HOST MIND
The One Mind, Cord, was not pleased. Having the host terminated while still ingrained deep inside its motor functions and neural processes created discordant ripples throughout the Over Mind as a whole. Such an action temporarily weakened the compulsion tendril, blocking instantaneous travel to the Cord host, where the Over Mind resided, forcing it to jump to a rodent. Losing a tendril seriously weakened it. Too many lost would quash its ability to reproduce replacements.
Both of the bright beacons it had targeted for absorption into the Over Mind at the same place had failed. Something it struggled to comprehend as it grappled with a second, odd sensation, unknown to it. Sifting through the dulled limbic system—a side effect of the compulsion—in the forebrain of the one named Cord.
The One Mind found two emotions matching the sensation—worry and fear. Apprehension was a form of fright, and Cord had much familiarity with both according to the human’s memory processes. The One Mind had not ever experienced either one, it fed on them. Such an emotional feeling should not be possible for it.
Cord dwelled upon this new revelation while moving slowly upward through the caverns below the Dark Citadel. Either the main host it now resided in was weaker than most or its compulsion ability had lessened from the forced eon of sleep. The One Mind did not fear. The One Mind thrived on it, drew power from it.
Only one other mind had ever resisted it, before this day. Overcoming that threat had required making it an offspring by infusing it with some of its essence as it had the dominion wraiths. The One Mind knew it was a precarious move absorbing the flicker as it had, considering its former master was too strong for the One Mind to absorb. That darkness, the ancient evil that resided under this Citadel, was as old as this world, or older. The One Mind would not attack such power until most other minds on the planet had joined the Over Mind.
The One Mind had another concern, more immediate. Movements of the human Cord had deteriorated. The question of why this loss of leg muscular movement had occurred so early Cord streamed through the Over Mind sifting through the stores of thousands from this world alone. Then the One Mind selected the suggestion with the highest success logistics, and a quick scan of the host body gathered the information. The host’s core temperature had dropped.
And the human’s brain was dying from the moment of intrusion. The weaker minds had an unfortunate tendency toward such an occurrence according to the knowledge stored in fragments of the Over Mind as a whole. When the brain failed, motor control inevitably went first as the core temperature grew colder.
But it was a small matter for a time. The frail human’s limp added proof to the lie prepared of how the ingrots had destroyed the rest of the patrol. This may have the benefit of helping the One Mind gain the necessary proximity of moving to another host when the time came. The One Mind intended to use the host’s ability at intercepting a contacting until the host was but a husk and no longer mobile. Then it would jump to another.
Cord continued along the rough stone hallway slowed only slightly by the unnatural gait of the cell-decaying limb. The One Mind found the two guards stationed at the entrance to the great hall, precisely where the host recalled them.
Larka, the short, broad one, coaxed his bulk from the stone bench he sat upon using his spear for support. “You have returned early, Cord. Lord Braddert informed us to watch for it. We are to escort you to him, immediately,” he said, wheezing. He wiped at the sweat on his brow with a shaky hand.
Cord smiled. “Why yes, take me to him.”
Salman, the tall one of the two, folded his lanky arms across his chest, a morose expression ingrained within his grizzled face. “I do not see why you are so happy, Cord. Lord Braddert has looked for an excuse to lock you away. This will likely do it. None of the rest of the men skulked back here before the patrol had finished.”
Cord widened his smile. “Nor will any of them. The patrol is now of one mind, mine.”
Larka’s heavy-lidded eyes bulged, and Cord knew a moment of satisfaction. “What do you mean? My sister’s husband is down there with Durm. He would not follow the likes of you.”
The One Mind allowed the smile to fade. “If you know him well, you may recognize his thoughts.”
Reaching out, Cord touched them both on their bared skin, a cheek and an arm, adding two minds to the Over Mind. The One Mind had the power to penetrate clothing, but it took more energy and added a risk of resistance.
As the Over Mind shuffled the two minds to the back, Cord reflected the One Mind was getting crowded with all the fresh additions, not a particular problem for it, but it slowed the communication chain. With so many thoughts and experiences to pick through, some information had delays. For the next while, it would have to use stringent selection—selecting those with authority—from now until most of the minds’ memories and consciousness were absorbed into the whole permanently, still some months away.
Sending the command to the two inert minds within the newest bodies to continue to their leader—Lord Braddert—Cord squashed the incessant gibbering from the new horrified minds within the Over Mind.
Dragging the right leg, Cord shuffled along behind, the limp becoming more pronounced as they climbed higher into the Dark Citadel. Another command slowed his escorts. Strolling in unison, they presented an armed wall in front of the host, and the decaying body was able to stay with them.
The One Mind was pleased.
A long hallway brought them to a short flight of steps leading to a dual guarded door. The sentries nodded at Cord’s controlled soldiers as they topped the last step. The nods went unacknowledged. One of Cord’s controlled turned the latch, and the other pushed the door open. They strode through into daylight, the first the host had seen in a long while.
A glance behind revealed one of the door guard’s looks of suspicion, or offense, as the door closed. Cord sent instructions to the controlled to use ordinary interactions, whatever their collective minds recalled as normal, around free minds.
The One Mind again contemplated the sensations of worry and fear as the host moved along the bottom of the massive structure known as the Dark Gate, his two guards leading the way as if an escort. How had it come by such base emotions? The One Mind requested a reading of the memory bubbles that drifted through the Over Mind—with so many from the patrol, it would take time. The One Mind waited with the patience of eons of existence as the Cord body shuffled along behind the guards, the dark gate dwarfing the human’s frail body.
The One Mind was pleased.
The Dark Citadel would provide a secure base of operations.
The request granted, the One Mind interrupted a stream of memories and read them, finding an answer with some of the freshest immediately. There was power like the one in the northwest that had blocked it from the great mind the One Mind had nearly absorbed. That power was unlike the darkness residing below the Citadel.
Though not at first, but soon, two minds had worked together to push it from the most compatible mind it had ever known. A mind with the ability for discerning the spark of life and reading a possible future; such a thing had the power to fold the future with training. The One Mind had to have the mind, and whatever else it absorbed on this world, or any other, was now secondary.
Yet a symbol, a symbol of power, had defeated it. A great concern, yes, but not the cause for the sensations; the origin of the worry and fear stemmed from the awareness those minds possessed of each failed attempt. Those minds had sensed it for what it was.
The One Mind knew fear it could not feed upon. Now, it was imperative to destroy the angry mind and gain control of the great mind. Or terminate them both. The One Mind savored the thoughts of destruction even as it wanted the mind of great power.
Even so, the sensation the host mind knew as fear grew. The One Mind had to use its supreme cunning to get what it desired.
Cord, the One Mind, was not pleased.
They left the brightne
ss of the Dark Gate for the darkened interior of the Citadel and began the short climb down to the guard post. A diminutive hallway brought them to a wide common room. Soldiers sat at tables drinking or watching two men setting stone figurines upon a marked table depicting structures of some sort—a game of cities, Cord’s memory informed it. Such activity would end in the near future.
No one spoke to them as they crossed the common area to a door at the back. The One Mind’s controlled soldiers entered without knocking, holding the door until the Cord host shambled through.
From a high-backed chair placed behind a small desk, Lord Braddert rose tall and imposing in his plate armor, his hazel eyes shiny with irritation. “Larka, Salman, if you ever barge in here like that again, I shall have you flogged at the Dark Gate’s courtyard for everyone to appreciate.” Without waiting to see if his threat had the desired effect, he strode across the room, halting before the Cord host. “So, the coward returns early without the patrol as I suspected. How far into the caverns were my men when you skulked away like the little rat you are?”
The One Mind was pleased.
This human specimen should last longer with its size, and it had a position of authority. Such a body would fit within the One Mind’s overall scheme well.
Reaching out, Cord froze partway there. The host had intercepted a contacting between Users of the Light. A human woman initiated the contacting with a white-haired human who thought of himself as Durandas. The human male had knowledge of a symbol power and the great mind the One Mind sought. Taking the opportunity, the One Mind installed a tendril into the human male and closed the contacting.
The One Mind was greatly pleased. The Over Mind knew where next to travel.
“Too frightened to speak, rat? I imagine so, you are as pale as a filthy ingrot, and you stink of rotting fish, like them. Speak, coward. I may spare your miserable skin and lock you in the dungeon to rot, depending on your story.”
Cord smiled. “Soon you will know all there is to know.”
Lord Braddert’s large, black eyebrows drew together. “Not soon, you impudent little rat. You will—”
Grabbing the back of Lord Braddert’s hand, Cord made the transfer. Distributing Lord Braddert’s thoughts and memories as it read them into the crowded mix of the Over Mind; the One Mind regarded the body of the host it had left behind. Without the Over Mind controlling it, the human’s body slumped, standing from muscle memory alone. What little was left of the mind—perhaps enough to intercept a final contacting—resided within the Over Mind. The dying body had no further use.
Directing the Cord body to sit at the desk, the One Mind sent a request for Lord Braddert’s newest memories. The wait was not long. The human had recently received a requisition for exemplary soldiers. A great lord, a person of high authority, had ordered the guards doubled outside the Onyx Room, not far from here.
As it moved toward the Onyx room, the One Mind, Lord Braddert, was pleased. A great lord designation was one worthy of the One Mind.
REVERED ONE
Though his pudgy head and braided black goatee bobbed from side to side when Guail, the rotund spice merchant, clapped his thick hands together, Darwin Darkwind did not once believe the man was slow of thought. The merchant promoted the image by dressing in mismatched rainbow silks too big for him, yet his sunken black eyes were predatory as he watched the flurry of activity his audible command brought upon the wide pavilion. Carrying tables and chairs, sultry dressed maidens and bare-chested men dashed inside the structure from the end wall tied open to the heat of the Searing Sands Desert.
Hinged for folding, a long table was set below and to the left of the spice merchant’s oversized high-backed chair. A smaller table settled in front of the merchant. The two young maidens who’d carried it bustled about placing food and drinks from trays held by scantily dressed others.
Chafing at the delay, Darwin sat at the long table, motioning for Malkor to do likewise.
Malkor leaned close. “I am sorry, Master, but it is a custom of the nomad merchants to entertain honored guests. As a lord of the Citadel, you are beyond honored, bordering on exalted, in Guail’s simple thinking.”
Darwin kept his voice low with difficulty. “No one is to know my identity! I had not thought you such a fool!”
Malkor’s narrow face darkened. “Your features are known far and wide, Master. He did not ask, so he is already aware. I merely went with the opportunity for you to regain the strength lost with our travels through this fearsome desert.”
Though still wary and annoyed, Darwin calmed a little. Malkor had left something out. His servant missed having all the countless preferential treatments he considered his due when serving a Dark lord. Perhaps his loyal servant did deserve better than trudging over endless sand dunes for months after healing him from the wound Lord Charn had inflicted, which would have meant certain death if left untouched. He would never straighten his left arm again, but he was alive.
Nevertheless, he would punish Malkor severely when they returned to their bland room in Shimmer. Too many powerful lords, both Light and Dark, sought to destroy him, particularly at the Dark Citadel. Confirming the merchant’s assumption by failing to dispute it was foolish. Eventually the wrong person would garner the truth of his past.
Darwin would not have that happen, not until he was ready to storm the Citadel and take it back under his own terms, exacting his revenge with power no one could deny. First, he would find whom he sought—Lord Charn or the hooded man. He had heard the hooded man controlled the dark throne now, but it made little difference. Whoever controlled the Dark Citadel would grovel on his bare stomach before him begging for mercy. Neither one would receive it.
When both tables bowed under the weight of various meats, fruits, pies, and drink—Rallan red wine from the look of it—Guail tapped his spoon against a tankard. The servants scurried to one side and stood in a row waiting to fulfill a need. Two maidens remained near, holding dewy glass pitchers.
Guail tapped a silver spoon against a glass pitcher, three times. “For the pleasure of my new friends, let us drink to shade and prosperity,” he announced loudly.
Malkor lifted his mug with gusto, sloshing a few drops on the back of his hand. “May shade and prosperity nurture the clan!”
Their host’s squeaky voice had grated, much like Malkor’s raspy one, but Darwin shunted it aside. Guail claimed to have knowledge of the Servants of Eons. He raised his glass, toward his host briefly. “Your hospitality is commendable, Merchant Guail. However, there is a small matter I wish to discuss with you concerning the Ser—”
Guail’s palms slammed upon the table, sloshing the red liquid over the side of his tankard. Then he flashed a quick, humble smile. Or was it placating? “The opportunity for a private discussion will be arranged after the meal. Please partake of my humble offerings,” he said.
Darwin fumed at the interruption, masking it by lifting the mug to his mouth. How long would he have to endure the merchant’s blatant show of affluence? Darwin cared not. He only wished information from the man.
Darwin took a sip of the wine. Surprisingly, it was good. Guail had stout connections for real Rallan Red somewhere in his dealings, not the watered-down stuff sold at taverns. Savoring the smoothness of a rich full-bodied flavor, he drank deep. When it he set his glass on the table, it was empty.
A willowy woman, one of the serving maidens, wearing a silk-stringed halter-top dashed to his side and refilled his mug before he could decline. Not that he would, yet he had a tinge of irritation that she had not inquired if he wished another. Draining it, he set it down, leaving his palm covering the rim, stopping her from refilling it a third time. He gazed into her round blue eyes when she made to pour again, her arms outstretched, the glass pitcher held in both slender-fingered hands.
“Do you find her appealing?” Guail asked loudly in his squeaky voice. “I will order her sent to your sleeping arrangement tonight. Where in Shimmer
are you staying?”
Darwin considered. She was beautiful. Her hairstyle and color reminded him of the woman he lost; she was slender and lovely, like her, though not nearly as tall. He motioned the woman back to her station with a wave of his hand. If the maiden was disappointed, she did not show it. “I shall speak of my accommodations, Master Merchant, during our discussion after this fine meal.”
Guail inclined his head, his black-braided goatee slapping against his chest. Tied loosely at his sternum with a wide black ribbon of silky material matching the turban wrapped around his head, Guail’s multi-colored silk robe lay bare to the waist. “As you wish, My Lord, simply indicate to me if one of my household, of either gender, pleases your eye; eunuchs are also available. Now, partake of what you will of the meal undisturbed. Both of you enjoy.”
Resting a hand on the small of the back of the maiden pouring his drink, Malkor smiled. Older and heavier than Darwin’s slender serving maiden, the woman lowered the pitcher with only a slight shake of her hand. “Your generosity is renowned, Master Merchant Guail. I shall accept,” Malkor said, his brown eyes leering.
The woman failed to hide the fright that shone briefly in her eyes.
Darwin did not address his servant’s comment or Guail’s nod of approval. If things happened the way he wanted, the lawlessness of Shimmer would be long behind them by tonight with no opportunity for dalliances; his servant’s urges could wait.
Stabbing an olive from a serving plateful, he popped it into his mouth and chewed. The slightly sour taste was pleasant. He ate another and then heaped his plate with all foodstuffs within reach, eating with vigor.
The merchant’s supply line was diverse, more so than expected. The fish, though salty, retained moisture. Darwin suspected it shipped packed with ice bound from the Flow, which made it expensive. The Users’ cost on both ends of the supply line was additional to the fishery. Meaning Guail had to retain a User to dissolve the packing. His estimation and wariness for the spice merchant grew. Why expend such extravagance on the two of them? Guail had to know how far he had fallen since fleeing the Citadel barely alive.
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