Eric Flint's Blog, page 278

Phoenix In Shadow – Chapter 20

Phoenix In Shadow – Chapter 20

Chapter 20.

She skipped her way along the hallway, then bounded down the three hundred forty-three steps, taking them three or four at a time, to finally burst through the massive double doors that opened easily for her – and only a very few others.

The room on the other side never failed to impress her – and, in the moments she was honest with herself, sent a tingle of apprehension through her as well. Arranged like a gigantic amphitheater with circular levels descending in ranked order, forty-nine levels each with its own corresponding complex symbology intagliated in silver and gold and crystal on the great domed roof above, the room was both immense and hollowly imposing. Even her light footsteps sent sharp echoes chasing themselves around the room, past the polished metal and glass and shimmering gemstone retorts spaced about the levels and the spaces awaiting other chambers, retorts, tubes, or crystals to be inset, in their turn, beneath the T’Terakhorwin, the Great Array.

In the center of the huge room, beneath the core of the Great Array, was a flat space nearly a hundred yards across, with a floor of polished obsidian inset with platinum and krellin runes so closely spaced that there was nearly as much soft-silver shining as deep black glint. Despite the size of that area, not terribly much of the floor was visible, for arranged all about, in concentric seven-sided patterns, were ranks of alchemical and mystical equipment of more complex and diverse designs than she had ever seen anywhere else.

The master and designer of all of this glanced up as she entered. “You interrupt my work.” His white hair cascaded across his shoulders, his pale eyes stared at her from deep-set, shadowed sockets in a narrow, ascetic face that showed lines of concentration but none of smiles. The only other person present made himself unobtrusive, obviously wanting to avoid being involved in any major discussion.

She flashed Tashriel a quick smile then turned to Wieran with a sigh. He hasn’t the faintest trace of courtesy. I shudder every time I have to have him come up and interact with other people, for fear he’ll forget his instructions. “I wouldn’t do so without reason, and I think you’ll find this reason more than adequate.”

She reached up to one of her armor’s shoulderpads and, with some effort, detached a section which had made the one a bit thicker than the other. Beneath the false surface could now be seen a multiplicity of runes and symbols, engraved in a way that strongly mirrored that of the ground below her.

The blue eyes narrowed, and a hint of a smile appeared – a smile which was not, in any way, comforting. “The data gathering is complete?”

“I spent several hours in the company of the target. That should be enough, right?”

“If it is the correct target, yes.” Without request or preamble, long, spidery fingers snatched the former coverplate of her shoulderpad away from her; Wieran crossed with metronome-precise strides to a complicated piece of equipment a short distance away and fitted the thin plate into a holder.

An entire portion of the array above and below suddenly hummed into life, and a blue-white fire burned for a moment above the plate, a fire whose light both excited and pained her. “Yes, yes, yes! That is the key we have sought!” Wieran said, with the most animation she had ever heard in his voice. “Have it brought here immediately!”

The joy she felt at knowing victory was at last within their reach was tempered by the sudden demand. “Master Wieran,” she said carefully, “They are currently in Murnitenzei, and the key is not alone. We must take care not to alert any of the party to anything untoward, and really, we haven’t anything with a foolproof method to transport someone so far.”

Wieran’s mouth tightened, but then he took a breath and relaxed. “Very well, Miri. I suppose I can take the time to finalize preparations for the unlocking in the meantime; it has not been a priority until now.”

The ground beneath them suddenly quivered – a tiny amount, but more than enough for both Miri and Wieran to notice. Miri glanced involuntarily at the wall she knew lay to the West, and thus beneath Enneisolaten, the great lake. “Is … it… secure?”

Wieran’s reply was matter-of-fact, holding none of her uncertainty or – to be perfectly frank with herself – fear of what lay beyond. “The Array holds him, yes. And once the key has arrived, that will no longer be a concern for any of us.”

“You can keep it restrained for that long? When the cycle is turning in their favor?”

A short, humorless laugh. “Your desperate bindings held it for centuries before I came; with the perfection of my designs? Not even the Dragon King himself could break free! But I understand your fear; if break free it does, I will not be the one it comes for first, but rather those who asked its aid and then betrayed it. Now,” Wieran turned away, “leave me, Miri. I have work to do and need none of your distractions.”

“You’re welcome,” she muttered under her breath as she ran back up the stairs. Even his most polite behavior would get him killed in some places.

But that was only a minor annoyance today. The singing, painful brilliance she had seen stayed with her and erased her resentment at Wieran’s arrogance. Once past the wards at the top, she concentrated and in a flash stepped straight to the hallway outside her own chambers.

Inside, she quickly set up the mirror-scroll and invoked its power. For several minutes the gold-shining surface remained blank, showing only her own face; but then, without warning, it darkened, and a cheerful, blond-haired man – or rather, something that had the outward appearance of a man – looked out; his boyish grin widened farther as he saw his caller. “Why, Miri! What a pleasure, as usual. How are you?”

“Well enough, Viedra. I have called to thank you; the key we sought has indeed arrived. Master Wieran verified that this morning.”

“You doubted me? I’m almost wounded, Emirinovas.”

“Say rather I was not going to celebrate until I was sure,” she responded with a smile of her own. “But now it is certain. In a month or two, once he has arrived, the entire work will be completed.”

“A month? Oh, I imagine the old man is a bit put out by that.”

“He’ll have to accept it. We need to understand both the key and his companion; we don’t want unexpected events undermining the final seal and release.”

He nodded. “Oh, certainly not. His companion… yes, she is quite interesting. Please keep me informed – especially as to her ultimate fate. I’ve been following her myself for a project of my own.”

Miri raised an eyebrow. “You did not say she was important to any of your projects! I thought we had full operative authority here!” Her jaw tightened. If he puts restrictions on how we can deal with them –!

Instead, Viedra laughed. “Oh, but of course you do. Take whatever approach you require, just tell me of the outcome, yes?”

Mollified, she nodded. “As you wish. Do you have any use for Wieran afterwards?”

“After?” The smile was not quite human, the teeth suddenly a hair too sharp, too shiny. “Oh, I think by then Master Wieran will have outlived his usefulness. Don’t you agree?”

She giggled, a sound a listener would have found distressingly incongruous with her thoughts. “Oh, I think both Kalshae and I would agree on that.” She smiled in anticipation. “The real question will be whether I get to kill him… or she does.”

Viedra’s laugh was as human as his appearance usually was, big and cheerful and warm. She appreciated that incongruity herself. “Well, then, I wish you all the success possible, and that sounds like a wonderful thing to look forward to. I thank you for confirming things with me. Now, I must be going –” he broke off. “Oh, dear. Yes, there is one more thing.”

There always is. “What?”

“There’s another young man following that delightful Phoenix. It’s very important to me that he not catch up to her. Can you make sure of that?”

“Do you want him killed?”

Viedra shook his head. “Oh, no, no! I want him to keep following her, just not reaching her, until you are all done, that is. Preferably not even have much contact with those who have seen her. Can you arrange that for me?”

She was relieved; this would be both simple and amusing. “Oh, I think so. I’ll lay a false trail for him in the opposite direction around the lake from the one they select and periodically check on him. Good enough?”

“That will be splendid, Miri. Oh, yes – Phoenix doesn’t know she’s being followed, and she shouldn’t be allowed to know.”

“Of course.”

“Excellent. Then I will leave you to it – our Father has tasks for me today.”

Miri waved and the scroll went blank. Glancing at the timecrystal, she bounced up and headed to the Valatar Throne.

Lady Shae saw her come in and waved absently. Miri, seeing she was busy hearing the grievances of the people and making decisions, went to one side of the Throne and waited patiently. Even small details like this were crucial to the overall plan.

Finally the last of the morning’s petitioners left and the doors shut behind. “Kerlamion’s breath,” Kalshae muttered venomously, “I grow so weary of this charade at times. Such petty issues they have. Hardly even a decent bout of hate or killing rage or spite.”

Miri laughed. “Oh, if you take the border areas you can get a lot of that!”

Shae looked at her askance. “You have the option to patrol; that’s rather limited for me.”

“The price you pay as the Lady of Light.”

“Ugh. I feel so contaminated.” Kalshae shuddered and for a moment her form wavered, becoming less human, darker.

“Oh, I don’t mind; I can switch back and forth between the self I’m being for the game and who I am; it’s become almost its own reality.”

Kalshae looked at her sharply. “Be careful, Emirinovas! Dalurshinsu and Yurugin said similar things before …”

“I know perfectly well what they said. I also haven’t been playing around with the Stars and Sun directly like they were.”

“Still, you should come down and sit next to our prisoner more often. His darkness is a welcome antidote to that agonizing light.”

“I’ll try. But unlike you, I have a lot of places I have to travel to. You can always go downstairs in between duties.”

“Just watch yourself. I’m not sure how either of us could handle all this by ourselves.”

Miri nodded, but smiled confidently. “Oh, I will. But really, it’s only another few months.” The smile sharpened. “I’ve directed this plan for thousands of years; what could possibly break me now?”

 

Into The Maelstrom – Snippet 43

Into The Maelstrom – Snippet 43

Chapter 14 – Siege Lines

Allenson spent the next few weeks reorganizing his army. He set up a rigorous training schedule. He bust some officers and NCOs and promoted others. Slowly but surely the army changed from a ragbag collection of militia into a professional fighting force. He created uniform regiments by merging understrength units. He grouped the regiments into brigades until he had a field army of interchangeable units with predictable reactions.

He pitched brigades and battalions against each other in competition. The winner was excused fatigues. The losers got their duties in addition to their own. Men lounging while catcalling and uttering unsubtle jokes to colleagues digging ditches became a familiar sight along with Allenson’s universal reply to any complaints: “it pays to be a winner”.

He was cordially hated by all and sundry but they sweated and they worked nonetheless. Allenson consoled himself by the thought that being popular was not in his job description.

He set up an event and was cheering on the contestants when the intruder alarm sounded. Companies were competing to dig and occupy a trench line before an automatic defense laser cannon raked the air space above one meter off the ground.

There was in theory no danger. One meter was easily sufficient for someone to survive simply by lying down on the surface never mind in a trench. Regrettably, some idiot always ran too slow or cut it too fine when the warning claxon sounds. Live fire casualties inevitably happened in training. Each one lay on Allenson’s already burdened conscience but a little blood shed now could save rivers of gore when the army had to do the business for real.

This time the klaxon went off early before either of the trenches was ready. The troops flung themselves at the ground without waiting for an explanation but the laser cannon unaccountably failed to fire. It wasn’t even pointing in the right direction. The barrels stuck fast in the rest position. The weapon’s crew gawped at it in astonishment. They prodded a few buttons experimentally but the machine continued to sulk like a teenager at an aged relative’s birthday party.

This other defense cannon positioned around the perimeter of the camp also went on strike. They failed to react even when a swarm of one and two-man frames phased in directly overhead. The intruder alarm successfully detected intruders but that wasn’t all that helpful if the defense cannon failed to respond.

Allenson pulled his ion pistol out and shot it uselessly into the air. He had enough trouble hitting anything with a rifle. With a pistol he could barely target the sky. His action was more in the way of a warning to the camp. Kemp’s men closed up on each side of him carbines at the ready. They, sensibly, did not try to target small fast-moving objects at extreme range.

The klaxon continued to wail signaling an air attack. Soldiers tumbled out of tents. Some, those who had both remembered to grab their rifles and managed to switch them on, fired at the frames – mostly without effect. A rare hit caused a two-man frame to sideslip towards the ground trailing smoke. The front rider slumped forward over the controls while the man behind pedaled furiously.

The frames scattered, some rephrasing back into the Continuum. Others dropped swiftly to the ground, braking only just in time to effect a soft landing. The crews dived off their machines as soon as they were down. They hid in the half finished trenches or lay flat with their arms over their heads. If this was an attack then the enemy were a right bunch of pacifists.

Allenson keyed an all ranks channel. “Cease fire. The newcomers are friendly, cease fire immediately.”

Rather to his surprise his men obeyed and the shooting died away. Allenson shrugged off the restraining hands of his minders bounded over to the half-finished defenses.

A young man wearing a cheeky grin and an unfamiliar canary-yellow uniform climbed out of a trench with his hand extended.

“Who the hell are you?” Allenson demanded, ignoring the proffered limb.

“Captain Reese Morton, sir, Morton’s Marauders. I guess you must be our new general,” the young man said, saluting with a flourish.

At that point the klaxon sounded again. Allenson turned and was horrified to see the exercise laser cannon swiveling on its gimbals. The damn thing was still obeying its preprogramed fire pattern instructions.

Some things are so burnt into one’s body that they override the conscious mind. Allenson’s old combat reactions kicked in. He was the first into the trench. The others landed on top of him.

#

Allenson felt the back of his neck gingerly. Some damned squaddie had planted a combat boot on one of his upper vertebra.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir. I didn’t think,” Morton said.

“No, sir, you bloody well didn’t,” Allenson replied. “You are damned lucky half your command wasn’t flamed by our lasercannon. Never ever try to beat up my command like that again or I will shoot you personally if the autos don’t do it for me.”

He turned to Ling.

“And why is Morton still alive, colonel? Why didn’t our autos fire? What if it had been the Brasilians and not some damn fool from our own side.”

Allenson glowered at Morton who was not noticeably crushed.

Ling said, “I anticipated you would want to know what went wrong so I’ve had the engineering officer check the equipment over. It seems there’s a flaw in our control system.”

“A flaw that could get us all killed,” Allenson snarled.

Ling nodded, seriously.

“Yes, sir, taking one cannon off line for the exercise shut down the entire system. Apparently, it’s a health and safety measure to render the equipment safe in the event of a malfunction.”

“Safe?” Allenson asked, pronouncing the word as if it described an obscene act involving rubber trousers and an electric prod. “I see we are using a novel definition of the word safe. Safe to me means having a working bloody air defense system.”

“Yes, sir, I agree. I have instructed Major Kiesche to disable the, ah, safety feature.”

“I suppose you actually did us a favor, Morton. Just don’t do it again,” Allenson said, rubbing his neck.

“Do you want the doctor to have a look at that?” Ling asked.

“I’ve had worse. A plum brandy will put me right.”

Taking the hint Morton caught the waiter’s eye and ordered drinks.

“Remind me, what are Morton’s Marauders?” Allenson asked.

“A small detached commando operating independently in the Hinterland,” Ling replied.

“We’ve been hitting isolated Brasilian outposts and their supply routes,” Morton replied proudly.

“Pin-pricks only, I’m afraid, sir,” Ling said. “I doubt the Brasilians care overmuch but Morton’s raids do show the flag around the mudball colonies and dissuade Brasilian loyalists from trying to raise an army in our rear.”

“I think I do rather more than that,” Morton said, a trifle stiffly. “On this raid we captured Fort Champlain, slighted the defenses and burnt the building to the ground.”

“Indeed,” Allenson said, impressed.

“Fort Champlain was a weapon store. We’ve brought back some useful captured equipment,” Morton said.

“Like what?” asked Allenson.

“Mortars, sir! Ceramic tubes and a supply of shells.”

“Now that is truly useful,” Allenson replied, delighted.

With mortars in support, an infantry assault on Oxford might become a viable proposition. Allenson would prefer the Brasilians to be the ones to launch an attack. It was true that modern troops were so tactically mobile that the attacker had all the strategic advantages of tempo. He chose the time and place and could easily concentrate overwhelming force on the point of contact before the defender could reinforce. Nevertheless the defense was always tactically stronger. This was especially true if the defenders were aided by the force multiplier of a prepared position. Green troops in particular found it easier to defend fortified positions than to attack them.

“How did you storm Fort Champlain with only light infantry?” Allenson asked.

“Truth to tell it wasn’t as difficult as it sounds,” Morton replied with disarming honesty. “The walls were in a parlous state. The fort was undermanned with demoralized garrison troops. They fired a few volleys for effect then legged it.”

Allenson thought Morton underrated his achievement.

“Nevertheless, a successful coup de main requires boldness and skill. Well done.”

He noticed that Morton visibly preened under the praise. The young man wasn’t overly modest at all. In fact he was incorrigibly vain but it was difficult not to like him.

“The choice of uniform for your unit surprises me. Isn’t bright yellow a little, well, visible?”

“You are not the first to express that view,” Ling added.

“There was talk of a combat uniform in some peasant shade like earth brown or olive green but I soon put a stop to that,” Morton replied, loftily. “I want my men to be seen and recognized as an elite fighting force. Besides, no gentleman should be asked to go to war looking as if he has just rolled in a swamp.”

 

Phoenix In Shadow – Chapter 19

Phoenix In Shadow – Chapter 19

Chapter 19.

Finally starting to wind down, Poplock thought to himself. He’d managed to wander around most of the huge house of the Reflect while the others were in conversation; as he’d expected, in most cases people didn’t even notice him if he was at all cautious, and at most they picked him up and moved him somewhere they felt he belonged.

There wasn’t a single thing he’d found that was indicative of anything wrong here; it was, he admitted, perhaps a bit contrarian that this made him more suspicious than he had been. But while there were prison cells – and not many of them – they were comfortable, and mostly not in use, nor with much sign of use. He couldn’t find any secret passages, heavily warded locations – aside from basic defensive wards around the perimeter of the grounds – and the armory was about what he expected in a good-sized town, allowing for the fact that they didn’t have spellslingers but did have these “magewrights” to provide them with good equipment.

Even the conversation had been interesting but absolutely harmless. Mostly of course they’d been asking questions about the world beyond their mountains, and been riveted by Tobimar and Phoenix’ descriptions of Zarathan’s other countries and cities, but now that things were starting to break up, the newcomers were finally getting their turn to ask questions. From his current location on a mantelpiece, Poplock could hear Phoenix talking to one of the local Hues, Zelliri. “… you are all trained at Valatar?”

“Yes,” Zelliri nodded, her medium brown hair moving little because it was tightly braided around her head. “Every few years there’s a competition among all the children of the right ages – between thirteen and sixteen, for humans – and the ones that show the best talent, dedication and focus in the needed arts are selected as candidates to replace any of the Tenzeitalacor who may have been lost or chose to retire.”

“Is that common? Members of your Unity Guard being lost?”

Zelliri shrugged. “Common… no, but it happens. I think it’s probably one or two a year across all of Kaizatenzei. We don’t often lose a Light – if you ever see Light Miri in action, you’ll know why – but you’ve also seen what’s in the forest… outside. And sometimes there are still things inside, between the cities.”

That was at least fairly similar to home; get far away from the cities, things got less safe. But here, Poplock was pretty sure, it had to do at least partially with the magic that surrounded the city itself. I’m betting that the pure perfection we’re sensing here will be less in the in-between lands.

“What’s the training like to become a Hue?”

Zelliri got a faraway look in her eyes. “What’s it like? I’m not sure I could describe it to someone who wasn’t there. Oh, some of it’s just exercises, weapons training, and so on… but there’s techniques we’re taught…” She shook her head emphatically. “Really, I can’t tell you. Secret, honestly.”

“I understand. There’s things I guess we couldn’t tell you about our skills and training, too.”

Poplock scuttled along, moving behind vases and bowls and other things that dwarfed him. This was a typical conversation; a few interesting tidbits, nothing to hang anything real from.

Looking around, he noticed Hiriista was no longer immediately visible. That surprises me. He was obviously trying to pump us for information on magic, and could tell that there was more to learn.

Poplock slid down from the mantel and scuttled around, sniffing. There was a particular scent to mazakh and he was familiar enough with it to get a good trail if the traces were recent.

The trail led outside; easing out into the darkness, Poplock let his eyes adjust to the night before moving farther along.

It didn’t take very long to find Hiriista; he was standing in a small grove of bushes, laid out like a five-pointed star, to one side of the house entrance. The reptilian creature was squatting on its tail and looking up at the stars.

As Poplock stopped, the head swiveled. “Ah. The third and most interesting of our visitors arrives.”

Does he know, or is he guessing? Poplock just sat still and blinked stupidly at the mazakh.

“Naturally you’re too smart to speak. Or perhaps I am wrong and you are, indeed, no more than a pet, or a familiar, with a touch more than the wild gives you but not an intellect on a par with your companions. Yet, I think otherwise.” Hiriista looked back up at the stars. “Here we are in private; no others are here to observe. So – as you move not away – I will indulge myself with the speculations, and see if you agree with my conclusions, little toad.

“Firstly, it is your pose, your way of moving and sitting; the body has a language of its own, and while often yours says ‘I am nothing but a foolish toad’, at other times – often when others seemed not to be looking – it said other things to me. I saw your attention focused strongly on those speaking of certain things; I noted you kicking or nudging your companion Tobimar subtly, and shortly afterward he would ask certain types of questions. I am, you see, somewhat adept at reading the words of the body, as my people are rare in Kaizatenzei, and to live with humans well means to understand their meaning in movement as well as words.”

Hiriista reached slowly into a pouch at his side – a movement clearly intended not to frighten either dumb Toad or intelligent Adventurer – and brought out a metal and wood something which he put into his mouth. Scent rose from it, which Hiriista inhaled. “Still, this is mere circumstantial evidence, and a matter of interpretation. More telling, I think, is your face. A casual observer might not understand what they see, but I do. You are not an ordinary toad such as might be found in local swamps and ponds. Your eyes are set more forward, looking more as a human does, able to focus both eyes on targets. Your legs – fore and rear – seem jointed just slightly differently, and your forepaws appear more dexterous than ordinary. Your head, too, is somewhat higher and broader – perhaps to hold more of a brain to think with?” He gave an amused sigh, and a puff of the scent was faintly visible in the air. “Still, these may just be signs of a different variety of toad, one more suited to being a pet or familiar.”

Well, he’s doing very well so far. Wonder what else he has? Poplock mused. He wasn’t going to decide what he would do about the mazakh’s observations yet, and might as well hear everything he had to say.

“Third… ahh, that has to do with tactics. The Phoenix and Tobimar are both clearly warriors. They have some powers of their own, implied in their stories and the way in which they move, but the conversations on things magical clearly say to me that neither of them is well-versed in the ways of magic – whether that of your home locale, or of this. Yet does it make sense, I ask myself, for a party to set out to solve such a mystery as Tobimar describes, without at least someone who can, if not use magic, at least understand it well enough to address magical barriers and opponents? I would say not. And that, my friend, leaves you as the only possible candidate. Unless you happen, of course, to have another ally who is invisible and undetectable.” The magewright gave a hissing chuckle.

Ironic that in theory we could have just such an ally. Xavier would scare the scales right off you.

“Now, I have no intention of telling anyone else my deductions. I understand perfectly why this would be your tactic, Duckweed. Tiny, unnoticed, and potentially deadly; what a wonderful resource you must be, especially if your adversaries do not suspect your presence.”

Poplock grinned and gave his own shrug. “It’s proved useful a time or two,” he said.

The sharp hiss of startlement showed that despite his deductions, Hiriista had been uncertain. “So it is true! I thank you for speaking, little one. You are their magician, are you not?”

“Oh, I dabble – more than Tobimar or Phoenix, that’s true. But yeah, I’m the one they’ll be asking whenever things get magical.”

“So it was on your behalf that Tobimar was asking about gemcalling?”

“Basically. Sure, he was curious too, but I’m the guy actually interested in learning it, if I can.”

Hiriista spun and squatted again, now facing Poplock directly. “Well, since we shall be travelling together, I think I may be able to enlighten you on this. There are certain… limitations of the art which may make it generally more difficult for you to practice, but we shall see.”

“I can teach you about magic from our side of the mountains, too. What I know, anyway, which isn’t a huge amount but probably is enough to give you an idea of how we work.”

“I would be extremely interested to learn such techniques. Now that we are aware of the world beyond, I feel certain I will travel there one day, as you have travelled here.”

“Don’t try that alone. Rivendream Pass is just as nasty as you think.”

“Indeed, indeed. I have ventured outside of the wall… not far, you understand… and I know well what sort of monstrosities I might face.” A hiss-click of pride. “But they know not what they might be facing, either.”

Poplock figured the mazakh was probably right. Light Miri respected Hiriista, and given what she’d seemed perfectly happy to take on by herself… that made Hiriista pretty darn dangerous. “You say there’s not many of your people around?”

The magewright’s head bobbed from side to side in a negative. “Indeed, not many. In all honesty, not enough for us to maintain our population; we reduce in numbers and I fear it will be not too many generations at all before we are gone.”

“Well… there’s lots of mazakh on the other side of the mountains, but most of them aren’t very nice people.”

The crested head tilted. “What do you mean?”

Poplock gave him the same tilt. “You want the water-pure truth?”

“I do.”

“Okay, then. Most mazakh – and I mean something like ninety-nine out of a hundred – are demon-worshippers, following their own demons called the Mazolishta. Ran into one once, not very friendly at all.”

Even with his minimal experience with mazakh, Poplock could see the shock and disappointment in Hiriista’s pose and movements. “I… see. Then I apologize in the stead of all my misled brethren.”

“Hey, not your fault,” Poplock said cheerfully. “On my side… I’m guessing there aren’t any Toads here at all.”

“None I have ever heard of, no. Are all your people so small?”

Poplock gave a croaking laugh. “Ha! No, I am a runt by their standards too. Most of them are at least the size of one of those flagstones on the path to the house, and some weigh more than you do.”

“So, even in your home lands, you are oft ignored. I see. Well, as I said, I shall not betray your most interesting secret. Do you intend to keep yourself hidden from Light Miri – assuming she has not already guessed?”

“I think so. She doesn’t need to know my abilities right now, and having an unknown resource can be a lifesaver. I’ve saved lives before now with that.”

“I do not doubt it – and I now guess there are parts of your friends’ tales that might be told a bit differently if they were to include your role in affairs.” Hiriista stood, putting away his scent-device. “I believe the festivities are nearly over. Is that your friend?”

Faintly, from the door, he heard Tobimar calling “Duckweed? Duckweed!”

“Whoops! Gotta go. Thanks for a really interesting talk.” They exchanged bows. “Once we start travelling, I guess we’ll have a lot to talk about.”

“I think we will, yes.” Hiriista agreed.

A few moments’ hopping took him to Tobimar, who relaxed as he felt Poplock’s familiar weight clambering up to his shoulder. “Thank goodness,” he said, in the tone of someone chiding a pet, “I was worried. Don’t go wandering off like that!”

Poplock maintained his own silence until they returned to the inn – and until he’d managed to verify that there were still no spy charms, scrying, or other means of observing them without being detected. “Whew! So, you guys find out anything?”

Kyri made a face. “I found out that everyone’s curious about Evanwyl and the rest of Zarathan, that I’m already being compared to Lady Shae because we’re both very tall and built like warriors, and that I can’t sense a single thing worse than petty jealousy and human anger anywhere.”

“Pretty much the same here,” admitted Tobimar. “Not a trace of darkness that I could sense anywhere. Their Colors and Hues all were given secret-secret training that they remember fondly but can’t talk about, that’s about the only interesting thing I found out.”

“Yes, I had similar conversations,” Kyri said. “They’re very proud of it – reminds me a bit of the Justiciars, but mostly just because it’s a tight-knit group with strong spirit of unity.” She glanced to Poplock. “Same with you?”

“Well, mostly. I poked around everywhere I could reach in the mansion and found nothing. But there was one interesting event. I got caught.” He summarized his conversation with Hiriista.

Tobimar exchanged an impressed glance with Kyri. “By the sands, he’s good. We were trying to hide you but he still saw through it. Do you think he’ll actually keep you a secret?”

Poplock thought about it. “I think he wants to. What I don’t know is whether he’s got obligations to, say, the Lady of Light or Miri that might require him to let them in on the secret whether he wants to or not.” At their expressions, he snorted. “Hey, someone here has to be the cautious one!”

“No, you’re right there,” Kyri said slowly. “We know there’s something wrong here, and that means we can’t take anything on face value.”

“On the positive side, it means that you’ll actually be able to work with him on the various talents that work here and don’t back home – and, I guess, vice-versa.”

“Exactly,” Poplock said, catching a passing fly. “And I really need that information. If they do all their major magic by this gemcalling and summoning and alchemy and such, I have to get a grip on how that stuff really works here, and how I can deal with those if things turn ugly.”

He noted the yawns of his companions. “But you guys are tired – and so am I, I just don’t yawn like you. Tomorrow we choose which way to go and get going, right?”

“Right,” agreed Kyri. Tobimar snagged her for a kiss before they went to their rooms – a kiss that went on long enough that Poplock was tempted to set up a timer; instead, he just hopped to his place in a corner of Tobimar’s room.

Tomorrow we stop hanging around and get to moving again!

 

Into The Maelstrom – Snippet 42

Into The Maelstrom – Snippet 42

#

The advantage of the reverse cowboy position, thought Reeva Fairhead, is that you can feign passion with just a few theatrical moans without the tedious business of also having to simulate an expression of ecstasy. The disadvantage is that it is hard work involving bouncing up and down especially when your protector is elderly and tired. By the time Grimes climaxed she was exhausted. She leaned forward for a few moments to catch her breath.

Pointing down the bed, she had a good view of herself in the mirror. She examined her reflection with a professional eye. By most standards she was beautiful but the competition from younger hetaerae grew ever fiercer. Her breasts were sagging just a little and lines were showing in the skin around her neck. She was, she thought, getting too old for all this exercise.

Reeva was a great deal older than she looked. As the years passed the degree of rejuvenation treatment required to give her the right appearance of bubble-headed youth became more costly and uncomfortable.

It would be nice to retire. She had built up a decent little nest egg by the simple expedient of running a number of protectors simultaneously. Each paid the rent on her villa unaware of the others’ existence. Additional revenue accrued to her pension fund by getting each protector to buy her identical presents such as clothes and jewelry and then selling off the surplus. She only needed one of each item to wear for each doting admirer in turn.

Nevertheless prices never came down. One’s nest egg could never be too well padded. There were too many horror stories of elderly courtesans who had overlooked the effect of inflation forced out of retirement in their dotage. Reeva did not intend to be reduced to hanging around docks doing favors for sailors for the price of a hot meal. She shuddered at the thought.

At one time she had hopes of marrying a suitable financially endowed protector. Somehow no offer ever seemed quite good enough when she was younger and they had dried up as she aged. Reeva was enough of a realist to grasp that this situation was unlikely to change now.

A snore behind her back indicated that Grimes had gone to sleep. Charming, she thought, not even a thank you for her efforts. She carefully lifted herself off but she needn’t have bothered. Alcohol and sex had worked their usual magic on the male body.

Reeva wore clothes that could be donned as well as removed easily. One of the attractions of a professional companion to gentlemen is that unlike a wife they leave without fuss when the business is concluded and let a chap sleep in peace. She forced herself to dress quietly even though her mind was racing.

Grimes like many men had the urge to try to impress the woman he was about to screw. That was wasted energy as far as hetaerae were concerned. She regarded him in much the same way a farmer considered a dairy cow. To wit, it was only as valuable as its milk supply. In Grimes’ case said attempts to impress took the form of boasts about the importance of his work projects. He recounted these in tedious detail despite his patronizing expressed view that she wouldn’t really understand.

Actually Reeva understood far more than he gave her credit for. Her wide-eyed expression of awed stupidity was purely professional courtesy. Hetaerae entertained by massaging egos as well as bodies. She understood that what she had heard tonight was probably worth a great deal of money to someone. On the taxi ride home she thought long and hard about her future and how it could be best secured.

#

Suntalaw tapped his fingers on the blank surface of a switched off desk while keeping a subordinate called Preson waiting outside his office.

His official title was Director General of the Terran Commonwealth Social Welfare Directorate, in which role he chaired the Committee for Public Security that was his true powerbase. Public Security covered a wide remit including counter insurgency, counter espionage, and public morality.  The counter insurgency hat gave Suntalaw control of the internal security troops but his public morality brief was even more valuable. In the final resort everyone was immoral in some way or other. A case could be made against any person whom he decided needed removing. He kept files on anyone who mattered in the Terran power structure and many who did not but might someday become important.

The only individual more powerful than Suntalaw was the Advocate General himself. He perched atop the various silos of state, playing off one DG against another.

Suntalaw drummed his fingers, impatient to hear Preson’s news but it wouldn’t do to let an underling think he was important. Always make ‘em wait outside the door to establish the pecking order.

Finally he keyed the desk on and said, “Come.”

Preson oozed in, oilier than a seabird caught in a petroleum disaster.

“Well, what is it?” Suntalaw asked, injecting just the right amount of boredom into his tone. “You claimed that you had to report something to me personally.”

“Important intelligence from the Exoworld Directorate spooks, sir.”

Preson placed a plastic file on Suntalaw’s desk with exaggerated care.

Suntalaw gave it a sneer but refrained from opening it. Preson claimed to have a snout, an informer, in the Exoworld Directorate that among other things ran Terra’s outworld spy networks.

“I don’t have all day so summarize the salient points.”

Preson did as he was bid and when the man finished Suntalaw sat back in his seat.

“And Exoworld buy into this fanciful tale of magic Hinterland colony metal that will revolutionize naval warfare.”

“They have independent verification from two separate sources. The first is a secretary that they turned using a honey trap. She thinks her beloved an imprisoned Rautmalan dissident,” Preson said.

Suntalaw sniggered.

“I presume the boyfriend is an Exoworld operative.”

Preson nodded.

“The other source is a mistress of a Brasilian general.”

Suntalaw wondered how this could be worked to his advantage. His mind plodded carefully through the various possibilities, each scenario more paranoiac than the last. Should he sit on the information, pretend he’d never seen it, or report the matter to the Advocate General. What spin should he apply if he decided to pass it on?

His first reaction was to ignore the whole affair and let matters take their course. He would have to impress upon Preson the need to keep his mouth shut if he chose that option. The Advocate General undoubtedly had spies within every DG including Home Security. Could he trust Preson? Now that was a stupid question.

An unfortunate fatal accident could be arranged of course but suppose Preson was the Advocate General’s spy in Suntalaw’s directorate. Terminating him might seem like an attack on the Advocate General himself. That thought brought Suntalaw out in a cold sweat.

He forced himself to think through the logical possibilities. It was of little concern whether this magic metal actually existed but who thought it existed. Could this be an elaborate and convoluted scam by Brasilian Security to discredit Exoworld? In that case it would be better for Suntalaw to lie low and let events take their course.

Suppose it was a plot by Exoworld to discredit Social Welfare and hence him? If he misled the Advocate General with false information it could be construed as treason. The AG had a swift way with traitors, real or imagined.

Suntalaw examined Preson carefully, trying to read his mind. Life would be so much easier if he could read his subordinates’ minds. Preson was supposed to be his pipe line into Exoworld but it often occurred that Preson could just as easily be Exoworld’s pipe line into Social Welfare.

An even more horrendous idea erupted into his consciousness like a gas bubble from a swamp. Suppose the Advocate General himself had set up the scam to test the loyalty of his Director Generals? In that case not reporting the information could be construed as treason.

The more he thought about the matter the more Suntalaw convinced himself that it didn’t matter whether the information was true or untrue. The only issue was whether the Advocate General believed it might be true. He had developed paranoia into a high art form. The AG was likely to believe any tale no matter how fanciful where his own personal safety was threatened.

He would prepare a report for the AG. If it all blew up he would just have to find a scapegoat. Suntalaw smiled at Preson deciding to let him live a little longer. The man might yet be useful.

 

Into The Maelstrom – Snippet 41

Into The Maelstrom – Snippet 41

Chapter 13 – Home World High Jinks

“Marshal Ovaki will see you now,” the secretary said.

General Brine paused at the door to watch her sashay back to her podium. Long flowing lilac and indigo hair cascading down onto a very pert bottom made her worth a look. Her metallic purpurrot dress in a crushed velvety cloth unfortunately retained imprints. These included a distinct outline of a large male hand on her right buttock.

Brine knocked and walked in without waiting for a reply.

“Ah, Petrov, thanks for popping over, have a seat,” Ovaki said.

“Your secretary’s looking a little flushed, Sam,” Brine replied.

“She’s a charming girl but a bit forgetful. She mislaid a file so I had to admonish her.”

“So I saw.”

“Scotch?”

The marshal produced a bottle and two glasses.

“Plum brandy for me, if you have it.”

Nancy-boy’s drink, Brine correctly predicted the marshal’s next sally.

They went through this ritual every time Brine was summoned to the marshal’s office. Why Ovaki couldn’t just get on with it and pour him a plum brandy was beyond Brine’s comprehension. Possibly it was some sort of psychological dominance display. Maybe Ovaki actually liked scotch and really couldn’t understand why no one else did. God knows, he drank enough of the filthy stuff.

Brine asked, “Well, what was so urgent and confidential that I had to rush over in person?”

“It’s about the damned Bight colonies.”

Brine groaned and took a gulp of the brandy.

“Not again, haven’t we wasted enough energy not to save money on those mudballs. Don’t tell me some idiot politician on The Council has decided to make the little coup the colonials are cooking up a cause célèbre.”

Ovaki tried to reply but Brine was in full rant mode.

“It’s not as if we want the Bight colonies particularly. They’re an economic sinkhole of no strategic value. The only reason we fought a war there last time was to stop Terra getting them. That was purely for reasons of national prestige. Surely it’s not beyond the wit of even our politicians to come up with some face-saving form of words that will give the colonials independence in practice while maintaining Brasilia’s prestige among the Homeworlds?”

He finally ran down and glowered into his glass. Ovaki took the opportunity to get a word in edgeways.

“That was the plan. However, it’s not some politician who’s dropped a grenade at the mess dinner this time but the poxy academics.”

Brine was genuinely astonished.

“What? Who cares what academics think?”

In Brasilia’s socio-economic structure academics ranked somewhere between poets and classical dancers in that they were decorative items. You had to have some around to show you were a sophisticated society but only an idiot would take their advice on anything that mattered.

Ovaki continued. “It’s not what they think, it’s what they’ve discovered. Have you heard of unbihexium?”

“No,” Brine replied.

“It’s element 126, a super-actinide,” Ovaki said helpfully.

Brine didn’t bother to reply. The marshal knew very well he hadn’t got a clue what that meant. He doubted Ovaki had heard of unbi-whatever until he read the plastic file lying on the desk.

Plastic files were secure isolated data pads disconnected from any outside communication system and code-locked. They could only be read when activated by someone whose DNA, epigenetics and proteomic patterns matched the lock. In this case that was probably only Ovaki and possibly his secretary.

“Super-actinides are transuranic stable elements,” Ovaki said, didactically. “Except this one becomes unstable in the presence of a continuum field.”

Brine shrugged.

“So it’s another explosive, so what?”

Ovaki explained.

“It doesn’t explode it implodes, sucking in energy.”

“And that makes it important enough to fight a war over because…”

“Because tiny amounts can be used to refreeze ship’s heat sinks while in transit.”

“I can see that more efficient ships would be useful…” Brine began.

Ovaki silenced him with a gesture.

“No you don’t see. This stuff makes possible massive battleships with near infinite range at full speed. We can build fast armored transports that carry huge loads – including metals. In short, we could build an invasion fleet that could conquer a Homeworld. All it takes is a few kilos of unbihexium. Right now no one knows how to make the stuff in usable quantities but the navy found a source in the Bight Hinterland with shiploads just waiting to be mined.”

“Oh dear God,” Brine said finally catching on. “If the Terrans get their hands on it…”

“Quite! I want you to plan for a major invasion across the Bight. I know,” Ovaki held up a hand to forestall a list of reasons why that was next to logistically impossible.

Brine considered. “Our army is already overcommitted in a dozen brushfire conflicts with Terran proxies this side of the Bight. It will take time to recruit, train and equip new formations.”

“Time is what we don’t have so hire mercenaries.” Ovaki said. “I have a near unlimited budget for this operation. That is how seriously element 126 has rattled the Standing Security Committee. For once the political parties are in tight agreement. The politicos see their personal cozy little universes threatened.”

A hologram marker winked over Ovaki’s desk. He waved a hand and it disappeared.

“Just my secretary telling me she is going to lunch,” Ovaki said, in answer to Brine’s unspoken question.

“She’s quite a babe even by your standards.” Brine said, recalling the pert bottom. “Where did you find her?”

“She came highly recommended by a colleague in Security.” Ovaki replied. “He had to unload her in a hurry. His wife bumped into her at a reception and discovered she wasn’t as homely as my colleague had implied.”

“I can imagine the scene,” Brine said, chuckling. He raised his glass, “To our wives and loved ones; may they never meet.”

The babe in question often lunched outside the Department of War building. Today was no exception. She hurried across the open square into the warren of alleyways housing cafes and shops that serviced the staff who worked in the various government offices around the plaza. Her gait was a little stiff. Her bottom still smarted from the spanking administered earlier by the Marshall.

He enjoyed catching her out in little errors because it gave him an excuse to indulge his obsession with pert bottoms. In this case the filthy old perv’s habits were useful as they distracted him from wondering why the unbihexium file had gone missing. It was sheer bad luck he asked for it while she had it linked to her pad.

She sat down somewhat gingerly on a bench outside a small restaurant specializing in spiced food from Rautmala, an unimportant Homeworld in the Terran sphere of influence. She opened her bag to find the sandwich she had purchased earlier. She also took her pad out of her bag and watched a catch-up program about a popular soap opera as she ate.

She blinked back tears. The food aromas and restaurant music reminded her of the Rautmalan boyfriend she had met on holiday and with whom she had fallen deeply in love. She hadn’t seen him in months, not since he had been picked up by the Rautmalan Social Protection Guards for ownership of proscribed texts.

Terran Security had promised to use their influence with the Rautmalan authorities to free her beloved if she did the odd favor for them occasionally. Favors like copying high security files using one of a suite of apps they had added to her pad.

The catch-up show was a Terran app with special features marked only by an inconspicuous green light in one corner. After a few minutes the light turned yellow and disappeared indicating that the unbihexium file had successfully downloaded into the restaurant’s espionage equipment.

She finished her sandwich and returned to work.

#

General Brine worked late that evening in his office. He often did but rarely on something as important as planning a war. However there is a point when exhaustion sets in and further action is counterproductive. He buzzed his secretary who had stayed to access necessary files and send out the streams of orders that would start the slow and ponderous wheels of the Brasilian military spinning.

“We’ll call it a day, Trixie. Thanks for working late.”

“My pleasure, sir, is there anything else before I go.”

“Yes, we will need to start again at eight. It’s hardly worth me going all the way home and back. I think I’ll stay in town tonight. Would you let my wife know?”

After a moment’s thought he opened the link to his secretary’s office again.

“And send a message to Mistress Fairhead asking if she wants to meet me for dinner at nine.”

“Of course, general, at your club?”

“Correct, goodbye Trixie. Get a good night’s sleep as we have a busy day tomorrow.”

“You too, sir.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

 

Phoenix In Shadow – Chapter 18

Phoenix In Shadow – Chapter 18

Chapter 18.

Tobimar didn’t have to look at Poplock to know the little Toad’s eyes were even wider than normal. It has to be that thing about it being easier to focus magic into solid objects; they can use much smaller crystals for summoning living beings.

The red-haired woman immediately bowed deeply to Kyri and Tobimar, again in the same way as Miri. Tobimar imitated her and saw Kyri do the same. “Welcome to Kaizatenzei, Phoenix, Tobimar,” she said, in a warm, rich contralto. “As I am sure my Miri has told you, I am Shae, Lady of the Seven Lights.”

“Lady Shae, it is an honor, and I admit to also finding it astonishing – your arrival, that is.”

She laughed. “Oh, we had rather hoped it would be. Especially Miri, she loves her surprises.” She reached down and took a crystal, this one a lovely shade of blue, from her own belt. At this range, Tobimar could see that the crystal came from a slanted cylinder with multiple slots in it, each slot just the right size to hold one of the crystals; Shae and Miri each had several of these devices. “The summoning crystals are somewhat complex to make – alas, we cannot make them for ordinary travel, any more than we can use our singing arrays to allow everyone to speak with each other across the miles – but they allow my Lights, myself, and a few select others to be able to travel where we are needed swiftly, to aid each other as we can.”

Since she held it out to him, Tobimar reached out and gingerly took the shining crystal in his hand. “This one is for Miri, I would guess.”

She raised an eyebrow. “A guess, or a deduction?”

“A bit of both, I suppose. I don’t know enough to be sure, but you have so much emphasis on lights and colors – I saw that your armor is essentially clear crystal,” ­though, Tobimar noted to himself with some relief, not clear beneath, or I might find it extremely distracting, “while hers is mostly pale blue; so I would guess that the other Lights have similar armor in shades of red, orange, yellow, green, and violet.”

“Well and correctly reasoned,” Lady Shae said with a nod. “And from her expression I think the Phoenix had made a similar deduction. But I suppose quick wits would be a requirement to survive the Pass of Night.”

“It certainly doesn’t hurt,” Kyri said wryly. “Though some might say it also takes a lack of wisdom and self-preservation.”

Tobimar was still studying the gem, trying to think of things Poplock would ask. “So, can just anyone use these, or only you and the Lights?”

“Oh, anyone can,” Miri answered. “If you threw that on the ground and said ‘To Me!’, I’d appear right there. Please don’t do that, it’d be such a waste.”

“Of course not,” Tobimar agreed. “I was just wondering. And you have to come? You can’t choose not to come?”

“Actually, you can choose not to accept the summons,” Lady Shae said. “In that case, the crystal will not break. However, I would be very loath to refuse such a summons; after all, I have to presume that these would never be used without either prior agreement, or a true emergency. However, if I was in the midst of something I could not leave, I could – and at least once, I have – refused a summons.”

“Amazing,” Tobimar said, handing the summoning crystal back to Shae. “Where we come from, such tricks of teleportation are severely constrained, and to do this… I think it would take crystals larger than your head.”

“Truly?” Shae looked astonished. “So even magic is not the same everywhere? There is so much we do not know, and so much we are just now starting to rediscover.” She glanced aside and smiled. “Hello, Reflect Halgen. My apologies, I was so interested in our new arrivals that I have neglected to greet you.”

“Quite understandable, my Lady. Will you be staying the night?”

“I wish I could. Unfortunately, there are so many things left to do, and in fact I’ll be working for some time tonight.”

Kyri raised her own eyebrow. “Ruling Kaizatenzei is that demanding?”

Both Miri and Shae burst out laughing. “Oh, now, I am terribly sorry for that impression! No, no, the Seven Lights demands far less of my time than you might think. I am also a researcher, somewhat along the lines of Hiriista there, and much of the research throughout our land comes in the end to me. So much to read, to test, to experiment on, to understand.”

So their leader is also a … magewright? Sage at least. Don’t want to pry too much, though; if they’re not what they seem, we want to also seem less than we are. “Tell me, if you would – what are the Seven Lights? I mean, I have seen their names on the map, but I don’t know what they mean.”

“Ah, of course you would not. Just as light itself can be shattered by crystal into separate hues, which the sages number at seven, so there are seven great sources or types of light: sunlight, starlight, moonlight, stormlight, forestlight, firelight, and earthlight – or, respectively, ruratenzei, kalatenzei, syratenzei, vomatenzei, murnitenzei, hishitenzei, and alatenzei.”

“I understand most of those, but what are stormlight, forestlight, and earthlight?”

She nodded. “Perhaps the less obvious, yes. Stormlight is lightning and other similar illumination seen during great storms; some have also said the rainbow is part of this, but others argue against it. Forestlight is the radiance of the firefly, the log-lantern, the glowing fire that is cold and eerie of hue that can be found in the depths of woods and sometimes the marshes. Earthlight,” she smiled, “well, that is the light of the interior, the fire that wells up from the Earth itself.”

“Many, such as my people, also consider the light of molten iron and other metals being worked to be part of the earthlight,” Hargen said.

Poplock had been right. Those names showed at least three separate language influences, none of them pure; the rhythm of most of the words and names reflected the classic Artan, which constructed almost all concepts into triads – the most familiar being Nya-Sharee-Hilya, Surviving the Storm of Ages, or their homeland Ar-Tan-Nya, The People Who Survive, sometimes just translated as We Survive. He could easily hear the other words dividing that way – Kaiza-Ten-Zei, Voma-Ten-Zei, for instance.

Then there were language roots, like the ancient Sauran for thunder and lightning, vomat, found in vomatenzei or stormlight, and the Odinsyrnen word ruri meaning sun and echoed strongly in ruratenzei.

There had been a unique language spoken here, and somehow – he’d bet in the last thousand years or so – it had been slowly replaced with the language that most of Zarathan spoke. And as they’d already discussed, that couldn’t happen by accident. Someone – or something – had quite deliberately guided the language to dovetail with something that the other inhabitants didn’t even know existed.

He realized he’d missed something in his reverie, snapped back to the present. “Pardon me, Lady Shae; I was thinking about your concept of lights, as light is also terribly important to my people, and became distracted.”

She smiled. “Forgiven. I understand you believe that here, in this very valley, may be your own people’s ancient homeland?”

“Yes, Lady Shae. I hope to be able to verify that.”

“If it can be verified, that will be at Sha Kaizatenzei Valatar, and now that I have seen and sensed the two of you myself –”

“Sensed?”

The big woman laughed again, the sound echoing through the hall, and suddenly stopped, her eyes twinkling yet dangerously sharp and narrow. “Oh, yes, my friend. Do you think I would bid my Miri to use a crystal simply to satisfy my curiosity and greet a few travelers? No, no; it was far more than that. I have the safety of my people foremost in my mind. I knew that Miri is excellent in judging these things, but the idea of someone reaching us through the Pass of Night? That was utterly unprecedented, Tobimar of Zarathanton. I could take no chances; I had to see you, bend all my senses upon you and see if you were, indeed, what you appeared, or something foul with a fair seeming atop, if you catch my meaning.”

Dangerous indeed. And is she what she appears to be, or not? “And?”

“And as I was saying, now that I have sensed you, I know you for who you claim to be; adventurers with hearts of light, not of darkness. You, in particular, are surrounded by an aura of light, Tobimar, but your companion as well; even your little pet shines strongly, and by this I know your mission is not one of ill. So I say to you come – come to Sha Kaizatenzei Valatar, and I will welcome you there, and I shall command the vaults of the past be opened to you to search.”

Kyri bowed to Lady Shae, Tobimar mirroring her. “We thank you for this generous invitation. I don’t suppose we could use those crystals to get there, though.”

“Oh, that would be convenient, yes. But no, I am afraid not. Master Wieran would have to calculate your matrix, manufacture the crystals. Perhaps when you arrive, you can ask him, if he has the time.”

“We have heard his name several times; it sounds like he can work miracles.”

Miri nodded, the bow in her hair bobbing. “Miracles is close enough! Though he’s a bit… difficult.”

“But men of genius –as he is often wont to remind us – are often a bit difficult,” Lady Shae said. There was a note of … exasperated affection in her voice. “Still, without him we would not have accomplished a tenth of what we have.” She glanced at a shimmering sphere across the room, which Tobimar realized must be a clock of some sort. “I must bid you farewell. It will be some time before we meet again – for the journey will not be a short one, no matter the route you take.”

Lady Shae hesitated, then made a decision. From another of the cylinders she produced two perfectly clear crystals. “Miri, here – to replace that which you used,” she said, giving one to the blue-crystal armored Light.

Then she turned to Tobimar and, to his astonishment, placed the other in his hand. “For you, Tobimar, and your companions. You are unique, and the light in your spirits has brought hope and joy at the knowledge that the world beyond the mountains is not all as that forest which surrounds us. I give this to you as a symbol and shield – a symbol of trust, and a shield to protect you in case anything dark pursues you even here.”

“I… Lady of Lights, I don’t know what to say.”

She smiled. “Your reaction confirms my impulse. Keep it well. I can see you will not use it frivolously.”

He bowed again and placed the precious crystal immediately into a small pouch at his side. “I do have to wonder what would happen if you were summoned at a more… delicate moment.”

Hargen coughed, Miri looked shocked, and a gasp ran about the room. For a moment, Lady Shae just stared, but then she threw that magnificent head of red hair back and roared with laughter. “Oh! Oh, Tobimar, if all Adventurers are like you, we have been sorely deprived!” She went into another fit of chuckles, and Tobimar could see everyone else relaxing slowly. “You mean, perhaps, if I were in my bath? Then I must regret to inform you that the summoning includes the clothing and equipment of your matrix, with only certain variations, so even were I to begin clad in nothing but mist, I would arrive full-clothed as you see me here.”

Tobimar felt his face red-hot, but he had asked the question quite deliberately; not only had he gained some knowledge of how the devices worked, he’d also gained insight into the Lady’s character, and that of those around her. They weren’t afraid of her, they were afraid for me, by their expressions, which means that she has some reputation for temper but none for cruelty.

Still not a sign of the rot that must be somewhere at the center of this place.

Lady Shae stepped back, and a space cleared about her. “Miri, I know you will have other errands to attend to, but I make them your responsibility; make sure they arrive safely at Valatar.”

Miri bowed low. “It shall be done, Lady of the Lights.”

Shae returned the bow, then raised another crystalline device, something like a small net of colored diamond, to her lips. “Pertrelli, now,” she said; a moment later, she vanished in a fountain of light.

Everyone was left staring for a few moments; Tobimar felt a small weight slide down and off him, and knew that Poplock had taken advantage of the distraction to move off. I somehow doubt he’ll find much here, but it’s worth at least looking around.

Miri turned to them and nodded. “You heard Lady Shae – I’m responsible for your safety all the way to Valatar now!”

“Does that mean you’ll be traveling with us all the way?”

She sighed and shook her head. “No, there will be other things I have to do at times. But I’ll make sure I know where you plan on going and that you at least have a good idea of what to expect.” She smiled. “It’s not like I have to worry about whether you’ll be in danger in the wilder lands between; I’ve seen you in action, after all.”

Tobimar grinned back. “True enough.”

“Would it be an imposition if I were to accompany you?” Hiriista asked.

Kyri glanced at him, and he shrugged. “I see no problem, Hiriista,” she said. “You know the way?”

“There is a road that follows the grand circuit, yes, and I can tell when you are reaching branches or following the true course.”

“As long as you’re not needed –”

“I am,” Hiriista admitted, “but I also require some resupply of various materials which are nearly impossible to get except at Valatar; without them my usefulness here will be significantly reduced.” He looked over at Hargen.

The Child of Odin frowned, but then sighed. “If you feel you must, then you must.”

“Well, I must eventually, and I cannot argue that such unique arrivals provide an impetus to make the matter more urgent than otherwise.”

“It’s settled, then. But that’s a matter for the morrow, and for this evening, I insist we talk more about your homes, Phoenix, Tobimar.” Hargen gestured them towards a large table. “Eat, drink – and talk – are very strongly indicated. As you can see,” he gestured, and Tobimar could see that most of the crowd were following along, “you will have a most attentive audience!”

 

Phoenix In Shadow – Chapter 17

Phoenix In Shadow – Chapter 17

Chapter 17.

One major advantage of being thought a dumb animal was that you could look at pretty much everything whenever, and however, you wanted, and no one would even notice, let alone wonder why you were looking; at most they’d pick you up and throw you out, or return you to your apparent owner. Poplock smiled to himself. He’d spent almost four years in Zarathanton honing that skill, disappearing underfoot or being ignored sitting on a low table or wagon.

It did require a lot of patience and restraint, of course, and even with the signals they’d worked out, there were going to be plenty of times he had to just hope the others did the right things. But on the other hand, he might be able to learn things no one else could.

The three humans alighted from the coach and walked up a curving, gently illuminated pathway to the double doors at the front of the Manse. The doors stood open on this warm, pleasant evening, the light spilling from them to guide visitors inward. Poplock caught a passing darterfly and was reminded anew of the perfection of the place. Which keeps me suspicious. Nothing’s perfect, not without gods meddling. And when gods meddle, little mortals get hurt.

As the three paused in the entryway, adjusting to the brightness, Poplock surveyed the room. He was impressed; Sha Murnitenzei wasn’t a huge city, not compared to Zarathanton, but even so there was quite a turnout for this shindig, as his distant cousin Lormok might have put it. He guessed there must be over a hundred people in the brightly lit hall. And you’d think this would be a pretty select party. But maybe not, they seem to act as though everyone’s basically equal.

“We’re here, everybody!” Miri announced to the room at large as they entered. Heads turned, and a ripple of laughter chased around the hallway. Everyone’s smiling – kind of smile you give to someone you like. She’s popular here, and this informality’s almost certainly part of it.

That happened to put Light Miri right up at the top of Poplock’s suspicious list. He didn’t have any evidence, of course, but it made sense. If the baddies could use this overpowering goodness as a cloak, then the best disguise would be as the nicest person you could find – and as someone with enough power and authority to go anywhere and do anything, which seemed to be what a Light did.

Of course, she could just be as nice as she appeared, in which case she might be in more danger than anyone else once the real baddies showed up.

Many of the partygoers immediately gravitated towards them, but the mass parted in the center to let through the short but impeccably dressed form of a Child of Odin. He was clean-shaven, which was rather what Poplock had expected – his name implied a follower of Balder, who was depicted by the Odinsyrnen as clean-shaven – but his silver-and-gold hair was very long, reaching almost to his knees, and while styled was not restrained in any way.

“Haldengen Baldersedge,” Miri said, a touch more formally, “allow me to present to you a Justiciar of Myrionar, called the Phoenix, and an Adventurer of – Zarathanton, was it? – yes, Zarathanton, named Tobimar. They have crossed the mountains themselves to come here.” She turned to Kyri and Tobimar. “Phoenix, Tobimar, allow me to present to you Halgenden Baldersedge, Reflect of Sha Kaizatenzei.”

“An honor to meet you, sir,” Tobimar said, with Kyri making a similar greeting.

“Not at all, not at all,” Halgenden said. “Far more an honor to meet you. Crossed over through the Pass of Night? By the Light in Darkness, that’s a feat I never thought I’d hear of, let alone done by some coming from the other side. Decidedly impressive, I must say.”

The phrase Light in Darkness got Poplock’s attention, especially since he could feel Tobimar’s shoulder tense on hearing it. They’d seen no temples that appeared dedicated to Terian, but “The Light in the Darkness” was one of the most common of his titles. Interesting.

“Thank you, sir,” Kyri began, and Halgenden shook his head.

“None of this ‘sir’ business, or ‘Reflect’ or any of that dustballery! You call me Halgen, like everyone else who’s not mad at me, and I’ll call you Phoenix and him Tobimar, yes?”

Kyri laughed. “All right, Halgen.”

“Agreed, Halgen,” Tobimar said with his own smile.

“Let me introduce you around, here.” He gestured to another Odinsyrnen, a very pretty woman (at least as far as Poplock’s admittedly limited judgment of humanoid beauty was concerned) of about Halgen’s apparent age and as solid has he. “This is Freldena Baldersedge; I’m her husband, and a lucky one as well, given that her family’s been –”

“Frigga’s name, Halgen, you needn’t bring all that up!” Freldena said in a mildly exasperated tone. Her fond smile took the edge from the rebuke. “Honored to meet you both, Phoenix, Tobimar.”

After they exchanged greetings, Halgen continued introducing them – two dozen introductions in the space of a few minutes, which Poplock knew would lead to Kyri and Tobimar having to ask most of them their names again shortly. He was pretty sure the one that would stick was that of Hulda, Freldena and Halgen’s daughter, who looked to be an adorable six years old and knew how to play on that – clearly the darling of the party.

“So, I hope you’re enjoying your visit to Murnitenzei, Phoenix, Tobimar,” Halgen said, leading them over to a table laden with mostly-unfamiliar foods – though Poplock could see parallels to some of the cuisines he’d seen in Zarathanton.

“Very much so, Halgen,” Tobimar said, starting to load up a plate at Halgen’s gesture inviting him to do so. “Not something we expected, I’ll tell you!”

Most of those around laughed. “No, I wouldn’t think so!” Freldena said. “So on the other side of the mountains, it’s like this, then, not like the forest outside our walls?”

“Not exactly like this,” Kyri said. “But not monstrous like that, no, definitely not.”

“Then what in the name of the Seven Lights brought you here?” Halgen demanded mildly. “Even one like Miri, here, wouldn’t assay that crossing without an exceedingly good reason!”

Poplock hid his grin. This was another area they’d had to discuss and plan out; they needed someone to ask that question and bring up the subject so that they could turn the questions around and find out things about this place. And we had to know what story we wanted to tell, to keep from revealing things we don’t want told.

“We had a few reasons, actually,” Tobimar answered. “In Phoenix’ country – which is just the other side of the Pass – we found evidence of a particularly vile conspiracy, and some of that evidence seemed to show that they had support from something on the other side of Rivendream Pass. Seeing this place rather throws doubt on that, though.”

“Do not go quite so fast, Tobimar,” Miri said, looking more grave than usual. “While it would seem almost beyond belief that anyone in Kaizatenzei proper could be involved in anything dark – and even less so in anything that contacts people we did not know existed – I would not exclude the possibility that something in the surrounding forest has had such contact and influence. Despite all our efforts of the centuries, the forest still surrounds us, presses against us, and yields only grudgingly to us; I would be unsurprised to find there is something more than mere dumb malice lurking there.”

She’s able to be serious and focused. Not surprising, but she sure works that bouncing, laughing girl business a lot.

“But you said a few reasons,” Halgen said, a question in his eyes.

“Well,” Tobimar said slowly, “the main other reason is that I’m chasing a legend.”

“Oooh! A legend! I love legends!” said Hulda brightly.

“So do I!” Miri agreed. “Can you tell us this one?”

“Well, it’s not the most happy story…”

“It’s okay,” Hulda said. “Some of the ones Father has told me aren’t always happy. Just let me know when you’re coming to really sad parts.”

“I’ll do that,” Tobimar promised.

The story Tobimar told was – pretty much – the one he’d told Poplock and, later, Xavier and Kyri, of the lost homeland, the flight to safety, and the unique curse that his ancestor had discovered and that now had fallen on him.

“But I had a few clues, and one of them was the way the oldest stories of my people began: ‘Long ago, when justice and vengeance lay just beyond the mountains’. We’d known we were looking for some place on the other side of, and protected by, mountains, but when I remembered that old saying, it stuck with me. And then I realized that the country on the other side of the Pass from here – a country called Evanwyl – had as its patron deity a god called Myrionar, the god of Justice and Vengeance – I suddenly realized that I might have found my answer.”

“A fascinating story,” said a quiet voice with just the hint of a hiss in it. “You may well be correct.”

Poplock found himself nearly face-to-face with a mazakh standing over six feet tall; it took no acting at all to jump in startlement and scuttle around behind Tobimar’s neck; Tobimar himself twitched a bit, as might be expected given the two encounters he’d had with the so-called snake men.

“Ahh, Hiriista, good to see you could make it!” Halgen said warmly. “Tobimar, Phoenix, this is Hiriista Twice-Hatched, one of the finest magewrights in all the Seven. Hiriista, Tobimar, Adventurer of Zarathanton, and the Phoenix, Justiciar of Myrionar.”

“An honor,” Hiriista said, bowing fluidly with a pose similar to that which Miri had used. Viewed when not attacking, Poplock could appreciate the severe beauty of the creatures; not really snakelike, they were more like very tall hopclaws – bipedal reptilian creatures with colorfully patterned scales, a long balancing tail, and two arms with powerful hands; Xavier had said they reminded him of something called ‘velociraptors’.

“And comfort your pet,” Hiriista went on, “I am not in the habit of eating toads.”

“Duckweed will appreciate that,” Tobimar said, reaching up and giving Poplock a reassuring pat. Poplock relaxed visibly, and gave an inward smile. Using his original given name made him sound a lot less suspicious than ‘Poplock’, if anyone guessed what that meant. “So you think I may be on the right track?”

“In some of the few ancient writings unearthed,” Hiriista said, “I have seen a very similar phrase, something like ‘Justice and Vengeance were as near as the other side of the mountain’. And your story mentions your interest in the number seven, which is surely of interest here.”

“But was there a ‘seven’ before Kaizatenzei itself?” Kyri asked. “Because I get the impression that Kaizatenzei as you know it is much more recent than the last Chaoswar.”

Hiriista hiss-shrugged. “I do not know your ‘Chaoswars’, but it is true that Kaizatenzei is not ancient. And yes – there are ruins of towers, from which it was said that light used to shine and protect all about them, found in the cities of the Seven Lights, and only in those seven cities – aside of course from the Unfallen Tower in Sha Kaizatenzei Valatar, the capital. Indeed, those cities were founded around these ancient towers, and there is reason to believe that there is, or was, some special virtue associated with them.”

He restrained himself from exchanging glances with the others, but he knew Kyri and Tobimar did so; that confirmed their suspicious about the Seven Stars almost completely. “You mentioned ancient records?”

“All the most ancient records are kept in Sha Kaizatenzei Valatar. If you would learn more on these subjects, I would suggest you travel there.”

“We had already expected to do that, but you give us even more reason to do so,” Kyri said. “If I might ask, what exactly is a ‘magewright’?”

“You know not the term? A magewright is one skilled in all the arts of magical creation and use – alchemy, gemcalling matrices, summoning arrays, mystical constructs, symbological circles, and so on. Halgen may exaggerate –”

“He does not,” Miri put in.

The mazakh bowed. “I shall argue not with one of the Lights. Then I am indeed quite adept in these areas.”

“You’re a gemcaller?” Tobimar said, asking one of the questions Poplock really wanted to ask. “I’ve heard of it, vaguely, but apparently it’s hard to make it work where we come from. I’ve generally only heard it mentioned in connection with Elyvias, which is itself if anything harder to reach than Kaizatenzei.”

“In truth? I am surprised. It is one of the most useful and formidable arts, for those who can master it, but it does require considerable preparation initially. I would demonstrate, but not here; it is not something to do casually.”

“Then perhaps another time?”

“Certainly; are you a student of things magical?”

“I dabble a bit,” Tobimar said honestly. “Mostly I just like to see everything I can, as does Phoenix.”

Miri suddenly stood up. “Ohh! The Lady of Lights says she will come!”

All eyes were focused on the diminuitive Light. “Now?” said Reflect Helgen, eyes wide. “Oh, Miri, I’m hardly prepared to –”

“Piffle. She knows perfectly well what the situation is, but people from outside? She’s not going to wait until they can make it all the way to Valatar!” With a “shoo” gesture, Miri waved others back until she had a clear space twenty feet across. “All right!” From one of the little tubes or arrays of crystals on her belt she took a large, water-clear gem. “TO ME!”

She threw the crystal on the ground and it exploded in brilliant, multicolored light that dazzled everyone, Poplock included. When the light faded, Poplock saw to his startlement a tall woman, as tall or taller than Kyri with hair red as bright coals, in gold-trimmed crystal and cloth armor similar in style, if not details, to Miri’s. She held a staff of crystal as well, a staff that shimmered through the hues of the rainbow, and there was a great sword slung over her back. She had none of Miri’s bubbliness, but instead had the same serious demeanor and appearance of quiet strength that characterized Phoenix Kyri.

Summoned by a crystal that size? I’d say it’s impossible, but I just saw it!

Things are really starting to get interesting!

 

 

Into The Maelstrom – Snippet 40

Into The Maelstrom – Snippet 40

The trailer contained a number of soldiers, presumably the relieved shift. A man stood at the front of the trailer where he could hold on to the slatted bulkhead. His considerable silhouette seemed familiar so Allenson shaded his eyes for a better look. One of Ling’s aides materialized at his side with a pair of binoculars. Allenson adjusted the fit until a three-dimensional holographic image was focused into his eyes such that the trailer appeared to be just in front of him.

“Ah,” Allenson said. “I see Colonel Buller has arrived. Perhaps we should wait for him.”

The tractor bounced across the field at a respectable lick. Men dropped off the trailer on the move as it went through the camp. It stopped only for Buller to dismount.

“That is Colonel Buller?” Hawthorn asked quietly.

Ling suddenly acquired diplomatic temporary deafness which was a useful attribute in a Chief of Staff. The man was recommending himself for permanent promotion in Allenson’s eyes.

“Allenson, I see you’ve been inspecting the camp. Rather you than me. Place is a bloody cesspit, troops a disgrace.”

Ling winced and several of the militia representatives glowered at Buller.

“You really should call me general, you know,” Allenson said gently.

Buller didn’t do tact. It was a warm day so his jacket was unbuttoned. His shirt was done up one button askew so there was a spare button thrust under his left ear and a spare hole above his belt giving a view of an expansive hairy stomach.

“I’ve been down to have a look at the siege lines. I use the words advisedly because there bloody aren’t any. All I found were a few bunkers and they aren’t even much damn use for observing the city. Most of them are on reverse slopes.”

“We tried siting them more prominently but the Brasilians have lasercannon,” Ling said pointedly. “The bunkers were soon discovered then you could measure their survival time in minutes.”

“You’ve heard of camouflage, I suppose?” Buller asked

“Sometimes we didn’t even finish construction before they were destroyed,” Ling replied.

“For Satan’s sake man, you dig through from the reverse side.” Buller said. “All it needs is work and a modicum of military skill.”

He turned to Allenson.

“There is nothing to stop the Brasilians mounting a sortie any time they damn well please with every expectation of surprising the camp. Can you imagine how a couple of units of Brasilian light infantry would sweep through this rabble?”

Buller waved his arm to encompass the camp, his voice pitched to carry.

“I think you underestimate the resolution and bravery of our soldiers,” Allenson said to forestall a riot. “Nevertheless, you make a valid point. We need containment lines strong enough to hold up any attack until we can reinforce the defenses from the camp.”

Allenson raised his voice to address the entire entourage.

“Colonel Buller is one of the foremost authorities on modern siege tactics. Indeed, I hope I do not embarrass him if I say he probably has more experience of this military art than any man alive.”

“True,” Buller said smugly, clearly not embarrassed at all.

“We would be foolish not to avail ourselves of that knowledge. I propose to put Colonel Buller in command of the siege lines. Arrange with Colonel Ling to co-opt what resources you need, Colonel, but rotate the men as I propose to start intensive training of the reserves here.”

“Excellent, Allenson, nothing wrong with an amateur gentleman figure-heading the operation when he knows when to hand over to the professionals. I’ll make out a list for Ling.”

Buller stomped off.

“At least down at the siege lines the damn man’ll be out of our hair,” Ling said to one of his aides.

Allenson ignored the remark. Knowing when to be afflicted with temporary deafness was one of the virtues good generals shared with good chiefs of staff.

#

The next day Allenson’s pad relayed a message from Ling asking for a meeting in the engineering workshops. Ling being Ling, there was a map added giving direction. Allenson walked through Cambridge on his own so he could collect his thoughts. Alone of course, meant being closely trailed by two of Kemp’s goons. By now he regarded them as part of the woodwork. The road was quiet not even his boots making much in the way of noise on the partly stabilized mud surface.

Small creatures in the undergrowth called to each other with mournful whoop noises. He didn’t know enough about the fauna of Trinity to know whether these were alarm calls notifying others of his presence or mating cries. For all he knew they just made noises for the fun of it? He made a mental note to discuss the matter with Destry next time he saw him. Then he remembered Destry was gone.

While he walked, he thought through the situation. It seemed to him that they were at stalemate with the Brasilians. Oxford’s location had been chosen by the original colonists partly because of its defensive possibilities. The ‘Stream Army was now paying the price for the stupidity of the Trinity mob. They had done just enough to arouse the Brasilians without doing enough to secure the city.

The Brasilians acquired Oxford on the cheap. It would be the devil’s own job to dislodge them now they were dug in. The question was who benefitted from a stalemate? He told the Assembly that the colonies did not have to win the war but merely had to survive to achieve independence. Now he was beginning to wonder whether that was entirely true.

He worried that he may have misjudged matters. He tried to see the situation from a Brasilian perspective. They might be entirely satisfied with hanging on to a few key cities like Oxford and Port Trent while ignoring the rebellion until it fizzled out through logistical decay and exhaustion. That way Brasilia could claim victory in so far as was required for Homeworld propaganda. But they avoided the cost of a long distance war of attrition for territory that they undoubtedly regarded as next to useless. After all, they lost interest in the Hinterlands after the last war the moment the Terrans had been evicted.

The city ports would also be springboards for any future campaigns should political events make further Brasilian intervention necessary. Dammit, that’s what Allenson would do if he were the Brasilian commander. Grab the ports while the grabbing was good and ignore the rest. It was a moot point who was besieging whom at Oxford.  Allenson had read enough military history to know that sometimes the besiegers “starved” before the besieged.

His pad beeped letting him know he had arrived. He extracted himself from his thoughts with an almost physical effort. The army’s engineers were based in a requisitioned college of technology. Ling was waiting for him at the entrance.

“If you’d like to come through, sir, Major Kiesche has a demonstration arranged”, Ling said, mysteriously.

Ling, Allenson, his bodyguards and a small tail of mechanics snaked through corridors. They went down a flight of narrow stairs and into a scullery with a stone floor that rang under their military boots. A door opened into a yard.

Kiesche stood proudly by a pile of equipment that looked like a miscellaneous heap of plumbing. It resembled a modernist sculpture bolted together by an avant-garde artist abusing some pretty potent mind expanding substances.

“I know it looks a bit like an exploded diagram of a ruminant’s gut structure,” Kiesche said.

“Yes,” Allenson replied, firmly suppressing that vision.

“But it’s a hydraulic pump that I’ve stripped out of a canal lock gate and converted into a ram.”

“I see,” Allenson said, patiently. “And why would you want to do that?”

“To make artillery, sir, to supplement our lasercannon.”

Allenson must have still looked blank because Kiesche elucidated further.

“Like battleship guns, general.”

The penny dropped. Heavy naval assets employed hydraulic-power rams to throw ceramic kinetic projectiles out through their fields into the Continuum. These weren’t the most powerful weapons in existence but they generated little heat or toxic fumes compared to rail guns or explosive weapons.

Kiesche said helpfully, “The power and recycle speed of a naval cannon depends on the pumping rate. Almost any pump will do for any sized gun within reason if you can wait long enough between shots.”

Allenson looked at the man wondering what to say. No one in their right mind would use hydraulic cannon if there was anything else available. Continuum combat was a very special case. However, he didn’t want to insult the engineer or curb his enthusiasm so he replied non-committedly.

Kiesche insisted on demonstrating his spaghetti-weapon. It lobbed a ceramic bolt a surprisingly long way but the chamber took forever to repressure. Kiesche tried to speed it up but something inside broke. It sprayed the engineer with oil as he struggled to stem the leak.

Allenson retreated to a safe distance as he only had one decent dress uniform and he was wearing it.

“Perhaps it needs a little more work, Kiesche.”

“Yes, sir,” Kiesche said, a little crestfallen.

“Keep up the good work,” Allenson added.

 

Into The Maelstrom – Snippet 39

Into The Maelstrom – Snippet 39

“Go on, I need my Chief of Staff to speak his mind.”

“Well, it’s just that the men are not used to regimentation so I expect we will have to make examples of a few recalcitrants. Your policy won’t be popular, sir.”

“I really don’t expect to be popular, Ling.”

“No, sir.”

Ling wasn’t stupid so why couldn’t he see the obvious? The answer came to Allenson as a revelation. Manzanita City had long stopped dumping raw sewage offshore after the Big Stink when Lake Clearwater became anything but. The waters around the island turned anoxic. Vile-smelling vapors wafted into the air. Since the people who lived along the shore were the wealthy villa owners this created a political stink of equivalent proportions to the chemistry.

The large cities of the Heilbron colonies, in contrast, were built on continental sized rivers – usually at the point where they opened into an ocean.  All they had to do was channel rainfall through the sewers and the waste just washed away and diluted into the oceans.

Similar forces operated in the countryside. In the southern ‘Stream, large demesnes carried out most of the agricultural activity. Manzanita land owners might not be all that concerned over creature comforts in their servants’ barrack-like quarters but they sure as hell were willing to spend money on sewage systems. Labor was always in short supply and one just couldn’t afford to have half your servants down with some loathsome disease at harvest time. Beside, said loathsome disease didn’t always stay in the servant’s quarters. Sometimes it got into the big house, bugs not being a great respecter of social position.

In contrast, the Heilbron practiced farming on smaller scales presided over by single family units living on their own land. The opportunity for contagious disease to spread was limited.

Allenson decided to have one more try.

“More soldier casualties are caused by disease throughout history than ever through enemy action. I reckon we were two weeks away from a major outbreak here at most, Colonel.”

Ling looked shocked.

“I’ll get right on the matter at once, general, as soon as we are finished here.”

“Good, in that case we shall proceed to inspect the camp without delay, after you Colonel Ling.”

The crocodile of officers wound through the camp. Hawthorn’s party attached itself to the rear of the retinue. Ling pointed out the camps of the various militia units.  The procession elicited cheery greeting from troops. The better trained occasionally saluted. A courtesy Allenson returned. He stopped every so often to exchange a few words with a man chosen at random.

The results both pleased and depressed him. Morale was high and the physical condition of the troops was generally still good despite the poor hygiene but the place had the feel of a holiday camp. An air of relaxation pervaded that had no place in a combat zone.

Outside one tent an elderly man cut the hair of another soldier. From his kit and competence at the task it was clear that he was a tradesman.

“I see we have all the comforts of home,” Allenson said to Ling. “I’m surprised you can get a barber to come out to the camp.”

The barber smiled.

“Bless you, general, I’m here anyway. I’m the commander of the Treeline Militia. I think they only elected me so they could get a decent trim.”

The barber laughed, clearly having made the joke often. Ling looked embarrassed, an emotion that was becoming his stock expression.

“I set great store by a proper cut myself,” Allenson said, lying.

Trina had to tie him down to a chair when she summoned the demesne barber.

“However you do present me with a certain problem since barbering is a corporal’s job,” Allenson said with a straight face. “So I think we will have to bust you down and promote your second in command. “Make a note, Mister Ling.”

“Yes, general.”

They proceeded to the next group of tents. Half dozen men sat outside one tent playing dice and, from the flashes on his sleeve, one of them was the major commanding. They watched Allenson approach with some interest but without letting his presence disturb their game.

“Attention,” Ling yelled, red faced.

“You can’t tell my men what to do,” the sitting officer said.

“Oh yes Colonel Ling can,” Allenson said. “I am Captain General Allenson. Now get on your feet before I bust you down to private soldier.”

The officer jerked to his feet and saluted.

“This is Major Vaun. His unit has performed better than most,” Ling said.

Allenson sniffed.

“Indeed, so what are you doing gambling with the other ranks?”

“No excuse, sir,” Vaun said, showing remarkable quickness on the uptake.

Unfortunately this was not shared by all his comrades.

“Now wait a damned moment,” said a large solid man opposite Vaun said, climbing to his feet. “We’re not your feckin’ servants and you’re not on your sodding estate out on some southern mudball. Here in Heilbron we do things democratically.”

Hawthorn took two steps forward and punched the man on the point of a chin. He went down like a felled log.

“Anyone else have a comment to make?” Hawthorn looked around. “No? Excellent.”

There was one of those tricky silences. Allenson looked around for inspiration on how to defuse the situation. He pointed to a large block of stone beside the tent.

“What do you use that for, Major Vaun?”

“Some of the fellows and I have been throwing for distance: a sort of test of strength and skill, general.”

“I wondered if that was the case. I used to enter similar contests myself. Do you remember, Colonel Hawthorn?”

“I do. I also seem to recall that you usually won. Of course, we were all a lot younger and fitter then,” Hawthorn said.

Allenson laughed.

“I suspect you are being diplomatic. What you mean is that I was a lot younger and fitter in those days. Well let’s see if I have retained any of my talent.”

Allenson picked up the stone, swaying slightly under the weight as he maneuvered his hands underneath. Men from other tents gathered around to watch. The sight of a general playing “toss the stone” must be a remarkable novelty. Allenson pointedly didn’t notice money being produced among the men as bets were laid.

“Is that the mark, Major Vaun?”

“Yes, sir, and that peg marks the furthest throw yet,” Vaun said, pointing to a stick hammered into the ground a couple of meters beyond.

Allenson stood behind the line and inhaled deeply. Taking one step forward he thrust the stone up with both hands. It curved in a parabola and hit the ground just behind the peg, bouncing so it ended up some ten centimeters in front.

Allenson laughed again.

“It seems you are right, Colonel Hawthorn. I’m not the man I was.”

“No general,” a soldier said, while collecting from his fellows. “We take the mark to be the furthest distance reached by the rock not its first contact with the ground. You win squarely.”

“Well let’s give the previous record holder a chance to regain his crown with the best of three,” Allenson said. “Who is he?”

“Macreedy, sir” said the soldier, chuckling. “‘You’ll have to wait until he wakes up ’cause that colonel of yours has laid him out.”

There was a general burst of laughter. Even the men who had lost money seemed not entirely displeased to see Macreedy knocked off his throne. Possibly he was not the most popular man in the unit.

“Well, well, he obviously needs a bit more practice, as do I. Major Vaun?”

“Sir?”

“Tell Macreedy to come up to the headquarters when he’s recovered and we’ll do a bit of toss-the-stone training together. Carry on, major.”

Allenson returned Vaun’s salute and resumed his tour.

“Tell me, Colonel Ling, is it normal practice for the officers to share a tent with their men?” Allenson asked when they were out of earshot.

“Yes, sir.”

“That stops now. I want the officers to mess together to create an army esprit de corps. We need to separate them from the men they command. The officers will endure the same conditions as their men, eat the same food and undergo the same dangers but they will not fraternize. When they give an order it must be obeyed without question or argument. That won’t happen if they are seen as one of the boys.”

“Very good sir, I’ll arrange it,” said the unflappable Ling.

Allenson hid a smile. Ling was going to be very busy in the next few days but if he survived this challenge he would make an excellent staff officer.

The raucous sound of a badly silenced internal combustion engine drew Allenson’s attention. An agricultural tractor pulled a trailer from the direction of the siege lines.

Ling anticipated Allenson’s question.

“Frames near the shoreline attract Brasilian lasercannon fire if they rise above the skyline. We tend to use ground vehicles to shuttle backwards and forwards. They’re not much slower than a frame crawling along at ground height particularly if it’s got metal on board,” Ling said.

“Damn sight noisier though,” Hawthorn observed.

 

Phoenix In Shadow – Chapter 16

Phoenix In Shadow – Chapter 16

Chapter 16.

“Come in,” Tobimar’s voice said cheerfully in response to her knock.

Entering, she saw her friend’s hair completely unbound, a flowing waterfall of smooth ebony startling in its length and black-shining perfection. “Balance, I know a lot of women – and a few men – who’d kill for hair like yours.”

“Why, thank you!” Tobimar bowed, the hair following in a smooth flow that he cast back from his face with a practiced gesture as he rose again. By Myrionar, he is handsome. And now I can let myself recognize it.

He raised an eyebrow as she didn’t say anything, then grinned happily. “Are you staring at me?”

She didn’t try to conceal the blush. “I am. You’re worth staring at, Tobimar Silverun of Skysand.”

“As are you, Kyri Vantage, Phoenix Justiciar!” He stepped forward swiftly and kissed her; it turned into something longer than the quick peck it had started as; the world faded away for the several seconds his lips lingered on hers.

Finally they separated, and both laughed, just a bit, and she knew he laughed for the same reason – for the joy of seeing their own joy reflected in another.

“Keep that up, and I’m going to have to go to that party by myself,” Poplock commented from the nearby table, where he was packing away an astonishing assortment of crystals, springs, gears, gadgets of various types, and other supplies. “And they’re not even supposed to know about me.”

“I’m tempted,” Kyri admitted candidly.

Tobimar’s dark cheeks darkened further. “I… well, we’ve only just started… And…”

She laughed. “Your people really do have rituals around this kind of thing, don’t you?”

He shrugged, but smiled in response to her laugh. “Yes. I suppose much of it came out of the desperate years where we were trying to survive, and as the Silverun family we’re much more subject to etiquette than the average person. Aren’t there any … traditions around dating in Evanwyl?”

“A few, yes, but not that would apply to adventurers. It’s not like we’re children without any awareness of responsibility.”

She could see he was thinking that over as he got that magnificent mane under control and tied it back. Knowing how much simple magic she used on hers, she was impressed that he was apparently doing it all by hand.

Finally he finished tightening the silvery ribbon with a fancy flourish. “Done!” He looked up to her. “I’ll… think about how I want to approach this, Kyri. The… Way of Sacred Waters, as we call it, is something very unique and precious to us. I lived in Zarathanton long enough to come to understand that for some it’s… no more important than any other form of pleasure that involves other people, but it’s very special to me and I don’t think –”

She held up her hand. “Tobimar. I’m … somewhere in between; sex is a special thing, but not the sacred thing your people make it. So I can understand both sides. But believe me, I appreciate your hesitation. And it’s fine. Besides, as Poplock pointed out, we’re trying to keep him a secret, and in any case I don’t want to risk the damage Poplock could do on his own.”

“I beg to point out,” the Toad said dryly, “that it wasn’t me who incinerated two hundred yards of tunnel and forest in one blast.”

“True enough. So, o cautious and non-destructive Toad, any new observations before we go?”

“A few. I was thinking about those Eternal Servant things, and how hard they should be to make, and then I remembered that the Wanderer said something about that.”

“He did? I don’t remember him saying anything about golems or automata,” Tobimar said, strapping on his swords.

Poplock was almost done replacing his equipment in his pack. “Not in so many words, no. But he said something about magic placed into items being more common.”

Kyri nodded, making sure her Raiment was as spotless as possible by surveying herself in the full-length mirror. “You’re right, he said it was like that in Elyvias as well. So maybe it’s easier to make such things here than it would be in our part of the world.”

“Could be,” Poplock confirmed. “What little tests I’ve been able to do have seemed to show that making physical things with magic – alchemical tricks and such – are easier than just calling up the magic and letting fly with no physical channel. Even so,” he continued, hopping to his accustomed place on Tobimar’s shoulder, “that kind of thing’s not going to be easy, and to have made hundreds… I want to meet this ‘Master Wieran’ of theirs.”

“I can’t blame you,” Tobimar said. “For my part, we were able to show that there did used to be an ancient tower near the center of town, in that park with the huge tree in the middle, but given that they’re trying to keep some of the facts about us quiet we couldn’t ask about it in more detail. I’m hoping we can get some of that settled tonight.”

Kyri knew just how important that was now. If Tobimar was right, one of the Seven Stars might be here – buried under the ruins of the tower, perhaps. The thought was enough to send a chill down her spine; she followed Myrionar, she respected many gods, but Terian was the shining beacon that even other deities looked to. What must it mean to Tobimar, whose family – whose entire country – followed Terian’s guidance?

“Are we ready?” Poplock asked.

“I think so,” Kyri said. “Remember, I am simply Phoenix, or Justiciar Phoenix. I see no reason to reveal other names, and since I’m on duty…”

“Oh, none of us are arguing,” Tobimar said. “We’re hiding Poplock’s existence as our equal, and in my case we’re going to say nothing of my family name or background unless we have to. There’s something wrong here, behind all the perfection, and this means we’d better be doubly careful.”

“Then… let’s go!”

Miri was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, bouncing from foot to foot with energetic excitement. “Oh, there you are!” she said.

“Good thing you came down now,” Dania said, and looked fondly at the diminuitive Light. “Miri was about to wear a hole in the floor pacing.”

A slight rose tint touched Miri’s startlingly fair cheeks – lighter than almost any skin Kyri had seen – and she gave an embarrassed laugh. “Well, it’s so … exciting!” she said, repeating herself from the prior night. “Come on, I’ve got a coach for us!”

Kyri found herself smiling as well. There was something infectiously cheerful about Miri’s boundless enthusiasm. “Lead on, then!”

The coach was, like everything they’d seen in Kaizatenzei thus far, beautiful in every aspect, wood polished to a mirror gloss, ornamented with carven vines outside and lit within by a soft, forest-green luminance that emanated from the roof of the coach. One of the Eternal Servants drove the coach, which was drawn by four sithigorns, of a breed Kyri had never seen – black with gold-edged tailfeathers. The overall effect was striking.

Miri insisted on them getting in first, then bounded in and sat across from them. “To the Manse, Quickhand,” she called up to the driver.

“Yes, Light Miri,” the Servant said, and the team of giant birds immediately began pulling the coach along.

“So the ‘Manse’ is the local ruler’s home?” Kyri asked. “Would that be the Color you mentioned, Kerrim?”

“Oh, no, Kerrim isn’t the ruler here. That would be Reflect Haldengen.”

“Reflect?” repeated Tobimar. “That’s a title?”

“Yes. You of course can’t help but notice that we’ve built our whole country around the theme of light – something you’ll understand more, I think, as you stay here – and the city… ruler, head, whatever you might call it, is called a ‘Reflect’ because something that reflects returns light to those it is directed upon.”

That made sense to Kyri; symbolically it meant that the ruler was reminded that their job was to make the world better for those being ruled. “An inherited position?”

“Oh, no. We have almost no inherited positions in Kaizatenzei, at least not in government!” Miri’s voice held a note of pique, as though the very idea was an offense. “Reflects are elected by a general vote of the population, once every five years. It’s of course not uncommon for a Reflect to maintain that position for a long time, if he or she does a good job, and in fact Haldengen has been Reflect of Murnitenzei for seventy-three years as of today.”

That was a long time. “With such time of service, I venture to guess that he’s either extremely old, or not entirely human.”

“Oh, very good. Haldengen Baldersedge is his full name.”

The significance of the name did not escape her. “An Odinsyrnen, then. So he has ruled to the approval of the population for that long? I look forward to meeting him.”

“No more than he’s looking forward to meeting you. I’m hoping that the Lady herself will be able to come. She said she’d let me know if she could.”

Tobimar raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. “Your own ruler? The Lady of Light, you called her? But wouldn’t she be in your capital?”

Miri smiled, this time with that particular narrowing of eyes that says I have a secret! “Oh, yes. But still she may tell me she will come, and then you shall see indeed.”

Kyri saw a tiny movement from Poplock – one of the trivial-seeming movements they’d agreed upon for various signaling purposes. Tobimar acknowledged Miri’s secretiveness with a chuckle. “I see there’s something you want to show off later. I notice a lot of magic – the lights along the road, the Eternal Servants of course, the clean stoves within the inn we stayed at, and so on. You must have many powerful wizards here.”

“Well, of wizards we have relatively few – if by that you mean those who cast spells freestanding, so to speak. Many alchemists, gemcallers, summoners, a few symbolists and chosen of various religions, that sort of thing. You’ll be meeting one of the best in the magical arts tonight – I’m sure that Hiriista will be there.”

Kyri kept her face neutral, but she could see the satisfaction in Tobimar’s eyes. That fit exactly with what they had deduced. Magical activity connected to material media – alchemical products and devices, the spirit housings of summoners, and so on – was highly functional here, making up for the difficulty of direct application of mystical or deific power. “That’s very different from home,” she said. “There, impressing magical energies into any object is a more difficult project, and while I’ve heard the term gemcaller, I’ve never met one, and I’m honestly not even sure what it means.”

Poplock’s mouth tightened with heroic resolve, preventing him from entering a conversation obviously dear to his heart. She wondered if he’d explode sometime during this party from sheer frustration. But they all agreed that Poplock had demonstrated just how deadly he could be when his presence, or capabilities, were unknown, and even under these conditions Poplock had himself insisted he remain an apparently stupid, harmless toad as long as possible.

Miri shrugged. “Actually, I’m not terribly well versed in that either, but you can ask old Hiriista if he’s there.” She looked out the window. “Oh, we’re almost there!”

The Manse was a lovely home, much of it carven out of and into the stump of some gargantuan tree, fifty feet high and seventy feet across, showing that something awe-inspiring had once stood here. Flowing out from the wooden bulwark that formed its central pillar, the remainder of the Manse was constructed in harmony with that source; even in the fading light of sunset she could see that the wood had been carefully matched, the polished stone facings chosen for their complementary color and patterns.

Golden light shone from the windows, and she could hear music faintly echoing through the air as they drew nearer, accompanied by the susurration of distant conversation and laughter. A pang of memory struck her heart as she remembered the so-similar sounds and lights of another party, the one in which her brother celebrated his selection as a Justiciar. There was the same air of joy, of wonder and faith, that had been in the air that day, too.

Once more she was struck by the rightness of everything in Kaizatenzei; even their construction was of a piece with everything else they had seen. Yet by the Wanderer’s warnings, and by those of Myrionar, she knew there had to be something else, something darker, waiting somewhere near. What is hidden here? HOW is it hidden? Will we get our answers here?

“Here we are!” Miri said, and bounced from the coach before it had even quite stopped. “Come on, I can’t wait to introduce you!”

“Coming, Light Miri,” Tobimar said with exaggerated formality. As they alighted, they exchanged glances.

All eyes open. All senses alert.

Let’s see what mystery awaits here!