from the Expedition Book of Anghysbel,
Recorded by Minalan the Spellmonger
“‘Thus was stolen the hope of the world, the guardian against the Withering Light, the axis on which fair Callidore turned, crushed in the ruthless maw of the foe. The last of the last, the legacy of tears, the scion of greatness stolen by treachery, to condemn the Celestial Mothers to eternal oblivion,’” I said in an ancient form of Alka Alon.
It was the tongue that the best-known epics were composed in. The one that Prince Maralathus knew as his mother tongue. For they were his words, taken from the memory of composition of that epic. It doesn’t sound particularly poetic, in translation, but in the original it’s beautiful.
“They . . . they found it!” Ameras said, in shock. “They found it!”
“The horror of Beldurrazeko,” I realized. “When the Karshak pierced the chamber of the beast, it wasn’t merely hiding from the Vundel. It was hiding this from the Vundel. The last egg. How long did it persist, under the mountain?” I wondered.
“Hundreds of thousands of years,” whispered Lilastien. “All that jacasta would have protected it from detection. Just as the jevolar does. When the Living Darkness escaped, it was fighting to save this. And when the Alka Alon Council defeated it, they found it. They found it and brought it here, instead of to the Vundel,” she determined, shaking her head sadly. “They knew that the Vundel would go mad with joy, if they returned the egg.”
“Is it still . . . good?” Ithalia asked, making a face. Alya just stared, her eyes barely blinking, her mouth still open in shock.
“It is encysted,” Lilastien said, after examining it. “Theoretically, it’s viable. It could last for eternity. But it can be raised, I think, if it is returned to the Vundel. To not return it to the Vundel is . . . is a crime,” she declared. “Like finding a kidnapped child and not returning it to its kin. How can they have been so stupid?” she asked herself.
“You will have a chance to ask them that, yourself,” I agreed. “I’m curious about their answer. I have a few questions of my own,” I added, my eyes narrowing as I thought about all of those stolen Constructed Intelligences in the other room.
But compared to this, that was petty crime.
This was big. This was bigger than anything I ever expected from the expedition. This was a world-changing occurrence.
“This is a violation of conscience,” Ameras finally, reluctantly, admitted.
“Perhaps you should mention that, as well,” Tyndal agreed. “I don’t know much about the Sea Folk, but if this is one of their lost queens, then . . .”
“Oh, it’s far more than that, lad,” Lilastien agreed. “The Celestial Mothers – and the Great Mothers before them – did not just reproduce. They reproduced everything. In the course of their long lives, they would give birth to thousands of sub-species, specializing in genetically programmed behavior that . . . that . . . well, the Vundel are a pale reflection of that great entity. The Celestial Mothers gave birth to thousands, every year. They were the axis around which the undersea world revolved, as The Stolen Queen epic says.”
“Maralathus was feeling particularly creative that way,” I said, with a small smile. “And a little bit drunk. One of my hosts,” I added.
“Really? You lucky bastard! I love his work! He’s like the Perry Como of warrior-poets!” Lilastien said. “But this . . . this changes everything. This makes the Council complicit with a fraud that would see us evicted from this world – with good cause.”
“Not just the Council,” I pointed out. “The Emissary of the three High Kings directed the action. They are complicit as well.”
“Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire,” Lilastien whispered as she regarded the ancient egg. “They are! Those selfish, rotten bastards!”
“What do we do about this?” Taren asked. He had rejoined us from his trip out to the Beast and had overheard a good portion of what we’d been discussing. “Minalan, we have to return this to the Vundel. We have to.”
“I know, I know,” I agreed, absently. “The question is how? We can’t just chuck it into the ocean and hope they find it.”
“This will require a little more diplomacy than that,” Lilastien agreed.
“The Council must be involved,” Ameras said, firmly.
“Haven’t they done quite enough?” Ithalia demanded. “They have betrayed the humani. They have betrayed the Vundel. Why must we give them a voice?”
“I am already counted a rebel,” Lilastien shrugged. “I’m willing to go back to prison over this. This . . . this angers me.”
“Ameras is right,” I declared. “The Council will be involved. Because they are complicit. They must answer for what we have found here. Including . . . that,” I said, pointing toward another cask I recognized, this one made of an ancient, ancient wood. A wood that did not grow on this world. It was almost three feet round, and highly ornamented, the strange designs carved in the exterior familiar to me.
“What’s that?” Tyndal asked. “Another weapon?”
“No, it’s a tipirilon,” I said, the ancient word coming to my lips for the first time with a sense of long familiarity. “It’s a . . . a magical control mechanism for a molopor, built on Alonaral by one of the last of the Spiritsingers, Mel Thenreyal.”
I heard Lilastien gasp. And Ameras.
“A . . . a Spiritsinger?” Lilastien asked, impressed but skeptical. And she wasn’t often impressed. “They were among the greatest of sorceresses, on Alonaral. They were legendary.”
“That’s how the Alon got to Callidore,” I explained. “And that’s why the Council wanted to open the vault, more than the weapons, I’d imagine. It’s their escape route. The Enshadowed organized the effort. The Spiritsinger and the Vundel opened the portal to bring them. With things like these,” I said, nodding toward the cask.
“Minalan – how do you—?” Lilastien asked.
“A host. Mel Thenreyal. Consider her on your balance sheet of guilt,” I advised. “She compromised her morals to save a few Alon kindred and bring them to Callidore and sacrificed most of the others to the Dreadstar. The Enshadowed were . . . picky about who got to come here. Thenreyal was willing to go along with their dictates to save at least some of her people. And condemn the rest to die on Alonaral. When she came through the portal, she brought the tipirilon with her, trapping the rest of the population on a world rapidly losing magic, thanks to a nearby black hole.”
“That’s . . . dear gods, Min, that’s awful!” Lilastien agreed, horrified.
“It pales in comparison to this!” Alya said, suddenly, pointing to the egg of the Celestial Mother. She sounded profoundly offended. “They invited you here . . . they treated you as guests . . . and you . . . you . . . “
“Alya, calm yourself,” I urged. “We understand. We will deal with that,” I promised.
“You betrayed them!” Alya declared, viciously, glaring at the Alka Alon. To hear such an accusation from my normally sweet and mild wife was shocking to everyone, myself most of all. She seemed to take the dreadful act personally. “You have had this in your possession for centuries, and never gave it to the Vundel! Why?” she demanded. “Why? What possible reason could you have for this betrayal?”
“It was not us, in particular, Alya,” Lilastien said, calmly and deliberately, “it was the Council. And the High Kings. I feel just as angry about this as you—”
Alya’s face contorted as she interrupted with a string of harsh, guttural syllables that I didn’t recognize . . . and I now knew a lot of languages.
Lilastien looked surprised by the outburst, but the moment Alya was done she answered in the same caustic tongue, only more loudly, and at length. When she was done, the two women stared at each other.
“What was that?” Tyndal asked, in amazement.
“Vundel,” Lilastien said, slowly. “Where did you learn Vundel, Alya?” she asked my wife.
“I . . . I don’t know,” Alya confessed, biting her
lip. “It just came to me. In my head.”
“That’s . . . that’s very interesting,” I said, my throat dry. “But considering I’ve had my fill of interesting things today, I will put it aside to consider later. And while our collective outrage is understandable, it isn’t particularly useful. We have a task,” I reminded them. “We have opened the vault. We have completed our quest. We have found what we came to Anghysbel to find. Let’s start to get some of these things packed up. Does anyone object?” I asked, forcefully. In truth, I felt like crap and just wanted to go back to sleep, wake up, eat, and go back to sleep again. I couldn’t do that in a vault.
“Good,” I sighed. “Ithalia, you and Nattia fly back to the Cave of the Ancients, and then start organizing as many wagons as you can get to this place – Kilnusk, Anferny, the Kasari, Midmarket, hells, get the Tal to bring a train of llamas, if you need. We’re going to make a list of what we’re taking and what we’re leaving. We’ll take the most valuable items and put them in the Cave of the Ancients. The rest we’ll seal back in here. But we have to get to work.”
“Our safe period for traveling through the wastes is closing, soon,” Tyndal reminded us.
“Worse, there’s five hundred maragorku marching through them, right now,” I explained. “They plan on conquering Anghysbel for Korbal over the winter and re-capturing the dragon.”
That produced a few chuckles. “I know,” I sighed. “The Kilnusk, alone, will make porridge of them. However, they will be in our way, and they would love to acquire our treasures without having to search for them. So,” I said, turning to Ameras, “if I could persuade you to convince Avius to contest their passage, we can get back to civilization without that worry. Considering they’re coming after her, too, she should appreciate how attacking them is in our mutual best interest.”
“I . . . I think I can do that,” the tiny Alka Alon maiden agreed. “She does hate them viciously.”
“It will be nice to have a dragon on our side, for a change,” Taren agreed.
“For now, let’s find the smaller, more valuable items and load them into the Beast,” I decided. “Lilastien, Gareth, Taren, and Ormar, I want you to search the place and try to identify the most valuable of what is here and determine what is too dangerous to remove – like the kulhinara. And probably a great number of other things. It’s already dark, but if we can pack the Beast up tonight, we can leave at dawn.”
“We can leave now, if you want,” Gareth reminded me. “The lights work.”
“But I can’t, without rest,” I admitted. “Once we’re packed, we can all grab a quick nap. Hopefully we can get some help in here tomorrow, and have this place sealed back up again in a day or so. But we’re not going to be able to move the larger items without a lot more help – Kilnusk help. It took six Karshak to carry this cask in here. It will take at least that many to get it out. Tyndal, you and Travid patrol the perimeter and screen for any stragglers. I don’t particularly want word of our success to get back to our enemies. Any questions? Then let’s get to work.”
I slung my new rifle onto my back and went over to console Alya. She seemed less agitated, but still quite angry.
“I cannot believe this,” she said, still staring at the egg. “This is . . .”
“This is being dealt with,” I promised. “We might be four hundred years late, but that’s like a long holiday, for the Vundel. We might even be able to turn this to our advantage,” I proposed. “If giving them snowstone makes them happy, consider what returning this egg will do.”
She shook her head, still clearly trying to overcome her unexpected rage. I embraced her, and let her shake for a few moments, before breaking the hug with a kiss. “Why don’t you and Rolof keep searching the vault? There’s plenty we haven’t discovered yet. We might be able to get more dirt on the Alka Alon, if nothing else.”
“How can you be so calm?” she asked, weakly.
“I’m not calm, I’m exhausted,” I explained. “It’s been a busy few days. But this will be all right,” I promised. “I will make it right. That’s what wizards do.”
“I’m still mad at you about leaving last night,” she reminded me.
“Yes, but you’re far angrier at the Alka Alon, right now, so I’m going to enjoy that for a bit.” I left her in Rolof’s care, and the two took a light and continued to explore.
“Do you realize what a chamberpot we’ve kicked over, Minalan?” Lilastien asked, as the others went to their tasks.
“One that hasn’t been emptied in ten thousand years,” I agreed, as we started walking back toward the entrance of the vault. “But we just got leverage over the Alka Alon Council – shit, we just got leverage over everyone.”
“Leverage to do what?” she asked, philosophically.
“To save the world,” I considered. “With what is in here, and what I know, now, that’s a possibility. To strike at our enemies. To rescue the Forsaken. And perhaps to remake the order of the world. There are a lot of possibilities.”
“Only a foolish mortal would think he has that kind of power,” she sighed. “Great princes of the Alka Alon have tried to do that sort of thing for millennia and died disappointed. But somehow you think you can do it.”
“I can’t really trust it to anyone else,” I reflected, as we walked through the darkness hiding past arcane wonders and magical horrors inert on their shelves. “And I don’t have a lot of time, so I’m going to have to move quickly and recklessly. The time for mature wisdom is over. The time for bold action is upon us. You object?”
“Me? Of course not. I’m just impressed at your ambition. And your control. I feel like I’m falling to pieces, inside. I’m wondering how you’re not.”
“Oh, I am,” I assured her. “There’s an entire committee in my head, now. Most of them are decently quiet, but they’re still all there, murmuring in the background. And some of them scream and shout, occasionally. I can tell that this is going to get bad. How do you keep from losing control?”
“I’m still in shock, for one thing. But I concentrate on your people’s silly songs and try to avoid anything that might trigger a loss of control. That’s worked, so far. I’m going to go help survey this place, before one of your wizards does something stupid.”
“I’m going to raid the irionite stores,” I decided. “Those are small and portable. And there are hundreds of witchstones, enough for an army of magi.”
“Some of those stones are very dangerous, Min,” she reminded me.
“I’m counting on it,” I agreed.
There were, indeed, hundreds of specimens on the shelves, near the entrance. A few days ago, I would have greedily swept them into a sack and vanished into the night, considering myself fortunate at such a haul.
But now I looked at the rows of green amber with new eyes – Alka Alon eyes. The three who haunted me were very helpful in showing me which of the stones were worthy and helpful, and which were either too dangerous or too impotent to be worthwhile to take. After nearly an hour of sorting I had a stack of twenty small boxes, enough for a load. I slung them into two bundles, wrapped up in Tyndal’s mantle, and tied then to each end of the new spear I’d acquired.
It was a gorgeous summer night, as I walked back out into the open, the sky pitch black and the stars twinkling merrily in the moonless sky. It felt good to be out in the open, instead of underground. I’d spent far too much time in caverns, lately, I noted. The fresh, cool air was invigorating, until the stink of the gurvani bodies started to intrude on my reverie. They were starting to stink. But at least it wasn’t festering giant maggots. Life was good.
The Beast still had its lights on, which was helpful, and the door gaped invitingly. I could see Taren had already loaded up two small Thoughtful Knives and a dozen other packages. I was about to set down the spear with my load when I felt a blinding pain in my left shoulder . . . and realized someone had just stabbed me.
Not merely stabbed but slashed at my back with a razor-sharp blade. Blood f
lowed freely, and if it had not been for the plasma rifle slung on my back it would have sliced clean through my spine.
I screamed involuntarily, dropped the bundles, and tried to whirl around – when the butt of the spear that had slashed me knocked me sprawling.
“I knew if I waited long enough, I’d get you alone,” came a low, cruel voice in accented Narasi, as I struggled to my knees. My hand started to reach for the rifle, but it was empty, I remembered. My mageblade was back up at the gurvani camp where I’d left it. My hand came upon the cool metal haft of the spear I had been carrying, and I pulled it to me frantically.
“Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” I growled, already suspecting who had attacked me.
“I am the face of shadow,” he chuckled. “Gindomel of House Theralon. Your assassin,” he said, as he came within the light of the Beast. “I will give you one chance to give me your artefact before I slay you.”
“How honorable of an Alkan who stabs a man in the back,” I said, pulling myself up on the haft of the spear.
“This is no duel for honor, Spellmonger,” he said, taking a guard position with his weapon. “The honor will be bringing your head to my master next to the irionite sphere you carry.”
My shoulder stung something awful, but I ignored it. I took a similar guard position with my captured spear. That produced some amusement in Gindomel’s eyes.
“You intend to fight me?” he asked, amazed. “I’ve given you an opportunity to surrender. I will not give you a second.”
“I can appreciate that,” I said, as I tried to get accustomed to both the new weapon and the painful novelty of standing on my feet. “So, what are you waiting for? I can take your ass,” I promised.
He really did laugh, that time. “I have been studying the spear for a thousand years, humani.”
I felt Prince Maralathus’ presence come to the fore of my mind, and suddenly my demeanor changed. I altered my footing. The spear suddenly felt a lot more comfortable in my hands. “Really? I just started learning today,” I said, and charged.
Footwizard Page 71