Robert Asprin - Aftermath

"The Sharp Side broke off when the Rankan god-warrior pressured Zip. Things split. My brother stayed loyal. Sharp Side slit his throat." He leaned back on the wall behind him and waited.

Cade could think of nothing to say. How old was this boy? Fourteen? Fifteen? They aged fast in Downwind; Cade knew that well enough. His whole story told in quick, short sentences. No explanation, no anger, no nothing. Just a story. The same story as always. The tale of the damned.

"What was your brother's name?"

"No name. They're all dead." And Cade knew that the boy included all his family in his statement. Cade sat unmoving. Behind him he heard the slow drip of water, the sound loud and monotonous. Time. It was time. Melting this pathetic refuge away. Until the boy was left standing in the sunlight. Alone. Sacrificed to the madness men thought of as life.

"Have you killed?" he asked.

"No."

"Have you raped?"

"No."

"Have you tortured?"

No answer. So there were things here, deeds here. Cruelty. If he killed the boy would he free him? Or consign him to annihilation? Cade watched him for a moment. A choice must be made. It was so hard with the young. Kill them in their innocence and they are freed. Or are they? Is innocence ignorance? Mustn't they be given the chance to decide, to choose their path and therefore their destiny? Cade felt sorry for the boy, but then again he felt sorry for all men.

But this one had no chance. And he was so much like ... but leave that thought. Still, one day Cade would die. Who would take up the war then? Who would defy the lords of hell when Cade finally felt and went to the emptiness? For of course Cade knew that there would be no better world for him. Madness can be a fine thing. Cade knew he was evil.

Still, he could give the boy the chance.

"Raif," his voice soft, "this is hell, do you understand?"

The boy just stared.

"In hell, all choices are hard." He took a deep breath. "We will sit here, you and I, in your best hideout. We will sit here and you will tell me of the Sharp Side. Then we shall leave together. And together we shall kill them all."

"All?"

"All. We might kill those we shouldn't, but we must kill them all, or they will retaliate, against you, against me. The burden is mine. I ex- ceeded my allowed debt long ago. You shall have a chance." And then he laughed. Laughed truly. For Cade would do it. He would free this boy of Sanctuary's chains, let him roam and fight hell on his own terms. Give him a chance to be a hero as poor Targ was always dreaming of. Yes, that was it. He would do this as so long ago at the same age he dreamed of someone saving him. And Cade laughed harder. The sound reverberated in the dank tunnels, but somehow it was a comforting sound. It had power, and passion. But it was a gentle sound.

"Now"-Cade's laughter ended abruptly-"tell me of our enemies, young warrior."

It took nearly a week to set up. Raif acted as intermediary. They accepted that- Targ acted as the buyer, Raif his connection. Cade wan- dered about, following aimless leads to throw off any interested parties. The final act was almost ready to begin. He had the long-sought answers.

The why? Simple. The Sharp Side took over many of the operations of the PFLS, including Terrel's. It had taken Terrel a while to figure it out. When he did he had tried to warn Zip. The Sharp Side had caught him.

Who? Well, one of them was known as "The Beast," an interrogator for the PFLS, now for the Sharp Side. A mysterious man, little was known about him. But it was rumored he was so unmanageable Zip was glad to see him gone. A man who enjoyed his work. A psychopath. He was the one who wouid have broken Terrel's bones.

Then there was Amuuth. The brain. The one who ran the gang, gave the orders. Born in Downwind, barely thirty, Amuuth had worked his way up through the ranks. Cruel, hard, uncompromising, and known to be arbitrary in his decisions. This man was the most feared man in Downwind. And his hands were broken.

Cade couldn't be sure. but it made sense. This man knew of Terrel's fear, because he was one of the original causes. He hadn't made an exam- ple of Terrel. His position was too unstable for him to go public. No, he didn't make sure Terrel died of his worst fear for political reasons. He did it for his own pleasure. For fun ...

There were seven other hard-core members, good fighters all. Twenty auxiliaries rounded out the gang, but only three of these were so loyal that Cade would have to kill them. Twelve. Twelve lives for Terrel's. It wouldn't even begin to balance the scales.

Cade, Raif, and Targ sat at the table in Marissa's House. The guards were on the roof. Marissa was with Sarah. The sun had set. One hour and it would be over. Terrel's death would be avenged-

"Are you sure the whole gang will be at the meet?" Cade asked.

"They always do it that way," Raif answered. "All nine of the insiders at a buy." The boy's voice was happy, and who could blame him? Cer- tainly not Cade. This had been the best week of Raif's short life. Money to have good quarters in Downwind (and to buy his first woman, though he hid that from Cade), all the food he could eat, sword practice with Targ in the hot sun. Gods, his own sword. Though he didn't wear it. Cade and Targ had made it clear he would not be allowed to wear the sword until he knew how to use it. It was all like a dream to Raif, and even all this talk of murder and revenge made no dent in his new world.

Targ watched the youngster, keeping back a frown. Raif was a good boy, and damned smart. But he hero-worshiped Cade, like Toth did. Targ couldn't understand it. Children never feared Cade, always reacted well to him. They missed the madness there, and the years of killing. But then again, whatever Targ thought of Cade, he knew one thing Cade didn't know about himself: for all his self-aggrandizing introspection, Cade had never and would never kill a child.

"I still think I should go with you," Targ said aloud, though he did not look at Cade.

"No." The only light in the room came from the single lantern lying between them. Cade stared at the large shadow Targ cast on the wall behind him, like a giant leaning over to listen to their conversation. "You must get the other three. All must die tonight."

"They're expecting me to be there. The deal is with me. If they see you, they'll know what's up."

"They won't see me"-Cade's voice was firm-"not until I want them to."

"There's nine," Targ insisted, but Cade only answered with a shrug. Targ could think of nothing else to say. Cade insisted on taking on the gang alone. The mercenary didn't like it. But there it was. Cade would do what he wanted, and he explained himself to no one.

"Why not take me?" Raif piped up. Targ just reached for the wine. He knew what Cade's reaction to that would be. "You've seen how good I am with the knife," he insisted. "They expect me to be there, too." His voice trailed off at Cade's dark look.

"Raif, killing a man is not so easy."

"They killed my brother, too, damn them. I want my revenge."

Cade's hand banged on the table. "You're talking like a fool. Do you think this is one of your daydreams? Riding up on a white horse, saving the city to the cheers of men and women alike? Revenge is bitter, boy, and far removed from justice."

"But-" Raif started again, but this time he shut up when he saw the flash in Cade's eyes.

"You've had your revenge, boy. Your information, your help has set this thing up. Now leave it to us to finish it." He turned to Targ, but the mercenary just nodded. Cade could handle himself, and Targ's prey, well, they were as good as dead. Targ could live with this. Cade never asked him to do something his conscience would forbid. Targ's honor would not suffer from this.

Unconsciously, he bared his teeth, the sharp edges of his canines al- ready beginning to show. Too bad it couldn't be a cleaner fight. But he hadn't succumbed to his particular curse in so long, and this night-well, these bastards deserved it.