Ragnarock Page 4

  Of course, there were always concessions. If Silverblade had been standing on the eastern side of the palace, toward the Sunrise Gate, he would see the city of Portland, Tir Tairngire's gateway to the outside world, sprawling before him in its riot of concrete and steel, surrounded by high walls as much for its protection as to contain the city and its inhabitants, to keep them from contaminating the purity and simplicity of the rest of the Land of Promise.

  Portland was a microcosm where the elven nation could receive shipments from outside its borders, allow tourists to come and see what they had built, and generally keep the outside world away from the rest of Tir Tairngire. Speren found Portland pleasant compared to most cities he'd visited, but it was still a city. Nothing to compare with the beauty and serenity of the deep forest. He hoped this time it wouldn't be too long before he returned home.

  "Sir?" A voice interrupted his reverie. "Sir, the Prince is ready to see you now."

  Speren turned to the young woman, who was dressed in the official clothing of the Winter Court: pale tones of gray, blue, and cream. By comparison, Silverblade's own garb seemed archaic: a long, hooded cloak of wool to keep off the late winter chill, dyed a deep indigo, the color of the night sky. His tunic was a simple one of soft gray cloth, his trousers a blue several shades lighter than the cloak and tucked into polished black leather boots. A wide leather belt worked with complex knot designs fastened his tunic and held a silver-chastened sword in a scabbard at his left. With his shoulder-length hair, its golden color turned into molten fire by the last rays of the sunset, and his bewitching green eyes, Speren Silverblade looked like an elven hero out of a trideo drama or fantasy tale. It was something he was proud of, something he used to his own advantage from time to time.

  With a nod of acknowledgment to the young woman, Speren followed her through the corridors of the palace, glancing at the artworks displayed along the walls, in glass cases, and on pedestals placed strategically along their route. He'd seen them many times before, but they never failed to impress him.

  He often wondered why so many human works were shown in the palace. Perhaps it was because elves had only lived in the Sixth World for fifty years, ever since the birth of the first elven children around the time of the Awakening. Although they'd achieved more in that short time than any other race—building a nation of their own and resurrecting much of their ancient culture—elves still had a great deal left to accomplish. Perhaps the work of human hands reminded the Princes how much there was yet to be done. Or perhaps it reminded them that humans should not be underestimated. Speren couldn't say, and speculating on the motives of the Princes of Tir Tairngire wasn't generally a healthy pastime.

  The Prince's aide led Speren not to the Prince's office or apartments, but to the Palace exercise room. The space was large, with a high ceiling and polished hardwood floors overlaid with padded exercise mats. It was actually a ballroom, one of several, turned over to the Princes and their families for use in exercising. Various pieces of equipment were placed around the room, but a good half of it had been cleared for the open mats, surrounded by mirrored walls sporting a ballet bar, since the exercise room was used quite often for dance training. At the moment, a dance of a different kind was going on.

  Two elves, a man and a woman, faced off against each other on the exercise mats. The man was tall, with raven-dark hair worn long in the same popular style Speren affected, but pulled back into a pony tail secured with a green ribbon. He moved with the ease and grace of a dancer, circling his opponent. She was small and slight by comparison, her flaming red hair drawn back with a golden clip. Both of them wore loose-fitting pants and shirts of pale green silk and soft slippers that whispered on the surface of the mats as they circled in a strange sort of dance.

  Suddenly, the man exploded into motion, pivoting on one leg and lashing out at the woman. She reacted instantly, turning gracefully to the side to allow the strike to pass her by, then reaching out and seizing the proffered arm. With a twist of her torso, she sent the man flying past her to slam unceremoniously onto his back on the mat. She turned and placed one small foot on his chest, her arms held in a defensive pose.

  "Hah!" the man laughed from where he lay. "Defeated again! You're learning well, my Prince."

  The woman smiled and took a step back, offering one hand to help the man to his feet.

  Speren took the opportunity to step forward. "Yes, quite well, I'd say." he remarked.

  The woman glanced over at him as if noticing him for the first time, and a smile lit up her face. "High praise indeed coming from so skilled a warrior." she said to Speren, who nodded in acknowledgment of the praise.

  "Speren, I believe you know my instructor, Galen Moonsinger."

  The elven warriors bowed slightly to each other.

  "Mr. Moonsinger's reputation precedes him." Speren said.

  "I could say the same for you, Silverblade." Galen returned, with an ironic smile.

  "Thank you, Galen." the Prince said. "You may go, I need to speak with Speren." The instructor bowed to Silverblade, then more deeply to his Prince, and left the room.

  Jenna Ni'Ferra, a Prince of Tir Tairngire and member of the Council of Princes, went over to the barre and picked up a towel to mop at her brow before draping the cloth over her shoulders. Speren stood and waited for the Prince to speak, as courtesy demanded.

  "You have studied carromeleg, have you not, Speren?"

  Speren knew that the Prince surely knew the answer to that question already. Speren Silverblade was a paladin of Tir Tairngire. More importantly, he was a member of the most exalted company of that exalted order, the legendary Ghosts. Paladins were all trained in the elven martial arts, and Ghosts were required to be masters of several.

  "I recall my training well." he said. "I took my share of bumps and bruises."

  "I think it is a good lesson to learn." she said. "Many people learn carromeleg for its spiritual qualities, for health and centering. While there certainly is value to that, I sometimes think it is more important to learn that anything worthwhile in life comes with its share of bruises and falls, don't you agree?"

  "Absolutely, Highness."

  Jenna took the ends of the towel in her hands, suddenly all business. Her green eyes, the color of summer leaves, fixed on Speren's.

  "I have a mission for you." she said.

  Speren bowed with a courtly wave of his hand. "I am yours to command."

  "This is a matter of some . . . delicacy." she went on. That meant that this mission did not come from the Council of Princes as such, but from Jenna directly. That was not unusual; the Princes each had their own liege-men to command, but it warned Speren that there might be additional complications. He did not allow any curiosity or concern to show on his face.

  "As you know," Jenna said, "it is one of the goals of the Council to help restore our ancient culture. Already we have revived our people's language and many of our arts." She gestured to take in the palace and her own carromeleg uniform. "Still, there remain an untold number of things from the distant past that lie hidden, waiting to be found, and we are not the only ones searching.

  "An archeological dig in the Ukraine recently unearthed such an artifact, a piece of our cultural heritage. The dig was sponsored by monies from Saeder-Krupp."

  "Lofwyr." Speren said.

  Jenna nodded. "Lofwyr."

  The great dragon was himself a member of Tir Tairngire's Council of Princes, a Prince in his own right. Inclusion of the dragon on the Council had been the idea of High Prince Lugh Surehand, an idea bitterly opposed by many of the other Princes. Surehand had forced it through, gaining support from Lofwyr in the bargain. Still, there were many in Tir Tairngire who neither liked nor trusted the great dragon, and Jenna Ni'Ferra was one of them. Although she preferred the title of "Prince" to the weaker one of "Princess." Jenna was a staunch supporter of traditional elven values and beliefs. One of those was a deep-seated mistrust of the motives of dragons.

  "Fortuna
tely," she said, "something happened at the dig site. The professor in charge apparently suffered some sort of breakdown, killed one of his own students, and stole the artifact. We believe he plans to sell it, or that he may be working for someone else with an interest."

  "The Danaan Families, perhaps?" Speren offered. "Or another of the dragons?"

  "Perhaps." Jenna said. "We cannot be sure."

  "Then I am to retrieve this artifact?" he said.

  Jenna offered him one of her radiant smiles. "Quite so. Our intelligence reports that the professor has likely made contact with the underworld in Germany, in the Rhine-Ruhr megaplex."

  "Right in the midst of Lofwyr's domain."

  "Yes, so you can see why this matter could not be put to the Council, and why discretion is required.

  You will leave for Germany at once and secure the artifact. When you have done so, you will return it to me. I've had all the necessary files and information prepared for you. You can review them on the way to the German Alliance. The travel arrangements are already made."

  Nothing further needed to be said. Speren crossed his right arm over his chest and executed a precise bow.

  "I will go at once, my Prince, and I will return when I am successful." He turned on his heel and walked to the door.

  Jenna's voice called after him. "Speren?"

  "Yes, my Prince?"

  "Be careful."

  "I am always careful, my Prince."

  When he came out into the corridor again, he found Jenna's assistant waiting to give him the mission briefing and other information. Speren wondered about Lofwyr's interest in this lost piece of elven history. Anything that drew the attention of a great dragon had to be far more than a mere historical curiosity. Speren knew the legends and tales of elven might and power in ages past as well as anyone. Whatever this artifact was, it was enough to draw the attention of the most powerful being on Earth.

  4

  It was early evening when Talon pulled up in front of the Avalon on Landsdown Street. The street was only starting to get busy, and the place wasn't open for business yet. The restaurants were filling up for dinner, and soon the clubs would be full too. He pulled around to the side of the building complex and dismounted, Aracos' motorcycle form fading as the spirit returned to his intangible astral form.

  Talon took the concrete steps up to the side door two at a time and went inside. The bouncers and other employees recognized him and gave him no more than a passing glance as he continued on past, up the stairs to the second-floor office. As he came to the landing, Aracos spoke in his mind.

  "All clear, boss. Everyone's waiting." the spirit said.

  Talon was glad to hear it, but felt a slight twinge at having Aracos check up on his chummers. It wasn't that he didn't trust them, but shadowrunning was a dangerous business, and Talon hadn't lived this long by not being careful. He went to the office door and knocked twice.

  "It's me." he said, opening the door.

  "About bloody time." Boom grumbled in his deep bass.

  Inside the office sat the rest of his team: Boom, Trouble, Val, and Hammer. They looked up expectantly as he entered.

  "So what's up, Tal?" Boom asked. "Everything go all right with the Johnson?" The troll was wearing an amazingly loud Hawai'ian shirt that barely covered his huge frame. He sat behind a wide desk that looked like a child's compared to Boom's nearly three meters in height. Boom owned the Avalon, one of the hottest nightclubs in Boston, thanks to a bequest from Dunkelzahn's will. He was also one of the most skilled fixers in the plex and an old friend of Talon's. Ever since Talon had returned to Boston, Boom had become active as a shadowrunner again, in addition to handling the team's financial affairs.

  "Everything went fine." Talon said. He took the credstick from his jacket pocket and tossed it onto the desk. "As a matter of fact, Mr. Brackhaus was so impressed with our work that he offered us another job. And this one pays a hundred grand."

  Boom let out a low whistle and picked up the credstick, slotting it into a hand-held reader to check the balance.

  "A hundred thousand?" Trouble said. "That's not bad. Who does he want killed?" She was a decker, the team's Matrix specialist, a ghost in the machine, able to work wonders with computers and communications.

  "Nobody." Talon said. "That's the good part. All he wants is to get back some artifact from an archeological dig."

  "If that's the good part, what's the bad part?" Hammer asked. The ork had been to a lot of places and gotten himself out of a lot of close scrapes. He tended to look on the bad side of things, a habit that had saved his hide more than once.

  Talon took a seat next to Trouble on a leather couch. Boom was seated behind his desk, while Val and Hammer occupied the two chairs to either side.

  "The bad parts are: One, the target who has the artifact is in the German Alliance, somewhere in the Rhine-Ruhr plex, one of the biggest sprawls in the world. Two, he's a professor of archeology at the University of Kiev in Russia, who apparently beat one of his own students to death with a hammer before he absconded with said artifact. And, three, the dig he was working on was sponsored by Brackhaus' boss, Saeder-Krupp."

  "That means Lofwyr's involved." Boom said, setting the credstick aside for the moment.

  Talon shrugged. "There's not a whole lot going on with S-K that Lofwyr's not involved with, chummer."

  "Still," Trouble said, "that leaves a whole lot of unanswered questions about the run."

  Talon nodded. "I know. I've been thinking about those for a while. The main ones I can see are: why do Brackhaus and Saeder-Krupp want to hire out-of-town talent for this run when there are plenty of shadowrunners in Germany who'd gladly take it on, and what is it about this artifact that it's such a big deal for Saeder-Krupp to get it back? They sure as hell aren't worried about its historical value or putting it in some museum."

  "Look at the last one first." Boom said. "What is this 'artifact' Brackhaus is talking about?"

  "That's just it, he doesn't know, or at least he claims not to know. The artifact they dug up was some kind of clay tablet. Apparently, Dr. Goronay smashed it and took something that was hidden inside. Since the only other guy who saw what was inside is dead, nobody knows what Goronay found."

  "Hmmm, that makes things more difficult." Boom said, rubbing his chin. "Could it be magical?"

  "Maybe. I've run into drek people have dug up from gods know where that had some serious mojo to it. I ran into plenty of things like that working for the Draco Foundation, and even that key Brackhaus hired us to find is pretty old, not like a conventional magical item at all. Maybe Lofwyr's collecting a set of them or something."

  "Going to be difficult to find something when we don't even know what it looks like." Boom muttered.

  "We don't have to." Trouble said. "Sounds like we just have to find Goronay. Find him, and we find whatever he took."

  "The question is: do we want to do it?" Talon looked around the room at the rest of the team.

  "Not me." Val said, speaking for the first time since Talon entered the room. "I'm out." She stood up from her chair, snatched her leather jacket from the back, and headed out the door.

  "Val, wait a—" Talon started as the door slammed shut behind her. He turned to Hammer. "What the hell was that about?" The ork had worked with Valkyrie longer than any of them, so he knew her best.

  "Not sure," he said, "but Val's from Germany, you know."

  "No," Talon said, "I didn't." But then, he knew very little about the team's mysterious rigger. Val was an expert in piloting or driving just about anything, but she kept pretty quiet about her past.

  "Yeah," Hammer said, "I got the impression that she had some pretty bad drek happen there, that she was just glad to be out of it. I dunno what happened, though. She didn't offer, and I didn't ask. Want me to talk to her?"

  "No." Talon said. "I'll do it." He was supposed to be in charge of this team, that made it his job. He nodded in Boom's direction. "Start talking about what we're going t
o need for this job so we can tell Brackhaus—assuming you chummers are still interested." Everyone in the room nodded as Talon headed out the door.

  He found Val standing on a balcony overlooking one of the Avalon's dance floors. Employees were cleaning up, stocking the bar, and getting the place ready for the customers who would begin packing the joint in a few more hours. Her jacket was thrown over the railing on which she leaned as she looked down at the darkened floor below.

  "Val—" Talon began, but she cut him off.

  "How do you handle it, Talon?"

  "What?" Talon was taken aback by the question.

  "The magic. How do you handle it?"

  "You mean doing magic or being a mage?"

  "Both." she said.

  Talon shrugged. "I dunno. I just do. I learned to deal with it a long time ago, and I learned to use magic from a very good teacher. After that, I learned stuff in college and on the streets."

  "Did you always want it?" Val asked.

  Talon took a couple steps closer and stood next to her at the railing.

  "No." he said. "I mean, every kid at one time or another wants to be Awakened, I guess, to find out they have the Talent. But when mine first showed up, I thought I was going crazy. I was just a kid at the time, fifteen, sixteen. I'd spent most of my life in a Catholic-run orphanage and my head was full of weird ideas about what magic was. When I started seeing things, feeling things, I figured I was losing it, or maybe even that there was something really wrong with me."

  "But you figured out how to deal with it." Val said, not looking at him. "You're a mage now."

  "With some time, and a lot of help."

  "I never figured out how to handle it." she said quietly.

  "You . . . you have the Talent?" Talon asked, stunned. He'd never gotten any hint of magical ability from Val.

  She shook her head. "Had, not have. I did have it, though, once." She took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly, leaning more heavily against the railing. "You were raised Catholic. Well, I can tell you, that's nothing compared to where I grew up. Ever heard of Westphalia?"