The Larion Senators

by Rob Scott; Jay Gordon

  ‘How’s your mother?’ Gilmour asked.

  ‘She’s holding together,’ Hannah said. ‘Thanks for asking.’

  ‘I’m sure she misses you,’ Alen said.

  ‘You’d better believe it!’ Hannah smiled.

  ‘I know I did.’

  Hannah spun round so quickly that she slipped off Steven’s berth and landed with an embarrassing thud.

  ‘Steven!’ Gilmour shouted, ‘you’re back!’

  Hannah picked herself up and, fighting the almost overwhelming urge to throw herself onto the narrow bunk in public, managed to content herself with merely kneeling on the floor, her face close to Steven’s. She whispered, ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I feel pretty dismal, I have to admit,’ he said. ‘You were running and I couldn’t catch you.’

  Unsure what he meant, Hannah said, ‘I would have slowed down if I’d known.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Steven licked his lips; they were dry, near to cracking. ‘There was a dog that kept biting me.’

  Alen, Gilmour and Hoyt shared a knowing glance.

  Hannah ignored the dog reference and kissed him lightly. ‘Hi,’ she whispered.

  ‘Hi.’ He kissed her back. ‘Come here often?’

  Hannah laughed. ‘I understand it’s a great place to meet men.’

  ‘I missed you.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t miss you.’ She pressed her face closer to his, her nose brushing gently against his cheek.

  ‘Pushy boyfriend following you everywhere? Never giving you any space?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Hannah said, kissing him again, more urgently this time.

  ‘Ahem,’ Gilmour cleared his throat, ruining the moment. ‘How are you, Steven? Can you feel … you know?’

  Steven closed his eyes. ‘Yes, it’s still there. I don’t think it took anything from me.’

  ‘We got to you pretty quickly,’ Gilmour said. ‘I think we bled enough of it out of you that the effects, while still devastating, weren’t fatal.’

  ‘And you have Hannah to thank for her own bit of magic,’ Hoyt added.

  Steven looked confused, and Hannah made introductions. Hoyt sensed there was something she left out, something more she wanted to say about him or Alen, but he let it go.

  ‘Where are we?’ Steven asked finally.

  ‘About a day south of Pellia, on the Welstar River,’ Gilmour replied a little hesitantly. He didn’t want Steven to worry; the young sorcerer wasn’t up to much strain yet, and discovering they were within two days of Welstar Palace might make him try to do too much too soon.

  As Gilmour had expected, Steven tried to sit up, but when his head started spinning, he had to be content with lying on his side. He took Hannah’s hand and said, ‘So, all of you, tell me everything.’

  Hours later, their stories told and Steven’s questions answered, the partisans received their watch assignments from Captain Ford. While some climbed the wooden steps to the main deck, others, Steven and Hannah included, crawled into cramped berths, wrapped themselves in heavy blankets and tried to steal an uneasy aven’s sleep.

  Steven dreamed of Idaho Springs and 147 Tenth Street. Mark was there; the friends were sharing a pizza and drinking beer. Lessek’s key was locked in a rosewood box and the Larion far portal was rolled up like a map and tucked inside its cylindrical case. Nothing tragic or miraculous had happened yet and the two were simply bachelors enjoying dinner and an October baseball game. Steven had fallen victim to curiosity, but who in their life hadn’t? He had finagled access to William Higgins’ safe deposit box, had found the missing key and had created an opportunity to investigate, but, thus far, that had been the extent of his crimes. He hadn’t killed a squad of Seron warriors. He hadn’t raced across the United States, mined to his elbows in the city landfill, or battled an almor, acid clouds, a legion of bone-collectors or an army of wraiths. He was just a bank employee who had been tempted by the unknown and given in.

  Then he opened the box.

  ‘What is it?’ Mark had asked.

  ‘My best guess,’ Steven said, removing the stone, ‘is that it’s a rock.’

  Mark had been unable to control himself. ‘No, officer, we left all the cash, but couldn’t part with this rock

  It was months later, Twinmoons, when his roommate eventually told him the truth.

  Mark closed his fist over the stone. ‘You know, I never touched this that night in our house, but when you opened that box, I experienced something strange: a warm sensation, like someone reached into our apartment and draped some old blanket over me … I remembered being a kid, out at the beach, Jones Beach, on the island. I was in Eldarn less than five goddamned minutes, losing it, going full-on screwball crazy, and all of a sudden, I got a reprieve.‘

  Steven had been sitting with him, watching Gilmour wade in the chilly waters of the Falkan fjord. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be remembering something about some afternoon out at Jones Beach with my family … and it’s happening right now as I sit here, touching Lessek’s key: it’s as though I’m there – as if part of my mind is there – reliving that day on the beach.’

  Steven sat up, tumbling Hannah out of the berth again. ‘Holy shit,’ he said, ‘holy shit!’

  ‘What is it?’ Hannah took him in her arms. ‘You’re shaking, Steven, please, tell me what’s wrong.’ She worried it was the anti-venom; she’d heard anti-venom was sometimes more dangerous than the bites it was supposed to cure, causing serum sickness, or bronchospasms requiring adrenalin shots. She’d brought some adrenalin too, just in case—

  He had stopped sweating, but his skin remained pale, even in the weak light of the hanging lamp. ‘We need Captain Ford,’ he said, ‘and Gilmour, Alen, Garec … hell, get everyone. We’re making a huge mistake.’

  ‘What mistake, Steven?’ Hannah tried to get him to lie back down. ‘You’re sick. You’ve had a massive injection of a powerful anti-toxin; you need to rest.’

  ‘Hannah, pay attention, please.’ He took her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. ‘Help me to Captain Ford’s cabin and then wake the others.’

  A DESTINATION CHANGE

  Mark rested in the yawning roots of the banyan tree. He could see his keeper’s shadow, dancing around the sandy hilltop, just beyond the edge of the swamp. Whoever had been taunting him and keeping him imprisoned here was busy, moving incessantly and mumbling to himself. He hadn’t spoken to Mark for a while; it was impossible to know how long – the passage of time meant little here. But Mark couldn’t help but wonder if his preoccupied warden was nearing the end of something; he seemed very distracted.

  The coral snake had failed to find him. It had passed by twice, slithering near the banyan roots, its crooked tongue lancing in and out of its ruined head. On both sweeps, Mark had frozen, holding his breath and focusing on the flawless azure sky with its promise of cool, dry air and cathartic sunshine. On its second journey up the sandy rise, the snake had moved through the banyan roots; it had slithered within inches of Mark’s feet, but still he had remained motionless, careful not even to blink. Now the snake was back inside the swamp, down near the Gloriette and the marble-ringed pool. With his blind sentry chasing some imagined vibration and his host lost in his own problems, Mark took the opportunity to stretch his legs, exorcising the stinging numbness. He sidled quietly around the edge of the banyan, paused for a moment, then, with fists clenched, charged.

  The man working around the circular stone table was young, black and dressed in a red sweater, his sweater. His back was turned, so Mark couldn’t see his face, but he knew as he rushed the distracted warden of this marshy nightmare that he would be fighting himself. And it was a fight, a full-on parking lot brawl, complete with biting, kicking, scratching at eyes and butting heads.

  At first, Mark was heartened: surprise had served him well, and he felt sure he was winning. He had never been much for fighting, but he threw himself into the fray with abandon. Between punches
and kicks, he even taunted himself, colloquial trash talk he would have been embarrassed to utter under normal circumstances. ‘C’mon, motherfucker, I’m wearing myself out beating on you,’ he cried.

  He landed a hard elbow to his jaw, felt it come loose.

  ‘That all you got, pussy?’ Mark shoved his former self into the sand and kicked himself hard in the abdomen.

  ‘Because I can bring on this shit all day.’ He kicked himself in the face, feeling his nose crunch under Redrick Shen’s boot.

  But then, Mark realised that he wasn’t winning at all; rather, he, his former self, complete with his favourite red sweater, was toying with him, murmuring Mark’s intentions beneath his breath, as if reading the fight from a set of choreographed dance steps. Mark heard his own voice in his head:

  Elbow to the face; Mark’s head snapped back. Nicely done.

  Wrestle me down, very good; he kicked himself in the stomach. Excellent.

  Now, boot me in the snout; Mark shattered his own nose. Ah, very nice, brutal, truly.

  Mark stepped back, confused.

  What? He watched himself wipe his nose on his sleeve, red on red, then stand. You don’t think I know what you’re planning? We’re in here together, Mark.

  He was panting, struggling to catch his breath. Redrick’s body rippled with tough muscle, but the Ronan sailor was in miserable cardiovascular shape. The short engagement had left Mark dizzy. ‘I can’t let you,’ he panted, ‘can’t let you use the table.’ Mark charged again, lowering his shoulder and ploughing forward.

  Mark sidestepped the attack. Sorry, old fellow, but as much fun as that was, I must get back to work. We’re nearly home now. Can’t you smell it? He inhaled deeply through his flattened nose as he shoved Mark down the rise towards the marsh. That’s Welstar Palace. I love that smell; the stench of dead things rotting!

  Mark found a broken tree limb and rushed back to the table. ‘No!’ he screamed, wielding the branch like a mace.

  Stop it, Mark. You’re embarrassing yourself, me, both of us, for pity’s sake. The bloodied warden intercepted him and easily wrenched the limb from Mark’s hand. He grasped Mark’s head with the other. Why don’t you rest now? I’ll wake you shortly, when I need you, my prince. We’re on the verge of greatness here today.

  ‘No—’ Mark’s vision tunnelled and he slipped to his knees in the sand, soft and dry, and there was beach grass, the sharp stuff that threatened to cut fingers and toes, clumped in green tufts along the dune, just like back home.

  The nightmare warden, his face torn and bleeding, returned to the spell table. In one hand he tossed an innocent-looking bit of rock, Lessek’s key, as if it were an apple, or a piece of candy. Not long now, he said, but his voice was a toneless warble on the periphery of Mark’s consciousness. Louder, pervading his last cogent thoughts, were the sounds of something familiar: a low and steady roar, punctuated by the cawing of a gull.

  ‘We’re making a mistake,’ Steven said again. The others had joined him in the captain’s cabin. With all of them – save for Pel and Kellin, who were standing the middle watch – packed inside, there was little room to move. ‘Captain Ford, we need to turn around, run downriver and escape into deep water. We’re endangering you, your crew and your ship for no reason.’

  ‘Steven, we can’t,’ Gilmour said. ‘Mark will reach Welstar Palace in the next two days. We have to catch him. We can’t guess how quickly he’ll open the Fold once he arrives at the encampment, but we have to assume it’ll be right away.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Steven said. ‘We’re not going to fight him there.’

  ‘We have to,’ Alen said. ‘There’s no other way. We’re in a race for our lives, for the very existence of Eldarn.’

  ‘True,’ Steven said, ‘but it isn’t Eldarn that he wants; it’s Earth: my home, Mark’s home.’

  Everyone jammed into Doren Ford’s modest quarters fell silent. Only the rattle of the rigging and the faint ping of the bridge bell interrupted the steady sound of the wind and the waves. Eventually, Gilmour asked, ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Brexan,’ Steven said, ‘you mentioned it, last Moon: what is Prince Malagon doing with two hundred thousand troops or more at Welstar Palace? Why have the occupation forces been called back? Gilmour and I saw it in Falkan; Hannah and Alen witnessed it just yesterday: troops filing onto barges and heading upriver. Why?’

  Brexan, sitting cross-legged on the floor, said, ‘It was Versen who first asked that question. I’ve been trying to figure it out for a couple of Twinmoons now, but I still don’t know why.’

  ‘We thought they might be slaves, a workforce, for when evil ushers its master from the Fold and into Eldarn. The world will come apart; the only survivors will be those unfortunate enough to be slaves to famine and pestilence.’ Steven was glad he had taken one of the captain’s chairs. His legs were weak; he could feel his adrenalin waning. ‘But that’s not it. They’re not slaves; they’re an invasion force. Eldarn isn’t evil’s goal. Eldarn is a stepping stone, a preparatory step for my world.’

  ‘How can you be certain?’ Hoyt was still wrapped in his blanket, but his fever had obviously broken. He nibbled at a chunk of bread.

  ‘Why did Nerak never go to Idaho Springs and take back the keystone?’

  Alen said, ‘Because with the stone here, he was at greater risk.’

  ‘From whom?’ Steven said. ‘He always knew when Gilmour was practising magic, and from what I understand of your experiences, Alen, he had teams of magicians watching for you day and night. Who was here to threaten him?’

  ‘No one,’ Garec whispered. ‘Rutters, but I think you’ve got a point, Steven.’

  ‘Why was the keystone in my bank all those Twinmoons? Was it because Nerak was protecting it? Was it because he planned to come back and retrieve it? Or was it because he expected that eventually someone would find it and bring it back to Eldarn? Could it have been bait?’

  ‘Stop now, Steven,’ Gilmour interrupted. ‘He didn’t ensure its safety in that bank, because he expected someone would eventually find it. It’s a bank, for whore’s sake; it was a safe place, a perfect setup. You’re trying too hard.’

  ‘I might be,’ Steven agreed, ‘but think about it: what would Nerak have to do when he arrived back at the bank a thousand Twinmoons later?’

  ‘Kill someone,’ Brexan said, motioning for Hoyt to toss her some bread. ‘Right? Just to get the box thing open.’

  ‘Not kill someone,’ Steven corrected her, ‘but take someone, and what does Nerak gain when he takes someone?’

  ‘A head full of knowledge,’ Garec said.

  ‘Exactly,’ Hannah joined in, understanding now, ‘a head full of updated knowledge about our home, Earth and everything we know about Earth, its people, its culture, its history, its strengths and vulnerabilities …’ Her voice trailed off mid-list. ‘Jesus, Steven, you might be right.’

  ‘An invasion force?’ Gilmour said, ‘but why not just open the Fold from Eldarn and invite evil to sweep across Earth as well? What need is there for an invasion force?’

  ‘Because maybe Earth isn’t the last stop on the line.’ Steven shrugged. ‘But I’d bet dollars to doughnuts it’s because evil wants souls there, too, and two hundred thousand, even three hundred thousand, while impressive numbers, just aren’t enough to take our planet.’

  ‘But they could hold a significant corner of it,’ Hannah said, ‘and probably for a long time.’

  ‘If they choose the right corner,’ Steven said, ‘and bring the right agents along with them.’

  ‘Good rutters, the ash dream,’ Alen said to no one in particular.

  ‘The bark, those roots and leaves,’ Steven said. ‘What could an army of two hundred thousand do if they were to arrive suddenly inside our borders, armed with that bark? Even if each of them had only a pouch or two? What damage could they do?’

  ‘They could enslave entire cities,’ Garec said, ‘take whole regions, and without spilling any blood.
’

  ‘Mother of Christ,’ Hannah whispered. ‘They could turn us against ourselves, too, shut down the power, cut off critical food and water resources, anything.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ Hoyt shifted so he could rest against Captain Ford’s sea chest.

  ‘We wait for them on the other side,’ Steven said simply.

  ‘For two hundred thousand of them?’ Garec swallowed dryly. ‘I’m good, Steven, but that’s madness.’

  ‘Not if we know where they’re coming through.’ Steven wished he could stand up, but dared not try. He was sweating again and his muscles ached where the anti-venom was flushing out the foreign toxins.

  ‘All of them in one place?’ Alen said. ‘That would be counterproductive; it’s a big world. A few of them here and there would be infinitely more effective.’

  ‘That’s true, Alen,’ Steven said, ‘they won’t all come through in the same place, but if we know where the first wave is crossing, we can be there. Mark will be there with the spell table; you can bet on it. We simply cross over, meet him and the initial forces, however many they are, and seal the Fold for ever with the spell table inside. In doing so, we take the head off the snake here in Eldarn. Everyone wins.’

  ‘You make it sound awfully easy.’ Brexan wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t banish the scepticism from her voice. ‘What will you do with the two hundred thousand warriors?’

  Steven looked at Gilmour and sighed. ‘I’m afraid that many of them will perish inside the void. There’s no other way.’

  This piece of information didn’t appear to upset the former soldier. ‘What about the ones still in the encampment?’

  ‘We’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it, Brexan,’ Alen said.

  ‘If they’re near the spell table when we strike out at Mark and his initial forces, they’ll be lost with the others.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Captain Ford asked. He was the only one who looked remotely comfortable, sitting behind his desk.