The World Awakening

by Dan Koboldt

  She gave him a measuring look. “Well, I appreciate it. And that makes us even.”

  He did laugh, that time. “By my count, you owe me one.”

  “You left me hog-tied in the boathouse.”

  “But I also didn’t kill you.”

  “True.” She gave him a flat look. “Then again, you haven’t got the stones for it.”

  “Ha! Now you sound like Logan.”

  “Well, you’ve kept my secret, so I’ll keep yours,” she said.

  He spread out his hands. “I don’t have any more secrets. I’m an open book.”

  “What about your crush on Moric’s daughter?”

  Whoa. He coughed, to recover himself. “I wouldn’t call it a crush.”

  “What would you call it?”

  Quinn shrugged. “Admiration.”

  She shook her head, not buying it. “Just don’t let it cloud your judgment.”

  He gave her a toothy grin. “It’s a little late for that.”

  Quinn continued to wait in his quarters after Relling left, but no one else came. Which was probably for the best. Anyone seen associating with him now would probably end up with their own troubles. At last, he began tinkering with the magic again. He didn’t have the concentration he’d enjoyed before Relling’s surprise visit, though, and soon he was frustrated. He stretched out on the bed. It felt strange to be back in his bed here, alone and essentially imprisoned just like he’d been the first time.

  He dozed off but slept poorly, and woke up feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. It was early enough that patches of fog still swirled around the base of the Landorian tower and cast a gray pall over his window. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t remember his dreams, but the sense of fear and panic lingered after them.

  Morning already, and they still hadn’t come to get him. Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to sit around here all day doing nothing. He tugged on his boots and stalked down the hall to the common kitchen, praying that someone had started the coffee. Sure enough, the sharp, bitter scent of it reached his nose before he even got to the end of the hall. At least some of the Alissian gods still look after me.

  Then he walked into the commons to find Moric, Sella, and Anton waiting for him. They sat at the little four-person table by the coffee bar, blowing on mugs of the dark hot liquid and speaking in hushed tones. A hefty burlap bag sat on the table between them. Anton had a few wrinkles in his shirt, which was about the most disheveled Quinn had ever seen him. He sat across from Moric and Sella, who both had rings under their eyes.

  Quinn bit his lips on the verge of wishing them a good morning, and went straight for the coffee. He knew he’d need it, and if they couldn’t deign to knock on his door, they didn’t get the regular pleasantries. He borrowed the same chipped ceramic mug that he usually did. At least that would be something normal. He cradled it in both hands for the walk over to their table, and used his magic to push the chair out far enough to sit in. This won him a raised eyebrow from Moric and a stern look from Sella.

  That’s right, just a friendly reminder. He might as well get the ball rolling. “You three look like hell.”

  Sella’s mouth fell open. Moric choked on his sip of coffee.

  Anton gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re no morning rose, either.”

  Moric regained control of his faculties. “You’ve also given us a lot to talk about.”

  “Apparently so.” Quinn blew on his own coffee, considered trying it, and forced himself to wait. These people brewed their coffee at a boil, and he’d just as soon not burn his lips off.

  “I still have trouble believing that Richard Holt is from another world.”

  “Well, believe it,” Quinn said.

  Sella shot him a dirty look at that, but before she could bite his head off, Moric said, “I’m certain that they looked into his past before electing him Valteroni Prime.”

  Just as you looked into mine. But it seemed inadvisable, at this moment, to remind them that he, too, had put one over on the natives. “I’m told he’s a persuasive guy.”

  “And the Valteroni can be careless,” Anton said, predictable as ever.

  “They weren’t careless. Our people are just that good,” Quinn said.

  Sella sniffed loudly, the way she did before handing out verbal punishment. “Maybe they are. The fact remains that this conflict is between Holt and his former colleagues. It has nothing to do with the Enclave, and we see no reason to get involved.”

  That was good news, but strangely made Quinn a little bit sad. Without the Enclave, Holt didn’t stand a chance against CASE Global. “I think that’s wise.”

  Sella half-closed her eyes, an expression that said she plainly didn’t care what he thought about it. “There’s less of a consensus about what should be done with you.”

  Crap. “All right,” Quinn said. “What sort of things are being discussed?”

  “Everything from censure to execution,” Anton said.

  Quinn bristled at the casualness in his tone. “Execution?”

  “Yes.”

  “For what crime, exactly?”

  “Lying to all of us, for starters,” Anton said.

  “Oh, because you’re all so honest to one another? Give me a break. You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  “We are not on trial here. You are the one who came here just to spy on us.”

  “I didn’t come here voluntarily.” Quinn jabbed a finger toward Moric. “He kidnapped me.”

  “Because you led me to believe you could use magic,” Moric said.

  “I can use magic.” Quinn forced himself to take a calming breath. The caffeine was kicking in, and reminding him of things more important than crabbiness. I want to help these people. And he had wronged them, so he supposed it was only fair to show a bit of humility. “Look, I don’t deny that I came here with official orders. But I didn’t have a choice. And when I did, I chose to do things to protect the Enclave. Is it really so bad that you’ve severed ties with Valteron, given what’s coming?”

  Anton shrugged in agreement. Moric seemed troubled, but didn’t offer a counterargument.

  Sella cleared her throat again. “Putting that aside for the moment, there’s also the matter of you assaulting our harbormaster on the night that you left.”

  “She attacked me first.”

  “What?” Sella’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  Here was yet another dangerous path of conversation. He could tell them the full story, but the moment he mentioned how Relling had zapped Jillaine with the belt buckle, Moric would probably blow a gasket. Quinn still harbored the occasional dark thought when he remembered sitting in the chair, powerless, as Relling raised the club over Jillaine’s unconscious form. Even though that was what gave him his breakthrough. At least he’d been able to stop her, and to save Jillaine. But if he didn’t put this issue to bed, he might have to tell them about the harbormaster’s origins. Better to steer clear. “It was a misunderstanding. She came by last night, and we straightened it all out. No hard feelings.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “You can ask her.”

  Sella harrumphed.

  Moric pursed his lips. “That’s a serious issue resolved, then.” He looked at Sella. “Surely someone who makes peace with the harbormaster deserves a bit of credit.”

  “Fine,” she snapped. “I withdraw my suggestion of execution.”

  Now it was Quinn’s mouth that fell open. “Sella!”

  “You lied to me, boy.”

  “So the penalty for lying to you is death, now?”

  “You did it several times.”

  Quinn was still in shock, but he didn’t miss the undertone of hurt in that remark. “Gods, I said I was sorry.”

  “And I said I withdraw it.”

  “You’ve been a really great teacher for me. I’d never have broken through if it wasn’t for your lessons. Near-fatal as they often were.”

  Sella waved off the compliment as
if she didn’t want it, but she sat a little straighter, and the sourness on her face softened to her usual level.

  Two down, one to go.

  “I have one more question for you.” Anton pulled open the burlap bag and extracted a bulky object. “What is this, and why did you leave it on an island a hundred leagues south of here?”

  When Quinn saw what it was, his blood ran cold. It looked like one of the crude weather vanes that Alissians sometimes mounted atop buildings, but this one was crafted in the R & D lab back on Earth. In theory, this was to boost the signal of in-world communications, but he’d long suspected—and Relling had confirmed—that it would let the company pinpoint its location. “Where did you get that?”

  “I followed you and Jillaine when you left the Enclave. Your trail took me to that island, where I found this.” He held it up and examined it on all sides. “I found it . . . curious, that you’d go to such trouble to leave a weather vane on a featureless island.”

  Of all the moronic things to get curious about. “I wish you hadn’t done that,” Quinn said.

  “Why? What does it do?”

  “It lets me communicate with my former employer. But more importantly, I think it’s designed to help them find me.”

  “No one saw me take it. I’m sure of that.”

  Quinn shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He tried to think of a good way to explain modern tracking technology. “You know the wayfinder stone?”

  “Of course,” Anton said.

  “It’s like my employers have one, but it points to this weather vane. If you’ve had that since we left, then they may be able to follow it to this island.”

  A sonorous tone sounded from outside. Much like the summoning chimes, but deeper. The three magicians tensed, listening. It rang again, then fell silent. Anton cursed under his breath. Moric and Sella shared a look of dread.

  Quinn stood. “What is that?”

  They ignored his question, but pushed back their chairs and left their mugs on the table. Quinn trailed them as they hurried outside. All of them looked west. Moric spoke an incantation and brought up his scrying window. It looked like featureless ocean on the other side, nothing but water and sky with a blanket of fog obscuring the horizon. He and Sella seemed intent on this, so Quinn grabbed Anton by the shoulder. “What was that bell?”

  Anton cast an irritated look down at Quinn’s hand. Maybe he wasn’t accustomed to people touching him.

  “You might call it our border alarm,” Anton said.

  “I’ve got it,” Moric said.

  A dark shape had appeared in the scrying window. Moric did something with his hands to enlarge it. The single-masted ship turned almost broadside, skirting along just inside of the wall of fog behind it. At least a dozen dark-clad figures swarmed on the deck.

  “What is that?” Sella asked.

  “A Pirean coldwater sloop,” Moric said. He gave Quinn a serious look. “They’re a long way from the Tip.”

  He shifted the view again, and the deck of the vessel leaped into view. The men lining the foredeck rail wore close-fitting armor and swords on their belts.

  “Are Pirean fishermen always this well-armed?” Anton asked.

  Quinn stared at the figure who stood above them, on the higher deck beside the wheelhouse. He said something to the woman who held the wheel. An order, perhaps. She made an adjustment. The ship swung wide. The man reached into his cloak, pulled out a pair of binoculars, and swept them across the shoreline of the Enclave island. Binoculars and flexsteel armor. Oh, shit.

  “Those aren’t fishermen.” Quinn looked at Anton. “You really should have left that where you found it.”

  Chapter 14

  Border Security

  “Never show the same trick to the same audience.”

  —Art of Illusion, March 9

  The Victoria’s bow crashed into another wave, sending up another cloud of salty spray that drenched Quinn where he stood in the bow. He wiped the water from his eyes, cursing, and tried to peer through the fog. Where is it? A blocky shadow appeared ahead and somewhat to the left. They’d made another turn.

  “Ten points to port!” he whispered over his shoulder.

  “Got it.” Leward turned and jogged back to the wheeldeck to relay the new heading to Relling.

  Thirty seconds later, the bow eased over left, putting the vague shadow more or less at their twelve o’clock. They still hadn’t gained, though. Damn, this is frustrating. He probably should have been grateful to have cobbled together this pursuit at all. Moric, Sella, and Anton didn’t understand the urgency, and there hadn’t been time to explain. He’d given up on them and run pell-mell down to the harbor, picking up Leward and Jillaine along the way.

  Relling, to her credit, didn’t need a ten-minute explanation of what had triggered the border alarm. By the time the three of them reached the harbor, she’d already drafted five able-bodied sailors to crew the ship and made ready to get way.

  “What set off the alarm?” she shouted, when she spotted Quinn on the docks.

  “A Pirean sloop, but they’re not Pireans.”

  She cursed. “Where are they?”

  “Southwest, by the fog.” He reached the gangplank. “Permission to board?”

  “What for?”

  “We want to help.”

  She paused long enough to give them a brief inspection. “On this ship, I’m in command. You do what I say, when I say it. Agreed?”

  Quinn looked over at Leward and Jillaine, who both nodded. “Agreed.”

  “Hustle aboard, then. We’re shoving off.”

  They jogged up the gangplank and helped cast off the lines. The Victoria was slow to get moving, but picked up speed as they left harbor. Relling sent Quinn up to the bow and ordered Leward to act as ship’s runner. She didn’t try ordering Jillaine about, which maybe was for the best given their history.

  That was maybe half an hour ago. The moment they’d pulled out of harbor, the CASE Global ship had fled through the fog. Now it was a game of cat and mouse to catch them before they slipped away. Quinn fought to keep them in sight through the grayness, which wasn’t easy. The swirling fog played tricks on his eyes.

  “What exactly is your plan here?” Jillaine asked.

  “To stop them before they can reveal our position to CASE Global.”

  “How?”

  “That’s not up to me.”

  Leward jogged back down to the deck. He had the look of a nervous hare on his face every time Quinn made him relay something to Relling. “The harbormaster wants to see you.”

  “Keep an eye on that ship.” Quinn ran down the middle of the ship and up to the wheeldeck, where Relling stood at stoic attention. “They’re fifty yards out, but we’re not gaining much.”

  “That may be close enough. Did Logan teach you how to shoot a bow?”

  “He wishes. I already knew. Why?”

  “This is why.” She pulled a little wooden lever on the side of the wheelhouse. A faint mechanical whirring came from the foredeck. A panel slid aside on the deck, revealing a wood-and-metal machine the size of a motorcycle.

  Quinn stared. “What the hell is that?”

  “Self-loading bow ballista. All you have to do is point and shoot. Think you can handle that?”

  “I guess, but I can barely see their ship at all. It’s going to be tough to hit anything important.”

  “It won’t be in a minute. Try to punch a hole in their hull at the waterline. The ocean will do the rest.”

  “Aye, Captain.” He ran back up to the bow and gave the ballista a once-over. It looked like an oversize crossbow mounted on a rotating platform. A steel-tipped bolt already rested in the long slot that ran up the middle of the weapon. He tested the movement of the base and looked down the sights.

  “What did Relling say?” Jillaine asked.

  “That we’re about to come out of the fog.” Better not to tell them the rest. He joined her and Leward at the rail. “Let’s see what we’re
dealing with.”

  The fog receded, and with it, the muted silence. Canvas flapped as the wind shifted. Sunlight encroached on the grayness, and painted the world in color. Quinn shaded his eyes to get a look at their quarry. It was sixty yards out, on an almost identical bearing. Two soldiers stood at the stern of the other ship. Something about their side-profile stance caught his eye. Another spray of seawater blinded him for minute. He wiped his face, looked again, and saw the telling bit of movement.

  They’re drawing bows . . .

  “Down!” He threw Jillaine to the deck and fell on top of her. Fire lanced along his back. The arrow glanced off his hidden armor and skittered away. Sweet Jesus.

  Jillaine whimpered beneath him; he was crushing her. He groaned and rolled onto his side. He put a hand to his back and felt torn clothing, but no wetness. Good. It still hurt like hell.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He grimaced. “I just need a second.”

  She looked up past him, and the color drained from her face. “Leward!”

  The young magician sat back against the foremast with a dazed look of surprise. A white-fletched arrow jutted from his chest. A dark stain was spreading where it went into his chest.

  God, no. Quinn scrambled up next to him, his own pain forgotten. The arrow had hit the left side of his chest, away from the heart, but there was a lot of blood. “Leward. Stay with me.”

  Another arrow slammed into the rail above their heads. They ducked and tried to shield poor Leward from the splinters.

  “Damn it!” Quinn put his hand on Jillaine’s shoulder. “Get him to the infirmary.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have orders. Go!”

  She opened her mouth as if to argue, but then threw an arm over Leward. They disappeared, leaving only dark bloodstain behind.

  Quinn crawled around the ballista and crouched behind it. He put a hand on the trigger and stood, taking aim. The two bowmen spotted him. One nocked an arrow while the other drew. He put the sights on the latter and jerked back the trigger.