by Garon Whited
“How can you have anything? Your plane of existence is energy, not matter.”
“It’s an analogy.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m not interested.”
“And that doesn’t mean I can actually explain,” he pointed out. “Remember, the last time you were here—sort of here—you didn’t adapt to see what was going on. You saw it in terms your mind could grasp.”
“It’s not fair.”
“And you expect me to change that?”
“No, I’m just complaining. Your problem is you have to listen.”
“It’s not fair.”
“As long as we’re both suffering,” I agreed. “So, how did the Temple spying go? I know you couldn’t spare the juice to respond, but did you get a good look?”
“I did! I’m pleased to report there are ten gods in the Temple, each with a thin cloud of energy slowly accumulating around the idols and gradually leaching into the inchoate, quasi-forms of their energy-state selves.”
“Ten gods. Eleven statues.”
“Yep! The eleventh statue… well, the owner appears to be deliberately, consciously drawing in the energy provided by the worshippers.”
“Which statue is it?”
“Rahýfel, the ancestor revered as the First Wizard and now the God of Wizards.”
“Don’t you mean ‘God of Magic’?”
“He’s not that broad-based. The culture reveres each of their gods as gods of a specific caste, not as gods of primal forces.”
“Is there a god of priests?” I asked.
“Not that I know of. Wouldn’t that be something? I suspect it wouldn’t work too well. Recursion never does.”
“So, this—Rayfel?”
“Rah-high-fell,” he repeated, carefully. “Accent on the second syllable.”
“Rahýfel. Got it.”
Me, too, Firebrand added.
Oh, just rub it in.
Someone has to be good with names, Boss.
I can write them down in my mental study and remember them forever!
But you don’t.
I didn’t have a good answer to that, so I didn’t bother.
“So, this Rahýfel,” I said, instead. “Any idea where he is?”
“He’s not on the energy plane, which confuses me. If he’s not up here, he shouldn’t be able to draw on the energies of faith. And dead people aren’t known for their capacity to ascend. Any chance he’s extended his life a la some age-sharing spells or through some sort of undead effect?”
“I suspect I know what’s going on,” I told him.
“Oh? Do tell!”
So I explained what I knew about wizards “chaining” their spirits from body to body, down through the generations.
“It’s not immortality, as I understand it. The one guy I spoke to implied it’s more a transfer of knowledge and experience than an actual merging of souls. The previous wizards don’t have much say over the present wizard’s actions.”
“Doesn’t strike me as a good way to advance the craft,” he noted. “Dropping knowledge into someone doesn’t make them want to work to get more.”
“Yeah, but it does preserve everything already learned. It’s more a not-losing mindset than a get-something mindset.”
“You say a lot of wizards do this?”
“I got that impression, yes. I don’t think all of them do. I’m not sure how readily they share spells.”
“I’m wondering if they’re all using the same spell,” he mused.
“How do you mean?”
“Remember in Rethven, there were multiple ways to share age? One spell type linked old magicians to young targets and somehow shoved the excess age into them? Then there was the proactive version, causing one subject to age more slowly by sharing the aging process with other animals, making them age more quickly. A third type was a variant on the second, but the targets could be plants, as well as animals.”
“I remember.”
“Well,” he continued, thoughtfully, “the only type of spell you’ve heard of is the knowledge and experience stuffer. Guy dies, all he knows is stuffed into the memory banks of the new guy. From my perspective, this won’t account for the energy effects we’re seeing. However, if there’s a variation on the spell—maybe a more complex version of the Soul Download spell, while everyone else is using Soul Download Lite—it’s possible this Rahýfel transferred his whole being, not just his knowledge, into his most adept apprentice.”
“Hmm.”
“My suspicion is the two of them merged, becoming a powerful soul in a mortal shell. As they continued, they may have added more. Maybe a lot more. I don’t know how many generations the Empire has been here, or how many generations it took to establish it.”
“It wouldn’t be limited to generations,” I pointed out. “If the composite entity knows it will survive the transfer, it could choose to terminate any given body in order to transfer and absorb another wizard, occupying the new body and integrating one more wizard’s soul into the composite.”
“Good point. I feel better about the timeline, now.”
“Oh?”
“Once a generation seems like it would take a long time to develop a sufficiently-powerful spirit entity capable of perceiving, let alone functioning on this level. Now we don’t have that limit.”
“So, you think some ancient wizard started consuming souls and is on the border of becoming one of the local gods?”
“It matches the observed facts.”
“Quick question. Why aren’t I bordering on divine ascension, then?”
“Technically?”
“Oh, here we go,” I groaned.
“Technically, you are—from a power standpoint. Your soul, for lack of a better term, is strong enough to exist as an independent entity. Trouble is, your body is infested with chaos energy. The power of the void is bonded to you, merged with you. There’s a balance of forces involved. Your soul is forcing the chaos to adhere to orderly rules. The chaos is keeping your soul from achieving sufficient solidity and coherence to exist as an independent entity—ascend, if you will. If we could remove or suppress the chaos infestation for long enough, you could become a purely spiritual entity. Thing is, there’s no way I can see to separate it from your flesh without reducing your flesh to… well, I’m not sure what would be left.”
“Sounds messy.”
“That’s one way to put it,” he allowed. “The thing is, we energy-state beings are, in your terms, pure energy. We don’t have the comfortable housing of matter to keep our patterns in order. We have to be highly-structured, ordered patterns. Some of us are more ‘organic’ than ‘mechanistic,’ hence the difference between me and an angel, but, while we have different patterns, we both have distinct, definite structures to our being. The chaos in your flesh keeps you from reaching a level of spiritual self-organization necessary to become an energy-state being.”
“So, as long as I’m a vampire, I’m never going to evolve?”
“Never ascend, anyway. You’re in a dynamic balance between order and chaos. I suspect regular infusions of blood and souls tend to re-impose order-based strictures on the chaos of the void, keeping you from some horrible fate. I wouldn’t be surprised to find going hungry on a regular basis caused more… shall we call them mutations?… like your ears, skin, eyes, and tongue.”
“Have I ever mentioned how talking with you is a mixed blessing?”
“You learn a lot, but you also hate knowing some of it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Yeah, you’ve made mention of it.”
“Good. Enough about me and my problems. Well, enough about me. Back to my problems. We think there’s a wizard who’s been assimilating souls like some sort of spiritual Borg Collective in order to achieve either power, immortality, or divinity. Does that sum it up?”
“It matches the facts we have and as we know them.”
“Since he’s the most advanced of the local gods, is he in charge of the pantheon?
”
“By default, yes, but they’re not well-formed enough to be organized at all.”
“Then, is he in charge of the Temple?”
“He’s not up here, so I doubt it. It’s possible he’s a motivating force behind the Temples as a whole, but it would have to be down there. If he’s playing god through the priests, he’s doing it intermittently, possibly with magic instead of divine powers.”
“Could he be the high priest, or Patriarch, or prophates, or Pope, or whatever they call the local head honcho?”
“I suppose, but I’m not sure how the body-transfer thing would work in such a situation.”
“Logistically difficult,” I agreed. “It would be awkward to have the head of the church replaced every year. Then again, it could be interpreted as a divine miracle, if they play it right.”
“Could be.”
“Maybe I should just talk to him and find out. Where is he?”
“Good question. I can try to trace the power flow down there, but it’s harder to look there then it is to look here.”
“Do what you can and get back to me.”
“Any chance I can get another couple of dynamo farms?”
“Yes, but not right now.”
“Aww.”
“Look, Leisel is still missing, possibly dead, possibly being tortured. There’s a Temple that doesn’t like me and might be willing to declare a holy war against my valley of people. And I’m expecting a call from the manzhani of a great House which was, recently, the cat’s-paw of the Temple. Maybe worst of all, I’m short-tempered, powerful, and rapidly becoming frustrated, none of which strike me as good things. I’ll be happy to help you—I always am!—but right now, I need all the help I can get.”
“Yassuh, Massah. Give me a day or two and I’ll see what I can find.”
“Thank you.”
Tauta, 30th Day of Milaskir
Some sonofabitch is marching troops out of Sarashda and heading my way.
Let me back up a moment.
The remainder of my night was spent, for the most part, tweaking the spells on the keep, the western tunnel fortification, and the eastern bridge-fort. I did spend some effort scouting the nonstandard approaches to the valley, making the few remaining goat paths into something any man wearing armor would fear. I double-checked the dungeon, added another layer of protection to the treasury and armory, and did a few magical housekeeping chores.
Once the sun came up and I dressed for the day, I had a leisurely breakfast in the messhall. The weather was leaning toward rain, so everyone ate inside. The instruction and drill on the practice field was still on, rain or shine, although they chose not to practice archery in the wet. It was a good morning, all in all.
I should have suspected something would ruin it.
Originally, when I had Leisel establish a spying service, I had in mind to use them to track down the main sources of Sarcana’s income. Leisel supervised them, or had someone supervise them. She also kept them at it, spying on things she thought were worth observing. She would know better what to watch, of course. So my spying section continued to watch all sorts of things. If you have a dozen scrying mirrors, you don’t let them sit and gather dust, after all. It would be a waste. And if you’re engaged in a vendetta, it would also be stupid.
There was a bit of a communications lag, however, in their reports. The locals don’t have quite the same concept of chain of command as I do. Under normal circumstances, if someone gets taken out, everyone under that person immediately reports to the someone’s superior. With Leisel missing, by default they should have reported to me. But bothering the Mazhani is one of those culturally Not Done things. So they eventually reported to Velina, Leisel’s assistant. Of course, Velina was a bit busy doing what Leisel and I told her to do. By the time Velina had enough time to fully assimilate her new, hopefully temporary duties, things were more advanced than we might have hoped.
So a messenger asked me to come to the room of mirrors and I went. Velina met me there and we all had a bit of a talk.
“Let me see if I get this right. You’ve watched every warrior still for hire in Sarashda trickle to the east of the city, camp for a day while the supply wagons loaded and rolled out, and now we have ten thousand men marching toward us?”
“It’s not every warrior,” protested one of the men with a mirror. “All the ones free for hire.”
“And some who quit paid jobs, or got leave,” added another.
“Those are House troops,” argued another. “They’ve been levied by the Temple!”
“We don’t know that!”
“What else could it be? It’s the Temple coming for us and they—”
“Silence,” I said, not punching anyone. I was having such a good morning, too. I rubbed my forehead and sighed.
“Do you want our notes on the forces?” asked a third, cautiously.
“No,” I assured him, without dismemberment.
“I do,” Velina told him, glaring. She wasn’t happy about the breakdown in communications.
“She does,” I affirmed. “What I want is to be informed of major events such as this in a more timely manner.”
“I didn’t know who to tell,” he protested, “and I couldn’t find Leisel or Velina.”
“First, there are magic mirrors all over the place to keep people in touch,” I told him, leaving his skin on. “Second, you made notes. You’re capable of tacking a note to my bedroom door. Third, you should be able to recognize the importance of this and, if necessary, start telling every warrior you meet how you need to report a major event and to pass the word to every other warrior.”
“I didn’t know it was allowed to—”
“Stop talking,” I snapped. Everyone in the room tried to swallow their own faces. Oops. My altar ego is obviously feeling better. I’m going to have to watch out for accidental uses of The Voice.
“In the future,” I continued, still without murdering anyone, “if there is a future for us, please note how anything affecting the valley as a whole is something I’d like to be kept abreast of. Find Leisel or Velina or anyone they designate. If you can’t, then find me. I do recognize and acknowledge you are cautious about attracting the attention of someone of a much higher rank than yourself, but I would rather be bothered than ignorant. Are we clear?”
Everyone nodded, eyes wide. No one spoke. I have got to watch it with that blesséd Voice…
“Velina, with me, please. The rest of you, as you were.”
As Velina and I trudged up the stairs to my workroom, she cleared her throat. I glanced at her and she looked inquisitive.
“Speak.”
“Sir.”
“What’s on your mind?” I asked, holding the door for her. She entered the workroom and I closed us in.
“You told me to come with you.”
“So I did. First, let me address the first-class f—foul-up I just witnessed.”
“I take responsibility, sir,” she interrupted.
“Don’t make me tell you to stop talking,” I advised. “Leisel was supposed to be in charge of the spy section. You were supposed to take over, but there was a lot to take over. Put someone in the spy section in charge of it, please. That person will report to you, or to Leisel, or to me, in that order.”
“In that order, sir?”
“If he or she can’t find you, they’ll find Leisel and report. If Leisel is also missing, they are to come directly to me. If they can’t find any of us, the whole valley is probably screwed, so it won’t matter.”
“I understand, sir.”
“And don’t look so heartbroken. I’m not angry with you. Leisel and I will have a discussion, later, on the chain of command. It’s partly my fault, too. I like things a little loose, less regimented or strict. It might be a good thing to be more structured around the keep, though.”
“If you like, sir, we have a preliminary ladder for the warriors.”
“I’ll want to see it later, but I may have a
different organizational structure in mind.”
“Sir?”
“I’ll explain later,” I told her, optimistically. “For now, I want you to look at the army with me.”
“Yes, sir.”
I fired up the sand table and started looking at Sarashda. A quick flick down the road and there they were, trudging along. They weren’t well-organized, in my opinion. No marching, no columns, just clots of men in squad and platoon-sized chunks, interspersed with smaller groups of horsemen, traveling alongside a long train of wagons. The horsemen were either horse archers, lightly armored and fast for harassing, or the heavily-armored cavalry of the First. I wondered if the true commanders of the force were in armor and riding, or if some of the covered wagons were devoted to their use. I asked Velina.
“In my experience, the commanders have wagons,” she agreed. “They don’t make a show for the troops. The captains do.”
“Got it. How many do you make them?”
“Ten thousand is a bit much. Seven thousand, or maybe eight. The wagons make them look like more.”
“What are your thoughts on Bridgefort? Can they take it?”
“They’ll take it. They won’t like it, but they’ll take it.”
“Oh?”
She pointed at the moving sand sculpture.
“Right in here. Can you…?”
I brought up the relevant area with a few gestures. She pointed more precisely.
“These aren’t supply wagons. They’re lumber wagons. This one has a ram, or the head for one. The others have supplies for building. I haven’t seen these used, but I know what they’re for.”
“Go on.”
“They’ll breach the drawbridge, probably burn it, maybe ram it. With a hole to shoot for, they’ll roll up a portable bridge and keep pouring men in until we can’t fight them anymore. I’m guessing they’ll send in a couple of small squads to harass us, maybe infiltrate and sneak attack. They might even try to drop the drawbridge, but they’ll have to know it’s guarded.”
“This doesn’t sound like a normal assault.”
“Maybe they’ll ask for a surrender, but it looks like a war. I didn’t think Sarcana could afford this. It’s good, though.”