Pt. 10
"Captain, a jump point is forming in this sector." Matheson watched the readout carefully then frowned. "The ship coming through looks like Galen's!"
"Another technomage?" Gideon asked in surprise.
"Yes sir, and they are hailing us."
"Put it on screen." Gideon looked up as the screen in front of him wavered for a moment than coalesced into a familiar face. "Alwyn?"
"Captain Gideon, we meet again. Tell me, what do you know of the affairs of my impetuous young friend Galen?" The older technomage smiled, a gesture that did not reach his eyes.
"I know he's locked himself in his skimmer and none of us can get him out of it." Gideon admitted worriedly. "Don't suppose you happen to have a spare key to his place do you?"
"Clear me for docking. I'm coming aboard," the older man replied brusquely. The screen went suddenly blank.
"Contact terminated, Sir." Matheson looked back at his Captain with a frown. "Shall we signal him to begin his approach for docking?"
"Yes. Maybe he can figure out what the devil is going on in that ship" Gideon started back to the door hurriedly, then stopped and turned back to his friend and shipmate. "Before I lose another friend to the unknown." He turned and strode away, headed for sickbay.
Dr. Chambers looked up as Gideon charged into sickbay. "Captain? Any new developments?"
"Yes, Galen's friend and fellow technomage Alwyn will be aboard soon. Hopefully he'll be able to get into Galen's ship to check on him. Anything new on your end?"
She shrugged tiredly. "Not really. I checked the documentation Dr. Grey had on the portraits without much success. Selma left me all of Herodotus's research into the personalities behind the images but it's not really adding up."
"How so?" Gideon asked, curious.
"Well, it appears from the history he was able to dig up on the artist, she used a college professor of hers as a model for the figure of the Mage."
"Which one was he again?" Gideon walked around till he was standing behind Sarah Chamber's chair so that he could look down at the data displayed on her screen.
"The dark-haired male figure with the staff. The professor's name was Andre McMasterson. The woman figure was, depending on whose account you believe, either his sister or lover by the name of Marianne Draco. The blonde male figure is also identified as Marianne's brother, Damien Draco. Draco was the CEO of Draco Enterprises which eventually was merged with – get this – Interplanetary Expeditions."
"Max's bosses?" Gideon stared at his doctor in shock. "Maybe he can shed some light on this situation."
"I already thought of that." Sarah replied. "But according to Max, Draco Enterprises simply folded up shop one day some twenty years after these paintings were done and disappeared, leaving their assets in a holding company that was eventually acquired by IP. He's as mystified about this connection as we are."
"You said something didn't add up. Care to explain that?"
Sarah gestured back to her screen. "Galen's "visions" seem to revolve around the portrait of the Swordsman but there was only one mention of that fourth painting. The artist added it as an after-thought after she had created the first three. It seems the model for the Swordsman was Marianne Draco's bodyguard. The artists and her biographers knew next to nothing about the man. All they ever seem to say about him is that he made no bones about despising her brother Damien, tolerating her brother Andre and being totally devoted to Marianne. They don't even have a name for him. The artist just referred to him as Marianne's champion."
"How very chivalric!" Alwyn's voice dripped with sarcasm. The trio looked up, surprised, at the figure of the older technomage who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere to take up a seat behind them. "Now that we've all heard the details of the fairytale, can we please talk about the facts of the situation? How long has that young whelp been locked in his room and how would you like me to get him out again?"
The Swordsman stared across at the woman beside the window in shock. "Me? I'm not worth your soul, woman, much less your life."
"That depends on your point of view." Marianne replied with a small, secret smile. "From my brother's point of view you are worth any price to have."
"Because of my talent with the blade?" The man snarled. "Your brother would make use of my "gift" for his own purposes – have me trade one master for another like any other good slave. If this is your journey lady then find another path out of this village and as far from us both as you can."
"What makes you think he would not free you?" she questioned.
"No man can free me from my fate."
"Not exactly true." Marianne rose and pulled a leather journal from her saddlebags, which hung from the bedpost. "According to this, if the one who sealed the collar around your neck were to be killed with his own sword then your fate would pass on to the victor. He then could choose to keep you enslaved or free you. So you see, there is a way out of your curse."
"What fairytale is this you tell me, lady? When I was first cursed I searched every sanctuary I could find, every repository of ancient lore to find a key to breaking free from this hell. I never found this. And even if I had, what man would risk battle with the Jinn?"
"You obviously didn't look in the right repositories. This little tome," she said, laying the book on the table between them, "came from the library of another of the Jinn's race, one that didn't survive his meeting with my partner. And as for no man risking a battle with the Jinn – well you might have a point there. No man might challenge him with any certainty of victory but a woman might. What do you think my chances are against the beast?"
The Swordsman stared down at the woman, aghast. "You wouldn't last five minutes. He would…" his voice trailed off as the events of that afternoon replayed themselves in his head. "His magic would be useless against you," he whispered, for a moment allowing him to hope. Then the cold, hard feel of his slaves collar brought him back to reality. "It wouldn't matter if he could not ensnare you with magic. All he need do is set my blade against you and it would be ended."
"Perhaps. Then again, I might surprise you. But time enough to worry about that. The night is growing short and I, for one, need to rest. You are welcome to stay if you wish. There is room enough for both of us in this bed." She curled herself back onto the bed and pulled a light blanket over her. "I'm pretty sure I don't snore. Andre would have told me if I did."
"Andre?" The man asked, suddenly wary.
"My partner, best friend and blood-brother, an all around strange sort with a good heart. You would like him, I think. You've both been through the fires of Hades and lived to tell the tale." She sat up and hugged her knees as she stared at the solemn man before her. "You can always put the sword between us if it makes you feel better."
"And risk you trying to cut my throat as we sleep? No, lady, I will stay because it is expected of me but it is best if I sleep on the floor." He pulled a mound of blankets she had pushed off the bed and laid them on the floor beside the window.
Marianne tossed him a pillow with a smile. "Trusting sort, aren't you? As you wish. Sleep well, Swordsman."
"Sleep well, Lady." He replied. He glanced around the room and waved his hand gently in the air, blowing out all the candles with a simple magic gesture.
Marianne waited for a while till his even breathing suggested to her that he had finally relaxed enough to sleep. Slowly, quietly, she inched her way off the bed and pulled off the shift she had been wearing, replacing it with a man's long, cotton shirt and riding pants from her saddlebag. Wrapped in the shirt was a pair of soft black leather gloves and a round, smooth crystal which reflected the moonlight like a mirror. With a quick glance at her "guest" she crept out the door and to an open window at the end of the hallway. There she pulled on the gloves and lifted the ball to the moonlight for moment, then drew it back and stroked its surface, murmuring a name as she did so. Its crystal surface clouded for a moment then cleared, reflecting an image back to the woman, an image of a great, golden bird covered in flames. A soft, masculine voice emanated from the ball, "Well, sister? What have you to say to me?"
"I've seen the village," she replied quietly. "The stories we've heard of this area appear to be true. There's little doubt that they've sold themselves to the Jinn for prosperity. Unlike most of the other towns we've traveled through, this one seems to have no poverty or ill health. I'm not sure as yet what price they are still paying for their good fortune, though I can make a pretty good guess."
"And the Swordsman? Have you made your assessment of him?"
"He's a difficult one to pin down. One thing is for certain, the deaths attributed to him were probably not all his fault."
"How did you deduce that?" the voice in the sphere asked, sounding skeptical.
'Well, for one thing he's wearing the Malfious collar. If what Andre found in that library was true, the wearer of the collar is in thrall to the holder of the key and can offer no resistance to any command, no matter how abhorrent the deed. His talents with the blade are probably his own but so long as he wears that collar his actions are the work of the Jinn." Marianne glanced down the hall, checking for signs of unwanted listeners. "I've gotten the Jinn's attention, though. He sent his "servant" as a gift to me for the night. I think that by tomorrow I'll be able to enter the Jinn's stronghold."
"You know what to look for when you get there?" the voice asked softly.
"Yes, of course I know. And I'll find it, never fear. But getting it out of the stronghold may be more difficult than we anticipated. The Jinn knows magic doesn't have an effect on me now so his only recourse will be to use the Swordsman." She leaned against the wall, suddenly weary. "I'm not sure I can beat him in a straight fight."
"You can't," the voice replied agreeably "so think of another way. And remember what is at stake here sister. Don't let some stray sense of pity sway you from your task." The light in the crystal faded as she held it, leaving its surface clear again.
"And goodnight to you too," she murmured, pulling off one glove and wrapping it around the globe. She returned silently to her room and tucked the ball back in the saddlebag along with the gloves and pants she had been wearing. The shirt she kept on as she slid back into bed without a glance at the figure on the floor. She was soon fast asleep.
The Swordsman lay tensely on the floor, waiting for her to finally settle in for the night. Sleep had never come easily to him and this night especially it had eluded him. When she had left her bed he had pretended to sleep, waiting to see what actions she would take. He had waited till she had closed the door behind her before he had risen to his feet and searched the room. She would be wary, watching for spies in the hall, but in a world of magic there was always another way to hear what was being said in the darkness. He took her shift from the floor and stood before the mirror, holding it briefly to the glass as he spoke the spell of listening. Its glass found her in the hall and he listened somberly to her conversation. When she finished he passed his hand across the glass, breaking the spell. With a start he realized he still held her gown clenched in his fist, the only sign of his anger at the woman's betrayal. She was using him, he realized, to get to the Jinn. Somewhere in the depths of his tattered soul he had hoped she really had been there for him but now even that sliver of hope was gone. He tossed the gown back on the floor and returned to his makeshift bed, pulling the blankets up to his face as she came in the door. "Very well," he thought to himself, "if she wishes to meet the Jinn, then let it be arranged. When morning comes, she will see the inside of the castle. It will be the last sight she will ever see." He closed his eyes to wait for dawn, ignoring the ache in his heart.