The God-Stone War m-4

by Michael G. Manning

  Chapter 7

  My first impulse was to call him a damn liar, but his eyes had already told me the truth. My second impulse was to laugh and lie to myself. Surely he was mistaken. “You’re full of horseshit.” I included a sickly smile and a poorly executed laugh with my declaration. It sounded pathetic even to my own ears.

  “I haven’t felt well for a long while now. I couldn’t be sure at first, but I’ve done a lot of research into this…,” he started, but I interrupted.

  “Research?” I mocked. “You’re no physician, and you haven’t the first idea what might be wrong.”

  He drew a patient breath, “I have a very good idea what is wrong. Let me finish.”

  I sat back and glared at him. “Alright, I’m all ears. Let’s hear your diagnosis.” Even as I spoke, I was refocusing my senses, searching within him for any sign that something might be wrong. Given my anger, I wasn’t at my best, but I could easily rule out any major problems immediately. His heartbeat was steady, respiration normal, all of his innards were in their proper places and there were no large abnormalities, like growths or tumors. I couldn’t be entirely sure though. It would take at least ten or fifteen minutes, and a calm mind, before I could dismiss the possibility of more subtle problems. Even then I could never be perfectly certain. One thing that did bother me however, was his vitality, his aythar itself; it was noticeably dimmer than that of most normal people.

  “It’s called the ‘grey wasting’,” he said carefully.

  I narrowed my eyes, “Did you invent the name yourself?”

  My needling finally roused his ire. “Would you stop acting an ass and listen to me!?”

  He was right. Taking a deep breath, I answered, “Alright, tell me what makes you think you’re dying.”

  “I didn’t have any specific symptoms at first, just a general malaise. There was never anything specific I could point to as the source. I thought perhaps it was just a normal part of getting older.”

  I suppressed a laugh. We were only twenty seven, so I wondered how long that theory had lasted.

  He went on, “While she was searching through the archives, Marissa came across a physician’s textbook that documented a case similar to mine. The physician was a priest of Karenth, and his case revolved around a fellow priest, a man who had once been ‘chosen’ by their god, much as I was by Millicenth. On this occasion, the chosen vessel had been occupied by his god for over ten years before Karenth decided that he was no longer needed. In effect the priest was retired from his direct service to the god. Unlike me, he was not declared a heretic and cast out; he simply was no longer needed.” Marc paused and took a long sip of his wine before continuing.

  “He died a year later at the age of forty two. His friend and physician carefully documented his decline. No cause was ever found. The priest simply grew weaker until one day his heart no longer had the strength to continue beating.”

  I broke in as he paused, “It has been almost eight years since you and Millicenth parted ways, and that is beside the fact that your story shows no definite connection between the god leaving him and his eventual demise.”

  Marc lifted one eyebrow and I knew he must have more. “True, by itself that story would be nothing more than an isolated anecdote, but after his friend’s death the physician began researching similar cases.”

  “What was this physician’s name?” I asked.

  “Thomas of Cantley,” Marc replied, “not that it matters.”

  I didn’t know much about medical history and the name didn’t stir any memories, so I nodded for him to continue.

  Marc began again, “He found three cases of similar circumstances over the previous century, and going even further back he found many more, though they were too remote for him to get much in the way of firm information. Eventually he named the condition kaltrin atrophie, which were simply his words for ‘grey wasting’.”

  I drained my glass and stood up to pour another from the bottle. I picked up Marc’s glass and topped it off without waiting for him to ask. Turning back I addressed him, “In spite of all that… it has still been nearly eight years, and yet you are still among the living, my friend.”

  His face took on a sad smile. “One of the cases he documented lasted almost ten years. It bore a striking similarity to mine. The ‘host’ had only been blessed by the god… in this case Celior, for a period of a few weeks before he was cast aside. In fact, in most cases there was a direct relation between the length of time the person had hosted their deity, and how quickly they died.”

  Despite my strong urge to rail at him, to deny his argument, I could not help but feel the resonance of truth within his words. As I suppressed my emotions we locked eyes; and in that moment, I saw the degree of his conviction. We had been friends since a very young age, and we sometimes communicated more in a glance than an hour long discussion. He had been studying this for a while, trying to find a way to dismiss what he had found. He had already gone over all the arguments I might present.

  “None of those men who died before had a friend that was an archmage,” I stated simply.

  “Several had friends who were wizards,” he replied, “and one of them went so far as to form the bond with the man that was dying.”

  That surprised me. “Why?”

  Marc raised his glass and took a slow sip. “It was a case not long after the Sundering and the man that had been put aside by his god was close friends with a wizard named Samuel Mordan. Apparently, they developed a strong kinship during the war against Balinthor and the shiggreth. Samuel was a notable healer, and his theory was that while the god had occupied his friend, it had somehow damaged what he called the ‘wellspring of vitality’.”

  “I can only assume you mean his body’s means of producing aythar,” I commented. All living beings produced aythar in varying degrees. It was also the main reason Moira Centyr’s living shadow was slowly fading, if indeed she still existed at all. When the original Moira had created her copy, she had given it a fixed amount of aythar and over time it had dwindled. When I had first met her, I had unwittingly provided the ‘source’ she needed in order to manifest; she had already become too weak to act on her own.

  Marc nodded. “If what Samuel, and later Thomas of Cantley, had theorized was correct, the occupation of a living human body somehow damaged the aythar source of the human occupied. Over time, depending upon how severe the damage, the person would gradually weaken as they used up their remaining aythar and were unable to replenish it.”

  Now I understood the reason Samuel Mordan had formed a bond with his friend. A wizard and his Anath’Meridum shared their aythar through the bond. Samuel had hoped that the bond might provide the vitality his friend needed to survive. “So what happened with Samuel and his friend after they formed the bond?”

  Marc’s eyes bored into my own. “They both died a few weeks later.”

  “I have a better idea,” I began, but he stopped me before I could finish.

  “It isn’t your decision, Mort.”

  I waved my hands dismissively, “I won’t risk myself. Listen, I’ll create a bond with the earth. That will provide more aythar and even if it fails, no one else gets hurt. There’s no reason not to try at least. Hell, I might be able to repair the part of you that generates your aythar. That Samuel person you spoke of was only a wizard. I can go deeper. If I enter your body, as I did with Penny, it might be possible for…”

  “No.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Marc lowered his head a bit, as if speaking to a child. “You damn well ‘do’ understand,” he said, emphasizing the word ‘do’.

  “You’re worried I’ll get myself killed?” I suggested.

  “No. You should know well enough that I respect your freedom to do stupid things and get yourself killed if you want to, even though you have a family and children and a hundred other reasons not to take idiot chances with your own life,” he answered.

  For a second, his rebuttal s
truck my funny bone and I laughed. “Now you have me wondering at the wisdom of all my past choices.”

  He smiled. “You’re the biggest fool I’ve ever known, aside from myself. I know you would do anything to fix this, but I’m still not going to let you experiment on me.”

  “Why?”

  “You remember our promise?” he asked suddenly.

  I knew exactly what he was referring to… a promise I had forced him to make with me years ago, when he was first struggling to deal with the loss of his goddess. I had made him swear never to take his own life, unless he enlisted my aid. “I thought perhaps you were past that. What about Marissa?”

  His face hardened when I mentioned his wife. “I love her Mort. More now than ever, but I can’t change this. The pain is still there. I’ve struggled with it every day, and if it weren’t for her, I doubt I would have made it this far.”

  “She’ll be devastated without you.”

  “She deserves better than I can give her. I can’t even give her children.”

  Something clicked into place as he said that. “That’s why you’re moving to Agraden, her family is there,” I observed.

  “She’ll need them,” he said, “afterward… She’s still young Mordecai. She can still have children if she doesn’t wait too long.”

  I glared at him while tears formed in my eyes. “Perhaps you should ask her that. I suspect she’d have a few opinions on that topic you might want to consider! In fact, maybe I should ask her myself.”

  Marc didn’t bother trying to stop me, for I never rose from my seat. He simply said, “Don’t.”

  I growled at him from between clenched teeth, an inarticulate sound without words, a mixture of tears and frustration.

  He stood and crossed over to stand before me. “You promised to help, no matter what I chose. You can’t stop this, so help me make this easier for her.”

  I rose and hugged him, hard, and then I answered, “What do you need me to do? It sounds as if you’ve already got everything figured out.”

  “When the girls come back, they’ll want to know why you’re crying. We’ll tell them we spoke about your father. Later I want you to support my decision to move to Agraden… for research into the Gaelyn family. I’ll also need your help with finances. Relocating probably won’t be cheap,” he told me softly.

  I pushed him away. “I’ll help you with the finances, but I haven’t given up hope yet.”

  He laughed, remembering the joke he and Dorian had made of Penny and me years ago, and then he hugged me again. “You’ve already been a better friend than I ever deserved. Let me do this my way,” he answered in a voice thick with sorrow.

  Penny returned after a few minutes, but I had dry eyes by then, so we didn’t have to resort to Marc’s excuse. That was probably a good thing… I’d never had much luck lying to Penny.

  Chapter 8

  The next day I planned to check on the work at the World Road. Most of my work on the actual project was already completed. The runes for the great gates had all been carefully laid and etched into the stone, but I still needed to make sure that the rest of the design was completed properly, before the enchantments could be activated. My best estimate was that the massive construction project would take another year or two to complete all the stonework involved in the design.

  Most of that stonework had little to do with the magic itself, but was purely for control and defense purposes. Once the gates had been activated, the World Road would connect even the farthest portions of Lothion, allowing farmers and merchants to get from any part of the nation to its capital, with no more than a couple of days travel at most. It would also allow the king to move troops rapidly to any place in the kingdom that might be threatened.

  The World Road itself was actually being built underground in a shape similar to a wagon wheel. The hub at its center was the fortress that the Traveler’s Pinnacle was built upon. Circling that fortress was the main road itself, with a circumference of nearly a mile and two thirds. The road bed was built upon dressed stone laid some fifty feet below the surface. To create it, we had excavated a massive trench before laying the base of the road directly upon the bedrock and building the walls of dressed stone. The ceiling was built of massive monoliths that stretched twenty foot across, from one side to the next.

  Once it was completed, the entire thing would be covered over again with earth. Hopefully, there would be little sign above ground of where the actual road lay, aside from the fortress at its center. There were two roads that led from either side of the circle to enter the fortress itself, and massive iron portcullises and oaken gates protected the entry ways to it. More portcullises subdivided the road after it entered the fortress. Several others were planned along the main outer road as well, to control the traffic there if an invader ever sought to use it to invade Lothion.

  Along the outer circumference of the World Road, were the magical gates that everything else had been built to protect and manage. Each of these massive gates would, when finished, permanently connect to a similar gate near the various cities of Lothion. Those gate destinations would each be protected by a modest fortress, not to mention the other more basic ‘structural’ defenses I had built into the design.

  More interesting, to my mind at least, were the wider possibilities. The structure we were building had room for twenty three gates eventually, but only seven had been designated for locations in Lothion. Someday, given stable enough political and economic conditions, we might open gates to key locations within other nations, such as Gododdin or Dunbar, or possibly even to small city-states like Agraden.

  Having seen the effects of easier trade and transportation upon Washbrook and the Cameron lands, I could only imagine what the implications of a larger system of full time gateways might be. My hope and dream was that it would prove to be one of the greatest boons to the economy of, not just Lothion, but all nations. The world of men had been a place of wonders before the Sundering. A world of prosperity, one in which magic was common, and many of the ills of the present were easily handled. The World Road would be a grand step to returning mankind to those days.

  Today was almost my first day with George, Walter Prathion’s son, as my miellte. At eighteen years of age, he was a tall young man with a slender build and light brown hair. Over the past few years I had spent some amount of time helping him to learn the careful use of his abilities, but I still had my doubts about whether he would be very useful as a miellte. The task required patience and observation… in spite of the fact that it was incredibly boring. Even I could admit that. Following me around all day and keeping an eye on my mental state was a tedious job for anyone. Hell, I didn’t even like trying to keep up with my mental state.

  Though I hated to admit it, that was one thing about Elaine that made her better suited for the job. Her infatuation with me made it much easier to spend a large portion of her time watching my mental condition. Even so, George was a quiet lad and he hadn’t shown too much in the way of youthful recklessness yet. I was quite sure that in his place, and at his age, I would have been a poor fit for the job.

  George was trying to inconspicuously pick his nose when I spoke to get his attention. “George, are you sure you want to spend all day following me around?”

  He glanced up before answering, with a face almost devoid of expression, “Nope.”

  His honesty caught me off guard. The boy had a combination of frank honesty and sarcasm that, when mixed together, often left people puzzled. I didn’t mind though. I had been an arrogant young man myself once. Most would say I wasn’t too far from it even now. “Glad to hear it,” I responded with a grin. “I feel much the same way.”

  His lip twitched into an almost awkward smile, which I took to be a good sign. Without further ado, we took the teleportation circles, and soon we were standing once again in the Traveler’s Pinnacle. I led him up the stairs to take in the view from the highest balcony. Before we reached the top I sensed the presence of another pe
rson, a guard or messenger at a guess, based on his clothing. Stepping out, we saw the man standing near the edge, taking in the view. He turned back as he heard us on the stairs.

  “Your Excellency, I have a message for you from the King,” he told us, adding a deep bow of respect.

  I gave George a sideways glance before answering, “The balcony is rather an odd place to send a messenger.”

  The messenger blushed with embarrassment. “I was told to wait for you at the teleportation circle, mi’lord, but I could not resist the urge to look out from the pinnacle.”

  “No harm done. Anytime I use that circle it is because I am coming up here for a look, so you might as well wait here. The view is certainly a cure for boredom,” I said with a smile. “How long have you been waiting?”

  “Since daybreak, mi’lord.”

  “Give me your message then,” I told him. Dawn had been three hours ago.

  He straightened as he performed his duty. “The King requests your presence at your earliest convenience. Being aware that you might not check the message box until late in the day, he sent me and several others to wait at circles you might use, to deliver that message to you as quickly as possible.”

  Technically, the King of Lothion didn’t have to ‘request’ anything. Given our long relationship and the fact that I had played kingmaker in setting James on the throne however, he tended to be very polite when it came to ordering me about. Still, his reason must be fairly urgent if he hadn’t wanted to wait until I checked the message boxes this evening. I walked over to the stone wall and looked out between the merlons. “Come enjoy the view with me for a moment, and then you can take the circles back to the palace with me. I’m sure you don’t relish taking the stairs all the way back down again.”

  The messenger let out a grateful sigh. The stairs leading up were hundreds of feet in length before reaching the room with the teleportation circle. The final stair we had just taken was less than twenty five feet.

  The view was spectacular, as usual.