The Broken Sphere s-5 Read online

  If he'd been expecting some decrease in their confidence, he was sorely disappointed. Only one man's expression changed at all, and that was to twist his lips into an unpleasant smile.

  The largest of the six men took a step forward. He glared down into the Cloakmaster's face. "You be not welcome here, stranger." The man's voice sounded as cold as a midwinter wind that brings the snow. Yet there was something about the man's tone that set off warning bells in Teldin's mind. The words the man used fit, matching closely what the earlier group of Marrakites had said, but, to the Cloak-master's ear, they sounded somehow rehearsed.

  Teldin strove to keep his thoughts and doubts off his face as he returned the man's stare evenly. "I be of Crescent," he said as calmly as he could manage. "I follow the Way of the Plain, is that not so? Step aside and let me pass."

  Now all of the men were grinning nastily. "You be plain," the leader said with a grim chuckle, "but you be a stranger. You be not welcome here, stranger. We be here to teach you how unwelcome you be." And with that, he balled his large fists.

  It took all of the Cloakmaster's self-discipline to hold his arrogant pose and not reach for the knife sheathed behind his belt buckle. He kept an aloof half smile on his face, as he repeated, "I follow the Way of the Plain. Step aside."

  "You be a stranger," the leader snarled, and the others rumbled their agreement.

  In an instant, Teldin made his decision. He let his smile broaden. "You believe I'm a stranger, do you?" he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "Then maybe you should see just how right you are."

  With the last word, he drew a deep breath and let his awareness expand to include the cloak at his shoulders. He let the disguise fall away from his clothes, allowing them to appear in their stark, striking blackness. Simultaneously, he altered his body-not grossly, but enough to add a dagger's length to the width of his shoulders and a hand to his height. As an afterthought, he changed the lines of his face, enhancing the jaw-tracing beard and darkening and thickening his brows. He glared out of his new face at the men threatening him.

  Again, he was disappointed by their reaction… which was no reaction at all. Most people would have shown some response to having the bland-looking, gray-clad man facing them turn into a hard and piratical figure garbed in commanding night black. These six, however, just stared back at him as though they saw this kind of transformation all the time. (Or as though they had expected it, part of his brain added.)

  The time for talk-for bluff and counter-bluff-was over. The leader stepped forward, his ham-sized fist drawn back to strike the first blow.

  As he drove it forward, Teldin ducked under the man's arm, simultaneously snatching his dagger from its sheath behind his belt buckle. The point of his shoulder slammed into his assailant's chest.

  Although staggered by the impact, the big Marrakite's reactions were blindingly fast. Instead of trying for another blow-which was what Teldin had expected-he threw both arms around the Cloakmaster in a great bear hug. Teldin tried to gasp as the air was driven from his lungs and his back bent like a bow. He tried to drive his knife into his assailant's body, but the arms that were killing him also trapped his own arms at his side. In desperation, he brought his knee up with all the force he could muster, driving it into the big man's vitals.

  The blow struck home. His assailant made a retching, gasping noise, spewing saliva into Teldin's face. The crushing arms fell away. Even though badly hurt, however, the big man wasn't finished. He made a wild slash at the Cloak-master's neck with a long-bladed knife that had almost magically appeared in his hand. With a spasmodic movement, Teldin was able to parry the thrust, then, instinctively, he riposted. His own attack opened the side of his assailant's throat, and the big man collapsed to the stones of the alley.

  The Cloakmaster sucked air hungrily into his aching lungs and steadied himself with his left hand against the wall. His back was on fire, the muscles feeling as though they'd been torn apart, and his vision was faintly blurred. He knew he wasn't injured badly, however, and that he'd be back to normal in only a couple of dozen heartbeats.

  But that was time he didn't have. Seeing their leader felled didn't seem to deter the five other large men, and they advanced on the Cloakmaster, keeping a rough semicircle to prevent him from escaping. Their weapons were all drawn now-nothing larger than a belt knife, but since there were five blades to his one, that wasn't overly reassuring. With a harsh cry, Teldin feinted at the face of the man to his far left, then spun and gashed the forearm of the attacker directly before him. The man howled in agony but riposted with his own weapon. Teldin danced aside, feeling the razor-edged blade scribe a line of fire across his ribs, and battle was joined.

  A broad-bladed knife stabbed at him from the right. He didn't have time for a proper parry, but he managed to slam the pommel of his own weapon into the attacker's wrist, deflecting the blow. He thought he felt the small bones of the other man's wrist shatter under the impact, but he couldn't be sure. He didn't have time to think about it. He had to fling himself aside to avoid another weapon driving for his heart, and felt a third blade tear the flesh of his left shoulder.

  As the pain exploded in his brain, he felt energy bloom behind him. It was the cloak. In an instant, the movements of the five attackers surrounding him slowed as though the men were immersed in thickening molasses. A knife blade glinted in the sunlight as it arced toward his throat in what should have been a blindingly fast killing stroke. Now, however, the Cloakmaster had all the time in the world to raise his own blade in a perfect parry, then riposte and watch the long knife plunge into his attacker's heart. Before the newly dead man had time to fall, Teldin had slammed a blow into another attacker's throat and sidestepped yet another attempt to kill him.

  He could see the amazement and horror blossom in slow motion in the remaining attackers' eyes. What must this seem like to them? he wondered with fierce amusement. To them, I'm moving as fast as lightning, as fast as a death god's avatar. They can't touch me, and I can slice them apart at my leisure.

  As if to reinforce that thought, he turned to avoid another wild cut at his stomach, stepped inside the aggressor's swing, and drew his blade smoothly across the man's forehead, laying it open to the bone. Before the wounded man's face began to register the pain, the Cloakmaster had backed off again, well out of range of the panicked answering slash.

  Two of the attackers' number were dead, and none of the other four was unharmed. Teldin could clearly see the survivors' morale desert them. As one, they flung their weapons to the ground-the Cloakmaster saw them fall with unnatural slowness-and turned to flee. To his magically enhanced senses, it was as if the men were leaving at a saunter, even though he knew they were pelting headlong for safety. It would have been so easy to slay them from behind, but Teldin didn't have it in him to kill anyone so totally defenseless, even though they'd shown no qualms about killing him. He watched them sprint out of the alleyway into the street and disappear around a comer.

  With a sigh, he let the power of the cloak slip away. Time resumed its normal speed around him, and as it did he felt-as if for the first time-the fiery throbbing of his multiple wounds. With a tired groan, he reasserted his nondescript appearance and followed the long-departed assailants out of the alley.

  *****

  Good thing Djan's crew included at least one priest capable of using healing magic, Teldin told himself sourly a couple of hours later. Even though his wounds weren't serious, let alone life-threatening, their pain had been a nagging reminder that something was going on, something that he didn't fully understand. As the magic knitted the sliced and torn flesh and soothed away the pain, he was able to think clearly about what had happened. Teldin was again walking the streets of the city, searching again, but not for a spyglass this time.

  The confrontation in the alleyway hadn't been a random event, not like his first run-in with the Marrakites. (And was even that random? he found himself wondering.) Even though at first glance that conclusion m
ight seem paranoid, on closer inspection there was sufficient evidence to support it.

  First, his assailants had claimed to know he was a stranger. How? In his visits to the ship chandleries, nobody else had shown any suspicion that he wasn't a native of Crescent. Why pick him out for special attention, when his magically altered appearance was specifically chosen to divert such unwanted attention? The only explanation was that the men knew-somehow, from some source-that Teldin was a stranger.

  Second, at the time the Cloakmaster had felt there was something wrong with the encounter, felt that the leader of the attackers was reciting phrases that were rehearsed, that the man was acting out a role in some play.

  Third, and perhaps most telling, was the fact that the attackers hadn't shown any reaction when he'd used the cloak's magic to change his appearance. How would most people have responded if the nondescript man they were talking to suddenly changed into a black-clad, piratical-looking figure? With fear and doubt, almost certainly, or at least with shock, but his assailants hadn't shown even the slightest hint of surprise.

  What did all that tell him? His assailants had known who he was-if not what he represented-and at least some of what to expect from him. That, in turn, meant that someone had told them, and hired them to make trouble for the Cloakmaster. There was another possibility, though he decided it wasn't likely: that his assailants had set up the whole tiling on their own initiative.

  The implication was that there was somebody-or several somebodies-in Compact who had serious interest in the movements of "Aldyn Brewer." The Cloakmaster, in turn, had serious interest in him, or them.

  Again he'd disguised his appearance using the cloak, but this time he'd decided to use the full range of the artifact's abilities. He smirked to himself. Let the people who were after him scour Compact for a thirty-something, sandy-haired human of average height. They wouldn't give a second glance to a snowy-haired and bearded dwarf, stooped with age.

  Teldin's plan of the moment was simple. By asking around at taverns, ship suppliers, and similar establishments, he would get a line on anyone who'd been showing inordinate interest in the whereabouts or actions of Captain Aldyn Brewer. He'd then track down those people and ask them some hard questions about their interests and intentions.

  As he walked along one of the major streets leading to the docks, he wondered again if he should have brought Djan- and maybe some other members of the crew-as reinforcements, or, at the very least, as moral support. No, he thought. This is a task for one.

  His plan was working out better than he'd expected. He'd already learned that two individuals had been asking about the "stranger who arrived in the one-man ship." In fact, the second person he'd spoken to about this-the bartender at a dockside tavern-had given him a description of the people involved.

  "A woman, one of them," the large man had told Teldin. The man casually breathed a warm reek of sour wine into his face. "Didn't see no face under that cloak of hers, but she sounded real fine. And her bully boy partner-a big sod, couple axe handles across the shoulders, jaw like he could chew granite, and black hair down to his shoulders. Didn't say nothing, he didn't, he just looked like he was thinking bad thoughts." Teldin smiled as he remembered the man's description. Colorful, he thought, and something I'm not likely to forget.

  He'd asked similar questions at several more establishments, building up a mental picture of the pair's movements. As he'd expected, they'd been quartering the port area of the city, gathering as much information as they could about "Aldyn Brewer." Now, it seemed, they were heading back toward the docks themselves-specifically to the area of the docks where the Cloakmaster's squid ship was moored. He smiled to himself. If they were still following the pattern he thought he'd established for their movements, he was pretty sure he knew their next destination-a small wineshop called "Curbert's," only a few spear casts from the Cloakmaster's ship. He picked up his pace, cursing for the moment his choice of a dwarf for his disguise; he'd be making much better time if he had longer legs. If his timing was right, he might be able to set up some kind of ambush for the pair when they emerged from the wineshop.

  Curbert's was less than a dagger cast ahead of him when he saw the front door open and two figures emerge. He slowed his pace immediately to an apparently aimless stroll. Damn it to the hells, he thought, almost.

  It was them all right, the pair that the bartender had described. The woman was short, of relatively light build, but that was all he could make out. She wore an ankle-length cloak of light gray homespun, with the cowl pulled forward over her head. If it weren't for the large figure beside her, Teldin would have paid no more attention to her than to any other Marrakite woman. Her companion was definitely striking, however-striking and familiar. Even though he couldn't see the big man's face, Teldin knew it was the same man he'd seen on the street near the Great Archive-the man who'd prompted that strange, inexplicable reaction in the Cloakmaster.

  Mentally, he assessed his emotional reactions, in much the same way he might probe a tooth to see if it ached. This time there was no strange aversion; the figure was just another big man… and a big man who didn't seem to be carrying any weapons, he noted with satisfaction. Teldin let his hand fall to the hilt of his short sword (he'd made sure to bring it this time), which felt more like a broadsword in comparison to his dwarven frame. He picked up his pace, enough to start to close the distance with his quarry but hopefully not enough to draw attention to himself.

  The two figures reached the opening of an alleyway that opened to their left, and turned into it. Why? Teldin wondered. To discuss their next step? It really didn't matter. Getting the two of them off the main street so he could talk to them uninterrupted had stood out in his mind as a major problem, one that they'd unknowingly solved for him. He smiled. With them out of his sight-and hence him out of theirs-he could hurry.

  He stopped at the opening of the alley and cautiously looked around the corner. The two figures stood close together, not much more than a spear length from the road, apparently engaged in quiet conversation. All the better. He drew his sword and, holding it steady before him, stepped around the corner. "Greetings," he said conversationally.

  Two heads snapped around, one framed in curly black hair, the other shadowed. The big man turned an indifferent gaze on Teldin, then his eyes widened and he growled, "It is he!" His voice was rough but emotionless.

  Suddenly, Teldin was struck with another mental flash. It wasn't words this time; instead, it was an image as vivid as it was disconcerting. In his mind, the Cloakmaster saw a broad, loose-lipped mouth filled with teeth like daggers. And somehow, he knew that image was associated with the big man before him. Involuntarily, he let his magical disguise fade, revealing his true appearance. He took a step back and leveled his weapon at the man's belly. "Don't move," he barked.

  "No."

  It was the cloak-enshrouded woman who'd spoken.

  Slowly Teldin lowered his blade and turned to the other figure. She'd thrown back her hood, exposing red hair, which shone in the sun like burnished copper. Her white teeth flashed in a smile he hadn't seen since he and Aelfred had set down on the Rock of Bral. Even after all this time, however, all his recollections of this woman-her laugh, her sudden enthusiasm, even the way her hair swung around her neck-were as fresh as if they'd been formed just the day before.

  A torrent of conflicting emotions flooded through him: surprise, doubt, excitement, fear, paranoia… but, most of all, a piercing, bittersweet emotion that he tried to suppress before he had to admit its nature.

  "I hear you're hiring a crew," the woman said. "Are there any berths still open?"

  Schooling his expression to neutrality, he replied, "Let's talk. Come back to the ship with me, Julia."

  *****

  The large compartment in the "head" of the squid ship was officially the captain's cabin; so Djan had told him. It was so large, however, with two big, circular ports that made up the vessel's "eyes", that Teldin had felt uncomfortab
le keeping it for his sole use. Against his first mate's suggestions, he'd had the crew move a table in there as well as his personal effects, so it could double as an officers' meeting room. When the arrangements were made, the resemblance to the saloon aboard the Probe was enough to make him smile.

  Right now, however, Teldin Moore wasn't smiling. He and Djan sat at one end of the table. Julia-who'd doffed her gray cloak to reveal a green jerkin that perfectly set off the copper of her hair-sat at the other. Behind her and to one side sat the big man, who Julia referred to as Beth-Abz. He was handsome. Broad of shoulders and square of jaw, with thick black, curly hair down to his shoulders, he looked like the very quintessence of the heroic warrior. So far he hadn't said a word aboard the ship and seemed satisfied just to watch everything with calm interest. Every now and again, Teldin shot him a curious look. The strange image of a tooth-filled mouth hadn't recurred, and the Cloakmaster could determine no reason for it to have happened in the first place. He set that train of thought aside and returned his attention to Julia.

  The attractive woman shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "I know," she said tiredly, "I know what it looks like, but I didn't follow you here." She opened her hands, palms up. "I didn't even know you were here, Teldin. I heard yesterday at the White Elf tavern that 'Aldyn Brewer' was hiring a crew. Honestly, I'm as surprised as you are."

  "You talked to people at other places as well," he said sharply, "not just the White Elf."

  "Of course." Her tone was almost impatient. "I wanted to find out as much about what you were up to as possible. I had to…" She paused, looking away uncomfortably. "I had decisions to make."

  Teldin was silent for a moment. He wanted to believe her. They'd been friends and comrades aboard the Probe. After the death of the treacherous Rianna Wyvernsbane, there'd been the strong hint they could become considerably more. But then Julia had left the Probe's crew and signed on with another vessel setting sail from the Rock of Bral.