by Evan Currie
“Let me save you some trouble, girl,” Brokkr told her. “That armor and, most especially, that weapon of yours . . . those are not things you just happened to find. Someone had to gift them to you, someone with security clearance to the highest levels of the Republic’s military services. The armor alone wouldn’t have saved you from a wave like that, however, so I’ll assume there was a transport station nearby?”
The flash in her eyes was obvious enough that even Jol was able to read it, which meant that the other two had no problem at all.
“Told you those old tech wizards built to last,” Sindri said, grinning wide as he had been all along. “Since she’s here, I’m sure you can follow that trail to the logical conclusion, brother.”
Brokkr nodded. “The command center below Lemuria is still active. I assumed it was destroyed, figured that the commander likely ordered it scuttled. Must have just shut it down and hoped it was overlooked. Bloody disgusting that a plan that stupid worked, it is.”
“The demons in charge here never cared, brother—you know that. As long as the humans weren’t using it to run resistance missions any longer, most demons couldn’t be bothered to even think about it.” Sindri shrugged. “The few that might had other concerns at the time.”
“True enough.” Brokkr sighed. “Still hurts my sense of professionalism.”
“What professionalism?” Sindri elbowed his brother, laughing. “Of course, that still leaves one more question.”
“I’m not answering any more questions,” Elan grumbled, more than a little petulantly, though Jol didn’t blame her.
He knew too well how perceptive the brothers could be and how frustrating it was trying to keep anything from them. They could read a face and body like an educated man might read a book.
“Not too many it could have been,” Brokkr said thoughtfully. “All the humans with that clearance would be long dead, even with their medicine and enhanced life serum. Only leaves the intelligences. Those elementals are the very devil itself to kill, as you well know.”
“Aye, there’s truth in that,” Sindri agreed. “So which do you suppose? One of the lesser ones? Enlil, perhaps, might have been able to scrounge what we’re seeing.”
“More likely Ninu,” Brokkr said. “At least he might have a weapons cache.”
“No, Ninu was eliminated, remember? Took himself out, along with three whole demon legions, plus their lords. It was one of the last orbital strikes of the war,” Sindri said with a shake of his head. “All the combat elementals went down hard, but they went down.”
“Ah, right. That was a lovely explosion,” Brokkr said, reminiscing.
Sindri looked the nervous girl over, eyes lingering on her armor and weapon.
“The number of elementals that could have coded her for that armor alone are remarkably low,” Sindri mused.
“It’s my grandmother’s,” Elan blurted, eyes a little wide.
“Is it now?” Sindri asked, looking her over. “Yes, it is. Interesting. Well, that would sidestep the coding problem . . . but you wouldn’t have jumped to offer that information if we weren’t getting close, now would you?”
“What was the command intelligence here?” Brokkr asked, frowning. “I can’t recall. Was it an elemental?”
“Doesn’t matter. Either moved on or was wiped when the systems were shut down,” Sindri said. “Would have been found long ago if it were active.”
“True enough.”
Elan had apparently had enough, Jol noted as he watched her speak up and try to redirect the conversation.
“You said something about the elder,” she said forcefully. “What are the elder?”
The two brothers looked at one another, smiling in amusement.
“Blunt girl, there’s not a lot of subtlety in you, that’s for sure,” Brokkr told her.
Sindri decided to take pity on her, though for how long that would last, Jol wouldn’t take bets on.
“The elder are bad news—worse than demons in their own way,” he said. “Just looking on them in some cases is enough to break the minds of mortals like yourself. I expected you arriving here had something to do with them, given the actions of Her Ladyship. It’s a hell of a coincidence, you being here and not even knowing about them.”
“Maybe not,” Elan said grimly. “I was in the dreaming when I was approached by . . . something . . .”
Brokkr sat up straight, eyes sharp as he focused more on her.
“You’re not playing in the overmind, are ye?” he demanded. “There are dangers there—”
“No.” She cut him off with a gesture. “Kaern taught me that much. No, this . . . whatever it was came to me in my dreaming.”
“Rare. Powerful and rare,” Brokkr said thoughtfully. “Demons that could do that would see you dead. What was it?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t look like any demon I’ve ever seen,” she admitted. “At first it . . . I don’t know, it took a human form after, but there was always something odd about it. Like I was seeing something that shouldn’t be there, unnatural.”
“That doesn’t narrow it down by a lot,” Sindri sighed. “You said ‘at first.’ What did it look like then?”
“Like . . .” She grimaced. “Circles within circles, and angles like . . .”
“Like things that can’t exist in nature?” Sindri finished. “One of the Nim came to you in a dream? Now, of all times?”
“The . . . Nim?” she asked, hesitant but her curiosity undeniable.
“Servants of . . .” Brokkr hesitated. “Call it . . . God. The Creator. The sworn enemy of the circles . . .”
“Don’t get any ideas, either of you,” Sindri snapped, noting both Elan and Jol sitting up a little straighter at that. “The enemy of your enemy is not always your ally. In many real ways, there’s little enough difference between the two sides. The Nim are cleaner but no less ruthless if you’re in their way. The Creator . . . withdrew a long time ago. Else this war would have been over before it started. Not even the elder and all the origins combined could have stood against his will.”
“More important,” Brokkr cut in, waving off that bit of ancient history with an almost tangible annoyance, “what did the Nim tell you?”
“That the future was uncertain,” she answered. “That it had been set for a long time . . . but something changed. Now no one seems able to see what is going to happen, not even . . .”
She shut her mouth with an audible click, something the two brothers noticed, of course.
“Not even . . .?” Sindri trailed off. “Someone you know looked?”
He froze, eyes darting over to Brokkr, who whistled in stunned shock.
“Well, that would explain the equipment, now, wouldn’t it?” Brokkr said, a deep appreciation in his tone. “You’ve been to Avalon.”
Sindri laughed sharply. “I had believed Avalon destroyed . . . but that would explain the wave too. Well now, that changes things, doesn’t it?”
“It does?” Jol asked, confused.
“If she’s been to Avalon, then her story checks out.” Sindri nodded. “He could have dropped a rock or blown up an island or something else easily enough to create that wave. So it wasn’t an accident . . . makes the story fit better.”
“Who?” Jol asked. “Who are you talking about?”
“Not here.” Sindri shook his head. “Some names shouldn’t even be whispered in this city, and his would top the list.”
Jol nodded, understanding.
It would be a bit much to say that someone was always listening in the city of Lemuria, but at the same time, he was well aware that there were words of power that would always attract notice.
Notice was invariably a bad thing in the demon city.
*****
Ser’Goth was not quite enraged, but she was well on the road to be.
“Which abysmally stupid fool,” she spat the words, “was responsible for this, now of all times?”
“We don’t know, my lady,” the
chamberlain of the city said, bowing as low as he possibly could in hopes of assuaging her ire.
She glowered at him for a moment before looking back at the smoking hole someone had blown clear through one side of a local building.
Normally she would be annoyed that someone was putting holes in her city. It was her city, after all, and anyone who felt like they had the right to be popping off damaging attacks was showing her disrespect. At the moment, however, in this time and this place, she was well past annoyance.
The incident had happened dangerously close to where the rune-master was working to create the elder summoning circle. So close, in fact, that the building could potentially damage that selfsame circle if it happened to topple in the wrong direction, unlikely though it might be. That someone had been this reckless was not mere disrespect; it was treason.
“Find them,” she growled. “Whoever did this will pray for execution. I will not have this happening so close to final victory.”
“I will put your very best trackers on it, my lady,” the chamberlain assured her.
“Do so,” she ordered, “and ensure that they know my will on this. I want the perpetrators alive, as an example to others.”
The chamberlain shuddered but nodded.
Her Lady’s punishments were among the reasons she had been granted her post. They were the stuff of horror and legend, and he almost pitied whoever was foolish enough to have drawn out her ire. She was bad enough to those she liked, delivering humiliation and torture simply as part of her nature. To those whom she had cause to dislike . . . well, that merely allowed her to get creative.
In the end, it was better that fate befall literally anyone other than the chamberlain, in his own opinion at least.
“I will see to it personally,” he promised. “I’ll bring reports as soon as we have any further information.”
Ser’Goth flicked her tongue in annoyance, the narrow appendage appearing from her mouth briefly before coiling back up and disappearing. With a last look cast at the destruction, she turned on her heel and stalked away angrily.
The chamberlain watched her go and was glad that he had reason not to be within the central tower for some time. He turned to the attendants that were cowering behind him still, annoyed at them entirely because he rather wished that he had someone to hide behind himself at such times.
“Go, find Gose and the Wolf,” he ordered. “Tell them I will see them here within the hour, or they will not enjoy the consequences when I locate them.”
The attendants nodded and ran off, clearly grateful to be gone.
The chamberlain looked up at the still-smoking hole and briefly wondered what sort of spell had done the damage. He knew of none that could have managed this . . . but then, fighting was never his speciality.
Still, curiosity was a terrible thing to leave unserved.
“And tell . . .” He considered, briefly thinking about who to call. “Tell Krovak to come as well. I’ll see him personally when he arrives.”
Wide eyes greeted that, but he ignored them pointedly until they too ran off.
The old arms master would know what had done that damage if anyone did. He’d seen more fighting than any ten demons . . . and that might be doing the old demon a disservice in these days. Real fighting was well in the past for most. Now, so many seemed to spend their time tearing one another apart rather than doing their proper duties.
The change was a hazard when there was no enemy to point the changed at.
*****
“You came a long way to a dangerous place, given how little you have and how unprepared you are,” Sindri scoffed as Elan finished explaining why she’d come to Lemuria.
“I had to come,” she defended herself, a hint of fire flickering in her eyes. “I couldn’t ignore it.”
“No, I suppose you couldn’t,” Sindri agreed tiredly. “The hells of it, pardon the pun, is that I even see the inevitability of your decision. If I didn’t know the Creator gave humans free will, I would wonder if you weren’t being puppeted about by one of the Nim, playing you for their own purpose.”
“Isn’t that something those arrogant forners would do?” Brokkr asked, amused. “Still, my brother has a point. You may be here by your own decision, but something is pushing you around.”
Elan grimaced. “Kaern said I had the . . . stink of prophecy on me.”
Brokkr laughed for possibly the first time that afternoon, or the first time since he’d been kicked in the privates at least.
“That bastard always had a way with words,” he said. “Kaern was never the sort to truck with prophecy. Not after the first few times he got too close. So I’m surprised he hung around anywhere near you if he believed that. The old forner must have gone soft since the last time we saw him.”
“He taught me a lot in a short time,” Elan said, “and saved me more than once.”
“Aye,” Brokkr said soberly, “he always was a teacher, above all else. A more dangerous sort you’d be hard-pressed to find, but I think he never wanted anything more than some students to show how to take on the world. What was that saying he used to repeat, brother?”
Sindri thought a moment, then answered, “Anyone can kill; there’s no strength in death. Defending the weak is a temporary measure, not an act of strength. If you want to show true strength, don’t protect the weak . . . instead, take the weak and make them strong.”
“Aye, that’s it,” Brokkr said, looking Elan over. “So . . . tell me, girl. Did he make you strong?”
Elan shifted nervously. “I . . . I don’t know. He tried, I think . . . but I wasn’t really ready to listen.”
“A common failing of youth,” Brokkr told her, “but a better answer than I expected. You don’t consider yourself strong? You held us off and flattened dear Jol over there twice.”
Jol flushed, a really bad color for someone of his complexion, but didn’t rise to what he recognized as bait being put out by Brokkr.
Elan, surprisingly, didn’t get either defensive or smug about it either.
“I’m skilled,” she said, “compared to others, but my strength isn’t my own.”
Brokkr nodded slowly. “Very good answer. Most people would claim the strength of their tools as their own, humans especially. It was, perhaps, their single key failing during the war.”
“Kaern told me that.” She nodded. “He said that I shouldn’t rely entirely on tools.”
“Sounds like him, though I never entirely agreed personally,” Brokkr confirmed, eying her for a moment. “I can see why he took time with you. There’s potential there. Greatness could be yours if you live long enough to claim it.”
“I don’t care about greatness,” she said with an intensity that burned deep in her. “I just want to kill the demons.”
Silence followed that proclamation, right up until Sindri burst out laughing.
“I can imagine how well that went over with Kaern,” he said when he got control of his amusement. “That sort of hate will lead you to a bad end, girl.”
“I don’t care. They took everything from me,” Elan said heatedly. “I’ll see it all torn from them in turn.”
“You can’t take anything from most demons that others of their kind haven’t already stolen,” Brokkr said softly. “Even those who believe themselves to be powerful have been humbled and beggared beyond belief by the change.”
Elan just folded her arms up, looking every bit the petulant teenager that the two brothers now recognized her to be. They’d seen the same thing hundreds of times over the years. Jol had used that same look on them more than a few times until they’d beaten it out of him. Whether they’d bother with her was yet to be seen, but the two didn’t have to speak to know that they were each considering it.
Like Kaern must have, they could see the potential.
Potential they had seen in Jolinr when he was younger. That fiery pride and determination that refused to be cowed, even when faced with obvious and overwhelming odds. It was a hu
man affectation, rooted in the complete ignorance of just how stacked those odds usually were.
For those like the brothers, who were of the longer-lived variety, it was . . . cute. Adorable even.
Sometimes it was impossible to resist having that sort of lovable innocence around, no matter how many times they befouled the proverbial carpet.
Sindri made the decision, looking the girl over one last time.
“Show us what you’ve learned.”
Elan started, looking at him in confusion.
“What? Why?”
“So we know what you need to learn, of course,” he said with flat amusement, which only grew as Elan’s eyes widened and she looked at him with distrust but also a gleam he recognized.
Desire, curiosity . . . ambition.
*****
The chamberlain wasn’t surprised when Krovak was the first to arrive.
The grizzled old warrior had served at Her Ladyship’s pleasure for a long time, and he was an advanced enough Seventh Circle demon to be both moderately powerful and experienced enough to take his position seriously. He was a tall, broadly built sort, with rough armored skin that was variegated patches of brown and black. Bloodred eyes were the only real sign left of the change in him.
“Why did you summon me?” Krovak grumbled, eyeing the damage with a steady eye.
“I’m sure you can guess,” the chamberlain said dryly, casting a gesture about them. “I do not recognize the spell that caused this. Her Lady would like the perpetrator hunted down and brought to her . . . intact.”
“Wasn’t a spell,” Krovak grunted, “so I suppose I can’t blame you for not recognizing it. You wouldn’t, not unless you’d been in the field during the last years of the war.”
“The war?” the chamberlain repeated, surprised as he twisted to look around himself. “Surely not. You think a human did this?”
“One of their weapons, at least,” the grizzled armsman grunted as he stepped to the edge of the damage and knelt down. “The real weapons they used, not the toys they were carrying when the war first began in earnest. This was done by what they used when they stopped playing games and started killing us in droves.”
The chamberlain hesitated, unwilling at first to believe the pronouncement. It seemed ridiculous on the surface of it. There hadn’t been any real human resistance in the city for longer than he could remember. Certainly none with the war weapons of the human armies.