The doors fell shut, and they were in a quiet space. The mechs in the room stared.
“We need to return to the same coordinates,” Batanya told them, her voice as smooth and calm as if she were ordering a drink. “Vandler has agreed to show us where the signal came from.”
The mechs, a man and an old woman, looked confused and glanced from Batanya to Vandler, who was so outraged he wasn’t able to speak. But the mechs started about their preparations. Probably because of the smooth-barreled gun Clovache had drawn.
The two mercs hauled Vandler up on the platform. “Send,” Batanya bellowed, and the mechs obeyed. Since Vandler had done the necessary chanting so shortly before, the sending worked.
Batanya, Clovache, and Vandler arrived on a small island of solid ground in the middle of a swamp. Short trees were all around but glimpses of light blue sky could be seen between the fronds.Birds called and something splashed into the mud-colored water on their left. Vandler fell to his knees. The sending was hard the first few times.
She and Clovache were back to back, Vandler between them, anticipating an immediate attack. Batanya held the paraton in defense position, her forefinger having already pressed the tiny lever that would prime the weapon, her thumb on the firing button.
“Look,” said Clovache. There was a body a few feet away.
“Simone.” The long light hair was a vital clue. Whatever had slithered into the water had been eating on the body, and much of it was missing.
“Not Geit,” Clovache said, choking on the words.
Batanya knelt by the body. “Go in peace to the fields of plenty, Simone,” she said. It was an abbreviated version of the death chant and all she could manage at this moment. She gave the clearing a comprehensive look, reading the evidence as clearly as if she’d been present.
“Their dead are gone, and Geit is not here,” Batanya said. “His team must have done some damage. I see drag marks.”
Clovache followed the torn mud and grass. “This way,” she said, pointing.
“What is this place, Coturigo?” Batanya asked Vandler, who had finally gotten to his feet.
His jaw was rigid with his anger but he replied. “It’s a primitive place. A jungle planet. But possibly with rich lodes of three rare minerals underneath, which is why the previous party was sent here all those years ago. There was a mage with them, and he had a beacon. They did not have amulets back then.”
Batanya’s hand went to the one around her neck. They called it an amulet, but it was really a tiny machine with a plain veneer. If she pressed the little button on the side, the mechs at homewould know she needed extraction immediately, and they would know exactly where she was.
“How this beacon got activated so many years later that we received the rescue signal this morning, I don’t know.” Vandler shook his head. He had gotten his anger under control. “We need to look for your team leader and get out of here. We can send a properly armed team later to follow this mysterious beacon.”
Batanya nodded understanding. Clovache was waiting impatiently for them to move off the patch of dry land and onto the narrow neck of dirt marked with blood and the passage of many feet. Batanya passed her, paraton at the ready; Vandler came behind her, and then Clovache fell into place guarding the rear.
Batanya was sweating as they ran. If the memory of Therryl’s gaping wound hadn’t been so fresh, she might have been tempted to peel her suit down again. On the other hand, she was not getting scratched by the violent plant life and bitten by insects as Vandler was, going by his curses.
“Be quiet. We have to listen,” Clovache hissed. After that, the mage was silent.
Batanya was focused on the ground. Most of the prints were of bare feet or sandals. The drag marks were almost certainly from Geit’s boots.
Glancing up and ahead, Batanya froze and dropped down. She could see Geit through a clump of tall reeds. He was moving, but his stance was odd. Something was very wrong.
“Clovache,” Batanya said, in as quiet and level a voice as she could command. “I see Geit, but he’s suspended in the air and moving... not by his own power.”
Clovache crouched down by Batanya. “What is he doing? How is he...?”
“Some kind of an invisible stake moving with magic,” Vandler answered from behind them.
“Stay here.” Batanya crept forward. If Geit had been conscious he would have heard them by now, even with the swamp noise. He was an experienced warrior in all kinds of terrain, including swampland. For him to be exposed and displayed... this was clearly a crude ambush, with Geit as bait.
Batanya worked her way closer. She lifted the paraton and looked through the tiny scope mounted on top. Geit’s eyes opened and closed. He was still alive. His chest looked oddly blurry. Batanya figured that some sort of invisible noose was passed around him under his arms. That was what was holding the man upright. Blood soaked the material of his liquid armor, chiefly on his left arm. Batanya winced when she saw tears running down Geit’s weathered face. Just like Therryl’s.
“Geit,” she said urgently.
The merc’s eyes flickered. He began to struggle, suspended in the air. It was horrible to see.
But they couldn’t go charging in. For one thing, he might be rotating on top of water.
“Who would have set off an old beacon?” Vandler muttered. “Who would have called a team here to be killed?” The mage could not seem to think to himself. Batanya wondered if all mages talked this much.
