by Sean Heslin
Right.
Another concentration of power and Yrinmet levitated for a second or so, skimming frictionlessly over the ground before thumping back down again. Tears welled up as the accumulated injuries seeped into consciousness from behind the mental wall that he now had to spend time reconstructing, while gaining more tiny injuries.
What else?
He pictured the power inside him, now nearly spent, massing into a terrific ball of light somewhere inside his chest, growing and spreading into every part of every limb and organ and strand of hair. He mentally recited the sixfold chant of disassociation over and over, silently building up an awesome crescendo of light and sound behind his eyes which was suddenly released in a huge cascade of sensation and phantom noise and blinding photons and...
He definitely felt himself teleporting for a fraction of a second there, absolutely back within the relative safety of his tower for the merest blink of an eye.
Then he remembered another very important fact. The curse. He had been captured. He had been bound.
“Oh fnug!” he managed to say before being rudely snapped back to his board and bonds with a bucking that may or may not have popped his shoulder out of joint. He gave a garbled scream behind his gag, as the voice of a demon from long ago laughed inside his brain, the promised revenge finally complete. Then, Yrinmet lapsed into blessed unconsciousness as a convenient stone smacked him right between the eyes.
---
Terand stopped his headlong hop for a moment and looked back over his shoulder at his charge to check the rock had struck true and that the sorceror was definitely residing in a figurative slumberland rather than the actual Slumberland, or wherever it was that he had just tried to teleport to.
Terand rolled his shoulders and massaged his knee. Apart from the one leg, Drangls were built like most other humanoids, in having two arms, two eyes and so on. This gave drangls the advantage of being able to mix with bipedal species without too much outright discrimination - not that anybody would pick on them per se, because drangls were the second most common species on the planet, and anyone picking on one would find that they would be facing the drangl that they had just picked on. Also, they would probably then be facing most of the other drangls in the immediate area because the drangls knew that in a world gone bad they always had each other to rely on. More pertinently than any of that ancestral stubbornness, Terand was an excellent bounty hunter and possessed all the skills and practise thereof. He knew exactly when the varmints were acting up without even looking.
Happy with the results of his casually aimed stone, Terand winced as he rolled his shoulders again. All that squirming had nearly put his back out. He shook his head in mock sadness. Villains were so inconsiderate these days.
Chapter 7
“You can choose your leaders, but you cannot choose their PA’s”
- The wife of President Asotany in a post-divorce interview, 3816 C.M.
“Well that was interesting,” said Rancha. Ihjundas did not appear to make any audible response, but Rancha continued nonetheless. “Well, what I mean to say is that I have never seen metal move like that before, it was almost…beautiful.”
Ihjundas was not forthcoming with any reply, but Rancha managed to answer a question.
“Yes, I know I have strange tastes, but what do you expect? I was brought up with strange tastes! You damn well gave me half of them!”
Ihjundas raised an eyebrow and glanced at his companion, who was currently operating a set of pedals in the front of device vaguely reminiscent of a wooden cart. It had two wheels at the back and one at the front, with a pair of handlebars sticking up from somewhere in its workings. Numerous cogs and pulleys on the underside of the contrivance contrived to produce locomotion, provided someone was, like Rancha, pedalling lustily enough. The main deck planks were topped with comfortable chairs upholstered in a red and gold velvet-like material, and the whole thing was finished with an aesthetically appealing cane-supported canopy.
The entire machine looked remarkably efficient, yet very comfortable, provided you were not the one seated in the front seat.
Something else was uttered that could not realistically be detected by anyone using their ears.
“Yes, I know you were the one that brought me up! That's why I mentioned it, but why does that mean I have to pedal?” He stopped his tirade for a few moments as if listening. “I know I did!” Again a pause. “That’s beside the poi…no I know I did…So what if I…I know that! I know that you know I know, but you don’t have to…oh fine! I'm sorry for the 'damn'!” Rancha continued his pedalling in a sullen sulk. He gave all appearance of trying to ignore Ihjundas, despite Ihjundas not outwardly attempting to garner Rancha's attention.
A period of silent frustration passed, quiet apart from mechanical clanking and under-breath soft swearing. The corridor they were travelling along then reached an unsubtle end with a large illuminated sign informing whoever chose to read it that they should “Stop here and the grapple will allow docking with the station.”
A pair of grumbling workers, still clad in their crinkly silver outfits, were in the process of removing the sign and replacing it with one that said “Park and go up the stairs.” They were also managing to burn themselves on the many lanterns that were not so long ago much less painful fluorescent tubes.
Rancha stopped pedalling, coasting for a moment, then pulled hard on the large lever sticking up by his side. The jolting, jarring stop caused Ihjundas to fall off his chair. Rancha had the decency to looked abashed at another stern look directed at him, as together they emerged from their canopy cover to climb the indicated stairway.
Ihjundas gave the workers a wave who, on recognition, waved back, causing one of them to drop the big wooden sign on his foot and hop around in grimly concealed anguish. The other spun around with the sign, neatly clobbering his fellow in the face. As that man fell, he kicked a bucket of nails, which flipped and the contents peppered the sign-carrier. That man too dropped the sign on his foot, slipped on the nails and nutted himself on the side of the carriage. This painful clowning continued as Ihjundas continued up the stairs, his head shaking in silent mirth at the universal inevitability of two men and a long board, while Rancha trailed along behind looking unamused and quite utterly beleaguered. Slapstick had a time and a place and he had no alcohol to hand to help him enjoy it properly. Or a first-aid kit.
At the top of the stairs was a very large set of double doors, currently made of delicately carved wood, with a deep brown finish, and covered in little fiddly brass door ornaments. In the approximate centre of the portal was a pair of large doorknobs, either side of which were attached to an intricate locking mechanism made of yet more overly polished brass and walnut inlay. Several bars projected from this lock into holes dotted around the doorframe. The door had obviously been designed to both look good and to intimidate any poor fool who attempted the blatantly absurd task of wanting to pass through at any point.
Currently, it was locked.
Ihjundas turned a little and allowed Rancha to stand next to him. He stared intently and meaningfully at his former protégé, managing to elicit a response.
“Yes, I have been here before you know,” said Rancha, bristling somewhat. “I know all the procedures and general fawning about I'm supposed to follow.”
Ihjundas held up his hands and turned his face away, seeming to indicate that he was only trying to be helpful, no need to snap at him.
Rancha sagged, his ire deflated. “I'm sorry, it’s just, I haven't been having much fun lately. It's getting to me.”
Ihjundas appeared to communicate that he understood, and gestured toward the door.
“Fine, let's get on with this,” said Rancha. “The sooner I get rid of Perci the better. I sincerely hope you really aren't going to make me follow him around halfway around the planet. The gods don't hate me that much, do they? Wait, do you hate me that much? What did I ever do to you?”
Ihjundas gave Rancha anot
her appraising look, but did not seem to contribute anything further save to gesture further at the door. Rancha leaned close to the locking mechanism and studied it for a moment, tapping here and there. He nodded to himself and inserted two fingers into each half of the intricate design, triggering a pair of tiny levers hidden amongst the vagaries of the lock. The bolts all simultaneously shimmied sideways and with a series of satisfying clunks, each bar popped neatly out of the frame. With a very slight rumble underfoot the doors then swung open by further, less obvious mechanisms.
Ihjundas scowled at Rancha, but with a recognisable tinge of pride at his student’s ability to break and enter, causing further embarrassment.
“I just got a knack at that sort of thing,” said Rancha, softly towards his feet.
Ihjundas raised his hands and eyes upwards, clearly emoting an exasperated sense of “What has become of the cute little urglon chick I thought of as innocent all those years ago?”
Rancha drew breath to deliver his scathing rebuttal when they both heard the now much too familiar strains of Perci's voice, in its usual aspect of complaining loudly. Ihjundas made a guttural sound in his throat and beckoned Rancha to follow.
The wide hall they entered had changed in the many months since Rancha had last visited, but that was unsurprising, as so had practically everything else. Two things it had always been, were very, very big, and very, very impressive. These were good observations on Rancha's part as that was what the designer had intended. One other detail of note was how bright the hall had been due to the strands of wriggling raw power that flew through the air on regular intervals. Very bright. Near blindingly so. Which it currently was not.
Dark would have been a good adjective for the room, ominous was a better one. Within, the eight walls were effectively invisible as the only light source was a central column of multicoloured light that illuminated three very significant and conspicuous thrones, occupied by three significant and conspicuous persons. This singular light came from a small stained glass dome far above, the pattern of which was one of the few things in the whole facility that never, ever changed. The reasons for this were only apparent to those who studied history or religion, neither of which Rancha had never bothered much with, apart from in a general sense.
“Ihjundas, why is it so, what's the word... gloomy in here?” he said, somewhat perturbed at the lack of sensible and expected amounts of lighting.
Ihjundas' silent response to the question both shocked and satisfied Rancha, who, shivering as if cold from what he had just learned, walked quietly into the hall. There were other doors somewhere in the darkness, but the one they had come through was already closing behind them.
The coloured central dome was a perfect spotlight on the other people in the room, with Perci stood on the periphery of the tinted glow. All those present turned at the approach and all but Perci immediately turned away again upon recognising the pair. The knight started spluttering, showing them the back of his head on purpose in an obvious chest-bashing method of asserting his superiority.
“It's about time you miserable fools. I've been waiting here for almost an hour for you to turn up, and now you saunter in without any...” This tirade would have continued, but one of the other persons present Silenced him with an imperious gesture and a twinkling of exerted power. Rancha approved at The Arts being put to practical use for a change. Perci was forced to bulge eyes all at present in impotent fury as his lips were forcibly locked together, he becoming redder by the second. The occupants of the chairs were still dressed in the tinfoil garb, but theirs was much more flashy and golden than just about anyone else's Rancha had seen so far.
“Greetings Ihjundas and friend,” said the left-hand personage. “We are glad you could join us. Now we can commence business.” The speaker was plainly female, human, and appeared to have taken pains to put braids in her hair with little sparkly bobbles. Her eyes had the tired look of someone who had seen too much, too soon, too often.
Ihjundas bowed in a gesture of subservience, although Rancha knew that by rights he should be one of the three persons whose job it was to sit in this room all day and preside over the workings of the enormous facility. Ihjundas subtly bobbed his head in Rancha's direction. He could take a hint, so also dipped into a deep bow.
While he did so Rancha took the opportunity to subtly survey the three distinguished thrones up close. It had been a while since he had last been allowed to see them. Bathed in the light of the dome, the high stone thrones had intricate carvings across the headpieces and down the sides. Miniature stone arches rose from one armrest, over respective heads and down to the other rest. Intertwined around these arches was what at first appeared to be a carefully carved soft brown wood, but on second glance were vitally alive plants carefully pruned and trimmed over the years to be an integral part of the chairs' design. Ihjundas had once told him that the thrones set at the same level as each other to indicate the equal status of the occupants, but were still high enough above floor level to show anyone that approached them that they were above them. Less obvious chest-bashing stuff, but probably worked on those who appreciated that sort of thing.
Rancha found his gaze being drawn to the person in the middle throne, the most unsettling person he had ever met in his life. The sex of the central person was indeterminate, as was exact race. Some speculated that they had streg in their ancestry, or maybe even some blood from the aquatic trew race. They had bland, flat features that could have been applied to either gender. Their waist-length black hair was tied into a ponytail, and they wore an unreadable expression. The eyes of this gaunt person did not reveal anything at all about intention or feeling. They hardly ever spoke either, which may have been the part that unsettled Rancha the most. They always listened.
Rancha stood from his bow and saw that Ihjundas was not too bothered about the impressiveness or even standing on ceremony, apart from the usual basics. Ihjundas was stepping forwards, gave a short nod and began gesturing silently, yet somehow very meaningfully at the three. He seemed to put forward a very interesting argument as two faces of the three became troubled. The person in the middle, of course, gave no visible change whatsoever.
“We are sorry to hear of your predicament,” said the woman, “I am sure it will have certain benefits while you still have that ability, but for now there is nothing we can do but wait until the next Alteration.” Ihjundas nodded, shrugged and stepped back, showing that he understood.
“Now to business!” the bearded man in the right-hand throne declared. The woman on the left rolled her eyes. Rancha recalled that this man generally regarded proceedings with some amusement, no matter how sombre the occasion. He was a jolly, red-bearded human, who appeared to enjoy his food and had a big ingratiating smile on his face. Like his female companion in the left throne though, in the right light, his eyes wore the weary look of someone who knew too much.
“We have a mission of the utmost importance for Perci here to complete,” he said, his arms gesturing flamboyantly, as if conducting his own voice. “Or should I say Mister Yanksulk.” The bearded man's fingertips sparked a little as he gestured even more elaborately at Perci. The knight had been turning purple, and was visibly relieved to have his lips unlocked, but not so relieved that he kept them pressed together of his own volition.
“It's pronounced Yansul!” gasped the owner of the name. “People never give it the due respect it deserves!”
“Quite,” said the woman picking up where the bearded man left off. “Perci here, for those that do not already know,” she said looking pointedly at Rancha “is the last descendent of the famous Apple Seller of Franchick. A story familiar to every tot, yes?” Rancha and Ihjundas nodded, while Perci gave an impatient harumph.
“Good, good!” the large man on the right continued. “That will save a good ten minutes on this meeting then. Right, we need Perci here to do the standard 'journey to a distant land' and recover the appropriate artefact and use it to save the world, or whatever
turns out to need saving. Pretty bog-standard stuff really. Get there, slay a couple of monsters, find the damn thing is missing and/or been used for nefarious purposes, slay a few more beasties, storm the appropriate castle, defeat whatever Dark Lord lives there and home in time for tea. Dealing with the inevitable problems that always without fail, crop up, should be no problem on the side. Fate is on your side, mighty destiny, yadda yadda. Any questions?”
Perci stirred. “Yes, while I am of course well equipped for this challenge myself, do I have to go alone or do I get some kind of companion?”
The man nodded “Course you do you plokit, what kind of sub-standard quest do you think this is? You get to go with Rancha here, and you are bound to pick up a few more people along the way so you won't be too lonely. Now get on w…yes what is it?”
This last was addressed to a facial-ticing Rancha who had nervously raised his arm.
“Do I... do I have to go? No offence to your esteemed personages, but this sort of thing isn't in my job description and I don't think we will make…suitable adventuring partners.”
The woman raised an elegantly trimmed eyebrow. “Regrettably my dear urglon we foresaw this eventuality and changed the standard charter.” Seeing the crestfall upon Rancha's face, a note of sincerity was added to her tone. “We are sorry to put you through this, but, it is necessary. Please tell him about the changes would you, Ihjundas?”
Rancha turned pleadingly at Ihjundas who shrugged and extremely eloquently emoted that the matter was out of his hands, sorry but they do fix the charters around here, there's a note in section twelve paragraph six subsection c that allows them to change certain aspects of the contract at any time without notice, you are on your own with this one.
Rancha sighed, counted to ten, and turned back to the three in the thrones. “Fine,” he said “I'll do it as long as it is just a standard quest with no more than the usual number of unforeseen circumstances and odd coincidences. And I get another holiday. Deal?”