Ashar'an Rising (Nexus Wars Saga) (55 page)

“
You owe me big time, Kalamar. That sword didn’t come cheap.”

“
I bet it didn’t. I wish I knew its origin. Probably Elvin make, for I have never seen one of better quality outside of Lloreander. Maybe Dwarven, but they have a tendency to mark their blades with runes. How much did it cost you?”

“
Too much,” laughed Faith, and Kalamar looked up at her sharply. She had sworn never to return to the ways of her former profession, and he had a brief concern the Merchant friend of hers had asked for other than monetary payment for the weapon.

“
You didn’t?” He felt a sudden anger, realizing the thought made him jealous for some unknown reason, though she was neither his woman and had slept with many men previously for money or other gifts. He saw her regarding him, and he turned his gaze back to the sword.

She shifted to his side and sat then, and her hand reached out to softly touch his arm. Her touch felt so warm, he felt his stomach cramp. Slowly she pushed, forcing him to lower the weapon.

“
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I paid cash, and a good price. It is a gift, from me to you.” He was looking into her eyes, and the usual, flashing charm and passion they usually held was now soft and innocent, and he wondered if his eyes were the same.

“
It’s all right. I guess I didn’t like the thought of you “ She leant forward then and brushed her lips across his, ending his words, and after a soft kiss, she drew back. Misconstruing his shock for lack of interest, she began to rise, but his hand shot out and grasped her wrist. The sword he had held fell to the floor with a soft thud, but he hardly heard it over the own thudding of his heart.

A moment of silence followed before he managed a smile, an apologetic smile, for he knew he had inadvertently hurt her by not allowing his true feelings for her to be known. He had tried to deny them for so long, but that moment, as he looked into her eyes, he knew he couldn’t deny them any longer. A soft tug had her falling into his arms as he fell back onto the bed, and she was lying above him, her hair hanging down, caressing his face and shoulders.

“
I am sorry. I should have done this a long time ago.” So saying, he kissed her long and deep as his hands caressed her face and hair, and for the first time in a long time, Kalamar: spy and assassin, was truly happy.

Dozing
again, this time even more comfortably, Kalamar almost didn’t hear the door open for a second time, but he was rousing and reaching for the Al’katar he knew was still beside the bed even as the door slammed closed. His eyes focused on a figure backing slowly away from the door, holding a longsword in bloodied hands, while his clothes appeared torn and dirtied.

“
Eric?”

The figure spun, as fast as he could, almost falling, and Kalamar could see why as he saw the wounds that oozed blood down the man’s stomach and arm. They looked to have been made by a weapon, though Kalamar couldn’t tell what. At his side, he felt Faith stir and rise, and her breathe caught in her throat as she saw the wounded man.

“
So you are already here. And you have tainted fair mistress Faith. You bastard, isn’t it enough you betray us and kill the others? Is this why I was allowed to escape your men, so you could make me find you like this?”

As confused as he was at the words, Kalamar was still not unsurprised when the man lunged for him with his sword low. Off balance and wounded, the man still managed a good thrust that almost caught Kalamar in the shoulder as he heaved Faith to the side with one arm, and brought the still sheathed Al’katar around in a parry. The longsword drove beneath him as he arched up, where it dug into the mattress. He leaped off the bed as the man pulled it free and swung again, but Kalamar was well out of reach. Faith stood off to one side, naked and looking confused and scared, but Kalamar could only afford her a quick glance as he confronted the man who had once been a friend.

“
Eric, what madness is this? What has happened to you? It is I, Kalamar. What happened to the others?”

“
By the gods, you mock me too much, traitor. You will die for your treachery this day, if the fates guide my sword.”

Though his heart was not in it, Kalamar was forced to parry the next attack, a cutting slash at his head, which forced his weapon to unsheathe itself, and the hiss of its withdrawal was like a portent of doom. He had always been taught that if the weapon was drawn in battle, it had to taste blood, to kill, to take no quarter, but here he was fighting a friend, a person he had known for many years. It was obvious Eric was more than confused and frightened, so Kalamar had to train his actions to defense, concentrating on keeping Eric from injuring him and possibly Faith.

Luckily for him he was a far superior warrior, and it wasn’t long before Eric was laboring, feeling the pain of his wounds and the frustration of not being able to kill the man he obviously viewed as a traitor. There was no disguising the anguish on his face as Kalamar hooked his sword away with a deft twist of his new sword, and the injured spy dropped to his knees as Kalamar held his sword before him.

“
Don’t make me wait, traitor. Kill me like you did the others. My blood will join theirs, still warm on your hands, and I hope you pay for your actions.”

“
Eric, I didn’t kill the others. You have to believe me.”

“
More lies!” spat Eric, sending a spray of blood across the floor. “You had us meet you at mid day, and you told us you knew where the Princess is being held, and we were going to free her. Then you led us into your trap. How much did they pay you? If only Dhoric could see you now, his favorite spy.” Eric spat again, and Kalamar flinched. He cast another quick look to Faith, who had covered herself with a sheet off one of the beds, and he saw her face furrowed in confusion.

“
Eric, listen to me. I have only just arrived here this morning, and I have been here all day. Believe me, I speak the truth. Faith can vouch for me.”

Faith moved forward then, kneeling beside the injured man who was beginning to sob uncontrollably. Kalamar saw he was not a great threat to Faith, whom he obviously had a close affection for. He remained ready, though he lowered his weapon to appear non-threatening.

“
It is true, Eric. Kalamar arrived here this morning, and he has eaten and bathed, and then we slept up until you came in now. He is no more a traitor than you or I.”

“
They are dead, Faith. All dead.”

The cries of anguish from the spy chilled Kalamar’s heart. What could have happened to cause this? That the others were dead he had to believe, and he realized somebody must have been impersonating him, and known enough of his organization here to have planned the cunning attack. Obviously whoever it was knew of Kitara’s kidnapping, and few would yet know whom he had not permitted to be told, so either it was a traitor among his men, or the real kidnappers themselves who saw his network here as a threat, and chose to do something about it.

“
Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. Faith, can you get him some clothes and some food? We will have to find somewhere else to go, as will you. These people obviously know where we are, and that will put you in danger, even if you had nothing to do with us.”

“
All right. I will fix things. Wait here.”

Faith rose after giving the sobbing Eric a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and quickly changed into her clothes. Kalamar dressed quickly also, all the time watching Eric who remained kneeling with his face in his hands, whispering softly to himself and rocking himself slowly from side to side. Kalamar spotted the container of ointment Faith had given him and picked it up. His leg was much better, and he saw that the wounds on Eric, though small, must be painful, so he knelt to apply some to the man’s wounds.

“
Whoever deceived you and killed the others will pay, Eric, I swear that to you. Bobbi, Stevan, Sammy and Kurt will be avenged.”

Eric’s sobs slowed at this vow, and he began to react to the soothing touch of the ointment, flinching as Kalamar spread it slowly over the wounds after wiping away most of the blood. Kalamar was thinking how young the men were who had lost their lives; none of them older than twenty-five, all young and full of life, and good men at that.

Not deserved of such a fate.

He didn’t realize, but tears were falling across his cheek too, which he wiped away as the door reopened and Faith walked in.

His moment of joy at her appearance turned to dismay as he saw the figure who followed her, and by the way she walked, there was no mistaking the presence of a weapon at her back. Yet it was the figure that caught Kalamar’s attention. He almost growled in rage and anger as he saw who must have been responsible for the death of his men, for he could have been looking into a mirror. Softly the man pushed the door closed with his heel, and ushered Faith towards the center of the room.

“
So pleased to meet you in person, Kalamar.” Even the man’s voice was similar to his own, enough to fool many who would not have heard the real thing in a while.

“
The pleasure will be short lived for you, I am afraid. Let the woman go and I will show you. She knows nothing.”

The figure shook his head and admonished Kalamar with a wave of his finger. “Now you should expect I have studied these things enough to know of Mistress Faith’s dealings with you, Kalamar. And even if she was innocent, she has still seen my face.” Obviously pleased with his joke, the man began to laugh, but it did not last. Kalamar looked to Faith, and saw her tense, and he warned her with his eyes not to move. He had no idea what to do to save her, but he was going to do nothing to endanger her further. He was just about to speak, when Eric broke into motion.

Forgotten at his side, the distraught spy cried out and lunged towards the fake Kalamar, his hands rising as he charged, obviously meaning to grab for the figure, and Kalamar knew he was too late even as he reached for Eric to stop him.

The enraged spy evaded his grab. “NO!” came Kalamar’s shout, echoing through the room as time slowed, even though everything suddenly happened at once.

The fake Kalamar stabbed forward with his arm and the real Kalamar cried out again as he saw Faith being thrown to the side. The dagger  wielding imposter reversed his arm and threw his weapon at the charging Eric. The bloodied dagger caught the Spy in the left eye and he crashed to the floor, twitching as if even in death he struggled to reach the traitor. Kalamar’s cry of anguish was still ringing through the room as the commotion died. His eyes shifted from the groaning figure of Faith to the dead body of Eric, and then to this man who wore his face, now set with a mocking smile, his lips set to laugh as if he shared a silent joke. A rapier had appeared in his hand.

“
You will die for that.” Kalamar looked upon this figure and stepped forward, past the body of Eric. He suddenly felt a calmness like he had never known, an inner peace as he stepped forward to fight, for the revenge of his friends and the revenge of his love, not caring that he might die also, but knowing he was going to make this man pay for his actions.

Whoever this man was, he appeared unperturbed by Kalamar’s threat, even motioning him forward with his Rapier. Kalamar was cautious, not knowing how good his martial skills were, but he was confident in his own skills.

The first exchange was a slow flurry of thrusts and feints, a test to measure each other’s skills, and Kalamar knew the figure was good, though how good he could not tell yet. He advanced again, this time faster, and his strikes were quicker and more challenging, another test, and his opponent parried easily. He was fast and his technique was good, probably a Master, and maybe a trained killer, like he was.

But Kalamar had an edge: the prone form of Faith he could see out of his periphery, lying face down to show the growing stain of crimson on her white shirt, and every time he glimpsed it, his resolve hardened and he intensified his attacks. He felt as if he had been cheated of his first real encounter with love, something he had never let himself feel before, cruelly torn away from him now. He forgot his training in the cold fury that gripped him, but his abilities were instinctive and natural, and he fought like he had not fought in many years, and even in his pain he could feel the thrill of reaching his peak, each move not just a single action but a flowing dance as one form flowed into another, graceful but deadly.

The other figure must have realized he was no match for Kalamar, but he fought on, as if doggedly trying to prove himself, or realizing the match was indeed to the death, and there was no backing off, now. Kalamar had him bleeding from several small cuts, not bad but painful and infuriating, making him suffer slowly.

It was not until almost too late Kalamar realized the man was not just fighting defensively to stay alive, but to stall for time. During the frantic melee, he had turned the imposter about, and backed him to the far end of the bedroom. It was only a sudden change in the man’s features that made him react: a look of shock and a whispered plea, as if dreading what was going to happen, but Kalamar knew it was not from the fate he was about to deal him. He became alerted to the new presence, knowing the fury into which he had lapsed had made him miss it at first, and he rolled to his left, across a bed. A blinding flash and a concussive force knocked him into the wall as he rolled between two beds, followed by a booming crash, like lightning striking, and an intense heat.

He might have passed out momentarily from the force of hitting the wall, because the first thing he came aware of was a burning pain in his side, and a numbness down his back, His ears were ringing, and his head was pounding, and he could smell an acrid scent in the air. He rolled away from the wall he was facing and the room came into view, or what was left of the room. A thick pall of smoke filled it now, oozing slowly out of the window, which had shattered outwards from the explosion. Shards of wood and burnt bedding were littered across the floor, and a dark smear lined the nearby walls, the wood looking burnt. There was no sign of the imposter he had fought, or the second figure who must have triggered the explosion. The door to the room was blasted open. He could hear calls and shouts rising up through the window, though vague and intermittent, as his hearing tried to sort through the ringing.