by Andy Boot
As a result, it was easy for a mischievous young adept to conjure up a simple thought form in the shape of a shadow, then laugh as the warrior gave chase, stalking the mind construct until he was within range only to be foiled as the adept simply let the image go, leaving him with nothing to attack.
It became a game for the adepts. The problem was that some of them were nowhere near as skilled as they believed themselves to be, and so the thought forms, when let go, did not dissipate: rather, they wandered off to roam the grounds, mindless and directionless energy in search of a task. Joining, as they did, with other thought forms that appeared and disappeared with regularity as the by-products of magical experiments, they littered the grounds, moving amongst the cover of the flora, setting off security alarms with regularity.
Simeon found this irritating as it was, but it was made worse by the insistence of Ramus-Bey that these alarms were disturbing the studies of the academy, and he would go directly to the Chief Minister if such interruptions continued.
There were times when it seemed like an impossible job from the very beginning. Encounters such as the one that very morning with the Mage made things no better.
But worse was to come.
Dusk fell over the city. Outside the walls of the castle, traffic noise rose and then receded as the city ended its working day and began the leisure of the evening. Inside the walls, the animals responded to the darkening skies by searching for food, retreating to favoured corners. Even the reptilian birds hunkered in the trees, malevolently surveying the skies and waiting for the light to come once more so that they could continue their ceaseless vigilance.
In the same way, Simeon was preparing to step up in his own ceaseless vigilance. During the day, following his latest fruitless exchange with the Mage, he had returned to his room and checked his schedule. There was little to be done on this day: a routine delivery, which was only a short time away. After that, nothing. Usually, the hi-tech surveillance equipment came into its own once darkness fell. For once, though, he wanted to be out there in the night, to get a feel for the area. The city provided ambient light to stop the grounds becoming too impenetrable to ordinary vision. He also had infra-red night vision goggles which connected to the surveillance tech in his room.
He hadn't had the chance to try them out. Simeon became inordinately excited, and then caught himself. He was beginning to feel that glorying in the tech was the only pleasure he would get for a long time to come. Which, he had to admit, was not the greatest feeling.
He ate alone in his room, not wanting to mix with the adepts after the last few days of thought form teasing. The wizards were apt to dismiss them as harmless pranks - even as good practice - yet Simeon had the nasty feeling that one day soon he may (accidentally?) shoot an adept, such was the tension he felt. He wished he could communicate this, but there was a gulf between the academics and the military that seemed too great to cross. As well as his current desire to hit an adept if one so much as looked at him wrong, he knew that if they realised he was embarking on night patrol, it would be too great a temptation for them.
Perhaps for him, too: something he wished to avoid.
He waited in his quarters, keeping half an eye on the surveillance equipment, which was registering normally. There were minor fluctuations in readings, but to the degree he could tell when these were the weak thought creatures that still roamed loose. They showed as little more than blips in the energy detectors. Similarly, he was becoming something of an adept himself when it came to reading the register on other surveillance equipment. The shapes, footfalls, and rustlings of the fauna were becoming both familiar and distinguishable to him.
Ramus-Bey had a regular hour at which he retired for the night. Others in the academy were tempted sometimes by their studies to ignore the passing of the night, but the Mage had disciplined himself over the years. He knew the limits of his own body: magic may have prolonged his life, but only by slowing its decline. He had learned to work within those limits.
So, at that time, Simeon made a last check. They exchanged a few words, the coolness of earlier still between them. That suited Simeon fine. He had work to do, and had no wish to waste time in idle conversation.
He returned to his room and prepared for his patrol. Slipping out of the castle, avoiding those wizards and adepts who were still in the entertainment room or the kitchens, he began to follow the route he had prescribed for himself.
It was odd how different the castle grounds seemed by nightfall. It had taken him some time to get used to their strangeness by day. Now it was as though he had to re-learn everything. He knew from his brief experiences of combat how alien an environment could be by night, but the flora was causing problems: shrubs with raised root systems that conspired to catch at his ankles; overhanging branches shaded by the lack of light that suddenly loomed at him; the way in which many of the flowering plants changed their scent in the darkness, as petals and stamen closed themselves to the cold night air. His portable tracker told him one thing, his senses another.
The wildlife didn't help either. Snuffling, whining sounds caught his attention and made him turn. Leathery wings beat above his head as his wanderings disturbed the irritable reptilian birds. Tallus dung lay treacherously and thickly in his path.
Just as he was beginning to think that a night patrol was a really bad idea, his tracker went wild. Looking down at the small screen, he could see that a large surge of energy had appeared, breaking near the southernmost wall. He flicked a switch, transfering the signal to a small reflective screen in the night vision goggles. He holstered the tracker and drew his blaster, moving as fast as he dare towards the source of the disturbance. The last thing he wanted was to stumble and fall on the treacherous surface. It was an uneasy compromise between the need for speed and the need for caution.
He glanced towards the castle. As he circled towards the energy source, he noted that very few lights were ablaze in the building. Good, he didn't want anyone wandering into what may be a combat situation.
As he approached, his task was made harder by a sudden rush of creatures making their way in the opposite direction. Panicked by the energy source, the Tallus herd has started a stampede of the smaller creatures. This in turn had stirred the birds, which were circling for prey. The air was filled with their harsh, cracked cries.
In the dark, even with the aid of night vision, it was difficult to pick his way past the panicked fauna. He slowed, having to side-step Tallus that galloped sightlessly, to stop the smaller creatures from tripping him, biting or scratching him as he tried to avoid treading on them, or kicking them.
He soon discovered why they were so terrified. The thought creature came into view: it was almost twice his height and width, and a Tallus hung from within its centre. He could not see the front of the animal, only the flailing rear legs, and the shower of blood and meat disgorging from surrounding area. The thought creature was shredding the animal.
Above him, reptilian birds attracted by the scent of blood homed-in on the thought creature, tiny brains focused only on the Tallus. They screeched in agony as they hit the energy form, their leathery skin frying on contact, the ground reverberating at his feet to their falling deadweight.
Simeon cursed. This was a big bastard. No adept had made this as a joke. Serious magic was required for this amount of power. But how the hell was he going to engage a thought? On his previous encounter, he had blasted into its centre, dissipated it. He doubted whether he could get close enough to do that without being chewed up like the Tallus.
It was headed for the castle, but had been distracted by the Tallus and the birds. One good thing about thought creatures: none too bright. Perhaps...
He circled it, hoping to draw it towards him by firing into it, hoping the irritation of the blaster energy would distract it further. He had no real plan beyond that, but a notion that if he could guide it to the area where the other stray thought forms clustered - he checked this on the tracker screen - then
perhaps the thought creatures would attack each other, overload and burst; like a balloon that has been overblown.
Simeon was about to fire when he saw him: Tamlin, the youngest of the adepts in the castle, and the one who was most likely to tease him. Why the adept was there he didn't know, only that the fool was walking straight towards the thought creature.
"Tamlin - go back now!" he yelled, knowing even as he did that the boy would not hear him above the cries of the birds.
"Woah... power... some kinda... mazing..." He could hear scattered words from the boy. The stupid lad thought that the creature was another of the adept's tricks on the warrior security. Instead of going back, he was moving towards it. He was saying something, looking at Simeon, but the warrior could not hear him.
The bulk of the thought creature shifted. It's head - if it could be said to have one - turned to the adept. His expression changed to one of frozen fear. He couldn't move as the hazy limb of the creature reached out and drew him up.
Simeon fired into the creature to try and distract it. It was no use. Too little, too late: the boy was shredded in a shower of flesh and blood like the Tallus before him.
What little was left fell to the ground with a wet noise as the creature dissipated.
"I'm telling you, it was sent to hunt you down. I'm sure it vanished after Tamlin was dead because it thought it had fulfilled its task. It sensed the magic in the boy, and knew it had annihilated a magic soul. We were just lucky that a thought creature isn't created with enough intellect to detect degrees of magic. That lad should have been you!"
It was the following morning, and the exhausted warrior was in the Mage's chambers. Absurdly, as it seemed to him, having trouble convincing the Mage of the reality of the threat.
"No - no, I won't have it," Ramus-Bey yelled at the guard. "It was some stupid experiment that got out of hand. I will conduct an enquiry and the culprit will be reprimanded. You do not know magic as I do... accidents occur. It is the nature of the practice. Regrettable, but..."
The Mage tailed off as he looked out of the window. He had not met Simeon's gaze. Prior to this he had not wanted to acknowledge a threat, and the guard had put this down to an unworldly stubbornness.
Now he was not so sure. Was the denial at least in part fuelled by fear?
Was Ramus-Bey - the peace talisman of his people - scared?
CHAPTER SIX
Year Zero - Period One
The two men sat in shadow. Before them images of the thought creature's attempt to gain access to Ramus-Bey played out.
They watched as the Tallus was destroyed. They watched the young adept Tamlin enter the frame and then he too was shredded.
One of them also kept a watch on Simeon 7, bumbling and stumbling in the presence of the thought creature. He looked completely out of his depth. This was good.
With a heavy sigh, one of the men paused the recording as the thought creature began to fade.
"There has to be a better way. Just send a detachment in there and blast the old man to the Gods he swears by. It'll be quicker."
"And traceable. Very traceable. A detachment is a lot of people to hide in plain sight. Even though Simeon has been picked because of his unsuitability, he's still a warrior. He could take some of them out before they took him. Leaves evidence. You don't want evidence."
His hand hovering over the control, the second man pondered this for some time before decisively erasing the recording. With a brief movement of his hand he brought up the lights. He rose from his chair, long black robes flowing as he moved over to pour them each a glass of the wine that stood on a side table. It came from a decanter, the top of the liquid rose pink, the lower half a deep purple. It mixed in swirls as he poured, before settling and separating once again in the glass. He handed one to his companion before returning to his seat, robes rustling softly as the thick material brushed the floor.
Every move was deliberate, considered. It was a few moments more before he spoke.
"That's the problem with magic. It has too many unknown factors. You know where you are with a detachment of elite warriors."
"Warriors screw up too," the man seated opposite pointed out. He was dressed in a black military tunic, and was obviously coarser. Where one was tall, blond and lean, the other was squat, dark and scarred.
"I wouldn't have expected you to prefer magic over military hardware."
The squat man drained his glass in one, then shrugged. "Minister, I'm from Intel, not just a grunt. I've examined the capabilities of both. Nothing is perfect, and there's always the possibility of a screw-up. All I'm saying is that if you match the capability to the task, then you reduce those possibilities to a minimum."
"And your opinion of our - ah - 'weapon' in this instance?"
The squat man grinned mirthlessly. "The term loose cannon could have been invented for him. He is, of course, completely unreliable. We would be stupid to dismiss out of hand the possibility of his being or becoming a double agent."
"It must be said in his favour that I approached him, and he is one of our own."
"Yes. But an ambitious man knows no boundaries. He may also be recruited by another nation state. Though I suspect not, as not even our own academy know of his powers. His ambitions are academic, and with Ramus-Bey removed, he can ascend to the chair he feels is rightly his. The chances of another Intel organisation knowing of him are small. His own ambitions, and their tunnel vision, reduce further the chance of his being recruited by an enemy. Their means may match ours, but we cannot risk their ends."
The tall man smiled wryly. "How refreshing to hear the word 'enemy' used again. I have to pretend to like them. I shall relish the chance to denounce them for what they will - ah - do."
"We all have to pretend we're one world, Minister. But we aren't. This peace is a sham, but it does offer the chance to finally gain ascendancy and end the conflict once and for all."
"Just a pity that these thought creatures cannot be better controlled."
The squat man stood up, flexing bones stiffened by old wounds, and helped himself to another glass of wine. He carried it over to the desk, placing it between himself and the man he called Minister. This gave him the opportunity to lean over so that he was able to stare directly into the face of his fellow conspirator. His voice, when he spoke, was hushed.
"It did as it was commanded. It terminated a man with a magic aura. The fact that it has no degree of subtlety or finesse is simply one of those variables. We can learn from this. The next attack will have that required subtlety."
"I wouldn't like to gamble against you," the Minister said softly as the squat man seated himself.
An ugly grin broke on the scarred visage. "I never gamble. I make sure there can be only the one outcome. That's why I'm still alive. That's why you came to me when you hatched this little plot. That's why I shall be the military chief to the next Chief Minister of Bethel."
"Of Inan," the blond man corrected, pouring them another drink.
"Why stop at conquering the planet? Why not re-name it after the greatest nation state?"
The Minister paused, glass half-filled.
"Truly, you are a man of rare vision, Daliel."
A few days later, in the castle grounds, the mortal remains of Tamlin were laid to rest with a ceremony befitting an adept. His soul was consigned to the Gods by his wizard master. Ramus-Bey completed the blessing. The magicians drank a ceremonial salute to the departing adept. Finally, they sang him to the afterworld with an ancient chant. The harmonies, in fours and fives, sounded old and strange to Simeon as he stood slightly apart from the magicians, observing. Yet there was something about the song that touched him inside. It was as if the sound reverberated in his own soul.
When the ceremony was complete, and the academics returned to the castle to begin their daily rituals, Simeon remained by the grave.
He felt, rather than heard, the Mage approach.
"You must not blame yourself. You tried to aid him."
/>
"But I failed."
"That is neither here nor there. You did all that you could. Tamlin made his own choice not to turn and run."
"Is fear a choice?"
Ramus-Bey shook his head. "He wasn't scared. You know this because you saw him. He was in full possession of himself, and he made a decision. It was wrong. That is all."
With an infinite tenderness, the old man turned Simeon and led him back to the castle. As he let the Mage do this, Simeon was in inner turmoil. There were so many things about the previous night, and about the Mage's reaction to events that he had so far failed to resolve.
He declined the old man's offer that he join the magicians for their mid-day repast, which would be a celebration of the young adept's life. It was better that they celebrate his existence than mourn his decline. Ramus-Bey was convinced that it would make Simeon feel better. Indeed, the warrior was almost convinced by the old man's arguments. But there was too much he needed to ponder, to work out for himself. He politely declined and retired to his rooms.
Once there, he went over the recording and logs of the previous night. To watch the recording made by the trackers was painful, but he made himself do it. He was spared the worst: the recorder nearest to the thought form had been disrupted by the burst of energy when it first materialised. There were a few moments of images broken by static and disturbance before the tracker shorted from a power overload.