The Archimage's Fourth Daughter

by Lyndon Hardy

  Alika. Fiery Alika. Gone, because of the so-called Faithful. She alone had the will to resist to the last. The desire for avenging her death seared all of his being.

  “What is your command, Boss?” the rockbubbler in whose sphere he now sat asked.

  Thaling broke out of his memories. Now, after a thousand years, there was opportunity. Now there was work to do.

  “Mintbreath, I need five rings,” he said. “Of silver, and a size that slips over my wrist but small enough you could wear one about your waist without it falling off. And a dozen birds, the ones the natives call ‘pigeons,’ alive and robust. Finally, a jar of glue that can bind together metal. My brother, Angus, informs me such a substance exists on this wretched orb.”

  “Our domain is restricted to be only within rock, Boss,” Mintbreath replied. “Raw metal, yes. But not forged rings. You know such things would not be found anywhere we can fly.”

  “And you know to do what you have done before. Barter with the imps of the air. They can find what I want.”

  “But, Boss, their price is too steep. They want to perform gross acts upon our bodies — ”

  “That is no concern of mine,” Thaling snapped. His willed his back ramrod straight. “Do as I command. The rings and ink that is pigeon-blood red are needed for the next step in the ritual I will perform.”

  “Yes, Boss,” Mintbreath, answered softly.

  His wings started to buzz in a modulated cadence that Thaling could not follow, but it did not matter. Wizardry was not his proficiency. It was magic at which he excelled. He looked at the single device standing upright on the table, a slender cylinder with a translucent bulb on top and a few toggles adorning one side.

  Why he had thought to do it, when he entered the portal so long ago, he did not remember. But he started opening each of the drawers along the side one by one — as fast as he could before the Faithful opened the door to verify he had gone.

  Most were empty, but in one was the tracker, the device that showed the location of the gateway when it was separated from it. A necessity if an explorer ever got lost when investigating a new orb. The way back to his transport home.

  Thaling had grabbed it and spirited it away when he emerged on the Earth. Evidently, none of the victorious ever discovered the loss nor did Dinton or Angus ask about such a device. And for almost the entire exile it had been his secret reminder of Alika — of what might have been.

  Over the years, most of the time the tracker was mute, but whenever the victors visited to check they were still confined, it came to life beeping that the portal was present and within range.

  He touched the device in front of him and waited a few moments more. Again, it happened as it had recently, not once, but more than two dozen times — a soft light radiated from the translucent bulb and a gentle repeating beep filled the air. Every day at the same time, it had come to life, and except for the first visit, each activation was only for a few moments, and then the tracker was silent again.

  A strange behavior, but Thaling was not concerned about why the visits were now occurring after so long an absence, only that each day they presented an opportunity. After centuries of waiting, finally, it made sense to act on his idea. The portal was the key. Neither Dinton nor Angus could reason their way to see that, but he certainly did.

  Dinner at Eight

  JAKE FLUNG open the door to his apartment. The other two were going to be impressed. He knew it. The floor to ceiling window covered the entire west wall, and the glow of mid-morning sun danced on a smooth and windless Pacific. To one side, a few pieces of Danish Modern faced a massive flat screen.

  “Behind the couch and chairs are the doors to two of the bedrooms,” Jake said. “The farther one is mine, and you, Maurice, can have the one nearest. On one side of the TV is the passage to the kitchen; on the other, Briana, is the door to where you can toss your stuff.”

  “Everything I have is here in my backpack,” Briana said as she set it on the floor. “But I must be at work by six. I am not sure how long the busses will take me to get from here to there.”

  “Busses?” Jake said. “There is no need for busses. No need for you to work any place at all when you are staying here with me.”

  He studied Briana a bit more closely. From the way she had come on, she obviously must be hot to trot. But if that was all it was, he already had Margo. Was there something else she brought to the table, something that might make her more interesting than only a one-night stand?

  “There is something else,” Briana continued, as if she could read his mind. “A task I have to attend to near Hollywood Boulevard.”

  “Really, what is that?”

  Briana did not immediately answer. After a moment, she said, “Now that I think about it. Now that I am making progress. Now with a place to stay. I don’t really need to do that every morning. I will make the return interval ten days instead of only one. Ten days should now be enough to finish everything up… I hope.”

  Briana’s words made absolutely no sense, but maybe, just maybe, there was something about her worth finding out about.

  “Well, whatever,” he said. “For now, let’s the three of us clean out Maurice’s room and cram everything into the kitchen. The Electric Girl action figure and the others are on display on top of the dressers, and their boxes are hidden in the closets.” He thought for a moment. “You know,” he said at last, “Electric Girl with the bustier thingy she wears. One would think that in the movies, with the action and all, they would pop out every once in a while.”

  Then he gave Briana his most dazzling smile. “After this stuff is put away, our martial arts champion here can scrounge up something from the pantry while the two of us go out for a little fine dining.”

  “Maurice is not coming, too?” Briana asked.

  “I’m cool,” Maurice said. “I need to practice my meditation at least two hours a day, or I get rusty. I start to get migraines too. As Buddha says, ‘Meditation brings wisdom; lack of meditation leaves ignorance.’“

  IT WAS already dark by the time Maurice emerged from his bedroom with a final armload of action figures, a riot of muscle and colors — The Violet Tanager, Miracle Woman, Hawkbabe, and five or six others. Jake and Briana sat in the center of the floor carefully putting each doll back into its original packaging.

  “Might be my way to cut my ties completely from the old man when they become scarcer items,” Jake said. “In the meantime, when I am not surfing…” He smiled again at Briana. “Not surfing or doing other things, I like looking at them.”

  “They are all female figures,” Maurice said.

  “A coincidence.” Jake shrugged. Time to start finding out if there was something more behind the pretty face, he thought. Something more that would make it worthwhile. “So, change out of what you have on now into your best dress. I am going to treat you to no less than Spago’s.”

  “This is my best,” Briana said. “What I have in my pack is not nearly as good.”

  Jake hesitated for a moment. “Well, no matter. My father’s money is good enough they should not care at all about what I show up with. Grab a wrap and we can be off.”

  “I don’t have a wrap either,” Briana said.

  THE WAITER brought the ‘American Sampler for Two,’ and Jake reached for the serving spoon. Briana set her hand gently on his wrist for him to stop. She took the spoon from his grasp and added a portion of the maïs à la crème to his plate. Then she did the same for hers.

  He grabbed his own fork, ready to begin when Briana placed her hand on his wrist a second time.

  “Until we both are ready,” she smiled. “It is part of a, what is the word, a ritual going back hundreds of years.”

  He watched her continue and felt a surprising surge of pleasure. It was enjoyable to be treated this way. It was as if she were a geisha. No, that was not right. She did not look Japanese at all.

  “I cannot place your accent,” Jake said. “Where are you fro
m? South America? Eastern Europe?”

  Briana shook her head. “No, not those places. Far, far away.”

  “India, then? Bhutan? Nepal?”

  “You would not find my home on any of your maps.”

  This was mysterious. Why was she being so evasive? Trouble with immigration? A criminal in hiding maybe? He reached again for his fork.

  “One more step and then we can begin,” Briana said. She cupped her hand around his upper arm and gently squeezed.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  “Where I am from, it is traditional when a warrior and a princess share a meal. It indicates she is thankful for his protection, and…”

  A hint of blush rose to her cheeks. “And the possibility that sometimes, not very often to be sure, but that, sometimes, there are more pleasures to come.” Briana lowered her eyes and concentrated on her plate.

  She did not hold the fork in a way he had ever seen before, Jake realized. It was as if she were getting ready to shovel heavy snow. He bent closer and looked into her eyes. They were so large and alive, a deep green contrasting perfectly with her cascading red hair, a face pale as alabaster, a face he had seen in no other woman he had ever met. He inhaled deeply and caught a hint of her essence, a scent he could not place. Not perfume with its musky base, but something more natural, a mixture of nutmeg and cinnamon, deliciousness of the natural world.

  Shangri-La! The thought rose out of nowhere. He had read Lost Horizon when he was in high school. The mythical valley hidden in the Himalayas and the harmonious people who lived there. It was nonsense of course, but, for some reason, it made sense. Briana was from somewhere like that. She was so… so exotic. Yes, that was it. She was exotic.

  And more pleasures to come, she had said. His pulse quickened. Now, he could hardly wait to get her into the sack. What new delights would she show him? What exciting ways not even dreamed about in the West? The next notch on the bedpost was going to be great!

  “MILADY,” JAKE said as he pushed open the apartment door a few hours later. It had gone well enough. Teaching Briana on the proper use of each of the pieces of silverware served as an icebreaker. But then, he had done most of the talking. She had said little about herself.

  “Now that we are back, we should finish the tour,” he said. “Let me show you my room.”

  They entered together.

  “It may seem a little ostentatious for a single guy…” Jake began.

  For a moment, Briana focused on the canopied bed and then froze as stiff as a rod of iron. A rich brocaded quilt covered a California king. A tall, intricately carved sentinel stood at each corner holding aloft what looked like a parachute gently descending to the earth. The finished bedpost nearest was marred by the series of notches starting from the mattress level and marching ceilingward.

  “Slammert,” Briana said softly. “Another Slammert! You are not like a pageboy at all!”

  Page boy? He was no pageboy. What was she talking about? Jake shook his head to fling away the thought. Not now, not yet. Time to plunge ahead and see how far he could get on a first date. He reached out and turned her to face him. He put his hand on her back and drew her close. His lips puckered and he lowered his head toward her.

  To his surprise, Briana deftly pushed away and twirled out of his grasp.

  “Waitress training,” she said in a disapproving voice like that of a teacher disciplining a disruptive child.

  Well, Okay not a ‘slam, bam, thank you, ma’am,’ Jake thought. But maybe at least, a little something.

  “This is a mistake.” Briana took a step back. “I’m… sorry, but you… your type is not what I am seeking.”

  “Didn’t you enjoy the dinner?”

  “Yes, the dinner was wonderful, especially the dessert. It was delicious. Where I come from, we do not have anything like, what did you call it, Baked Alaska?” She looked suddenly flustered. “Thank you. Thank you very much, but I have to go.”

  Jake puzzled. Some women blew hot and cold, he knew. But there was something else going on with this one.

  “You’ve avoided this all evening,” he said. “Where do you come from?”

  “You want more than a mere kiss, don’t you? And you expect it now.”

  “Well, at least a kiss wouldn’t hurt. Do you know how much that meal set me back?”

  Briana did not immediately answer. “You’re talking about the going rate for a single kiss?” she finally said. Her befuddlement changed into indignant anger. “Is it about the same as the charge for a quicky?”

  “You mean for the drive-by sluts on the Boulevard? I have no idea. I don’t need to know. I have never spent a cent on a woman that way, and I never intend to.”

  “So what do you call what you spent on me tonight? Wasn’t it money in exchange for favors? Is there any real difference? What does that make me if I agree?”

  “No, no, that’s not it at all,” Jake protested. “It was so we could get to know each other better.”

  What was happening here? Exotic, yes, but this …

  “I see the notches on your bedpost, Jake. I do come from faraway, but I know what they represent.”

  “Look, it is not what you think. I have experience, lots of it, true. But each and every notch was because my partners…”

  “Your partners, what?”

  “Because my partners just, just wanted to. Gifts freely given with no strings attached. Not obligations that had to be paid.”

  “Gifts, freely given?”

  “Yeah, absolutely. Look, our first meeting at the class was not an accident, right? You sought me out. You want something more than a ride in a car. What is it?”

  Briana again was silent. Her brow wrinkled in thought. “I do want you to do something for me,” she said at last. “Probably more than a single thing before it all is over. But the price… the price is more than I am willing to pay.”

  Jake felt the impulse to show her the door. There always were more sardines in the can. But there was also a challenge here. Some notches turned out to be deeper and more satisfying than others — Shangri-La! Maybe a slower approach would work, one that let fair play and guilt play a part.

  “Suppose there were no price?” he began carefully. “Suppose the things you asked of me, I just did for you — true gifts because I give them unconditionally, not expecting anything in return. How many dinners do you want? Perhaps a few shows thrown in as well?”

  “It’s not about your money, Jake.” Briana shook her head. “Although in the end, there probably will be some involved. It is about the accesses you have because of your wealth.”

  “Accesses? Okay, accesses. Whatever. But to be fair, you have to play the game too. Keep an open mind about me. As we get to know each other better, if it seems appropriate to you, give me gifts, too.”

  “How is that any diff — ”

  “I will keep my hands to myself. No obligation on your part at all. Only do what your heart tells you to.”

  Briana pondered for over a minute, her face a mask hiding what looked like serious calculation. Finally, she said, “Okay, to start, you can drive me to Hollywood Boulevard in the afternoon tomorrow. For now, good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Sure,” Jake said. “I’ll behave like a saint, like a monk, like Maurice — waiting for you to make the first move.”

  The Circles of Life

  THALING STOOD ready in the bubble containing the tracker. He glanced at one of the little clocks Angus had obtained from the surface. Soon it would chime, indicating that the rest of the ritual could begin. He could only hope the incessant tittering of the sprites would not spoil the next step in the augmentation. It was problematic enough that he could not use the grit of the finest rubies for the ink but had to settle for the bird’s ichor instead.

  “We do not like this, Boss,” Littlebutt said at his side. “Listen to all of the rest. The six of us are quite embarrassed.”

  “I have explained to you why y
ou had to shrink your spheres to nothingness,” Thaling said. “Otherwise, the half-dozen of you could not assemble so close together. Now pay attention to keeping the silver rings from slipping off your waists. Refill your quills with ink often from the belt vials I have fashioned for you. Any small deviation from what is required will nullify the magic, and we will have to start from the beginning again.”

  “But, Boss,” Littlebutt protested. “We are naked. The rest of the sprites can see.”

  “You look absolutely no different than you do when you are surrounded by your sphere. The orbs are transparent. What difference can there be?”

  The tittering surrounding the six increased. Thaling felt a sudden swelling of pressure against the grip he held on the sprites. One or two were easy to dominate, but not so many at once. He glanced again at the clock and scowled. He would have to take the time now to reaffirm who was the master. Get that done first before the ritual step began.

  “Silence!” Thaling commanded. He straightened his posture and thrust out his chest. “The rest of you in the other bubbles, stop your chattering.”

  He closed his eyes, tasted the refreshing air, and focused on the sprite in the nearest sphere. The Law of Dichotomy — ’Dominance or submission’ — one of the two laws of wizardry that was quite clear. At some deep level, he did not really like interacting with others that way. But that was how the craft worked. Yes, now the resistance was greater than it had been when he first had dominated the demons’ wills.

  He sent his thoughts forward as the image of a vice, its two jaws surrounding the rockbubbler on either side. Hesitating for a moment, he mentally began tightening the device’s handle against the resistance of the sprite’s puny arms. For a moment, the lever refused to turn, but then gradually, the opposition began to weaken. Not too much, he reminded himself. He did not really want to cause deep harm to their psyches, only enough so they would follow instructions the first time they were given without an ocean of complaints.