He knew his duty. And there was a fine chance that doing it would earn him pleasant rewards.
XXXVI
General Procopio invited Rider's gang to share his personal box at the Little Circus—reluctantly, after Chaz accused him of ingratitude and glory-hogging. Since the public were well aware that the Protector's son—himself acclaimed Protector now—was primarily responsible for thwarting the danger to the City, a few bitter words could make of the Procopio Games the disaster of the social season. The general issued his invitation rather than risk humiliation.
Other than Chaz, only Greystone evinced much interest in attending. The scholar had worked out systems for betting on horse and chariot races and wanted to test them in the field. Su-Cha would have attended had he been allowed, but the law was adamant about forbidding his kind to attend sporting events, the outcome of which might be mystically jiggered. Too many bettors' money might be affected.
Caracene was both elegant and exotic in a white pleated creation which fell to her ankles but left her arms bare. Her hair was in a single twist that came around her neck to the right and fell between her breasts. Chaz felt drab and inadequate as they made for Procopio's private box. Ten thousand eyes measured Caracene and found her beauty more than adequate. A thousand men murmured their admiration and asked one another who that beauty might be.
Chaz felt smaller than ever.
But he was carrying his sword, his illegal sword, without challenge, so those who mattered did not lose track of his identity amidst Caracene's radiance. That was reassuring.
The box of honor was shaded by a gaudy awning. The only other seating so honored was the royal box. Chaz dropped onto one of the stone benches. "Thanks for small favors." He pointed upward. "It's days like this that make me wonder why I never stayed home." It was hot, yes, and very humid.
General Procopio turned, held a finger to his lips. Charioteers were getting themselves aligned for a start and the herald was about to announce the contestants.
"You haven't told me anything about your homeland," Caracene whispered.
"Neither have you, sweetheart. Sounds to me like we're even."
Greystone had arrived before Chaz and Caracene. He was seated behind the general, calculating on a wax tablet. He turned and scowled.
"Do they have chariot races there?"
Chaz eyed the woman suspiciously. Why this empty-headed act? "No. Pony races. Bareback. Through the woods."
Procopio and Greystone both scowled. The herald had begun announcing the charioteers and the stables they represented. Caracene got the message, if Chaz did not. She folded her hands in her lap and watched the race get under way.
Chaz hardly noticed. A shadow too small for that of a cloud or airship, yet big, was rippling over the crowd. Some people were looking up instead of following the race. He stepped to the edge of the canopy, caught a glimpse of a large wing vanishing beyond the stadium rim. "Su-Cha clowning around?" he wondered.
"I don't think so." Greystone startled Chaz, who had not seen the scholar rise. "The runt has more style. The bird is big but dingy. He'd be colorful."
Rising crowd noise kept Chaz from responding.
The chariots were running hub to hub going into the back stretch. The mob expected real excitement going into the final turn.
"It been here before?" Chaz shouted.
"All morning. Here it comes again."
"Looks like a giant chicken hawk," Chaz opined. "My size."
Caracene moved up beside him. When she saw the bird she gasped and lost color. Chaz asked, "You know what that thing is?"
Caracene nodded. As she opened her mouth to say something, Procopio shouted, "If you people can't keep it down back there, go away."
The bird turned a half circle, one yellow eye fixed upon the stadium somewhere above Procopio's box.
Caracene' gasped again, and lost more color.
The bird folded its wings, falling into an attack dive. Its plunge was directly toward Chaz.
He hurled Caracene and a squealing Greystone into the concealment provided by the awning, dragged his blade out and braced himself.
The chariots were into the final leg of the race, the three frontrunners still neck and neck. The crowd was shrieking. Only a few spectators, quite close, noted Chaz's actions and looked up. They out-shrieked the race aficionados.
As Chaz prepared to meet his death Caracene bounded to her feet and rejoined him. Her hair was aflame. Her eyes had become whirling pools of smoke. She flung her hands toward the hawk. They glowed like red-hot steel.
The bird staggered just yards from completing its strike. That saved Chaz.
It smashed into the awning, shrieking and snapping at him over its shoulder. Beneath the canvas people scrambled. The bird ripped fabric and flesh with its talons.
Chaz swung his blade in a flat arc, scored the monster's beak and opened flesh nearby. His backstroke pruned feathers from a wingtip. The beast seemed of mixed minds. It wanted to face and fight him while continuing to rip at those still trapped beneath the canopy.
It dipped its head, snapped its beak, came up with a severed human arm. Chaz bounced a sword-stroke off its forehead, peeling flesh back. Blood flooded its eyes, it shrieked and dropped its booty, flung itself up to attack with its talons. Chaz clipped more feathers from the same wing, batted one monster foot aside with his blade, rolled beneath the other. From flat on his back he drove the tip of his sword into the beast's belly. Though he caused only a minor wound, the bird screeched and tried to flee.
It flung itself into the air, wings thundering. But with blood-blinded eyes and one wing trimmed it could not fly a straight line. It plunged into the crowd fifty yards away. People screamed as it began killing anyone it could reach.
Chaz gained his feet, ripped the canvas off the remains of those who had occupied Procopio's box, dreading what he might see when he found Greystone.
But the little scholar was fine. He had stretched out against a stone bench where it was impossible for the bird to reach him.
Procopio had been less fortunate. It was he who had lost the limb.
Chaz roared and looked for the bird.
It had tried to fly again, and again it had plunged into the crowd. The panic was spreading. In a rage, he prepared to storm through the mob on a quest for revenge.
Caracene's touch stayed him. He looked down into her eyes. They had returned to normal. Her hair no longer blazed. Her face was drained. Once she had his attention, she pointed.
He looked up a dozen rows. He saw a tall, grey-haired gentleman in antiquated apparel who stood calmly observing the growing terror. As his gaze swept over Chaz a taunting smile tugged at his lips.
"Green eyes!" Those awful green eyes! "It's him!" Chaz roared. "It has to be him." He hurled himself out of Procopio's box.
The old man strode away. The chaos parted for him as though he were fiery to the touch.
Chaz did not have the same luck.
A hammercrack of sorcery rang out over the stadium. Every hair on Chaz's head stood up and crackled. The monster bird screamed once, died.
In the moment he was looking away Chaz lost track of the grey-haired gentleman with the green eyes. He cursed.
Then he sighted Rider and Su-Cha ploughing through the crowd, headed his way.
XXXVII
"What brought you here?" Chaz demanded when Rider reached him.
"Caracene twisting the web. What happened?"
"She tried to stop that bird. 1 don't know where it came from, but I know how it got here. Shai Khe brought it."
"But ... " Su-Cha piped.
"I saw him. Caracene pointed him out. Where is she? He had greyed his hair and was wearing old-time clothes, like one of the Cynics, but it was him. Not his brother or cousin or uncle or whatever you're going to say, but him. There aren't any other eyes like his eyes. Where's Caracene gotten to?"
"There is no strain on the web," Rider said, scanning the crowd. "Su-Cha, start looking for him."
br /> Chaz was looking around now, quietly desperate, seeking Caracene. He did not catch a glimpse of her. He had remained calm throughout the crisis. Now he was ready to panic.
"Keep a watch for the woman, too," Rider told Su-Cha. He started down toward Procopio's box.
"Can't you feel her?" Chaz demanded.
"She isn't leaving any trail in the web."
"It's his fault. Shai Khe. He did something to her. She was almost ready to come over to our side. How could he have survived an airship's destruction? Especially with that shadow of his trying to gobble every soul in sight?"
"I don't know," Rider confessed. "I'm as mystified as you. I was convinced that he was dead. But he is old and powerful and tricky."
"I'm going looking too. He isn't getting away with Caracene if I've got anything to say about it."
"I don't know how he could have gotten through that alive," Rider repeated. "Unless he was not aboard the airship at all. Which could have been, though I don't see how he could have managed the airship so deftly from ashore."
Chaz, a glob of moroseness feeling sorry for itself huddling in a corner, did not look up. No slightest trace of Caracene or the green-eyed man had come to light yet.
"We'll hear from Shai Khe again," Rider said. "If, indeed, it was he that Chaz saw." Rider was not convinced that his only witness was reliable. "His ego wouldn't let it be otherwise." What was meant to be a feather of hope fell flat with Chaz.
"If it was Shai Khe, I'm convinced he has left the City. He would have to do so. He would need to restore the edifice of terror that began crumbling with the report of his death. If he lives, and Caracene is with him, he will be in the east and we will have report of them soon enough."
But the big northerner refused to be encouraged. "I'll find her," he mumbled. "I'll find them both. And when the dust settles there won't be no more green-eyed spook doctor hanging around. No more slave-master for her to be afraid of."
Rider looked at his friend with compassion, but he said nothing more. There was nothing to say. What was needed now was the passing of time. It would be a time shorter than any of them imagined.
Glen Cook, Sung in Blood
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