The Sunset Warrior - 01 Read Free

the entire Freehold. But it was possible that they were not immune to politicization. By all rights the Magic Man should be quartered on one of the Freehold’s Upper Levels, yet they were descending. Ronin shrugged mentally. No one knew much about them except that they were rumoured to be strange individuals. If one chose to reside on the fringes of the Middle Levels with the Neers it was no concern of his.
    Between each Level the Stairwell doubled back on itself at a landing. They traversed the Levels silently, the shivering torchlight distorting their shadows into grotesque parodies of human shapes, shambling things that danced along the walls and low ceilings, expressionless, unthinking, desire-less, receding from and approaching their human counterparts disconcertingly.
    At length they reached the proper Level and emerged into a Corridor identical to the one they had quit above, save that here the walls were painted a drab green. They waited while the daggam snuffed the torch and placed it in the niche in this landing.
    There was more activity on this Level. Men and women passed them going in either direction and the low hum of distant conversations filled the air like a tidal wash. Perhaps two hundred metres from where they emerged, they came upon a door painted dark green. All the others they had seen on this Level were the same colour as the walls. Before the door stood two daggam.
    A brief, muffled exchange passed between the four daggam. The shorter of the pair guarding the door nodded curtly, turned, and rapped a peculiar pattern on the door. It was opened by another daggam, and the messengers and Stahlig stepped through. Ronin moved to join them but was stopped short by the palm of one of the guards pressed against his chest. The daggam’s jaw jutted. ‘Where you goin’?’ His voice managed to sound bored and contemptuous at the same time.
    ‘I am with the Medicine Man.’ Ronin met his eyes with a steady gaze. He saw a round, jowly face too large for the small, fat nose and close-set eyes the colour of mud. But, thought Ronin, an efficient machine that will respond instantly and unfailingly to orders. I have seen so many.
    The square mouth with its thick red lips opened like a reluctant gate. ‘Don’t know anything ’bout it. Move along ’fore you get into trouble.’
    Ronin felt the pressure from the other’s hand and stood his ground. Surprise showed briefly in the daggam’s eyes: he was used to a certain response to the application of his power. He recognized fear in others easily, loved creating it, seeing it burn before him as if it were a sacrifice. He saw no fear now, and this disturbed him. Anger flared within him, and his fingers plucked at the top dagger strapped across his chest.
    Ronin’s hand was on the hilt of his sword when a face appeared from around the still partially open door. ‘Stahlig, you absentminded—’
    The Medicine Man’s eyes widened. ‘Ronin. Wondered where you were. Come along in.’
    Ronin stepped forward but the daggam still barred his way. The daggam, anger still beating within him, shook his head, and the blade of the dagger gleamed in the Corridor’s light.
    At that moment Robin saw another face appear. Long and lean with a cleft jaw filled with determination, a very high, narrow forehead topped by coal-black hair so slick and shiny it had blue highlights, it was dominated by wide-apart eyes of a clear piercing blue, whose penetrating gaze appeared to take in everything while giving away nothing.
    ‘Qieto, Marcsh. Let the fellow through.’ The voice was deep and commanding.
    Marcsh heard the words and automatically moved aside, but the anger refused to die, beating ineffectually at the cage of his burly chest. He glared in silent resentment as the figure moved past him, careful that his Saardin should not see, and thus punish him.
    Ronin found himself in an antechamber off which he saw two rooms set at angles. The one on his left was furnished starkly and