The Warrior's Tale by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch Page B

soul to Maranonia, my effects to my friends and family, and abandoned all thought of seeing the morrow.
    The hissing grew louder as I reached the entrance to the chamber. There were no guards, which surprised me at first, but why should there be? Who would dare disturb the Archons?
    I heard voices from inside ... 'brother'... 'strike'... 'just women!'
    ... wishing I had a moment to collect my mind, my force and my breath, but I couldn't chance it, even now thinking I heard, perhaps I did hear, 'from behind!' 'from within!', 'Danger!' and I stormed into the Private Chamber of the Archons.
    I saw in a blur glass and gold, alembics and scrolls, burning tapers and incense, bones and horrid creatures, but had no time, realizing there could be but one chance for a mortal to confront such sorcerers and that was blinding speed and surprise.
    Two tall, bearded, vulture-faced men whose malignity marked them clear spun, hands coming up to tear, one stretching a finger like a lance, and something grey-black beginning to build, to dart at me, striking the sword from my hand and I hurled my shield sideways, spinning through the air into his guts, leaping after and there was a great cloud of smoke as I heard a very human screech of pain and a shout from the other and then I touched flesh, flesh became scales, became flesh and the Archon and I smashed to the floor, rolling about and I could feel huge muscles contort, as if I were in the ring against the strongest man I'd ever wrestl ed and great hands came up, forcing mine to the side and I was rolled over onto my back, as those hands came around my throat, gripping, thank the gods not knowing enough to press the arteries but squeezing my windpipe, world turning black and I struck straight up with my free hand, fingers clawed, stiff like a hawk's talons into the Archon's eyes and he screamed and I felt wetness and kickspun him off, both of us on our feet, but blood and fluid seeping through the fingers held to his face, but there was no time for that and I stepped into him, both fists together, swinging sideways like a morning star's ball and smashing into his temple and the Archon flipped back in a convulsion and fell, body thrashing, dead but not realizing it.
    My eyes sought, found my sword and I scooped it up. I smashed one foot down on the Archon's chest, just as a man would immobilize a snake and struck once, cleanly. My sword struck his head from his shoulders and splintered on the stones. Dead, yes, for a moment at least, but now for the other one and I came back on guard.
    There was no need. The only other person in -the room was Sergeant Ismet. 'He fled,' she said. 'He was turning towards you, hands moving to build a spell, and I cast my dagger. It struck him full on the chest, but fell away, as if he were wearing armour.'
    'Which way? Where did he go?'
    Ismet pointed to where a small doorway yawned. It was dark, black, just like the burrow Gamelan had promised I'd go down. 'Follow me,' I ordered.
    'Aye, ma'am. After we cover our rear.'
    Before I could snap a 'Now!', Ismet had found her dagger, strode to the Archon's headless corpse, knelt, and made the cut of the eagle. When she stood she held up his dripping heart. Then we were running into that tunnel, after the last Archon.
    The tunnel was their final escape route. Here there were alcoves where someone could wait in ambush. But no one lurked. There were cunning devices, mantraps, but they were not cocked. My mind kept wondering - why had the other Archon not remained to help his brother? Fear? Panic? Not likely from men, or once-men, who'd ruled so long and so bloodily. I didn't know the answer, but kept the pursuit, trying to move fast enough so we wouldn't lose our quarry, but not so fast we'd stumble into a trap.
    The tunnel went on and on, growing narrower and smaller as it burrowed deeper. The tunnel was no longer masonry, but hewn from the living stone. I prayed it wouldn't grow narrower still so we'd be forced to our