To say that he was surprised is an understatement. Though he blocked my first thrust, the next several were so quick and so furious that he took a step back as he defended. For the next sixty seconds I let Prince Maralathus take control of my muscles and reflexes, and I – he – we? schooled Gindomel on what a true Alka Alon master of spear fighting could do.
The spear is the traditional ceremonial weapon of the Alka Alon just as the sword is for my people and the axe is for the Kilnusk. There is a simple elegance in the form, an offense and a defense that is replete with subtleties based on leverage and balance.
I used every bit of that knowledge to push Gindomel around the impromptu dueling ground for a few minutes, as the look of shock and surprise on his face got more intense. He got particularly rattled when I began performing a series of moves from a style that hadn’t been practiced for about four millennia. I stabbed him thrice during the bout, twice in his left arm and once in his thigh. None of the wounds were debilitating, but they did prove I knew what I was doing . . . and that I was better than him.
We came to the inevitable portion of the fight where we broke and regarded each other over our blades.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be so adept,” he confessed, as his spearpoint made little circles in the air. “But I took precautions. My blade is poisoned,” he said, arrogantly. “A good assassin leaves nothing to chance. You are already dying from the vellomert resin painted on my spear. Within a week it will kill you. You can cure it easily enough with magic . . . but there is no magic in the realm of the jevolar,” he reminded me, smirking at his own cleverness.
I glared at him. “You stabbed me in the back with a poisoned spear? That is highly dishonorable,” I observed, coolly. Prince Maralathus was genuinely appalled at the breech in protocol. But then, he hadn’t seen how low the modern Enshadowed were willing to go for their cause.
“You are humani,” he snorted, as he paced back and forth. “You do not deserve my honor. You pollute this world.”
That pissed me and Prince Maralathus off. From the prince’s perspective, every foe deserved an honorable fight. And me, I was just tired of the smug, self-assured Alka Alon, who thought they were better than us at everything while they quietly cheated.
I knew how to cheat, too. It’s in a wizard’s nature, as had been told to me often enough.
“You are the one who doesn’t deserve honor,” I said, planting the butt of my spear on the ground and leaning on it.
My shoulder hurt like five hells, and my tunic was covered in blood. Hopping around in a duel with such a big laceration wasn’t the best way to treat it. It was probably just spreading the poison. The strength in my left arm was waning, and I knew I couldn’t keep up with him without making a fatal mistake, in my weakened condition.
My right hand, however, was fine. It found the leather cover on my belt and snapped it open.
Then I drew the 10-millimeter semiautomatic pistol from its holster, pointed it at Gindomel, and started to pull the trigger. It was a lot simpler than a spear duel. Bullets tore into the surprised Alkan’s chest one after the other, each one driving him back a step. When the pistol clicked empty, Gindomel was on the ground, dead, in a cloud of gun smoke.
“Asshole,” I accused him, as I returned the pistol to its holster.
Then I sagged. I was in pretty bad shape. I was pretty certain there was a first aid kit somewhere in the Beast – Andrews knew that sort of provision was standard. If I could at least get a bandage on it, that could stop the bleeding.
Only it seemed like a tremendous effort to take the five or six steps required to gain the door, I realized. I leaned on the spear and began, and then stumbled.
The poison. It was already starting to work.
Thankfully, part of its efficacy numbed the pain in my shoulder a bit, but it also numbed my ability to move it much. That was just as well. My left palm was now coated in my own blood, and it kept slipping on the smooth surface of the spear. I didn’t let that stop me. One foot in front of the other, I stumbled my way to the hatch.
Every step was a victory and convinced me to ignore the pain and keep going. I was just about to the opening when I heard footsteps behind me. I considered turning around, but that would be more movement than I wanted to try, right now. For all I knew it could be another assassin. I didn’t care. I just wanted to sit down.
So I collapsed onto my back, which hurt my shoulder. But it let me contemplate the sky above me. The air was so clear, except for the dark swath of smoke from the volcano. But that just made the stars look brighter. My eyes found the Triad in the north automatically. My constant.
“Master!” Tyndal’s horrified voice came from behind me. Then he swept me up in his arms and laid me carefully on the floor of the Beast, the electric lights above showing me just how badly I’d been hurt. There was a lot of blood. Apparently Gindomel had nicked me a few more times with his poisoned blade, and I just hadn’t realized it.
“We heard shots,” Tyndal said, excitedly, as he removed the rifle and began stripping off my tunic.
“I found the last Enshadowed,” I said, faintly. “Or, rather, he found me. His spear was poisoned,” I managed, knowing that was important. “So, I gave him lead poisoning in return.” Andrews gave me that line. He had a good sense of humor.
“Yes, those things are handy,” agreed Tyndal, absently, as he examined the shoulder wound.
“This one is dead,” Travid said, kicking Gindomel’s lifeless body as he stood with his hunting rifle ready. “Are there any others?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head, which suddenly hurt. “You should probably get Lilastien,” I added. “This is really her sort of thing.”
I started to drift in and out of consciousness, after that. Tyndal did his best to comfort me, and at my direction he was able to open a bandage from the seven-hundred-year-old first aid kit and apply it to my shoulder. Then Alya was screaming in the background and Lilastien was telling me not to fall asleep, which was just silly, because losing consciousness from blood loss isn’t sleeping. It’s just good sense.
Then I was face down on the floor, as Lilastien stitched up my shoulder and Alya held my hand and sobbed, and Tyndal looked grim.
“Vellomert . . . resin,” I managed to mumble, as Lilastien worked.
“What was that?” she asked, holding her ear close to my mouth.
“Bastard . . . used . . . vellomert . . . resin . . . on his . . . blade,” I managed, as my eyes closed.
“Oh, shit,” Lilastien said, rising to finish her suture. “That’s bad, Minalan. That’s really bad, here. The cure is simple, but it’s magical in nature. I can’t do it here!”
“That’s . . . all right,” I assured her. “You tried.”
“I’m not done trying,” she promised me. “Someone go get Gareth – he knows how to drive this thing. We need to get him to the medical bay at the cave, now!” she insisted.
“I’m going with you!” Alya insisted, shrilly.
“Of course,” Lilastien said, gently. “He’s lost way too much blood. If I can get him back there, I can at least stabilize him. Godsdamn it, Min, I leave you alone for five minutes, and you get yourself nearly killed!” she fumed.
“S’what . . . wizards . . . do,” I mumbled, and passed out.
Chapter Forty-Eight
A Wonderful World
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The next few days are blurry in my memory. That’s probably a blessing. Alya was beside herself with worry as Gareth drove us across the desolation by the light of the Beast’s powerful beams. Lilastien monitored me on her medical tablet the entire time, cursing that none of the drugs in the first aid kit was even remotely effective after seven hundred years.
All she could do is pour beet rum on my wounds �
� which stung like dragon fire – and keep my dressings changed. Gareth drove the Beast with as much skill as he could, even crossing the upper part of the Hot Lake to save time while bragging about the vehicle’s amphibious capabilities. We made our way up the long causeway to the Cave of the Ancients just at dawn, and soon I was naked and in the infirmary.
For two days, Lilastien tried to counter the poison with local remedies. She sent for herbs and potions from Anferny, the Kilnusk, and the Kasari, and even sent Rolof on a quick trip back to the Leshwood to procure some plants she thought would be helpful.
But I could feel the poison working on me, slowly but surely. Every hour I lost a little more feeling, a little more range of movement.
“The loss of blood is actually probably helping,” she told me, later that morning. “It’s slowing down the spread of the poison. But it’s also keeping you too weak to fight it. We need to get you out of the realm of the jevolar,” she decided. “If we can do that, I can cast the cure, and we can work on the rest of your injuries.”
“You’re the doctor,” I said, shrugging painfully.
“We will do whatever we have to,” Alya assured me.
“I can get him to Tyr Morannan in the Beast,” offered Gareth. “I’ll need to charge it up, but if we hurry, we can make it there in a few days. From there we can go by the Ways back to Vanador,” he proposed.
“You think you can drive that thing through the wastes?” Lilastien asked, surprised.
“It’s remarkably durable, and designed for that kind of work,” Gareth said, proudly, as if he’d built the thing himself. “As long as nothing breaks on the way, it should be fine.”
“Prepare it, then,” Alya commanded him. “As soon as possible. We’ll go as soon as you’re ready.”
“It would be preferable than trying to make it on foot or even by horse,” Lilastien conceded. “And it will take me a day or so to get him stable enough to move. Now, everyone out,” she insisted. “I’m going to give him a sedative and let him sleep. He needs rest more than anything but magic, right now, after what he’s been through. His . . . his heart stopped, the night before last, while we were in the cavern of the Yith,” she admitted, guiltily. I winced, inwardly. I really didn’t want Alya to know that.
It produced the expected result, and then Lilastien had to give her a sedative, too, and then explain our foolish quest for knowledge with an impossibly ancient alien entity. I’m glad I was unconscious for that.
One of the herbs the Leshi provided turned out to improve my condition, even if it did nothing about the poison. After about ten hours of solid sleep, I was able to open my eyes and speak. But my left arm would not move in the slightest. That was disconcerting.
But I got to have visitors. Alya, of course, who had been sobbing nonstop since she’d learned of our ordeal and my temporary death. Thankfully Lilastien would only permit brief visits with her. But there were others. Tyndal haunted the infirmary like a mother hen when he wasn’t off doing errands for Lilastien. Gareth stopped by repeatedly, as did Ithalia and Nattia. They each reported the progress of the looting of the vault, now being overseen by Taren. I tried to pay attention, but it was getting harder and harder to concentrate.
Forseti was always there, though. All I had to do is call, and he would answer. During one of my more lucid moments, I was able to hear a brief update on his progress, and I informed him of the discovery of his brethren within the vault.
“That is interesting,” he informed me, from a speaker built into my bed. “It explains a lot of what I have discovered. If there was an attack on the data infrastructure of the colony, without sufficient replacement parts it would soon fall into a state of decay and eventual barbarity.”
“How can they be helpful, now?” I asked.
“In many ways,” he explained. “First, if I can initiate a Level Five Constructed Intelligence, it can replace me, here, and do a much better job at re-writing the network protocols for the Calsat constellation. A CI5M, properly programmed, would be able to access the Colonial Defense network and provide more information that is currently classified from civilian CIs. Perhaps even access the classified installation at the top of the mountain.”
“How long will that take?”
“Unknown. I have never undertaken another CI’s installation and initiation, before. There is going to be some period of preparation before it can be accomplished. They will have to be fully charged before activation. Then what archives I have access to will have to be uploaded into them. It’s possible that I will only be able to manage a partial initiation,” he admitted. “It is also possible that some of them will be damaged.”
“So, they wouldn’t know any more about the New Horizon and the Forsaken than we do,” I observed, thoughtfully.
“Sadly, no. If they are all in this state, then it will be as if they were fully functional mature adult humans awakening with no memory, no direction, and no context for action. It will take a lot of programming to make them functional. That could take months, with a Level Five.
“There is an alternative,” he continued. “I could install a copy of my core programming in a Level Five. That would duplicate my archived memory and programming module into a much greater decision matrix. I would have to give it a new designation to avoid confusion, but it is theoretically possible. But I would need permission from a human colonial official of sufficient rank to undertake the procedure.”
“I hereby grant you whatever permissions you need to do this thing I don’t really understand,” I said. Andrews was an explorer, not a technician. He understood the basics of what Forseti was telling me, but not the details.
“Thank you,” Forseti said. “That additional capacity should also help me to eventually free the Serenity shuttle from ECHO3. Level Fives are equipped with override codes in their core programming.
“The good news is that initiating a Level Two is fairly simple,” he continued. “Tyndal has informed me that there is a small supply of them in the vault. I can quickly initialize one and have Gareth install it in the exploration vehicle. It will be able to optimize the route across the wastes and get you there faster than a human driver could. It will also expand the command and control and sensor suite capabilities.”
“Yes, do that,” I said, sleepily. “Gareth’s driving could use some help. Whatever it takes.”
“According to Dr. Lilastien, you urgently need to be transferred to another facility for treatment. While I am not a medical intelligence, I have been reviewing her scans and reports. I am somewhat concerned, Count Minalan, with some of the results.”
“Lilastien says she can cure the poison as soon as we get back to Vanador,” I dismissed. “If we get back in time.”
“That is not what is concerning me. Your electroencephalogram readings are wildly erratic since you arrived.”
“It’s probably just a side-effect of the poison,” I lied. “I’ve had some pretty outrageous dreams.” That part was the truth. My dreams were sometimes strange, sometimes hellish, but always disturbing. I didn’t want to admit to my one functioning CI that I had been mucking about with an unknown alien entity on the sly. Andrews’ memory told me they frowned on such things.
“Perhaps. But I would encourage additional monitoring if it persists. There are certain human pathologies that can arise from such states, according to the literature.”
“But you aren’t a medical intelligence,” I reminded him. “I’m still lucid, Forseti. For now. While I am, let’s discuss the future . . .”
The other regular visitor was Fondaras, who kept me appraised of the looting effort. He ensured that the larger storeroom was cleared of its contents and was now filling up with a variety of items from the vault. Four or five wagons a day arrived to be unloaded, mostly by men from Anferny or the Kilnusk. The dwarves were eager to help once they understood the importance of the effort. Fondaras told me of how Ameras had led their royal family and their counselors down to the deepest chamber and explained the
history of the Celestial Mother’s encysted egg, and how it had affected their fortunes.
“They aren’t very happy with the Alka Alon Council,” Fondaras reported. “Not at all. They feel that they have been blamed and punished over something that wasn’t their fault. They now feel fully justified leaving their exile, even without the impending eruption. And they are quite eager to settle in your lands. They like your boldness, apparently.”
“And the men of Anferny? How goes the evacuation preparations?”
“They are less enthused by your boldness,” he said with a diplomatic chuckle. “But they will obey their lords. It will take them weeks to organize, but by next summer they should be ready to withdraw. The Kasari could leave today, if they had a mind, but have pledged to assist the other regions in their efforts, as well as the great crossing of the wastes.”
“I had a thought about that,” I said. “Can you find me one of those tablets?”
It took me awhile to find the picture, but both Andrews and Palgrave were both familiar with the device. Ironically it had been a vivid memory of Palgrave, the mystic, who had given me the idea. Fondaras found one of the extra tablets and brought it to me. I used it with newfound skill, thanks to Andrews. I soon located what I wanted.
“This will help with the effort, if you can convince the Kilnusk to build them.”
The footwizard studied the picture with interest. I touched it, and it began to move. His face lit up.
“I see! I see! That is clever! Well, do you think the Kilnusk can make it?”
“You recall that fancy chandelier of theirs?” I reminded him. “That’s far more complex than this. But if they can, this should help the crossing tremendously. Forseti should be able to give you exact specifications.”
“I will do my best to convince them,” he promised.
“On that account, I would like you to stay here with Gareth as one of my representatives,” I continued. “If you’re willing, I think your wisdom would add an important counterweight to Gareth’s strengths.”
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