Masters of Fantasy Part 14

Al!

Nothing could stop Larson now. "Shadow!" he howled. "Shadow! NO!" Only then, he remembered the blond. The man lay unconscious by the gift shop, a horde of hostages swarming over him. Some attempted to tie him with souvenir King Kong airplanes and anything else with laces or strings. Others pelted him with metal statuettes.

Larson dropped the gun and fell to his knees. He clamped his face in his hands, his own blood warm and sticky on his cheeks. "No! No! No!" It was all my fault! If I hadn't picked that spot, they wouldn't have seen him. Shadow would still be alive.

Mrs. Larson rushed to her son, cradling him in her arms like an enormous baby. "Al." Tears dripped down her cheeks as she looked at the blood. "Al, say something." Pam knelt beside them and took Larson's aching hand.

"I'm all right, Mom," Larson croaked out, though he could not even convince himself.

Finally, Silme appeared, and she had clearly read the spirit of Larson's thoughts, if not the exact words.

Stop beating yourself up. You couldn't have known he was there.

Larson wasn't so sure. Accidentally or on purpose, he had betrayed a buddy, had caused his very death.

In 'Nam, he had learned to keep an eye on each and every companion, to do whatever it took to keep all of them safe. They relied on him, and he knew he could rely on them. Except, this time, he had made a mistake, and his best friend had paid with his life.

Silme's delay had, apparently, come from obtaining the key to the stairwell. Now, the police came to survey the scene, herding most of the hostages toward the safety of the stairwell.

"What happened?" Carter asked, opening the flood gates. Most of the hostages began talking at once.

Mahan made his way to Larson. "What really happened?"

Mrs. Larson answered first, hugging Larson to her, though it smeared blood onto her arms, face, and dress. "They shot my boy. Can't you see, they shot my boy."

"I'm all right," Larson said again. His arm ached, and his thigh felt like a bowling ball; but these faded beneath the terrible agony in his soul.

Carter called over the hubbub. "Mahan!"

"Yeah!"

"I'm going to take these folks down and get some backup. You okay up here?"

Mahan looked at Larson.

"Enemy's all down. Third one went over the side," Larson a.s.sured. The words ached through Larson.

And Shadow, too.

"Yeah!" Mahan called back, barely missing a beat. He looked at Silme, Pam, and Mrs. Larson. "You three need to go with the others."

Mrs. Larson did not look up. "I'm not leaving my son."

Mahan looked at Pam.

"My brother," she said.

"My fiance," Silme added before the policeman could even ask.

Mahan sighed, then clapped Larson's shoulder. "Guess I know now why you did what you did. You're not really FBI, are you?"

Larson smiled weakly. "Wouldn't tell you if I was."Mahan laughed. "Carter'll have the paramedics up here soon. You going to make it till then?""I've been hurt worse.""Really?" Mahan brushed hair from his forehead. "I better rethink that FBI question."A voice wafted from the gift shop. "I hurt, too. Why no pretty lady hold me?"Everyone whirled at once. Even Larson struggled to a painful stand, recognizing the voice. Shadow? It can't be!

Taziar dragged himself from the stairwell, smearing blood across the marble floor. Dirt covered every part, and scarlet splotches decorated his tattered clothing.

Silme at least managed to start the question Larson could not. "How did you . . . ? How . . . ?"

"Don't move." Mahan approached Taziar, hand raised, attention on the climber's every move. "Who are you?"

Silme brushed past the policeman to a.s.sist Taziar. "That's Taziar Medakan. He's our friend."

Pam just shook her head. "You . . . you fell off the eighty-sixth floor of the Empire State Building!

How . . . how?"

Taziar smiled weakly. "Falling off, that easy. Climb up from ground, that hard." When no one laughed, he gave the explanation they all needed. "Just fall two floor. Land on ledge. Go through open window."

He threw up a hand, as if stating the obvious. "Come here."

"A miracle," Mrs. Larson breathed.

Mahan scratched his head. "Actually, been about a dozen attempted suicides before that fence got up. I don't think any of them made it all the way to the ground."

"Really?" Mrs. Larson finally pried her gaze from her son, which pleased Al Larson. He did not think he

could handle another moment of her pained scrutiny.

"Believe I even remember some old fellow landing on that very same ledge as this guy here. Broke a

bone or two but otherwise all right. Wind currents tend to blow everything back toward the building.

Probably got a fortune in pennies on every ledge."

Larson had always believed that a coin dropped from the observatory would crush anyone or thing it hit.

Now, he knew why he had never actually heard of anyone killed in such a manner despite the open

eighty-sixth-floor terraces and the building's many windows.The ping of the arriving elevator brought an unexpected rush of relief. Taziar was here, alive. The paramedics had come.

Larson closed his eyes, clutching his sister's hand, enjoying the music of a gurney rolling across the marble floor.

Shadamehr and the Old Wive's Tale

A Shadamehr Story Margaret Weis & Don Perrin (Based on the world and characters created by Larry Elmore) "Begging your pardon, good sir," said the barkeep deferentially, "but this note is for you." "For me?" The man thus addressed was considerably amazed. "But I am a stranger in these parts! I am merely pa.s.sing through on my way east. Surely you have made a mistake." He waved the note away.

"This must be for someone else."

"I do not think I could be mistaken, sir," said the barkeep with a cunning look. "You have graced my tavern with your presence these three days now, being kind enough to say that my mead is the best in the area-"

"And so it is," said the man, interrupting.

The barkeep bowed and continued. "And thus I have come to know you, sir, very well, as have many of my patrons, for you have been most generous in buying rounds for the house."

The man smiled in a self-deprecating manner and smoothed the ends of a very long and very black

mustache. He winked at his companion, a young woman with thick red curly hair, bound up in a coil at

the base of her neck. She wore the plain brown robes of one who practices earth magic.

"Therefore," said the barkeep, "when a note is delivered to me to be given to a person of a certain description that matches you most wonderfully, sir, I am left with no doubts."

"What would that description be?" the man asked, his eyes glinting with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Let us hear it."

"This is what I was told: 'He is a human male of middle years with a nose like an hawk's beak, a chin like an ax-blade, eyes blue as the skies above New Vinnengael and a long black mustache of which he is

very proud and is constantly smoothing or twirling. In addition, he has long black hair, which he wears bound in a tail at the back of his head, in the manner of the elves.' ""Bah! That could be anyone," said the man."He is very handsome-" continued the barkeep solemnly."Oh, then, you are right. That is me," said the man calmly and he plucked the message from the barkeep's hand.

"You are insufferable, Shadamehr," said his companion in a low voice.

"You are only jealous, Alise," Shadamehr said as he broke the seal and unfolded the note. The two spoke

in Elven, a language which no one in the Karnuan city was likely to understand. "Jealous that no one sent the beautiful human female with the red hair a mysterious missive."

His companion rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"I trust this note means that our generous hospitality has finally paid off," Shadamehr said. "At last we are about to receive some information. I don't mind telling you that I am growing sick to death of mead."

Reading the note, he appeared puzzled, then gratified. "Here now! I never expected this." He handed the note to his companion.

Doubtless you do not remember me, my lord, but we were companions in our youth. I was an acolyte with the Revered Magi at the time you were in training as a knight. We met through the unfortunate circ.u.mstance of our each falling in love with the same woman at the same time. I shall never forget the tricks we played on each other as rivals, tricks that turned out to be for naught, when she married a third man neither of us had known about. Our rivalry became friendship, a friendship that was severed when you left Vinnengael in anger over the policies of the Emperor and I left to return to my homeland to take up my duties for the Church.

I have followed the tales of your exploits with the deepest pleasure and, although you travel under another name, when I heard from a traveler of a generous stranger with hair as black as midnight, a nose like a hawk and a laugh that booms like a mountain slide, I knew there could only be one. I am certain the G.o.ds have sent you. I believe that you come in answer to my prayers.