The Chronicles of Riddick - Alan Dean Foster [22]
On the pedestrian path below, all that Lajjun and the three clerics could see of the fight were those same muzzle flashes, visible behind windows and doorways. Shouts and screams filtered down to street level between shots. Head tilted back as she stared up at the veranda of her home, Lajjun held her daughter close. Ziza gazed wide-eyed at the second-story confusion. Though she was very mature for her age, it was just as well that walls and railings obscured her view.
Sooner than anyone could have predicted, it was quiet once again. Though as curious as anyone would have been to view the aftermath of all the fighting, the occupants of nearby houses sensibly kept their windows shut and their heads inside. Tragically, it was often at the end of violent confrontations that the innocent and uninvolved caught the last stray bullet. While the fighting had taken place right next door, sensible neighbors knew it was better to learn the details via the morning news.
At the top of the stairway, Imam and the young soldier charged with restraining him squinted past the shattered doors at the second-floor room. Something was coming toward them. A single figure. The soldier momentarily forgot to breathe. The figure was not armored. It was alone. No one flanked it, no one held a gun to its back. Which meant that except for the prisoner, he was also alone. Of his ten comrades there was no sign. The implication paralyzed him as effectively as any nerve agent.
The remaining figure came closer. The man was not especially tall, but very wide. He filled much of the stairway. For a moment, he stared at the young soldier. Then he reached out and calmly removed the knife from the younger man’s grasp. When the soldier did not move, Riddick fluttered an encouraging hand in his direction.
“Shoo, now.”
The soldier remembered to breathe. He also remembered his legs. Recalling the incident later, he considered it a matter of some pride that he had not fallen as he had stumbled down the stairs.
Alone with his host once more, Riddick murmured, “You mentioned—‘her.’”
Sneaking a quick peek past the big man, Imam scanned the upstairs room. It was filled with lumpy, motionless shapes that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. “She, uh—she . . .” It took him a moment to find his voice. “She went looking for you. Followed your footsteps too literally, I’m afraid. People died.”
Riddick inhaled deeply and shook his head. He never wanted that. But despite his best efforts, things had spiraled out of control. No good agonizing over it now. Together, the two men started downstairs. Imam could see that his guest had turned uncharacteristically thoughtful.
“She never forgave you for leaving.”
“She needed to stay away from me.” Shifting his gaze, Riddick met the other man’s eyes meaningfully. “You all do.”
They took care exiting onto the street, but the soldiers who had been guarding Imam’s family and friends had already taken their leave—inspired, no doubt, by the words of the young soldier Riddick had spared. Whether or if they would return with reinforcements did not concern him. Very soon now he planned to be far, far away.
Everyone was staring at him. With expectation? If so, they were going to be disappointed. Imam would be, too. Knowing Riddick a little, he ought to have known better.
Sensing movement, he glanced up. Aereon was on the veranda, gazing down at him. Tricks. He didn’t like tricks. Not when they were plied by others, and especially not when they were directed at him.
The little girl took a step forward. If she had any comprehension of what had taken place up above, it had not visibly affected her. “Are you gonna stop the new monsters now? The human monsters?”
He looked back up at the veranda. The Elemental was still there, watching him. They made eye contact for a moment. Then he turned and moved on, passing the girl without