Pt. 8

"When was the last time you talked to him?" Gideon asked Dureena, concern in his voice.

"Yesterday, when he saw Doctor Chambers. He was intrigued by this vision he had, more curious than concerned. I'm afraid of where that curious nature may have taken him."

"Well, if he's on his ship there's not much we can do to help him. His security systems are better than anything I've ever seen. I don't suppose you can get in?"

Dureena shook her head angrily. "No. I've tried. Nothing I do works."

Gideon shrugged, at a loss for words. Being helpless on his own ship annoyed Gideon but there wasn't much he could do about the situation. They would have to wait and see when the Technomage finally decided to come out and grace them with his presence.

Marianne cantered her horse into the town square, just in time to the end of the one-sided battle. The inhabitants of the village were milling around, whispering urgently to on another as they watched the scene unfold. An overturned hay wagon billowed black smoke over the square as two men danced around one another with swords. From her vantage point, though, it looked like only one man was dancing. The other was fighting for his life.

The Swordsman moved around his opponent with a lethal grace, parrying every wild thrust and avoiding any misstep that might give his opponent the advantage. Truth be told, opponent was a kind word to describe this farm boy who had come for revenge against the Jinn. The boy had screamed something about a girl, one he had loved since they were children, who had come to the village in search of work and had been returned to him after the Jinn had amused himself with her. He had vowed revenge against the monster that had destroyed her sanity and ultimately her life. But the vow was a hollow one. The young man barely knew which end of a blade was which. But the Swordsman was caution all the same. He had seen too many other experienced soldiers brought down by lesser fighters due to over confidence. Left to his own devices, the Swordsman would have finished the encounter before it had begun but the Jinn, in his fury, had insisted on having the boy cut down by inches. So they circled around each other, the younger man on the defensive and growing weaker with every new cut.

"Now there's a pretty picture." Marianne drawled, leaning forward casually in her saddle. "What is it about sharp implements that attracts men? I suppose it must have some deep-seeded psychological significance but blessed if I can figure out what it is." She slid off her horse and strolled up to the edge of the square, a bored look on her face. "Do let's get this over with. I've a schedule to keep."

The townsfolk gasped then moved back in fear as the Jinn appeared in their midst with a showy burst of flame. "Finish him, slave." He snarled, "Then finish this one as well."

"Whatever." She replied, unconcerned. She watched coldly as the Swordsman dropped all pretenses and disarmed his opponent quickly, killing him in the process. Then a movement in the crowd caught her eye. The boy had brought a friend as a re-enforcement. A glint of steel was all she saw before her unconscious mind took over. "Down!" she shouted. In a swift move, she pulled a throwing star from her belt and launched it at the Swordsman's face, counting on his instincts to save him from the sharp blades. As the Jinn's servant ducked, a figure behind him moved forward with a blade and was caught in the throat by the throwing star's sharp points. He went down with a muffled shriek, writhing and gagging.

The Swordsman whirled around and impaled his attacker on his blade, putting the other man out of his misery. "It is done." He muttered, turning his back on the Jinn. He sank to his knees and waited for the Jinn's inevitable rage. The beast would not allow him to go unpunished for his failure to see the hidden danger before it was almost too late.

The Jinn hissed angrily and pulled a whip from his belt. "You fool! He could have killed us both!" The furious demon unleashed his whip and began to wield it against the unresisting figure before him. He had laid only a few stripes on the man's back before Marianne pulled the rune stones from their bag and dropped to the ground to lay them out. The sound of the ancient stones distracted him momentarily. The sight of the stones against the dusty earth left him breathless.

"The Wanderer's stones!" he gasped, dropping the whip and shuffling up to where the woman now sat. "How came you by these stones, human?"

"Like I told your "friend" over there – I saw this old beast die." She scooped the stones back up and tossed them down again, keeping her attention fixed on them and not on the two beings in front of her. "Seemed a pity to let them go to waste."

"Give them to me!" commanded the Jinn, letting his voice ring with echoes of his power. "I command it!"

"I don't think so." she replied calmly. "You haven't impressed me as the sort who will do well by these stones. I think I'll just keep them for now."

"I think not." The Jinn replied, summoning a spell of power and pain. His red eyes darkened, till there was nothing in the sockets but inky blackness. His hunched frame straightened with the power coursing through it. He muttered ancient, arcane words and gathered cold hard lights together into a ball then suddenly launched the spell at the seated woman, enveloping her in a fiery brilliance. The townspeople gasped, remembering the last unfortunate who had been overtaken by this fireball. There had been nothing left but an outline of the man's form against his house. The Swordsman bowed his head wearily, soul sick and bone tired.

"I could have taken the stones from her." the Swordsman said, rising from his knees. "There was no need for this."

"Tell it to her ashes." The Jinn snarled.

"Tell to her face since it appears I've no ashes for you to talk to." Marianne rose from the ground and brushed off the rapidly dwindling lights with an annoyed snort. "You really should do your homework before you attack someone new. To save us the trouble of going through your entire piddling arsenal of spells, let me tell you something about myself. My name is Marianne of Draco, daughter of the Moon and sister to the Phoenix. I've come a long way and have an even longer road to travel and …oh yes, one more thing. I'm immune to magic." She dropped the stones back in their bag and tossed them to the Swordsman. "Here. They are of more use to you than me." She turned swiftly and disappeared into the crowd, leading her horse behind her.

Galen woke suddenly, drenched in sweat. His back ached from the welts he knew he would find when he removed his shirt. The scent of burning straw still clung to him. He dragged himself out of bed and wearily cleaned himself and his sleep chamber. Splashing water on his face, he stopped to stare at his reflection in the mirror. "I know misery loves company but aren't you taking things a tad far?" he asked his image humorlessly. He sat at his controls and mechanically began to enter the dream in a journal, along with all the other information he had acquired about the paintings and their mysterious subjects. He set the controls to send the journal entries to a place he knew his friend Alywn would find them. If this little adventure proved fatal, then at least one person would know the reason why it had occurred. Then, with a sigh, he lay back down on the bed and prepared for the next installment of his living nightmare.