Odyssey mgc-1

by Vance Moore

  The humanoids rose on their goatlike legs and fell upon the guards coming to recapture them. Heads down, they charged, their horns impacting the guards' armor. The forest fighters caused no serious injury but knocked their oppressors down. Heavy nailed hands dug into throats and joints as the prisoners fell as groups on single guards.

  Freeing the captured is useless, Kamahl thought as he turned Emerald to attack, if they are caught again by these mercenaries. Now he used the sword's edge but with no passion. There was little honor in such easy slaughter, and he looked for another means of diversion.

  Wagons were parked opposite the animals, their contents hidden under secured tarps. There were no signs of live prizes. The guards protecting them still waited as the barbarian tore through the cage area. Such valuable cargo must be more important to the caravan than small woodland creatures, Kamahl thought and sent Emerald through the camp's heart.

  A creature rose up in the night, its nebulous form becoming a winged dragon. The gecko showed no hesitation, striding straight for the horned beast as it prepared to take to the air. The barbarian threw a charged axe that spun through the enemy. Emerald followed the projectile into the illusion. There was a mage of some power coming against him. The barbarian looked around in interest as his missile discharged into the ground in an explosion of flame.

  The gecko paused in its flight, its tongue flickering uncertainly as its eyes followed nothing. The mountain mage felt the hum of hostile magic and sent showers of sparks and embers over the tents to flush out the enemy. Fabric ignited, and the restraining spell on the lizard faltered as the other mage was surrounded by fire.

  The barbarian swung his sword, the steel birthing a circlet of flame that cut through the air and the enemy spell-caster's neck, decapitating Kamahl's only worthy opposition in the camp. The gecko started toward the wagons parked away from the cages. The guards massed to stop the barbarian. The mountain mage simply bypassed them, hurling two axes high over the crowd to detonate among the freight wagons. A twisting pyre of energy and flame lit the sky, secondary explosions spreading destruction through the cargo. The guards were blown down-those not blown up.

  The caravan had been transporting excavated treasures to the sea. There were numerous rumors of the Mer Empire acquiring relics and fetishes from past battlefields. Items of true power must have been concealed among the wagons. Fires grew, and most of those still alive in the camp closed to extinguish the conflagration. Kamahl withdrew, ignoring the calls of his enemies.

  The satyrs were gone, along with most of the animals. A few hunters looked through the wreckage, but the barbarian wasted no time on them. One stooped to peer into a cage, and a stream of weasels flowed over the man, biting everywhere. The mercenary tried to run as the animals swarmed up his legs and onto his head. His flight ended as the disoriented man plowed into another cage, falling down to die under the small teeth.

  Calls sounded from the perimeter. Golden globes soared into the sky illuminating what the fires did not. Guards from the false camp down the road had come to investigate the disturbance. These were worthy opponents but too serious for tonight's light diversion. The barbarian left the camp to the newcomers, Emerald running out of the light and into the darkness. Kamahl's mount surged up the rocky bluff as the more intelligent investigators from the other camp fanned out to catch the raider. The barbarian leaned forward as the gecko went vertical, pulling away from any possible pursuit. The mountain mage signaled the lizard to halt at the cliff top. He crouched down and peered over the hunters' wrecked bivouac.

  The fires began to die down, the knights of the Order using their magic against the flames. Magic flowed as a golden sheet over the burning wagons and tents, smothering the flames. The light died down as blazes were extinguished. The barbarian saw no signs of animals and hoped all of them were gone.

  "I hope that satisfies you," he said to Emerald who seemed to nod in agreement. His mount's bloody jowls smiled though Kamahl was unsure if the fighting or the rescue pleased the gecko most. Below, the flames were dead except for the campfires, but more bad luck struck the hunters' camp.

  Irritated at being forced to come investigate because of the mercenaries' obvious incompetence, the knights looked through the camp. The angry would-be rescuers tore into the last sealed wagons and suddenly treated the hapless hunters as criminals. The soldiers cut through leather and canvas to display the mounds of forbidden mechanisms. Mercenaries moved to reclaim what remained of their treasure. They were pushed away to sprawl on the ground. A few started angrily forward but stopped as golden maces lifted in warning.

  The knights struck at wagons carrying recovered booty. Wheels exploded in showers of splinters as the Order guaranteed through blows that the fetishes would not leave the camp. A mercenary waved documents before a knight only to be ignored.

  The mountain mage turned the gecko toward the sea and nudged it into motion. Perhaps the Order was right in their distrust of the debris of past battles. Kamahl knew his journey to reclaim the orb might be barely begun. Why did he chase after it? Merely for the power it held? Perhaps, but more importantly it was his by right. He would not let it be stolen away. Honor demanded he reclaim his lost prize.

  CHAPTER 21

  The manor was some distance from the capital, its buildings in deeper water. In the world above, the sun was just rising, the beams starting to filter to the undersea world. Turg held onto a harpoon fish's fin as the attack force surged ahead. The fish weighed thousands of pounds, its lumpy flesh rock hard under the frog's hands. The mouth gaped open and a fish fleeing before the detachment swam too close to the monster. A long tongue darted forth, spearing through its target. The pinned morsel was pulled into the mouth as the predator accelerated. Turg felt a brief burning sensation as they moved through a cloud of digestive enzymes. The harpoon fish forced the caustic liquid into its prey whenever it attacked.

  The attack force closed on the target, the estate of a rich noble with ties to the air breathers of the ocean. Whales began to rise from structures on the seabed. Vast hemispheres of coral and stone held pockets of air, allowing the lord's allies to stay beneath indefinitely.

  The whales began to call, the sonic pulse of their cries beating against the amphibian's skull. The whales were pale blue and almost invisible in the water. Only their motion drew the eye. The animals were several times the size of the harpoon fish, but Turg felt only contempt for them. The air breathers rose over their ally's home, preparing to meet the surprise attack. The mammals vibrated with magic to the frog's mystic senses. Power was gathering among the attackers as they raced to slay the whales, driven by the ambassador's overseeing spirit.

  Magically summoned schools of barracuda surged away from the attack force. Like living projectiles, the school swept toward their warm-blooded targets. Defensive whale songs sounded, the waves of noise playing havoc among the predatory fish. Barracuda went in all directions, hopelessly confused by the air breathers' magic. Some of the toothy fish were in their death throes, their organs destroy by the powerful whale song.

  Now the singers' voices swept the leading edge of the imperial attackers. Multiple whales, converge on individual harpoon fish, the rocky attackers' nerves burning out in novas of pain. A few imperial soldier, accompanying the attack tried to lead the whales astray with illusions, to no avail.

  Turg let go of his fish as it finally reached an opponent.

  The barbed tongue snapped into the whale's body, swelling as a prodigious load of digestive fluid surged into its victim. The air breather cried out, its call soaring beyond hearing. Several cephalids swimming past blurred, their skin rupturing and blood streaming into the water. The feeding fish drew its tongue back and slammed it again into the smooth hide. The whale expired as water filled its lungs. The harpoon fish looked for something else to kill.

  The whales coalesced into groups, their cries sounding in all directions, unconcerned with killing their allies as long as the attack failed. On the outskirts of the fi
ght, sharks began to appear, ripping apart the dead and the dying as the blood spoor drew them from miles around. The harpoon fish closed for the final battle with the air breathers, but Turg was surging ahead, leading a column of infantry now that the whales were engaged.

  The frog swam forward as the fighting moved over the estate. Tritons and mermen followed him down as crab forces sprinted across the sandy bottom for the house. The defenders were like mollusks, trying to withdraw into the protection of their shell. The valves of the living structure closed, the tough armor resisting the frog's blows. He called down harpoon fish, the monsters leaving their bloody feast. Tongues lanced into the door, gallons of digestive fluids pumping into the fabric of the manor. The valve ripped free as the fish pulled. They loosed it to drift away.

  Spears flew from the gap, sinking into imperial warriors who charged in too soon. The jack cast a spell, and eels swam down the hole. Their bodies were living batteries that discharged as they reached the defenders. Now Turg swam into the house. He ignored the twitching bodies of the slain. The crabs piling through the entrance began to corral the stunned. The house was dark, the defender's trying to use the lack of light to their advantage.

  The frog loosed streams of light-emitting plankton that carried in the currents still moving through the house. A triton was a hulking humanoid, its finned limbs sending it around the frog as they advanced. A spindly crab joined them, as they penetrated the house.

  The porpoises emerged suddenly, diving from the upper floor in ramming attacks. The frog's hands glowed, and he stabbed into his opponent. The triton's barbed fins sank into its foe, and malign energy poisoned its system. Mermen defenders thrust tridents at the engaged invaders only to be met by the crab. Though not tall, its claws snipped through weapons and amputated a hand as the crab closed. More porpoises came toward the frog, and Laquatus struck through his amphibious minion.

  The counterspell attacked the magic allowing the cetaceans to stay underwater. Tissues suddenly starved for oxygen. Muscles flooded the blood stream with toxins. The defenders started to race for the surface, knowing themselves doomed but helpless against their instincts. Soldiers ignored the retreating cetaceans to fall upon the remaining defenders.

  The frog and his companions moved ahead of the fighting, the inner rooms of the manor clearing as the manor guards rushed to the perimeter. A sigil spelled out in the living flesh of the wall told Turg they had reached the noble's private rooms. The crab scuttled forward, its claws making short work of the interior partition.

  The quarters were almost stark in their simplicity. Only the huge number of pigeonholes and storage pillars showed the noble's wealth. The frog swam over, a spell whispering against the valves closing off the writing supplies. The container irised open, and the jack leaned over. Turg spat the seals and rings he had carried in his mouth throughout the battle. The planted objects were issued by the southern court, the queen showing on the crest instead of the emperor. The frog's spell ceased, and the container snapped shut, barring itself to one not attuned to its nature.

  The crab scuttled over, several cruciform sheets of wax in its claws. Another spell provided by the ambassador's spirit whispered over the old letters, altering some of the strokes as the organic material responded to his will. The crab slipped them into the bottom of a storage column. Turg bled power as he touched the furniture. Growth accelerated, and he could taste the flow of byproducts as the living structure aged, sealing the damning letters under a layer of coral.

  The green triton gave a grunt of warning, sending the trio across the room. Living cases lay stacked against the corner, the containers holding eggs and plankton of exceptional quality. The crab cut them open like lightning as the frog and triton grabbed up and devoured fistfuls of the delicacy. When the titular head of the attack force arrived seconds later, he found the group busy enjoying their loot. A snarl of disgust showed, but he dared not discipline the ambassador's jack.

  The command staff arrived and began opening the sealed pigeonholes and chests in the room. A pair of soldiers came and searched through the food crates the trio had opened, their contempt plain as the triton growled and the crab clacked its claws.

  "Sir," called an orderly, opening up a pigeonhole. A major swam over and inspected the contents. He tensed in excitement, diving in to examine the rings and seals Turg had planted. The sound of a struggle was heard from the hallway. A huge crab eased his way through the door, pulling a tether. A merman came through, his flukes beating to escape as he was reeled in. Another line leading out slackened as a nearly identical crustacean followed, the aristocrat suspended between the two soldiers.

  "What is the meaning of this?" the prisoner roared, his muscles straining in vain against the pair of armored monsters. "You have no right to invade my home! I am a loyal servant to the emperor!" The leader swam over and struck him with one of the seals clenched in his fist, the metal edge tearing the noble's skin.

  "Traitors have no rights!" the officer snarled. He gestured to the writing implements and letters being impounded. "You are in service to the southern queen and will die for your treachery. Your alliance with the air breathers always inflamed suspicions. But for the actions documented here you shall die!"

  The noble went goggle-eyed with incredulity. "Lies!" he cried, surging against his tether. "It is all lies!" He looked to his luxuries stored in the back and recognized Turg. "Everything is a lie spread by his master! He planted these forgeries."

  The major looked at the frog whose face was smeared with stolen booty. The officer's laughter filled the room as the frog swam closer, his face showing no signs of intelligence.

  "His master is a beast and a bigot," the prisoner snarled. "So superior to those who breathe though he spent years on the land. Even his chief lackey is an amphibian." The merman twisted on the line attempting to smash the frog with his flukes.

  The jack dodged the blow, and electricity surged through the champion's hands into the tail. The attack reduced the noble to a glassy eyed wreck, small globes of blood drifting from an open mouth and breaking up in the water. The major looked at the amphibian in anger but remembered whose patronage the frog enjoyed.

  "We do not need his confession anyway," the attack leader groused. "We have enough to convince any that he conspired against the crown. The dungeons will soon drag the truth out of him."

  He called for the incriminating evidence to be sealed for immediate transport and left his orderlies searching through the rest of the archives. Turg swam back to his cronies and enjoyed the fruits of the noble's larder.

  *****

  Laquatus came out of the trance pleased with all he had seen. Riding the jack during the attack allowed him to frame the moderate aristocrat. He laughed at how close the merman's raving came to the truth. The drive to find conspiracies was producing spectacular results. Every day brought new arrests and revelations of treachery. The ambassador admired the unrelenting torturers in their efforts to gain confessions. Perhaps they even extracted the truth from someone, but the aristocrat doubted it.

  The emperor, feeling more besieged than ever, granted Laquatus more and more authority to pursue his inquiries. Today's raid was the culmination of his attempts to stir up trouble, and he could not be happier with its success. Even the imperial officers started to believe the propaganda he spread. Laquatus had expected them to be much more cynical and jaded. The sprawling chaos was a work of joy.

  Sometimes, he even forgot it was only a cover for his thievery. Fulla had excavated five rooms without locating Kirtar's prize. Several loads of "damaged" goods had gone to the Cabal, and Laquatus was obliged to search all of them. He found no sign of the orb and wondered if perhaps she had no plans to betray him. Finding that conclusion highly unlikely, he was careful to document her thievery through exact manifests. Minus, of course, items of power interesting enough for him to steal.

  The dementia caster had no contact with the Cabal and was unlikely to complain of thefts from her own looting oper
ation. The emperor engaged himself in touring the army and moving against signs of discontent. The real bonus from his violent flailing against conspiracy was his actions were undoubtedly creating real plots against him. The cycle of violence was increasing, and the ambassador swam at the center, still untouched. He readied himself for court, putting on his finest jewelry.

  He swam through the palace corridors, the building pumping light from above to the halls. Aboshan had called a meeting of nobles to go over the reports Laquatus gave him the day before. In the name of preserving theoretical contacts with the queen's court, he was spared from attending except occasionally. The door to the throne room was closed, but the emperor's shouting bled through in a wordless howl.

  The ambassador ignored it, waiting for the end of the audience. Aboshan's rants had become distressingly predictable, often ending with a wild accusation that took a noble away to be investigated. Only the identity of the prisoner changed, and Laquatus thought it best to be absent when the sacrificial lamb was selected. Danger could add spice, but maintaining a fictitious wave of conspiracies provided enough entertainment.

  While the ambassador waited, he saw another merman furtively hovering down the corridor. Thinking he recognized the courtier, Laquatus swam toward him. The merman remembered the other with a start. It was Petod, a lower noble who had withdrawn to the southern court years before. He was dressed in palace livery, but Laquatus was sure of his identity.