by Garon Whited
When he finally stepped back—angry, frustrated, sweating, and exhausted—I said loudly, “I yield.”
He didn’t have the breath to accept; he just nodded and leaned on his stick. There was hatred in his eyes; he couldn’t even touch me and he knew it. Everybody in the crowd knew it, too. There were catcalls and jeers.
The baron, not entirely pleased but happy enough, packed up and headed back home. Lothen did the same—albeit in a much nastier mood—and headed for the local church.
And I? I went to the glassblower to see about another piece of work.
A lens is a tough thing to do well. Even a simple magnifying lens isn’t easy, at least not at this level of technology. Much, much simpler is a round lump of glass. Ten minutes after I walked into the glassblowers, I had a ball about the size of my fist. I let him get back to his other work and I got back to my workroom.
I had already built a spell to protect myself from being magically located. After my week in wizard school, I realize the spell I kludged together is actually pretty inefficient. It’s a lot more power-intensive than it needs to be; if I were to re-do it now, it would take a lot less power and time. But it is also about as simple and fundamental as it gets.
Why not use magic and try to track Shada down? After all, I’m a wizard. It’s the sort of thing we do. It’s my spell that’s keeping her from being found; I should be able to bypass it. And Jon had gone over the particulars with me, so it shouldn’t be too difficult. In theory.
Jon liked using a mirror; I could see his point. He had a nice mirror, too. It was about four feet high and two wide, very clear. But the disadvantage of a mirror is it’s just a window to wherever you are looking. You can’t look around with it, just through it. A ball, on the other hand, can be walked around. That allows the user to look at the target and at the scenery on all sides.
Unfortunately, a lump of glass is pretty blurry. I cheated. I enspelled it a couple times; one to hold it midair—it was light enough to not strain my brain—and another to heat it up to melting again. Surface tension pulled it into a perfect sphere and I held it there while it cooled.
Not too useful for making most lenses, I admit; that’s more of a grind-and-polish job. But for a simple globe? Piece of cake.
After it cooled, I set it in the middle of a table and started work. Shada, fortunately, had various things lying about that belonged to her, thus helping set up the sympathetic link. I also know her pretty well, so that was easy. I “reached” out for her, specifically for her, and waited.
It’s kind of like radar, or ripples in a fog-shrouded pond.
I drop a rock in a pond. Ripples spread outward. When a ripple starts to come back from somewhere, I know where to look. But it’s more than that. Once I know where to look—or have a target lock, as I think of it—I can focus my attention there and burn away the fog between.
Taa-daa! Instant image in the glass.
Of course, the farther away it is, the bigger the rock—or the more powerful the spell—I have to use. And the less precisely I identify what I’m looking for, the more false positives I get. I could look for “all women” and get a thousand echoes back in short order; it would take a long time to search through them all. Or I could look for “all dark-haired women” and get fewer results. Or “all dark-haired women, about five-foot-six, with dark eyes,” which would narrow the search even more.
Jon described, without demonstrating, an alternative method. It was more like astral projection than scrying. You locate a place in your crystal, mirror, pool of water, whatever. Then you step out of your body and into the image, and your spirit is there! You can look around, walk through solid objects, go over a hill, whatever you like, just as if you were walking around, intangibly and invisibly.
It’s incredibly useful. You can explore places you’ve never seen just by sending your spirit to the closest place you know and walking. Taking too long to get there? Take a good look around, then step back through your focus and into your body! Now start afresh tomorrow where you left off!
Not sure what’s in the ruined castle? No problem! Project through your crystal to the door, then walk inside! Wander around. Whoops! A ghost! Step back through your focus—it follows you around; a blurry patch into which your silver cord vanishes—and you’re back in your body again.
It’s incredibly risky. If something happens to your astral self—say, that hypothetical ghost smacks you—your body will feel it. And if something happens to your body… well, you aren’t actually in there. How do you know anything is happening to your body? You are out. For all you know, you’ll come back to find that there are small animals munching on your toes! And worst of all is if something happens to your focus. It’s bad. Your astral link to your body is going through a magical interface; if the interface fails, the cord snaps, and your spirit dissolves into the ether. Your body just lies there, a mindless vegetable, and eventually dies.
I’m rather attached to my skin. I’ll scry. It takes a lot more effort and time and it’s only good for people or places that you know, but I’m chicken.
In this manner, I sought Shada. And I found her.
I caught the baron between visitors and offered to let him see what Davad had taught me if we could talk. He agreed. We fought with wooden swords and, while I didn’t manage to hit him, he didn’t touch me, either; I was pretty defensive. We spoke during our match; it’s not hard. Your eyes and hands just do it, or you’re dead.
“Baron?” I asked, parrying wildly and corkscrewing the point around to go for a disarm.
“Yes?” he replied, stepping back and slashing at me.
“If someone is taken by the Hand, what recourse might one have to get them released?”
“Nothing. Oh, I suppose the King might order their release, but it is really an ecclesiastical matter.”
“So Church law is all that matters if the Hand accuses someone?”
“Quite so.”
“If I spoke to Ander… ?”
“He is a priest, but not an inquisitor of the Hand,” the baron replied, working a bit to keep off a heavy attack. “He has not the authority.”
“Who does?” I asked, suddenly backing up as he counterattacked.
“That would be Tobias, the Cardinal of Telen; he is in charge of the Hand. Or his superior, Javar, Light of the World. But they would not; the Hand is their instrument.”
I stepped back and lowered my practice sword. “I see. Thank you.”
The baron lowered his own weapon, watching me. “You… who is it that… ?”
“Shada.”
The baron’s face darkened, slightly. “You are certain?”
“Yes.” We handed our practice weapons to Bhota and the baron gestured me toward a pitcher. I poured; we drank in silence for a moment.
“What will you do?” he asked, quietly.
“Learn about war.”
He looked at me for a long minute, maybe trying to decide something. He nodded, finally. “I think you will. Good fortune. And if I cannot say it later, goodbye.”
When I finished talking with Keldun, I swung into the saddle outside his house. We had talked for quite some time and made arrangements for my abrupt departure—hopefully with Shada.
“You will take care of everything at the docks?” I asked.
“You may depend upon it,” he replied, bowing. “It will be my great honor.”
“Thank you, Keldun.”
“Thank you. My prayers and Geva’s will go with you.”
I’m not sure I appreciate that, but he meant well. I guess I should have asked who they’d be praying to.
I rode up to the front steps of the local temple on Bronze. The front of the building reminds me of major government buildings—or ancient Greek temples. Wide, wide steps, shallow and long, about a dozen. Big columns out front. Big doors, too; three sets of double doors. The front face of the building has a bas-relief, apparently of God. It’s a big, muscular male, arms spread wide, with a blank spot for a
face that has carved rays of light shooting out in all directions. Very impressive.
A blank spot can’t watch me. Can it?
If it had any idea of what I was about to do… maybe.
I was in a hurry. A fast getaway struck me as a sound idea; beyond the Eastrange, we should have some breathing space. I wished, not for the first time, that I’d managed to work out a spell for flying. There’s only so much that low-gravity jumping will do for you. But you use what you’ve got.
I left Bronze outside as a reserve. It’s impolite to go barging into someone’s place on horseback; if this could be done politely, then fine. If not… well, that would have to be fine, too, wouldn’t it? I had Firebrand on my left hip, my dagger on my right, a pair of pistols in shoulder holsters under my jacket, and a stout oaken staff in hand. Did I mention I had my bulletproof vest on? No? You bet I did. I’ve treated it like an American Express card: I don’t leave home without it.
Can you tell I was nervous?
So I walked into the metaphorical lions’ den, yea, with sword and pistol to comfort me. It helped. Inside, I found an acolyte, asked for Ander, waited patiently and tried not to fidget. I took a good look around to try and distract myself.
Rows upon rows of benches, with aisles down both sides and the middle. There were doors in either wall, presumably to monks’ cells, or offices, or quarters, or something. At the far end of the church—the central area was much longer than it was wide, by the way—was an altar and a statue. That whole section of the room was built up, three steps—maybe two feet. The altar was a businesslike affair, large enough for an ox, and with braziers at either hand for juicy bits.
The statue was three stories tall, apparently done in the same theme as the carving on the front of the building. It was a man, big, heavy, and muscled. But it had no head; instead, it had a sort of fish-eye mirror, like the security mirrors in stores. It looked like brass and it hung over the statue. There was a fire pit in the statue’s torso to illuminate this area via the mirror. Nice effect. I was in no shape to appreciate it other than to note it looked rather like a giant, flaming eye, staring at me. It made me even more nervous.
Ander came toward me, looking concerned.
“Halar, what is wrong? You seem troubled.”
“Can we talk, Ander?” I asked, trying to keep cool.
“Of course! But you are wearing weapons within—”
“Yes, I am, and I apologize. But I am in a terrible rush.”
“As you will, then. This way.” He led me to one side, through a side door, then down a hallway to his chamber. I had expected his office again, but this would do fine.
As the ranking priest in this church, I expected him to have some above-average quarters. He didn’t. Just a simple fifteen-by-fifteen room for his personal chamber. I noticed it was spotless, too. Acolytes with scrub brushes? Maybe… but I wouldn’t count on it. He did have more priestly robes than one might expect, but, hey, he’s the High Priest. Doubtless there are special vestments for every sort of ceremony.
He gestured me toward a chair—it looked a lot more comfortable than it was, and that wasn’t very—and seated himself in its twin. The chair-making art leaves a lot to be desired around here.
“What troubles you, Halar?”
“To get right to the point, I need to see Shada.”
“I am sorry, but I am afraid that cannot be,” he replied, sounding pained. He didn’t seem surprised I knew.
“And why would that be the case?”
“She is being put to the question, Halar.”
“I know. Why?”
Ander hesitated. “In truth, I do not know why. I have not communed in prayer with my superiors. I know only that she stands accused of consorting with demons, blasphemy, and of allying herself with creatures of darkness. Doubtless the inquisitors have been guided by their faith to bring her to this place and cleanse her soul.”
Right. And someone, somehow, found out she was part of a gata, or that she was near a nightlord, or just wanted to have leverage on the local wizard before moving on Baret… It didn’t matter why.
I took several deep breaths. “And in what manner will her soul be scrubbed clean?”
“The pain of her flesh will redeem her spirit,” he replied, looking ill.
I stared at him. “You believe that, don’t you?”
“I… it does not matter. It has been revealed to wiser men than I that this must be done to cleanse a burdened, sinning soul—”
“How do you know they’re wiser?” I asked.
He blinked at me. “Beg pardon?”
“How do you know that the people who handed down this decree or policy or whatever it is—how do you know they’re wiser?”
“Why… why, because they are the leaders of the Church.”
“So the Church says this is how it’s supposed to happen?”
Ander lowered his eyes. “Yes,” he said. He sounded miserable.
“And you are a faithful, honest man, loyal to your Church?”
He looked at me, and there was a grim determination in his gaze. It hurt him to know a woman was being tortured, but he had faith it was the right thing to do—and was willing to endure his own pain for the greater good. I have to respect that.
“I am.”
I nodded. “I know you are, Ander. Now I have a hard question.”
“Ask it.”
“How do you know the Church leaders are listening to God? What if God is telling you something that doesn’t match up with what they are telling you?”
Ander was silent for a long minute. He looked like a man struggling with an idea he didn’t want to have. I let him think for a little bit and finally pushed on.
“Look, I’m sorry to have to bring this up, but where is this inquisition taking place?”
“We have a chamber underground so that the worship might not be… disturbed.”
“By the screaming?”
He nodded.
“Suppose I wanted to talk to the inquisitor—that would be Lothen, I take it?”
“Yes.”
“How would I get there?”
“There is a portal behind the statue. But they will not see you until this evening. They will question her all day today.”
“Uh-huh. I noticed that Shada went missing, at least to me, about the same time that Lothen arrived. How did he even know she was here? Come to that, how did he arrive so quickly?”
“As I said, the power of our faith guides our works. He was on his way well before I brought the matter of the devourer to the attention of the Church.”
“Right. You mentioned communing in prayer with your superiors?”
“I pray and they hear my words. Yes.”
“Could they grant clemency?”
Ander stared at me. “But what for, friend Halar? If she is impure, surely she must be purified?”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” I stood up and sighed, leaning on my staff. He stood up with me, looking concerned.
“Halar, I do not wish you to be distraught. It is only her flesh that suffers; her soul is burned clean by those agonies.” He sounded almost sure. Like he was sure in his head, but not his heart. I know the tone, mainly because I’ve heard it in my own voice way too often.
“I don’t doubt that you believe that, Ander. You may even be right. But I don’t think she’s willing.”
He sounded pained. “I know. But what can I do? I am bound by the strictures of the Church.”
“Well, I guess that means I’m going to have to do something I don’t want to. And I want to make sure you know, in advance, I bitterly regret having to. I hope, someday, you will forgive me, because I like you.”
“What—” he began, and I hit him in the groin with my staff. His eyes bugged out and he made an odd little peeping noise. I hit him in the back of the head and laid him out on the floor, then tied him up with a couple of his own belts. They weren’t the best restraints, but he wasn’t too feisty, either. He could proba
bly squirm his way out of the bonds in a few minutes, once he started moving again. Hopefully it would be long enough.
Deep breaths. Too late to back out now. But now that I was about to go out and bluff for as long as I could… and then do whatever came to hand… I was nervous.
I was scared, but I couldn’t have done anything else. I’ve lost too much in recent months to even consider losing Shada. First, Terri. Then Sasha. My old life. My job, my students, my career. Change may be inevitable, but it could go a little slower. I didn’t feel willing to let someone take Shada out of my life. Besides… I like her. I like her a lot.
Still, I was scared. The church didn’t have a lot of armed men. Who attacks a church? It was the Hand compound that was heavily armed. This was just a large church. What did I have to worry about?
Mundane stuff included the town watch, the guards Lothen brought with him—a man like that doesn’t go anywhere without personal bullies—and rioting mobs. Then there was the whole works-of-faith thing; I don’t understand that, and it makes me nervous.
How long ago?—a couple of months?—I would never have even considered this. Under other circumstances, I would be feeling out a new freshman class, learning their names, grading papers, maybe setting up new student user accounts on the network or starting them on the Big Five motion equations… I might even be helping out with the thermogoddamics class; someone always needs tutoring.
It seems so long ago. I miss it.
I left the room and closed the door behind me. I walked quickly to the main area and headed for the statue. I got some odd looks from people at prayer and several lesser priests—I was still armed—but nobody really got unfriendly until I went up on the raised area and cut behind the statue. Someone called to me, but I ignored him.
Behind the statue there was a space about ten feet wide. Two doors greeted me; one was in the base of the statue, the other in the wall. I tried the one in the wall; it led outside onto a large, open court. There were people passing by on the surrounding streets. I opened the one in the base of the statue; it revealed steps down.