Ryk E. Spoor's Blog, page 41

Phoenix Ascendant: Chapter 2

Phoenix Kyri had just made a shocking discovery...

 

 

Chapter 2.

     Tobimar caught at Kyri's arm and pulled her back. "Don't! We don't know how these open, remember?" He caught her gaze, staring steadily into the huge, gray eyes, waited until they focused on him. "You all right?"

 

She closed her eyes and then nodded slowly. At that point, the recognition of the name she'd screamed hit him. "Wait. Rion? Your brother? But… he died in front of you, didn't he?"

 

"Yes… yes, of course. You're right." She cast an agonized, confused glance at the tube as Lady Shae slid a floating cradle under it. "But… but that looks like him. I mean, it really looks like him."

 

"You're looking through a not-perfectly-clear window at some guy floating in whatever-that-stuff-is that Wieran filled these tubes with," Poplock pointed out. "Your eyes might be tricking you. Shae's got that one; let's finish this work up. We're not opening any of these things yet, so there's nothing more to do with that mystery anyway until we're done here. Right?"

 

Kyri tore her attention away from the receding, mysterious tube with a visible effort, then gave a rather forced-looking smile. "Of course, you're right. As usual."

 

The two of them worked in silence for a few minutes. Tobimar couldn't help but think about the bizarre event. What could that mean? Kyri's got really good senses, and if anyone would know her brother, it should be her. What if that is Rion?

 

"Could be another trap," the little Toad muttered in his ear, making him twitch.

 

"What? Are you reading minds now, Poplock?" he murmured back.

 

"Not hard to guess what you're thinking about. Probably what she's thinking about too."

 

"I suppose. Yes, it could be a trap. But for what purpose?"

 

"That's the murky part, yeah. It's not an illusion in that oversized jar, I can tell you that; if her eyes weren't just confused, then whoever's in there must look awfully like her brother."

 

"But looking like him would be pretty useless."

 

"Very useless," Kyri's voice spoke from behind them, making them both jump. "Sorry to startle you."

 

"We were trying not to …"

 

"I know. But it isn't as though I'm not thinking the same things." She shook her head as they started maneuvering yet another sealed tube up and out. "I watched Rion die. An impostor won't fool me for a second."

 

Poplock made a face. "Don't be so hopping sure. We couldn't even tell that Miri and Shae were demons until they dropped the masks. We're dealing with great demons and gods; they can fog even Myrionar's sight, and you know it."

 

Tobimar could see Kyri try to come up with a countering argument and fail. "An Eternal Servant maybe?" he suggested. "Like the Unity Guard?"

 

The Phoenix Justiciar shook her head. "Possible, I suppose, but it makes no sense. Why put one of those artificial things in a suspension tube? They don’t age on their own and I can't think they'll be better off soaking in liquid than operating. And what good would such a thing be without the original alive anyway?"

 

"I don't have answers there," Tobimar admitted. "But I'll tell you what: once we've got every tube out of here, that one will be the first to be opened. We know the tubes are stable, so the Guards will be okay as long as they're out of here, and your tube constitutes a mystery that we really want to solve."

 

Kyri smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Tobimar. You know it would eat at me if I had to keep waiting."

 

"Well, assuming that Shae or Miri or Hiriista don't come up with some really convincing argument that we should keep waiting, I'll go along with that idea," Poplock said. "But remember that this is their country and… Oh, drought."

 

"What?" Tobimar suddenly became aware of a faint hissing noise in the background. He whirled, seeking its source, and found it; a grayish line shimmering from the far wall. Water. The wall has finally sprung a leak.

 

Kyri ignited in golden flame. "MOVE IT, everyone! I know we're exhausted, but the wall holding back Enneisolaten is giving way!"

 

Muttered oaths echoed around the room and the exhausted salvage crews redoubled their efforts, yanking the tubes from their foundations, desperately dragging them to floating cradles, sprinting out with them. Kyri placed herself against the far wall, which had begun to crack across its surface, and auric-orange flame spread, dug in, anchored, refused the movement, denied the water entrance. But Tobimar knew that her power would not last forever, or even for terribly long. Both of them had drained their reserves almost to nothing in the battle against Sanamaveridion; he saw the strain on her face already.

 

He saw Poplock scuttling around the wrecked mystical machinery at the center of the Great Array, shoving various things into his neverfull pack. Don't know what he's doing, but there isn't too much he can do to help in carrying these things, so I suppose he's doing whatever he thinks is best.

There was a cracking, grumbling noise from above, and part of the ceiling sagged.

 

"Everyone out!" bellowed Tanvol, his deep voice echoing around the room. "We've done what we can! Phoenix! Phoenix, run!"

 

But instead of running, Kyri walked, backing away from the far wall a step at a time, golden fire streaming from her arms, covering the wall, trying to climb higher, to grasp the bulging ceiling above.

 

Poplock bounded to Tobimar's shoulder. "Come on, go, go, go!"

 

"I should help –"

 

"She knows what she's doing! You don't have enough control of your power yet!"

 

Tobimar gritted his teeth but couldn't argue. He could use the power of Terian to reinforce himself, and to deliver incomparable strikes against his enemies, but controlling that power to reach out and hold something without possibly making it worse… no, he didn't know enough to do that.

 

But Lady Shae and Miri knew how, and did. The two former demons flanked Kyri and their power – white and aqua – reached out, building columns and braces of temporary might and evanescent energy. The workers were streaming out, Tobimar now passing most of the stragglers, glancing over his shoulder at the three women, still methodically retreating, holding uncountable tons of stone and water at bay through unbending will as much as immortal power.

 

Tanvol was surveying the room himself, making sure all the others were getting out. "Lady Shae! Miri! Phoenix! We're all out! No more time to waste, COME ON!"

 

Tobimar, Poplock clinging tightly to his shoulder, and Hiriista ran through the open doors of Wieran's lab, hearing a creaking, ripping rumble starting, shaking the stone below them. Light Tanvol and Anora Lal sprinted past them with Unity Guard speed.

 

Tobimar couldn't keep from turning around.

 

A blaze of white-gold light appeared in the entryway, and he saw all three women flying towards him, Kyri's gold-fire wings stretched out and nearly touching the sides of the corridor, while Shae and Miri streaked through the air seemingly by will of light alone.

 

And a rumbling roar echoed out behind them; dark-roiling movement seethed into view.

 

"Great Desert!" he cursed, and ran.

 

Kyri caught up with him after only a few strides and caught him up, speeding up the stairs, weaving between the support columns. Behind them the water roared like Sanamaveridion's rage, and Poplock gave a terrifed, wordless squeak. Cold, foul-smelling wind blew past them and Tobimar saw to his horror that the water was catching up, channeled by the tunnel into unspeakable velocity, reaching, hissing spray vaporizing from Kyri's flaming wings, and then –

 

-- water caught them, coiling, grasping, filled with stinking bottom-mud and shards of stone, propelling them onward --

 

-- smashed into a wall, a stunning blow, Poplock torn from his shoulder --

 

-- and again, forward, unable to breathe, lungs beginning to protest, tumbling over and over, hammered by pebbles and rocks and timbers torn from the bracing below, racing at unguessable speed --

 

-- breath burning from being held in, unable to see, water dimming even the brightest lights, or perhaps there were no lights any more…

 

Tobimar felt darkness greater than that surrounding him starting to close in on his consciousness, a red-tinged blackness that meant death; once he gave in, he would try to breathe, and the vile water would fill his lungs. But he couldn't hold on much longer. Poplock… Kyri…

 

Abruptly he struck stone, rough but symmetrical, cut and ordered, and the headlong flight had slowed, the water was becoming sluggish, hesitating, going backward. With the last of his strength he reached out, grabbed hold of the stone beneath, and held on as the water streamed by, first slowly, then faster and faster, as knives seemed to be impaling his lungs and his grip weakened. He felt his fingers starting to slip –

 

-- and a massive hand closed around his and yanked him up.

 

The gasp of pure air was the most wonderful thing he had ever felt. For a moment he simply hung there, letting the air force back the reddish-black haze that had nearly taken him. Then he managed to open his eyes again.

 

Tanvol was holding him half-suspended in air, the huge Light gasping for breath himself, draped across a brace that was jammed diagonally in the stairway that ascended to the Valatar Throneroom.

 

"Thanks," Tobimar managed.

 

"Think… nothing of it… Prince of Skysand," Tanvol replied slowly. His grip slackened. "Glad to… have been able… to provide a last… service."

 

A sliver of ice pierced Tobimar's heart. The massive, boisterous, inexhaustible Light seemed to be… fading. "Last… what do you mean?"

 

"It appears," Tanvol said, with his brilliant grin wan and regretful, "that one of the few capsules… we failed to retrieve… was my own." His eyes were clouded. "I… see two places at once… here, and … a dark place, with vague shimmering against glass before my eyes, and it is cold."

 

"T.. Tanvol? No, NO, NO!" Miri was stumbling up the steps. "No, I won't let –"

 

The rumbling chuckle was a ghost of its former self, but the humor was there. "Alas, my one-time demonic comrade, I fear you … cannot forbid… death." The black eyes blinked, glazed, the head was drooping, even as Lady Shae and Phoenix staggered up. "I see… cracks forming. Slow enough… to allow a farewell… swift enough to not draw out the pain. It… was a good life… Lady Shae… Miri… do not mourn, but … sing for me. The Light… awaits me. I see it now… Light beyond here… beyond the glass… that drips water upon… my unmoving face."

 

Tanvol's eyes closed, but he was smiling, and the lips parted once more. "… and with … such glory ahead… who wants… to live… forever?"

 

The massive Light's body sagged, and Tobimar caught it as it slid, now lifeless, to the ground.

 

 

 

 

 

Phoenix Ascendant: Chapter 1

 

We've been reminded of what went before; now the new material begins!

 

 

Chapter 1.

    "Lady Shae!"

Kyri shouted even as she realized that Shae could not possibly react in time, and lunged forward, shoving the taller woman aside. Her gauntleted hands caught the sagging beam, gripped so tightly that the hardwood dented beneath her fingers, and she braced herself, throwing all the Vantage strength into keeping the monstrous mass of stone above from moving so much as one more inch.

By then, Shae had caught herself against the corridor wall. "Phoenix? By the Light!" Immediately the red-haired ruler of Kaizatenzei raised her voice. "Tanvol! Miri! Braces, quickly!"

Kyri felt her arms starting to give. Myrionar, no!

Another presence next to her, and a glow of blue-white power enveloped Tobimar Silverun as he used his newfound strength to reinforce hers, the two of them keeping the roof of the corridor from collapsing until the two Lights of Kaizatenzei – Tanvol with his massive frame, bushy black beard, and booming voice, and Miri, tiny, delicate, and golden blonde – arrived and levered their braces into place.

"Whew!" Kyri said in an explosive breath, and leaned somewhat shakily against the wall. "That was …"

"… far too close, Phoenix," Shae said, and looked at her with concern. "Are you all right? Do you need to rest?"

I can't afford to rest. She didn't say that – it would trigger an argument from all her friends who would then insist she needed to sit down. "No, I'm all right. Besides, we're almost there. We can't stop now!"

She saw Miri bite her lip and gaze down the last few steps of the staircase to the doors of Master Wieran's great laboratory, which had shut behind them when they had left to confront the Great Dragon Sanamaveridion. It wasn't hard to guess what was going through her mind; the almost ethereal girl was still coming to terms with the fact that she was no longer a demon but… something else, but a something else that still remembered, and felt terrible responsibility for, the evils she'd committed and assisted before awakening to the Light she'd been pretending to serve.

Kyri put her hand gently on Miri's shoulder. "Come on. Let's save them."

Miri looked up and swallowed, then smiled and nodded bravely. "Yes, of course."

"Oh bottommud!" Poplock Duckweed cursed from the door. "Stupid things locked themselves."

"Do we have to break through?" Shae asked, looking apprehensively at the already-cracked stone above. "I do not look forward to trying anything so forceful here."

"Ease your mind, Lady Shae," Hiriista said with a rippling of his crest that conveyed a smile. "I and the Toad will unravel these seals momentarily. Wieran's major defenses were broken; these should prove little impediment, and then we can leave the doors open to provide their own bracing – just in case."

True to his word, after a few minutes of muttered consultation and inscribing of various symbols, there was a muffled clack and the doors began to swing open.

The great laboratory looked far different than it had when last Kyri had seen it. Great shards of stone, many with sections of the Great Array still glinting on their surfaces, had plunged down into the ranks of tubes that encircled the forty-nine levels of the laboratory, and smashed much of the fabulously complex machinery and sorcerous designs which had filled the center of the immense room. Sharp smells of chemicals, the sulfur tang of broken stone, the tingling scent of sparks, and underlying stenches of more ominous nature were set off by the eerie and irregular lighting; some of the lightglobes spaced around the laboratory were still intact, others crushed to dark powder, and other devices and runes flickered with blue or green or purple light. The ordered hum was now disrupted, uneven, but still present.

"Careful!" Poplock admonished in his surprisingly powerful voice. "We know what's at stake, but Hiriista and I have to check these tubes out first. The fact you Unity Guards are mostly still moving tells us that old Wieran's systems weren't so fragile that a few falling rocks would do them in, but we don't know what kind of traps he had on them, or how independent they are, or how hard it is to get someone out of one of these things alive."

Kyri restrained herself with difficulty; she could only imagine how hard it must be for the others, most of whom had friends – or, in the case of the Unity Guard, themselves – somewhere in those shadowed rows of coffinlike tubes.

"He seemed to be able to put people in or take them out very easily," Shae said in her warm, steady contralto. "I've seen him do it."

"Alas," Hiriista said, as he and Poplock cautiously approached one of the intricately sculpted tubes, "that means little to nothing. Weiran may have carried a charm that allowed him – and only him – to safely open and close the tubes, or have previously unlocked some safeguards before you observed him, or any of a number of things which would make it far, far more difficult for anyone else."

Kyri stood a considerable distance away from the two as they worked. There was no point in crowding them; she knew almost nothing about magic, while Hiriista was probably the greatest magewright in the country and Poplock, for all his protests that he was a mere amateur, had an uncanny insight into the workings of mystical devices, especially from the point of view of someone trying to undo any locks or defenses on such devices.

Lady Shae was herself a magewright of no small skill, but Kyri watched her eyes first narrow, then widen, and then saw the ruler of Kaizatenzei rise quietly and move away, shaking her head. "I am older than everyone in this room put together," she said with a rueful smile. "Except for Miri, of course. And I have studied magical works, off and on, for centuries. But those two…" She shook her head again in disbelief. "You say he's only twelve?"

"That's our guess," Tobimar said. "Of course, for the Toads it's not the same; by the time he was a year and a half old he was close to the size he is now, and already talking at the level of an eight-year-old. Toads grow up fast. But even so… yes, he's something unique, isn't he?"

"My body and spirit remember how unique very well, yes," she assented wryly, referring to the way in which Poplock had defeated and nearly killed her with her own magic, before Shae had followed Miri and changed her mind about which side she was on.

"Does that mean that he's not going to live as long as a human?" Miri asked, worry in her voice.

"On average, Toads don't live as long as we do, no," Tobimar said quietly. "On the other hand, if someone really wants to live longer, there are ways, and I'm sure Poplock will find one."

Kyri chuckled. "Yes, I think he will."

Tanvol and his usual companion, the Light Anora (who was taller than Miri but even more pale-skinned and with hair so blonde it was nearly white), came to stand near them. "I've told the others to spend their time putting up more bracing all along the stairs," Tanvol said. "Give them something useful to do while we're waiting."

Kyri grunted. "You know, I think I'll do that too. I have no idea how long this will take."

Tobimar nodded and followed as she started out of the room, and the others came after them. No one really wants to just wait without being able to do anything.

There was a lot of bracing to do. Most of the three hundred forty-three step staircase had cracks running across the ceiling, showing where the combat against the miles-long Sanamaveridion had transmitted its shock and violence down, hundreds of feet into the living rock. Miri could summon temporary bracing columns of stone, but more permanent timbers of wood, or supports of metal, had to be put in place to ensure that the path would remain clear.

On the positive side, after a good night's rest there were a total of eighty of the Unity Guard still present and active, and eighty of those borderline-superhuman warriors could do a lot of work. Orders were bellowed, relays of materials and workers and water were organized, and strong, regular ranks of bracing and beams began to spread up the stairs like frost across a windowpane, a smooth and inexorable blooming of perfect symmetry. Kyri let them direct the work; these people knew each other and trusted each other, and she was the outsider – respected and perhaps more, but still not one of them, and not able to respond as they could to a hint or a gesture.

But finally she heard Hiriista's steamkettle whistle.

"Well?"

Poplock spoke up from the mazakh's shoulder. "Good news. There were some boobytraps, but Hiriista and I think we've got 'em all. The good news there is that they were universal traps – once we broke them, they're off all the tubes, and each tube is self-sufficient. I don't think there's anything else on them; let's face it, Wieran had plenty of other security and he didn't have any reason to expect anyone would ever get the chance to try to take away his human batteries."

"I have to wonder," Tanvol rumbled, "just what will happen to, well, this me when that me," he gestured vaguely to the dimness in the laboratory, "well, wakes up."

"Not sure, honestly," said Poplock. "But that question isn't something to answer right now. The tubes have to be opened carefully and we don't know what shape the people inside will be in. From what we know of Zogen Josan, he was in perfectly good shape, but they knew he was retiring a couple months ahead of time, so they could have spent that time preparing his body for release. We're going to have to take all the tubes out of here as fast as we can; there's no way to brace that ceiling, it's a dome a thousand or more feet across and hundreds high – it's a water-clear miracle it didn't all collapse right away. But –"

There was a clatter and hiss as fragments of rock spattered from the floor a short distance off.

"—but, as I was saying, that could happen any time now."

"Enough with the bracing, lads!" Tanvol thundered. "Everyone, we're moving the tubes containing our people – and us – out of here! In relays, everyone, we can fit three across the main entrance, so I want teams of three. The strongest here -- Lady Shae, Phoenix, and Miri, with of course Tobimar Silverun's assistance – will remove the tubes as fast as they can, while we run a rotating relay to carry them to the Valatar Throne."

That's… twenty-seven teams, plus the three of us. She heard a faint groaning of the stone overhead, and rock dust sifted down. I hope that will be enough.

     "It has to be enough," Tobimar said, and she realized she'd spoken aloud.

"It will be enough," Miri said. She reached down and detached one of the tubes – taller than she was, weighing over a hundred and fifty pounds without the man inside – and heaved it up, carrying it easily to the first three-man team. "We will make it enough."

Kyri watched them lugging the massive tube and frowned, even as she hauled the next tube out of its socket and walked heavily over to the next team. Twenty-seven teams. Three hundred forty-three steps, then down a good stretch of corridor, then up the fifty or sixty steps to the Valatar Throneroom… that's a ten-minute operation even if they don't start to get exhausted right away. Twenty minute round trip. We have to get one a minute or so. She looked around the room. Even leaving aside the ones that had been crushed by falling debris, there were hundreds of the tubes. How long could they keep up the relay?

She saw by Tobimar's grim face that he'd been doing the same internal calculation; Poplock was also silent on his shoulder as the Prince of Skysand used the power of Terian to carry the next tube over.

"There's no way we can keep this up, and ordinary citizens won't be of much help; carry something weighing hundreds of pounds up hundreds of steps? No, that just won't work," she muttered to herself. "But we have to do this." She pulled up the next tube, not looking at the deathlike face barely visible within. "I can do this three, four, five times, but even I'm going to get tired." She handed that tube over, then sighed as she passed Tobimar. "If only we could make them lighter, somehow."

"That would be…" Tobimar trailed off, and then exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Poplock on his shoulder; just as the idea dawned on her, the little Toad drew in a huge breath.

"Tanvol!" shouted Poplock. "Phoenix just got a great idea! Send a couple teams up to pry off as much of that floaty-rock as they can from the broken bridges, and bring it down with some nets! We can use that to float these tubes up!"

Tanvol froze for a moment, and then his thunderous laugh threatened to bring the roof down. "By the LIGHT, that we will!"

The next half-hour was agonizing work, as they kept hauling out the massive tubes and dragging or carrying them to the teams that would somehow lug them to the surface. But then a crowd of the citizens of Kaizatenzei flooded into the laboratory, carrying nets filled with the mysteriously buoyant stone and metal that supported the flying bridges that had spanned the city. It took many of them to hold each set of stones down, but hooking them onto a tube made the tube easy for even an ordinary man to guide and carry up the stairs.

The hours blurred together; the work might not have been quite as backbreaking, but it was painstaking, tedious – and dangerous. A massive boulder dropped from the ceiling three hours into the operation, crushing eight more tubes beneath its mass, and causing one Hue to drop instantly to the ground; the human body that had supported Hue Surura Saval was dead, and without that body and spirit there was nothing left to move the artifical shell. For a moment all the Unity Guard stood silent, shocked; then Miri snapped "Move! That's what will happen to all of you if we don't get your tubes out of here – and we don't know which ones are yours!"

More hours passed, tubes pulled from sockets, rubble cleared from paths, chains and rune-ropes untwined to allow more tubes to be removed, a quick drink of water, a bite of food, then back to the work. It was harder because Wieran had not simply filled all of the spots starting from a given location; the individuals were spaced according to a complex pattern that made it difficult to be sure you had found all the tubes in an area, and forced you to go much farther, on average, to reach the next tube.

Finally, Kyri realized that they actually were nearing the end. "We've… almost reached… the far side of the room," she said, sliding the current tube into a floating sling.

"Yes," Miri said, exhaustion in her voice. "Let's get the next one."

The "next one" was a tube isolated from the others, near the central area where Wieran had done his most complex work. She was about to grab it when Hiriista hissed a warning.

"That one… is different."

"Yeah, and different could be bad," Poplock said. "Different makes me suspicious. Let's take a look at this one."

"You know anything about this?" Kyri asked Miri and Shae.

Miri shook her head; Shae tilted hers, then nodded slowly. "That one… is relatively recent. I remember it showed up there, a year or two ago. It surprised me; I knew we hadn't had any new… recruits in that time. When I asked about it, Wieran said it was a special delivery from his patron; that was as much as he'd say."

"Well, that one was locked and trapped. Good catch, Hiriista. I don't think Kyri really wanted a bath in acid."

She shuddered. "No, thank you." Kyri moved cautiously up to the presumably-harmless tube, which was also slightly larger than the others – perhaps built to be moved more easily? It had been shipped here, if what Weiran had said was the truth.

Kyri leaned forward, squinting at the clouded glass in front. What's inside this one?

She realized there was one way that might show her; she picked up the tube and tilted it towards her.

The shadowy shape within swayed and moved a few inches forward, revealing the outlines of the face for just an instant.

Kyri staggered back, dropping the tube which was barely caught by Lady Shae. She couldn't speak, she couldn't think. It's impossible! Impossible!

But then the face became visible once more, as Shae lifted the tube back up, and Kyri lunged forward, without thinking, screaming out the name:

"RION!"

 

 

 

Phoenix Ascendant: What Has Gone Before

Today I begin the snippeting of the final book in the Balanced Sword trilogy, Phoenix Rising; we start with a summary of the prior two books. The first chapter will be up next week!

 

Previously in The Balanced Sword

Phoenix Rising

Kyri Victoria Vantage lost her parents to unknown attackers some years before; even the Justiciars of Myrionar, God of Justice and Vengeance, the patron deity of her country Evanwyl, were unable to discover the identity of the assailants. But she has moved on, and her brother Rion has become a Justiciar himself. But then tragedy strikes a second time, and during a sudden and monstrous attack on Evanwyl, something kills Rion, tearing his soul to shreds.

Shocked and now worried that her whole family is in peril, Kyri leaves Evanwyl with her aunt Victoria and younger sister Urelle, travelling to far-distant Zarathanton to begin a new life. But a chance discovery there reveals the hideous truth: that it was the Justiciars who were responsible, the supposed holy warriors somehow betraying everything they stand for. In rage and shock, Kyri demands Myrionar explain itself – and the god answers. Something far worse is happening; Myrionar is weakened, perhaps dying, but It promises Kyri that if she will be true to Myrionar – will become the one true Justiciar – then she will one day have the justice and vengeance she seeks.

Meanwhile, Tobimar Silverun, youngest prince of the country of Skysand, is forced to leave his country in search of the origins of his people – a quest that is thrust on his family once in a generation, and which amounts to exile for twenty years… unless he can discover their ancient homeland. The mysterious mage Khoros, once Tobimar's teacher, also warns Tobimar that the next Chaoswar is about to begin, and that this is connected to his quest.

Tobimar's search leads him to Zarathanton, greatest city of the world, and to a startling meeting with Poplock Duckweed, a diminuitive Toad adventurer who has already disrupted the plans of one of the Mazolishta demonlords, Voorith. The two seek an audience with the Sauran King, only to find that he has been assassinated moments before they enter the Throne Room!

Having accepted Myrionar's offer, Kyri realizes that if she is to be a Justiciar, she must obtain the magical and powerful Raiment – the armor of a Justiciar – that both symbolizes and protects a Justiciar, and sets out to find the half-legendary Spiritsmith who can forge the Raiment; after managing to discover him – and pass his lethal tests – she convinces him that she is indeed the first of the new Justiciars, and takes the name Phoenix as her new title (as all Justiciars have the names of birds).

As refugees from the Forest Sea begin to pour into Zarathanton in massive quantities, and word of revolutions or wars in distant lands begin to arrive, Tobimar and Poplock realize that they are seeing part of a massive, coordinated plan to destroy the State of the Dragon King and perhaps the peace of the world – certainly part of the Chaoswar that Khoros warned them of.

The small clues that Tobimar had for locating his country suddenly come into clear focus when he realizes that the god Myrionar's symbolism and location fit everything he has heard, pointing him and Poplock to Evanwyl. In the company of a new ally, Xavier Ross of Earth, they head for Evanwyl, confronting demonic pursuers along the way.

With her new Raiment and accompanying sword, Kyri begins her work of undermining the false Justiciars and preparing to confront them. She attempts to convince the first, Mist Owl, to change sides and help her, but he fears the force behind the false Justiciars too much to do this, and dies at her hand. A second Justiciar, Shrike, also fails to kill her, afraid that she will convince his adoptive son, the Justiciar Condor, to follow her, and this will lead to Condor's death. Realizing that her confrontational approach is making it almost certain that she must fight each one, she chooses to try another way: to approach them not as a Justiciar, but as their "little sister", Kyri Vantage. For this, she selects Thornfalcon, the least martial of the Justiciars.

At the same time, Tobimar and Poplock have arrived in Evanwyl, having parted ways temporarily with Xavier. They hear the rumor of a false Justiciar named "Phoenix" who has killed at least one of the real Justiciars, and as this fits with the sort of thing they've already encountered more than once offer their services to help hunt down this Phoenix. They come across Shrike's body and deduce where Phoenix is headed next – although they do not realize the truth yet.

Kyri makes contact with Thornfalcon, who seems open to her approach… until he reveals that he has set a trap for her. He was the one who killed her brother, and who has directed most of the operations of the false Justiciars (although there is someone or something above him).

Tobimar and Poplock arrive at Thornfalcon's just in time to prevent him from murdering Kyri, and instead find themselves in a fight to the death. But Kyri escapes her imprisonment and joins them; together the three kill Thornfalcon despite his nigh-demonic powers, but are then caught in a trap that is unleashing an apparently endless horde of monsters into the midst of Evanwyl. At the last minute, Xavier shows up, and together they locate the source of the monstrosities; Kyri calls upon the power of Myrionar and destroys the gateway through which they are coming.

Once all four have been introduced and understand each others' stories, Kyri, Poplock, Tobimar, and Xavier make their way to the Temple of the Balanced Sword where they confront two more false Justiciars, Bolthawk and Skyharrier, and reveal them for what they are.

The truth has been revealed, but they know that there are more mysteries – who was truly behind Thornfalcon, how a god's chosen emissaries can be corrupted, and how this all connects to the rise of war throughout the world. With Xavier now gone on his own quest, it falls to the three of them to find the answers…

 

Phoenix in Shadow

In a prologue, the unnamed true enemy examines the aftermath of the battle against Thornfalcon, and realizes the identity of the Phoenix, as well as deducing more of the nature of her companions than she might suspect. It then returns to the corrupted Justiciar's Retreat, just ahead of Aran Condor.

Aran demands their patron find some way of giving him the power to confront and destroy the Phoenix. Their patron calls on Kerlamion, King of All Hells, greatest of demonlords; addressing the patron as "Viedraverion", Kerlamion agrees to provide the power Aran seeks… if Aran comes before his very throne to request it.

Meanwhile, Kyri and her friends have done their best to help and restabilize Evanwyl after the terrible shock of discovering the other Justiciars corrupt. Finding Tobimar's weapons heavily damaged after the battle against Thornfalcon, Kyri leads them to the Spiritsmith's forge; the Spiritsmith agrees to forge appropriate weapons and armor for Tobimar.

As they are talking, something monstrously wrong happens, shaking the earth, darkening the sky, and in horrified shock the Spiritsmith points to a shadow that now stands on the horizon; the Black City of Kerlamion has somehow come to Zarathan, and the King of All Hells now walks the living world.

The Spiritsmith completes the forging of Tobimar's gear, and also contacts the legendary Wanderer to assist the travelers in determining their destination and understanding the forces arrayed against them. The Wanderer confirms – as they had guessed – that they must journey through corrupt and deadly Rivendream Pass to Moonshade Hollow, and that much of what is happening he knows, but cannot tell them. Kyri says: "A prophecy. You have a prophecy."

The Wanderer responds with a strange smile, and answers, "Not… precisely. Though, perhaps, close enough for your purposes."

He gives them only a few cryptic hints, emphasizing that while he would very much like to tell them more, doing so could jeopardize everything they are all trying to accomplish – but that Myrionar's promise that they can succeed is very much true.

Aran Condor has made his way through the wastelands nicknamed "Hell", and then finds himself confronted by the real thing – standing before the doors of the Black City itself. His anger and need for vengeance (barely) overcomes his more sensible fear, and he continues forward; Kerlamion gives him the Demonshard Blade, a piece of Kerlamion's own sword, a weapon of tremendous demonic power which the Lord of All Hells says should be capable of destroying anything – even the Phoenix Justiciar.

The three heroes make their way through Rivendream Pass, which is even worse than they had expected; during this trip, Kyri and Tobimar finally (with a bit of pushing by Poplock) admit their attraction for each other. Shortly after entering the corrupted forest in Moonshade Hollow, they come across a small figure about to be attacked by a monster.

The diminutive, beautiful girl introduces herself as "Miri, Light of the Unity", and leads them through a barrier wall into a land she calls "Kaizatenzei", translated as "the Unity of the Seven Lights".

Impossibly, Kaizatenzei seems to be not only not corrupt, but in actuality a haven of purity, a supernaturally right place where it is almost impossible to imagine the existence of the evil that lies just outside of its walls. The people know nothing of the world beyond the corrupted forest and are astounded by the three new arrivals. Miri is the right-hand servant and troubleshooter for "Lady Shae", the Lady of Seven Lights. Lady Shae bids the group travel to their capital, Sha Kaizatenzei Valatar.

The three are joined in their travels by Hiriista, mazakh "magewright" – master of magical talents tied to more physical sources, such as alchemy and the discipline called "Gemcalling". Despite his species, Hiriista appears to be very much on the side of good and develops an unexpectedly strong bond with Poplock.

The group learns that Hiriista has noted some oddities of the "Unity Guard" – the combined police and military force of Kaizatenzei, a group that includes Lights, Colors, Shades, and Hues, with Lights such as Miri at the top. These oddities fit with a few unsettling feelings Phoenix has had around Unity Guards.

Unbeknownst to the adventurers, Miri and Shae are the demonlords Emirinovas and Kalshae, and they have some plan which requires Tobimar Silverun, whom they refer to as "the Key", and also the assistance of the cold and calculating researcher named Master Wieran.

Aran Condor enters Kaizatenzei in pursuit of the Phoenix. The purity of Kaizatenzei breaks the corruptive hold that the Demonshard Blade had gained on Aran's mind, and Condor successfully defeats the blade in a contest of wills. Miri, as asked by Viedraverion, meets Aran and sends him traveling around the central lake in the opposite direction from Phoenix and her companions.

Miri is stunned when, during their travels, Phoenix manages to summon the power of her god to heal children who should be unsalvageable (infected by a soul-damaging parasite). She also fears that her constant contact with the magic that has made Kaizatenzei so pure is corrupting her demonic essence.

The travelers reach Sha Kaizatenzei Valatar, and all seems perfect – except for a momentary flash of sensation by Phoenix, where she detects two dark presences, one filled with anger and hatred, the other cold and amused.

Tobimar is allowed to approach "the Great Light" in the Valatar Tower, and its response to his approach proves beyond any shadow of a doubt that the Great Light is the Sun of Terian, one of the greatest artifacts of one of the most powerful gods of good, and because of that Tobimar now knows that Kaizatenzei is what is left of the true homeland of his people.

Miri discovers that she is totally corrupt – or, more accurately, purified – when she finds herself drawn physically and romantically to Phoenix.

As a celebration is prepared for them, the adventurers notice a much larger number of Unity Guard entering the city, and recognize that this whole setup could be a trap. Their attempt to escape fails, and they are captured and Tobimar placed on a sacrificial altar; Miri is also caught out and captured by Kalshae.

As Wieran's and Kalshae's ritual is nearing completion, Tobimar connects the events with the last advice Khoros gave him, and realizes that an old childhood prayer is in fact the key to accessing the power of the Sun of Terian. For a moment, Terian himself manifests through the body of Tobimar, freeing and healing the Skysand Prince and his friends. Kyri and Hiriista leave the room to rescue Miri, while Tobimar – with more than mortal power – and Poplock confront Kalshae.

Kalshae is defeated when Poplock tricks her into triggering a summons of herself, and Kyri reaches Miri in time to keep her from being locked away. The group confronts Master Wieran in his laboratory, but cannot fight him directly; his Great Array includes hundreds of tubes in which are still-living human beings. Poplock manages to play on Wieran's ego and desire for an audience, distracting him long enough for Hiriista to notice a secondary magical array and damage it, releasing something which has been sealed up beneath the central lake for millennia.

This disrupts Wieran's attempt to attain something even beyond the godhead, and Wieran barely escapes; worse is the fact that what is rising now is Sanamaveridion, an Elderwyrm or evil Dragon of incalculable power.

Aran Condor, who has been performing small acts of heroism in his travels around the lake, uses the Demonshard Blade to disrupt the tsunami thrown up by Sanamaveridion's emergence, while Kyri does the same on the other side of the lake with the power of the Phoenix. Aran cannot do more at this point, but is now certain that where the Elderwyrm has risen, the Phoenix must be waiting.

The heroes confront Sanamaveridion, and after a tremendous pitched battle defeat him through the combined efforts of Tobimar, Kyri, and Miri, with an inspired last-minute summoning by Poplock finishing the job.

Miri attempts to recover the communication scroll she has used to contact Viedraverion; this turns out to be a trap. Miri discovers that "Viedraverion" is not what it seems, but is instead some other terrible being, one she calls by the name "Lightslayer" before it erases her memory of key facts.

The remaining Unity Guard, now no longer under anyone's mental domination, confront the group for answers once the immediate search-and-rescue after the battle is complete. To the surprise of everyone, Miri confesses everything, and Lady Shae reappears – having been herself purified by the Light of Terian. With the entire party, including Hiriista, now supporting Miri and Shae's redemption, the Unity Guard accept them as leaders once more.

But the now-unknown adversary has seen everything going according to Its plan, and in the final scene it has also reached beyond the grave to bring back three of the old Justiciars in preparation for the final confrontation…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Guest Post: Joyce Reynolds-Ward and “Writing on the Move”

Here's the first of my guest posts, by author Joyce Reynolds-Ward about the challenges of writing while in the midst of the chaos of moving from one home to another!

 

Writing on the Move

2015 was supposed to be an ambitious writing year for me. I was going to put out three books as well as write a bunch of short stories and essays both for distribution on my own and to circulate to markets.

2015 was also the year that the husband and I moved most of our household goods to a house nearly 350 miles away, as well as relocating my horse. This wasn’t just a big one-time move but a transition into a process where we split our time between Portland and a small rural town in Eastern Oregon as part of a retirement life.

Anyone see a conflict in these two goals?

Seven months into the process, and I’m still figuring it out. What I hadn’t anticipated was the time and energy which goes into maintaining a working writer life in the midst of disruption, chaos, and dammit, the file I need is on the other computer in the other place. It’s surprising to discover how some of these little bitty file fragments that get classified as “not important, don’t need to take up bandwidth space” suddenly become crucial.

Despite the chaos of the major part of the move, I completed the first draft of a difficult, complex novel that is not just demanding on its own but pivotal in the arc of its series. Netwalk’s Children marks the transition from the point of view of Melanie, the primary protagonist of the first two books, to her daughter Bess, who will be the primary protagonist of the next book. Because I’ve written two other books, several short stories, and a couple of novellas in this series, I had to record notes on timelines, what happened when and where, and other necessary aspects of continuity.

The first thing I did was to prepare a schedule for writing and production. I knew I could complete a first draft in two months at a minimum, as long as I got daily words down. Next, I had to plan for editing, rewrites, and production. In order to simplify rewrites and editing, I decided that unlike my usual semi-pantser mode, this book required me to plan, plan, plan. I couldn’t count on having reference materials easily available, so I had to create portable references. I sat down with the previous books and dedicated one yellow pad to continuity notes I anticipated needing. That went into an expanding plastic file folder labeled “Netwalk’s Children.” All pieces of paper relevant to the project went in that folder.

Next, I sat down with Scrivener on my laptop and made character interaction notecards. Originally, I’d planned to write in Scrivener but discovered it didn’t play well with Dropbox, so…I used it at this stage as a planning tool, and did the actual writing in Word, and imported it later into Scrivener for final formatting and compilation for production.

After that, I sat down with actual index cards and outlined plot elements. Initially, I’d planned to just use the note cards, but then I realized that the pacing needed me to be aware of how main characters and themes advanced in each scene. I’d seen a rough draft of a J.K. Rowling story matrix that she had used for one of the Harry Potter books, and decided that maybe that might just work for me. So I took another yellow legal pad, brought out many felt-tipped pens, and created a color-coded matrix for what/where/who at each scene of the story.

By this point I was two weeks behind schedule. I’d not accounted for other aspects of preparation for the move, including packing, cleaning, and painting. Nonetheless, by March 1st, I was cranking away on the book. By March 22, I was on track at 20k words though the story had started to diverge from the matrix. By March 17, it was completely off the rails. By March 26th, I was at 45k words, close to a Nanowrimo pace, and still chugging along. I’d also become quite grateful for all the prewriting work because at this point it became easier to pick up the threads of the story by reviewing the plot matrix and a scene tracker I’d created to help me figure out my story progression.

Once we started the actual, physical move, things got complicated. I ended up finishing Netwalk’s Children a month later than I wanted to, which mucked up my schedule further. But I discovered that, as I’d hoped, all the planning work made it easy to go back and revise what was needed. While various other factors interfered with my meeting the tight time schedule I had originally created, in the end, I succeeded in having a decently written book out by mid-November.

So what did I learn from this process?

First, be realistic with my timelines. My original schedule had me turning the book out in under six months, from first words to final production and listing. That might be sustainable under my current split location moving back and forth, but not while doing the initial move and setup. Final time spent on the project ended up being ten months. I could have sped it up at a couple of points, but I think this was better.

Second, planning helps with portability. At some point during any move you hit the wall even if all you are doing is packing and moving. Add writing into the mix and it’s a sure recipe for burnout. Having planning tools easily available makes it easier to get your brain back into writing mode. Other people might not want to resort to my degree of complex planning for this book, but I think some form of planning is crucial if you’re writing on the move.

Third, organization (as opposed to planning) is also crucial. I thought about using a thumb drive to keep versions of the story on, and decided that it would be better to back up to Dropbox but keep the main story on my laptop until time for revisions. Consistent versioning methods are also helpful. Just sayin’. The plastic expandable folder for pieces of paper, notepads, and, later on, holding a copy of the printed out MS (double-sized) was crucial). I also kept highlighters, pens, and sticky pads in that folder so that all I had to do was pull out the laptop and the expandable folder and I was ready to roll no matter what stage of the process I was in.

Fourth, maintaining writer space both in location and in time is crucial. It’s easy to fall out of routines if you are on the road and you can’t write in the car (I get vertigo easily). Moving always demands as much time in the day as you will give it. Set up a writer space in both the new location and the old location and keep it sacred. Same for carving out a chunk of time in the day. Flexibility helps.

Finally, accept that there will be days when, no matter what, you’re too fried from the moving process to focus on the writing and don’t beat yourself up when that happens. Be kind to yourself and give yourself the space needed to recover.

After all, it’s a process, not a race. Writing while on the move is a very doable thing, as long as you think ahead and include your writing process in the planning. Give it a try if you’ve got a move planned—and good luck.

 

 

Joyce Reynolds-Ward splits her time between Portland and Enterprise, Oregon. A former special education teacher, Joyce also enjoys horses, skiing, and other outdoor activities. She's had short stories and essays published in First Contact Café, Tales from an Alien Campfire, River, How Beer Saved the World 1 and 2, Fantasy Scroll Magazine, and Trust and Treachery. Her novels Netwalk: Expanded Edition, Netwalker Uprising, Life in the Shadows: Diana and Will, Netwalk’s Children, and Alien Savvy as well as other works are available through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBooks, and other sources. Alien Savvy is also available in audiobook through Audible, Amazon, and iTunes. Follow Joyce's adventures through her blog, Peak Amygdala, at www.joycereynoldsward.com, or through her LiveJournal at joycemocha. Joyce’s Amazon Central page is located at http://www.amazon.com/Joyce-Reynolds-... .

On World Fantasy Con and the World Fantasy Awards…

Following WFC 2015, it was announced that henceforth the World Fantasy Awards would not be represented by a bust of horror legend Howard Phillips Lovecraft, commonly abbreviated to Lovecraft or HPL.

Personally, I felt this was the right decision. Even if you don't agree with those who began the movement based on feeling that it was inappropriate to use a known (and admitted) racist as the symbol of one of the most prestigious awards in the SF/F community, the simple fact is that HPL sucked as a selection to represent the World Fantasy Award.

I do not mean to denigrate HPL's contribution to weird tales and existential horror in particular; he is an undoubted founding father of that subgenre, a master of imagery and mood, and his influence is wide-ranging and continuing.

But that form of "fantasy" is a niche, and from a public perception isn't even representative of fantasy.

If you were going to choose a PERSON (I don't think you should, but later on that) to represent fantasy, I think there's only ONE decent choice for that in terms of "who has shaped what the public knows of fantasy": J.R.R. Tolkien, creator of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, basically the Trope Codifier for Epic Fantasy (which is one of the three default types of fantasy people will tend to think of, and by far the most instantly recognizable). Possibly you could choose three people, one for each of Epic, Sword and Sorcery, and Urban fantasy; in that case it's Tolkien, Robert E. Howard, and, well, I'm not sure which of several people one might choose for Urban Fantasy.

In reality, I don't think the "World Fantasy Award" should be an image of ANY person. It should be something that represents "Fantasy" the same way that "Rocket Ship" represents "Science Fiction" in the Hugo Awards. Thus, a Dragon, perhaps. or a three-figure unit of a great warrior, a wizard, and a dragon. (I can even visualize this award in my head). THIS distills the essential concept of fantasy, in the popular imagination, precisely as a spaceship does for SF.

But in any event, removing HPL as the representative of the World Fantasy Award? The right decision, and I'm glad they've made it. I just hope they choose something cool for the next one!

Convention Report: World Fantasy Con 2015

World Fantasy Convention was held at least once previously in Saratoga Springs, in (if I recall correctly) 2007. I was there for a short period of time (mainly the mass signing) but was new to this sort of convention and limited in time, so I really didn't have much chance to really be part of the experience. This time, I purchased my membership early, and Kathleen enabled me to attend all four days of the convention (though for various reasons not nearly all of the hours therein).

I'm going to get the negatives (that I observed) out of the way first, and then talk about the positive aspects of the convention:

First, the Harrassment Policy: an early draft of the policy was, basically, "if anything's reported we'll call the police and let them sort it out", which is about as non-optimal as one can get. The second version was marginally better, as it did at least include the idea of the convention itself being able to deal with such issues and choose an appropriate response. But it lacked all sorts of pieces (like an actual, clear-cut chain of responsibility, investigation approach, etc.) and – whether intended or not – read more as a "we'd rather not have to address this issue" than an actual policy. While there were some comments made that this stemmed from having had legal advice on the matter, I really can't see that this is an acceptable approach. Dozens of other conventions have had reasonable, effective policies in place. There's no reason you couldn't just steal one of those, or ask someone else with experience IN one of those conventions to draft you one.

In particular, I would think one could simply take the ComicCon one, which was on VERY public display pretty much EVERYWHERE in the convention. ComicCon can obviously afford high-caliber lawyers, so that policy – found at http://www.newyorkcomiccon.com/About/Harassment-Policy/ -- should be sufficiently usable (especially here in New York State). Of course, it includes a number of pieces that require the Convention to do some more work – provide a simple method to report harassment, staff available to INSTANTLY respond, and so on. But hey, that's the price you pay for running a convention, in my view.

See, it's not just about legalities – though of course you should consider those – but also, and in many ways more importantly, about personal comfort at the convention. While safety's a potential legal concern, comfort – a feeling of safety and respect – isn't, but the convention should concern themselves with that, especially if they want to remain a long-term viable concern.

I will also note that this is a PERSONAL concern for me, as I took the Scalzi challenge. I trusted WFC to make a decent policy, and when they finally announced it, it was too late to obtain a refund or to reasonably change my commitment. I will INSIST that any future convention have a visible, AND ACCEPTABLE, harassment policy in place, or I WILL NOT ATTEND, despite monetary loss or disappointment. As I would *MUCH* rather attend any conventions I want, I really very strongly urge all conventions to implement one!

 

The second issue: ACCESSIBILITY. This, however, IS a legal issue, and I'm really kinda gobsmacked that I'm having to write this in 2015. When your GUEST OF HONOR(Chelsea Quinn Yarbro) is walking around on double canes, and some of your panelists (such as Mari Ness) are in wheelchairs, it shouldn't require an immense intellect to think that maybe, just maybe, you should get some RAMPS and such to make it easy for these people to get up on the stages you've scheduled them to be on. And by the ADA, I do believe you are legally required to provide said accessibility. Which makes this an honest-to-god potential legal issue. Really, no one should even have to be making these points any more; most venues are AWARE of this issue, and have materials on-hand to help you address it, and if you actually think AHEAD in preparing for accessibility, it's not going to cost you much if anything extra.

 

Okay, that's out of the way. On to the more positive!

 

The first positive event happened almost the moment I entered WFC on Thursday around noon; I walked in and looked into what turned out to be the Dealer's Room, and found myself standing right at the table of Larry Smith. For those unaware, Larry is one of the most well-known convention booksellers around, and had recently been in a serious accident; the news I'd seen had made me worried he might not be up and about for a long time.

Instead, Larry was there, reasonably healthy (albeit with a cane), and working. He then gave me additional good news – he'd sold out all the copies of _Polychrome_ I'd given him, long before the accident, and would happily take some more. I gave him more trade paperbacks plus one of the very large hardcovers with the wraparound Eggleton cover. I also trotted over and said hello to David Hartwell who was setting up his booth, as well as Maria, who is the owner/operator of Flights of Fantasy.

Registration was quick and easy – walked up, they looked me up, my stuff was there, and off I went. I spent the first hour or so wandering around, just familiarizing myself with the lay of the land, and then dropped in on the Opening Ceremonies, which introduced the Guests of Honor and other special guests of the convention (including Baen's David Drake). There I also got to say hello to Tom Doherty of Tor, and meet Chelsea Quinn Yarbro for the first time.

After a little more drifting around in the convention setting the time for my panel came up: The Rogue, ably helmed by Ellen Kushner. After basic introductions, Ellen guided with a clear and firm hand, asking questions about rogues, their relationships to tricksters, what we felt made them attractive to read about, and so on. The panel certainly felt lively to me, and the other guests – James Alan Gardner, Alistair Kimble, and Cinda Williams Chima, contributed a lot of insights into the different views of the "rogue" character. I think my own Poplock-centric commentary was reasonably well-received, and certainly the audience seemed pretty engaged and active.

That taking me past 5pm, I found it was time to eat, so I sought out the Green Room – located about as far away as it could be and still be in the hotel connected to the Saratoga City Center.

The trip was worth it. Not only was it well organized and larger overall than many such rooms, but the food was, well, good. I've had experiences with convention food that ranged from "um… maybe I'll go out to eat" to "hey, that's pretty good", but I think this year's WFC beat 'em all. Each night had a different type of food – a sort of Turkish/Indian mix the first night, barbeque the second, and Italian the third – and each one was excellent and plentiful. The lunch menus, while less fancy, were still very good. Many kudos to all of the people responsible for seeing to it that all the many fans and authors did not starve, but instead fed well, during the convention!

I stayed a short time longer but was tired enough to go home.

I returned on Friday and went to the Art Show, where I finally got to meet Stephen Hickman; for those who don't know, he painted the covers for the original Grand Central Arena and for Paradigms Lost. He was exhibiting and, as usual, all his work was impressive. I was particularly impressed with his very large Siegfried and the Dragon painting (Fafnir himself was incredibly large and detailed).

I gave a reading on Friday; it was lightly attended, but not, as has happened before, an empty room, and I read the first chapter of Phoenix in Shadow followed by the first chapter of my mahou shoujo novel in progress, Princess Holy Aura, both of which seemed to go down well. Originally I'd planned to read the first chapter of Phoenix Ascendant, but one of the people present mentioned that they'd read the first book but not the second, so I didn't want to spoiler them – and boy, would the first chapter of Phoenix Ascendant spoil a hell of a lot of Phoenix in Shadow!

After the reading I finally met Mari Ness, who had provided a wonderful and encouraging review of Polychrome before publication, and so I presented her with a copy of her own upon finding out that the only copy she'd ever seen was the electronic first draft. She, along with Lawrence Watt-Evans and John C. Bunnell, had been the people primarily responsible for firming my resolve to actually carry out the Kickstarter.

I also encountered Thomas F. Monteleone, an author who has done quite a number of books but was most familiar to me for The Secret Sea, one of my favorite Verne pastiche/reimaginings; I was later able to locate my rather dog-eared copy and get him to autograph it. He also pointed me in the direction of some absolutely beautiful Nemo art in the Art Show – done by William O'Connor; somehow I'd missed it on the way through the first time, which I find inexplicable as it was in the first darn booth area.

Anyway, the next event was the mass signing at 8:30 (with author entry at 8pm). I discovered that the box of books that seemed pretty easy to lift got ridiculously heavy after I'd walked a hundred yards or so, but eventually made it to the hall, and once let in sat down and set up; I was joined at my table by Chuck Rothman, one of the con-runners and a long-time member of LASTSFA, the local SF fan organization responsible for supporting WFC as well as, more regularly, running Albacon.

Chuck and I also go back a lot farther than that, as he was a member of a writers' group I used to attend fairly regularly, and during that time he provided the most important single piece of writing advice I was ever given: "Never make it easy on your characters."

The signing went off beautifully, at least as far as I could tell. I signed more books at that signing (and the rest of the convention) than at any two or three others I've ever had. I sold a good number of the books I had on display and signed many more; as I've had signings where I signed nothing, this was a heck of a good thing. It was also superb timing as my family was effectively broke at the time, and the money I got at the convention allowed me to purchase some vital supplies.

 

ADDENDUM: I think the Mass Autograph Signing is one of the very, VERY best features of WFC. It allows one long period where a fan can get to find ALL the authors they're looking for, talk with them, get an autograph, and so on, rather than having to possibly check out three or four separate times on three separate days. Other conventions should look very seriously at doing things this way, rather than having to do the logistics of arranging dozens of separate signings.

 

As I was leaving for the convention on Saturday, I bumped into a box. This box was filled with the dark-blue hardcover version of Polychrome. Now, I've sold several of the trade paperback version, and even some of the huge, wraparound-dustjacket version ($50!) of Polychrome, but aside from those sent out for the Kickstarter rewards, not a single one of that version; that box had, in fact, never been opened since I ordered them, and only existed because I had ordered the most economic number for my price range and figured I'd need at least a few more than the Kickstarter demand. I was, apparently, wrong.

So rather than let the box stay unopened and unused for another six months or year or more, I grabbed it and took it with me, and put half the copies up on the "Book Exchange" table. They disappeared within a few minutes. Ultimately, aside from a few copies that Larry took for other conventions, all of them were given away in what couldn't have been a total of more than half an hour. Hopefully those who took them will enjoy them!

I also encountered Stephen R. Donaldson and had a brief opportunity to fanboy him and get his autograph on a first-edition copy of White Gold Wielder. In specific I told him how much I had appreciated two moments of awesome in the Second Chronicles, ones that bookended the trilogy: Covenant's response to Lord Foul's gloating as he drags Covenant back to the Land, and Covenant's final victory-in-death over Foul. (now that it's done, I have to read the final Chronicles and hope that they manage to live up to the first two)

Chelsea Quinn Yarbro's panel ("An Hour With Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Amanuensis to le Comte de Saint-Germain") was absolutely wonderful. "Quinn", as she is apparently called by many of her friends, has a marvelously dry and witty delivery, and Suzy McKee Charnas and she played off each other very well, talking not just about her best-known charming vampire but about many other works ranging from YA to mysteries to Westerns! I had only known of about half of them; she's been astoundingly prolific, and active for almost 40 years (her first novel was published in 1976).

Her character M. le Comte de Saint-Germain was, in fact, one of the major inspirations for Verne Domingo (although I didn't really quite realize that until after the fact). Because of this, in addition to getting her autograph on one of her books for my friend Dana, who's a very long-time fan, I gave her a copy of Paradigms Lost.

At that point I was also intercepted by a fan who had purchased (from Larry) the giant hardcover version of Polychrome, at least partly because of Bob Eggleton's magnificent cover, and I of course autographed it for him. I remain surprised when someone buys one of those. They are beautiful, no doubt about it, but to see someone willing to pay so much to own one of my books… it's startling.

From there, I went to Old Weird, New Weird, or Just Plain Weird, partly because I knew Mr. Monteleone would be there, but also because weird fiction has always been an interest of mine. There was quite a lively discussion that ebbed and flowed about what "weird fiction" really was, and how one might discriminate it from other branches. I don't think that a complete consensus was reached, and that's probably a good thing; if you can completely categorize a genre to the point that no one argues, it's either a static genre, or one too narrow to be of long-term interest.

The major event of Saturday was a dinner headed by Baen's Jim Minz, with a number of guests including David Drake, Esther Friesner, Chuck Gannon, and Sandra Tayler. Sandra ended up sitting next to us and Kathy and I got to talk with her a fair amount; while it's Howard's name on Schlock Mercenary, Sandra does a lot of editing and proofing work and, Kathy and I suspect, probably has supplied more than that at times. Kathy and I certainly exchange a lot of ideas and I wouldn't be surprised if this were true for other husband-wife writing teams. Sandra also has done writing of her own – most prominently for our family a couple of children's books.

En route to the dinner, Kathy and I had also encountered someone else that I had met at more than one convention: Ruth Burroughs. What I hadn't known was that Ruth used to be a classmate of Kathy's at Saint Rose, many years back, and Ruth hadn't realized I was married to Kathy. So on Sunday when I came back, Kathy came along to hang out for a few hours, and Ruth and Kathy got to catch up on old times, while I made a last pass around the convention, said hi-and-bye, and so on.

I couldn't list all the people I met at the convention – to a great extent because I am abysmal with names, especially when I'm encountering a lot at once, so I remember the faces, voices, and conversations but not the names. This is even true of people I've seen at other conventions unless I spend a lot of time talking to them in OTHER settings (especially online, where I get to keep seeing their name connected with their words and faces; this is the reason I know, for example, Melissa Mead – Hi, Melissa!). I admit this makes me somewhat embarrassed to go to conventions in general as many people will greet me (by my hard-to-forget unique name) and I'll have to squint quickly at their badge even while responding, just to try to slowly build up the connection. So to those I met, who I know, but whose names refuse to come certainly to mind, I apologize for not mentioning you; perhaps what I need to do at future conventions is take a picture of each person so that I can keep refreshing my mind with "THIS face goes with THAT name".

 

Overall, this was a very fun convention. I hope that any future WFCs will address the issues I mention above, and certainly look forward to any similar conventions!

 

Under the Influence: Wizards of the Coast

As I have mentioned elsewhere, I was a major presence online in the Usenet gaming communities rec.games.frp.* for many years (going back to the late 1980s). One day, in 1991, I was contacted by a person going by the name of Mavra, whose real name I later learned was Peter Adkison. He said he was part of a new RPG company and was looking for people to take a look at an early draft of their first planned product, and I was the sort of gamer he was looking for.

Little did I realize how important a first contact I had just made.

I of course agreed, and was sent a draft of a book called "The Primal Order", a gaming book meant to act as a "capsystem" – an addition compatible with any existing RPG system – for providing a mechanism to use deities in RPG campaigns without making them either just "bigger characters" or "untouchable plot devices".

The Primal Order was actually a very impressive piece of work, especially as a first attempt by an unknown company. It was pretty well-written, fairly well organized, and had what was then an innovative core mechanic based around the concept of "Primal Energy", which was what differentiated gods from mortal beings. Deific beings had more or less access to Primal, which was basically the power of creation, something that was of a higher order than any other power, and this gave them a tremendous advantage in numerous areas when compared to the "standard" characters of other game systems. The described approach allowed a GM to actually create pantheons of gods whose differences in power had real meaning, yet were not merely characters with bigger numbers than the player characters.

At the same time, the mechanisms described made it possible – as in many fantasy settings and works – for very powerful or very fortunate mortals to either challenge the gods and have a chance – howsoever small – to win, or to become gods themselves and enter a new realm of the eternal conflict – one in which those powerful characters now found themselves to be the smallest fish in a very large and dangerous ocean.

There were – as to be expected – some flaws and questionable choices in the early draft, so I carefully noted all of my comments and questions down, page by page, and sent them off. Peter offered to pay me for the service – about $25-$30 – and I said "You know, I'll just end up spending that on a couple pizzas or something. If you actually start this company for real, gimme that much stock. If you go nowhere, I'm out two pizzas; if you go somewhere, it'll be a big paycheck one day."

Peter agreed, and for a while that was pretty much all until I heard that they were in fact releasing The Primal Order (generally abbreviated as "TPO") in 1992. The "Capsystem" concept, in which the provided system would be able to be stacked atop any other existing sets of rules, required that there be conversion rules – directions on how to take the generic numbers in TPO and convert them between the statistics and capabilities discussed in individual rule systems. I assisted in the development of a couple of those conversion rulesets as well.

The Primal Order was released as planned in 1992, and general critical reaction was positive. Sales were not bad for a new RPG company, but – for perspective – that means they weren't making anyone millionaires, either. Still, things went well enough that WotC began moving forward with other RPG materials – additional Capsystem products in the Primal line and otherwise, and also on trying to license some forgotten or struggling but still very interesting and viable RPG lines.

I of course became one of the more vocal online supporters of the company, and – on occasion – served as a relay of Usenet reactions to and from Peter Adkison when his net access varied.

This reached something of a peak when Palladium decided to sue WotC for the inclusion of conversion rules for Palladium, claiming this was infringement on their IP. I have occasionally encountered people who thought that WotC lost the suit; this is completely untrue. What ended up happening is that WotC dug in, reduced staffing to be able to channel more money to the lawyers, and took a very simple stance: "Hey, if Palladium wants the conversion notes (which amount to free advertising for their system inside of our own book) removed, fine, if we do another printing we'll do that, and even slap some nice stickers on the remaining stock saying how the notes inside those aren't authorized. But what we WON'T do is admit to doing anything WRONG; discussing how to perform a conversion between systems is not infringement, never has been, and we won't ever agree it is or was."

A judge actually threw out a couple of Palladium's points, and I think it became clear to Palladium that WotC had a good chance of winning, and was certainly damned well determined to fight to the end. They settled out of court, to exactly the terms above (and possibly some sort of cash exchange, but as WotC had said, all they cared about was not agreeing that they'd done anything wrong, and they were not forced to do so).

During this period, Peter did in fact have trouble with his access, and I had to play relay a couple of times before he was able to come back and talk directly to the fans again.

Wizards continued working on RPG-related materials, and I was eventually contracted – to my great joy – to produce a new supplement for The Primal Order, called Unorthodox Strategies: Deities in Non-Fantasy Campaigns. The title was derived from the chess-related theme of other Primal Order supplements (Pawns: The Opening Move Knights: Strategies in Motion, and Chessboards: The Planes of Possibility), and I began work on Unorthodox Strategies at the same time that Jonathan Tweet was working on Rivals of Estedil, a Primal-Order based module, and others were working on Bishops, which was to be a guide to creating Primal-Order religions, with the Norse pantheon as an example).

(An interesting side note: Wikipedia and other sources do not even mention Unorthodox Strategies, which had already seen a complete first draft, and claim that Jonathan Tweet had only completed "extensive notes" on Rivals of Estedil; in fact, Rivals was complete as a first playtest draft and I had a copy of it which I had bound. It was, unfortunately, destroyed during one of my basement floods, but it was not just a collection of notes but a full – and VERY LARGE – module.)

Now, the problem with running an RPG company is that it is the quintessential example, the distillation, of the old joke, "How do you make a small fortune in business? Start with a large fortune." Peter and WotC recognized that they needed some source of income that was more stable, wider in audience appeal, and hopefully less resource-intensive to support than writing long-winded roleplaying gamebooks. Fortunately, Peter knew a gentleman named Richard Garfield who had a few ideas. One of them was a hysterically funny board game about robots trying to make their way across terribly hazardous factory floors, called "Robo-Rally"; the other was a card game of dueling wizards, whose first production name was "Mana Clash".

Peter felt that the second one had more immediate potential – as it was based on a deck of cards that someone could carry around with them, rather than the rather large and complex board and counters of Robo-Rally, it could be played by people relatively on the spur of the moment, would probably be cheaper as an individual purchase, and the collectible card aspect promised a possibility of many variants which would keep the game fresh (and of course provide an opportunity for new income streams).

The game was developed and finally released in 1993, with the name changed to…

Magic: The Gathering.

No one could possibly have been prepared for the incredible success that followed. During the Palladium suit, WotC had been pared down to basically one full-time employee, a few part-timers, and several people basically putting in time for the sake of the future. Within a year or two, WotC employed over 200 people and had sales well exceeding one hundred million dollars per year.

I actually didn't grasp how huge Magic had gotten until my friend Carl Edlund mentioned he was playing it, and I started looking into it. Seeing how large it was becoming, I wrote to Peter and asked if that meant my shares in the company were worth anything.

It turned out they'd lost the original paperwork, so no one had remembered I was one of the oldest stockholders. Upon realizing that, Peter set things straight – and I suddenly found out that there was another, completely unexpected, benefit to being a WotC original stockholder:

I got one of every single thing WotC produced, free. I discovered this when an absolutely MASSIVE box arrived from WotC, and I opened it to find it FILLED with books and boxes – copies of every part of the Primal Order series, the Compleat Alchemist, their then-current reissue of Talislanta, and a BUNCH of boxes of Magic: The Gathering. Alpha, Beta, and all the expansion sets to that time. This had more significance than simply geek-ecstasy, but it was a while before that significance became clear.

During this period, WotC was also starting to try its hand at publishing – mainly things focused on Magic, of course, but they were also considering publishing more original fiction. For a projected Magic anthology, I proposed and then wrote Avenging Angel, focused around the "Urza's Avenger" card. WotC's editor liked it, but felt that it would actually be better as a novel; in hindsight I was constructing a universe in my head based on the vague information I had from WotC on how they viewed the Magic universe, and that universe was a lot larger than I could fit into a short story.

I also began writing, and sent in, early parts of an original novel that I called Fall of Saints, about a character named Kyri Ross who discovers her family was killed by the eponymous Saints, a group of holy warriors who were supposed to be their protectors, and who ends up being the first of the new Saints, the Phoenix, to try and cleanse the order. Those familiar with my work will realize that this was the first draft of the story which would become the Balanced Sword trilogy, and specifically the first volume which Baen published as Phoenix Rising.

By 1994, however, it became obvious to Wizards of the Coast that they had only two choices; either sell off (lucratively) the rights to Magic and let someone else handle it, or dump all the other minor parts of the business and ride that tiger until they could really be sure it was under control. Not without some trepidation and pain (which I heard some of), they elected to take the second course – ride that tiger!

This meant divesting WotC of all the other materials that weren't in the Magic or related gaming arena. They killed off the Primal Order line, stopped work on books (except a few Magic-oriented ones), and divested themselves of all the RPG properties. To their credit, they tried very hard to find good homes for the lines they were dropping, and returned all rights to the creators.

It so happened that much of this came to a head in late 1994. Kathleen and I had been living a rather edgy existence in Pittsburgh, but had become engaged, and set a wedding date for 1995. This required, however, that we move up to the Albany-Schenectady-Troy area again.

The problem was that I didn't have the money for the move. Moving isn't cheap, and I knew I'd need some money for us when we got up there (even though we'd both be temporarily staying with our parents). I'd turned in the first draft of Unorthodox Strategies and was working on the second and hopefully final draft when word came that they were canceling the line.

But WotC recognized the work that we freelancers were doing, and that it might be well to have us think positively of the company. With the cancellation of the contract came a check – one nearly as large as I would have received for actual publication of the supplement. This was a huge help, a vital key to giving me the resources I would need.

The other key was also handed to me by Wizards of the Coast, and I'd had it in my hands for some time already: Magic cards. This was during one of the great peaks of value in the cards, and I discovered that in addition to my freebie boxes, I was entitled to purchase additional boxes of the cards at 40% off retail!

A few purchases later and I was selling individual cards and packs on Usenet, and financing my move back to the Capital District!

As one might expect, I had very positive thoughts about WotC as the result of them essentially saving my financial bacon. This happened a second time when I was in a very difficult position and sold some of the shares; those shares, which had once been worth one dollar apiece, were now worth $250 each!

I maintained sporadic contact with Peter and Wizards for the next few years; while I enjoyed the occasional game of Magic, I wasn't one of the card-addicts that some were (partly because my idea of a great game of Magic was a single duel that lasted hours using decks about three inches thick, rather than the one-turn kill decks popular with many serious players), and Wizards wasn't doing much else to interest me.

Then in 1997, Wizards bought TSR.

For those unfamiliar with roleplaying games, the impact of this purchase is hard to convey. TSR, originally "Tactical Studies Rules", was the father of RPGs, the publisher of Dungeons and Dragons, the creator of the entire roleplaying hobby. They had always been the 500-pound gorilla of the industry (which meant something of a small screaming lemur in the general context of the game industry, but since many RPGers didn't care about the larger game industry…), the company that defined the industry and that every single new company would find itself compared to and competing with.

TSR, unfortunately, had fallen on very hard financial times – not so much due to its game sales, which were still decent, but due to having entered the publishing industry without a clear understanding of how it worked, and having ended up with a ludicrous number of books returned to it for refunds – all at once.

So when the Magic frenzy was dying down, Peter looked around, and discovered this – and found that he could purchase the company that started it all for all us RPG geeks. From his own words it was a ridiculously emotional thing; after the purchase he got up in front of the employees to tell them about what was going to happen, and for a moment he couldn't speak because it suddenly really, really hit him that he had achieved the greatest dream of any of us old gamers: he was now the owner of TSR and Dungeons and Dragons.

Shortly after purchasing TSR, Wizards decided it was time to make a third edition of D&D. Technically, there had been essentially three editions previously, but most players count from the advent of "Advanced Dungeons and Dragons", or AD&D, which was published in the late 1970s. AD&D Second Edition was published in 1989, about 12 years after the first edition. By the late 90s, therefore, it was about time for a new edition.

Rumors of a new edition started the moment Wizards purchased TSR, but actual work didn't start for a while – and those who knew about it ended up getting signed to an NDA (Non-Disclosure Agreement). I did send a number of suggestions to Wizards when it became clear they were seriously considering it.

Finally, playtesting – in secret – of the new edition began. I was at first reluctant to participate in playtesting, as I was pretty busy at the time, but Peter asked me directly, and so I accepted a position as playtester.

And found they were finally doing the game RIGHT. Our gaming group tested the limits of the rules and found that they were well-designed and fixed a vast number of the most basic flaws of the game, flaws which had been present since its original version in 1973-4 and never seriously touched: the ridiculous mages and armor rules, the broken 25-maximum characteristic scale, the exponentially increasing experience point chart, the lack of magic item rules, and so on and so forth. To a great extent, 3e (as Third Edition came to be called) was my own house ruled version of D&D stripped down and turned into a commercial product.

Note that by that I don't mean that they'd taken my own version, but that many of the house rules a lot of us gamers had made to fix D&D had obviously been similar, and the people running TSR now – Wizards – obviously were Gamers Like Us and understood exactly what needed to be done to fix the game, while – and this was something much harder – keeping it somehow still "Dungeons and Dragons".

Once more I got a few playtesting credits, my name in the books, and more importantly Wizards had made me part of the history of the game which had shaped much of my imagination and writing life.

But Wizards had one more gift left. The success of the company had attracted the attention of larger companies, and finally in 1999 Wizards of the Coast was purchased by Hasbro, the gaming giant.

Purchased at a price of $1,000 per share.

And once more, this payoff came at a time that it was very, very much needed.

The Wizards of the Coast that I knew, of course, is now long gone; most, if not all, of those who were part of it when I worked with them no longer work there; Peter left relatively shortly after the acquisition, and others trickled away.

But I cannot think of the name Wizards of the Coast without a smile on my face, because for ten years it was a name of wonder, of opportunity, of inspiration, and even of support that sometimes made the difference between success and failure in my own personal life.

Thank you, Peter Adkison – Mavra – for picking the Sea Wasp out of the sea of gamers in the ancient waters of Usenet, and giving me a chance to be a part of that magic.

 

Under the Influence: Nancy Drew

I have previously mentioned two of the strongest influences in my life that gave me a strong assumption of the essential strength and equality of female characters to male – specifically, the Oz series (in which the most prominent characters are almost always girls/women), and the Little House books told from the point of view of Laura Ingalls (later Laura Ingalls Wilder). But there was a third such influence: Nancy Drew.

Dating all the way back to 1930, Nancy Drew in all her incarnations has been a young amateur sleuth, child of a successful lawyer (Carson Drew) and whose mother died at a young age. She has two friends, Bess Marvin and George Fayne, who often help her in her investigations. Bess is highly feminine and often shows fear; George (a girl, despite the name) is a tomboy and more prone to confrontation. Nancy sits between them, neither as aggressive as George nor stereotypically feminine as Bess, and both smarter and more capable overall than either.

I first encountered Nancy Drew in a bookstore – I think I'd been brought there by my father – at around the age of 9 or 10. I saw there was this series of books with bright yellow covers, found the one with the #1, and bought The Secret of the Old Clock.

I immediately took to Nancy. Here was a girl who would risk herself to help other people, and did it with panache and kindness. I began to accumulate the other volumes of the series, until I reached a total of 50 or more – all that were available at the time.

Throughout all of these volumes, I continued to be impressed by Nancy's constant devotion to the truth. The Titian-haired teenager (to use one of the common descriptions of Nancy, which introduced me to the word "Titian") takes a positive joy in finding an apparently intractable mystery – a haunting, disappearing valuables, an inexplicable interest by strangers in some trivial object – and tracing the clues to a complete explanation, even risking her life and limb in the process – for the various kidnappers, thieves, and blackmailers she confronts will often stop at little to prevent her from tampering with their plans.

When I found the old version of The Hidden Staircase, I was in for something of a shock. Not only was the setting rather different (after all, it was the 1930s versus the late 1950s-60s!) but also the book was drastically changed. I had previously had no idea that there were different versions – but there were. In a way, I found that to be a wonderful thing – it meant that there were more adventures of Nancy to read which would let me see how things changed through the years – but it was also annoying in that it meant someone had decided the early ones weren't good enough for some reason.

It wasn't until I was older that I understood the point of some of the changes; for example, the earlier versions had a sixteen-year-old Nancy, while Nancy in the later versions is eighteen. Those two years are, of course, crucial in that they change Nancy from legally a minor to legally a young adult. This gives her more agency in a legal sense, although to me it also weakens to a slight degree her personal agency.

Other changes included reducing Nancy's tendency to act in ways that were questionably legal; for instance, in the original of The Secret of the Old Clock Nancy explicitly hides evidence from the police, something that a lawyer's daughter would be expected to realize is a huge no-no. There were also more obvious elements of classism and racism in various books which the later rewrites attempted to change. In addition, they attempted to reduce Nancy's more… direct nature to one with a bit more perceived femininity (although even the "nicer" Nancy was more than capable of diving headlong into a case, risking her life, and confronting bad guys directly if she had to).

I stopped collecting Nancy Drews sometime in the late 1970s or very early 80s, and thought that the series had ended there. Instead, I discovered many years later that the series continued for years afterward, and as a bookseller at Borders was surprised to see new Nancy Drew books of more than one series.

Despite the age of the protagonist, there was very little sexual content – not surprising, given that the series was targeted at relatively young people and started back in the 1930s, but somewhat puzzling as a reader became older. (Some of the later series became positively racy, though; I have heard that Nancy even kissed a boy who wasn't Ned Nickerson!)

Still, the series remains popular, and that's because Nancy and her friends – despite the old-style cultural values and outdated assumptions – still represent the ideals of self-confident, independent young women who are competent, courageous, and kind. All the mystery series for young people owe a huge debt to Nancy (and her distaff counterparts from Stratemeyer, the Hardy Boys); I do not think there would be many of the "young amateur detective" series around without them. It only occurred to me when writing this review, but the Persona series appeals to me, to a great extent, because despite all the supernatural weirdness it still feels to me like a very strong spiritual descendant of Nancy Drew, with its collection of teenage investigators drawn together to seek out the answers to questions most of the adults around them don't even see.

And for me, personally, Nancy remains exactly that strong a symbol of what a woman can be – as competent as any man (she runs, cooks, shoots, picks locks, competitively rows, does archeology, and more!), just as brave as any of her male counterparts, and able to be as stylish and dashing as James Bond. My collection, alas, is gone with the floods in my basement, but I still remember her with great fondness. Perhaps I will pick up one or two and see if they hold up after these years; I have, after all, two daughters who could use such positive role models!

 

Demons of the Past: Chapter 5

 

We conclude the battle we started this week. As a side note, the paragraphs that begin this chapter, and some others scattered through the chapter,  are the oldest untouched pieces of prose I have ever posted; they are unchanged from the first draft of this work (originally called "Psionic!") written in 1978.

 

 

--------

 

 

Chapter 5.
Varan:

Red fire-hammers slammed into the makeshift barricade. Being made of E-steel torn from the bulkheads behind us, it only gave a little, but even that little was too much. As the glare and smoke faded, I saw the sinuous chitin-covered forms winding with deceptive speed down the corridor. Zchorada. Five of them. I sighted on one antlike head, saw it was helmeted, shifted my aim to the ten clawed legs. "Jearsen!" I shouted. "A line of Shockwave charges, range 35, fast!"

She moved almost before I called the order. A stacatto roar of destruction burst out thirty-five meters away, showering our armor with debris and shattered Zchorada fragments. I saw the second wave of the five-meter creatures withdraw, repulsed for the moment. "That's what I like about you Guards," I said. "You're so good at mindless destruction."

"That's because you Navy vacuum-heads are so good at giving mindless orders. Do you realize how close we just came to hole-through?"

Damn right I had. With the bulkheads gone behind us, we could have blown through to the level below or above, decompressing another entire section. "You know of any other way we could have stopped that rush?"

She shook her head, an action barely visible through the tinted faceplate. "Of course not; if I had I'd have told you."

I squinted out through the smoke. No movement yet. "Damn. Why did they have to hit our section?"

"Bad timing, I guess. Be glad we were already in our armor for that practice session." Jearsen drummed her metal-clad fingers on the barricade, a sound like hail on a metal roof. "I just can't believe they could have dropped in that close, even with the interference work. Sasham, aren't the imaging backups supposed to alert us?"

"Yeah," I said. "They had someone seeding the area with dimensional transponders so they could push the interference; stands to reason someone – maybe even a psispy – got in and messed with the cameras somehow."

There was a screeching vibration through the hull. My sensors showed movement behind us. "Diorre, keep eyes front." I aimed the Flarebolt rannai cannon down the Radial. A thin atmosphere existed in here, probably from the Zchorada breacher unit – enough to permit drifting, thin, wispy smoke to obscure vision. The armored safety door seemed to be rising. I tightened my grip, forced myself to relax, repeated the White Vision meditation focus, looked carefully.

Our comms suddenly crackled. "Varan? Commander Varan?"

"Commandant! Is that you?" I eased off on the grip and returned the Flarebolt to face our real opponents, gesturing for Jearsen to take over the heavy packeted-plasma weapon. She slid into the control seat as I vacated it.

"Yes, it is. Commander, we have secured you a fallback."

"No can do, unless you've got the men to spare to hold this area."

"We are willing to cede –"

"We cannot, Commandant. Right now we have this group pretty well boxed in – the doors sealed off Outring on Port and Starboard sides, and from the little chatter I've gotten the other boarding missions are being held for now. But if they get into the pressurized section back where you are, they'll have five directions to go. If you want to try holding both ends of Vertical One, both sides of Midring, and this radial, fine, but give me a fast flight out first!"

I heard Tels curse under his breath. "Couldn't we seal these doors up again?"

"Commandant, we could, but there's at least fifteen or twenty of them left, and what happens when we leave them alone… with our own auxiliary armory?"

By the way he froze, halfway to us, I could tell it had just dawned on him that the armory was a blade with two edges, and one was facing us. "Tell me there are no weapons in there designed for Chakron use."

He was hoping that, of course, because the Chakron were virtually identical to the Zchorada. "I wish I could, sir. However, there are quite a few. Including one Shockwave 7."

What he said then did border on blasphemy. "Sink it, Commander, I don't have the soldiers to spare. Most of them are on our ships, trying to hold off the main invasion force." I could tell by the tilt of his head he was trying to study his deployments in his main display. "I might be able to … all right, Commander, I'll take two men from each of the current Outring deployments and send them –"

"Commander!" shouted Jearsen. "The --"

Crimson slashed the air to slivers. A bludgeon of red caught Tels in the chest, hammered him backwards and into the now-closed blast door of Radial One. Whining shrieks spat from the Flarebolt in accompaniment to the blue-white hell Jearsen was returning down the corridor. I scuttled forward in a crouch, trying to make the most of the barricade's cover.

An insistent, warning buzz snapped my attention to a telltale I had never seen lit in all the years I had been in the Navy. I felt nothing – yet – but in horror I saw Diorre freeze, trying to fire, yet unable now to move.

These Zchorada had a psi with them!

     I charged forward, knowing their charge had already begun. Just as I reached the Shockwave, Zchorada poured in a weaving, clattering horde over the barrier, mandibles and legs slashing.

They got Jearsen that way, frozen in place by another's will, her nonpowered armor unable to carry a psi-screen like mine. Four of the ten-legged monsters grabbed her, dragged her off the cannon's saddle, and tore her to pieces, armor and all. I heard her screams for minutes after she was dead, realized the screams were mine as I fired without aiming into the segmented alien mob. They withdrew, having lost… only two of their own. I heard a shuddering clang and another muffled detonation. A second breacher had arrived. Reinforcements…

And the buzzing warning continued. There was no defense against psionics except a psi shield, and when my suit's power failed – and it would, soon, with this drain – I would stand there helpless, like Jearsen…

Affirmation. Stand still.

     I tried to scream, realized I couldn't. Terror spun in infinite circles through my brain. Their psi was impossibly powerful, maybe an ultra – he was actually getting through the shield!

I felt my muscles becoming sluggish, as though sleepmist was being pumped through my air supply. If they rushed now, I was dead. But I'd still get a couple… so the Zchoradan was calmly, coldly waiting until he had me completely immobile.

I had to get to the Flarebolt. I had to! The scream oozed past my lips in a pathetic whine, the sound of a wounded, helpless animal. The immense, substanceless pressure on my mind rose another notch. I saw a wavering, spectral image of a Zchoradan Hive-Master, jewel-insets glittering, mandibles waving in their macabre equivalent of a grim smile.

Give in. Death is quick by blade or bolt. Death by mind is an eternity of pain.

     Panic was going to get me killed, but…

I remembered, just before Tels had arrived. Maybe… worth a try… at least it was something…A meditation. White Vision, the clearness of mind, the purity of white light reflected from an ocean…

You have a good mind, but no power. Without power, your will is mine. A sense of amusement, mingled with respect for a doomed adversary and a burning hostility towards all the Empire.

I clamped down on terror, denied it, even as I knew my movements towards the Flarebolt continued to slow. And only minutes before the psi-screen drained my suit's reserves. …reflected from an ocean… the infinite variations of white in the heart of a sunlight cloud…the movement that cannot be seen, yet is there in the corner of the eye… sensing that which is not to be known by the conscious senses…

Stand still. Your body obeys my commands. Your will is gone. The echoing non-voice seemed somehow muffled, less emphatic. Perhaps the strain of pushing through a psi-screen constantly was wearing him down? I pushed hope away, too.

The purity of white, erasing all distractions. Now, focus, inward, deeper, to the center… inward, then upward, to the High Center. The image of the Hive-Master seemed to fade…

What…?

     In the Center I reached out, and my hands responded. The alien voice began to shout at me, twitches shook my arms, but I moved. I moved!

     Holding the transcendant feeling of High Center in my mind, I sprinted for the Flarebolt, vaulting into the saddle so heavily that the seat cracked under the impact of the powered armor. I squinted through the haze and saw the invading force starting its charge, the psionic realizing that things had gone badly wrong, and I could see him, SEE him, at the rear of the first charge, the same jewel pattern on the mandibles and foremost segment armor. Without the need for thought I knew I had him, locking the heavy rannai cannon onto him, and he saw it, and then the world SCREAMED.

It was a thousand flaming needles driven through my mind, boring through the flimsy wall of discipline that I'd thrown up, blasting through the psi-screen in a panic-driven blaze of hate and fury and – as it felt, through me, my hand spasm on the trigger – terrified despair which ended in a detonation of black agony and nighmare images as the walls seemed to open up and an uncounted horde of mandibled, blade-legged horrors erupted all around me.

They really were coming, too, and I tried to fire, but they were everywhere – everywhere! On the ceiling, one flickered and disappeared, but I'd swung the Flarebolt high to engage, and a real Zchorada was there, lunging towards me. I swung hysterically.

The power-amplifed blow pulped the huge-eyed ant's head, and actually feeling one die brought back some measure of sanity. The revulsion and terror were still there, but my training had taken over. I fired, swung, kicked, threw grenades. Bladed legs ripped the air and I ducked, grabbed, and threw the centipedal monster into a barrage of its allies' shots. A metal tube came to bear on me; my armor's Thunderbolt vaporized the tube's wielder. Two chitin-armored forms rushed me, slammed me into the wall. The back of my head smacked the inside of the helmet, orange-red pain blurred my vision. Claws pulled on my armor, and a memory of Jearsen seared away the mental fog. I pounded fists and feet into anything that moved, stumbled away from the ruins of flesh that had been my attackers. My leg was stiff and hurt when I moved it, but as a Zchorada reared up through the drifting smoke I spun and leaped in a Tor kick, crushed its second thoracic segment, flung it away. Metal glinted as one aimed at me, I turned. raising my pistol. Red beam crisscrossed paths with blue bolts, fire washed down my right side.

Then it was over, and I was standing alone in the radial corridor. At least ten Zchorada were sprawled lifeless across the barricade, in pieces on the deck, slumped against the shattered bulkheads. Smoke filled the tunnel in eddying clouds, swirling like blood in the orange emergency illumination. I almost fell as my weight pulsed; the gravity generators were going, or maybe it was just my balance. My eyes weren't cooperating and the Flarebolt drifted in and out of focus as I hobbled towards it. The armor was starting to lose power, and it was an effort to drag the alloy legs forward, push, drag forward again. I could hear through my one working microphone a rattling rustle as the rest regrouped for another assault. Two cracked ribs I hadn't known were there filled each breath with flame as I pulled myself up to the saddle. In the dim lighting I saw the dark, serpentine shadows begin a charge. Then I touched the trigger and hurled horror back at them with blue-shrieking light.

They tell me they found me like that, firing incessantly at the crawling shadows cast by the smoke in the orange light. All I remember is seeing a shadow move behind me, swinging the cannon about, and letting darkness claim me as I saw that the figure stood on two legs.

 

 

Demons of the Past: Chapter 4

I'm trying to pump out a lot of writing to catch up with things missed last year when Kathy was very sick, so that's why I'm posting snippets. In the case of Demons of the Past, I am going to take you through the first actually dangerous event of the book... which starts now!

 

 

Chapter 4.
Varan:

The red target shimmered and exploded just a split-second before the blue. I was, unfortunately, blue. "And that," Diorre said gleefully, tossing back her red-gold hair, "makes it even, Navy Commander Varan."

I tried to look offended, but found myself laughing instead. She deserved a little triumph there, as usually I beat her soundly in Doubles Targets. "Yes, it certainly does, Guard Sergeant First Jearsen." Then I pulled her head down the necessary few centimeters and kissed her. "And you can't even taunt me into getting more competitive. Not now."

"No?" she said, straightening her pearl-grey uniform slightly. "But I liked our little competitions, Sasham. Maybe this change in our relationship wasn't for the—"

I put my hand over her mouth. "Torline's Swords, don't even joke about that. Unless you don't feel the way I do."

From the warm twinkle in her eye I suspected she did, but she answered, "I don't know. How do you feel?"

I began running through the setup for the next set of targets automatically. "You just want to hear me babble. Fine, I don't mind, even if I do sound like an overromantic script. How do I feel? Like the entire universe is precisely right for the first time. As though I'd only seen the world in grays and someone had finally shown me color. I feel like I'd just stepped out my door and found that I was living on the First World."

She giggled, a somewhat incongruous sound coming out of someone ten centimeters taller and wider across the shoulders than I was. "Hey, power down that drive, Sasham. Isn't that close to blasphemy or something for you Believers?"

"Only the Repentants. I'm a Seeker, so Atlantea," I made the Sign of the Towers, "is something to be remembered with joy and love. And I love you, Diorre."

"I love you too, Sash. Now start the next round!"

I shook my head, grinning, and set the target countdown. I still found it hard to believe that we were actually together – and in the same thought, I found it harder to believe we hadn't been together from the time we were roommates… Torline's Swords, was it really almost twenty years now? How the obvious can escape you…

The first target nearly escaped me, flying from one of the many indistinguishable slots on the left side of the target range. Training reflexes saved me from total embarrassment, but I had to shoot twice before I actually took it out – the first was a graze and the target's shielding, set specifically for rannai weapons, shrugged it off. Jearsen, less fogged by sentiment, had nailed hers almost coming out of the launch gate.

Time to focus, Sasham Varan. You may be in love with her, but she's in love with you too. Don't make it a weakness on your side; she wants the same competition we had as friends. Use your own strength, clear your mind. I brought up the White Vision of Tor – that should be enough to keep me focused.

My aim and reflexes steadied and I started taking out the targets with my accustomed speed and accuracy, gaining the fractional seconds I'd lost to Diorre. We were ten targets into the thirty-target sequence when a chime came from the Tangia Outpost comms. "Notification, Commander Varan and Sergeant First Jearsen: Armor and Tactical Training Area is now available."

We both slapped at the cancel pad so fast she ended up smacking my hand, which got there first. "Ow! I guess we're both in a rush."

"No surprise there, given how hard it is to get slots." She spoke up to the comm units. "Notification acknowledged. We will be there by… 21:20."

"Reservation entered for 21:20. Exclusive?"

"No, as long as we both have first choice of slots. I want riot control and peacekeeper scenarios."

"Why does that not surprise me?" I commented. "Peacekeeper competency evals, huh?"

"You got that target first shot, anyway," she said with a slightly taunting grin. "I'm not coming up second now or ever."

"Planning on retiring to planetside Peacekeepers?"

She laughed. "Retiring? Not for a while yet. But whenever I do retire, I'm going to be able to pick my berth."

"Commander Varan, your reservation?" the comm reminded me.

"Sorry. I want a full combat slot. Powered armor training in close quarters."

"Slot reservations entered."

"I knew that was why you were dragging that huge case around. Well, come on, let's go!"

"Power down a second, will you? Remember how cramped the dressing rooms always are in there? I'm going to take a quick shower and sheath up right now. In fact, I think I'll put on the armor too."

"That's a good idea. I'll join you."

I held up a hand. "If you do, we will never make it by 21:20. Maybe not by 29:20, even."

"I meant in wearing my armor over there, you one-track-minded Navy."

"Of course you did." My tone did not – quite – agree with my words. She maturely made a face at me and went to change in a separate room. I ducked into the shower and then, dried, pulled on the Exsheath and dressed in my uniform over that. The Exsheath would be able to interlock with the armor through the uniform; it had connect pads designed for just that purpose built into the uniform.

By the time I got the armor itself on, Jearsen was waiting at the door of Target Range 3, looking impatient. Nonpowered E-steel and spun carfiber armor is pretty light and efficient at protecting you from most low-powered weapons, not to mention easy to put on and take off.

The powered armor I was wearing, by contrast, made me nearly 30 centimeters taller than my usual height and almost 20 wider. It was clumsier, though surprisingly nimble for something that large due to the integrated Exsheath controls, and required practice to move in efficiently. With my past experience in combat, I figure that everything, even powered armor suit warfare, degenerates to hand-to-hand eventually, so I practiced a lot to be able to move well in any situation – null-G, ordinary uniform, powered armor, or nonpowered.

Still, I guess we made a somewhat odd couple as we exited the training area, me ducking slightly as I passed through. "Which way?"

"Radial to Outring, then follow the curve of Outring to Tac Training," Jearsen said promptly, suiting her actions to words.

"You sure? That's the long way."

"I'm sure. Fallday rehearsals, remember."

"Ooog. Yeah. Midring and Inring will be mobbed. Outring it is."

A good choice. With the civilians preparing their own celebrations and the Navy and Guards busy preparing for the usual contests and displays, Outring was practically deserted. Oh, there would be people still on duty in the critical areas – Tangia (more formally known as Border Outpost Seven) was in a potential war zone, sitting on the Zchoradan border of the Empire, so vigilance was still required – but Outring was the least important in terms of station integrity, except in cases of boarding actions.

Just as we were approaching the intersection of Outring with Radial One, the buzz of Perimeter Alert sounded. We both twitched reflexively, but continued; there were incoming ships arriving on a regular basis, so the alert would sound, you'd hold your breath for twenty seconds, and then the cheerful chime of Vessel Identified would sound and you'd be back to normal.

Except that only five seconds after Perimeter Alert, the entire station echoed to the scream of Enemy Approaching.

     I cut in the tactical displays on my helmet; from the corner of my eye, I could see Diorre putting on her helmet so she could do the same. I coded in my clearance and spoke into the comm. "Base Control Central, this is Commander Varan. Orders?"

"Commander!" There was relief in Lieutenant Rington's voice. "Commandant Tels is on the way, but right now we're still clarifying and you're ranking in contact now."

"Understood, Central. I am ranking until Commandant Tels or Monitor Frankel arrives there. What is the situation?"

"Three Zchorada warships, Commander, with other possible spikes, range is one billion and closing fast. They're generating a lot of DD interference and it's being echoed."

"Echoed?Chiss. They've seeded the area, probably using civilian transports as cover for the drops. Can we do a saturation fire in the local region to clear the perimeter?"

"Negative. The major echoing is not that close, and we have civilian vessels still trying to maneuver Hubward. Hold – oh, DEMONS of –"

     I didn't quite hear the end of Central's curse, because it was at that very moment the far wall blew in and then out, taking atmosphere with it in a screaming devil's wind. Armor doors slammed down on both sides of Outring and a short distance down Radial One.

"Say again, Central! We have a blowout at Outring One! Repeat, we have a blowout in Outring One!"

"Confirmed, Commander! It's a breaching unit, maybe twenty, thirty troop capacity, locked right on."

"Torline's Swords…" I muttered. No one laughed at the old-fashioned expression. There wasn't much to laugh at. In a few minutes thirty Zchorada would come pouring through the hole in Outring – right into our laps. "Central, I need reinforcements, and I need them now. There is absolutely no one here other than myself and White Sergeant Diorre Jearsen."

"Oh vorces," I heard the Lieutenant mutter." Auto-lockdown has sealed the area off. It will take time for the Guard detachment to armor up and –" his voice dissolved in a hail of static. I heard another few words that carried no comfort "…ree more breachings in Out…" and then nothing.

I looked at the dark, yawning hole in the wall fifty meters away, as we backed down Radial One. "I think we're it, Diorre."

"Well, that's just wonderful." Even our minimum-range personal coms were hashed with interference. The Zchorada had planned this one well.

I raised my Madaran .500F, the pistol absurdly small in the armored hands, and began firing into the hole. I couldn't see anything yet, and if I kept up fire in those close quarters it might slow them down. My suit's main weapons worked better with designated targets, and I wanted to save the power; I'd be needing it all later.

Jearsen suddenly bolted past me. Without taking my eyes from my shadowed target, I shouted, "What is it?"

"This is Radial ONE, Sasham! What's in the storage area in Radial One Outring Sector?"

I felt a tiny, tiny bit of relief and hope start to come back. "You'll need my code." I transmitted a one-use code to her key transciever. "Hurry, this toy won't hold them off long."

"If it will last five minutes," she said, "I'll have something better for you."

The door to the secondary armory slid open at her code.