by Roland Green
Elda made a rude gesture. "That's for the Rael's fretting. Be sides, the stream flows away from camp."
She gave her pack of guano a vigorous kick, and started downhill, pulling at her tunic as she went. Ohlt looked the other way, only turning back in time to see Elda plunge headfirst into the stream, where it made a deep pool above some boulders.
The thought of not carrying a crust of bat dung all the way hack to camp on his clothes was warmly agreeable to Ohlt. A moment later, and he had dropped his pack, stripped off his shirt, and begun the downward climb.
By the time he reached the pool, Elda was splashing happily about. Her garments were tied by a loop of rope to a rock where the current was strong.
Ohlt removed everything but his small clothes, then slipped into the stream. He wanted to shriek in agony at the cold; the water felt barely above freezing. Then something splashed behind him, and two lithe arms went around him. Lips nibbled at one ear, then laughter tinkled in the other.
"Elda, stop this. If you don't, I will go and cut your clothes loose. Do you want to walk back to camp wearing nothing but your pack and weapons?"
"I've worn less in worse company," she replied. "And we are alone."
"No, we're not." His voice nearly broke. "Wylina is still with me."
The arms withdrew. "Was she very beautiful?"
Ohlt mustered the courage to turn and look at Elda. "You are more so, but she had a beautiful spirit. So strong that it is still with me at times."
Elda nodded, and this time her kiss might have been given to her brother. "I have bedded married men, but never one who considered it dishonorable. You would be surprised how many do not."
Ohlt risked patting her bare shoulder, a pleasant sensation amid the cold. "No, I wouldn't. I followed the sea for fifteen years. How many wedded shipmates pretended otherwise, out of sight of their home port, would be a long tale."
"We will freeze in this water before you can finish," Elda said. She sped toward the bank, then ran out of the water clad only in sunlight and droplets. Ohlt watched her with admiration not tinged with desire, as she leaped blithely from boulder to boulder, until she could retrieve her clothes.
He finished washing himself, wrung his clothes out in the shallows, then followed Elda uphill to where they had left their packs.
• • •
Khramil Stonebreaker's wood elf companion nudged him and asked, "What in all the planes is that?"
He referred to the thing whose sound had echoed through the mountains from dawn of this, the twelfth day after the coming of the comet.
The thing looked like some kind of mechanical device. Much of it had a metallic sheen, like the golems they had already encountered. Khramil suspected it was yet another new sort of golem, but the size made it grotesque. It was as large as a human's fortified manor house.
It resembled a helmet—one of those Chunrchi kind with a stiffening comb forged into the top—riding on wheels. Tied around the wheels was what looked like an endless belt, studded with spikes. To Khramil, it seemed that the device moved by having the wheels turn, and the wheels made the endless belt turn, so that the spikes dug into the ground and pulled or pushed everything along together.
And "everything" was quite a lot. Besides the helmet-body and the belt-wheels, what looked like arms from a giant's suit of armor stuck out in several places. Some of them ended in pincers, others in what looked like drills, hammers, or tools that Khramil had never imagined. In the front was a large bin with a hinged lid—that at least looked familiar—and in the rear a gigantic, jointed tube. From that tube a stream of dust poured out, making a haze in the valley and burying, several hands deep, the honest granite of the valley floor.
Altogether, Khramil would have preferred to believe that it was the gnomes' latest creation. In such a situation, he would have warned his people and then waited for the device to fall < iff a cliff, as gnome-work was likely to do. Then he could tell the gnomes where to come and pick it up, claiming as his reward the best of its metal parts.
But the comet had come. Ghouls and golems had poured out of it, walking, crawling, and even flying; hurling death wherever they went. Two of Khramil's tribesfolk were known to be dead, two more hurt, and two missing.
Suddenly, one of the drill-tipped arms swung hard against the cliff. Rock sprayed, then a large chunk fell. Two of the pincer-arms picked up the pieces of rock, broke one in two, then fed all of them into the bin in front.
The dust thickened. The noise doubled and redoubled until Khramil had to hold his hands over even his forge-toughened ears. He could not talk to anybody in this din, any more than one could sing to a mountain giant, they being mostly tone-deaf.
It was quite a while before the device passed by far enough to make speech possible, and it was still unsafe for a while after i hat. Another golem, this one about the size of a cottage, but also metal-clad, and several armed ghouls on foot followed in the giant golem's trail. The ghouls carried fire-wands, and the smaller golem seemed to be carrying some also, at least one of which was very large.
Having seen what those wands could do, both watchers waited until a great deal of solid rock lay between them and the demon's wands, spells, and eyes. Then they crawled out of the crevice, and looked at each other.
"The demons grow bolder," Khramil said. "To me, the big one looks like Chakfor at work. When he sees a likely outcropping, he chips off a sample and takes it home to assay. He has found iron, silver, and a little copper that way."
"I felicitate you on your analysis," the elf said. His name was Rashandor the Swift, and he was first in rank among the wood elves. "What do you propose to do next?"
"Send warning. If this device wanders where it will, it might feed all the mountains to the golem's forges. Then where will we he?"
"There is much to be said for living by wood, hide, and bone—" was as far as the elf went before Khramil cleared his throat, and put a hand on his axe.
The elf bowed gracefully. "Your pardon. I have lost no kin as yet, but I do not take this lightly. You may well be right. Even if you are not, more enemies roaming the mountains will make it still harder to trade with the town. Our people must flee, or live like savages."
Khramil would have found this amusing at another time, seeing as how many folk called all wood elves savages, and this including most high elves. But today was not a time for jests.
"I would suggest Drenin Longstaff," Rashandor went on. "My sister can send a messenger bird to him. He is trustworthy, and my son Skindulos is with him now. I think the lad hopes for both glory, and a chance to tumble Asrienda, but—"
"If his mind is on dalliance when we fight monstrosities, I will crack his skull myself," Khramil interrupted, never cracking a smile.
Rashandor did smile when he said, "If the lad gets too far on
the wrong side of Asrienda, she will save you the trouble."
• • •
"See?" Gregis said.
"What do I see?" Chakfor Stonebreaker asked.
"I put this rock in here." The Rael pointed at the top of what Chakfor, to save his own peace of mind, called the Rael's "forge."
"Then I close the lid and seal it." The top closed with a solid clunk, and Gregis turned a couple of screws to make the closure still tighter.
"Now I turn it up to six, which leaves out heat and compression. We do not wish to set anything on fire, and it uses much energy."
Chakfor found himself simultaneously puzzling out that last remark, and watching the forge. He did not know what he expected, but all he received was a brief, low humming, and a puff i >f smoke.
The forge looked rather as if two of the spider demons had been having a wrestling bout, and had become inextricably entangled. It was hard to believe that something that Chakfor could pick up with his bare hands would work like a forge, but Gregis seemed to have faith in its magic.
The smoke had blown away when Gregis unfastened the lid. I le did things Chakfor did not understand, then held up somet
hing that the dwarf did recognize as a lodestone. Patches of fine reddish powder clung to its surface.
"You see. I set it for iron, and it found what there was. Not enough to start a mine here, I think."
Without waiting, Gregis scraped the iron into the top of the forge, sealed the lid, and this time turned the spell-setter all the way across its round face.
Whatever was happening took more time, made more smoke, and gave off heat that made Chakfor feel almost at home. For a whole minute, he forgot that this was a thing of magic, being shown to him by a creature from beyond the stars.
No, a man. Give Gregis that. He was no stranger in appearance than an elf, and less so than a hobgoblin or an ogre. He was also much more polite, not that dwarves set much weight on manners.
But that word: "energy." Chakfor heard the sound, but could not hear the sense. He asked.
Gregis answered. It seemed that there were many sources from which energy came, like hot springs bubbling out of the ground, or the force of the wind itself. The energy the forge was using now came from the sun.
"The sun?" Chakfor said.
"Yes. A solar accumulator."
Chakfor ignored the term, which might as well have been a poem in the tongue of the cloud giants. He fixed on the idea of energy from the sun.
The Rael said that the sun was like a giant fireball. Thus it gave off heat, rather like a forge fire. If a forge's heat could melt metal, then the lesser heat of the sun might do lesser work. If one could expose to the sun's heat metal with a spell on it, a spell that made the metal soak up that heat like a sponge....
Chakfor was rather proud of his deductions, and explained them to Gregis. The Rael threw up his hands in disgust.
"How many times do I have to tell you that there is no such thing as magic? It is all natural processes!"
Chakfor considered this more soberly than he had in the past. Dwarves were masters of forge-magic, but to some it was a matter of pride to use nothing more than hammers, tongs, and bellows. Could this "solar accumulator" be something like a bellows, made rather than conjured, and useable by anyone with the right skill in his hands?
An interesting thought. A more interesting thought followed, as Chakfor remembered overhearing some older dwarves several years before, and Hellandros just the other day.
"Do you know of forgerock?"
The name was as alien to Gregis as "solar accumulator" was to Chakfor, but a description broke that barrier.
"Oh, you mean coal."
"Is that your name for it? Well, there is a tale among us dwar-ven folk, that if you can squeeze and heat forgerock at the same time, it turns into a diamond."
Gregis had no trouble understanding that. "You want me to turn forgerock into diamonds in my processor?"
So that was the name for the Rael forge. "Yes. 1 know where some of the black rock is. Hellandros has-said he needs diamonds for his—" Chakfor struggled to find an alternative to "magic" and finally remembered "—research."
"What somebody who believes in magic can do with a dia-mond, I hardly know," Gregis muttered. "But I suppose I can try."
"Good. If you can make diamonds, I will admit that your processor is as good as magic, and without being magical."
Gregis's normally cheerful face looked rapt. He reminded Chakfor of a priest seeing a new worshipper kneel before him.
"It is a bargain," Gregis said.
• • •
The man in the boat looked exhausted, and the two sirines hardly expected him to resist. Nonetheless, when Gerua sprang out of the water, the man's eyes opened wide, his mouth opened wider, and he reached for the dagger at his belt.
Then it was Sneyla's turn to spring into the stern sheets of the boat, and put her mouth very close to the man's ear. At that distance, a sirine's song does not have to be loud to cast its spell.
Presently, the man was asleep, while Gerua also slept, at the other end of the boat, and Sneyla kept watch. Neither of them could row, but once the man had his strength back, he could do that work as well under their spell as in his right senses.
For now, Detrius Phailmont was not dreaming of rowing or any other sort of work. He dreamed of a couch covered with silken cushions, where he reclined, toying with a plate of jewels, and occasionally sipping from a cup of the most exquisite chilled wine.
A serving maid came forward with a dew-covered jug to refill his cup. He urged her to sit down with him, for she was very beautiful, and as she wore nothing at all, he could see exactly how beautiful.
There was a strangeness about her, though, that made him look at her closely when she lay down beside him. She smelled faintly of fish, and her skin held a less-faint tinge of green.
Trying to solve that puzzle, Detrius Phailmont fell into a deeper and more dreamless sleep than had ever followed a long day in the lumberyard.
Ten
Asrienda had already left for town by the time the elves' bird brought its message. Drenin Longstaff read the message about the monstrous golem, and though detecting magic was not the strongest of Drenin Longstaff's skills, it was not one he altogether lacked. He could tell that somewhere off to the southwest, deeper into the mountains, spells were being cast almost every day. He could even tell the approximate distance.
He could also be fairly sure that one of the spellcasters had a cleric's training—M'lenda—and another was a wizard, with the schooling of an invoker, but with some druidical learning apparent as well—Hellandros.
At first Drenin had been wary of sending a message to Hellandros. The golem-masters had so much other magic that they might he able to read it. When he detected Hellandros and M'lenda openly working magic, as though they feared no ar-
cane hostility, Drenin sent messages, three times. Hellandros was silent, three times. From this, Drenin drew the conclusion that Hellandros was guarding a secret.
Nor, Drenin hoped, the secret of his reason for coming here. Drenin had learned that by both spells and ears some while ■luce. He disapproved—both the grove and Hellandros's school bad little claim over him, this far away—but had no quarrel with Hellandros's doing what he saw as his duty.
The secret had to be something else. Unless Hellandros had
t urned to evil, or been captured by the golem-makers, it could not be dangerous to Drenin. It was, in fact, quite understandable why Hellandros did not want any common folk knowing where he was. If one of them were to fall into hostile hands, and have his knowledge as well as his soul stripped from him. .. .
So be it. He would have to go with the message himself. He might not meet anyone who could answer his questions, even if
They would, but he would surely return knowing more than he had.
He began gathering what would be needed for the journey, then went out to the guest hut. Skindulos was not yet admitted to the inner grove. Drenin found Skindulos practicing with his spear—actually, two spears; the elf could throw equally well with either hand.
"Hail, Master of the Grove," Skindulos said. "Are you leaving us?"
"No, we are going on a journey. I have a message from your _»
aunt. "Oh?"
"Not concerning you."
Skindulos nodded, looking more relieved than curious. "I keep a pack ready. Are we leaving now?"
"As soon as 1 change."
"Your robes are too long for—?" Skindulos paused as a look of recognition crossed his face. "Oh, I understand. I hope the ghouls have not devoured all the game."
Drenin pulled his robe over his head. "So do I. Asrienda jests that I turn bear only when I want to gorge myself on meat, but if I do not eat like a bear, you might have cause for worry."
"Is stupid," Zolaris said.
Hellandros ignored him. The Rael warrior knew a great deal about fighting, and not only with the magical weapons of his people. He could wield a knife or his bare hands and feet with deadly artistry.
Why Jazra had chosen Zolaris to help Hellandros with this day's tests was plain to the wizard, although he hoped n
o other Rael drew the right conclusion. Potent magic would be at work, and between the Rael who didn't believe it, and those who feared it, there were not many other soldiers who could be trusted to assist.
"It may look that way." Hellandros said. "If it becomes stupid, I will be the first to admit it, then you can laugh as long as you please. But let us test, first."
"Yes, Wizard." Zolaris used the title as if it were a military rank.
At Hellandros's orders, Zolaris placed the loaded personal magnum cannon on its tripod, then carefully connected a complicated tangle of wires and boxes to the trigger, and unreeled the wire until the last box was a good twenty paces from the gun.
Gregis had made this device for firing the magnum from a safe distance, complaining all the while that the magic was nonsense, and could present no danger worth using so many of his spare components on. Hellandros let the Rael's complaints go in one ear and out the other.
The spell of heavy striking was his own invention, and it had a delay aspect created along with it. Otherwise, Chakfor's axe would have fallen from his hands before he could throw it, perhaps landing the spell effect at his feet.
It was plain to Hellandros, once he understood that the mag-
num cannon hurled solid pellets rather than fire, like the Masters, that it would be worth trying the spell of heavy striking on the pellets. It was also plain that this would be a dangerous trial. Asked what would happen if the pellets suddenly became much heavier before they left the gun, Zolaris had a simple reply:
"It would blow up, killing the gunner and everybody around him."
Zolaris tried not to fidget too hard while Hellandros gripped a piece of lead—one of several dozen Gregis had made for him—and chanted the spell. Then the wizard handed the soldier the box of pellets. It slipped into place with a resounding dunk, and the companions retreated to the wired box.
Hellandros put his hands over his ears and Zolaris pulled his helmet lower on his head. The Rael frowned, his hand poised over the firing button, then fired the magnum.
They were trying the "war magic" in a low, long cave, too damp for habitation, but a perfect place for hiding anything I hey did not want seen. Several Rael and the Ha-Gelhers stood guard outside, to keep out intruders, or the curious.