by Lyndon Hardy
“I don’t understand,” Dinton said. “Who is this? Thaling told me I was the only one of our kind who remained.”
“True enough, brother,” Angus said. “The first item on the list is an introduction. This one calls herself Ursula. She is a native — was a native. Now she is my concubine.”
“We do not know if we can — ”
“Only a technicality. Surely, aided by the crafts, we will come up a way to repopulate the surface.”
“Repopulate! — ”
“You should have donned the ring when I did,” Angus replied. “Some said you delayed so many years so we all would see the beginning of gray in your fur. But no matter. I will speak slowly so you will understand. See what Ursula is carrying? It is what the natives call a microphone. The wires trailing it travel up to a computer in Oscar’s shack.
“You are right,” Dinton said. “I do not understand.”
“When I was temporarily… detained, I learned that Thaling and the rest had left. That meant I did not need fear recapture by those loyal to you. It was safe to return to Oscar’s shack and prepare.”
“I discovered the natives had trashed the place,” Angus continued. “All of the computer gear would no longer work.” He chuckled. “But in their haste, the marauders did not also destroy Oscar’s notebook. It was so complete. Apparently, a recluse has much time on his hands.” He shrugged in the manner of a native. “So, it was a simple matter to reorder everything and hook it up again. Overnight delivery is a wonderful thing.
“And I have decided to send the final message not from above with only Ursula to witness,” Angus rattled on. “Well, she could not do that anyway. Not from above but here, in this alcove, your alcove, so you could be the one to watch with me the beginning of the end. All that remains is speaking three more words — only three simple words more. The rumble from Kilauea’s eruption will be the signal they have worked.”
“Evidently the cold has worked upon you, brother,” Dinton said. “You are the one who is deranged.”
“I have brought this from my own humble lair.” Angus reached into his pocket and pulled out the small clock that had adorned his table for so many years. “See, it has both the date and the time. In only two more passes of the sun overhead, it will be exactly five days since I spoke the incantation. Exactly five days. Not too short a time nor too long. As the native children’s myth of a golden one relates, ‘It will be just right.’“
“Ursula,” he called back over his shoulder. “I will go with you back up to the garden this first time — to fetch a meal for Dinton and myself. Keep your senses sharp. In the future, you will have to make the journey on your own.”
“What senses?” Dinton asked.
“She is blind, brother,” Angus replied. “But has had a lifetime to compensate. She does that very well.”
Dinton watched Angus and Ursula leave, puzzled. What was his brother talking about? It made no sense. He sighed. But whatever it was, he was sure to have it explained to him over and over again. Angus never missed a chance to brag. So non-productive. Their father had been right from the very start.
Reflexively, he reached down and patted the baton hanging from his waist. Thaling had given it to him when he refused the plea to return home. Now there was only his brother and he, but still, the rules of a thousand years should apply.
Angus would object, of course. What would the argument be when they disagreed? Over the years, when Thaling, occasionally had refused to offer an opinion to break a tie, they had resorted to asking all of the exiles, to vote. But now everyone was gone. There were no more flocks. No more…
Dinton snorted. What was the name? Ursula. Somehow, she needed to be neutralized, and it should be done so now. His thoughts wandered a bit. And perhaps he should obtain a little insurance as well.
A Stranger in Paradise
JAKE LOOKED at the strange surroundings. He was in a practice yard enclosed by a low brick wall next to some dormitories. Nearby were practice labs, a kitchen and dining hall, two wells, and one smaller structure with a richer façade, the dwelling of Fordine, himself. Beyond were rows of crops and fields of alfalfa for beasts of burden.
He parried a thrust easily and tapped the journeyman gently on his chest. Besides learning craft, a good student of thaumaturgy was taught skill in arms so that his master did not have to bother with such things. The man facing him smiled, and Jake smiled back. He had progressed rapidly — already now far more able than what he had learned from Briana’s simple instructions. An excellent balance, and the quick adjustments he had learned from surfing were serving him in good stead.
This thaumaturge’s academy was quite a production, he thought — self-sustaining so that the focus was entirely on the craft. Jake had no interest in learning incantations, but when it came to arms, with a few more days, he felt he would be the equal of any one here, except for perhaps the seneschal himself.
He inhaled deeply. There was a hint of some fragrance he could not place, but it tasted wonderful, like orange blossoms but somehow more enticing. He scanned the small village that lay beyond the academy’s walls. It reminded him of a rustic town in the old west, except the buildings were of stone rather than wood. Although he could neither see or hear any of it, he imagined vendors hawking fresh produce in a central square, a smithy at a stable reshoeing a horse who had lost a shoe, a tavern about to serve another round of ale.
Remarkable. Only a day ago, he was standing on a street corner in Hilo, Hawaii, hailing cabs. Now as Briana had been, he was the stranger in a strange land. No, that was not quite right. He liked it here.
The door of one of the practice labs opened, and Briana and Fig rushed out. A group of apprentices ran to surround them. One of the youngest, twelve at the most, solemnly bent on one knee and offered up what he held in his palms. It looked like a miniature stone wheel with a tiny crank attached. Briana took the offering and with her thumb and forefinger turned the handle. A tiny light began to twinkle on the wheel’s frame.
All of the assembled apprentices started jumping up and down and yelling. Jake only understood the barest smattering of words, but what he heard was easy to interpret.
“Briana. Briana, Daughter of the Archimage,” the young men chanted repeatedly, each repetition more animated than the one before.
“I am not royalty,” Briana had explained when they had arrived. “My father has no title to any land at all — not in Procolon nor any in Arcadia across the Great Ocean. But here in the western hinterlands, a lord or lordling rarely appears, and I am by default given a deference I do not deserve. But let it be. It would be too much bother now to explain.”
“Master Fordine said he needed time to think, to be alone and not distracted,” Briana called out to Jake as the crowd finally dispersed. “And with Fig’s help with the chemistry, he did not need to bring in an alchemist to consult. A few hours more and he should have something.”
Jake saw Briana suddenly sag, and he rushed to prop her up. “We have been pushing very hard,” he said. “Little man, get her a chair.”
Fig frowned at the words as he always did, but rounded up three. They sat and began watching the door to the practice room, each to their own thoughts. Jake started looking at his watch every five minutes or so until Briana frowned for him to stop. They all knew that even an instant too late would not be good enough. But watching the minutes tick by did nothing to help. Either they would succeed or they would not. They had to wait and hope for the best.
Jake watched Briana stare into the distance, looking at the other buildings, out into the village and up the road leading to the east. He was not sure, but perhaps he could tell in her eyes that there was also a slight relaxing of the strain. She was home, he thought. After so many months of paved streets, busses, and laptops, she was home — returning to her old childhood mentor at the academy, the one she had visited when she was as young as the youngest of apprentices here.
In this setti
ng, Jake saw Briana in a different light. Here, she was not merely another woman like the rest. True, from what he had seen, the society here was male dominated exactly as it was on Earth, but a daughter of the Archimage did deserve a special respect. Yes, she was more than… she was Shangri-La!
And he had to admit his respect for her had grown also. Without her clever action on the slopes of Mount Etna, he would have suffered a fate… for him, literally a fate worse than death. A hint of a warm feeling began to flow into him about her — a strange one he had never felt before.
Jake watched Briana manage a polite laugh when one of the serving wenches approached, passed her a note, and looked for a second at Jake before retreating. A second woman out of the fields shouldering a scythe came by, and another note was presented as well. A third with a low-cut blouse approached with some sort of roasted fowl on a platter and stooped to place it on the ground in front of Jake — bending forward far lower than was necessary.
Briana would not like him staring, he decided abruptly. He pointed to the scraps of paper in her hand. “What are those? These women are acting like schoolgirls.”
“Let me read them to you,” Briana said with resignation. “I am sure you will be pleased.” She unfolded the first. “Are you willing to share?” Then the second. “He has very long arms. Excellent for fighting and reaping the hay. Are all his other members lengthy, too?” She looked back at Jake. “You are considered to be exotic here — different from all the journeymen they normally see.”
“I am no journeyman,” Jake snorted. “And why would they ask these questions of you?”
“Because they think you are my consort,” Briana answered. “And there is too much on my mind now to explain about the bizarre relationships of the Earth.”
Jake smiled for a moment, but then drew his face back into what he hoped was neutral. He should have been pleased by this interest, but surprisingly he was not. He thought of what would happen after all of this was over. Saving the Earth or not, eventually Briana would want to return here… and so would he! Why not? Consort to a daughter of the Archimage. A swordsman. Her protector. Yes, that felt very nice indeed.
As Jake pondered, Fordine emerged from the practice room. He moved slowly with age but carried himself rigorously erect. His robe was made not of simple brown cloth but the fine fur of some large beast. Running an academy evidently was very profitable.
The master craftsman extended a folded parchment toward Briana, and she stuffed it into her pack.
“We can return now!” Fig burst out. He sounded happy despite the fatigue. “Set up some equipment like what we found in the warehouse and broadcast the spell. You’ve done it, Briana! The Earth will be saved!”
Jake sighed in relief. Just like that, the ending was coming. Soon, the struggle and tensions would be over, and then he and Briana could —
“Sound the alarm,” someone shouted from the east. Everyone looked to the road running alongside the compound. “The Procolonian Guard has abandoned the Archimage. The way to Ambrosia, completely undefended. Slammert’s forces can march to the capital unopposed.”
Briana sprang to her feet and began speaking rapidly to Fordine. Jake could not understand anything being said.
“What is he talking about?” Briana challenged the thaumaturge. “Abandonment of my father? Master Fordine, you said none of this when we arrived.”
“It is a delicate situation, milady,” Fordine said. “I have much wealth at stake here. I cannot choose sides until I am sure who will win.” He shrugged. “I thought it best not to distract you.”
“Distract me! Didn’t you think — no, never mind. Tell me what has transpired while I have been gone.”
“Your father went into a deep depression when you were reported missing,” Fordine said. “He began paying attention to the affairs of the council less and less. Whisperers began saying perhaps he should step down. Let some other master assume his role.
The thaumaturge stroked his beard for a moment, then continued. “But we could not be sure. Your father is so wily. A man never at a loss. Maybe he was up to something that would be revealed in the fullness of time. And then when Slammert produced the wedding contract you had signed, he said your father had merely secreted you away. ‘The Archimage cannot act on his own self-interests,’ the baron had thundered. ‘His authority had not been won by force, but merely was loaned to him by the noble lords.’
“When the date of the ceremony passed, Slammert issued an ultimatum. Produce you as his bride, he ordered, or he would call for the west to rise up with him in rebellion, strip away your father’s power, sentence him to death.”
“But my father has acted wisely for over thirty years,” Briana protested. “Three decades of unblemished service. Everyone on both sides of the Great Ocean have prospered. Thirty years of peace. Little need for any standing army. Border crossings unencumbered. Commerce flourishing.”
Fordine shook his head. “For every decision Alodar made, there was always a winner and a loser. Over time these little resentments build up.” He shrugged. “Finally, many agreed with Slammert without thinking of the consequences. Many now say, ‘Why not? We are ready for a change.’“
“Most of us on the council did think the wedding contract was merely a ploy. Slammert knew Alodar would never agree to have it honored. One of his precious daughters bound in marriage to one such as him? Of course not. It was the excuse to launch what he really wanted to do — become the king of Procolon. Without a standing army. With no one in the position of Warmaster after Cedric passed away… And after Procolon, then who knows? Wage war against Arcadia and the Southern Kingdoms? All have grown soft after so many years of peace.”
“You should have told me this when I first arrived,” Briana shouted. “Would you have merely said nothing after I was again on my way?”
“And you, milady, with all due respect, you should not have signed the contract in the first place.”
Another messenger came running onto the glen from the other direction. “From the west,” he panted. “Slammert’s army approaches. Over one hundred men. He even has a few masters of the crafts with him as well. They will be here by tomorrow morning.” He looked at Fordine. “You must decide now, venerated Master,” he said. “Either flee, or prepare to receive on bended knee, your new lord when the sun again rises.”
Briana slumped back onto her chair. She looked from Jake to Fig and saw their puzzled expressions. Quickly, she summarized for them what was happening.
“Only about a hundred,” Jake said. “Surely there are enough men-at-arms about who could be rounded up to defeat the threat.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Briana said. “Not in our society — not how wars are fought on Murdina. It is a matter of which side gathers momentum the soonest. If a small army has a victory, additional warriors will swarm to join in, wanting to share in the spoils, making the next victory even more certain. With each step toward Ambrosia, Slammert’s forces will swell even more. If he is to be stopped, it must be now.”
“Not one world in peril, but two,” she bemoaned.
“There still may be sufficient time.” Fig leaped up and took the incantation scroll from Briana’s pack. “I can take this to Ashley now.” He pulled a flash drive out of his pocket. “She can configure what is needed, and speak the words as well as any of us. Write me out a quick pronunciation guide for your speech as you did for Fordine, only for English rather than for the words of an exile. And after Ashley gets going, I will return and help out here.”
“The apprentices,” Jake said. “They have some practice in arms. They can stop Slammert’s march.”
“But they are only boys!” Briana protested.
“From what I’ve seen, they will fight for you, Briana,” Jake said. He felt alive, even more alive. Yes, he had tagged along with the others on Briana’s quest in order to win the reward she promised. But this. This was different. He was not merely an obedient minion. He was
key. He was central. He was meant for this.
The Eve of Battle
LIKE AN overwound clock spring, Briana felt as if she was going to snap. Surveying the ragtag line of young men milling around on the road, she shook her head. Clearly, what Jake was doing was not going to be enough. With the seneschal translating his plea, he only had been able to enlist half or so of the apprentices and journeymen to abandon their studies of thaumaturgy and take up a sword. Fifty or sixty only. The rest of the underlings in the compound were toting lunch baskets up the side of the nearby hill to watch the massacre when Slammert’s horde appeared from the west.
A shimmer in the air caught her eye. The portal door reappeared. Fig finally must be back. He had left the previous evening, and shortly thereafter, the magic entranceway had disappeared as well.
“What took you so long?” Briana shouted. “Were you in time?”
“Can’t tell for sure,” Fig said.
“What does that mean?” Briana felt the last thread of civility dissolve away.
“Ashley had moved the portal back to her place. From there, it was easy to buy what we needed online and have it delivered immediately.” Fig pushed his glasses back into place. “But Ashley… something was bothering her. She was not quite right. Complained her head hurt. That she had trouble focusing.”
“I tried to help with the configuring,” Fig continued. “There are always a few little steps that need to be worked out. But she kept pushing me away. Insisting she could do the job by herself. Said she needed peace and quiet.”
“It took you all this time?”
“I did not return alone,” Fig said. “I have been a little busy. Watch.”
The portal door opened again, and a familiar figure stepped through, pushing a shopping cart.
“Slow Eddie!” Briana exclaimed. She looked back at Fig. “How did you … Never mind. Why is he here? What can he do?”