by Garon Whited
He used to be a bit of a klutz, but he was never stupid.
“Have you anything further you wish me to do?” he asked.
“No, that’s it for now.”
“Then I shall begin immediately. If I may be dismissed?”
I whistled. Bronze poked her head into the room.
“The Kingsway looks windy, cold, and possibly icy; I’m told it’s more dangerous than I know. Think you can get Beltar wherever he’s going?”
Bronze snorted. Silly king, asking silly questions. If I wanted Beltar taken around the world, that might be challenging. Getting him home was a task almost beneath her—except she would be happy to help. She curled a foreleg back for Sir Beltar to use as a step. Beltar moved out into the great hall and saluted me again.
“Farewell, my King.”
“Farewell, Sir Beltar. Drop by anytime. I mean, return whenever you wish, and be welcome.”
“I shall, my King. With your permission, however, I would return to the Temple of Shadow through the underways.”
“It’s a long walk.”
“Yes, but Bronze will have no trouble with the tunnel.”
I paused for a moment, thinking.
“Tunnel?”
“Yes, Sire. The tunnel from the Palace to the Temple.”
My first impulse was to ask. My overriding impulse was to agree. Bronze took him deeper into the mountain, nudged a pivot-door open, and started down a long, downward-sloping tunnel. Beltar conjured a light to hover over his head as Mary and I watched them go. Mary took my hand.
“Where does this tunnel come out?” she asked.
“Presumably, in the Temple of Shadow.”
“You don’t know?”
“It’s a big mountain. I have a general feel for the place, but it’ll take a lot of study before I know all its secrets.”
“Fair enough. So why did he come up the Kingsway?”
“No idea. I’m sure he had a reason, though, and I’m sure it involves the public. Making a statement of some sort perhaps?”
“Could be. He seems like a sharp cookie and a surprisingly nice guy. Are you going to get along with priests, now?” Mary asked.
“I don’t know. I got along with Perrin, but don’t ask me why.”
“Did you throw him out?”
“Of course not.”
“I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. If you’d killed a priest of the light, you wouldn’t deny it. Besides, you’d have a great case of self-defense, since everyone knows they take serious issue with your existence.” She smiled mischievously. “He also wouldn’t have fallen to his death. He’d have disappeared without so much as a smear of blood left behind.”
“Fair enough. Which reminds me. Remember the magi who were chasing us?”
“Yes. I think. You mean the ones from Earth, not some magi from around here?”
“That’s them. I saw a spirit today. It looked like a magi, or magus, or whatever the singular is. It was a man in a button-down shirt and a tie, anyway. Judging by the silver cord, I’d say someone was astrally projecting.”
“You mean we might have fled to an alternate reality and they’re still chasing us?”
“It’s not unheard of,” I grumbled.
“That’s ridiculous. Are they out of their minds?”
“Possibly. Or they’re fanatics. Fanatics are bad. One could make the argument that fanaticism is a form of mental imbalance.”
“Something needs to be done about them,” she muttered, darkly.
“I agree. I’m working on that, too.”
“No, you’re standing here. I’ll handle visitors.” She shooed me into the great hall. “Get to work.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
I got to work. Sometimes it’s hard. Being the only handyman in the palace means I’m busy, but I have other things I’d like to be doing.
Let’s see… Visuals for the psychic alarms, yes. I added Beltar to the welcome list for the security spells. Next, I finished the two mirrors at the upper door, moved on to two more at the lower, inner door. After those came a field around the palace to highlight any wandering spirits—I’m not sure I always see free-roaming ghosts or astral projections during the day, and I doubt anyone else does. Adding a visible aura around any immaterial being struck me as a good idea. I also had to check on the charging stations for the diamonds. Then I decided to add some light spells to the four firepits in the great hall for general illumination, as a courtesy to guests.
I’m kind of proud of my setup on those. Whenever a fire burned in one of the pits, not only would the illumination spell turn off to conserve power, but some of the heat energy would be transformed into magical energy, charging the spell for me. Plus, each firepit had a reflection spell; visible frequencies below the edge of the firepit were reflected up, to scatter from the polished gold of the ceiling. Of course, then I had the idea to grow some sconces above the balcony-gallery thing running around the great hall. With light spells in some stone pockets, shining up onto the ceiling, the place would always have a warm glow even without the firepits…
Sorry about that. I like that sort of thing.
Bronze came back with the first of Mary’s projects for the night, bringing her into the great hall, out of the cold. Mary handled the old lady gently, which pleased me, while Bronze came over to me and presented me with a hoof. I saw her problem; the silencing spells were starting to wear thin.
“Remind me to put something more durable on, later,” I told her. She flicked an ear in agreement while I re-energized and strengthened her hoof-spells. Later, I might also include something for more traction… later, yes. Mental note. And, someday, an inertia-damping spell for additional cornering capabilities, as soon as I have time to develop one…
Then—finally!—it was back to my sand table. Getting it up to speed took a while—most of the night, in fact. It was almost morning before Mary came into my scrying room and sat on the edge of the table. I slid myself out from under it and regarded her.
“Almost done?” she asked, swinging her feet.
“I think so. That is, I think I’m done with it, but I keep finding little things I could tweak to work better.”
“But does it work?”
I climbed to my feet as she spoke and pulled her from the edge of the table.
“Watch.”
I called up an overhead view of the city. A circle of powdery sand rose up, shivered down, and became a perfect little replica, complete with pre-dawn traffic on the streets. Mary leaned close to stare and said something unladylike.
“Maybe after sunrise,” I agreed. “Like it?”
“It’s amazing!”
“I agree. I outdid myself on the original design. This is the Mark Two version.”
“It’s upgraded? How?”
“The original sand table only had four sensors. This one has eight—four at a shallow angle, four more at a steep angle. Better overhead views that way, especially in cities where buildings can block the view. It’s also got spectrum-shifting for false-color images and generates air-refraction lenses at the far end for telescopic zoom. Some places are blocked from direct scrying—that is, you can’t put a scrying sensor within a shield. With this, I can look through walls in much the same way a spy satellite can, and zoom in on anything I can get a line of sight on.”
“You’ve got the equivalent of a magical spy satellite?”
“Better, in some ways. I don’t have to wait for an orbit to bring it around to where I want it. It’s more like a whole spy satellite network.”
She repeated her first comment with a voice of wonder.
“I do that anyway,” I pointed out. She punched me in the shoulder.
“So, you can see anything you care to look at?”
“Not anything, and there are some other limitations,” I told her. “It doesn’t take pictures or record anything, and it can only look at one thing at a time. I can’t constantly watch two different citie
s or even two different people. I can only watch one thing, and then only when I have time to actually, actively watch them.”
“But you’re working on it, right?”
“See next year’s model.”
“You can look at the whole world? You could turn this into a map of the planet and freeze it, couldn’t you?”
“I could, yes. I wouldn’t be able to use it for anything else, though, for as long as I wanted a map of the world. And the resolution would be fairly low. The sand is a fine, powdery stuff, but it’s still sand. The image would be… grainy.”
Mary punched me again. I regenerated.
“I’d like to see the world,” she told me.
“Sure.”
I pulled the viewpoint up, zooming out. The city shrank rapidly. The Eastrange came into view and shrank with it. Then the plains, Mochara and the southern waters, the snowline to the north, Rethven beyond the Eastrange… the canals vanished, too small to see. The western shores, the western ocean… the eastern hills beyond the plains and their cities… the coast curved southward as it extended eastward… higher still, widening the view…
The sand fell flat, smoothing instantly into the ready state.
Frowning, I examined the workings of the table. It was in working order, but something interfered with the array of scrying sensors. I fired it up again and sent them up again, this time more slowly. The upper four sensors cut off a moment before the rest of them did, and at about the same level as before.
“Is that supposed to happen?” Mary asked.
“No. At least, I don’t think so.”
I switched from the sand table to the scrying mirror. With some care, I probed the area where I lost sand table function, checking for anything unusual—monsters, magicians, or magic. Seeing nothing, I sent the sensor up higher, carefully, watching as I went.
We came to the barrier around the world. It was, as I suspected from our encounters at the Edge, a sky-blue color. I wondered if there was any air at that height. On Earth, the atmosphere officially ends at a hundred miles. Judging by the view below, the height of the firmament was much greater—five hundred miles? A thousand?
There could be air at such a height. It would require re-thinking what I knew of gravity, but maybe my lack of facility with flying spells stemmed from my misconceptions about gravity in the first place. Certainly, it was something to consider.
Nothing interfered with my scrying sensor reaching such a height. When I tried to move it higher, through the barrier, it simply quit, as though dispelled or absorbed.
Well, at least the sand table mystery was solved. I explained it to Mary.
“Why can’t you scry beyond the barrier?”
“Offhandedly, I don’t know. I would guess because anything you see beyond the barrier might also be able to see you. Since I don’t know all the powers and abilities of the Things, it might prove extremely dangerous. I recall a lady wizard who did something like it, though, and had a broken effect as part of her eye. I think we can scry beyond the barrier if we open a scrying window out there, but we can’t move an established sensor through it.”
“I’ll take your word for it. So, is this thing how you’ll find Tort?”
“Nope.”
“No? What do you mean? I thought the whole point of all this work was to find her?”
“It is, but this is only part of it. I can’t find her with a regular seeking spell; she’s shielded in some way. This won’t seek out a target. It’s a—it’s a flying camera, not a radar system. I have to know where to look before I can see anything with it.”
“So, what good is it?”
“This is merely the centerpiece of a more elaborate plan.” I laughed my best Mad Scientist Laugh.
Mary rolled her eyes. I chuckled.
“It’s not that bad,” I told her. “I need a few peripheral spells for it. Powerful and moderately complicated, but not massive enchantments like this. Those should go much more quickly.”
“Well, that’s a comfort. Does this mean I can persuade you to come into town with me for lunch?”
“Probably. Why?”
“Because I want to go out on the town with you. See a show. Have dinner. That sort of thing. You know, like couples do?”
“I can do that,” I agreed. “I’d like to get a feel for how dangerous it is in the city for me, anyway. I get different impressions from different people, so I ought to see for myself.”
“Perfectly reasonable”
“Right after the paternity test results.”
She paused, cocked her head to one side, and regarded me.
“Paternity test?”
Sunday, February 1st
After I walked Mary through the paternity test spells, she favored me with a pitying expression.
“So, what, exactly, do you plan to do—Dad?”
“Tell him the truth.”
“And then what? Take him in? Be a father? Care for him for the next… ten years? Twelve? See him educated and find him a good job? Argue about what career he should follow? Disapprove of his girlfriends? Or arrange a marriage?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to discuss it with him. Probably his mother, too. She should have some say in the matter.”
“I’m not sure you should. You’re not really a daddy, now are you?”
“You talk as though it’s a bad thing, trying to be a father.”
“Normally, I think fathers are fine things,” she admitted. “Mine was. On the other hand, you didn’t sire this kid. You didn’t have anything to do with making him or raising him.”
“He’s a child of my body.”
“He’s a product of someone else’s artificial insemination using you as a sperm donor!”
“I suppose that’s one way to look at it. Doesn’t change the fact he’s mine.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” She threw up her hands and walked away. I stared after her. What was the issue, here? Why was she so upset at the idea I was a father? Were kids boring? Or was she upset it wasn’t a child with her? Or something else?
I saw the psychic pulse when Heydyl came through the lower door. Since the spells recognized him, the room didn’t get all shadowy, cold, and hostile. He came right through and I met him in the hallway.
“Good morning.”
“Am I your son?” he asked, without preamble.
“Good morning,” I repeated. He swallowed and nodded.
“Good morning.”
“You look exhausted. Did you sleep?”
“Not really.”
“You also look out of breath. I’ll guess you got up early, skipped breakfast, and ran the whole way. Am I right?”
“… yes.”
“Then you need to eat. Come with me, please. Haven’t had breakfast yet, myself.”
We moseyed up to a kitchen and I set about frying things. I’m a firm believer in frying as a cooking method, especially for breakfast—ham, bacon, eggs, sausage, toast, all that. Technically, even pancakes are fried. If fried foods are going to kill me, at least it’ll be a delicious death.
I eat souls and drink blood. This is what I choose to have for breakfast. Don’t judge me.
With food in front of him, Heydyl ate with good appetite. He wasn’t entirely familiar with the fork, but he saw me using it and did his best. Forks are fancy; most people get by with a knife and fingers. When we finished, I whisked the plates clean with a spell and put them away again.
“Now, Heydyl, you wanted to know if you’re my son. The answer is yes, you are.” He made a fist-pumping gesture of victory. I smiled at his enthusiasm and hoped it wasn’t misplaced. “So, tell me what it is you want of me. Do you want a father? Or just to know you are my son? Or do you want me to take care of you and your mother until you come of age? Or do you want me to see you become a knight and a nobleman? Or what? Name it, if you can. I’m listening.”
Heydyl was silent for a while, looking at me and thinking. I tried to keep a small, encouraging smile on my face while
I waited, all attentive. I’m pretty sure he hadn’t actually thought beyond the idea of actually having a father. If he wanted one, I could certainly try my best, but my track record with children is awful.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted, finally. “I… just… wanted to know.”
“All right. Now you do. What else you want?”
“I don’t know.”
“Perhaps your mother—who is she, by the way?”
“Lynae. She’s a dressmaker.”
“Lin-NAE,” I repeated, exaggerating the word. “Good to know. Do you think she would ask anything of me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Should I ask her? Or would you do it for me?”
“I’ll do it!” he agreed.
“By all means. Go right ahead. If I’m out when you return, you may either wait for me or leave a note in—do you know your letters?”
“Everyone in Karvalen knows their letters,” Heydyl sniffed.
Score one for me and my educational policies as King.
“Good. Come with me.” We left the kitchen and went to the great hall. “I’ll put a table up in here with some writing materials. You can leave me a note if I happen to be out.”
“Don’t you have some sort of magic I can use?” he asked, sounding disappointed.
“Writing is magic. It only seems mundane because it is so common, and because most people fail to do it well.”
“Yes, Father,” he replied, dutifully.
“Now run along home and talk to your mother.”
“Yes, Father,” he repeated. He hurried off to the lower door. I told the mountain what I needed in the great hall and went looking for something to write with.
Once I had a place for messages, I pulled out the mirror Beltar gave me. It wouldn’t work inside the scryshield—at least, not as it was. A little spell-work to add some temporary encryption protocols so it could synch with the scryshield and…
“Seldar. Seldar. Seldar.”
The mirror rippled, swam, and cleared.
The Kingsway alarm went off. It was someone I didn’t recognize, dressed in scale-and-plate and wearing two swords, with a shield slung on his back. The tabard bore a device: green on the right, gold on the left, divided vertically by a black bar with a white circle in the middle.