Gates of Hell (3 page)

“Bitch!”

He brought his right hand up, cuffing her below the ear. She stumbled backward, her mouth and cheeks covered in dark blood. Her shoulders hit the wall of the building behind them and she slid slowly to her knees. She stayed on the ground, giggling drunkenly to herself.

Pyr kept his gaze on her while he dug into several coat pockets with his right hand. He held his injured hand to his chest, fist tightly clenched, but blood oozed out between his fingers to wet the leather of his coat. He eventually found the length of white silk he’d worn as a headband earlier in the day. He pulled out the cloth and wrapped it around the wound several times. The torn flesh throbbed painfully and was still bleeding heavily. Once he’d arranged the makeshift bandage, he grabbed Lita by the hair and pulled her to her feet.

“Why?” He shook her angrily. She giggled. Pyr loosed his hold on the madwoman, denying her the pleasure of fear and pain. “Why?” he asked again, hoping he wouldn’t have to touch the twisted mind behind her actions.

“You give beautiful death,” she answered. Once again her eyes looked worshipfully into his. “I have given you death in exchange for mine. A gift of the Hunting. You are my victim. I will be yours.” She dropped her head and scuffed her bare feet on the cobbles. In the dim light from the full moons the horrible scars were invisible. She seemed no more than a naughty child as she said, “Idel will not be pleased.” Her head came back up. “You taste of metal.” She licked her stained lips. “Is bitter blood different than ours? Will the poison work slower or faster, I wonder?”

Pyr did not remember grabbing the girl’s shoulders, but he seemed to have them between his hands, at least one collarbone broken before he controlled the rage. “What poison?” His voice was ragged with controlled fear. The pain in his hand was growing worse. He wished it was imagination, and knew it wasn’t.

“Stralisare,” she answered readily, without even the decency to wince as he broke her other clavicle. “It is the goddess’s own poison. Stralisare,” Lita repeated, turning the word into a snake’s hiss.

She’d painted her teeth with Stralisare? He wanted to scream—not with fear or pain. He wanted to howl from sheer frustration. With the galaxy crumbling around him and him trying to pick up as many pieces as he could, he had made no contingency for this. How typically, arrogantly, stupid of him to have ignored the possibility of his own death. Stralisare. Painful. Fatal. No cure. Slow, but not slow enough. The effects worked differently with each type of humanoid, but work they did. It could be a few days, or a few weeks.

Too much to do in too little time as it was—and this damn fool girl killed him on a whim.

“Death isn’t beautiful,” He assured Lita. “Death just is.” Inconvenient and mindless and impossible to avoid. “Don’t run to it as if it held your answers.” Too late for philosophy. Too late for pity. He grabbed her arm, and pushed her up the street before him. He had no intention of letting her slip away before they reached the temple. Hunting cries and screams from the prey sounded occasionally around them as she directed him to the center of the city.

———

“Square’s empty, Captain. Has been since I got here.”

Pilsane peeled himself from the deepest shadow of the temple courtyard. He’d been waiting beneath the great statue of the goddess, directly in front of the arched entrance to the windowless, marble building. The torches which normally lit the grisly, blackened visage of the goddess were extinguished for the night. None of her devotees were keeping vigil under her skeletal image during Hunters’ Moon. The stench of old blood and rotting flesh from the constant sacrifices of every other day of the year lingered in the chilled air. No flowers or incense for the death goddess of Orlin.

“What happened to your hand?” Pilsane asked as he walked toward the entrance beside Pyr. He leaned against a pillar as they reached the doorway, and added, “Your little walk was to give me time to check out the temple, not get you into trouble.”

Pyr pulled his hand from Lita’s frail shoulder. She hunched forward, finally showing some reaction to the broken bones. “The bitch needs a muzzle. Mik reported yet?”

Pilsane shook his head. “Sensors don’t indicate any activity inside or out of the temple that is in any way out of the ordinary for the locals. Bioscan reads that everyone inside the temple is Orlinian. You going in?”

Pyr thought of the brooch in his pocket. “Do I have a choice?” His whole hand was hurting now.

“Watch yourself, Captain.”

Pyr nodded. Pilsane pushed himself away from the pillar and faded back into the darkness beneath the statue. Pyr grimaced, flexed his aching hand, then pushed the priestess ahead of him through the door.

———

“Pyr of the
Raptor
, join me.” Lord Idel smiled down from a skull-shaped throne.

An image identical to the statue in the courtyard loomed over the rounded back of Idel’s throne, her bald head circled by a ring of fire.

A ring of torches circled the long room as well, throwing out light and heat. Smoke curled up to the soot-blackened ceiling high overhead. Pyr welcomed the warmth, even though the acrid air irritated his lungs. Black and red mosaics tiled the floor of the huge room. Their texture was almost as rough as the cobblestone streets of the town. The wall paintings were vivid depictions of ritual mutilations and sacrifices. One wall featured a freshly-painted mural showing the death of worlds; the spiral of the galaxy painted as a fall of glowing ashes. It was a modern addition to the native belief in the necessary destruction of all life.

Idel was alone in the room. The high priest looked casually relaxed as he leaned back on his throne, legs crossed, a silver goblet of something Pyr hoped was wine in one hand. The young high priest was imitating more than Bucon attitudes. Instead of traditional white robes, he was dressed in tight black leather boots and trousers. His chest was bare, except for a heavy pectoral collar. The design was of gold snakes twined with silver whips and jeweled chains. He smiled again, and Pyr noted a glint of impatience in the boy’s pale eyes. Idel’s skin was white, contrasting sharply with his leather clothes and heavy black hair. No scars.

Priests were sacred beings, raised to make sacrifices, not to be sacrifices. Idel was probably the only person on the whole planet who had never known a moment of pain. Or a moment without any wish fulfilled. A spoiled brat reared to unnatural whims. A smart brat, from what Pyr had heard about him. One with a hint of eagerness shining in his eyes.

Pyr waited. He held Lita still between his hands when she would rather have been groveling at her lord’s feet. As the silence grew, Idel’s welcoming smile turned into a sneer. Pyr did not believe in spoiling children, and had no intention of stepping into the fire for the boy’s entertainment until he was ready. Fire was what waited between the door and the foot of the dais. Pyr had noticed the thin silver line of a personal security system that circled the walls beneath the ring of torches. Idel was in control of a toy that could be set from a warning tingle to instant death. It would be one of the in-between settings the high priest used on his guest; a little test, and minor entertainment before getting down to business. The controls were on the arm of the skull throne, where Idel’s right hand rested languidly on the curved surface.

Pyr was not really interested in proving his stoic imperviousness to the world at large. Having to prove it to his own men was inconvenient enough. Warrior codes were a lot of nonsense. Pain hurt. Nothing wrong with screaming and writhing in agony if it didn’t get in the way of business. But of course, screaming and writhing wouldn’t get him what he needed from the boy. Pyr permitted himself an exasperated sigh.

“My thanks for the guide, Lord Idel.”

The boy inclined his head. “My servant is yours for the taking,
Raptor
.”

Since the plague will take her in a few days, anyway, Pyr added silently. Here was another game he’d rather not play, even though the girl had forfeited her life with the bite. Pity it had to be done as entertainment for Idel.

Pyr bent his head and whispered in the girl’s ear. “May you find a better world.” She was in shock from broken bones, and starting to feel the fever. When he snapped her neck she hardly noticed dying. Pyr felt it as an easing of pressure on his shields. One less mad mind to keep out. “No diamonds for you, Lita.”

Pyr dropped the body and stepped forward, hands buried deep in his pockets. The boy leaned forward in his chair, expression eager, eyes hungry. Having a wonderful time.

The space between them was immediately blanketed by a web of greenish light. Pyr walked into it as if he didn’t notice the flickering ribbons of energy he had to wade through to get to Idel. About one third strength, he estimated. How flattering. He set an unhurried pace, though it felt like heated metal melting through leather and silk and flesh. The lightweb died as he reached the foot of the dais, leaving only torch light to illuminate the room. The pain died with the light. Pyr nodded slightly to Idel, who tossed away his goblet. It bounced off the statue of the goddess with a loud, grating clang.

Pyr drew the brooch out of his pocket, showed it to Idel, then put it away. “Another gift, Lord Idel?”

“It is known that you search for a traitor who deserted your ship. You hunt for him through the border worlds and into the chaos of the Bucon Empire. The traitor wore your colors on a piece of jewelry. That piece of jewelry.”

“It’s not so much the traitor I’m interested in,” Pyr replied. “I want to find who he sold his services to.”

Idel sat forward on his skull throne. “Of course. You seek to manipulate the delicate balance of power among you Bucons. Each pirate lord has territory, bases, private arrangements, many secrets.”

“And traitors die,” Pyr said to encourage Idel’s interest. “I want death for the traitor as well. Before he dies I need to know who he works for.”

“So this lord will also die.”

“Of course.”

“You are not like other Bucons, Captain. You are more ruthless than most.” Idel beamed a smile of approval at Pyr, who nodded in acknowledgment.

“There are Outsiders on the other side of the Rose, Idel,” he answered the priest. Or Borderers, as some called them. Not even the most skilled datarats knew the true name and nature of the mysterious people beyond the nebula. “Ruthlessness is required to deal with Outsiders.”

“One never hears anything gentle about Outsiders,” Idel agreed. The boy’s pale eyes studied him carefully. “And with many Bucons seeking to take over your territory, you find it difficult to discover which poses the strongest threat.” He grinned. “I love studying the complicated games of your people.”

That Idel had inserted himself in Pyr’s business was a good indication that the young high priest felt he’d studied long enough; that it was time to enter the game himself. Pyr began to find the hot room stifling. Heavy smells of rotting flesh and smoke permeated the air. Primitive world. Primitive schemes. “It’s simple, Lord Idel,” he said. “No one steals what is mine.”

“The plague might take you. Steal the life you do not dedicate to the goddess. Death in many forms may destroy your power.”

“Someday it will. Not yet.”

“Death only makes me stronger.” Idel crossed his arms. “Death brings the goddess power. Most Bucons are cowards who bargain with those who cross them. You kill. You make sacrifice of traitors and would-be usurpers.”

Pyr was tired of the conversation. “Where’d you get the brooch?”

“One of the Meek brought it to me.”

The Meek were missionaries Idel sent to preach redemption through pain and death on the pirate base worlds and on trader ships. They also served as torturers for at least a dozen minor pirate captains. Cheap and enthusiastic labor who asked no more than a chance to preach and practice their faith. Ears and eyes for Idel, Pyr realized now. It appeared the boy had ambitions to rule the border in place of Bucons or Borderers or the United Systems. It made sense for Idel to offer Pyr information. When Pyr was done, there would be fewer Bucons alive to challenge Idel’s own ambitions.

Pyr couldn’t spare the time to inquire into Idel’s plans for the future. “Where’s Axylel?”

“The brooch came to me through a Meek who serves a Captain Paal.”

“Paal’s a thieving pimp.” Pyr almost smiled. “Honorable professions, both. Where did Paal get the jewelry?”

“Perhaps your traitor has gone to work for Paal.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If Paal let one of your spies get the brooch to you, it’s because he got it from someone else. He’s trying to placate me, but not get involved himself.”
You’re playing it too cleverly, Paal
, Pyr thought angrily.
We’ll have to have a talk about that sometime in the future
. Pyr nearly laughed aloud. He had no future. He better leave a few notes for Linch. “I’m betting you know this game. Who did Paal get the brooch from?”

Suddenly Idel seemed as tired of this conversation as Pyr. He yawned. “My hunters will be returning soon. I have a ceremony to perform. The name you want is Denvry. I am told that Paal stole the pin from one of Denvry’s women.”

“Did he question the woman? Did he see Axylel at Denvry’s stronghold?”

“No one has seen the
Raptor’s
other red-head for weeks.” Idel’s yawned again. “It surprised everyone when he fled your cabin for another’s protection.”

Pyr didn’t let it annoy him. “Bucons go where the profit is, Lord Idel. The boy’s only trying to do what’s best for himself.” On a whim, he once more fished out his bottle of Rust. As he tossed it to the priest, he said, “My thanks. Tuck that away before your followers find out it isn’t a miracle that spares you from the plague.”

Idel laughed cynically. “Rust is a miracle, Captain. So is the plague. Good hunting.”

Pyr raised his right wrist and pressed one of the controls on his bracelet with stiffening fingers. “Pilsane.”

“Here.”

“Linch.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Two to travel on my mark.”

“Ready, Captain.”

“Open the Door.”

Within moments the black circle opened before him. He walked through, away from the too-hot room and its stench of death. Inside the Door his eyes were blinded by white light that blocked out the shocked mask of Idel’s face. Pyr couldn’t help but think of diamonds.