Knightfall: Book Four of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Diogenes?” I called.

  “Yes, Professor?” replied the Diogephone.

  “Did you hear that? What Mary asked?”

  “I did. Shall I produce some prototype designs?”

  “Yes. Yes, please.”

  “Working on it now, Professor.”

  I turned in place, grabbed Mary, and kissed her.

  “Wow,” she breathed, a minute later. “What was that for? Not that I mind.”

  “Being clever,” I told her.

  “I’ll do it more often.”

  “Good idea.”

  “I agree. Does that count as being clever?”

  “Don’t get greedy.”

  A couple thousand stairs later, the trail ended at a door. It reminded me of the doors in Karvalen—a couple of tons of stone slab. Hopefully, it balanced on a pivot. While we examined it, my light spell decided it was too tired to go on and quit. I cast the spell again, noting as I did so it was much easier to gather power for it.

  “Looks brighter,” Mary commented.

  “It is. We’re nearly there, I think. Firebrand?”

  The place is much more magical. I can feel it, Boss. Something is nearby, certainly.

  “Good.”

  “So, are you going to tap the nexus when we get in?” Mary asked, “or can you do it during the day?”

  “I don’t think I should. In a higher-magic environment, maybe, where I can cast more powerful spells. Or if I brought a larger power reserve. But during the day? Here? Now? I’m be too worried about being fried by it. I don’t know how much pressure is behind it.”

  “Mortality sucks,” she agreed.

  “It has its good points and bad points.”

  We continued our examination of the slab. There didn’t seem to be a locking mechanism, handles, or anything else.

  “Do we knock?” Mary asked.

  “That never works.”

  Mary knocked on it anyway. Nothing happened.

  “This is why people have door-clappers,” I told her. “Pull the rope and it smacks flat pieces of wood together. Knocking on stone doesn’t do much.”

  “And here I forgot my plastic explosives.”

  “Let’s try pushing on it.”

  It didn’t want to move. There was no way to tell how long it sat here, waiting. But Mary and I put our shoulders against it and heaved. Even during the day, when two vampires give something a shove, it’s going to notice. Still, the slab didn’t move, grunt and strain as we might.

  “Other side?” Mary suggested. I agreed.

  This time, trying to turn it the correct way, it ground grudgingly open. Beyond, we followed a straight, smooth passageway to its far end. There were stairs leading up to a triangular stone slab in the ceiling. I lifted it, carefully, and found it was a thin sheet of stone. It swung up and back easily.

  The room was almost spherical, but faceted, completely angular. Our entry point was a triangular stone lid over the stairs. We emerged and I closed the lid carefully.

  The lowest facet—the bottom one, where it would be flat and level—was actually an open hole. It was a triangular well with stairs on the sides. The rest of the room was like the inside of a gem. It had no normal walls, just facets, gradually sloping up from the well, growing steeper the farther away they were, vertical halfway up the room, and connecting to form a dome above. Each facet was inscribed with a symbol and connected to all the others by a number of metallic lines.

  As Mary shone her light around, I thought the place seemed oddly familiar.

  “This looks like it matches the description you gave me of the undersea pyramid,” Mary observed.

  “Yes. It does. But the symbols around the well aren’t the same.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. Well… no. The ones nearest are different, but I’m starting to think each symbol stands for a single nexus. These, surrounding the well, could be the nearest major nexus points to the one in the well. If this room is a map, then… yes, I guess the symbols could be the same. I’m trying to picture the place, but rotated around. I’m not visualizing it correctly.”

  “It’s complicated,” Mary reassured me. “So, if this is a map of the world, the local nexus is in the well?”

  “Should be.”

  “That makes sense. But shouldn’t your light be a lot brighter?”

  “No. It’s running on stored power, not drawing in local energy.”

  “A base spell, not a hybrid?”

  “Exactly.”

  “See? I do pay attention.”

  We looked over the edge of the bottom-most facet. Yes, it was a triangular opening plated with metal—obviously orichalcum—presumably for some arcane reason known only to the Atlanteans. Mary followed me as I started down the narrow steps.

  As before, the bottom of the well was a flat surface of the same metal, inscribed with eight circles around a three-foot-high central pillar.

  “Careful of the circles,” I warned.

  “The nexus is low on power, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but the last time I stuck my hand in, my ring and my hand got confused about which was which. Reality may still be subject to terrible distortions. Plus, it’s daytime.”

  “Duly noted.”

  I examined the structure for differences. As far as I could tell, it was identical to the undersea pyramid’s central chamber, only dry.

  “This place feels old,” Mary said, softly.

  “It is. Based on magi legend, it’s Atlantean, which implies it predates recorded human civilization.”

  “Greece? Egypt?”

  “Who taught Egyptians to build pyramids? Survivors from Atlantis.”

  “I don’t like it here.”

  “Me, either. Hang on while I check the power.”

  “You can do that during the day?”

  “I’m not tapping the nexus,” I explained. “It’s already tapped. All this orichalcum is some sort of circuitry for magic. It contains the power of the nexus and has power taps for drawing energy out of it. What else it does… I’m not familiar with Atlantean technomagical designs. And I really don’t want to learn about their electrical theory by poking around a high-voltage substation.”

  “Got it. I’ll sit on the steps and be quiet.”

  “I’d rather you watched carefully. You may have to do it, someday. Even better, you can watch what happens from a different viewpoint. I’m going to be in the middle of it, actually doing it. You may see things I can’t.”

  “Overwatch. On it.”

  I checked the magical designs of the power taps. They seemed in good working order, so I risked a power crystal. Energy flowed, filled the crystal, and I shut it off. It worked, so I took several minutes and refilled everything we were carrying. You never know when your magic item will need a recharge, so plug them in whenever you can.

  Then it was a matter of building a spell to sense my orb. Since an active pulse would require enormous power expenditure—and the capacity to channel enormous power—we would wait until nightfall. On the other hand, a passive sensor isn’t about power. It’s about size and focus. Building a large and sensitive listening device isn’t power-intensive, but it is finicky, precise work. I could do that without straining myself.

  I drew power from the nexus to assemble my spell. I was halfway through the primary assembly—hours later—before I bothered to wonder if the nexus, the orichalcum, or the simple depth underground would interfere.

  Mary raised an eyebrow at my nonmagical word.

  “Problem?”

  “Sort of.” I explained about possible interference.

  “So, do we gate back to Apocalyptica and come back after nightfall?”

  “No. That won’t help. We’ll still be here, in close proximity to a major power source and surrounded by magically-conductive material.”

  “Does this mean we have to walk back up all those stairs and tunnels?”

  “I hate t
o tell you this—”

  “So don’t.”

  “—but I’m actually looking forward to following you up a lot of stairs.”

  Mary had her mouth open for a reply, but she halted in mid-retort. She nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

  “Good one,” she finally admitted. “All right, when you put it that way, I guess I can tolerate an hour on the stair climb.”

  “It’s a spectator sport.”

  “Not if I’m leading. But we still need to figure out how to let you cast your spells without being trapped down a well.”

  “Crystals. Lots of them.”

  “Can’t we just run a wire up?”

  “How? We would…” I trailed off, thinking.

  Hooking it into a power tap wouldn’t be a problem, but keeping it from bleeding charge into the ground all along its length would be. Could we coat an orichalcum wire in something living, maybe? Or would I need to enchant a bucket of liquid plastic to act as an insulator for coating the wire? Come to that, can I enchant a liquid? Will changing the liquid to a solid ruin the structure of the enchantment? Maybe we should manufacture a length of wire and test it.

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “It’ll involve more trips, though.”

  “I presume we can’t set up a gate in the nexus room?”

  “I wouldn’t. It could be unpredictable.”

  “Fine,” she sighed. “Let’s go back through the pivot-door. We can go back to Apocalyptica for your wire from there.”

  “We need to measure how far it is so we have enough wire.”

  “How about we get Diogenes to send a robot up the steps?”

  “Following a robot just isn’t the same,” I told her, sadly.

  “I can find something else for you to do.”

  “All right. At least our gate won’t be anywhere the sunlight can hit it. Let’s find a good stretch of tunnel and start scribbling on it.”

  Nexus, Thursday, April 1st, 2049

  Diogenes had the perfect robot for the job. It was the size of a bulldog, had eight spider-like legs, and could climb anything short of a sheer surface. Diogenes programmed it, I sent it through, and we got to work on the orichalcum wire. When we opened the portal again and the robot came back, we knew how far it went in its round trip, so we had a good idea of how much wire we needed.

  Three thousand meters of wire. That weighed in at about half a ton, not counting the spool.

  “It’s a good thing we’re doing this at night,” Mary said, after a respectful whistle. “I can roll that during the day, if I have to, but I’m not sure about going uphill all the way.”

  “With the two of us, even during the day we could manage, except it’s not a simple staircase. Some of those narrower places barely fit me. We’ll go through the gate, up the steps, make a new gate—or bring one of Diogenes’ new collapsible ones—and roll wire down from the top. We’ll use multiple spools, too, rather than try and manage one big, ungainly one.”

  “But with multiple spools of wire, you’ll have to splice them together. When the splices touch the ground, you’ll lose magical charge.”

  “No worries. We have duct tape.”

  “Won’t it still ground through the duct tape?”

  “I’ve enchanted the duct tape.”

  “Ah. Well, we’ve just solved every problem, everywhere. Duct tape fixes anything, so magical duct tape should fix everything.”

  “It’s not that sort of enchantment—but I’ll give it some thought.”

  The insulation, as I feared, proved more of a problem. Putting a magical matrix in a liquid was difficult, to say the least, and it tended to come apart as the liquid was poured from vessel to vessel. It made pretty lights and sparks—provided you can see magical energy—but it wasn’t useful.

  How do alchemists do their thing? They mix mundane ingredients—or not-very-magical ingredients—to create magical elixirs. Jon never went over that sort of thing with me, and I haven’t encountered any alchemists that I know of. Why does it work for them? Is there a technique I’m missing? Or is it related to the more ritualistic wizardry? I wave my hands and sometimes chant, directing energies to take form, which defines the function. Other wizards—and, presumably, magicians—also use bits of stuff, like bones or blood or hair in their spells.

  I should really get more schooling.

  Anyway, the insulation. Once we applied a layer to the wire, however, it was solid and capable of holding an enchantment. It meant we had to enchant the insulation already on the wire, in completed batches, rather than simply zap a tank of liquid goo.

  The wire itself offered some manufacturing problems. The basic problem was the stiffness of the wire. It didn’t take to a spool too well as a solid wire. Whatever else you may say of orichalcum, it’s not the most ductile of alloys. We had to make multi-stranded cables—like in the prototype variable-aperture arch—rather than a single, heavy-gauge wire. We wound up making coils of it about a meter across for easy carrying. This was my suggestion, mostly because enchanting the insulation was inconvenient. I had to keep the whole spool of wire from touching anything during the enchantment process, lest it ground out the magic I worked with.

  Maybe I need to enchant a formal workroom, one with a floor or workbenches specially insulated, so I can work with orichalcum more easily. Note to Diogenes for later.

  Since the wire manufacturing was such a pain, I also had Diogenes bring me a lot of crystals and gemstones to enchant as power crystals. Having a direct line to the nexus would be less likely to run the risk of insufficient power, but if it proved too much trouble, the crystals could be Plan B.

  Diogenes also provided us with a couple of models of collapsible gateway. They were nonmagical, of course, but the physical structure was the important part. The first one was a combination of memory-metal wire and iridium; push the button and it springs out into an archway. Push it again and it contracts into a fancy bracelet with the button placed like a decoration.

  The other was a complex, plastic thing with strips of iridium inlay. It unfolded like one of those Hoberman sphere toys, but formed a circle, not a sphere. It required no power, but was larger and heavier than the wire version.

  The idea of a sphere, though, made me wonder if we could make a matched set of portable shift-spheres. But, again, that’s a project for later. It’s always someday, it seems…

  Mary and I returned to Nexus, arriving down near the actual nexus point. It was nighttime, but there was no way to tell how far along.

  “Want me to wait while you charge crystals?” she inquired.

  “No, you go ahead and check the time, set up the gates upstairs. It’ll save time, and we might not have much left in the night.”

  “I thought you wanted to follow me?”

  “While it is aesthetically pleasing to enjoy such a marvelous view, it’s nighttime. Can I talk you into another performance after my necrology turns into biology?”

  “I see what you mean. All right. Meet you in the hall of the dead?”

  “Roger that.”

  Mary sprinted upstairs with the portable gates while I charged the crystals. I followed her once I had the batteries ready.

  The cool, damp air still coming from the opened hatchway continued to pour out over everything while we were gone. In the last day or so, it filled the temple with an icy mist and left frost-tracks on every surface, even the dead guys. Oops. Well, they were already dead. Freezer burn is hardly the worst thing ever to happen to them.

  The portable gates looked good, for the most part. Neither of them looked terribly stable, though. A stiff wind would knock either one over—not a selling point. Mary had them both leaned up against the rear wall of the dais and was doing some spell-work, getting a feel for how it well they would take the gate spell.

  “Good news,” Mary said, as I emerged from under the orichalcum trapdoor.

  “Oh?”

  “It’s early. We’ve got hours to go before sunup.”

  “I love it when the timing
works out,” I agreed, and regarded her work. “I also like your spell work. I’m not so sure about the physical instability,” I finished, poking one of the gates. It rocked back and forth where it leaned against the wall, but it didn’t fall. Mary put it in a different spot, wedging it between two carvings.

  “Diving through one as an escape hatch doesn’t require much,” she pointed out. “We could toss one on the floor.”

  “True,” I admitted, remembering a dive through one pool and out another. “I guess they’ll do for temporary gates—places we don’t want to establish a permanent door. I like how they shrink down. We can open a small gate through the brute-force bilocation method, push the miniature gate through, and make a new connection after the portable unit unfolds. Plus, we can enchant them to make connecting easier.”

  “You can enchant them,” she corrected. “I’m still working on reliably casting a gate spell in the first place.”

  “I have every confidence you can manage a point-to-point gate within the same world,” I assured her. “And today you get to try for a connection to Apocalyptica.”

  “Whoa, hold on a minute,” she protested. “Neither of these is enchanted, yet!”

  “I’ll be looking over your shoulder the whole time,” I assured her.

  “I’d rather help you do it.”

  “I think you can do it on your own. You really ought to try. If anything ever happens to me, you’ll have to do it or be stuck in whatever world you’re in.”

  “Have I mentioned I hate it when you argue rationally? You’re a man. You’re not supposed to be rational.”

  “I have great respect for the anthropomorphic personification of Reason. We’ve met. She was very nice.”

  “Uh… right. Fine. I’ll assume this is a good idea.” She cracked her knuckles and shook her hands briskly. “You’re watching? You’ll catch what I drop?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay.”

  Mary did a fine job. It took close to an hour before she completed the spell, but I blame a lot of that on her exacting care and meticulous attention to detail. Mortals have a hard time with the power requirements, which accounts for most of their lengthy preparations. It was taxing for Mary, but she had enough vitality to hammer it out. Another hundred or so gates and she’ll put holes in space with perfect confidence.