A Kind of Peace

by Andy Boot

  "Okay. Are you ready for this?"

  "Like I told you, no, but we don't have a choice," she smiled. She took out her own blaster, feeling the weight. It would be the first time she had ever used it outside of training. This would be a proving ground.

  "Each stairwell is equally protected... pick one," he said. Jenna indicated the door in the west wall. "That one it is then."

  They moved towards the door. He felt the heat of the sun increase as she dismissed the invisibility field and then the temperature dropped again as she cast a temporary invisibility charm. As he took his first step beyond the door he felt he was entering into the world that he better knew.

  Time to fight a real enemy. Not shadows.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Year Zero - Period Two.

  Routine. The curse of the warrior. Yet, if Simeon stopped to think about it, something that could also be a blessing. For while he was engaged in the daily round of boring tasks, he wasn't in any danger of termination - and neither, more to the point, was his charge. Against this, the longer that things continued in this humdrum manner, the more lax he could be. Without even realising it, he was slipping into automatic. His mind was not on his work. Simeon would spend the night with the surveillance tech on full scan, letting it bleep to itself in the background, alerted only to any changes by the alarm (in the last half-period, attributable to three furry creatures in search of trash scraps and one reptilian bird that had somehow lost its way back to the nest). The days he spent in patrol. The beauty of the Institute grounds, which had so entranced him when he first arrived, were now nothing more than a gaudy backdrop, barely noticed.

  It would be easy enough to snap out of this frame of mind though, to renew his dedication to the task and to become the guard he had set out to be. But if he did this, he would also become conscious of a few other matters: matters to which he did not wish to devote too much thought.

  Firstly, he was still unsure of his own capabilities. His reaction to the two attacks that had so far occurred had done little to alleviate these feelings. He had spent most of the war inactive, and on the two occasions that he had been called upon to act, nothing more than blind luck had saved him from a terminal screw up. He had been tested magically and found more than wanting. His only consolation was that he had been employed for physical attack. But even this held doubts. Until he was actually tested, he would not know if he was up to the task. If he wasn't, it would be too late for amends.

  His second problem, which was closely allied, was that of the chain of command. He was answerable to Daliel. The Intel warrior said that he had picked him personally, had great faith in him, trusted his judgement. Why, then, had Daliel done nothing after the two attacks had been reported? Was it because he agreed with the Mage's opinion that the attacks had been of no real threat? Was it because they had not been physical attacks, and so came under some other department's jurisdiction? Or was there some other, darker reason? Had Simeon 7, for some reason that he did not as yet comprehend, been set up to fail? If this was the case, then the warrior did not feel equipped to consider the consequences.

  Finally, but perhaps most importantly, there was the matter of Ramus-Bey himself. The old man was exactly that, for all his power and knowledge. He was still a frail old man susceptible to all the foibles of such. He knew his body was weak and failing him, and this made him afraid. His powers had acted like a blanket of faith, but after that night in his chambers when he had been unable to repel the attack, he had started to doubt himself. Of course, he had said nothing directly, but Simeon knew. The irascibility of their initial encounters had returned, and when not irritable, the old man was openly hostile. He was equally bad-tempered with the adepts.

  A Mage in such a mood was a liability: was he a deterrent or a loose cannon? Simeon wondered how could you guard a man who dismissed your advice?

  They were nearing the end of the second period. It had been time enough for both men to settle to the new life, but things were still frosty between the warrior and the Mage.

  "Security check. Everything OK last night. I'll make another check during the late morning. Today is your audience with the Chief Minister. I'll ride in your carriage with you, check it out first."

  Simeon stood in the doorway, not wanting to venture into the chamber. It was cold enough, without the ice in the Mage's tone.

  "I'm not senile, Simeon. I realise that I have the audience, though what that fool wants to talk to me about, I have no idea. I suppose I'll have to accommodate you, but I really don't see the necessity."

  "The carriage is armoured, but once outside the boundary wall, there's no security back-up. Anywhere on the route..."

  "Yes, yes, spare me the tedious details. You have your job to do." He busied himself at his desk, head down in papers all the while he spoke, not wishing to look at Simeon, which suited the warrior fine. If the old man didn't want to face reality, then he'd just have to do it for him.

  "I do have my job to do. It's not one which I relish, believe me. I cannot protect you from all dangers, it's true, but I can handle most areas well enough."

  Simeon's tone was barbed. They had not spoken of the last attack since the night it had happened, though it was obvious to Simeon that it had occupied the Mage's thoughts. Ramus turned to fix his bodyguard with a beady stare.

  "And your implication being?"

  "I have nothing to imply."

  "Good..."

  The Mage dismissed him by returning his attention to his work. Simeon lingered in the doorway, wondering if he should press home the issue. The moment had passed though. Simeon tried to put it out of his mind and immersed himself in his usual round. This was not without its own perils. Since the termination of the adept Tamlin, there had been several more pranks played on the bodyguard. Although none of them had been life threatening, they had nonetheless taken on a more spiteful tone, as though the adepts, if not blaming him openly for their fellow's demise, still felt that he was responsible. From simple thought forms, the pranks had now become more complex, more involved.

  Only a short while before he had responded to an alarm on the east side of the Institute. Arriving on site, with his usual hand blaster replaced by a short-neck pulse-cannon, he had found that a cluster of the small, squirrel-like orange and yellow rodents that inhabited the smaller shrubs were gathered around a motion sensor. It wasn't the fact that there were so many of these normally retiring creatures gathered in one place that pulled him up short. It was the fact that they seemed to be making shadow puppets over the motion sensor in order to trigger it.

  Believing his eyes to be deceiving him, he moved amongst them, attempting to scatter them with a kick. He realised that magic was at work when they failed to disperse, choosing instead to come together around his ankles. Blinking, he realised that the individual creatures were coalescing into one giant ball of fur which began encircling his ankles and threatened to trip him.

  He thought about firing at them, but at such close range, he was likely to take out his own feet as well as the fur ball. The absurdity of it was still striking him when he lost balance, pitching forward.

  Suddenly, the situation was nowhere near funny. As he hit the ground, the impact jarred the cannon from his grasp. The ball of living fur grew, spreading up his legs and pinning his knees together.

  He struck at the rippling mass, trying to find a hold that would enable him to disentangle himself. His muscles ached, lactic acid building quickly as he hyperventilated. His own body wouldn't give him the ammunition he needed to fight. Furthermore, the living fur that wrapped around him seemed to have no up or down, top or bottom. There was no head he could strike at...

  The creature was not up to waist level yet, so there was still a chance. It seemed to grow faster the more he struggled, as though feeding off his movements. He stilled himself - not without effort, as every instinct told him to fight - and carefully felt for his belt. His blaster was not there - in using the cannon, he had left the other weapon to
charge; the holster clip was still attached though, and it was this he intended to use. Unhooking it, he used the sharp metal clip as a weapon, driving it into the nearest piece of fur.

  The apparition - for he was sure it was a magical construct - was solid and real enough to register pain. It made no noise but shivered and drew back, bleeding a viscous pale fluid over him.

  Simeon had found its weakness. In making the thing animal-like, the wizard creating it had been forced to construct it like living flesh. Simeon knew enough about magic by now to realise that this was a low-level construct, the work of a minor adept, and not a master of the craft.

  With a renewed assurance, he continued the attack, repeatedly driving the clip into the fur, making it shrink back. As it retreated down his legs and off his ankles, it split up once more into a cluster of rodents. Some ran. Others - those that had been the part of the whole injured by the clip - stumbled and fell. Then they faded away.

  Breathing heavily, he stood and looked around. There were no sign of any rodents: either those produced by magic or those who had produced them.

  Afternoon. Time for the Mage's audience with the Chief Minister. Time for Simeon and Ramus-Bey to lock horns again. At least, that was what it was beginning to feel like.

  Simeon finished his routine inspection, then knocked at the door of the Mage's chambers. He entered on hearing his charge's grunted assent, and then accompanied him down to the carriage. An ornate vehicle, it resembled the kind of carriage that would once have been pulled by a Tallus team. Black, silver and grey livery, with an ornate hood design and large wooden-appearance wheels, it seemed like a relic. In fact, the carriage was a modern replica of an old design, with a particle beam driver and blaster-proof coating. Once the Mage was inside, there was little that could touch him.

  Nonetheless, Simeon gave the vehicle a quick recce, ignoring the exaggerated sighs of his charge, before allowing them to leave the walled grounds of the Institute.

  Simeon had not been out of the grounds much since his assignment, and all he could think of at every junction was how easy it would be to take out the Mage. A cannon of sufficient power could be mounted on a rooftop, and dismantled before the smoke had even cleared. It would have been more to their advantage to get the Chief Minister to come to them.

  As it turned out, though, there was little threat either on the outward or return journey. In the Ministry building, Simeon was charged to leave the Chief Minister and the Mage to their conference. Waiting outside the ministerial chamber, as assured as he could be that his charge was safe, Simeon wondered idly if he could take this chance to try and catch up with Daliel in the military wing. Either as the counsel of friend and superior officer, or as an opportunity to psyche the possible enemy, it would help to set his mind at peace. All this was still running through his mind when he thought he caught a glimpse of Daliel. The squat, scarred man was difficult to mistake for anybody else. He began to move towards him, deep in conversation with a taller, blonde man in the charcoal robes of a junior minister. Who was Daliel talking to? Simeon didn't have the opportunity to investigate further as the doors behind him were flung open by the Mage, who stormed out. Simeon had been aware of raised voices for some time but it was only as the Mage exited that his words became clear:

  "...will not be used as a mere bargaining tool! The pursuit of knowledge is a means in itself, and not the plaything of those with a desire for power without responsibility."

  "You old fool - all power has responsibility. Mine is to the people who I serve, and yours..."

  "You serve no-one but yourself. Until you become less selfish there is no common land on which we can meet to discuss this matter." He turned to Simeon. "I am leaving. Come with me or be left behind."

  With which, the old man stalked down the corridor, the very air shimmering around him with his anger.

  He didn't speak until they were in the carriage, and only then at the prompting of Simeon.

  "At least when there was a war they left us alone. Now we, who have devoted our lives to study that brings us closer to the Gods and to the ancient mysteries of the universe, have to become a part of their tawdry political plans."

  "Is that why you resent me?" Simeon asked.

  "No," the old man snapped. "There is more to this than you. I cannot tell you what he asked of me, only to say that it would be to break every oath that I hold sacred, to break every law of the universe by which I live. You? You are nothing more than an irritation."

  There was little Simeon could say to this. He would only invite further contempt if he started an argument. However, the greater import of what Ramus-Bey said played on him. If Bethel's Chief Minister was asking him to do something he considered immoral, then was it not possible that... Before he had a chance to raise the matter, he was interrupted by something that he had not expected. A Mage with a conciliatory tone.

  "I have, perhaps, been harsh on you of late Simeon. You are only fulfilling your duty, as any warrior should. You are a man of honour, I can see that, and you have had to work under less than auspicious circumstances. I should not vent my wrath on one who is only serving as ordered. I am also aware that many of the adepts use the practise of their skills as an excuse to bait you. There is no excuse for them to do so, and I shall endeavour to see that such juvenile behaviour desists."

  "Thank you," Simeon said simply. The old man had given a lot of ground to him. Now was not the time to bring up any further matters. They could wait a day.

  Or so Simeon thought.

  Was it his imagination, or was there a lighter air about the Institute over the next few days? The Mage had delivered a reprimand and warning to the adepts, and seemed much happier in himself. Standing up to the Chief Minister had been a fillip to his confidence, and something of the man Simeon had started to know when he was first assigned was now returning.

  The days, which had been monotonous and dull, relieved only by a low level of irritation, were now that much brighter. As he made his daily patrol and checked his surveillance tech, he noticed the changing of the blooms on the flora, and the changing habits of the fauna as the season began to turn. His relationship with the adepts was also much improved. He had no idea what the Mage had said to them regarding their treatment of him over the termination of Tamlin, only that they seemed to view him in a very different light... almost with respect.

  All in all, life was looking good.

  It was twilight. Beyond the walls of the Institute the city was alive. But within the grounds, with the sound deadened by the thick stone, life was still lived as it had been for hundreds of anums. The adepts, wizards and the Mage lived by the sun, the moons and changing of the seasons. The life of the magical academy was beginning to wind down for the night. Simeon had monitored the surveillance tech, and was calling in on Ramus-Bey before the old man slept. They had exchanged pleasant small talk and the guard was about to leave when the old man sat bolt upright in his bed.

  "What is it?" Simeon asked, puzzled.

  "Something... I'm not sure... it feels strong, but..."

  Simeon had the portable surveillance monitor on his belt. He checked it: nothing was registering. Ramus-Bey shook his head. "It wouldn't. Not yet... it's a charm of some sort, but approaching power, not yet..."

  "Another prank? I thought that things had changed," Simeon murmured, feeling a tinge of bitterness.

  "If it is, I will come down heavily on whoever..."

  "Wait - if you can feel this, then what about the others? The ones before..."

  The old man shrugged apologetically.

  There would be time to deal with this later, right now he had to get out on the grounds. He was ambivalent. If it was a stupid prank, he could hardly be bothered to expend the energy. Yet could he take the chance that it was that and nothing else?

  It was no frame of mind in which to enter combat.

  The signal registered on his portable as he reached the entrance hall. A massive surge, centred inside the main gate. It was as th
ough something magical had just strode into the grounds.

  As he opened the old heavy doors, he took in a magnificent sight. Three men high and two wide, it was a scaled beast with a beak for a face, and forearms the size of his trunk. It glittered and shimmered like it was made of flowing liquid metal, and moved with an eerie silence. Nothing that looked that heavy should be that quiet.

  If it was a thought construct, then it was one of the most impressive he had ever seen. If it was organic, then that was something that made him go cold with fear.

  This was no prank. This was that which he had feared for so long, and yet had grown tired of waiting for. Another magical attack.

  Simeon didn't know how to tackle it. Conventional weapons were of little use, though if he could get close enough to try and overload its power... No, the blaster was nowhere near powerful enough.

  The creature approached. The fight was going to be far from pretty and far from noble. His first task was to deflect it from its course.

  Simeon ran across its path, trying to drag its attention with him. The movement made it pause in its tracks, hooded eyes following him. He took the blaster and fired towards those eyes, hoping to make some impression at a supposed vulnerable spot if the creature were organic.

  Nothing. It watched him impassively as the blaster fire hit.

  OK - back-up plan, then... except that he hadn't had time to formulate one...

  The creature turned towards the castle building. Thinking on his feet, Simeon realised that - organic or thought creature - what he needed to distract it was a lot of power.

  The motion detectors were pulse powered: the cells within them had perpetual power, released in very small levels. Once a detector was manufactured, it could slow release for over a hundred anums.