The Descent: Chapter 6

Medion jumped from his carriage before it came to a complete halt, and raced toward the mansion. Recognizing him, the guards at the gate stepped quickly aside.

His heart pounding, threatening to burst, Medion charged through the front door, into the waiting arms of his big brother. Arrawnt clutched him tightly for a second, then stepped back to look him up and down. "Thank God you're unharmed."

Medion looked around wildly. Just about everybody was crowded in the living room. Everybody, that was, besides Domaric. His whole body quivered so much he had trouble speaking at first. Finally he croaked out, "Where's Father?"

"Don't worry, he's alive," replied Arrawnt grimly. His voice made it clear there was plenty to worry about. "Mageron didn't think pops would be able to make it back here, so he and some others managed to get him to Vagabond—the place happened to be parked right by the market, thank God. The healers there say it'd be dangerous to move him, so that's where he'll stay for the time being. I have half the guards down there protecting him. Uryudo is there too, helping the healers in any way he can..."

Medion shook his head. "But I want to see pops."

"You'll see him in a few days," assured Arrawnt. "But not now. I don't care what Braff says, I don't trust that son of a bitch to just call it quits. I want everyone here, together, for a few days."

Medion had to agree. As he entered the living room, however, he noticed an absence, and asked his brother, "But where's Mageron?"

"On his way to Storich," answered Arrawnt firmly. "He's not doing any good around here, and I didn't want those idiots at Storich to think we'll concede territory just because Father was hit bad. In any case, even Braff won't touch Mageron. He's a civilian, and Braff knows it." He exhaled tiredly. "It's not like Braff would be afraid of witnesses..."

Medion sat down besides Melinda. His mother smiled sadly at him and took his hand, but said nothing. To Medion it seemed like she had become ten years older since last they met. The anguish in her beautiful eyes was such that Medion felt his own eyes burn. He bowed his head, searching for some words of comfort, but none came.

Near him, his brothers began discussing Braff's proposal with Campbell. Medion did not look in their direction, but listened intently all the same.

"...no way we can do that, that's just too many." Grantuck was saying to Arrawnt.

"I agree." It was Campbell. "It's just too much bad blood. Braff, Basanda, Desseheren..."

Arrawnt grunted angrily. Grantuck continued, "We can't make this too personal. The key is Braff—he's leading the others around by the nose. Everything will fall in line if we kill him..."

Medion turned to them at that. "Who'll do the killing?"

He felt Melinda squeeze his hand. The trio stared at him, surprised, then chuckled. Arrawnt shook his head. "I don't want you to get involved, ok Medion?"

He nodded, and resumed staring at his feet.

Grantuck went on: "I'm worried about James. Anyone has any idea where he might be?"

"Maybe he's sleeping over at some slut's place," mumbled Campbell.

"No. My father wouldn't do that." The new voice clearly surprised everyone. Medion turned to see a young, red-haired teen. The boy was even younger than him, but wore the armor and weapons of a mercenary. His gaze was bold, even challenging—quite unlike any goon Medion knew. Medion could not remember his name, but the image of himself dressed like the boy flashed through his mind. The image was chilling, yet frighteningly fitting...

Arrawnt cleared his throat awkwardly. Obviously James's son possessed a quality even his intimidating father lacked. "OK then Julian...we'll just have to wait." He turned back to Grantuck. "Go on."

"If Father should die, heaven forbid, a lot of our power would go with him. The other Dons would almost certainly wind up on Braff's side then, just to prevent all-out war. Nobody wants bloodshed, Arrawnt. We have to avoid it no matter what, and let the others realize we'd rather have peace. So if Father dies...you make the deal, Arrawnt."

Medion could feel the heat in his brother's response. "That's easy for you to say, he ain't your father!"

Grantuck's answer was calm and sad. "You know he's as much a father to me as he's to you."

In the silence that followed, Campbell spoke up. "Me and Arthur took care of Franz by the way. Won't see his ugly face no more."

Arrawnt nodded his approval. The door opened suddenly behind them, and everyone turned.

It was Fidelity. Looking uncomfortable, he stepped forward clutching something to his chest. "This was just delivered to the gate..." He dumped it on the coffee table.

Medion recognized James's blade, wrapped in a dripping cloak. Arrawnt unwrapped the garment, and a few dead fish spilled out onto the carpet. "What the hell is this?"

Campbell cleared his throat, looked at Fidelity. Neither seemed eager to explain. Julian's voice rang out again, rough and deadly. "It's an old mercenary code. It means...it means my father sleeps with the fishes."

Medion didn't want to remain within the house, where his brothers discussed the business with their posse of henchmen. Though the tension clung to the entire estate like a heavy mist, he managed to find temporary refuge by sitting on a bench, by himself, outside in the garden. He thought about his father, about the good times they shared in his innocent childhood, and tried not to envision Domaric lying in some strange building fighting for his life.

A voice called his name. He looked up and saw Campbell poking his head out a window, waving an envelope at him. Reluctantly, Medion got up and headed back into the house.

The letter was from Synbios, asking how he was, how his father was. Medion considered writing back, then decided against it. A strange idea was growing inside him, a notion he wasn't even sure of yet. It was as if all the recent disturbances have awakened something buried within, and that something was taking form even as it clawed its way toward surface. He didn't know just what the results may be; he wanted to see Synbios one more time before this twisted infant burst free—so he'll go see Synbios tonight, and answer all her questions in person. In any case, he wanted to visit his father too.

He looked up and around, only to catch Campbell reading the letter over his shoulder. The centaur wore an impish grin as Medion hastily hid the piece of paper. "Hey Medion, why don't you write back and tell that nice girl you love her?" When the boy murmured sheepishly and tried to escape, he continued in an exaggerated opera voice, "I love you with allll my heart! If I don't see you again, I'm gonna die!"

Medion couldn't hide his grin, but a trace of sadness tinted his every expression now. "Perhaps I will tell her." He caught Arrawnt's eye, and said, "I'd like to go see pops today. I won't be long."

Arrawnt frowned. "It's still dangerous...but alright, just let me send someone with you, OK?"

"It should be OK," Campbell piped up. "Braff knows he's a civilian too."

Arrawnt sighed. "OK, Medion, go ahead. Don't come back too late."

Medion nodded and opened the front door. As he stepped out into the morning sun, he heard Arrawnt murmur to Campbell: "Send someone with him anyway."

Dinner with Synbios was tense and uncomfortable. Medion knew in his heart of hearts that this might be the last time they met, but couldn't bring himself to be cheerful for her sake. There was just too much on his mind.

They ate nearly in silence. Synbios kept stealing glances at him with big, worried eyes, but would not say anything. Medion knew they were both thinking about Domaric, but also realized she didn't want to talk about it anymore than he did.

Finally he stood up. "I have to go..."

"Can I go with you?"

Medion knew she meant well. He wanted her to go with him, actually. He wished they could go away together from this mess, just as she'd proposed in that hotel room, seemingly a lifetime ago. But no. Fate had dealt him a cruel card, and he had to play the hand. There was little neither of them could do.

"There'll be all sorts of people there," he replied. "Goons, town guards—it'll be dangerous. I'll go alone."

"I'll stay in the carriage," she promised. "Please."

He wouldn't look at her. "Go back to your father's place, in Aspia. I'll write you."

Synbios did not protest this time—perhaps she knew it was for the best. But she had one last question: "Will I ever see you again?"

"Goodbye, Synbios."

The minute his ride dropped him off in Vagabond, he sensed something was wrong. There wasn't a soul in the streets. Medion's unease grew as he walked, unchallenged, into the healer's tent.

He looked about and saw, to his dismay, not a single healer or guard. There didn't even seem to be any patients. Worried, he checked room after room, before finally discovering his father lying motionless in bed.

Medion leaned over Domaric, fearing the worst. Then the Don gave a weary sigh in his sleep, and Medion slumped with relief.

A gentle hand tapped his shoulder. He jumped half a meter, turned around. He stared into the serene face of a Kyantaur healer in flowing robes.

Her voice was melodious but stern. "Please. You'll have to leave."

Medion swallowed. "My name is Medion; I'm Domaric's son." He fidgeted under her scrutiny, then spoke in a voice every bit as steely: "Where are the guards?"

She regarded him a moment. "I made them all leave. There were just too many visitors, and they were disturbing your father's rest." She pushed him gently. "And now you must leave too."

Medion was incredulous. "You ordered all the bodyguards to leave and they just left?"

"No," she explained. "The captain of the town guards was here. He suggested it, and I agreed. He used his authority to chase everyone away."

"But who'd be left to guard my father?"

For the first time a hint of confusion clouded her clear eyes. "He promised to have his men come take over. They must be late..."

"No," Medion told her. "It's not that simple. Do you have a messenger of some sort? Someone who can get a message to my family really fast?"

She nodded, and left the room. Medion found a piece of paper and scribbled a note to Arrawnt. In a few minutes she returned with a young birdman. "This is the messenger."

Medion stuffed the note and a few coins into the birdman's hands, instructing him to make haste. After the messenger had gone, the Kyantaur once again plucked at Medion's sleeve. "You should leave now."

He looked at her. "What's your name?"

"Grace."

"Listen Grace, I need you to help move my father to another room."

Her tone became stern again. "That's out of the question."

Medion gripped her shoulders impatiently. "Look, you know who my father is? Men are coming to kill him. Now please, help me move him."

There was no surprise or fear on her calm face; she merely paused, considered. Then without a word, she bent over the prone figure, and lifted the gravely injured man with startling strength and gentleness.

Together they found another unused room and laid Domaric down. Medion glanced about nervously, expecting any minute to hear the footsteps of approaching assassins. He bent over his father, realizing in his heart that he'll have to shield the Don with whatever power he possessed. It was his duty, and wish, to protect Domaric.

He kissed his father's cheek, whispering, "Don't worry pops. I'm with you now...I'm with you."

A slight smile formed on Domaric's face; from beneath his tightly shut eyelids, a single tear emerged.

Medion made some hasty preparations, then looked nervously out the door. Grace appeared behind him again. "I don't think your men will arrive in time."

Medion agreed. "Look, I know this is asking a lot of you, but you must help me stop them."

She raised her eyebrows. "How?"

He explained quickly, adding at the end, "This might cost both of us our lives."

Grace seemed undaunted. "My job is to protect my patients."

Together they stood at the entrance. Grace had taken off her robes and wore a simple leather attire; in her hand she held her ankh. Medion clutched a crossbow someone had left in the tent, his eyes darting as he surveyed the empty street. He had been unable to find arrows to go with the bow, and wondered how they were going to pull this off.

Five minutes had hardly passed when they heard, in the distance, the rapid pounding of hooves. In a minute an unmarked carriage had appeared, making a beeline for the healers' tent. It slowed as it neared—the driver was obviously surprised to see the pair at the door. It stopped not ten feet from the entrance. Baleful eyes glared out at Medion and Grace from behind darkened glass.

His heart pounded, but his hands, surprisingly, did not shake. While Grace stared back at the confused assassins, Medion calmly lifted the bow and made as if to draw a bolt from underneath his cloak. The eyes disappeared; muted oaths and orders were heard; in a minute, the carriage had thundered off into the darkness.

The Kyantaur leaned against her staff. Medion himself felt his knees go rubbery with relief, but once again found the strength to look stolidly about, as if welcoming new challengers. There were none—until, a few moments later, another larger carriage barged down the street and stopped right in front of them.

This one was clearly marked. It belonged to the Vagabond guards.

Medion stuffed the bow into Grace's hands and shooed her away as he stepped forward to meet the guards. The one in command took one look at Medion and ordered: "Lock him up!"

He did not struggle as the guards grabbed him, though he wanted to rip the captain's head off. It was obvious whose payroll the corrupt official was on. "What happened to the men protecting my father, captain?"

The man stared at him. "You little bastard...what the hell are you doing, trying to teach me my business? I pulled them out of here! How the hell you slipped through I have no idea, but I want you away from this place!"

This time Medion did struggle. He refused to be pulled onto the carriage, and stood as if rooted before the entrance. "I'm not leaving until you get guards to protect my father!"

The captain's eyes glowered with impotent rage. Medion wondered just how much he was missing for failing to clear the way for Braff. "Boys, take him in!"

The guards holding Medion hesitated. Finally one of them said, "Sir...he's unarmed. We can't just grab him like this."

The captain spat on the ground. "I don't give a damn! Get him in the carriage, now!"

"But sir...he's a war hero. A lotta people are gonna be furious if they learn how we're treating him..."

"Goddamn it, don't give me excuses. Take him in—that's an order!"

Medion sensed the cowering guards were about to give in. He raised his voice. "How much is Braff paying you to set my father up, huh?"

The captain lost control. His fist came hard and fast, impacting on Medion's jaw with a sickening crunch. Medion's head snapped up, and he nearly lost conscious.

Dimly he heard the sound of more carriages charging up. He shook his head to clear the stars. Grantuck had arrived with at least a dozen of their men, in three separate carriages. Ten of the goons immediately set about to secure the area, while Grantuck strode arrogantly up with two men in tow. "That's enough, captain. We've come to take care of the business. Now let my brother go."

The captain looked as if he wanted to punch Grantuck as well. He glanced at the squad of henchmen and clearly had second thoughts. With an animal snarl he ordered: "Let him go."

Medion almost fell, but clung on to Grantuck's arm. Together they watched the guards climb back into their ride, the captain cursing nonstop. In the distant horizon, pale fingers of light were showing. It would soon be dawn.