The God-Stone War m-4

by Michael G. Manning

  “What’s that?” I asked curious.

  “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all…,” his tone was sincere. “We’re leaving in less than a week so I want to make sure. If there is anything you need, that I can provide, tell me now.”

  I fought to maintain my composure as I smiled. “You’re an idiot. I’m a Count now, and a wizard, I have everything a man could want… a home, children, Penny. I’m fine. The only thing I’d prefer is for you to stick around.”

  “That’s one thing I cannot do. I need to get Marissa back to her family. You sure there isn’t anything else?”

  “No.” I said simply. “How about you? Won’t you need money for this trip?”

  “You already paid for it,” he smirked.

  “What… oh never mind, I don’t want to know,” I said with some exasperation. “Actually, there is one thing you could help me with,” I remembered suddenly.

  “Hmm?”

  “The other day, when you showed me the ‘First Accord’, the treaty between men and the She’Har, I wasn’t entirely honest with you,” I stated.

  “I knew that already,” he said. “You ready to talk?”

  “Something awoke that day, inside me,” I told him. “It was as if I had lived another life, one that I had forgotten completely until that moment. It’s as if I have been two different people,” I said, struggling to explain myself.

  “So who is this other person?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted.

  “What?!”

  “Well, I do know… somewhere, but I haven’t let myself look at it yet,” I said.

  He sighed, “Why not?”

  “There’s something dark there, Marc. Whoever that other person was, whatever he did, whether he is me, or whether he is someone else… he did something terrible, something so awful I can’t bear to look at it directly… not yet at least.” A shiver ran down my spine, as I finally said the words I had been keeping within.

  Marc chuckled suddenly. “Something you can’t face Mort? I doubt that. After the things you’ve done, I doubt any amateur could compare.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The war with Gododdin.” He was referring to the thirty thousand men I had slain to end that war.

  I glared at him. “That was the most terrible crime I have ever committed, murdering those men, and you want to make a joke of it?”

  “That’s the point,” he explained. “You did that, and it wasn’t murder, it was necessity… No, I’m not going to argue that point now!” He waved his hands to keep me from interrupting. “My point is that you have already done what you consider the worst thing imaginable. What could this stranger’s memory have to compare to that?”

  It was a valid argument, so I took a moment to consider it and then I allowed myself to peek at the emotions that dwelled within that foreign memory. Comparing them with my own, it was easy to see the difference. Swallowing I looked at him, “It’s worse… whatever it is… it’s much worse.”

  Marc’s face fell… he had been betting on that argument to cheer me up. “Damn… really? What was it?”

  I shook my head, “I don’t know, and I can’t look, not now.”

  “Then why are you bothering to discuss any of this?” he said bluntly.

  Marc always had a knack for getting to the heart of matters. “I need your advice. I’m trying to approach this logically from the outside, before I delve into what seems to be a morass of painful memories,” I explained.

  “The fastest answer would probably come from facing whatever you’ve got collecting dust in the back of your head,” he noted.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be me anymore.”

  “That’s just stupid. You’re you… nothing will change that. Whatever those memories contain, they’re from someone else,” he said, with a certainty that I wished I could emulate.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I grew up with you, if that counts for anything. I happen to know you didn’t commit any horrible atrocities while we were children. Whatever is in your head came from somewhere else… either by magic, or as a side effect of your magic.”

  I couldn’t see it as a side effect, but I grasped at the other possibility. “You mean someone may have implanted the memories within me?” It was an attractive idea, especially if it absolved me from the guilt of whatever lurked in the knowledge in the back of my mind. “How and when would that have happened?”

  “Perhaps a spell cast upon you by your father?” he suggested.

  “I have trouble imagining a father inflicting this upon his child,” I said.

  Marc shrugged, “Some people don’t share your conscience.”

  “Reincarnation would be easier to accept,” I responded.

  “Trying to take the blame anyway?” Marc replied. “If reincarnation were real, there would be more people complaining about their resurfacing memories.”

  “Unless memories don’t make the transfer, from one life to another,” I countered.

  “Again… then where did these memories come from? And quit trying to find some method to take blame for whatever bad there is in them, they’re not yours,” Marc said.

  “Well a spell makes no sense,” I stated, “the memories come from a period of time that has to be at least a couple of thousand years ago… so my father couldn’t have cast the spell.”

  “Unless it was passed on to him first,” Marc observed.

  “Or perhaps it is some sort of bloodline memory, like an inherited spell… or curse,” I said suddenly, and then I knew. The hair stood up along my arms and neck as a cold chill swept across me. Illeniel’s Doom… no… Illeniel’s Promise… this is part of it.

  “You alright, Mort?” Marc’s face carried an expression of concern. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Or as though I carry one… “No, I’m fine,” I said slowly. “But I think I have a feel for this now.”

  “A feel for what?”

  “Illeniel’s Doom… it’s a part of me… a part of these memories. No, that’s not right… it’s somewhere else…,” I answered. Down below, behind the stone door… beneath the house.

  “Stop being so cryptic and just spit it out!” Marc’s voice was full of frustration.

  I closed my eyes, squeezing them tightly shut. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t look at it, not yet. “No… I’m sorry Marc. This will have to wait.”

  Marc let out an explosive breath, “What the hell?! I can see now why you and Penny fought so much in the beginning. You must have been a real pleasure to deal with.” His comment was riddled with sarcasm.

  “If you let me put you in stasis, I’ll be happy to explain it all to you later once I’ve dealt with my internal issues,” I offered with a cynical smile.

  “Is that how you proposed to Penelope?” Marc shot back. “I already told you no.”

  “Then you may just never find out the answer,” I teased, with a humor that didn’t fully touch my eyes.

  “I’ll come back to haunt you,” he retorted.

  I’m sure you will.

  Chapter 11

  After I left Marc, I went to see James. The King had been understandably worried about me after the assassination attempt at the palace; in part because we were family, and in part because without me the foundation of his rule would be considerably more uncertain. That wasn’t fair, I chided myself. The man helped raise you, don’t let politics cloud your opinions.

  The palace guard was noticeably more formal. The events of a week past had shaken everyone, and new measures were being taken to ensure that there were no more secret assassins among them. New scrutiny had been placed upon them, especially those who had taken service in the last two years, but so far nothing had come of it.

  “I’m glad to see that you’ve recovered,” said James, after I had been ushered in to see him.

  I looked down, surveying myself deliberately. “I still seem to have all my fingers and toes, Your Majesty. How have you bee
n?”

  James grunted, “Ha! I hurt myself worse than the assassin managed; bruised my leg kicking a chair out of the way.”

  I chuckled, “It’s the small things like that, that you never hear about in romances and adventure stories.”

  “Everyone is younger in those tales. Men at my age aren’t supposed to be assaulting furniture and fighting assassins,” James suggested.

  “You are hardly old yet,” I countered. James was in his middle fifties now and still fairly robust.

  “Easy for you to say,” James replied. “How is Walter doing?”

  “Still recovering, but I think he will be fine,” I answered.

  The King smiled. “Nicholas was quite taken with Elaine, but now he speaks of nothing but your wife. He’s been calling her his ‘angel of deliverance’. Poor Barnabas is probably mortified knowing that a woman saved them both.”

  “He acted bravely, throwing himself in front of that sword. He had nothing to be ashamed of,” I responded immediately.

  “Some men have a different view of chivalry.”

  “He’ll have to get over it.” Otherwise I’ll tell Penny, and let her knock some sense into him.

  “Don’t misunderstand;” said James, “He’s not a lout. He’s grateful… just a bit embarrassed.”

  “Speaking of which… I should apologize to Nicholas for my words. I had not meant to argue with him. I think I was just a bit oversensitive about the topic.”

  “He’s leaving tomorrow. I was thinking of offering your services transporting him and his men back to Lancaster, to shorten his journey…,” James suggested.

  “Castle Cameron,” I corrected. “He can spend an evening with us, and perhaps I can win him over with our hospitality.”

  “Even better,” said James.

  * * *

  “You vanish like a stray cat, and then when you reappear, this is what you bring me?” Penny was a bit annoyed with my disappearing act. By ‘this’ she was referring to my announcement that the King of Gododdin would be spending an evening with us.

  “Are you comparing King Nicholas to a dead bird or lizard?” I said, extending her analogy a bit further.

  She ignored my clever remark. “Do you know how much needs to be done before we can host royalty here?”

  In fact I had a good idea, but I pretended ignorance. “Just wave your hands my dear, and the entire castle will be leaping to do your bidding.”

  “Good luck with the children,” Penny replied with a wry smile.

  “Wait, what?”

  “If I’m to organize this place for a royal visit, I won’t have time to manage them this afternoon.”

  “But I need to check on the progress at…,” I started.

  “It can wait another day,” she interrupted.

  “Where is Lilly?” I asked. I hadn’t seen her yet. Normally she was at hand to help with the children.

  Penny handed me little Irene. As usual her large blue eyes were focused on my beard, and grasping hands kept trying to pull it out. “Lilly has taken ill today. You’ll be on your own. Don’t worry though; I’ll stop in to feed her in a few hours.”

  I was perfectly comfortable with our older children, and I had no fear of infants, but three plus Irene would be a handful for me. “Perhaps Rose is free…,” I suggested.

  “She’ll be busy helping me. Perhaps Dorian will take pity on you.”

  In the end, I elected to take on the chore without assistance, more as a matter of pride than for any other reason. We had effectively gotten through dealing with two infants at once years before, so I was well acquainted with the messier side of babies… and in fact with Moira and Matthew to assist in keeping an eye on Conall, I’d have plenty of attention to focus on little Irene.

  That was the plan at least… until Dorian showed up with Gram in tow an hour later.

  “Did you come to see the circus?” I asked him with a grin after opening the door.

  He looked at me a bit sheepishly, “Actually, I came to ask a favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your wife has stolen Rose for her projects, and I need to start preparing the security measures for tomorrow if King Nicholas is really going to be staying with us…,” he glanced down his arm at his son and then back up at me.

  The day was effectively over for me at that point. The twins were already bouncing with excitement, as Gram left his father and began chatting with them. In general, the addition of an extra child threw the balance out of whack, and I’d now have to keep an eye on Conall… the older children would ignore him.

  My prediction was on the mark. The one bright side to Gram’s presence was that all three of the older children disappeared outside to play. Although our house was connected to Castle Cameron, its actual location was in a scenic mountain valley in the midst of the Elentirs, a place so remote I doubted anyone had ever been there before we built our secret home there. Conall stayed inside with me while I tended to Irene, and I had to admire his behavior, not many children were as easy to please at age three as he was.

  After an hour or so, I managed to get Irene down for a nap, and that let me focus my attention more fully on Conall. I rarely had time alone with him, so I did my best to enjoy the time building things with him out of his extensive wooden block collection. The truth of the matter though, was that I was utterly bored. Thankfully, Conall didn’t seem to notice my lack of enthusiasm.

  The peace was short lived. Matthew and Gram reappeared, followed closely by Moira. The three of them had encountered some utterly new form of lizard out in the meadow, and after many heroic attempts, had managed to capture it. They broke into the nursery with all the peace and serenity of an avalanche, shouting and waving their catch at me. Irene promptly awoke and began to cry.

  I could feel a headache building between my ears, but it was hard to be sure with all the noise. I yelled, “Be quiet!” to give me a moment to see if it had been my imagination. Yep, I definitely had developed a headache. The three children stared at me in utter silence for a moment, while Conall stared intently at the lizard they had brought. After a few seconds they all began chattering again.

  “Kyrtos,” I said abruptly, and silence fell across the room, as Matthew, Moira, and Gram discovered they could no longer speak. I picked up Irene and began rocking her in my arms while Conall took the lizard from Matthew’s unresisting fingers.

  The three of them were staring at me while their mouths worked uselessly. I winked at them while I cooed at Irene, trying to soothe her. “There there…” I said softly, “that only happens to noisy children. You are far too cute for me to put a spell on.” Something was working; Irene had stopped crying now and was staring intently at me.

  “T’ank you,” Conall told his older brother, as he stroked the lizard’s head.

  After a minute I looked at them and felt a momentary pang of guilt. Moira had her fingers in her mouth, trying to discover the source of her vocal paralysis, while Gram sat sullenly in the corner staring at one of Conall’s toys. Matthew on the other hand, was looking straight at me, his blue eyes welling with tears. I had betrayed him.

  “Keltis,” I said immediately. “Are the three of you ready to behave?” I asked, using a tone that hid my guilt feelings. I had learned long ago never to show weakness in front of the natives… they’d sense it and tear you to pieces if you did… or something like that.

  Matthew was the first to nod a slow ‘yes’, and the look on his face made me want to hug him tightly and apologize, though I resisted the urge; Moira, in contrast, simply asked, “How did you do that?”

  “Magic,” I said, giving the answer that usually was enough to finish most conversations. Today however, I was struck with an inspiration. “Which reminds me, I know a better spell that doesn’t make you silent, but which requires you to stay quiet for it to work,” I told them.

  Matthew didn’t take the bait, but he might have realized I was attempting to win him back over. Moira’s face lit up with curiosity, thou
gh it was Gram that spoke first, “Better how?”

  I grinned with enthusiasm. “It makes you as light as a feather, but only as long as you remain quiet. Would you like to try it?”

  He gave me a suspicious look, but luckily Conall volunteered, “I want to!” The look on his face was positively angelic. I glanced at the other children to make sure I had their full attention, and then I place my hand on top of his head while I intoned a few words in Lycian. The spell was a simple one that I had used in several variations over the years. Its primary effect was to essentially reduce the overall mass of an object, and when I say mass, I mean mass, not just weight. Inertia and momentum both become smaller as mass decreases, effects that Dorian had complained about with his original lightweight, enchanted chainmail. I had later gone with a much more complicated system for the plate armors that I made for the Knights of Stone, but for what I intended today with my children, this was the perfect spell.

  Removing my hand I looked at him carefully, “Do you feel different?”

  Nodding, Conall stepped back and promptly bounced up several feet from the floor. His first response was to let out a ‘whoop’ of excitement and surprise, and as he did I silently adjusted the spell to make him heavier. Ordinarily, manipulating magic without using words required more energy, due to a loss of efficiency, and the same was true here. However, the amount of aythar required, relative to my own strength, was such that I could easily afford to do so without verbal language. It also kept the twins from realizing I was adjusting the effect deliberately.

  “See there!? You were light as a feather until you let out that yell,” I observed intelligently. I could see understanding dawning on their faces, and I smiled inwardly. This will be the greatest silent game ever, I thought to myself.

  Soon enough I had spelled each of them so that they were able to bounce about the room lightly, almost floating, as if they were no heavier than soap bubbles. At first I watched them closely, making them heavier if they spoke or got noisy before returning them to their near weightless state if they stayed silent for a while. Needless to say, my plan worked brilliantly, and soon they were all entirely quiet as they smiled and pushed off from floors and walls, flying effortlessly from one side of the room to the other.