The Sable City, Book I of the Norothian Cycle

The Sable City, Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Thirty-Nine

“Balan, Balan, Balan!” Nesha-tari shouted, and the Devil Lord winked into being at the head of the table.

“Damn,” Balan muttered. “Forgot about that.”

Zeb grabbed his axe from where it leaned against a wall as his crossbow took too long to load to be useful at the moment. Tilda however snatched up her bow and drew a bead on Balan, while Heggenauer raised his shield and mace. Balan smirked at all three of them.

“You don’t really think any of that would work, do you?” Balan asked, but he lost his smile as a snikt! sounded behind him and Uriako Shikashe extended the white blade of the Breath of Winter, holding the tip of the curving sword just off Balan’s neck above his right shoulder.

“Huh,” Balan said, glancing sideways. “Yes, that might do it.”

“Balan, what have you done with John Deskata?” Nesha-tari demanded.

“Not a thing, Madame. He decided to leave completely of his own accord.”

“Where has he gone?” Tilda asked, still with her bow fully drawn back, the string hooked on her archer’s glove and her straight left arm trembling slightly.

“Not far,” Balan said.

“Enough dissembling,” Nesha-tari snapped, marching around the table and coming to stand quite near the devil. Tilda relaxed the pull on her bowstring before her arm gave, and Zeb knelt behind the table to load his crossbow as innocuously as possible.

Nesha-tari’s blue eyes flashed as she glared at the devil, standing near enough now to touch him but only raising one hand to jab a finger at his face. Zeb knew the woman was powerful, but the sight of her confronting the horned, hoofed, red-eyed Devil Lord with her hands empty of weapons, or lightning for that matter, was truly impressive. She growled as she spoke to Balan.

“You will tell the truth to me now, as your kind must. What is it you think to do here?”

Balan stared into Nesha-tari’s eyes, and a wistful smile played about his dark gray lips.

“There is no need for such a coarse tone, Madame. Nor indeed for you to involve yourself here at all.”

Balan looked at Nesha-tari with a solemn expression on his diabolic features, and spoke with complete sincerity.

“There is no reason what I do here need be of any concern to you, nor to your Blue Master, Akroya the Great.”

Nesha-tari’s lips pulled back, exposing her even teeth.

“How do you…”

“Because Danavod told me who you are,” Balan said with a shrug, then looked around at the others. “Even had she not, we would have learned all by now. You people talk entirely too much. Do you not know that the streets of this city have ears? Not to mention eyes. Beady little red ones.”

“Balan…” Nesha-tari snarled. The devil sighed.

“Call off your man, Nesha-tari, that we might speak in a more polite fashion.”

“He is stalling,” Tilda said, but Nesha-tari met Shikashe’s eyes over Balan’s shoulder, and the sword blade hovering just above it.

“Uriako Shikashe, stand down.”

The face mask of the samurai’s helmet was undone. He was seen to frown deeply.

“That is not a good idea, Madame.”

“It is an order. Are you in my service, or are you not?”

Shikashe let a hard breath out through his nose, then gave Balan’s neck a soft tap with the flat of his sword. Balan winced as though the blade was either very hot, or very cold. The samurai lowered his sword and took a step back, though he took a formal stance with both hands on the pommel, clearly ready to strike in an instant.