by Garon Whited
“All right. Amber? Then what?”
“As Firebrand says, your darker self conquered his way across the former kingdom of Rethven. City by city, territory by territory, the kingdom grew. After a time, many of them simply threw down their banners and surrendered. Your knights were invincible—the original knights, not the mercenaries and killers the Demon King promoted to knights.
“Of your original knights, much has been said. It was rumored the wearers of the black armor could not be killed. Others said each suit of armor was forged from the bodies of demons, and fought on even if the wearer was slain. It was even whispered your knights were demons, themselves. This sowed fear among those who resisted. And the punishments for resisting were… inventive.” Amber shuddered—a literal description for a creature made of fire. “I would rather not go into that.”
“Same here.”
“Thank you. Within three years, your armies had either destroyed or conquered every city of note. You returned to Carrillon and held a formal ceremony of coronation, complete with all the nobles of your new realm. Some of them were new to such a station, appointed to rule in the absence of the old noble family.”
“Absence of the old noble family?”
“Inventive punishments,” Amber repeated.
“Ah.”
“Even so, the nobles, old and new alike, attended your coronation, along with their immediate families. He was quite specific about it.”
“I can’t imagine why,” I told her, trying not to be too sarcastic.
“After that, you seemed…” she trailed off and paused, searching for a word. “I will not say content, but… satisfied? Comfortable, perhaps. You seldom stirred from Carrillon, except for infrequent state visits to loyal cities or royal sword-rattling with ones rumored to be less loyal.”
“But, the conspiracy?” I prompted.
“Tort eventually included T’yl and Tianna. T’yl, because she needed the help of another magician, and Tianna because she was… persistent in wishing to see her grandfather again. She had not seen you since you went to war, and the necessities of the new temple in Karvalen were a good excuse to keep her from going to visit. We kept her from seeing the atrocities your other self committed.”
“You engineered that?”
“Yes. And, though you probably will not believe it completely, so did the Mother. Neither of us would have her see the things you may conjure from the depths of your own heart.”
“I’ll… huh. I don’t know what to say to that. Sp—I mean, the Mother of Flame really tried to keep Tianna from seeing…?”
“I swear it.”
“I may have to give her the benefit of the doubt,” I mused. “That’ll take some thinking on. But I’m sidetracking again. Conspiracy? Tianna?”
“Her training as a wizard,” Amber admitted, “made her a useful member of the conspiracy, but her training as a priestess, I think, was her chief value. I am unclear on the magical side of things, as you may expect. Some of their initial ideas involved burning the dark thing from you, but Tianna felt this would be too dangerous—not only might it take some time, during which the other might escape, but it would be impossible to tell when enough of it had been burned away. They might destroy parts of you, rather than only the monster inside you. Light will destroy dark, but it can also destroy shadow, if you see what I mean.”
“All too vividly.”
“Tort, as the head of the conspiracy, kept it small. I believe she tried to recruit Seldar some time later, since he resigned his knighthood and chose to enter—”
“He what?” I interrupted. I couldn’t believe it. Resigned? “Seldar? As in Torvil, Kammen, and Seldar? My right-hand-man Seldar? That Seldar?”
“Oh, indeed he did. Torvil’s loyalty is without limit; he would obey any order you gave, and do so with enthusiasm and imagination. Kammen, likewise, obeys his King; he would do whatever was required, no matter how distasteful. But Seldar was the one whose conscience overmastered his oath. He left his sword, his sash, and his armor behind and joined the priesthood of the Lord of Justice.” Amber smiled, a shining thing that brightened the whole room.
“He and I have had many talks, one priest to another. Our respective spheres do not overlap, so we are not in competition with one another. He is a good man, Father.”
“I know, and I’m proud of him, too.”
“Despite his action?”
“Because of it. But that’s a talk I’ll have with him. Continue, please.”
“Tort recruited him into the conspiracy after that. He was… relieved. For years, he feared you had become the monster he saw. To know the thing he once served was, effectively, an usurper on the throne pleased him—on a personal level—to a degree I hardly know how to relate. It also, I fear, awakened in him a rage so vast it could burn cities. That thing used him, deceived him—offended him. It wounded his heart when he discovered how it used his King. If he were not then a priest of justice and trained to be of still heart and quiet mind, he might have killed your body to destroy the thing and free you.” She paused, lips pursed. “He might have tried, at least.”
“I’m kind of glad he didn’t,” I agreed. “I’m not saying it wasn’t a good idea, but I’m glad he didn’t.”
“I say it was not a good idea,” Amber chided, sharply. “You live. That, in itself, is an important thing.”
“To me, yes. Not necessarily to everyone else.”
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“You know nothing of this matter. Do not presume to speak of it to me in such a manner.”
“Yes, Daughter.”
“Where was I? Oh. Tort had a plan. Her objective was to remove the possessing spirit from your body without harming your own spirit. Since it was so similar to some aspects of yourself, you had to be removed, first. Then anything done to whatever remained within your flesh would be harmless to you; anything done to your flesh could then be healed and you could be returned to your body.
“Firebrand was the key.”
Literally.
“Who is telling this, you or I, child of fire?”
Look who’s talking, Firebrand shot back. But okay, you talk.
“Thank you for your kind permission,” Amber replied, with a bit of snap. “The Dragonsword could, with help, pierce the layers of your spirit-self, the constructs of your mind, to seek the central core of your identity—your spirit. This could only gain us entrance, however, not draw you forth. For that, we needed something with a closer spiritual connection to you than Firebrand.”
“Bronze.”
“Exactly. With Firebrand to pierce your innermost sanctuary and Bronze to bear you back from it, removing you from your body could be done—assuming you were willing to go. Tort always assured us you would, but she never said why she thought so.”
“Because if Bronze shows up and wants me to go for a ride through the Underworld, I’ll go.”
“That is a rather sweeping statement.”
“It’s inadequate.”
Amber and Mary both looked at me. The silence became awkward.
“I see,” Amber said, finally.
“I’m sure you don’t, but thank you for trying. Continue, please.”
“As you say,” Amber agreed, looking uncomfortable. “The problem of making this happen was not a trivial one. There was no way to conceal the intrusion. Several magical barriers would have to be penetrated to give Firebrand the opportunity, to say nothing of allowing Bronze to connect with you so closely as to be a conduit. Tort, however, was trusted—possibly the only person truly trusted by the Demon King. She knew the nature of the defenses and many of the details. She gave this information to T’yl, who then worked to build countermeasures for each of them.
“Once each layer of the defenses was accounted for and its counteragent crafted, the question of the reaction became paramount. The thing would want to know what happened—who assaulted it, what they had hoped to achieve, and so on. Again, Tort was vital, as wa
s T’yl.
“For the last two years of the reign of the Demon King, T’yl claimed to be studying the finer points of scrying, as well as enchanting a powerful magical artifact. He is proficient, certainly, but hardly a specialist. Tort told the creature otherwise, laying the groundwork for what would come. When the attack penetrated the defenses, the thing would be well-prepared to believe one of T’yl’s magic mirrors would be of use.
“In reality, T’yl had been studying demonic influences and methods of containing them—”
“Hold it,” I broke in. “I was under the impression Tort did the heavy work on the magic mirror.”
“I do not believe so,” Amber mused, looking puzzled. “She was far too involved in the day-to-day affairs of the King. Had she done so, it would surely have aroused suspicion. T’yl would have had to handle anything of that nature.”
“He lied to me?”
“About what? And why?”
“Nevermind. Carry on and I’ll make note of it for later.”
“Very well. Once the process began, Tort would be constantly at the side of the thing. Firebrand would pierce the defenses; Bronze would act as conduit. T’yl and Tianna would place you, temporarily, in a body emptied of its occupant—a holding action only, until Tort could persuade the thing to travel to Karvalen, hopefully via a gate to minimize the time involved. Once there, Tort would activate the magic mirror.
“I do not understand how it works, but the mirror was to somehow trap the thing within its own reflection. It did so, but something went wrong—I am not certain what. Perhaps it had something to do with other conspiracies, some of the rebels, or merely assassins. When the King departed Carrillon, he was at his most poorly-protected in a long while. Perhaps some faction tried their own spells? I cannot say; I am no wizard.
“Tort found it needful to act. Instead of closing over the dark thing and keeping it captive, the mirror remained a mirror. She could have pretended to be loyal, still, and assisted the dark thing in returning to the flesh; instead, she chose to break cover and put herself at risk. She held the thing within the mirror until the mirror could turn into a containment sphere. After that, you took it through a gate, and my knowledge of what transpired ends.”
I considered what I knew of events, compared them to Amber’s story, and decided T’yl was going to answer some searching questions. Now, though, I had to consider the possibility he might be hiding, knowing I was going to quiz him shortly. Why the deception? Why not just tell me everything?
“What became of Tort’s body?” I asked. “Did she enter the mirror physically? Or was it her spirit? Or what?”
“I do not know,” Amber admitted, softly. “The only person who would know is T’yl. And Tort, of course.”
“Neither of whom is around,” I noted. I rubbed my temples and worked at keeping my patience. “I’m going to Karvalen, Amber. I’m going there, looking for Tort and for T’yl, and I will get to the bottom of this.”
“What about the kingdom?”
“I understand Lissette is running the place?”
“Yes.”
“If she needs my help, she has it. Otherwise, I plan to stay out of it.”
“Really?”
“I’m a lousy king. It sounds like she’s a good queen. I’m quite happy to go home to my mountain and mind my own business.”
“I’ll let Tianna know you’re coming.”
“Thank you. Meanwhile, is there anything I can do for you here?”
“Mochara is doing surprisingly well. Your predecessor had little to do with it. I suspect because of my presence, and the closer presence, therefore, of the Mother.”
“Fair enough.”
“May I ask what you have endured in these past months? I would like to know what happened after you fled through the gate.”
“That’s going to take a while.”
“I have a room where the light of sunrise will not touch you,” Amber offered. I glanced at Mary. She shrugged.
“All right. First, this is what happened, from my point of view, when Firebrand opened the way out of the basement…”
“Basement?”
“Okay, let’s start with my mental architecture and geography. This is going to take a while.”
Thursday, January 29th
I talked for hours. I talked the moon down from the heavens and the sun into the sky. Even hitting the broad outline of my time on Earth—well, one Earth—took a while. Many of the things I saw and heard and did had to be explained. Amber had no cultural context for a package-delivery drone, an automated cab, or even professional mobsters.
We did take a break for the dawn service. Amber conducted her religious ritual for the congregation while Mary and I took cover in a cold cellar. I cleaned us both with a spell, taking the opportunity to walk Mary through the spell operation again. She’s ready to start casting cleaning spells while I spot for her.
Later, after the incendiaries—I mean, “ceremonies”—concluded, Amber sent for breakfast and invited us to continue with the story. We went through lunch, as well, explaining more details about that Earth. We could have eaten second breakfast and brunch, as well, but I didn’t want to strain her hospitality.
“It sounds complicated,” Amber decided, “but interesting. You say you may find other worlds, similar, but safer?”
“Maybe. I haven’t had a chance to go looking. I’ll work on it after this thing with Tort and T’yl.”
“If it is a place where I may go, I would like to see another world.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Thank you. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“I have a question,” Mary piped up.
“Of course. What can I tell you?” Amber asked, interested.
“What’s the deal with the shoulder straps?”
“Shoulder straps?”
“I noticed some people wearing these shoulder-to-hip things. They have embroidery about here,” she indicated a place over her left breast. “It looks like insignia or something. Are they military, or what?” Mary noticed my expression. “Hey, I like to know who the police and military are, okay? If I’m going to commit a crime, I need to know who to run from.”
“She has a point,” I agreed.
“The insignia are not exclusively military,” Amber told us, “but they do indicate someone who works for the Crown or Throne.”
“There’s a difference?” I asked.
“An agent of the Crown is in direct service to the King and Queen. That person speaks to their Majesties. An agent of the Throne is in direct service to the King and Queen, but reports to an agent of the Crown. Such people owe no allegiance to any lesser lord. The ribbons indicate this—various colors indicate ranks, such as black for an agent of the Crown, then other colors indicate how far down the wearer is from one who actually speaks with the King or Queen. I’m not clear on the ranking system; I have little to do with their affairs.”
“What about the badges?” Mary asked.
“They indicate the type of service. A mason will have a hammer and square; a carpenter a hammer and saw. Fishermen have the net and hook. The color of the border around the badge will indicate whether they are an apprentice, journeyman, crafter, or master.”
“So, how do I tell who has the authority to arrest me?” Mary wanted to know.
“If they’re wearing armor and sword, they have the authority,” Amber assured her.
“That’s important to know.”
“Especially for interdimensional jewel thieves,” I added.
“It’s taken me a long time to get there,” Mary pointed out. “I don’t intend to get caught now.”
“Fair enough. Shall we go?”
Amber kissed me good-bye; she and Mary traded nods. It must be awkward to conduct social niceties when you’re made of fire. Come to think of it, meeting your father’s girlfriend could be a little weird, too. Either Amber handled it with exceptionally good grace or I’m incapable of noticing things
that subtle.
Mary did some touch-ups on our disguise spells, adjusting our colors. My hair lightened to brown and developed some streaks of grey. Bronze shifted to a dappled, dark-grey coat with a black mane. It was a better-looking effect than I ever manage. Mary’s really got the hang of it. Years of makeup, maybe? Or maybe she doesn’t suffer the partial color-blindness that comes from not having a matched set of X chromosomes.
“You’re disguising us so no one recognizes us, aren’t you?” I accused. Mary didn’t answer, unless a smile counts as an answer. “You’ve been planning this ever since you asked me to grow a beard,” I added. The smile might have widened a bit.
“Come on,” she insisted, taking my arm. “This is my first medieval city. Let’s walk around a bit.”
“It’s not too impressive.”
“It’s got paved streets, a geometric layout, public fountains, what look like storm drains, and the place is mostly made of masonry. If this isn’t impressive, I don’t know what you’re comparing it to. Versailles?”
“You’ll see,” I told her.
We walked around and looked the place over. I had to admit, she had a point. I recalled the smell in Mochara nine years ago. This was much better. Drains make all the difference. If things went as expected, the sewers drained underground and out to sea. Do the sea-people have farms downstream to take advantage of that?
More personally, what does it say about me that I’m proud of my efforts at public sanitation? Something good, I hope.
We passed by the Temple of Shadow early on in our walk. It was across the street from the Temple of Flame. Mary wanted to go in; I nixed the idea.
“Why not?” she asked.
“I have a distinct desire to not be inside a temple to me.”
“Oh, come on!” she urged. “Don’t you want to see how they worship? I bet you have a statue and everything.”
“I admit I’m curious, but I also dread the idea. I’m not a god, don’t want to be a god, and, now that I’m not one, I refuse to have anything to do with it.”
“You sound… I don’t know. Does it frighten you?”
“Yes.”