The Descent: Chapter 7

Campbell, Fidelity, and the three brothers ate their breakfast in silence. Outside, henchmen milled about, patrolling the vast estate. The mansion felt like a fortress, the dining room a war council.

Finally Grantuck spoke up. "I didn't recognize a number of the men."

"New guys," explained Arrawnt. "We'll need the protection, since I had a number of Basanda's people wasted before you and Medion got back. I want them to know we're ready to play rough."

He looked at the silent Medion. "I have another hundred on the streets, with orders to waste Braff the minute he shows his face. We'll get him."

Grantuck nodded. Arrawnt studied Medion's bruised face until he looked at him. The older brother grinned. "Look at you. Beautiful!"

Medion grunted. "Yeah."

"Guess what—Braff contacted me. He wants to talk. Can you believe this guy? Made another attempt, failed, then offers to talk. The bastard..."

"What did he want?" Grantuck wanted to know.

"Peace," snorted Arrawnt. He indicated his youngest brother. "He wants us to send Medion, to negotiate. Guess he got tired of our faces..."

"He doesn't think Medion will try anything funny," Campbell said.

"But what about Don Basanda?" Fidelity asked.

"He promises that Basanda will call a truce too, if we make a deal with him."

Grantuck nodded slowly. "Arrawnt, we ought to listen to him..."

Arrawnt slammed his palm on the table. Everyone except Medion jumped. "No! No way am I going to let that son of a bitch go this time. Playing nice didn't help any, and you all know it. Grantuck, tell them they deliver Braff's head, we call a truce. Otherwise we'll slug it out..."

Grantuck rolled his eyes. "The other Dons won't just watch us fight, you know. They won't sit still for this!"

"Then hand me Braff!"

"Arrawnt, even pops wouldn't agree to this! You're taking it too personal. It's all part of business."

He glowered at his adopted brother. "They tried to kill father and you call this business?"

Grantuck said carefully, "Even the assassination attempt was part of business, Arrawnt. You know that's how all this works."

Arrawnt knew Grantuck was right. But he wasn't ready to concede. "Then business stops now, alright? I don't want to make up—just help me win this, OK?"

Grantuck didn't promise anything. He simply changed the subject. "I found out about the Vagabond captain."

Medion looked up.

"His name is Garzel. He's crooked alright, in fact he's more or less Braff's personal bodyguard. The problem is, Arrawnt, we can't start killing people like Garzel just to get to Braff. Garzel's an official, the head of the Vagabond guards. We kill him, the people of Vagabond would be against us. How long do you think the family will survive if we alienate so many people, Arrawnt? Even the old man's politicians would abandon us! It'd be absolutely disastrous. So do us a favor...wait a while, think things over."

The two centaurs nodded in agreement. Arrawnt sighed heavily. "Alright, alright, we'll wait..."

"No." Medion's voice startled them all. He faced them now, with a calm face and steady voice. "We can't afford to wait, and we can't trust Braff. He'll go after pops again, I know it. We have to kill him."

Arrawnt shook his head in disbelief. The transformation of his little brother from pacifist to mastermind was just too sudden for him. "So Medion, what should we do about this Garzel character?"

"They want me to negotiate, right? Fine. Tell them we want a meeting, and insist on a public place, like a restaurant. For my safety. They won't tell us where it'll be, of course, so we'll get our informers to find out. Also they'll search me when I show up, so I can't go armed. Somebody will have to plant a weapon there. We meet, we talk, and I'll kill them both."

The others burst into surprised laughter. Arrawnt shook his head again. "I thought you wanted us to send an assassin. And I thought you said you didn't wanna get mixed up with the family business. Listen Medion, you know everyone will be hollering for your head if you do this? Do you think this is gonna be like fighting off bandits, when you outnumber them ten to one and all they do is run? You're gonna have to do it up close, and get blood all over your nice clothes. Come on Medion, that captain hit you once and you're taking this more personal than I am!" He looked at Medion's determined face and patted his head. "The kid..."

"Who said we can't kill an official like Garzel?" Medion asked stubbornly.

Grantuck grimaced. "Medion..."

"No listen," continued Medion earnestly. "We're talking about a captain who's working for a crook. An official that no one will miss. Why can't we kill him, then release the story? The people of Vagabond might even be grateful, you know."

The others looked at each other, murmured their assents. Arrawnt looked carefully at his brother and saw both careless confidence and meticulous planning. Medion threw him a wink. "It's not personal, bro; it's strictly business."

Medion listened carefully as Campbell explained to him how to assemble the weapon. The experienced centaur had designed a rapier that could be taken apart into three pieces; with a coat of rust-colored paint they looked like ordinary pokers. Once correctly put together, it was as deadly as any weapon. Campbell promised to have the pieces near the fireplace of the restaurant where they'll meet—wherever that was.

As Medion tested the rapier, Campbell coached him. "OK, so you've killed them. What do you do next?"

Medion jabbed viciously at the air and replied nonchalantly, "Sit down and finish my dinner."

"Don't fool around. What you do is walk quickly out the door. Don't run, just walk fast. Don't stare at anyone, but don't be afraid to look at anyone either. Remember, they'll be frightened of you. Before leaving, drop the rapier. It doesn't matter—I have dozens of them—and they're impossible to trace." Campbell inhaled deeply. "After that, you'll take a long vacation, and wait till everything blows over."

"How bad will it be?"

Campbell's eyes became glassy as he thought back. "Ten years ago something similar happened...and it was really bad. But no matter, this is what we have to do. We don't stop Braff now, it'll be too late." He patted Medion's shoulder. "We're proud of you, you know. Proud of you for joining the army and all. Even your father was proud, though he wouldn't admit it."

Medion nodded, and plodded back into the living room after Campbell.

It was an hour before the meeting, but their informers hadn't contacted them yet. The bunch of them sat around the living room, their meals untouched, waiting, just waiting. The pressure was unbearable.

Campbell ventured, "Maybe we can hire a birdman to tail Braff's carriage."

"The kid's a suspicious one. It won't work." Grantuck told him.

Arrawnt grunted. "Why don't we just butcher whoever's in the carriage?"

"Braff might not even be inside, Arrawnt!"

"This is just too risky," said Campbell. "Maybe we should call it off..."

"No," Medion piped up. He'd been silent all the while, brooding over what he's about to do. A part of him wished he hadn't volunteered for the job—but that voice was a small one, nearly unheard next to his new-found confidence. He knew what had to be done, and was actually glad he'd been able to figure out a way. "Braff would suspect something. I have to go, no matter what."

Julian strode in then. He glowered at Medion, as if he resented having someone else avenge his father. The boy dropped a piece of paper on the table. "Got the location."

They bent over to look. Medion felt a thrill of regret as he recognized the name—a restaurant near Aspia, where he and Synbios had once dated. But almost instantly, the sentimental side was shoved to the back by the calculating side. He smiled. "I know the place. It's got a quiet atmosphere, and most of the customers are family with kids. The lighting is dim, and there is an unused fireplace. It's perfect."

Campbell stood. "I'll go plant the weapon this minute. Now Medion, remember: you find an excuse to leave the table, quickly assemble the rapier, and kill them. No heroics, no mercy. And make sure they're dead, OK?"

Arrawnt ordered, "Fidelity, you'll pick up Medion after he wastes them. Medion—don't forget to drop the weapon, alright?"

Medion nodded calmly to the instructions he's heard hundreds of times. He waited until the centaurs and Julian had gone, then asked: "How long will I be in hiding"

Arrawnt shrugged. "Um...about a year, a year at least, I reckon." Awkwardly he embraced Medion. "Listen, I'll explain to Mom and Isabella why you had to leave like this, OK? And I'll have a letter sent to your girl, when the time is right..."

Grantuck patted Medion's shoulder. "Take care."

Medion shook hands with his brothers, then walked into the night.

Braff's carriage picked up Medion at the gate, then sped off. As Medion's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he was relieved to see only Braff and Garzel, the latter driving. He'd feared a throng of guards. Either Braff wasn't as shrewd as he thought, or he didn't trust all of his men.

Or he really thought Medion wasn't capable of killing him. If so, he was in for a fatal surprise.

Braff gave him a smile. "Our first meeting, Medion. I'm glad you came. We can straighten out this whole mess, this mess that never should have happened..."

Medion didn't return the smile, answering instead, "Yes, we'll straighten everything tonight. I don't want my father bothered again."

"He won't be, so long as you keep an open mind when we talk," Braff told him. "I promise on the blood of my family. We just have to make a deal. I know you're not a hothead like that Arrawnt; you just can't talk business with him. Now," the young killer continued, "I hope you don't mind, but I'll have to frisk you for weapons."

Cautious to a degree, then. But Medion had expected this. He nodded and kept still as Braff searched him, wondering if he should ask to frisk them as well. He was positive Braff and Garzel were armed, though he spotted no weapons. Not that it would matter if he took them by surprise.

Braff nodded to himself and said to Garzel, "He's clean."

Garzel looked back and shot Medion a grin. The ill-tempered captain from the night before seemed to be in an absurdly light mood. Obviously Braff has been generous with him in light of his failure. "Hey Medion. Sorry about yesterday. I must've been doing this job too long—can't stand nobody talking back to me."

Medion said nothing and kept his eyes glued to the street. He noticed they were going in the direction of Storich instead of Aspia. "We going to Storich?"

"Maybe," was Braff's reply. A moment later, as they entered a dark alley, Braff suddenly grabbed Medion and pulled him out of the carriage. Medion started to struggle, but then noticed another waiting carriage. The three of them hastily boarded it in the dark. Garzel climbed into the front seat, and drove them off in the direction of Aspia. Medion breathed a mental sigh of relief.

Braff winked at him confidently. "Hope we didn't surprise you."

They pulled up at the restaurant and hurried in. Medion looked quickly about, his mind both remembering pleasant memories and planning the killings in a few seconds. Braff found them a table at the center of the establishment, away from the few other patrons, and invited them to sit.

Garzel busied himself ordering food, but Braff immediately began the negotiation. "Listen Medion, I'm sorry about what happened to your father. I didn't want it to happen, but it's business. Your father's ideas were old-fashioned. You must realize that, and understand why I had to do that."

Medion nodded, his expression neutral. He was reviewing in his mind the minute details of the plan he's about to carry out, but managed to look interested and intent on reaching an agreement. "I understand."

Braff smiled. The arrogance and carelessness with which he spoke of the assassination attempt made Medion relish the thought of getting to kill him. "Then let's start from there..."

"What's important to me," Medion said, "Is that my father's never bothered again. Can you guarantee me that?"

Braff frowned. "What guarantees could I give you? I'm the one your brother's hunting; I'm the one with a price on my head. I made a mistake, you see. Medion, you must realize I'm not too different from you, and I'm not as clever as you think. Now what I want, is a truce."

Medion knew Braff was lying through that insincere smile, but something he said made him pause. Yes, perhaps they were not so different. The thought disgusted Medion, but didn't stop him from saying lightly, "I have to go to the toilet. Is that ok?"

Braff glanced at Garzel, who began to frisk Medion again. But then Braff said, "No, it's alright, I already searched him. Go ahead."

Medion got up, and walked as causally as he could toward the rear of the restaurant. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the fireplace, with its stack of pokers, but he didn't dare make a move yet. Their eyes were bound to be on him. Medion entered the stall, closed the door, then waited with his ear to the door.

In a minute he heard Braff's and Garzel's voices as their food arrived. This was the perfect chance. Yet for a second Medion hesitated, his steps faltering as he neared the brink of the chasm he'd chosen. He knew there would be no going back. Anguish flooded his mind as he thought, once again, of Synbios and his own lost innocence.

In the next second he'd sneaked expertly out the door, creeping quickly to the fireplace. From Garzel's and Braff's voices it was apparent they were still complimenting the cooking. Medion's hands danced over the pokers, trying not to succumb to panic as he searched. Why did they have to have so many pokers! Then he noticed the three pieces, with their distinctive shade of rust, hidden underneath the others.

His fingers worked with inhuman speed as he assembled the weapon. As soon as he was sure it was ready, he bolted from his hiding place and charged toward their table.

If they'd expected an attack, they certainly didn't expect it from the direction of the fireplace. The looks of terror on their faces as Medion neared seared his mind like heated iron, but he didn't pause. With a swift stroke he pierced Garzel neatly in the throat. The Vagabond captain clutched his windpipe, gurgling and choking on his own blood, and toppled across the table. His weight brought the table crashing down with him, sprinkling on him a gruesome confetti of food mingled with blood.

Patrons screamed and scattered. Medion turned toward his next target.

Braff had jumped back. The young killer was fast, and though his eyes stilled burned with disbelief and rage he was prepared to defend himself. A knife appeared from beneath his cloak. With a snarl he hurtled it at Medion.

Medion dodged as the blade whistled past his ear. Pain erupted in his left shoulder, but he didn't pause to inspect the wound. Doggedly, mercilessly, he cornered the man who's caused his family so much grief.

Braff picked up a chair and tried to block Medion's attack. The heavy piece of furniture crashed down, nearly snapping the rapier in two, but Medion feinted beautifully. The point shot in, cutting Braff's wrists. With a shout of pain Braff dropped his weapon.

Their eyes met. Braff spat, and said hatefully, "You bastard, this was supposed to be a negotiation! This was not supposed to be personal!"

Medion smiled grimly. "This is business. I don't hate you, but..."

With lightning quick jabs he impaled Braff again and again. The victim screamed, cursed, then dropped into his own pool of blood. There he thrashed like a drowning man before becoming still.

Medion tossed the bloodied rapier on Braff's body. He paid the gapping waiters no mind as he walked hastily out into the streets, climbed onto Fidelity's waiting carriage, and rode off.