by Moore, John
“Oh, I expect there’s still room for cautious optimism.”
“Yeah. I’m still going to make sure this WMD isn’t going to be used. Not by Fortescue, not by my uncles, and not by anyone else.” The prince stood up. “And Thessalonius, I’m getting you out of here. If you built one WMD, they can force you to build another.”
“That is not going to happen.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Charlie bent down and picked up the candle. “None of them are above using torture. And modern torture methods will make anyone—my God!”
He brought the candle closer to the sorcerer’s face. “Thessalonius, what happened to you?”
The old man pulled back the hood of his robe and let it settle around his shoulders. Charlie almost looked away, shocked at the sight of the raw, peeling skin and deep, open sores. The sorcerer gave another brief, raspy laugh, a laugh that finally told Charlie the man was desperately ill, and wasn’t going to live long enough to be coerced by anyone. “Powerful magic, Charlie. Dangerous magic. I learned about it the hard way. That’s why no one else will try to make another WMD after I’m gone. And that’s why it took so long.”
“To do what?”
“To make it clean. The original WMD would have left residual magic.”
“What do you mean? Can this be reversed? Thessalonius, we need to get you into a hospital.”
“It means the area around the WMD and everything downwind would have been contaminated for centuries. It would have thrown up a cloud of magically impregnated dust. Nothing that it touched would have survived for long.” The sorcerer took another long, raspy breath. “And no, it can’t be reversed. I’m dying and no magic or medicine will save me.”
“Where is it, Thessalonius?”
“Not to worry, my boy. I succeeded. It took my life, but eventually I figured out how to make a clean release. It can be used with no hazard of long-term contamination.”
“So that’s what the Weapon of Magical Destruction is? A cloud of poisonous dust? And you’ve eliminated that?”
“Totally eliminated it, yes.”
“There’s no chance at all of deadly magical contamination?”
“None whatsoever.”
Charlie’s relief was palpable. He let out his breath in a long, heartfelt whoosh. “That takes a load off my mind. I was terribly afraid of Noile using this on Damask, or Damask using it on Noile, or Fortescue using it on anyone, but if there’s no longer any danger . . .”
“Just from the explosion.”
“There’s an explosion, too?”
“Oh, didn’t I mention that? An explosion such as the world has never seen. An entire city leveled in the twinkling of an eye. An army slaughtered at the snap of a finger. Soldiers, civilians, men, women, children, dogs, cats, horses, birds, no one is spared. Even the earthworms in the ground will die. Ships at sea will burst into flame . . .”
“Enough!”
“And the beauty of it is that there is no contamination. You can wipe out a city in one day, and the next day you can move in and start building. No, wait, that’s not quite right. You would have to wait for the firestorm to burn out. Say, a couple of weeks.”
“There’s a firestorm!”
“Oh yes. Anyone who survives the initial blast will perish in the firestorm. They don’t even have to be close enough to burn. The updraft will be so strong it will suck the air out of their lungs.”
“No it won’t, because it is not going to be used,” said Charlie grimly. “I don’t care how clean it is. I’m going to destroy it. Now tell me where it is, dammit!”
“No need to shout, my boy. It’s at the bottom of Lake Organza.”
“What?”
“I promised your father I’d keep it in a safe place. It can’t get much safer than that.”
“At the bottom of the lake? Are we talking at the bottom of the lake for good, or at the bottom of the lake attached to a rope and buoy so it can be located and pulled up?”
“At the bottom of the lake for good. There is no marker. It is not coming up. There it stays.”
“And no one can use it? Are you sure?”
“Oh, I could do something with it. But I’m not going to. And no threat of torture, or torture itself, will sway me.” The sorcerer took another long breath, followed by a long raspy laugh. “There is nothing they can do to me that will outdo what I am suffering already. Death, my boy, will be welcome at this point.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said the prince, with as much sympathy as he could muster for a man who, in Charlie’s opinion, had brought about his own demise. “But we’re safe from the WMD. My uncles won’t be able to use it against Noile. Noile won’t be able to use it against Damask, or anyone else. You’re certain about this? Why did you take such risks to complete it if you were just going to throw it in the lake?”
“Oh, you know how the mind of a sorcerer works, Charlie. We’re always doing strange things.”
“Stop laughing like that, Thessalonius. You’re creeping me out.”
The sorcerer stopped his raspy laugh. He looked at Charlie solemnly. “Your Highness, you have my most sincere promise—the sacred word of a dying sorcerer—that your enemies will never use that Weapon of Magical Destruction.”
The prince eyed him warily. Charlie didn’t trust people who sounded too honest and sincere. More often than not, it just meant they had a lot of practice lying. But he had nothing more to say to Thessalonius. He’d been repeating himself already.
“And now, Your Highness,” Thessalonius went on. “I suggest that you leave this place. Right away. It is my destiny to end my life in this temple, but you have another path to follow. And speaking of paths, you should not take the one to Noile. It is blocked by General Fortescue’s men.”
“I can’t take the road back to Damask, either. The whole army is after my head.”
“They won’t get it.” Thessalonius broke into a deep coughing fit. When he recovered his breath he spoke on. “I have some small ability to accurately predict the future, Charlie. You know that. So I can confidently say that you will not be captured by Damask. Go ahead and take that road.”
It seemed to be as good a choice as any. Charlie nodded. He walked back to the door of the Great Hall. At the doorway, he turned and looked back, at the single candle, throwing a small pool of light in the cavernous room, and the shadowy, hooded figure, a frail, sick man sitting in that pool of yellow light. He was about to say goodbye when the sorcerer blew out the candle and vanished into the cool, quiet darkness.
Charlie left the Great Hall and made his way back out of the temple. He wandered around the deserted grounds a little bit, tossed a few pebbles into an empty fountain, then left the temple complex and started walking along the shore of Lake Organza, in the direction of the Damask road. He now regretted riding his horses so hard and leaving them behind. He would have to round one up, or make his escape on foot. Though he didn’t mind walking. It gave him time to think, for he was at something of a loss about what to do with himself.
The search for the WMD, and his attempt to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands, had occupied his thoughts and much of his time since the lecture by his father’s ghost. That search was now finished. The danger was gone. But Charlie had not been the one to destroy the weapon. Thessalonius had flung it into the lake before Charlie even knew about it, so Charlie didn’t even have a feeling of achievement at the conclusion of his mission.
He couldn’t return to Damask. He’d done everything he could to compensate for the drought, with his water rationing and food rationing and public works programs. He had tried to minimize the suffering, and he thought he handled it pretty well, but he’d been chased out. Either his uncles or Fortescue had to finish the job.
Catherine was committed to General Fortescue. Charlie kicked himself mentally, and then kicked himself again for being infatuated with her. He should have realized she was just leading him on. “Dammit, you’re not a teenager,” he told himself. “You
’re twenty years old, for God’s sake. How could you be such a fool?”
I should have spent more time with Xiao, he thought. Pollocks was probably right. She had seemed genuinely interested in him and he thought she would probably be fun to hang out with when she wasn’t doing her seeress act. But Xiao was gone now.
Back to school, he decided. It wasn’t a cheering thought. The classroom had little appeal to him after the events of the summer, but he figured he needed the mental discipline. Lose himself in study. History, geometry, classical literature. Put politics and romance out of his mind.
He came to the end of the lake, where he and Pollocks had stopped to water their horses on his first visit, and where the pile of stone rubble from the old tunnel attempt remained. A few hundred yards away was the start of the road to Damask. Charlie was pleased to see one of his horses grazing by the trailhead, apparently rested now.
He walked toward the horse. He had gone only a few steps when a pair of riders came up the trail. Without hesitation they rode straight toward him. Charlie didn’t worry at first. Hadn’t Thessalonius already told him he would not be killed or captured by Damask troops? But they seemed to be riding toward him rather quickly, and with hostile intent. More riders followed them, exiting from the trail in twos and threes.
Charlie looked around for cover. The only thing that looked remotely defensible for a man on foot was the pile of stone from the old tunnel. He casually altered his direction toward it. Not casually enough, apparently, for the two lead riders angled their horses to cut him off.
Sorcerers, thought Charlie, have been wrong before. He ran.
The riders spurred their horses.
Charlie almost made it. The first rider drew his saber and reached Charlie just as the prince reached the base of the rock pile. A heavy saber moving at the speed of a galloping horse delivers a fearsome blow, but Charlie was a strong young man and managed to parry it with his own sword. The force was still enough to knock him off his feet. He scrambled back in time to dodge the second rider and deliver a wicked slash to his thigh as he rode past. By the time the first rider wheeled his horse around, Charlie was on top of a boulder and able to strike at eye height. A clash of swords was all that resulted.
He scrambled to the top of the heap. The rock pile was soon surrounded by a circle of mounted soldiers. Had they attacked on foot, Charlie would have been dead in a minute. But a diffusion-of-responsibility situation developed. No one could ride a horse up the pile of loose rock. Yet each man knew that he, personally, had an advantage while he was on a horse. No one wanted to be the first to dismount and climb the rock to face Charlie’s sword.
This sort of standoff can last indefinitely, usually until an officer shows up to order men up the hill. And, unfortunately, an officer did show up. Then more officers, and more soldiers, until a pretty sizable force of men surrounded Charlie. From his vantage at the top of the heap, he saw Albemarle Gagnot emerge from the trailhead.
Damn, he thought. He worked out a quick, desperate plan in his head. He would wait until some men dismounted and formed up to assault the hill. While they were still at the bottom, and not expecting him, he would charge them with his sword drawn and attempt to slash his way through their ranks. Then he would leap onto one of their horses and gallop away at full speed.
This plan gave Charlie the longevity of a pint of pilsner at Oktoberfest, but he couldn’t think of anything else. He looked toward Gagnot again, and was surprised to see that he hadn’t moved. He wasn’t even looking at Charlie. He had stopped his horse near the trailhead. He was looking back, apparently waiting for someone.
The horses around Charlie began to stir, restlessly. The other riders were also looking toward the trailhead. It seemed they were all waiting for someone. The mystery didn’t last long. After a few more minutes Packard and Gregory rode out to the lakeshore. This seemed to be the signal for everyone to turn their attention back to the prince.
He stood with his sword in hand, watching them approach at a leisurely pace. It gave him time to reflect that the pile of broken rock he was standing on made a pretty good metaphor for his ruined political career, and that someone of a more poetic bent could probably make a pretty snappy epic out of this. But he didn’t get much further with those musings. The soldiers parted to let Gagnot through. He stopped his horse to talk with some officers, pointedly ignoring Charlie. Packard and Gregory continued to the edge of the rock pile and faced it with distaste.
Gregory looked up. “I don’t suppose you’d like to come down here and have a little chat.”
“I’m fine right here,” Charlie assured him.
Packard was already off his horse and picking his way up among the boulders. Gregory followed him, muttering imprecations under his breath. When they got to the top of the heap, Packard took off his hat and fanned himself with it. “Nice day, Charlie.”
“The lake is especially lovely,” Charlie agreed.
“Cut it out,” snapped Gregory. “Where’s the WMD? Where’s Thessalonius?”
Charlie looked at Packard. “I thought I was supposed to be the short-tempered, irritable one around here.”
“The original deal is still on,” said Packard. “You’ll get a share of the payoff and safe passage to the border. I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you with Catherine, but you know, that wasn’t really in the cards to begin with.”
“Who do you think you’re kidding? You planned to kill us both.”
“Charlie, that was a mistake in judgment. But no harm has been done and we’ve seen the error of our ways.”
“Oh really? Did Catherine go along with this?”
“We talked with her. She’s still playing both sides of the fence. She slipped away to join Fortescue, but if we come back with the WMD, she’ll throw her lot in with us and we’ll put her on the throne of Noile.”
“How convenient.”
“Charlie, look around you,” said Gregory. “There’s half a regiment here. As soon as we get out of the way they’ll be all over you. What are you going to do? Fight them all?”
“Abe won’t let them attack. Not after I tell him that you two planned this insurrection. Not after he learns that you two ordered Catherine’s death.”
“I’m afraid he will, Charlie. Before she left, Catherine told him that you would spin a wild conspiracy story similar to what you just said and not to believe you. Just one of your paranoid fantasies, she told him, and proof that you are unfit to rule. We confirmed it, of course.”
“That was nice of you.” Charlie showed his annoyance by banging the point of his sword against a rock. They had figured all the angles. “Forget it. You’re not getting the WMD. Thessalonius described its powers to me. You can’t be trusted with it.”
“Charlie, be realistic!” Gregory was on the verge of losing his temper. “It’s over, Charlie. The grain reserves are nearly gone. The crops are wilting. There’s no rain in sight. What are you going to do? Let people starve?”
“They won’t starve. Fortescue has food. He’ll take Damask anyway, WMD or no WMD. He’s on his way already. You know that.”
“But he won’t pay us, dammit!” Gregory screeched.
“Too bad,” Charlie shot right back. “I know about your plans to attack Fortescue and I won’t be part of it.”
Packard kept his patient tone of voice. “You’re the prince regent, Charlie. You have to show some leadership now. You know Damask cannot sustain itself. Either we seize Noile, or Noile seizes Damask. Do you think Gregory and I will be worse than Fortescue? You know what kind of expansionist plans he has. Come on, Charlie. Sure, we all admired him when he pacified Noile. Sure, we all breathed easier when he brought an end to the troubles. But with the WMD, he’ll give us never-ending war.”
“And what are you planning to do with it? Destroy him and his army, right? Instant death for thousands, or tens of thousands of men.”
“They’re soldiers, Charlie. It’s their job to die in battle. Fortescue would use it on
a city. We’ll do it here in the mountains. It won’t go anywhere near a major population center.”
“You’re a true humanitarian, Uncle Packard. But it doesn’t matter. The WMD is gone. Thessalonius dumped it in the lake. Like Uncle Gregory just said, be realistic. It’s over.”
“He dumped it in this lake?” said Packard. “Lake Organza?” He turned around to look at Gregory.
Something in the way his two uncles exchanged glances made Charlie uneasy. “Yes?”
Both men turned their backs to him now. They carefully picked their way to the bottom of the rocks. Packard called over his shoulder, “Charlie, did you know the average depth of Lake Organza is a hundred and seventy feet?”
“Um, no. It is? How do you know?”
“Your father commissioned a study some years ago. I had no idea why at the time, but there it is.”
Gregory was already talking to Gagnot. “Abe, send a messenger to Damask. We’ll need a shipwright up here right away. And a team of carpenters. We’re going to build a raft.”
“Two rafts,” said Packard. “It will save time. Get two sets of chains and dredges up here. We’re going to drag the lake.”
“What?” said Charlie. “You can’t drag Lake Organza.”
They ignored him. Gregory looked around the lake. “We’ll fell the timber for the barges here. Send for some axes and set your men to cutting trees.”
“It won’t work,” said Charlie. “Dragging the lake. Thessalonius thought of that, I’m sure.”
“And get some of those things for squaring off logs. What are they called, Packy?”
“Adzes, I think.”
“Right. Get some adzes. Oh, and kill Charlie.”
Gagnot smiled. He dismounted. “You heard the man.” His glance took in a half dozen soldiers. “Behind me.” The other men got off their horses and formed a wedge behind and to the side of Gagnot. They drew their swords. The mounted soldiers shifted their horses to give them room to maneuver.
Packard and Gregory reached the bottom of the heap and separated to get out of Gagnot’s way. Gagnot kept his eyes fixed on Charlie. “On my command,” he said, loudly enough for everyone, and especially Charlie, to hear, “we charge.”