by D. H. Aire
"The tales told about the doppels of Highmages are practically legend. Such human doppels are referred to as the Highmage’s Hand… They do what the Highmage can’t since a Highmage rarely ever leaves the Imperial Capital. It's warned that when one does some great catastrophe follows. The presence of a Highmage's dopple often is reputed to bring the world back into balance—to the Dark One's rue. Such are the greatest songs sung by bards all across the Aqwaine Empire.
"There are even texts in the Academy which speak of the gifts the doppels have displayed. Always, the human doppels are treated with respect, even if grudgingly."
Revit and Terus had grown very quiet as Aaprin finished his explanation. They stared at each other, elfblood boy to human boy, who often seemed to outsiders as if they were twins.
:Fascinating,: Staff murmured enrapport to George.
"Indeed," he muttered back, realizing the import this particular argument might bring—no matter what he logically thought of its merits. You could take little for granted in this world where elvin magicks could be depended upon and the laws of science were not.
Even as the Llwelyn's words were considered by the Panel voices from the nearer booths began to comment, "Perhaps, the human is only a doppelganger!" "He's certainly not of our blood!" "I knew this was farce. No human can be credited as a candidate!" "Knew it all along—even the Panel cannot ignore this foolishness any longer!"
Aaprin paled, hearing those comments grow louder, bolder. Master Grendel looked across the chamber at them. He smiled with impending triumph, his candidacy alone would remain—his rise to Highmage assured.
:If they consider this particular argument overarching, they have made a vital mistake,: Staff commented as a wave of hateful and ill-wishing emotion rose against George's mental barriers, making him dizzy.
Staff began a steady ruddy glow, bolstering George. The emotions were at once pushed back, leaving George clear headed once more.
The Archmage Regis turned from the whispered conversation of his fellows. The chamber went extraordinarily quiet, expectant.
Regis looked grave indeed. "We have heard your words, Llwelyn, and are disturbed by their import." He then looked to George. "This question disturbs us greatly—it questions your right of Candidacy, though, you carry Alrex's own recommendation. What have you to say to this?"
George took a deep breath, then replied, "What you suggest may explain much that has puzzled me. For this I gratefully thank my honorable, um, Guild brother from Llwelyn." The old elvin mage looked clearly affronted as George raised his softly glowing staff high in the air. "I cannot clearly define the relationship I have, ignoring for the moment any question of whether humans have an 'ethereal spirit' or soul… an issue which I firmly believe to be that humans do."
The staff's light grew brighter as George increased his level of rapport. The computer was soon blazing incandescently. The elvin blooded mages covered their eyes with their hands, even as Raven gently urged Aaprin, Revit, Terus back.
A moment more, then staff merely glowed as it had before; however, George's face now glowed as if from some inner fire. Those assembled gaped as he spoke in answer, enrapport to a dangerous degree, "DOPPELGANGER? WHAT NEED HAVE WE FOR SUCH? GEORGE IS NEVER WITHOUT ME NOR I HIM. PERHAPS—AS A HUMAN MAGE, YOU CHOOSE TO IGNORE THE FACT THAT I AM A LIVING MACHINE.
“WE ARE BOTH PART OF AND SEPARATE FROM EACH OTHER, IS THIS NOT SIMILAR TO THE RELATIONSHIP OF HIGHMAGE AND DOPPELGANGER?! WHAT MATTER IF HE IS HUMAN—I AM NOT.
"YET IT IS OBVIOUSLY TRUE THAT NEITHER ARE WE ELVIN. SINCE I HAVE NO BLOOD FLOWING THREW ME AT ALL, PARDON ME FOR FINDING THIS A FALACIOUS ARGUMENT. WE SHALL NOT BE BOUND BY WHAT LOGICALLY YOU CONCLUDE FROM YOUR HISTORY AS ABSOLUTE TRUTH."
"You tell 'em, Staff!" Revit and Terus shouted in unison.
Aaprin swallowed uncertainly as he noted the reaction staff's manifested presence was having, particularly, the fact that Master Grendel no longer smiled.
"ELVIN MAGERY MAY HAVE WON AGAINST HUMAN TECHNOLOGY IN YOUR LONG AGO WAR," Staff proclaimed from George's lips. "YET THAT LONG AGO VICTORY DOES NOT MITIGATE THE VALIDITY OF HUMAN ENDEAVOR. THE POSITION OF HIGHMAGE IS THAT OF GUARDIAN OF THE GATE BETWEEN THE WORLDS. HIGHMAGE ALREX BROUGHT GEORGE AND I THROUGH IT TO HELP CHAMPION YOUR EMPIRE AND THE HUMAN RACE. THE FORMER ELFKING, NOW DEMON LORD, IS OUR COMMON ENEMY. TOGETHER WE ARE MORE THAN ENOUGH TO MEET THAT CHALLENGE.
"THAT IS THE ANSWER WE OFFER, LORD PRESIDENT."
The light faded from George's face as the staff's glow dimmed. Aaprin hurried to his master's side. Even Revit and Terus helped seat the exhausted and wan looking George, who blinked blearily and muttered, "I wish we hadn't done that."
:Rest, George,: Staff practically pleaded, wishing they had never discovered this particular skill.
That is when Abernathy, the Faeryn of Faeryn, rose and began to applaud. Soon all the Faeryn mages rose and were doing the same. Master Stenh, Dean of the Mage Academy, and George's official sponsor to the Hall, rose and laughed in delight. Few others in the chamber dared show such support.
The elvin lord Sianhiel grimaced with distaste and hastily left followed by his comrades before Archmage Regis rose and gestured the dumbstruck Llwelyn to return to his seat, the issue moot.
Aaprin immediately sent Terus off to fetch his master something to drink as Raven paced in front of the booth warily, watching those around them from any sign of threat.
The Llewlyn mage cast a surreptitious glance at one member of the panel. Kolter, the Archmage of Hayden, showed not the slightly chagrin at their gambit's failure. Yet Abernathy, returning to his seat, was not fooled. Kolter was no doubt Grendel's silent patron. Andienne had not the wit to plan this bit of theatre. What worried Abernathy most was what other ill schemes the elf lord might be perpetrating.
Lord Sianhiel and his elvin companions stepped outside the Guild Hall. It was morning, the day clear. Instinctively, Sianhiel recognized this moment. He had come to the Hall late, growing decidedly uncomfortable with the monotony of events.
The enchantment had set them outside the Hall the precise moment after he had entered. He was becoming so sick of games. Could not the moment match his fey mood, at least? Yet the enchantment like all of Faery moved time as it would, for purposes that even the long lived elves might never grasp.
Senason, the debate should be revolving about you and Grendel, not the usurper who he had accused of Senason's murder, he thought. Grendel was a fool, but at least was of the blood. Yet not everything could be taken at face value he had come to realize, though, that lesson was painful.
He marched away from the Hall, unconsciously following the scent of smoke in the air down-tier. His companions hurried after him, worried for him. The look on Sianhiel's face had been dire enough immediately after Senason's death, but it looked even worse now.
The Pack Rats stared. They had spread themselves across rooftops and alleys. Smoke rose from the ruin of the warehouse they had called home.
Andre used hand talk and conveyed their worst fears, with her orders, 'Burn your clothes. They can help others trace us magically. Steer clear of the chosen safe houses. There may be safety in the Temple, which offers its own protections. But trust nothing. Break to teams. Stick together and hide as best you may!'
The Rats hesitated until Andre took a stone from her pocket and threw it hard at the nearest. The teams instantly scattered.
Juels followed after Andre, the most experienced paired with the least. They had gone only a little distance when they found themselves confronted.
An unkempt man came out of the shadows before Andre and laughed, "Looky what we got here!" The fellow raised an old short sword menacingly even as Andre heard the sound of wood striking against cobbles coming up behind them. Fearing, they were trapped, Andre lunged with an outstretched dagger.
Juels screamed as the sword struck Andre before the urchin's dagger even nicked him.
The Seventh Tier garrison was overwhelmed. Captain Yates, assigned here as punish
ment duty, shouted orders that split his men dangerously throughout the Tier trying to enforce order when the whole Tier appeared to be in riot.
He had not the luxury of waiting for reinforcements from up tier as the mayhem drew his patrols across the evidence of some mad hunt. Captain Yates took his largest squad in search of the source of the billowing smoke, forced to charge their horses through the crowds.
It took precious time to locate the fire which was razing a long abandoned warehouse. Worse yet was the fact that with the wind blowing as it was, the fire promised to encompass the whole district hereabouts.
Yates shouted at his garrison's mage to deal with the fire, which the the elfblood greeted with an upraised eyebrow, knowing the matter hopeless for him to deal with alone for long. Dowsing fires of this proportion took massed mages but one person alone could begin the spell and might increase the odd of success if other mages could be summoned to the need.
The mage shouted an elvin spell. His words were unclear to anyone within hearing. Yet the words set to battle the raging fire reached outward, clear to those throughout the city who might be able to come to his aid.
Mage Meltran, one of the few who had not gone to the Guild Hall that day, glanced toward the source of the flames. He heard the garrison mage's bespelled plea, yet he was shielded from its effects. He glanced askance as his lackeys bore his two unconscious minions into his waiting coach.
He shook his head at his ill-luck. The warehouse was burning as planned, yet these two fools had somehow failed to trap the urchin Gallen. Yet not everything was lost, he smiled, the hunting was proving quite amusing.
One of his lackeys hurried toward him. "Master!" he rasped. "Elvin mages have come!"
"What!? Of all the ill-luck this day! We leave now! Pray those enchantments hold or the punishments meted shall be severe!"
The lackey groveled as he boarded the coach. The coach seemed to vanish, leaving not even a sound to attract attention as it passed through the outer tier gate.
Sianhiel blinked as he found himself crossing the Seventh Tier and realized there was fire being fought. By the time his party arrived on the scene, the garrison mage was on the brink of exhaustion his chanted the dowsing spell barely effecting the billowing smoke.
Volunteers were fighting to dowse the blaze with stockpiled enchanted black dust, yet only the outer boundary of flame was being held in check.
Sianhiel sang out, his companions taking the chant's refrain. The garrison mage slumped unconscious as they took up the spell. The flames immediately shrank back, then fought to burst free like a living thing fearing capture.
The building's roof abruptly buckled and collapsed. The elvin word DEVOUR echoed through the ether and dissipated. Sianhiel cried out, then steadied his friends, focusing their combined will to put out the flame now with an ease that had not been possible moments before.
Minutes later, only a smoldering ruin remained of the warehouse. Sianhiel held the spell together a moment more, before yielding at last.
The elves coughed, fought to catch their breath, though the very air stank with the burning.
Sianhiel was the first to recover and went over to the garrison mage whose captain was shaking to awaken. "We've work to do you lazy—!"
"Enough!" Sianhiel ordered. "Allow him his rightful rest."
"Blasted lordlings!" Yates shouted as he moved off and gathered his men. "We're only lucky the fire didn't shift an inch from that building!"
Sianhiel blinked, suddenly thoughtful as the garrison mage coughed and muttered, "Thank you, Lord, for responding so quickly. I don't know what would have happened else."
"Do not concern yourself, Cousin," he said frowning. "You did well enough against that unnatural fire."
The elfblood abruptly stiffened, realizing what Sianhiel was implying. "But I sensed nothing fey about it."
Sianhiel looked to his recovering companions. They nodded to him. They had heard it too. So, an invocation of flame had taken the structure and been powerful enough to fool any of the lesser mages that would normally have responded here in the Seventh.
But whomever had done this had not expected elves of the High Court to be here. Oh, Senason! he wanted to cry to the heavens. How can I face the dark little plots all around us without your lead?!
Chapter
4
Terhun was restless, could sense something was wrong. With a shake of his head, he told himself that it must simply be that Cle'or had no need of his special services that day. Balfour was tucked safely in the Healer's Hall, watched by more dwarves than the elves within cared to meet. Lord Je’orj had gone to the Mage Guild, which could mean he would be incommunicado for days, though for him only an hour may have passed or if it seemed liked days only hours. Someone had once joked that on one occasion a mage met himself coming out of the Guild he was just entering.
There was a great din outside the inn that served as Terhun's current residence. Glancing out the window, he stared. Imperial troops in full regale were quick marching down the avenue toward the Seventh Tier Gate.
Thick smoke wafted high overhead. Suddenly fearful, Terhun shouted for his aides. Verny burst from his room and down the stair, sword in one hand, while the other held up his pants. "Coming, Boss!"
There was a faint cry upstairs of, "Hey! Come back here, you lout!"
Stepping into the inn's doorway and tightening his belt, Baxter said, "I don't like the look of this." Hurrying outside, they hastened to take one of the nefarious routes only the urchins claimed to know. They passed through alleys and came at last to some forgotten sheds, screened from view by some rundown buildings. Here lay a concealed means through to the next tier, a man-size crack in the Sixth Tier wall.
So, the sight of two figures lounging against the wall, screened by piled crates was a particularly unwelcome.
The pair saw them, straightened. Terhun smiled thinly and took a charm from his pocket. "Goodnight, gentlemen," saying the phrase that keyed the enchantment. The men instantly slumped to the ground and began to snore.
Baxter dragged them out of sight, knowing the effect would last almost six hours. Terhun went through the crack, gesturing Verny to take another way. Baxter came through moments later, paused, and took a third path. Spoken communication was unnecessary to the Lyai's trained agents. Situations called for specific actions. Terhun's only concern was teaching them when to bend or break the rules-- his hand in their education.
Walking down an empty street, Imperial troops could be heard in the distance. Shouts and screams echoed. Then an old practically bald headed man, his cane cracking against the cobbles, turned the corner. There was a trace of blood on his cane. "Knew no good would come of it," he muttered to himself then glared at Terhun.
He frowned uncertain of what to make of the wizened old man with incredibly dark hazel eyes, filled with suppressed fury. Waving his cane threateningly, the old man asked warningly, "You are not about for the bounty on those children are you?"
Shocked at the question, Terhun replied with a trace of his own grim anger, "No, sir, such a bounty's blood money."
"A civilized descendant at last– I despaired of ever meeting one. Perhaps, there's some hope, after all," the old man muttered and walked away, cane cracking across the cobbles.
Terhun stood there silent for a time as if mesmerized, then he came back to himself, forgetting the odd meeting, but not what he had been told. Damn, I should have suspected— never should have involved them.
Hating himself for such stupidity, Terhun turned and ran back the way he had come.
The hunters covered their wagon's bound and gagged prisoners with straw. Thus, inconspicuous, while the rioting raged, the driver slapped the old mule's reins.
Ponderously, the wagon was drawn up the street. "Not a bad haul," the driver commented.
His companion, his ribs bruised, glanced back at a particular mound of straw. "I hope I killed that one."
The other tactfully replied, "Just think of the gold."
Smiling wickedly, "Perhaps, they'd pay extra for us to dispose of the li'l lads."
Grimacing with distaste, the driver muttered, "How much you think we could get?"
"At least another gold a piece—oof," the man rasped dazedly, reeling back, his face abruptly bloodied.
At the sound the wagoner turned, then took the brunt of the second cast speeding stone. He lost his balance and fell hard to the broken cobbles. The horse nervously plodded faster as dazed the other man, hands to his bleeding nose, reached for the reins.
Another stone struck him. He slid down the seat, gasping in pain. There was a thud behind him as Clawd dropped from the concealing ledge above, let his sling fall, and stabbed the groaning man with his ragged blade. Too late the man's arm came up to block. The blade cut deeply. There was a gurgling sound as blood frothed.
Clawd swallowed hard, fighting back his tears. He had done what he must. He moved to the edge of the seat, gripped carefully and shoved the body with his legs as hard as he could. The body fell with a thud. Taking the reins, trying not to think about what he had done, he coaxed the anxious horse into the wide alley just ahead.
Once well within and out of casual sight, Clawd drew the reins and locked the wheels. Fearing what he might find, he went onto the wagon hack and swept the hay. The first body he uncovered kicked feebly at his touch. Hurriedly, he cut the boy's bindings and struggled to find the still hay covered face.
A frightened face stared at him in sudden relief as Clawd whispered, "Move it, Rat! Time you help with the others!"
The urchin took a deep breath, rubbed his wrists and ankles as Clawd uncovered the next. He suddenly stopped. The arm he found was sickeningly cold to the touch. Grimly, he moved on the next. Clawd gasped when he found Ruke, unconscious.