by Garon Whited
“Ah. Yes. Well, the magic gloves are an heirloom of my House and only work for someone of my bloodline. Still, bring the wounded. I’ll do what I can for them.”
From the glance between Tessera and Velina, I gathered they didn’t believe me about the gloves. None of us said anything about it, though. Some things you simply don’t talk about.
“If you say so, sir. May I ask for word on Leisel?” Velina continued.
“I’m in negotiations with Naskarl of Sarcana about finding her.”
“Sarcana took her?”
“I doubt it, but if they did, we should have her back in a day or two.”
“And if they didn’t?”
“I’ll have to look at a group who doesn’t like the idea of people learning and practicing skills outside the strict rules of the caste they were born to.”
Velina looked troubled. Tessera merely smiled.
“Where do you want the wounded?” Velina asked.
“Where are they now?”
“The survivors were moved to the old barracks.”
“Good choice. I’ll be over there shortly.”
Velina grunted and affirmative and they departed. I went up to my sand table and dialed for god. His face formed in the cloud of particles and firmed up. He smiled at me.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” he noted.
“I take it you’re feeling better?”
“Much. If everyone had an avatar like you, there would be more gods.”
“I am not greatly comforted by this.”
“They would also be less interested in humans.”
“That’s better.”
“No doubt. What’s on your mind?”
“I have questions.”
“Ask and ye shall receive celestial wisdom.”
“Can it.”
“Sorry.”
“Here’s where we are.” I explained the situation, finishing with, “So, Naskarl is thinking about ending the vendetta and possibly giving back Leisel. The Temple isn’t in the picture, unless they stole her. We’re still a bunch of heretics, but that’s a problem for later.”
“Got it. On my end of things, I’m doing much better. You hacked out a valley and got people to move to it. By analogy, I have a fortified house and you built some hydroponics to feed me. As long as they’re doing okay, I’m in no real danger on this celestial plane.”
“Glad to hear you’re doing well. Any chance you can help me?”
“Maybe. Thing is, without the deiphone, the only person I can really reach is you, because we resonate so closely. With more power, I can send dreams to anyone you want, but sending dreams can backfire if they interpret them their own way. I’m not up to a divine vision, yet.”
“Okay, so, you have to be subtle.”
“It’s an occupational hazard for a demigod.”
“Tell that to Hercules.”
“He was a physical being with a celestial parent. He was deified later. Doesn’t count.”
“If you say so. Can you find Leisel?”
“Maybe. Thing is, I never met her. I still need a place to look.”
“But the scryshields won’t stop you looking?”
“Nope. Different energy types. It’s possible to block an energy-state being from an area, but you have to know how.”
“Gotcha. We’ll discuss that at a later date. For now, how often can you look? I mean, I presume it takes effort.”
“It does take effort. If you want just a quick check to see if she’s present, I can do that. I’ll need someplace specific you want me to look. Checking a whole world is prohibitively expensive for me right now.”
“What about less precise things? Can you tell me anything more about the Temple and their not-quite-there gods?”
“That’s trickier. I’m reaching out to the nascent gods of this world, talking to their nebulous forms. Now I’m big enough to not be obvious prey. They’re not coherent, but they are powerful enough to be dangerous. Up here, it’s as easy as you talking to someone’s dog, and about as enlightening. Or, no, that’s not fair. It’s more like talking to someone suffering from senility. They have thoughts, but they’re random things, usually influenced by whatever the dominant prayers are at the moment. Conversations are generally incoherent, at best.”
“Have you at least nailed down which would-be deity is the one sucking up power from my stolen dynamos?”
“I’d do a process of elimination, but I still haven’t identified which ones up here are which. They simply haven’t coalesced adequately.” He looked troubled. “I get the impression—and it’s only an impression; this is a little outside my normal experience—these proto-gods are suffering from the same thing you almost did. They’re human. Well, used to be human. I think their worshippers are shoving them up into the celestial plane and forcing them to adapt.”
“Doesn’t that drive people crazy?”
“Generally, yes, or so I’m told. These guys are undergoing a long-term metamorphosis, though, not a sudden launch into the heavens. Maybe it’s more like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. There’s a continuity of existence, sure, but I’m not sure how much of the original ancestor remains after the apotheosis.”
“And the other one? The one who seems to have a plan?”
“Whoever it is, isn’t up here, yet. That one seems to be preparing to make a leap, rather than slowly change. This is a guess, you understand, but it’s a good one for the data I have.”
“Fair enough. Can you look down here and see who it is?”
“Maybe. I can check a Temple and see what sort of resonance channels exist with their representations, but it won’t be easy. I might manage a process of elimination that way.”
“Can you tell me if the power-drinking one is communicating with the Temple, yet? That’s the big thing. If this one is actively running the priests as his personal religious institution, he may be angling to be the god-king of the Tassarian Empire and of Tauta.”
“Sorry. Whoever he is, he’s not manifesting up here. Somehow, he’s building up his force down there before ascending to the energy planes. I might be able to get a line on him by looking at his statue and tracking the energy flow, but I can’t manifest down there strongly enough to observe so closely.”
“Hang on,” I told him. “If you had eyes in the Temple, you could look through them?”
“Well, yeah. Of course. But you’re the only person down there who believes in me. Although,” he said, thoughtfully, “there are a number of people who seem to be exceptionally reverent of you. You may be in danger of becoming a revered ancestor.”
“Again?”
“It’s a curse, I know. It’d be good for me, though.”
“Back to spying on the Temple. If you had eyes in the Temple, moving from idol to idol, you could examine each of them?”
“Probably. It wouldn’t take nearly as much effort. And I see where you’re going with this. Are you seriously considering being a divine spy?”
“A vampire spy for his personal demigod inside an enemy church? Why not? What could possibly go wrong?”
“Sometimes I wonder which one of us is crazy,” he admitted.
“Which one?”
“Point taken.”
“I’ve got Naskarl thinking about peace. This pleases me. Once I recover from being lightning-struck, I’ll do some more in-depth testing of the local scryshields—”
“Hold it. Back up. Lightning-struck?”
“You didn’t notice the burn?”
“I saw it, but I didn’t realize it was from lightning! What happened?”
So I explained about that, too. He nodded.
“Okay. Be more careful.”
“I’m going into a Temple of proto-demigods and you want me to be careful?”
“Can you think of a better time?”
“I’m not sure how to answer that, so I’m going to ignore it.”
“Fair. Call me before you go in. I need to get ready for this,” he t
old me.
“I will.”
“Lehitra’ot.”
“Showoff.”
They hauled the wounded in on wagons and carts. I mentioned to Velina the idea of hospital wagons for removing wounded from future battlefields. Some wounded don’t mind being rattled around on unsprung axles, but others need a smoother ride if they’re going to live. Springs, yes, but maybe some sort of hammock arrangement, or a hanging cot of some sort.
I did the basic healing work, welding flesh together and telling bodies where to focus their efforts. I used the glowing gloves, just because some people might not already think I was multiclassed. I finished with our people, buddying the worst-injured with a healing partner to share energy, and moved on to the enemy wounded. There were a lot more of them, mostly with penetrating wounds, complete with crossbow bolt. Getting those out was trickier, but anyone who survived getting hauled to the barracks also survived treatment. I didn’t bother to buddy them up since my main concern was their survival, not the rapidity or completeness of their recovery.
The afternoon moved toward early evening before I accepted audience with the high-ranking prisoners—a trio of captured First. I had the vague impression capturing First wasn’t unusual, as such, but it was embarrassing for them. I settled on the Lego Throne while a dozen guards went to fetch them. The First were disarmed and without helmets, but they were allowed the rest of their armor. They marched in, heads high, gauzy cloaks rippling in House Sarcana’s colors, and I recognized one.
“Hello, Osric.”
He nodded in reply.
“Well,” I continued, “you gentlemen seem to find yourselves in an awkward position.”
“Under the Imperial Rules of Vendetta, we claim the right of ransom and exchange,” said another.
“And you are?”
“I am Relar, House of Ak’anthai, brother to Tobar, in service to the House Sarcana.” I saw the resemblance. He was taller and younger than Tobar, with the same chin and brow. He wore a short beard, solid black with no trace of grey.
“Interesting. I killed your brother, you know.”
“Hence my service to Sarcana,” he acknowledged, jaw muscles jumping.
“You are in command?”
“I am.”
“And your second in command?”
“I am,” said the other one. “Sorval, House Lyskari.”
“Which leaves us Osric, in a distant third place. How did you manage to get captured, poor Osric? Did someone knock you down and drag you?”
Osric made no answer, but he also didn’t meet my eyes.
“I’m surprised to see you,” I admitted. “I held your life in my hands once before and gave it back to you.”
“You bastard!” he blurted out, eyes rising to stab at me, before he clamped his jaw shut.
You humiliated him, Boss.
You think?
Just keeping you apprised.
“Well, I’ve shown you mercy once,” I observed. “You chose to engage me again by taking service on the opposing side of a vendetta. Kneel.”
“What?”
“I can’t have it said I’ll permit someone to challenge me indefinitely. You had one chance and lost your life then. I gave it back. This time, I’m keeping it.”
“You can’t do this!”
“Stand aside,” I said, shooting a glare at the other two. They moved, both puzzled and horrified. Osric turned toward the door and half the guards fell on him like armored bricks. They dragged him forward, still struggling, scraping and clanking, to kneel before the throne with his arms twisted behind him, forcing him to lean far forward.
“You can’t do this!” he screamed.
“I think you’re confusing ‘can’t’ and ‘shouldn’t.’ It’s a common error.” I stood, advanced, laid Firebrand’s point on his shoulder. “Tell me, what’s stopping me? Armor? A magical gorget? A potion to make your skin like iron? Hmm?”
Osric made no reply, but stared at the colorful waves in Firebrand’s blade. It had little licks of flame running along the wavy lines in the metal, like sparks dancing in the air above a campfire.
“Tell me,” I insisted. “Tell me why I can’t.”
It took him a minute. I waited.
“You mustn’t,” he whispered.
“Why must I not? Do you deny you lost your life to me once? Do you deny I already showed you mercy—more than you deserved—and gave it back to you?”
“No.”
“Louder, please. Do you deny these things?”
“No.”
“And your friends, there, Relar and Sorval. I hold their lives in my hands. If I let them go, will they challenge me again? If I let you live, I’m sure they will. They will not understand my mercy is limited. They will think they can move against me with no greater risk than some ransom and maybe some inconvenience. But when I leave your body on the floor in a spreading pool of your own blood and fear, they will understand I do not tolerate anyone stupid enough to challenge me twice.” I shot a glance at the two in question. “Won’t they?”
They nodded, horrified. This sort of thing was simply not comme il faut.
“I’m not entirely unreasonable,” I added. “Would you rather be beheaded, your throat cut, a thrust through the heart, or should I boil you alive? I suppose we can put a rope around your neck and hang you, if you prefer. Do you have a preferred method for your execution?”
“Combat,” he said.
“Oh, no. No, no, no. You surrendered that right. You already engaged me in combat and lost. You will not have a warrior’s death, now. You will die in any other way, but not that. I will burn your body and scatter your ashes.”
“Thank you for that much, at least.”
Dang. I didn’t realize he favored cremation. Oh, well. Minor mercies.
“So, what’ll it be?” I asked. He remained silent. “No opinion?” I pressed. He couldn’t bring himself to answer. I suppose it’s a hard question. He swallowed, tried to speak, failed. I nodded and stepped to one side while the ladies holding his arms twisted a little harder, forcing him to lean farther forward. Firebrand came up, went down, and we needed a tisket, a tasket, and a basket.
Firebrand sizzled for a moment and the smell of burned blood was strong. The guards let him go and he fell with a dull clank, neck still pumping blood in a pool around him.
“As for you two,” I said, turning to Relar and Sorval. “Have you been defeated? Do I hold your lives in my hand?”
They nodded, but didn’t speak.
“Do I have to explain what this means?”
They shook their heads. Relar was more angry than frightened, but there was a lot of room for both. Sorval was the opposite and possibly the smarter of the two. Both knew better than to comment. Never antagonize your captor after he executes your fellow prisoner. It’s one of those rules people shouldn’t need to be taught.
“Start walking. You can keep your armor as a courtesy to your rank, but the rest is ours. If you’re still in my valley after sunset, you’re invaders and will be,” I glanced at Osric’s surprised-looking head, “dealt with accordingly. Don’t come back without sending a messenger to announce you.” I nodded to Velina and she signaled guards. They trooped out, leaving me with a mess on the floor.
After I stripped Osric’s remains and dragged them out for Firebrand to oxidize, I handed in his loot at the treasury. He had a couple of minor magical items—a handkerchief that perpetually cleaned itself, a toothpick that functioned as a magical toothbrush, a pouch that screamed when I removed it from his belt, those sorts of things. Someone would find a use for them. No doubt someone would find a use for his mace, shield, and armor, too.
I had dinner. We had a special treat. In addition to the MREs and the captured supplies at the blockade, a hunting party brought back a bear. There’s good eating on a bear. It was only slightly marred for me by the thought it might be the bear I warned away from us, but I couldn’t tell for sure.
After dinner, I supervised t
he removal and disposal of the dead prisoners. We found a sizable tree stump, stacked them on and around it, and Firebrand took care of everything.
Sunset came and went. The itching, tingling sensation was especially pronounced alongside my face as damaged tissue restored itself. I cleaned up and settled in to wait. Tomorrow, I would scout out a Temple. I might even hear from Naskarl. Who knows? I might even have Leisel back by tomorrow.
I don’t like waiting. I can do it, but sometimes it’s a strain.
I stepped inside my mental study and went over my plans for the keep. The central tower was already rather fat, all things considered. Budding off some extra towers might be in order. They would be buttresses, to start with, but as they extended outward, leaving walls behind, they would thicken and develop interior spaces. Of course, the four outbuildings would also need to move, gradually, to keep them outside what would eventually grow into a castle. Or, maybe they should be incorporated into the castle structure, becoming interior spaces between the buttresses and eventually interior chambers…
Humming to myself, I drew up plans for the next stage of the tower’s growth. It would be the central structure inside a seven-towered heptagon. There would be doors at ground level, obviously, but bridges at the third-floor level, as well, both between them and connecting to the central tower. Did I want a wall at ground level? Yes, I decided. A castle has an outer wall, then an inner keep. I sketched what I wanted as a final result—at least, for now—and went back to include some intermediate steps on the way.
Outside my headspace, I sat down, accessed the stone-shaping spells on the keep, and entered the new program.
Most of it happened in my headspace, so I didn’t manage to kill too much time. It wasn’t even midnight.
I tried to goof off for a while, but I don’t have anything to goof off with. No library. No television. If I’m not reading or watching a show, what is there to do?
This is why I miss Mary. Well, one reason.
I scrolled over the Empire with my sand table. A number of people in Sarashda recognize me, but there are a dozen or more major cities with large temples. I could go to one of those, instead, pretending to be a pilgrim. It might be safer. Yes. The farther away, the better. How far north does the Empire go?