ran. If only Roca or ISC would fly overhead! They couldn’t miss the clouds of sparkling dust or airborne spheres. He didn’t dare waste the time to look back at his pursuers, but he felt their anger. Vitarex need have no doubts about these two warriors; their loyalty to him was strong.

A bluff rose up ahead with stubby reeds sticking out from its stone faces. He wasn’t certain he could outrun his pursuers, but he could outclimb almost anyone. He veered toward the ridge, sprinting hard, hoping his surge of energy lasted long enough for him to make it to the top.

When Eldrinson reached the small cliff, he leapt up and grabbed a jutting rock, bearing his weight on his good arm. As he scaled the bluff, he risked a backward glance, in time to see the warriors reach the bottom of the ridge.

Vitarex had stopped a short distance back—

And was raising an EM pulse gun.

Panic sparked in Eldrinson. He wasn’t used to thinking in terms of guns, not even after his son Althor had slaughtered over three hundred men with a carbine above the fields of Tyroll. Eldrinson had suppressed his thoughts of Althor and Soz, knowing his children would face worse than this if the Aristos captured them. But in blocking that portion of his mind, he stopped thinking in terms of interstellar weaponry. The men below couldn’t strike him with a sword up here and

the wind was blowing enough to deflect an arrow, but none of that mattered to a laser or projectile gun.

No matter. This remained his best choice. He kept climbing, praying death didn’t tear him apart.

Except Vitarex didn’t shoot him—he shot the bluff.

The entire cliff face exploded. Eldrinson flew backward amid a shower of debris and torn reeds. He had one curious moment where he soared peacefully through the air.

Then he hit the ground.

The world collapsed on him, rocks pounding his head and shoulders. A long stone slammed against his eyes and he screamed as the world went dark.