D & D - Tale of the Comet

by Roland Green

  Hazlun had gobbled half the berries before he found a large hand interposing itself between his mouth and the bowl.

  "I want a few too, friend. If these are real. . .."

  Bruchs's hand retreated, taking with it the rest of the berries. They vanished in the next moment, and in the moment after thai Bruchs sat up.

  "Hello, the camp! Everybody!" Bruchs began yelling. "Come to the medic tent. Now! Hazlun's worked magic! He's used a human spell to make food good again. Come and see!"

  Interlude

  Jazra, in the darkness of the cave, would have been dazzled by the blaster fire had she not been wearing her goggles. Instead, she easily counted five perfectly-aimed shots.

  Elda was shooting; training with a blaster pistol. The target marker was one of Gregis's inventions. It was not as sophisticated as the ones on the firing ranges of Kel-Rael; Gregis was running short on hardened circuitry.

  Or so he said. Though it may very well have been true, it could also mean that he was saving the circuitry for some other project. These days, that might include working with Hellandros.

  Technicians were unpredictable. When they suddenly learned that legends from the mists of the past really worked, they were even more unpredictable than usual. Jazra knew this fact of life too well to let it worry her.

  Even through the gas mask, the fumes of blaster fire in an en-

  closed space pricked at Jazra's nose and lungs. She was about to sneeze when five more blaster shots cracked down the range.

  Again, the lights on the indicator showed five hits. Jazra stifled a sneeze, followed that effort with curses, then turned on the lights. Not that the light was more than four lanterns wired to a single switch, but it was enough to show Elda returning her pistol in her holster.

  Returning it with her left hand, when she had begun shooting with her right.

  Zolaris, the range monitor, began a series of remarks to Elda about her folly in wasting ammunition, her dubious ancestry, and the horrifying fate in store for her. Jazra held up a hand for silence.

  "Elda. Did you shoot the second five left-handed?"

  "Yes. The way you make the butts on these blaster pistols, and their light weight, it's easier than I thought it would be."

  "We do not have all the ammunition in the universe," Zolaris grumbled. "We don't even have all the ammunition in the world. Don't use more than your allowance again, please. Or if you feel you have a good reason, ask first."

  "I won't need to practice this again, now that I know how to do it."

  Elda strode out, remembering on the way to take her blaster out, remove the magazine, and insert the cleaning elements into the butt and muzzle. She did not slow down for any of this, ind Zolaris seemed to be watching her as if he wanted her to drop something.

  When Elda was out of the cave, Zolaris turned with a face that was at the same time grim and beseeching. Jazra took the message: "Is she good enough for us to have to endure this nonsense ?"

  Jazra used her most disarming smile. "Zolaris," she said, "I won't make a Primary Justice case out of five extra rounds. Not this time."

  The grimness left Zolaris's face, and Jazra resolved to leave him to his work on the range. The next human coming in for training was M'lenda. Jazra went to seek out Elda, to try to impress upon the human swordswoman that there must not be a next time.

  Distracted, trying to find the right words with which to confront Elda, Jazra strayed off the path that led back to the camp, and wandered deeper into the forest. She did not realize this until the clink of human-style weapons, and the thud of their wielders' feet, struck her ears.

  Jazra halted, drew her blaster, and stalked forward, until she could see clearly. What she saw had her muttering darkly under her breath.

  Delegate Breena and Brinus Ha-Gelher stood face to face in a small clearing. Brinus held a spear with a padded tip; Breena held what was unmistakably a hand-carved wooden sword in her right hand, and a human or dwarven metal dagger blunted with Rael survival tape in her left.

  They were so absorbed in their weapons play that they began another pass as Jazra stepped into the clearing. Brinus blocked the down cut of the sword with his spear shaft, then twisted it about, and caught Breena behind the knee with the butt, hard enough to make her stumble. Her dagger did not move out of position, and, if Brinus had closed, he might have taken it in his chest or stomach.

  Suddenly aware of Jazra's presence, both fighters whirled, freeing a hand each to draw blasters.

  "Never come up into a practice bout so silently!" Breena snapped. Weapons prowess did not seem to have improved her temper, even if she was now willing to practice with a human.

  Brinus made a polite salute with his spear and blaster. "Your pardon, Commander," he said amiably. "Delegate Breena said she had no duties that would keep her from regular practice. So we began two days ago. She is no beginner with weapons of our kind."

  With a curt bow, he turned to the woods and vanished, as silently as even his sister would have moved, if she had ever possessed the good manners to think of leaving in the first place.

  Jazra sat down. "You told him the truth," she said, to put Breena at ease. "But, I think, so did he. Where did you learn to use swords and knives?"

  "Ever hear of the Society for the Recreation of Legends?" Ilivena asked.

  "Yes, but 1 didn't think it had been active since the war began."

  "On some planets, no. On my homeworld of Frynis, there must be twenty thousand members. Some of them could take on anyone I've seen here with real weapons, and beat them. I was never that good, but I was champion a few times as a girl, and I kept up the practice after the children—the children . . ."

  She sat down abruptly, as if hamstrung, and put her face in her hands. Jazra knelt beside the older woman, and put a hand on her quivering shoulders.

  "Jazra, I thought the humans were barbarians who would destroy my last chance to see them again. You know how wrong I was. You haven't said a word, but 1 wish you would."

  "All right. I say that you made up your mind too quickly. You never jump to conclusions that way in trade negotiations, do you?"

  Breena stifled something between a sob and a laugh, and shook her head.

  "Good. On the other hand, I was wrong in not thinking enough about your children. I have never mated, never had a child. I—you have dared as much as I have, in a different way. I bulking that you were weak was not. . . was not being a good leader."

  She pulled Breena to her feet.

  "Now, go chase Brinus down, and finish your lesson."

  The Trade Delegate actually managed a clumsy salute. Jazra watched her trot off on Brinus's trail, and turned back to her own journey.

  She had stopped just outside the range of the sensors on the approach to the camp, to check that her belt beacon was reading correctly, when she saw a shadow move on the slope just to her left. She halted, and this time scanned in infrared. The shadow's owner was human, and from his mass, she judged it was Fedor Ohlt.

  Five steps downhill from the path, she found herself in a little bower in the shrubbery, where one human or Rael could sit in comfort, two somewhat cramped, and look out over the valley without anyone looking in. It showed signs of previous use, and Jazra assumed it was one of the web of sniper posts that Zolaris had been establishing since the day the first survivors reached the campsite. Fedor Ohlt beckoned her to a place beside him on a seat that was half rotted log, half stony hillside.

  Below, the moonlight penetrated the forest enough for Jazra to recognize Elda. She was climbing a tree, and as the Rael watched, the human woman swung from a branch, about halfway up, over to the next tree. She as casual about the bone-breaking drop below her as if she had been walking in her back garden.

  Elda wore a blaster on one hip, a rapier on the other, and daggers in both boots. Otherwise, she wore only one strip of cloth tied around her breasts, and another around her hips.

  "Is Elda desirable among human women?"

  Ohlt look
ed surprised, but not as much as he would have been, had the question been completely unexpected. Jazra suppressed a smile, realizing where Ohlt's own thoughts had been.

  "Yes," he answered simply, "and she is not sworn to chastity, either. Do we face a danger from this?" It was odd to hear only curiosity and an officer's concern in his voice, rather than disgust. She would have expected a different reaction, from a primitive, to the thinly-veiled implication of possible interspecies coupling.

  But then, most worlds the Rael knew supported only one intelligent race, if that many. This world supported at least four that were similar in form. Moreover, M'lenda was called "half-elf," which meant that at least elves and humans were interfertile.

  "We face both combat and survival, and celibacy is the law for the Rael in either. But your men are so like ours, that I imagine some of ours will be curious about the form of your women." "Elda won't mind—wait. How do you know the, ah . . . form of human men?"

  Jazra turned away to hide the rush of blood to her face, and in that position told of seeing Drenin Longstaff unclothed, Ohlt said nothing until she was done, then coughed.

  "Usually a shapechanger will take his clothes into animal form with him, and have them on when he turns back to human. I wonder what Drenin was thinking of."

  "Many folk were not thinking at all that night, or at least not as well as usual," Jazra said. "Does Drenin appearing unclothed before Asrienda mean that they are lovers?"

  Ohlt shook his head. "Not likely. For Drenin, celibacy is part ofwhat makes him a druid. Asrienda may also be celibate, because sometimes neither elves nor humans will touch a half-elf. curious, because even full elves are no more different from humans that you Rael are from us. Of course, the elves are shorter lather than taller, and they don't have your six—"

  Whatever might have been said was forever silenced, and whatever might have been done as a consequence remained forever undone. For the third time that night, Jazra stared, gape-mouthed.

  Fire trailed across the sky, rising from behind the mountains, and soaring toward the zenith. Halfway up, the fire died briefly, then broke out anew. When it died a second time, Jazra had her binoculars focused on that part of the sky.

  Gregis had more sensitive instruments, and might have more precise data, but she doubted that their conclusions would differ. She had just seen the Overseer's forces launching—

  "A satellite," she whispered.

  "One of the magic machines in the sky, that can both talk and listen?"

  He understood the concept well enough, shorn of orbital mechanics, step-rocket design, and the like. She had to discuss her own, even more ominous conclusion.

  "This is as likely to be a spy satellite."

  "To watch us."

  "If we are careless, it could, but I think it is more likely intended to study other parts of your world, to see where to attack next. From high enough in the sky, the satellite can see anything, and send pictures instead of words back to the Director aboard Fworta."

  "If they can barely hold the area around the comet, why is the enemy looking at the rest of the world?"

  "They may be on the defensive here by choice, rather than because we beat them. Remember that constructor the dwarves saw? If they have enough materials, they can make drones able to fly armed constructs—oh, farther than you could walk in a month. Whether we hold the ground then will make no difference. It is a concept we call 'air superiority.' "

  "Then I suppose we have to attack them before they grow stronger," Ohlt said.

  Jazra did not say, "I was hoping you would say that," nor did she embrace Ohlt, not after their last topic of discussion. She did, however, shake hands with him, solemnly, and at such length that they ended by laughing hard enough to banish any remaining tension.

  • • •

  In the Kel-Rael arcology, the Primary Director interrogated itself for any data on communications with a certain expedition.

  Primary Memory: NEGATIVE COMMUNICATION.

  Secondary Memory: NEGATIVE COMMUNICATION.

  Reserve Memory: NEGATIVE COMMUNICATION.

  The Primary Director's interrogation then moved on to all the autonomous sensor modules scattered about the arcology. This process resembled an experienced intelligence officer interrogating a large number of observers with eidetic memories, total enthusiasm, and no judgment or experience whatsoever.

  The Primary Director could handle too much data for there to be any overload problems. It was also close enough to a full artificial intelligence—like the Overseer itself—that it did not quite experience emotions, hut came rather close.

  When it became evident that nowhere in the arcology had any aspect of the Primary Director received any communication from the expedition that had gone aboard the star cruiser recorded as Fworta, it felt the functional equivalent of frustration.

  • • •

  They held the betrothal feast for Gredin Hundsmund and erick Trussk at the Fox and Feather because Erick was fit to be carried downstairs in a chair, and sat up at the table.

  Ships were beginning to put into Aston Point again, now that word had reached the outside world that the town had not been reduced to rubble, ashes, and charred corpses. One of these ships, Fairy Rose, under a new captain, brought several barrels of excellent wine, the first seen in Aston Point for some weeks.

  the Fox and Feather was the only establishment left in town with enough room for a feast to which nearly everyone in town was invited, or had invited themselves. Torgia Mel and Seldra boatwright were among the leading guests. Both of them brought some of their people, not overtly armed, but definitely ready to keep order among those who lost their wits to the wine.

  By an hour past sunset, the Fox and Feather was as lively a place as any in towns a hundred times the size of Aston Point. everyone sought, by rejoicing at a new beginning, to drive away the nightmares of how much had ended.

  "It isn't over, either," Torgia said. "We found a farmer and his

  pigs burned down just the other day. It was hobgoblins carrying

  the fire-wands, and probably not local ones either."

  She emptied her fourth cup and walked over to the chair where Erick sat. The young man was sober, but enthroned like a king, with Gredin feeding him like a favorite handmaid. Except that there was nothing servile in the girl's eyes, and not much that was girlish either. Erick looked ten years older than he had the day he marched out on his last patrol. This gave the Lady Captain an idea.

  "Erick Trussk!" she snapped, louder than she had intended. More people than Erick and Gredin stared.

  "You have proved yourself worthy of higher rank than you hold. By my authority, as of the beginning of this moon, you are Sergeant Erick Trussk, with appropriate pay and allowances, including a marriage bonus."

  Erick laughed. "Thank you, Captain. I shall try to be worthy of the promotion when I am fit for duty. But where are you going to get the money?"

  "You impudent—!" Torgia began, but Seldra Boatwright gripped her arm and whispered in her ear.

  "You've always said you and I should face off sometime in a cestus bout. Why not do it, charge a few coins a head to watch, and give the silver to our young lovers?"

  Although Seldra had whispered, somebody had overheard. A raucous voice, sounding like a crow with a quinsy, squawked: "Do it right, stripped down, and they'll be rich! And so will you fair ladies!"

  The two women stared at each other, exchanging "Shall I kill him or do you want the honor?" looks. Actual intervention came from the unexpected source of Mongo.

  He picked up the loud, lewd man by the seat of his breeches and the collar of his tunic, and held him at arm's length. "Now," Mongo roared, "don't talk dirty about the Lady Captain and our Seldra. They do good work for us all. I think you ought to say you're sorry before I throw you out. If you do, 1 won't come out after you."

  Insofar as the half-strangled man could speak at all, he choked out something that Mongo took as an apology.

  "Good,"
the big man said. "Now go," he added, and the man went, flying through the air like a stone from a siege engine. Everybody cleared a path, and somebody prudently opened the

  door. The man flew clean out into the street without hitting anything or anybody.

  "Nai," Mongo said, putting a large hand on his lover's bare shoulder. "You be good too. Stop making eyes at Erick. He's too sick to do anything, and if he did, it wouldn't be fair for me to light him until he got well. Then if I did, Gredin would scratch my eyes out."

  "After scratching mine out for playing with Nai in the first place," Erick said with a laugh, then the laugh turned into a painful coughing spell.

  "Sorry," he said, when his breath returned. "Not as well as I hoped. But that will come in time, and anyway, a man doesn't have to talk much on his wedding night."

  For the first time that evening, Torgia saw Gredin flush. Whatever her reply might have been, it died aborning as Kalton Praug lurched through the taproom door.

  There was no other word for his condition than drunk. His lace was the color of beetroot, and even halfway across the room Torgia could see the wine stains on his chin. She even imagined that she could smell wine on his breath, and perhaps something stronger—dwarf spirits?

  "Hail, folk of Aston Point, and young lovers!" he shouted.

  "Hail, in the name of the All-Father!" Torgia called back. It seemed the better part of good manners, which in situations like this were frequently worth twenty armed men in preventing fights. Besides, she had served under worshipers of the All-father before, and knew enough of the rituals to sound enlightened.

  "From him, and in his name, I carry blessings," Praug went on. He was now standing straight, if swaying a trifle, and his voice was clearer.

  "For I have prayed, and I have asked for signs, and they have come forth, and his will is known. In the eyes of the All-Father you fight well against the comet's ghouls and golems, for they are forsaken of the All-Father, and foes to all his creation. Aston Tanak warned of their coming, so his vision was true.

  193

  You have fought them, so your courage is great. Erick Trussk suffered at their hands, so his honor is clean.