by Simon Hawke
Well, he's ethereal, all right, but he's not like me. At least, I didn't think he was like me, but so far all my friends who've read pieces of this thing have said he's just like me, so maybe you're right, I don't know. I'm just not up to explaining it.
"I see," said Warrick, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "So then Brewster Doc is a projection of you, an avatar, and this device is a gateway to the ethereal planes? Fascinating. So that is why none of my subjects have been able to return. There is no gateway for them on the other side."
Right.
"And this outlaw sorcerer, Brewster Doc, cannot return to his own world unless he possesses this machine?"
Correct.
"Excellent. Now we are getting somewhere. So then, for this machine to work properly, it must not only transport whoever is inside it through the gateway it creates, it must also pass through that gateway itself?"
Now you've got it.
"Of course, it all makes perfect sense," said Warrick. "I simply did not know the secret of its proper operation. So ... what is the secret?"
I'm too tired to argue. First, you've got to get into the machine.
Warrick frowned suspiciously. "And then?"
Well, nothing can happen unless you get into the machine. You have to be inside to work the controls.
"I see," said Warrick. Carefully, he got into the machine and sat in the pilot's seat. "Now what?"
You have to strap yourself in.
Warrick examined the safety restraints carefully, then strapped in. "Very well. What next?"
You see that box in front of you, the one with what looks like a small dark window in it?
"Aye?"
That's the trip computer. You have to set it for time and destination.
"How?"
There's a little red button on the box, see it?
"Aye, I see it."
Press it.
"What will happen when I do?"
The computer will be activated and the window will light up, along with all the instruments. When that happens, you have to set the temporal translocation chronometer for the month, the day, the year, and the time of day.
"And how do I perform this task?"
You use the keyboard.
"What is a keyboard?"
Oh, jeez. This could take forever. Look, let's just do it the easy way. Step by step, the Narrator patiently explained to Warrick how to use the computer keyboard to enter the temporal chronometer settings, as well as the location coordinates. There. That ought to save some tune.
"Very well, now what?" asked Warrick when he was done.
Look to the right of the box. You see a switch with a dial above it?
"Aye."
Push it down.
Warrick clicked the toggle switch down. A high-pitched whine came from the machine.
"What is that noise?" asked Warrick, alarmed.
Just the engine wanning up. Don't worry. It's normal. Now throw the switch right next to it.
As Warrick did so, the Buckminsterfullerine in the torus surrounding the machine began to accelerate. The sound of the whine increased, and over it a rhythmic, whooping, pulsing sound ensued. All the indicators on the instrument panel started registering. Warrick's face lit up with excitement.
" 'Tis working!" he shouted over the noise. "It lives! The machine lives!"
Okay, now you see that lever beside your right knee?
"Aye!"
Watch the indicators on the dials. When the needles start pointing into the red, pull it back.
The noise became deafening. Warrick watched the dials carefully, then pulled the lever back. The whooping whine built to a screaming pitch, then the air around the time machine began to shimmer. Bright blue electrical arcs played all over the surface of the machine as the warp began to open up, then a sonic boom crashed through Warrick's sanctorum and the time machine disappeared.
Heh, heh, heh. Sucker. Mess around with me, will he? Okay, now let's see if we can't get this story back on track. When last we left Brewster and his friends, Mac had captured Teddy, Wamck's little troll familiar, who had made his way to Brewster's keep with an aim to offering his services to the mighty sorcerer of Brigand's Roost. Since Teddy didn't have a proper resume, he did the next best thing. To demonstrate his good intentions, before leaving the Alabaster Tower, he stole some of Warrick's prized magical possessions, which, as Warrick pointed out before when we were so rudely interrupted, were spell warded against theft. (Picky, picky, picky.) However, having been Wamck's familiar for so many years, Teddy had learned the wards, and so before he stole the items, he spoke the spell to take the wards off. So there.
The little satchel Teddy brought with him was called the Bag of Holding, and most of the time it looked and functioned just like an ordinary leather shoulder pouch. However, when one placed his hand upon the bag and recited the proper spell, the bag could release its treasure trove. It was capable of holding a limitless number of items, the only limitation being that whatever was placed into the bag had to fit through its opening.
Now, how could this possibly work, you ask? Well, it was magic. Whatever was placed into the bag temporarily went into another dimension, where it remained until the spell was spoken once again and the item could be retrieved from the bag. You know how sometimes you put your keys down and then you can't find them anywhere, no matter how hard you look, and then they turn up inexplicably in the most obvious place? Well, it's sort of the same principle. This was how the Bag of Holding was capable of containing an elven sword with a thirty-three inch blade.
Now, as Rachel has already revealed, this was no ordinary elven blade. Its pommel was engraved with the figure of the sun, and the entire length of its blade was etched with magical elven runes that identified the sword as Dwarfkabob, the legendary Sword of the Shaman.
"What is the Sword of the Shaman?" Brewster asked. (There, you see? We're, back on track again. I told you, always trust your narrator.)
"Long ago, in the days of the great wars between the. elves and the dwarves, there lived a mighty elven wizard known as the Shaman," Rachel said, beating out an accompanying tattoo on her bongos as she spoke. "He was of no tribe, and he lived all by himself deep in the Redwood Forest, in a small clearing by a brook. The leaders of all the elven tribes went to him for counsel, for in those days, there were many rivalries among the different tribes, and they were hindering the struggle against the dwarves. One day, the Shaman called all the tribal leaders together and he brought out a wondrous sword-this sword-and he called it Dwarfkabob. With this sword, he said, no opponent could prevail against its wielder, for it was enchanted, and the nature of the enchantment was such that it took the skill of the opponent and transferred it to whoever wielded the sword. Each of the elven tribal leaders advanced their claim for it, but the Shaman said the sword would only go to him who could compose the finest poem, because whoever carried Dwarfkabob would be the warlord of the elves, and such an elf needed to display cleverness and wisdom.
"So each of the elven leaders were sent back to their own tribes, to work on composing their poems. In a month's time, they were to return and perform their compositions before the Shaman, to decide who would win the right to own the blade. Each tribe wanted their leader to win the sword, so they all participated in the composition of the poems. One elf would contribute a phrase, another would alter it and make it better, still another would follow it with a rhyme, and so forth, until over the course of the month, these poems had been written and rewritten and rewritten, until each tribe was certain they had attained the finest composition possible. And at the end of the month, when the moon was full, they all gathered together to meet with the Shaman and perform their poems to see who would win the sword.
"It was the largest convocation of elves the world had ever seen. All the tribes were present to support their leaders, from the oldest members of each tribe down to the youngest child. And the Shaman listened gravely and attentively as each tribal leader stepped forth in turn an
d performed his composition, which was in fact the composition of the entire tribe. From this convocation came the tradition of elven poetry, which has continued to this day, and each year, at the time of the Summer Solstice, the elven tribes gather once again to perform their compositions and choose which is the best. So it has been, ever since that day."
Rachel finished with a flourish on the bongos, and the others waited, expecting her to go on. The silence stretched. Shannon glanced at Mac and frowned. Mac raised his eyebrows. Mick scratched his head. And finally, Brewster asked, "So ... who won the sword?"
"Oh," said Rachel. Then she shrugged. "No one won it."
"What do you mean, no one wpn it?" Shannon said.
"How could that be?" asked Mac. "Was that not the point of the entire convocation?"
"Aye, 'twas," said Rachel. "But while everyone was gathered around the great bonfire, listening to the compositions, someone stole the sword. And it has never since been seen, until today."
"You mean, it's been lost all this time?" asked Brewster.
"Aye," said Rachel.
"But how did Warrick come into possession of it?" Shannon asked, picking up the sword and turning toward Teddy.
"He purchased it from a notorious dealer in stolen talismans in Pitt," said Teddy. "The dealer told him he was sure 'twas enchanted, but as he could not read the elven runes, he was unable to discern the nature of its magic. So Warrick bought the sword from him and set about looking for someone to translate the inscription. Only when he found someone to translate it, it turned out that the inscription was a riddle which Warrick was never able to solve."
Rachel chuckled.
"What's so funny?" Shannon asked.
"There never was any riddle to solve," Rachel replied. "The inscription tells nothing at all about the nature of the blade's enchantment. The Shaman was a very spiritual elf, who loved poetry and found it everywhere in the world around him. The inscription on the blade is merely a testament to that."
"What does it say?" asked Brewster.
"The words of the inscription are, 'I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree,'" said Rachel.
Brewster shut his eyes. "I had to ask," he said.
"The point is that even if Warrick knew the secret of the blade's enchantment, it would have done him no good," said Rachel.
"Why not?" asked Shannon.
Rachel shrugged. "It only works for elves."
"Well, in that case," Shannon said, handing the sword to Rachel, "let's try it out."
"Oh, no," said Rachel, shaking her head. "I couldn't."
"Mac," said Shannon. "Draw your sword."
"Against her?" said Mac, with astonishment.
"I want to see if the story of this enchantment is true," said Shannon.
"But... I am no fighter," Rachel protested. "I cannot even use a sword!"
"All the better," Shannon said. "That will make it a fitting test. Mac... engage her."
Mac sighed. "As you wish, my love." He drew his blade and smiled. "Fear not, I shall not hurt you."
Swallowing heavily, Rachel drew the sword. With a condescending little smile, Mac took a fighting stance. Rachel nervously did her best to copy him. But as soon as their blades touched, Rachel suddenly underwent a transformation. She drew herself up, standing more erect, and shifted her fighting stance, holding the blade with confidence. And as they engaged, her blade whipped around so quickly that no one was able to see exactly how she did it, but in the next instant, Mac's sword was flying across the room.
Both their jaws dropped simultaneously.
" 'Strewth!" said Mac, with amazement.
"I did that?" Rachel asked, wide-eyed.
" 'Twas my father's own technique for disarming an opponent!" Mac said. "He taught it to me when I was but a lad!"
"Interesting," said Shannon. "And you say the magic only works for elves?"
Pikestaff Pat ran to pick up the sword and return it to Mac.
" 'Tis what the story says," Rachel replied.
"Pity," Shannon said. "Mac, let Pat try."
Pikestaff Pat took the blade and hefted it experimentally, nodding with satisfaction at its balance. He took a fighting stance facing Mac. They engaged, and though Pat was a competent swordsman, he was not even remotely in Mac's class and it only took moments for Mac to disarm him and have his swordpoint at Pat's throat.
"Well, the legend appears to be true," said Shannon. "I suppose that means the sword should go to Rachel, since she is the only elf among us."
"To me?" said Rachel, with disbelief.
"I guess that makes you the warlord of the elves," said Brewster with a smile. "Good thing we're friends."
Shannon pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Hmmm. I wonder. How do you suppose the elven tribes will react when they learn that Dwarfkabob has been found once again?"
"You mean, would they follow Rachel and support Brigantium?" said Mac. He grinned. "Well, if they do, then 'twould make us the first kingdom with elves among our army."
"But we don't even have an army yet," said Brewster.
Shannon took the elven sword and handed it to Rachel, who stared at it with awe. "Not yet," she said with a smile. "But this could make a good beginning." She turned to Teddy. "What else is in the Bag of Holding?"
"Warrick's Cloak of Darkness," Teddy said.
"You mean this?" said Mac, pulling out a long, black hooded cloak. "It looks like a perfectly ordinary cloak. What's so special about it?"
"Put it on," said Teddy.
Mac shrugged and slipped into the cloak. And promptly vanished from everybody's sight.
"Well, now what happens?" he said.
"Good Lord!" said Brewster.
"What?" said Mac. "What are you all staring at?"
"Mac," said Shannon, "you have become invisible!"
Mac raised his hand in front of his face, though of course, the others couldn't see that. "But I can see myself perfectly well."
"Aye, but we can't see you!" said Mick.
"Really?" Mac said. A moment later, Shannon cried out and jumped, spinning around as Mac came up behind her and gave her a pinch. She looked all around, but couldn't see any sign of him. "Mac! Stop that! Where are you?"
"Right in front of you, my love," he said, and there was a smacking noise as he kissed her on the lips.
Shannon reached out quickly and snatched the black cloak seemingly out of thin air, pulling it off Mac and revealing him.
"Well, now that's what I call a useful item of apparel," Mac said. "But whoever wears it will have to be quick on his feet, to make sure it is not snatched away from him like that."
"You see?" said Teddy. "You think Warrick would have parted with such items willingly, merely to make you believe I was sincere in wishing to join you?"
" 'Tis possible," said Shannon, with a frown, "but I rather doubt it. Does the bag contain anything else?"
Teddy shrugged. "I do not know, Mistress. I only placed the sword and the cloak inside it. But there is no telling what else might be hidden within. The Bag of Holding can contain many, many things."
"We should explore the contents of this bag," said Shannon. "Pat, Mick, see what else it holds. Meanwhile, troll, I am not yet completely satisfied that you are earnest in your intentions."
"But what more could I do, Mistress, to convince you?" Teddy asked anxiously.
"You could tell us of Warrick's plans, for a start," she said.
"How much does he know about us, and what does he intend?"
And as Mick and Pat explored the contents of the Bag of Holding, Teddy told Shannon and the others everything he knew. He told them about Brewster's time machine, and how Warrick was obsessed with learning the secret of its proper operation. He told them of Warrick's concern about the "outlaw sorcerer" of Brigand's Roost, and of how Warrick had convinced the royal sheriff to draw up a comprehensive list of new repressive edicts, the better to keep the dungeons stocked with "volunteers" for his experiments.
He told the
m of Black Jack's arrival in Pittsburgh, and of how the villainous mercenary had reported everything he'd learned to Warrick. Black Jack had apparently recovered from being shot by Brewster, and he had told Warrick how the sorcerer known as Brewster Doc commanded a dragon and threw thunderbolts, which was apparently how he had interpreted his gunshot wound. He also told Warrick that Brewster Doc was now allied with the infamous Black Shannon and her brigands, and that Mac had betrayed him and gone over to the opposition. The only thing Teddy failed to mention was the "voice in the ether," the demonic spirit from the ethereal planes that Warrick called "the Narrator," for while Teddy had never actually seen or heard this disembodied spirit, he had felt his power and was afraid to tempt fate by mentioning him. And finally, he gave them the most alarming news of all, though it was not entirely unexpected.
"Warrick has also told King Billy that 'tis Brewster Doc who is responsible for the recent unrest in Pittsburgh," Teddy said. "Between him and Sheriff Waylon, they have the king convinced that the outlaw sorcerer of Brigand's Roost has sent secret agitators into Pittsburgh, so that while he undermines Pitt's trade on one hand, he seeks to foster revolution on the other. Now King Billy is a decent sort, but he isn't very bright, while his brother, the sheriff, is crafty and ambitious, a fitting minion for Warrick. Between them, they have convinced King Billy that the only way to prevent a revolution is to muster an army to defend the kingdom and attack the outlaw sorcerer before he grows too powerful. To that end, Lord Kelvin, Grand Marshal of the Army of Pitt, has begun recruiting more soldiers and mercenaries to bolster the strength of King Billy's troops. And Warrick has petitioned the Sorcerers and Adepts Guild, in his post as Grand Director, to lend aid and sanction to this enterprise."
Shannon glanced at Brewster, Mac, and Harlan. "Brian was right," she said. "There shall be war."
"Only they will be expecting a motley bunch of brigands and some peasants armed with pitchforks, not an army," Mac said. "That means there is no time to lose. We must declare ourselves a sovereign state and set about raising troops at once. I will see to it that announcements are made throughout Brigand's Roost, Keep Village, and the Tent City that every able-bodied man who wishes employment is urged to join the Army of Brigantium."