Gathering of the Titans: The Tol Chronicles Book 2

by Robert G. Ferrell

  “Well,” observed Tol after a few moments’ reflection, “I suppose it creates job security for the fencing masters.”

  “Quite so,” answered Oloi. “Is this why you called me here?”

  “No,” Tol replied, “Actually, it isn’t.” He recounted the story of the elf’s last moments and suicide. “We were trying to understand the rapidly building negative energy field, as well as how the elf could have leapt to his death without any apparent injuries.”

  Oloi smiled grimly. “You’ll find the injuries are all internal. While he did leap off, he was no longer moving relative to the ground when he came to rest.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “One thing I forgot to tell you about Duellomortu: they aren’t very patient. If you refuse to engage one in actual rapier combat, it may very well attack you with ‘spirit swords’ that do the same damage internally as a real sword, but do not leave any external wounds. When a person dies that way he passes through a transition stage during which his body is impervious to external forces while the spirit is being harvested extradimensionally. That’s not entirely accurate: in fact, the body itself is temporarily located in another dimension. Apparently this poor fellow died just before or as he left the train and had already stopped rolling on the ground when he returned fully to the native state. Et voila: deceased elf with no apparent injuries.”

  Oloi had to return to The Slice a few minutes later. Tol sat and began to write out his report. When there was a stiff involved the paperwork got much more arduous. As he wrote the conductor sat across from Tol, waiting for him to finish. Finally Tol decided to take a ‘rest his writing arm’ break.

  “What can I do for you, Wijjy?”

  “I have some rather disappointing news. The ‘haunted’ coach is one of the very few in our fleet with the engine coupling installed. In other words, it’s the one car we really can’t do without on the Limited carriage. Without it, there’s no way to attach the engines to the other coaches.

  “So, I guess you’d better find a fencing master or get to training pretty hard. That’s the only way I know of to get that coach back into operation, unless you want to sell tickets to the ‘haunted carriage’ or something.”

  “While that is a tempting proposition, I don’t believe upper management would go for it. The insurance premiums would be prohibitive. What they would go for, however—and I know this because I have a message from them right here—is hiring you to take care of the problem for us.”

  Tol’s incredulous expression morphed after a moment into a broad grin, accompanied by a hearty chuckle. “You’ve been setting me up for that punchline the entire time, haven’t you?”

  The conductor looked puzzled. “I assure you this offer is quite legitimate.”

  Tol’s expression toned down. “I’m a special investigator for His Majesty’s Edict Enforcement Bureau. I can’t accept commissions of that sort. Nor can I engage in combat with a specter or anything else except in the course of apprehending a suspect or preventing a violent illegal act.”

  “Were not asking you to engage in combat personally, or at all if you can figure out some other approach. We’re merely hiring you make this problem go away and give us back the use of our coach.”

  Tol cocked his head, turned away, and closed one eye. He was figurin.’ At last he turned to face Wijjy again. “All right: it’s a deal. I’ll find someone to fight the Duello-thing and turn all of that money over to them.”

  “Are you sure you can’t keep any of it?”

  “Only up to twenty billmes from any given entity, as a gift in appreciation of service.”

  “Is that twenty per day, or just twenty, period?”

  “I don’t know. It’s never come up before. Check with the EEB Ethics Office. They play craps back in the alley behind HQ on Midweeksday; otherwise they’re pretty easy to get hold of.”

  “Thank you, Sir Tol-u-ol. This carriage is the lifeline for many people living along the tracks. Your assistance will be essential in maintaining service to those people, as well as providing transportation for many business travelers and thousands of tonnes of goods every month.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ve read your brochure. I’ll kill the monster for you. It may take some time, though.”

  “Understood; please proceed as rapidly as possible, however.”

  “The sooner you get me to Goblinopolis, the sooner I’ll get started.”

  “Your express carriage will be pulling up in about ten minutes.”

  “There’s no siding here; how are you going to turn the carriage around?”

  “There’s an engine on both ends of most of our carriages. They can provide propulsion in synch with one another in either the forward or reverse direction of travel. When your carriage gets here the engineer will simply switch ends.”

  “Clever. Makes sense, now that I think about it.”

  “We’re going to cancel all Track Warrants between here and Goblinopolis. That means any carriages on that route will have to pull into the next siding and wait for you to go by. That ensures that you will get to Goblinopolis in the shortest possible time, with no detours or stops necessary.”

  “I can see you are very serious about this mission. I will do my best to help you.”

  “That’s all we can ask, Sir Tol-u-ol. May Providence be with you.”

  Chapter the Fourteenth

  in which Tol encounters and hires an awe-inspiring bladesmistress

  “Rack your weapon and go to your corner, Verax. Meditate on patience and on learning from the lesson you received today.” Jadean stood with hands on hips: her ‘don’t argue with me’ posture. Verax, her advanced student and potential cadet, was shaking with anger and frustration.

  “I have practiced that attack over and over and over. I set it up right; why was it so easy for you to parry?” He was no longer shouting, but still obviously struggling to maintain self-control.

  “The Attaque au Fer was effective; the initial balestra was well-timed, but your riposte following my parry was poorly executed because once again, you forgot about your footwork. You were not in an advantageous position for the reprise because I side-stepped. You should have rotated on the ball of your foot and reset for the patinando, which would have been quite effective had you been in the proper position. As executed, however, passé was inevitable and your forward recovery was inept. I could have driven my sword completely through your neck or shoulder with ease.”

  “What am I doing that is so wrong, Randora?” Verax was calming down now, but still shaking.

  “Your footwork,” she explained, “Is fine when you first attack, but once you get involved in the fight and shift focus to your blade you forget about it and begin to stumble around like a novice. You must practice footwork until it becomes second nature at all times. I want you to be awoken from a deep sleep and leap out of bed en garde and in perfect balance. Until then you will be defeatable simply by staying in tight defense until you’ve engaged two or three times. You are especially prone to failure during an opposition parry after multiple exchanges. The longer our blades are in contact, the worse your footing becomes. Now, go and meditate.”

  Jadean Zov was the Doen-ya, or Spiritual Leader, of the Academy of Fence and Defence, (AFD), on the southeast side of Goblinopolis, within sight of the immense grain fields and fruit orchards that occupy tens of thousands of hectares south of the city. She held the rarified title of Randora, which in Elvish translates roughly to “Chaos Warrior:” the first to do so in several generations. She was technically a Heterelf—a full elf, but with the blood of at least one other race strongly detectable in her genome—but the only outward manifestation of that was a slightly more muscular build and a little shorter stature. Elves are very secretive about their genetic makeup; this added to the fact that Jadean was a martial arts uber-master meant that no one ever pried into what she was unwilling to divulge freely—at least, no one who knew anything about elves and their culture. Any who did pry were sou
ndly rebuffed in a manner that made it quite clear they would not be wise to inquire further.

  Jadean had grown up in the fencing community; fencing was in her blood. Her father Sir Aqriz Zov was for a time the world’s champion freestyle kumite fencer, after having first distinguished himself in the army by almost single-handedly repelling a localized orc invasion with a bill-guisarme and poignard. He was the only elf ever raised to the rank of Knight of the Crimson, in fact.

  Tol had watched a number of Jadean’s matches, and those of her students, over the years. He was greatly in awe of her consummate skill with any blade at all. Jadean always made the weapon seem an extension of her body, wielding a sword with the same ease and comfort as simply waving her hand. Tol was fond of saying Jadean could take out a squadron of commandoes with a spatula.

  So, after spending a full day with Selpla and giving her the gifts he bought her as well as a little more, it was at the Academy of Fence and Defence that Tol found himself on the second morning after returning to his native city. “Tol?” Jadean said, smiling as he walked in the door. “I haven’t laid eyes on you in years. Oh, it’s Sir Tol now, isn’t it? Very impressive.”

  Tol waved his hand dismissively. “Not in comparison with anything you’ve accomplished. Anyway, I didn’t come to talk about me.”

  Jadean offered him a seat and some herbal infusion.

  “So, why did you come?”

  Tol leaned back and considered his words.

  “I came to offer you a…proposition, of sorts.”

  Jadean laughed and batted her eyes at him.

  “I’m flattered, to say the least.”

  Tol’s own eyes got wide and he blushed a lovely blue-green.

  “No…I mean…a business proposition. Really, more of a challenge.”

  Still chuckling, she took a sip of her infusion.

  “What manner of challenge?”

  “A sword fight. To the death. With an…unusual opponent.”

  Jadean’s face took on a more serious cast.

  “I don’t fight outrance, only plaisance. Society frowns on the first; they call it murder. But you of course are aware of that. So, why ask?”

  “Killing this opponent will not be murder, or in fact any crime at all, under edict.”

  “Is he a fugitive, then, or perhaps a convicted killer himself?”

  “No. He’s simply not alive and so cannot be murdered, per se.”

  Jadean raised her eyebrows. “Not alive? How am I to kill something that is not alive to begin with?”

  “Have you ever heard the term Duellomortu?”

  Jadean smirked at him. “You cannot be serious. Duellomortu is a fictitious magical construct employed as a thought experiment in higher-level martial philosophy teachings. It does not literally exist.”

  “I can promise you this one does. Experienced it myself, and saw it off an elf in Asga Teslu.”

  “Who told this thing you encountered was indeed Duellomortu?”

  “A transcendent archmage by the name of Oloi. Same guy who helped me nab Pyfox.”

  She looked thoughtful.

  “I believe we have met. An archmage is about the only authority I would trust to be able to categorize a manifestation of that nature correctly.” Jadean stood up and sighed.

  “If Duellomortu it is, then I have no choice but to accept the challenge. To do otherwise would bring shame upon myself and my scholabellum. I will want to train first. How long do I have?”

  “Every day we delay brings more hardship to the people and businesses who depend on the Limited carriage to and from the Western cities. This thing is infesting one of the coaches that provide a link between the engine and passenger or freight buggies.”

  “Then, I will begin now.”

  She walked gracefully, fluidly over to a raised platform covered with a thin mat and sat cross-legged upon it. Fifteen seconds later she was absolutely motionless. She didn’t even seem to be breathing. Tol was beginning to get worried when suddenly her eyes opened. She stood, and reached for two swords from a rack of over a dozen. Her entire body snapped en garde like a gigantic work of origami. She took three measured breaths, and then worked her way through an ever more complex series of katas until she and the blades were whirling, diving, undulating, and spinning almost faster than the eye could follow.

  As the final movement of the ultimate kata, called ‘flashing razor,’ she turned a complete somersault while executing two entirely separate sub-katas, one with each arm, and before touching down on the mat slashed with incredible speed and precision at four thick cords suspended vertically in a large frame. Each of the cords had a thin red line encircling it at a different spot along its length. While she was cooling down on the mat, Tol examined them. Each was sliced very neatly exactly on the line: not the tiniest bit above or below.

  “I will execute that master kata sequence three more times and then I will be ready.”

  Tol summoned his express carriage and they left the next morning. Tol and Wijjy had decided it was better to uncouple the possessed coach and leave it on a siding at the edge of the desert to minimize the chance that anyone would wander near and be injured and/or traumatized.

  During their journey Tol summoned Oloi once more, to have him brief Jadean on how the challenge was issued and what to expect.

  “You’ll be facing a creature which has imprinted upon it the basic rules of fencing, but no native skill. It will absorb and match whatever skill you exhibit, as it was originally created partially for use as a training device. You cannot kill it literally, but if you defeat it according to its internal rules it will dissipate. It will,” Oloi added, looking at her pointedly, “Most likely represent the greatest challenge of your life and if you die, you will take its place.”

  Jadean nodded. “A challenge skirted is a life diminished. I am ready.”

  When they reached the siding, they disembarked the Crimson Express and had it back away a hundred meters from the haunted coach.

  “I don’t know exactly how this is going to go,” Tol said, “But I don’t want anyone else hurt or any unnecessary damage done.”

  He and Jadean approached the coach cautiously. Oloi, who had been forced to return to The Slice, had given them detailed instructions on how to issue the challenge. Jadean stood in the aisle of the coach, head bowed, saber in one hand and colichemarde in the other. She looked up.

  “Challenge is hereby issued to that which waits in this place. I bring lawful weapons and am prepared to do combat in the lawful style.”

  There was dead silence for a few long moments, then from what sounded like a great distance there came a shrill noise that got louder and lower in pitch as it approached them. At last it seemed to be emanating from the air directly in front of Jadean.

  “Llllllawful challlllenge hassss been offered annnd accepted,” it hissed,“Therrrre must beeee noooo othersss.”

  It stopped. Jadean looked at Tol. “I think it’s talking about you.”

  Tol rolled his eyes. “Fine; I’ll wait outside.” He walked over and set his pen on a window ledge before exiting.

  Once Tol was gone, the voice resumed. The hissing was gone. What remained was a broken voice, guttural and dead. A spectral figure with rapier and buckler wavered in the air a scarce meter before Jade’s face.

  “Are you prepared to begin? This combat is outrance,” it rasped.

  “I am aware of outrance and ready to begin.”

  “Then, combat is joined.”

  With that the Duellomortu slashed viciously at her saber arm and before she could even react threw a solid punch toward her face with its buckler. She parried the slash and ducked out of the punch.

  “That was not a lawful attack,” she said.

  The apparition laughed. “I decide what is lawful here. I judge that attack within the rules, as is this one.”

  Before it finished speaking the Duellomortu rolled right with blinding speed and came out of the spin with rapier point facing backward so that i
t preceded him, driving it hard at her throat. She brought the colichemarde up to parry near the hilt of the rapier, sliding along it until at the tip she twisted suddenly downward, hooking the single heavy quillion over the rapier blade and neatly snapping it in half. The upper portion was flung several meters and skittered along the floor of the coach. The specter laughed as his rapier blade magically regrew.

  “I would wager,” Jadean said as she launched a complex cross- thrusting lunge, “That my blades, once broken, would not be so quick to repair themselves.”

  The Duellomortu laughed again. “Mortal warriors wield mortal weapons.”

  “So, by ‘lawful,’ you really mean ‘whatever gives you an unfair advantage,’” Jadean observed.

  “It may seem unfair to you, but I was created without any skills. I must absorb and incorporate them into my makeup on the fly for every bout. That is a tremendous handicap that far outweighs any issues you have with broken blades.”

  Jadean thought about this. “Granted. I will cease to question you.”

  “Especially when I have opened you up like a fileted toothfish,” it cried, launching a rapid combination of thrusts and slashes, which Jadean deftly dodged, albeit barely. She leapt completely over a sweeping cut and brought both her blades out in a crossing pattern that would have neatly decapitated a living opponent, but had no effect on her shadowy opponent.

  “I know that made contact,” she said, parrying two more thrusting attacks in rapid succession, “So what sort of rules are we playing under here?”

  “The rules were set down by the master. He did not like his challenges trivial. You must land multiple killing blows on me to win. I, of course, need kill you only once. I even pointed out to him once that his rules were unfair. He responded that life was unfair and he wanted to simulate life.”