Transcendence and Rebellion

by Michael G. Manning

  As everyone moved around, attempting to undo the chaos he had created, Matthew leaned close to his brother’s ear. “Say nothing about Moira. She was never here. Understand?”

  Conall was full of questions, but he met Matt’s eyes and gave a tiny nod of agreement. Once things settled down again the conversation turned to matters of the past few months and Irene took up the bulk of the task of relaying what had happened to Conall.

  Their brother seemed confused about the matter of the Queen’s pardon for their father, but after glancing at Matthew once more he held his tongue.

  “We can talk more after you come home,” suggested Matthew. “Will that be possible soon?” he asked, addressing his question to Elise.

  “My place is here,” said Conall somewhat stubbornly.

  “You are the Count di’ Cameron now,” pointed out Irene. “You can’t ignore that forever. You should come home while you get your strength back. None of us will stop you from returning after that.”

  Elise broke in, “Now that his fever seems to have broken, I think he could return in a day or two.”

  Agitated, Conall struggled to sit up. “But the Queen—”

  “I’ll stay with her,” volunteered Irene. “Her Majesty will be as safe as houses.”

  Conall surrendered, and with that settled Matthew stood and motioned to Gram. “We should head back. We can return in a couple of days and collect him as well as your grandmother.”

  Irene followed them into the hall, catching Matthew’s sleeve. “What did she say?”

  Matt stopped. “It wasn’t good.”

  She motioned for him to continue.

  “Rennie, I promise I’ll tell you everything, but not here, not now,” said Matthew, his countenance turning somber.

  “Why not?”

  He took a deep breath, framing his thoughts. “It’s too important to say here. You’ll be in the palace for a few days, and this is something we need to talk about, as a family. Once you bring Conall back, I’ll tell everyone then. You won’t be able to focus on our brother if I blurt it out now.”

  A figure approached them from the far end of the hall, Sir Egan. He stopped a few feet from them, but his attention was firmly on Gram. “I haven’t forgotten your insult, Sir Gram,” he announced, steel in his words.

  Gram merely raised a brow, but Matthew spoke first, “Dueling has been outlawed, Sir Egan. I hope you remember that.”

  Gram put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, Matt. Sir Egan isn’t as bloodthirsty as that. What did you have in mind, Egan?”

  The senior knight answered immediately, “An apology would suffice, if it were sincere.”

  Straightening, Gram replied seriously, “I won’t apologize for the truth. I may have sounded like a braggart to your ears, but my words were simple honesty.”

  “Then we should test that honesty,” suggested Egan, a fierce light in his eyes.

  “What did you have in mind?” asked Gram.

  “Training swords and arming jackets,” said Egan.

  Matt groaned, but the two men were already in agreement. He glanced toward Irene for support but she merely shrugged.

  Chapter 30

  The training yard within the palace was just off the front courtyard. It was a smaller yard, enclosed by stone walls, and unlike other areas grass was not even encouraged to grow there. It would have been pointless, since the constant movement of men made any plant’s dream of growing a hopeless endeavor.

  There were pells set along the length of one wall, where new soldiers practiced their swings, but no one stood at them now. All eyes were on Sir Egan and Sir Gram. The news of their impending match had raced ahead of them, and by the time they arrived the barracks had emptied out and every guard, trainee, or soldier that wasn’t stuck at a post had come to watch their fight.

  Sir Thomas stood to one side, surrounded by a knot of men hastily placing bets. When they entered, he looked up at Gram and offered him a cheerful wink. Sir Egan marched straight over to him and began exchanging angry words with his fellow knight.

  “You’re the one who decided to create a spectacle of yourself,” said Sir Thomas, an easy smile on his face. “I’m just making use of the opportunity to raise morale. The men could use a little entertainment.”

  “And enrich yourself,” growled Egan. “Gambling is not among the knightly virtues. These men are supposed to look up to us.”

  Sir Thomas shrugged. “Last time I checked, having a stick up your ass wasn’t a virtue either.”

  Sir Egan glared at him for a second, biting back another angry comment. Then his curiosity got the better of him. “What are the odds you’re taking?”

  “Four to one that you’ll win,” said Thomas.

  Egan smirked. “You won’t make much with odds like that.”

  “Oh, I’ll make a killing. I bet on Gram,” replied Thomas dryly. “Most of the men here don’t know how good he is.”

  “You always were a fool,” Egan retorted. “The boy has potential, but he’s no Dorian Thornbear.”

  “And you obviously weren’t paying attention when we went to Cantley. Would you care to place a bet on yourself?”

  “Twenty gold marks,” said Egan immediately. “And don’t come crying to me when you can’t meet your taxes next year.”

  Gram waited patiently through the exchange, and after it was over he and Sir Egan each selected one of the training swords from a long rack. There was a wide variety of sizes to choose from, and while some were made of wood, many of the practice swords used by the experienced guardsmen were normal swords that simply hadn’t been given an edge. By mutual agreement both men picked steel weapons.

  Gram’s choice was a short falchion, a slicing weapon preferred against unarmored opponents, though since there was no edge it hardly mattered. Egan returned with a long one-handed arming sword, and he looked askance at Gram’s choice.

  “Trying to handicap yourself? Pick something else. I don’t want you saying it wasn’t a fair match,” said Sir Egan gruffly.

  Gram made a few practice swings, checking the heft and balance. The falchion was one of the best choices for real combat that didn’t involve metal armor, since in times of war they were sharpened to a fine edge that could cut through even tough linen padding, but he had picked it today because its shorter length and lighter weight would make it easier to avoid breaking bones. Being struck edge-on by a blunted sword was enough to sometimes crack a bone, even through a heavy, padded gambeson, but when the weapon was wielded by someone with a dragon-bond—it was hard not to cause a serious injury. He eyed the longer blade in Egan’s hand before answering, “This will do.”

  He considered refusing the arming jacket, but that would only further insult Egan, and that was the last thing he wanted. After he shrugged on the thick padded garment one of the pages helped lace up the sides, and then Gram walked onto the field where Sir Egan waited for him.

  Sir Egan limbered his arm with a few practice swings. “Any rules you’d like before we start?”

  “Makes no difference to me,” responded Gram, “but I intend to avoid doing anything to you that might put you out of the Queen’s service for more than a day or two.”

  Sir Egan nodded. “No rules then, other than we don’t try to kill each other. Since you aren’t in the Queen’s service, I’ll make no promises about not putting you in a bed for a month or two.”

  Sir Thomas strode out to stand between them, a green handkerchief in one hand and large mug of beer in the other. “I’ve witnessed your pledges and will require you to stand by them. When the cloth hits the ground, you are to begin.” He took a long swallow from his mug, and then tossed the cloth in the air as he walked away. “The loser buys me another.”

  Gram relaxed as the linen fluttered to the ground, letting his mind go blank after one final mental caution to himself, Make it last a while. Then he began to walk forward, his stride seeming almost casual.

  Sir Egan was one of the best swordsmen in Lothion, po
ssibly the best, now that Harold was gone. Sir Cyhan was the exception to that rule of course, though he wasn’t truly a swordsman, being more of a lethal jack of all trades. As Gram came into range, Egan’s body uncoiled like a spring, and the sword in his hand whipped across in a low swing toward Gram’s left thigh.

  The strike was blindingly fast, to a degree that most opponents would have failed to react to it, much less block or dodge aside, but the swing was also a trick. Egan expected Gram to be fast enough to block, and at the last possible moment the blade shifted direction, angling upward.

  Gram’s falchion met the blade, batting it away before returning to threaten Egan on the backswing, a move that felt almost half-hearted to Gram.

  What followed was a baffling display of rapid-fire strokes and counterstrokes that left the spectators goggling in amazement. Many of them were unable to follow the fight at all, and only the accomplished swordsmen were able to read the fight well enough to understand what was happening. To Gram, it felt like an absurd play, but he restrained himself for the sake of Egan’s pride.

  He let Sir Egan carry the offensive for a full two minutes before he began to press his own attack. Even so, he kept himself contained within the flow and meter of the dance, following Egan’s patterns and attacking in ways that allowed the older man to defend himself with dignity. He knew if he shamed the senior knight, he might make an enemy for life, and that was the last thing he wanted.

  After a minute or so of that, the two men broke apart, and Egan was breathing a little more heavily than his younger opponent. “You’re a fine swordsman. I’ll give you that,” admitted the older knight. “But experience will teach you that the battlefield is a place with no respect for pretty swordplay.”

  Gram’s only reply was a flat stare that showed nothing. He knew what was coming next, and when Sir Egan came to him again, he wasn’t disappointed. The veteran fought aggressively, moving in ways meant to throw him off balance or distract him from the true line of attack.

  And yet Gram never missed a parry, and his face remained blank and impassive, a fact that was slowly beginning to unnerve his opponent. Desperate, Egan lunged forward, feinting toward Gram’s head before leaping back and ducking low. It appeared as though he had momentarily lost his balance, and he caught himself with one hand against the ground before springing back to his feet and flinging the handful of dirt he had gathered directly at Gram’s eyes.

  But Gram’s eyes were already closed, and they remained so as the younger man flawlessly parried Egan’s follow-up strikes. He opened them a few seconds later when Egan backed away, and he saw the older man staring at him in bewilderment. “Ready to surrender?” asked Gram, his features momentarily returning to life.

  Egan ground his teeth. “You haven’t convinced me yet. Neither of us have even landed a blow.”

  Gram sighed, his disappointment clearly evident. “If that’s what it takes.” Then his face went dead again, and he moved forward.

  His movement was unusual, though, in that he didn’t stop once he had come into range. Instead he moved forward implacably, parrying Egan’s warning attacks and forcing the man to retreat to maintain his distance.

  Egan found himself struggling to fend off an ever-increasing number of high-speed attacks, and he was surprised when the world shuddered for a moment and Gram retreated to give him room. His adrenaline was singing in his veins, and it took him a moment to register the stinging pain coming from his right cheek. He lifted his left hand and rubbed at his face, finally realizing he had been struck by the flat of Gram’s falchion. “That wouldn’t mean much in armo—”

  The veteran knight never managed to finish his sentence as Gram stepped in again, knocking his sword out of line and moving close. Egan felt Gram’s foot behind his own, and then he was falling, driven toward the ground at blinding speed by the younger man’s left hand against his chest. The wind exploded from his chest and when his vision stabilized, he found himself staring at the point of the falchion just an inch from his right eye.

  Unable to breathe, Sir Egan was utterly unable to say the word, ‘surrender,’ but Gram merely stared down at him. After a few long seconds the young knight rose to his feet and offered his hand to help Egan up.

  Egan took it, and when he could finally draw breath again, he gave his answer. “I surrender.”

  Gram touched his blade to his forehead, saluting Sir Egan. “Well fought, Sir.” Cheers went up around them, though they were slightly muted by the fact that so many had lost money on the outcome of the fight.

  Sir Egan returned the gesture and then moved closer to speak softly in Gram’s ear. “You drew the fight out, didn’t you?”

  He didn’t want to admit that fact, but neither could he bear to lie, so Gram circled the truth. “Your skills are nothing to take lightly, Sir Egan. I started cautiously to avoid making a mistake due to overconfidence.”

  Egan studied him seriously. “You avoid lying directly, and you weren’t boasting earlier in the Queen’s chambers. I appreciate your kindness to this old man.”

  Gram clapped Egan on the shoulder. “You’re hardly old.”

  Sir Thomas walked toward them, a broad smile on his face. “Pay up, Egan. I’m a rich man today!”

  “If you’re done, we need to go,” reminded Matthew.

  Still basking in the warm glow of his victory, Gram responded lightly, “The day is still young. What’s so important that we need to get back right this minute?”

  Matthew blinked, and for a moment Gram saw flecks of silver mixed in with the blue. Then his oldest friend replied in a somber tone, “I have sins to pay for and larger ones to commit if we’re going to save the world.”

  Gram sighed and went to put away his weapon and the gambeson he had borrowed. As he walked, he muttered unhappily to himself, “You just couldn’t let me have five minutes of joy, could you?”

  Matt watched him, his sharp ears picking up the remark, but he kept his response silent, You’ll have years to be happy if all goes well, unlike some of us.

  ***

  Rose, Angela, and Carissa were still sleeping when they returned, but Karen had another surprise for them. She had used her ability to teleport into the central courtyard of Castle Cameron and returned with Gary, her machine-father. Karen’s face split into a wide grin when she saw Matthew and the others.

  “You’ll never guess the news!” she told Matthew excitedly, and when he failed to ask, she continued, “The war with ANSIS is over!”

  Everyone’s faces lit up, but Matthew’s countenance remained guarded. Gary had been left behind, still connected to the antenna array they had created while Castle Cameron was sealed away. Matt had been hoping he might learn something valuable during that time, but this information surprised him, even though it wasn’t enough to lighten his burden. He looked at Gary. “What did you learn?”

  The android responded with a smile, which was only mildly disconcerting on his not-quite-human features. “The past months have been almost boring, but I caught an unencrypted message a few weeks ago and was able to gather the keys they use. Since then I’ve learned a lot, which is now mostly useless.”

  Matt frowned. “Useless, why?”

  “Because they’re gone,” answered the machine. “While you were away, I’ve been listening to an unending litany of distress calls from various elements of ANSIS. Something was systematically destroying them, both on this side of the dimensional borders and on the other side. I can only surmise it was either you or your father, but the end result is the same. A final message was sent out to deactivate the few remaining assets ANSIS had here, and the last large conglomeration traveled back to their home world.”

  “Would a machine give up?” asked Matthew.

  “They decided it was a matter of survival. Either the threat you sent them or the actions of your father convinced them that if they continued their campaign here, they might all be exterminated.”

  Matt stared at his metal hand. That had certainly been his in
tention, but he had never expected the machines to take his threat seriously. He had assumed they would push until he was forced to make the ultimate choice.

  Karen was practically bouncing with joy, and her enthusiasm was infecting the others. She hugged her father first, and then Matt. “Isn’t this good news?”

  Myra walked in, though the others still thought of her as Moira, and Matthew met her eyes. You’re not convinced, came her thought, a statement of fact.

  He didn’t look forward to the conversation he would have to have with Conall and Irene about her, but that was still a few days off. He gave Karen a half-hearted smile as he answered her, “Maybe. I’m not sure yet. I need to meditate.” Then he turned away from them and headed for his room. He locked the door behind him.

  Gram took the opportunity to ask Karen a question. “I didn’t see Chad with you when you returned this morning. Where is he?”

  Her expression darkened.

  Chapter 31

  Tyrion kept his eyes closed. The first thing he noticed was the smell of woodsmoke, and his magesight quickly discovered the source, a brick oven across the room from where he lay. He was in a small dwelling of some sort, and a woman was tending a large pot that sat atop the stove.

  Since the woman had her back to him, he slowly cracked the lids of his eyes and peered around, though he was still careful not to move his head. Any sound might alert the woman. First, he needed to determine whether she was his savior, or his captor.

  Thus far the signs pointed to the more benevolent of the two options. A careful examination of his body revealed that he wasn’t bound or chained. What disturbed him most was the fact that the wounds on his arms had mostly healed. Since he hadn’t done so himself with magic, that indicated he had been there for a week at least. Had he been unconscious that long? Hunger and fatigue didn’t seem sufficient to explain such a span of time.

  Expanding the scope of his magesight, he explored the area around the house. It was surrounded by a bare earth yard enclosed by a short fieldstone wall that was barely three feet tall. Beyond that were scattered trees and open expanses of grass. Looking farther out, he found a river half a mile distant. I must be in the valley near Cameron, he surmised.