by Evan Currie
“If it is not, I will inform you. For now,” the rasping voice went on, “this task falls to me.”
The frail-looking demon walked away from him, and Tel stonily watched him go as the feeling of an unnatural cold, even for demons, went with him.
*****
Merlin glowered darkly at the imagery from the probes.
He wished, not for the first time, that his information on the so-called runic masters was more than merely circumstantial in nature. Direct contact with that particular group of the invaders had been rare and generally went very badly for the human side of things. The only thing he knew for certain was that leaving them any time to prepare was suicidal if they had the slightest thought of an attack being launched.
With that in mind, Merlin carefully drew back the closest probes, keeping them as far away from detection as possible.
There was no way the locals would be able to face a prepared demonic force coupled with a runic engraver providing support, not if the engraver had any warning at all. He would not send the only humans he now had contact with to their deaths for no reason, nor would he permit himself to be responsible for those deaths through sheer foolishness.
Once the withdrawal was complete, Merlin shifted focus back to Lemuria.
Elan’s presence in the city, and her reactivating the old security systems within the command and control bunker buried deeply beneath it, had provided him with a flood of data on the demons that he’d not had access to previously, and he was learning quite a bit from just that.
Culturally the demons were incredibly ignorant.
It was like watching barbarians of the lowest order trample some of the highest art and architecture in history. No, it wasn’t like that at all . . . it was that. Watching it happen was absolutely infuriating.
That alone made him seriously consider calling Elan back to the bunker and showing her how to set the primary reactor to a nice overload status. Only the fact that it would do no good held him back from that course. There were too many demons in too many places for even the loss of such a population as now existed on Lemuria to have much effect.
Better to continue gathering information.
Idly almost, Merlin used the suit’s scanners to closely observe the two short men who were conversing with Elan.
Unlike the taller redheaded man, they were clearly not human. Their scans, in fact, confirmed Elan’s earlier intuition, matching the scans he had of the one called Kaern almost perfectly. The only differences appeared to be the normal variance one might find from individual to individual, including differences in height. He made a note to acquire blood or tissue samples if the opportunity came up, as it would be fascinating to run a comparison of their genetic structure with that of a normal human.
Merlin wondered if the markers for height, as an example, would be located in the same places.
Ah, for the day when intellectual curiosity was the driving force of my days.
Another bit of data slipped through to his attention, and Merlin shifted focus to what might provide some amusement for a short period.
Can’t be worried about the end of the world all the time, I suppose.
*****
Caleb slammed into the stone wall as he misjudged a motion, grunting as dust from broken stone puffed out around him.
“Damn,” he groaned, moving extra slowly as he picked himself up. “How did Elan do this without killing everyone around her just by running into them?”
He doggedly stood back up, only hopping a little when he snapped his knees straight, landing hard and straight-legged. Pain lanced up through his knees in response, leaving him clenching his jaw.
“Right, right, bend the legs, got it . . . ow.”
He tried to rub his knees but found quickly that it didn’t do much good with the bulk of the force being blunted by the armor.
“Damn it,” he grumbled as he straightened up and started limping around to walk the pain off.
“You’re thinking too hard about it.” Merlin’s voice startled him, sending Caleb several feet into the air as his small jerk of motion translated into a jump of significant proportions that ended with him sprawled out on his back. An illusionary form of the old man leaned idly over him with an amused air about him.
“Not. Funny,” Caleb ground out from his back.
“I would agree to disagree,” Merlin said casually. “However, in deference to your posit, instead I will simply save a recording of this and present it to Elan and Simone and ask for their opinion on the matter.”
Caleb’s eyes went wide. “Wait, you can do that?”
“I’m Merlin. I can do many wondrous things.”
“Many annoying things too, apparently,” Caleb countered, then blinked at the form. “Wait . . . how are you here? I thought you couldn’t project—or whatever it is you do—if we weren’t in the temples?”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “They aren’t temples, for the hundredth time or more, but to answer your question . . . I’m not there. You’re seeing me through the armor. No one else can see me at the moment.”
“Okay . . .” Caleb said slowly as he climbed, carefully, to his feet. “Elan never mentioned you could do that.”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever shown her,” Merlin said musingly, as if trying to recall. “Generally I just spoke to her, as she was mostly in combat when wearing the armor and I wouldn’t have wanted to distract her so that she, for example, sliced you in half.”
“Right, thanks for that,” Caleb admitted. Distracting Elan at the time would have been a bad idea. “What did you mean, I was thinking too hard?”
“The armor responds not only to how you move but also to your intent,” Merlin stressed. “So focus on what you intend to accomplish rather than what you’re actually doing.”
Caleb stared for a moment, blank-faced. “What? How?”
Merlin shrugged. “I don’t know how you would do that beyond what I’ve already told you. I’ve never had to wear that suit. That’s what others have said.”
Caleb just groaned for what felt like the millionth time.
Chapter 12
Krovak tossed the two trackers to the ground in front of him, having found them slacking off and taking their time to answer the chamberlain’s call. He knew that many had a tendency to regard any orders that didn’t come directly from the lips of Her Ladyship to be of less than urgent priority unless the person giving those orders was capable of directly enforcing them. He didn’t have patience for that shit.
“See the hole up there?” He nodded above them to where the gaping maw of damage could hardly have been missed by the blind, let alone two of the top trackers available. “I had a look. It was caused by something launched from right here.”
He pointed to the isolated section of the alley, hidden from the main thoroughfare, which explained the lack of any apparent witnesses. Frankly, he doubted they would have found any of those even if the shot had come from the middle of a crowd, but that was another issue.
“Gose,” he growled to the shorter of the two Eighth Circle trackers, “look for human sign . . . and Wolf? What kind of scents can you find here?”
The two trackers growled at him. Both were deep in the change and irritable at the best of times. Being dragged through the city by the backs of their necks wasn’t exactly a sign of the best of times, but Krovak couldn’t care less. He could take them both at the same time ten falls out of ten, and they knew it.
So he watched as they got to work.
It didn’t take long for Gose to spot tracks that fit the bill. That was one advantage of all the muck in the streets.
“Four sets here, Arms Master,” the hunched-over demon grunted. “Three look normal; one is . . . odd.”
“Odd how?”
Gose knelt down, feeling out the depth of the track with two twisted fingers.
“Heavier than should be,” he said finally. “Wearing armor maybe. Strange—too light for iron or steel. Too heavy for clothes.”
“That makes sense,” Krovak said, glancing over to where Wolf was sniffing around. “You got anything?”
The demon, who was practically on all fours, snarled back at him. “You try sniffing out a trail in this city. Everything smells like shit.”
That would be the downside of all the muck, Krovak nodded tiredly, unfortunately not surprised at all.
“Save your excuses for someone who cares,” he snapped back. “And next time you growl at me, you better plan on backing it up with action, or I’ll put those rotting teeth of yours down your throat. You follow?”
The demon glared at him but declined to growl as he finally looked away.
“Odd smell,” he said finally. “Like . . . life with no life.”
“Life with no life? What the hells does that mean?” Krovak asked with consternation.
“Hard to describe. Not death, not life . . . but like life. Smell of lightning in the air too,” Wolf grumbled. “Never scented anything like it.”
The lightning in the air Krovak understood. It wasn’t lightning; it was the after-trail of it. Humans called it ozone.
“Follow that smell if you can,” he said.
Wolf moved around a bit and then shook his head. “No. It’s just here. Lightning smell is linked to the life with no life smell.”
“Well, follow that then,” Krovak insisted, gesturing to Gose. “And you, the strange trail.”
“Where they came from, or where they went?”
“Went, idiot!” Krovak snarled. “What do I care of where they came from? I want them, alive!”
The two trackers cowered back, then immediately set off in the same direction.
At least that is a good sign, he thought as he set out to follow.
*****
“You’re not human, the two of you,” Elan said softly as she focused on what the brothers had set for her and the redhead, Jol, to do.
She wasn’t sure why the pair seemed interested in teaching her, but Elan was willing to learn almost anything, so she had made the decision to at least listen to them. She was aware of how little she knew and desperately wanted to change that. Every time she was faced with her ignorance, it burned in her. Yet all the same, she couldn’t help but question her would-be instructors’ motives.
Kaern would be proud, she suspected. He had been a suspicious bastard sometimes.
Jol paused in what he was doing, looking up sharply as the brothers stopped and looked at her.
“Was that supposed to be a question?” Sindri asked, an amused look on his face.
“No.” She shook her head. “I can see that. What I can’t see is . . . why?”
“Why what?” Brokkr grunted out.
“Why him?” She gestured to Jol. “You obviously looked after him. Taught him. Right?”
The trio exchanged glances.
“We did,” Sindri confirmed. “As to why . . . why not?”
“Demons don’t help.”
“Is that so?” Sindri sounded quite amused. “How about Kaern?”
Elan scowled. “Never figured him out either.”
“Well, let’s just say that there are demons, and then there are demons, and leave it at that, shall we?” Sindri said, smirking at her.
Elan’s scowl deepened. “That makes no sense!”
“You’re going to give yourself the wrong kind of wrinkles with looks like that, girl,” Sindri chuckled. “In the end, it’s simple. We’re not human, yes. In fact, we’re demons even . . . but we never went through the change, and we do not answer to the circles.”
Elan shook her head. “I don’t get you, and I don’t understand how that’s even possible.”
“What you do not understand, girl”—Brokkr spoke up from across the room—“can literally fill all eternity, with very little space remaining.”
Elan shot him an annoyed glare, but he blithely ignored her as he walked up beside her and tapped the back of her arm.
“Your form is atrocious,” he grumbled. “Someone taught you an absolutely horrible style for your body type, and your recent attempts to correct it have been . . . less than auspicious.”
Elan turned on him, eyes flashing. “I learned to fight from my father.”
“A large man, I presume? Muscled and powerful”—Brokkr nodded toward the redhead—“like Jol over there?”
Elan slumped. “Yes. How does everyone know that from my fighting style?”
“Because no sane teacher who knew better would have taught you a power style,” Sindri offered up. “You have the wrong body for it . . . though as long as you’re wearing that armor, I’m sure you could get by.”
Her eyes lit up at the mention of that. She hadn’t considered that the armor would allow her to use her father’s style, after all.
“I said get by.” Sindri instantly stepped on that light, spotting it for what it was. “If you want to excel, even in the armor, you should work to your own strengths and learn to compensate for your own weaknesses. Besides, remember what I said: One of the biggest weaknesses of humans has always been your love of those fabulous toys you create so well. No matter how wonderful the toy, it will fail you just when you need it most.”
“Kaern said the same,” Elan answered with a hint of disbelief. “Hasn’t happened yet, and I’ve needed it a lot of times.”
“Girl, the moment the armor fails will, by definition, be when you need it most,” Brokkr rumbled in her direction. “And it will fail. Everything does, sooner or later. Tools are good; skills are better; both are best.”
Elan sighed, taking a few breaths to calm herself.
It wasn’t anything new to her, of course. Kaern had said as much, and even Merlin, who had a great deal of faith in what he called science and technology, admitted that it was important not to be helpless without said tools. Simone didn’t even understand what the question was. To her, the idea of relying on tools entirely was ludicrous.
“Fine,” she grumbled.
She slipped back into the new stance she had been teaching herself since finding Avalon. As much as she was loath to admit it, she knew that her father’s style wasn’t for her. She hated that fact and refused to entirely give up her father’s teaching, no matter how obvious it was. It would be like giving up the memories of her mother or all the skills she had learned from her.
It was not going to happen.
Still, she could feel the difference when she used a style that was more suited to her body.
The book had shown her one that she was trying to master, so she slipped into that form and began to move smoothly through the motions. Elan didn’t notice the two brothers stop and stare as she did, their eyes widening with undisguised shock. She was almost through the second set of forms before Brokkr managed to get out a question.
“Girl,” he croaked, “Kaern taught you that?”
Elan paused, looking at him in confusion. “Kaern? No.”
“You didn’t learn that from a human,” Sindri said. “Your form is atrocious, but that style is unmistakable.”
“It . . . it’s a demon style?” she asked, dropping her arms and feeling her skin crawl. Is the book demonic?
The two shook their heads in unison.
“Not of the circles, at least. It is older than the demons,” Sindri said. “Where did ye learn it, girl?”
She narrowed her eyes at the short man . . . demon, whatever.
“Why should I tell you?”
Sindri got angry, but now it was Brokkr’s turn to laugh openly and attract the ire of his brother.
“This is serious!” Sindri snapped.
“She’s got a point, brother.” Brokkr laughed, amused by his brother’s reaction. “Why should she tell us anything? We’re not enemies, but neither are we allies or friends at this point.” He settled his amusement, looking at Elan sternly. “However, it is curious that you know even the rudiments of that style. It’s suited to you, by the way. Perfectly so, in fact, which speaks of a teacher who knows his stuff. If not Kaern,
then you’re holding back something from us. That’s good—you should be—but if you intend to do that, you need to remember not to show us things like this that let us know just how much you’re holding back.”
“I didn’t expect a fighting style to be such a big deal,” Elan admitted with a roll of her eyes.
“That style predates the circles, girl,” Sindri said curtly. “It’s older than demons, as you know them . . . and demons are older than this entire world. Hells, this universe is a babe in her mother’s arms by comparison.”
Brokkr snorted. “Babe tossed out a window by an unloving bitch of a mother is more accurate, I’d say, brother.”
Sindri shot a mild glare in his brother’s direction but didn’t contradict the statement.
“That entirely aside,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “there’s no human alive who knows that style . . . or there shouldn’t be. If Kaern didn’t show it to you . . .” He trailed off. “The Nim taught you?”
Her expression was enough for him to tell that wasn’t it, but Sindri had no idea where else she could have learned what she knew. It was rather strange, but given the rebellious expression on her face, he expected that itch would go unscratched for the moment.
“Well, whoever it was did you a favor,” he said finally. “It’s a good style for you. Do you know the mental forms as well?”
Elan hesitated but finally nodded slowly.
“Practice them. Perfect them.” Sindri made no doubt that he was issuing an order, despite knowing that she would obey or not as she chose. “You’ll never regret having this under your belt if you master it. If you don’t . . . well, you’ll likely kill yourself and have done with it.”
She stared back at him for a moment, no expression on her face, though he could see the judgment slowly forming in her eyes. Finally she nodded firmly, and he smiled.
“Good. Now back to it,” he went on. “You show promise, but you’re not good enough to be trying what you’re out here doing. Even the lower demons here would eventually take you down, armor and weapon or no. The upper ranks would eat your soul through that armor and puppet your body around for their amusement, girl . . . and I promise you, their amusement would be twisted and perverse indeed.”