Mystic Warrior

by Tracy Hickman

  The Grand Palace of Dong Mahaj-Megong was a magnificent edifice of corrugated steel plates fitted over arching steel beams. The beams were elegantly holed throughout their entire length and were strong enough to span the entire forty-foot width of the structure without the need of any extra support. Great panels of glass were fitted into sections where the steel plates had been removed. These were painted over to reflect the long history of Dong Mahaj-Megong and his ancestors—whoever they might be. The elegance of these pictorials was that they were so entirely generic in nature as to apply equally well to any particular story the current ruling Dong might wish to tell. Thus the integrity of each ruler was assured down through the ages, even if the accuracy of the story might be otherwise suspect.

  All of these things alone would have been enough to impress Mimic with the power and magnificence of the Dong. But yet more wonders awaited him as they walked down the hall, his limited view from under the cape revealing more marvels the farther they progressed.

  Down the length of the great throne room of the Dong, riches beyond measure were tastefully displayed in alcoves between the arching support beams: gears and screws of every size, coils of copper tubing forming uniform loops, and rolls of copper sheeting gleaming smooth. There were a number of intricate mechanisms and devices that included fitted pistons, push rods, and their matching shafts. There were no fewer than three boiler tanks in the room, complete with their original twisted piping. The thought of exploring them made Mimic’s mind reel with wonder.

  So excited was he that he nearly ran into Lirry’s back when he and Gynik stopped before the throne of the Great Dong.

  Mimic was tasked this time not only to hold both the Device and the cape but also to make sure that the cape dramatically billowed from time to time in order to impress the Dong. This had been considerably difficult to achieve while walking down the hall, although their walking motion helped. Mimic was primarily relegated during that time to hanging on to the Device, keeping the cape over his head, and occasionally blowing a puff of air up into it with his face. It was not particularly effective, but he hoped Lirry was too impressed with actually being in the throne room of the Dong to take any notice.

  Now that they were stopped, however, Mimic could take a step back, hold on to the Device with one hand, and pump the cape up and down with the other.

  The sight that greeted him when he stepped back nearly made him drop the cape.

  The head of a Titan—complete except for a large dent on the left side and its missing jaw—rested directly over the throne of the Dong. Its bronze metal was polished in places to a bright shine, while in others the natural patina of the metal was allowed to remain, with tremendous artistic effect. Three great gears of decreasing sizes lay on their sides, forming the elevated platform for the throne, while two large rocker gears sat on either side, framing the throne itself.

  Atop this dais, two large chairs were set, and on them sat Dong Mahaj-Megong, goblin king, and Ebu Sihir Putih, his current queen.

  Mimic was overwhelmed by such grandeur.

  Dong Mahaj-Megong was a squat, toadlike goblin whose girth fully equaled his height. He had the look of a goblin who had perhaps been made of clay and then pushed down to be more squat than was natural. He wore elegant armor made of tin squares two inches across that were linked with rings. Over this was draped a robe of the finest towel material Mimic had ever seen. His crown—the famed Crown of All Goblinkind—was a brightly oiled beveled cog with a towering spindle in its center of bronze. Mimic knew that it was one of only ten famed Crowns of All Goblinkind, and he felt privileged just to have lived to see it.

  The Dong’s current wife, Ebu Sihir Putih, was something of a beauty in her own right; she had a lovely pot belly of her own and hair actually growing out of her ears. Mimic had heard the story of how the Dong had become bored with his first queen many years ago and instituted a policy of rotating queens in the kingdom as a public service. As he put it, his subjects should not be burdened with coming to him with their homage, only to have to look at a less than magnificent queen. It was a measure of the Dong’s magnanimous nature that he changed queens often.

  Ebu Sihir Putih glared down from her throne at Gynik with open hatred. It was a well-known fact at court, whispered to Mimic by the grumpy kitchen staff, that the Dong had been trying for the better part of a year to convince Gynik to be his next queen. Gynik had, however, repeatedly refused. The rumors in court ran into two lines of thinking: either Gynik had someone else on her string that was richer and more powerful than the Dong, or Sihir’s family was strong enough to ensure that Gynik would very quickly move from being the heralded current queen to being the lamented late queen. Most who knew the current queen subscribed to the second theory. These same courtiers also subscribed to the additional theory that if Gynik could find a way around the current queen, she would do so without hesitation.

  This was as much of court politics as Mimic knew; that Ebu Sihir Putih was a beauty, no one doubted. That her beauty paled next to Gynik was also just as quickly accepted as fact. Mimic certainly could see it even from beneath Lirry’s cape. Now, as he watched the bald hatred glaring out from Sihir’s yellow eyes, he knew that Gynik truly was the fairest in the court.

  The vice-chancellor had been introducing Lirry now for some time. Mimic reminded himself to concentrate. The most important moment in Lirry’s life—for Mimic’s life, too—was about to take place. Mimic had to be attentive and not let his mind wander. He certainly did not want to miss it.

  Lirry tugged at his collar. The robe kept yanking at him from time to time. It was Mimic, of course, who was tugging at it. Lirry had specifically told the little speck to billow the cape majestically, not yank it around. He made a note to smack Mimic soundly for this insult when they got home. For now, however, he just wanted to get through the introduction and get on to his audience with the Great Dong.

  He had been imagining this moment his entire life; the moment when he would no longer just be Lirry. He would instead be Lirry: Lirry the Great, Lirry the Magnificent, Lirry the Powerful. He knew there was greatness in him, had often wondered why others did not acknowledge it, and cursed everyone either above him or below him for not giving him his due. But today he would finally be vindicated. He would stand here—right where he was right now—and the Dong would say, “Lirry, your discovery ain’t like anything I’ve seen ever! Every goblin in the world will know that it was you—you—that did this thing! Then they’ll all be sorry for what they said about you. They’ll all suffer for what they did to you. They’ll all grovel at your feet . . . and if they don’t, I’ll smack ’em so hard that they won’t stop hurting ever! It’ll be great!”

  And now here he was, Lirry, standing in front of the Dong Mahaj-Megong with the greatest discovery in the memory of the goblin kingdoms. It was all going to happen for him just the way he imagined it.

  “. . . in long service to your Majesty as Technician Supervisor First Class of the North Western Salvage unit. I have the honor therefore to present before your most glorious and beloved Majesty . . . Lirry.”

  Lirry tried to bow deeply, but the cape only allowed him to bend over so far before it started choking him. He managed to rasp out a hoarse, “Your Majesty.”

  Dong Mahaj-Megong was not even looking at the supervising technician. He was leering at Gynik and wiggling his pudgy fingers in her direction. His pointy teeth glistened through his broad smile. “Hello, Gynik! So good to see you in court.”

  Sihir continued to glare, but Gynik ignored the current queen.

  “And I am simply thrilled to be here, Your Majesty.” Gynik’s smile was dazzling; her creaking voice sent a jolt of either lust or envy through everyone in the throne room. “I am escorting my good friend—Lirry, here. We have something very interesting to show you, sire!”

  “Oh, I’ll just bet you could show me plenty that would interest me,” the goblin king leered.

  Queen Sihir reached over with her long, willowy staff
of office and smacked the king with it. The king growled back at the queen menacingly.

  Gynik pretended not to notice. “Indeed we have brought plenty that would interest the King of the Goblins. Lirry, present your discovery to the King.”

  Lirry nodded. This was it and he knew it. He turned around to Mimic and whispered harshly, “Give me the Device!”

  “Just a moment, sir. I have to stick the cape back over my head before—”

  “Just drop the cape, idiot, and give me the Device!”

  “Whatever you say, Lirry.”

  Lirry snatched the Device from Mimic’s hand.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  He turned toward the Dong.

  The Dong leaned forward, suddenly keenly interested in the treasure Lirry had in his hands.

  Gynik smiled.

  Sihir’s eyes narrowed.

  Lirry reached forward with the Device.

  Tick. Tick. THUCK. Whhhrrrrrr . . .

  The Device stopped.

  The Dong frowned.

  Gynik’s eyes narrowed.

  Lirry smiled gamely. “Sorry, Your Greatness. Hehe. The Device is somewhat sensitive. It occasionally will stop of its own accord.”

  Lirry shook the Device gently.

  Silence. Nothing moved.

  “Mimic!” Lirry grumbled under his voice. “Get over here!”

  Mimic dutifully obeyed.

  “Make it go!” Lirry growled at the technician fourth class.

  The Device was still as a rock.

  Lirry, holding the Device with both hands, slammed it down on the metal dais. Several small wheels bounced out of its inner reaches and rolled across the floor.

  “Your Majesty,” Lirry said, his hands shaking. “If you’ll please indulge me. I’m sure that I can get it working for you in just a moment . . .”

  “Sire, he lies.”

  Lirry looked up, appalled.

  It was Mimic.

  Dong Mahaj-Megong turned toward the little technician. “What did you say?”

  “Sire,” Mimic said. His voice was quivering in his boldness, as though he were afraid of the very words he was speaking. “Sire, Lirry cannot make this Device function. He never could.”

  “Shut up, Mimic,” Lirry growled, “or I’m going to give you such a smacking that you’ll never wake up!”

  Mimic took another step forward, continuing the plan he had practiced before his mirror at every available moment for weeks on end. “It was me, sire, just me.”

  Lirry screamed, lunging for Mimic.

  He dropped the Device.

  Mimic had taken too many smackings from his boss. He knew Lirry’s moves. In a flash, he ducked out of the slower goblin’s way, and Lirry fell flat against the dais. When he rolled over, he saw Mimic standing over him, holding the Device.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Gynik’s eyes shifted to Mimic. She stepped forward at once, the staff that Lirry had purchased for her in one hand, her other hand sliding around Mimic’s arm.

  “Sire, I believe that you, in your infinite wisdom, have discovered the true Master Technician of all Goblins!”

  As Lirry watched from the floor, the governor at the top of Gynik’s staff began to spin on its own. Several of the devices around the hall creaked, groaned, and slowly began to move as well.

  A ripple of amazement ran through the goblins, imps, and gremlins in the hall.

  “Mimic, you shall be rewarded as no other goblin in the history of our kingdom has been rewarded,” the Dong intoned. “You are, indeed, the Master Technician of my entire kingdom!”

  Mimic bowed his gratitude.

  “How may I show you my admiration,” Dong Mahaj-Megong asked through a wide smile, “and demonstrate my benevolent support?”

  “If you please, Your Majesty, I would like to take ownership of Lirry’s apartment and its possessions,” Mimic said with practiced ease. “After all, he only acquired them because of my talent.”

  “Why, that seems almost fair! So be it and so I decree. However, what do you suggest we do with this Lirry idiot?” the Dong asked Mimic.

  It was Gynik, however, who answered the Dong. “I believe this Lirry idiot has a huge number of debts in your city, sire. Perhaps we should just turn him over to his creditors?”

  The guards grasped hold of Lirry.

  He was about to get everything he deserved.

  40

  Tower of Mnumanthas

  We walk across a blasted plain. Everything is illuminated with crimson light under a flaming sky. The clouds overhead are ablaze with deep salmon light ignited by a fiery dawn. The place is familiar and foreign all at once. The ash under our feet billows up as we walk, only to be swept away in the hot breeze that blows gently past us. We stop for a moment at the edge of a ravine, the gray waters at the bottom of it flowing sluggishly around a bend in its course.

  “Where are we, Tragget?” I ask of my companion.

  “In another place or age, perhaps,” he replies. The Inquisitor turns and points to the north. “Those are the Lords of Mithlan, or so I would swear. I’ve lived at their feet all my life. Yet the mountain is broken and spews fire and smoke. If, however, they are the Lords of Mithlan, then we should be standing on the Southern Steppes. Were that so, then we should be wandering among the fertile farms of the Pir. This river should be the River Indunae . . . indeed, it is the Indunae in its course as I remember it.”

  “Perhaps it is our distant past that we are seeing,” I suggest, more as a guess than an observation, “or could it be our future?”

  “Or perhaps it is neither.” Tragget shrugs. “There is so much about this that we do not know, Galen. It is hard to know where to begin.”

  I shake my head as I look about. “Well, perhaps wherever we start will be the beginning. There certainly doesn’t seem to be anyone around to tell us what we are doing wrong.”

  Tragget laughs at this; hearty and relaxed.

  “Now that is progress right there,” I remark. “I didn’t know you could laugh. I think I rather like it.”

  Tragget looks down shyly. “I think I do, too.”

  We walk eastward toward a line of statues on the horizon. They appear to be tremendous wrecks of iron and bronze in the shape of men that lie scattered across the plain.

  “How is Berkita?” I ask cautiously.

  “She is well, considering,” Tragget replies easily as we walk across the dusty, bald ground. “She is feeling lonely since the dwarf abandoned her. I suppose that typical behavior for his kind. I’ve never really met dwarves before him, though others have told me that they are not to be trusted. Do you want me to find him? Is it important?”

  “No. I’m sure he has his reasons,” I reply with as much honesty as I can force into my voice. I most certainly do not want Tragget to look for Cephas and desperately want to change the subject. “What do you make of those iron men? Are they statues?”

  Tragget stops, his brow furrowed.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  The Inquisitor opens his mouth, hesitates for a moment, and then speaks. “Galen, I’ve lived a curious and guarded life. I was raised in the Temple itself, my parenting secret and my childhood a deception. I’ve had companions and playmates, each of whom was brought in for that purpose and none of whom knew who I really was.” He shrugs and looks off to the horizon. “I guess I never really knew who I was either. It’s hard to live a lie.”

  Is that what I have been doing? “I know. We all do.”

  “I guess it’s just that, well, I’ve never really felt able to trust anyone or be completely at ease.” Tragget looks back at me, his face a little sad. “There was always a part of me that was afraid I would be discovered, so I was always on my guard. Do you know what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, I do.” I, too, look toward the horizon. “It is strange that we should come to such a bizarre and foreign land just to find some peace at last. I used to hate this place—wherever or whenever it is—and now it seems to be the only place
we can be honest men.”

  “Yes,” Tragget says, then turns to face me. “Isn’t it all disturbing?”

  “Definitely!”

  “Still, we have much to learn.” I sigh. “Let’s try something, a little gift as it were. Do you remember a night when we were in Vasskhold, only it wasn’t really Vasskhold?”

  “Yes,” Tragget says. “All the buildings were smaller and they were falling down. It was a dark night.”

  As we speak, the ashen plain beneath our feet erupts with tall grasses. The fiery mountain to the north heals itself once more into the quiet Lords of Mithlan. The flaming sky slips quickly into a deep night as the sun is banished from the heavens.

  “We were standing at the base of the tower. The bones of the dead held up the walls . . .”

  The world flows around us. The mountains fly toward us and settle to the east. The crumbling walls of Mithanlas rise up around us. The tower sags next to us.

  “I wondered if the winged woman would be inside. We went in through the door.”

  The doorway shifts around us, engulfing us until we stand inside the tower now as we did before.

  I turn toward Tragget. “I asked you your name, do you remember?”

  “Yes. I told you I couldn’t give it to you.”

  “You said you would give it to me when the time was right.”

  “Yes, and I have given it to you.”

  “Then,” I answer easily, “the time is right!”

  The great wind comes as it did before, but this time it catches us both. It lifts us both into the tower, yet something has changed. The winged woman is there, but she is sleeping inside the iron ball that I had fashioned for her. I wonder at this as I grasp Tragget’s hand. I lead him up through the remaining ironworks and onto the pinnacle of the tower.