I
Augustus
Grohl shivered through three layers of clothing as he walked outside to grab another armload of firewood. This time of year, (when spring hadn’t yet fully shaken off winter’s wrath) this far north into the Canadian wilderness, the temperature rarely rose above twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit, and at less than an hour before sundown, the temperature was easily twenty degrees below that.
Gathering up the logs from the pile next to the shack, he turned to go back inside when he stopped cold. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather gripped Augustus. To the east, along the horizon of the treeless tundra, he saw a speck in the snow. Squinting, he watched it for close to a minute, sighed, and went back into the shack.
For six weeks now he’d been holed up in this hovel. It was an old hunting oasis used by his family in better times. Sitting on the edge of the Kikituk foothills, it was easily accessible by the snowfield to the east, and somewhat protected by the pine forest and gently rising slope to the west. The shack was sparse; holding not much more than a pair of bunk beds, a small stove for heat and cooking, and a table with four chairs, it served as a peaceful retreat from a hectic world.
It also served as a hideout.
Augustus added a few logs to the stove’s fire. He put the pot of water he’d retrieved earlier on the stove to boil, and gathered several vegetables from the dry storage bin. He’d been rationing the food since he’d arrived at the shack, but what was the point now? With the arrival of whoever was on their way from the east, one way or another, Augustus would be leaving soon.
Cutting up the carrots, potatoes, and onions on the table, Augustus wondered exactly how he’d been found. No one save his brother knew where he was, but Tergin was safe with the Reds. Augustus’ wife was dead, as was his son. The family estate near Toronto was empty… so who had given him away? He briefly laughed to himself. What did it matter? The Council had found him, and now they’d take their revenge. His only chance was to get away, to find Tergin, but his brother wouldn’t reveal his exact location… not even to Augustus. Augustus had been angry with Tergin at first, angry that he hadn’t earned his brother’s complete trust, but after a while he came to accept it. The truth was that the Rogues couldn’t trust anyone if they were to be successful, and the future of the Tradition depended on that success.
By the time the water was boiling, he stood still in the shack and listened. Just over the drone of the ever-present wind, he could hear the mosquito buzz of a snowcat.
Sighing, Augustus dropped in the vegetables. He went to one of the beds and opened up a duffle bag that lay atop it. He pulled out his Scint, unsheathed it, and regarded the blade. How long had it been since he’d thrown a Delve in actual combat? He’d thrown them while training his son, but those casts hadn’t been large enough to do any real damage. Aiden had only begun his fifth year of junior training when the Council assassinated the boy and his mother. So, when was it? Probably at his Obligation… more than two decades ago.
He took his Delving Pouch from the bag and brought both it and his Scint to the table. Sitting, he organized the ingredients from the Pouch in front of him and began to work, cutting and slicing up the tiny bits of Blue Grama, dried salmon, spotted knapweed, and Pileus mushrooms into even smaller pieces. Delves worked best when the ingredients used were divided up into the smallest portions possible, and Augustus knew that to survive he’d have to throw his best Delve.
His memory threatened to bring back the memories and guilt of his wife and son’s deaths as he worked. He knew that Catherine had insisted on transporting the Rogue Trikes to the rendezvous point in Nova Scotia, but Augustus still felt responsible.
“They’ll never suspect, Auggie,”
she’d said before they’d left.
“They’ll never suspect me and Aiden. We’ll be fine. We’ll be home before you know it.”
Three hours later, as he’d sat in his study at the Toronto estate, he’d felt bile creep up the base of his throat when one of the Rogue contacts called and told him that there’d been an accident.
An accident.
He could almost hear his wife’s voice in his head telling him that it wasn’t his fault, except that it was. It was
his
idea to thwart the Council. It was
his
idea to follow his conscience and help the Reds.
It was
his
fault.
By the time the potatoes were soft, Augustus didn’t need to strain to hear the approaching snowcat out on the tundra. It was almost time. He ladled out a bowl of the primitive soup into a wooden bowl, added some salt, and sat down at the table. He was midway through the meal when the snowcat reached the shack and cut its engines.
Augustus held his breath, wondering whom they’d sent. He’d only seen a handful of Tricolytes in his life, and wouldn’t be able to pick them out in a crowd. He knew a few of them by reputation of course, but for the most part, he was in the dark as to who was approaching the door of the shack.
He sat with a spoonful of soup hovering a few inches from his lower lip when the door was kicked open. The wind carried swarms of snowflakes throughout the shack, and Augustus raised his arm to cover his eyes. After a moment, the initial blast died down, and he peeked over the fabric of his sleeve.
The woman standing in the doorway wore a white, knee-length, fur coat. The hood was up, but it couldn’t mask the long black tresses that curled casually down and around her shoulders. She wore sunglasses—the enormous round kind made famous by Jackie O’—even though the sun was almost down. Beneath the coat, the woman wore some sort of skin-tight, black bodysuit made out of lycra or neoprene. Black boots covered her feet, and leather gloves masked her hands.
Closing the door with a lazy kick of her boot, the woman removed her hood, took off her glasses—Augustus now saw that her eyes were dark, perhaps brown—and put them in her coat pocket. The flaps of her coat whisped back just far enough for Augustus to see that she wore her Scint on her left hip. A holster and its gun clung to the outside of her right, upper thigh.
As she stood there in front of the door, Augustus couldn’t blink, much less breathe. She was gorgeous. At just over six feet tall, she reminded him of the fashion models in the magazines that Catherine was always reading.
He knew who she was.
He knew her reputation.
He knew he had no chance of escaping with his life.
The woman moved to the stove with the grace of a gazelle and dished out a bowl of soup. She sat down at the table across from Augustus and began to eat.
He watched her in silence for close to a minute before he resumed eating himself. Augustus attempted to savor every drop, every bite, every slurp, as he was certain this meal would be his last. There was no way he could best her… unless…
A thought struck him. Remote as it was, there was a possibility that he could convince her of his motives. There was a possibility that she might grant him mercy.
A chance.
His soup finished, Augustus cleared his throat. “You’re the one they call
The Blade,
aren’t you?”
She glanced at him as she continued to eat, but made no reply.
“Kallen Nawhz… that’s who you are…?” As she continued eating, Augustus stretched out with his presence, and tried to infiltrate the woman’s mind.
He’d barely touched her brain when she looked up and gave him a cold smile. “I’d pull that back in right about now, Augustus. Unless you want to die quicker than not.” Her voice was like candy-covered poison.
Augustus silenced the reach and watched as she continued to eat. Everything he’d heard about her appeared to be true. She was a cold, calculated killer; the product of a Russian father and an Italian mother, Nawhz was one of the preeminent Tricolytes, the warriors and assassins that served the Delving Council… which begged the question: why had the Council sent one of their best to deal with him?
Nawhz dropped her spoon in the empty bowl, leaned back in her chair and crossed her long legs.
“Thank you for the meal,” she said, casually. “Are you ready?”
Augustus felt his heart pounding in his chest. “Will you permit me a few questions first?”
She remained stone-faced. “I’m not here to answer questions.”
A touch of anger flared in his mind, but Augustus forced it out. It would serve no purpose to get defensive. “Do you know why the Council has ordered my execution?”
Nawhz nodded. “Treason.”
He almost laughed. “Treason? That’s one way of putting it. The Council is out of line. They’ve forgotten about the smaller families. They’ve thrown their own rules out the window in order to keep the more powerful families as their allies…” He paused, waiting to see a reaction in her expression. There was none.
“The Reds are gaining ground every day, Nawhz. The Gilson family in Buffalo was pushing my own family out of its rightful territory. I complained to the Council on eight different occasions… but they turned a deaf ear. What was I supposed to do? To whom was I to turn?”
She looked at him for several seconds before giving a gentle shrug. “The Council is not to be questioned. You know that as well as I, Augustus. If they looked the other way on the Gilson’s transgressions, then they did it for a reason. You should have exercised patience. You should have remained loyal to the Council. You didn’t. You sought out the services of the Rogues, and three members of the Gilson family were killed without authorization as a result. To add insult to injury, you enlisted your wife and son to smuggle enlistee Rogues across Canada. They paid for their treason, and now you’ll pay for yours.”
So cut and dried.
Augustus saw that any hope he may have harbored for a merciful reaction on the part of this Trike was woefully unfounded. She was no more than an unthinking extension of the Council’s will.
“Tell me something, Nawhz, have you been busy lately?”
She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Augustus knew that there was no hope for himself, but perhaps, just perhaps he could make her see what was so obvious to him. “I’m willing to wage that you’ve been sent on more assignments than usual lately. Am I right?” After a few seconds of silence, he continued. “More and more of what could be deemed the
lesser families
are seeing that they don’t count in the eyes of the Council. More and more of them are falling in league with the Reds. Soon, there will be a complete division within the Delving world. Soon, there will be an outright civil war. On one side, the families that are struggling to keep afloat, and on the other, the Council and its lapdogs.”
Nawhz stood up fast, tipping over her chair in the process. She stared at him with narrowed eyes for a few seconds before speaking. “Let’s go.” Augustus watched as she turned and opened the door.
II
The
sun was fully down as Augustus pulled on his jacket and followed the Tricolyte out into the snow, but a near-full moon bathed the tundra in an eerie blue-green light.
Nawhz walked about fifty yards beyond where her snowcat was parked and looked to the purple glow on the horizon. Augustus walked carefully, listening to the squelch of his boots on the snow and the whistle of the wind in the air. He wanted to appreciate these sounds. He wanted to savor every last second.
He diverted his course to the right when he got past the snowcat, and walked out until he was even with Nawhz on the tundra. The two now stood a few dozen yards apart. Augustus looked down at the Pouch and Scint in his hands. How many Delves had he thrown in his life? A thousand? Ten-thousand? There was no way to know for sure. Movement brought his eyes back up, and he watched as the Trike removed her fur coat and dropped it to the snow.
She was ready.
Augustus crouched and pulled his Scint across the ice, posting the ancient scrawl. He carved the symbols slower than usual, as he knew that Nawhz wouldn’t attack until his Delve was thrown. She was honorable. She would grant him a proper Delver’s death.
Pulling some of the ingredients from his Pouch, Augustus sprinkled them over the scrawl and mumbled the ancient incantations he’d learned in Catechism. All that was left to do was pull a flame over the top of the cast.
Before he did, Augustus looked up. “I’m curious,” he yelled over the wind, “why did they send you of all Trikes to deal with little old me?”
She waited a moment before yelling her answer. “They wanted to guarantee success.”
Troubling as that statement was, a grave grin spread across Augustus’ lips. “I’m honored,” he yelled, and watched as she nodded in acknowledgement.
He snatched open his lighter, the silver plated one his father had given him upon completion of his junior level graduation test in the Kas-Keat, and drew the flame across the face of the scrawl.
Augustus looked again at the Trike as he backed away from the fire. She was ready; her head down and her knees bent. The fire from the scrawl spiraled up a dozen feet into the air as the ground beneath it started to bulge. A slow rumble vibrated across the ice beneath their feet.
He watched with more than a little satisfaction as the first claw of the Delve broke up into the air. It was a big one, perhaps the largest Augustus had ever thrown, and it would have to be if he was to have any chance of seeing another sunrise.
After only a moment, the second claw broke through the ice. The Grohl family
metska
was the scorpion, and it was something that
resembled
a scorpion that scuttled up and onto the snow. When standing on its insectoid legs, the top of its back was level with Augustus’ chest. Its tail, arching up and over its head, was the size of a tank turret. Moving its legs in unison it turned on the snow, making a clicking sound as it did.
Augustus backed up a few steps. He’d thrown Delves long enough to know that a Delver’s creations wouldn’t turn on the caster, but he’d also thrown them long enough to know that you stayed out of their way when they were doing their work.
Beyond the beast, Augustus could see that Nawhz was moving forward with no more concern than if she were taking a Sunday afternoon stroll. Augustus thumbed the hilt of his Scint. If the Trike bested his first Delve, he’d have to be ready to throw another.
Its two gigantic claws snapping in unison, its stinger poised to strike, the Delve raced towards Nawhz. She reacted at once by readying her Scint in her left hand and drawing her handgun with her right. Taking three quick steps forward, she jumped into the air, somersaulted at the zenith of her leap, and shot the scorpion’s tail on her way down. The tip of the stinger smoked from the blast, and the Delve hissed in anger as its useless tail thrashed back onto the ice. Spreading her legs, Nawhz landed with each boot atop the claws of the beast. She balanced there for only a moment as the Delve writhed, trying to throw her, before she crouched and
struck.
The Trike’s Scint drove through the top of the scorpion’s skull and into its primitive brain. Its legs gave way, and Nawhz hopped off as its body collapsed onto the snow.
Augustus stood for a moment in open-mouthed amazement. It was one of the best Delves he’d ever thrown, and she’d dispatched it in seconds. Certainly he’d heard tales of just how proficient the Tricolytes were, but he never imagined…
he’d never seen anything like it.
He’d only begun to formulate the idea of bending to throw another Delve when Nawhz spun and hurled her Scint through the air. Had he not been so shocked, there might have been a chance for Augustus to avoid the spiraling knife. It struck him in the chest, its point working its way through his skin and tissue until the tip pierced the flesh of his heart. There was more pressure than actual pain as he fell to his back on the snow. Immediately, the cold worked its way through his layers of clothing and seemed to grip him… or was that just the stopping of his heart? There was no doubt that if he lay there long enough, if he was permitted to give his body enough time, after a while it would repair itself and he’d be as good as new.
After all, he was a Delver.
But he wouldn’t be given time to recover.
Each breath came with more difficulty than the last, and as he fought for each one, Augustus heard the squeak of the Trike’s approaching steps on the snow.
“It’s time, Augustus.” She stood over him—beautiful, deadly, wild—her long black hair blowing in the wind. “I’ll make it quick.”
He squinted, watching as she pointed the barrel of the gun at his head. This surprised him. Augustus had assumed she’d use her Scint… it was the traditional Delving way.
“I… I…” he struggled, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth.
“What, Augustus?” she asked, her voice calm. Patient.
“I… I… didn’t think… you’d… use the… gun…”
She gave him one, final, slow nod. “You thought wrong.”
Copyright © 2008 by Scott F. Falkner
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