by Ember Lane
Back on the road, Lincoln decided there was something in Starellion’s water, a thought that came back to him as he approached the shaft, which now had the beginnings of temple-type pilasters surrounding it and the witch from Tanglewood dancing around and around wailing. At least the river now spilled into the shaft, and over, and a number of bots were busy clearing a huge excavation.
“What?” he shouted, as Morningstar flew up to him, her buzzing wings breaking up Belzarra’s dreadful tune.
“What?” she shouted back, indignantly. “It’s the start of the temple. There was always one here, right in the middle of the fields.”
“Temple to whom?”
Morningstar winked at him. “Whomever you want—no effigies means no particular god.”
“Why’s she dancing around like a lunatic?”
Belzarra stopped in her tracks.
“I’m blessing the ground,” Belzarra shouted, then taking a breath. “There’s quite a bit more to it than I remembered; I’m a little rusty.”
If the temple wasn’t dedicated to any particular god, then, Lincoln wondered, how was she blessing it? He was desperate to ask, but really didn’t want to go down that road. “Have you thought about my proposal?”
He guessed Morningstar had told her. The fairy didn’t seem the type to keep important things to herself, and clearly this must be a duty of some kind, unless…
“About that.” Belzarra walked over to him. Morningstar backed away. “Not sure I’m cut out to be a high priestess. I tried—been dancing around for twenty odd minutes—but not entirely convinced it’s done any good.”
“Do you know anything about being a high priestess?”
“Nope, got to about level-4 religion but got a bit bored to be honest. I’m a witch at heart, that’s my calling, but Morningstar said the position of high priestess was open, and what with Cronis being the resident wizard, I thought I’d give it a shot.”
Lincoln noticed Morningstar was now hovering by the excavations.
“The position’s for head of magic: no priestess, no religion, never even discussed.”
Belzarra flicked a glare at the fairy.
They walked over to the shaft. Belzarra’s coat was hanging on one of the fledgling temple’s pillars. She fiddled in its pocket bringing out a small flask. “Morats—you ever tried any?”
“Nope.”
Belzarra took a blast, roared, and then wiped her lips. She handed Lincoln the flask. “Part elven—they make the acorn syrup, I add the yeast.” Belzarra winked.
Lincoln took a sip, and his head exploded in a vibrant eruption of pain, then euphoria and then calm. “Yah! That’s good. Gonna brew me some of that.”
Belzarra has given you the recipe for morats. Morats is a form of whiskey brewed from trodden acorn juice. It is fabled to give you long life and great potency, but I doubt it works.
“So,” said Belzarra, a ball of green magic in her upturned palm. “The fairy thinks she’s funny, does she?” She blew it toward Morningstar.
The fairy saw it coming, tried to fly away, but barely managed a zig or a zag before it enveloped her and she plummeted to the ground. They walked over to her. Morningstar vibrating like she was being electrocuted over and over.
“Did you see what she did?” Morningstar shouted, with a slight jitter to her tone. “Are you going to let that witch attack your steward, your custodian?”
Lincoln scratched his head. “I don’t get involved in religious disputes.”
“Religious? She’s not religious. Make her stop!”
“But she’s my high priestess?”
Belzarra leaned in. “Do you intend to make a fool of me again?”
“Only if…”
The witch ramped up the intensity.
“Only if what?”
“No! Sorry! Head witch—you’re head of magic!” Morningstar screamed and then calmed as the green magic dissipated.
“There,” said Belzarra, reaching down and pulling the fairy up. “Now, I believe your master is here to inspect his new acquisition. Could you run through his city sheet with him—in case he has any questions for you.”
Lincoln felt another small pang of love for Belzarra and her ways. Starellion’s city sheet popped up in his mind’s eye.
Historic City: Starellion. Population: 56.
Population capacity: 240. Steward: Morningstar
Attributes: (Level, Bonuses)
Politics: (44, 0), Culture: (0, 0), Defense: (0, 0)
Build speed: +44%, Learning advancement: N/A, Defense bonus: N/A
Buildings: Amount - levels
Quarters: 100 – 24*L1, 76*L0, Storage Silo 10 – 1*L3, 9*L0, Inn 4 – 4*L0, Banner Room 1 – L16, Academy 4*L0, Feasting Hall 4*L0, Marketplace 1*L0, Bakery 1*L0, Forge 4*L0, Workshop 6*L0, Rally Spot 1*L5, Walls 1*L16, Stable 1*L0, Beacon 1*L16, Communications 1*4, Mill 1*L0, Armory 1*L0, Mess 1*L0, Officer’s Mess 1*0, Portal Room 1*L16, Slaughterhouse 1*L0, Kitchen 6*L2, Temple 1*1, Embassy Rooms 8*L0, Emperor’s suite 1*L3, Commerce 30*L0, Banners 20*0, Library 1*L0, Council Chamber 4*L0, Knights Regent 7*0, Medical 5*L0, Maintenance 6*L0
Fortifications
Traps – 0, Abatis – 0, Archer Towers – 0,
Rolling Logs – 0, Defensive Trebuchet – 1
Production
Farms: 15 – 15, L*3 Sawmills: 0
Quarries: 0, Mines: 0
Resources (Amount, Production rate, Current Consumption-food only)
Food: (760,400, 21,000/ph +40%, -560p/h), Wood: (86,000, 0/ph +0%), Stone: (44,000, 0/ph +0%), Ore: (16,000, 0/ph +0%)
“So, a fair bit to do then,” Lincoln said. “I take it the quarters will hold the soldiers, etc, etc.” He took a breath. “Tell me, everything goes up to level 16 does it?”
“Yes.”
“So the population capacity is sixteen thousand.”
“Yes, well a few thousand more with the embassies and other various suites I haven’t inventoried yet.”
Lincoln let slip a whistle. “That’s some size. So, how do we fill it?” He was actually wondering if it was that big or if the size of the task was daunting. Given that Brokenford was quite the city itself, he wondered at the capital’s size. However it measured up, the task of waking Starellion wasn’t quite as easy as he thought. He peered down the shaft. The river now flowed into it, spray blooming up, then folding over and drifting down. The mere sight of it was calming, relaxing, and befitting, if he was truthful with himself, worthy of a temple.
“The soldiers you drafted. Where are they?”
“The banner room. I thought it best. They can see the flags they fight for, the body of the fallen shaman, and of course, the throne. Can’t help but make an impression.”
“Serve them ale and food. Tell them I’ll get to them as soon as I can.”
“Your master at arms is attending. The ale and food is already arranged.”
He decided right there that he could trust the fairy, Morningstar. Even if she had a wicked streak. “Thanks.”
Across from the shaft, a few bots were still digging away at a partly seeded field. Lincoln wandered over, soon joined by Belzarra.
“I do want to stay here,” Belzarra blurted, putting her jacket on and pulling her collar up, shaking her sweaty hair out. “If it's all right with you. Thought I detested other folks, turns out I quite like them, and...” She looked at Morningstar. “We’ll iron things out…eventually.”
“I used to feel that way about company. Joan was always telling me off, calling me a grumpy, old so-and-so, and she was probably right—she was always bringing people home, entertaining.” Lincoln stammered, the admission a difficult one. Then he found the words he wanted to say. “I’m glad you want to stay. It’s no life living in a cottage in the middle of the woods. Which reminds me, I need to see Thadius Hawkwind, but first, let’s thrash this out. I don’t just want you to set up an army of magicians. I want you to set up a magic… What’s the word?”
“Sect?”
“Division,�
� Lincoln said.
“A what?”
“Regiment?” he tried, “Too military…a mix…a…”
“Shall we say school? Starellion’s School of Magic. We’re always learning, so school works.” She hesitated. “Will Cronis teach?”
“Maybe, when the mood takes him. We need to find magic that benefits as well as destroys.”
“As well as?”
“We'll still need an army of magicians, wizards, warlocks, every color of mage—hell, throw in a necromancer or two. Whatever happens, we can’t do good if Starellion’s been laid waste, and we’re all dead.”
“Necromancers—now you’re talking—they’re so…” Belzarra shivered. “Necromancers, they do it for me. So, nothing’s off-limits?”
“Is anything off-limits for this ShadowDancer, this Belved?”
“Mutants?”
A shiver ran up Lincoln’s spine, the memories too recent. “Not mutants.”
“Thank Lamerell for that, I was beginning to think there was something in the water.” She grabbed his arm, and they walked side by side and peered down into the excavations. “Agreed, I’ll head your school up. Heck, might even be able to recruit you a few of my acquaintances.” Belzarra fell silent for a moment but eventually said, “So, have you told Allaise you’re leaving yet?”
Lincoln didn’t answer at first, his mind trying to work out what he was seeing. The head of the vast downward steps that led away, and he knew they fell all the way to the banner room. As luck would have it, enough of the way had been cleared for them to squeeze down.
“This morning,” he eventually answered. “She took it…okay…quite well in fact. She wants to work on her plan for a system of esteem.” He slapped his head. “That’s another thing. I want you to have a seat on the council of seven—like the seven knights…but not quite…”
“Who with?”
“Allaise, Griselda, Swift, Jin, the group, plus a couple of others. It’s all a bit fluid, and I need folks I can count on.”
“But you hardly know me,” she said, as they reached the first landing.
Lincoln shrugged. “Gotta tell you, I hardly know anyone—couple of months tops for me—that’s my lifetime’s commitment here. Listen, I have to trust folks, and if they don’t work out, I have to sort it out then. There’s a catch, anyway, and you might not go for it.”
“Like what?”
“Like you have to join my guild.”
“Mandrake? That’s her guild—Lamerell, old magic, not Poleyna. So…I’ll have to think about it.”
Morningstar buzzed up the stairs. Lincoln blinked; he hadn’t even seen her fly past.
“Are you going to see the soldiers?” she asked. “Swift’s in with them, but their officer was most insistent that he see you—the man who would be king—that’s what he called you.”
“Tell Swift to let him stew for a while—let them all stew. Then in say, forty minutes, escort him to see me.”
“Where will you be?”
“Where is Thadius Hawkwind?”
“The portal room.”
“Good, then that’s where we’ll be.”
“As you wish.” Morningstar made to fly way.
“Hold on! Which way is the portal room?” Lincoln asked.
Morningstar rolled her eyes, blinked at Lincoln and then said, “There, now click on the room, and your city sheet will show you the way.”
“Handy,” Belzarra admitted, as Morningstar flew back down the stairs. “Busy little thing, isn’t she?”
“You know she’ll hate you for a while?”
“I’ll be safe for a few days yet.”
“Safe?”
“That little show she put on—all those scenes. Must have near drained the mana she’d been saving up since the city fell dormant. No, I’ll be safe for a while yet. That’s why she couldn’t counter my magic.”
“What about when she recovers?”
“By then, my charm would have won her over.”
“Not charisma?”
Belzarra laughed. “I haven’t got a single damn point of that.”
They followed the steps all the way down to the banner room. Those dread doors hung right in front of them, though this time, no eerie, red light bled under, no heavy breaths sounded out either, apart from Lincoln’s. His energy had been half sapped by the long steps, his fight with Shrimp, and his lack of food and water.
Rookie errors… He thought, knowing he couldn’t make those mistakes out in the countryside, out with Flip. Maybe he did need Ozmic and Grimble to keep him grounded.
The anteroom was clearly a hallway, a previously unseen passage behind the spill of the steps now illuminated. His city sheet told him his way led along the flickering torches that lit the hall’s way. He stopped in his tracks; its direction seemed too…convenient.
“I’ve got the strangest feeling about this,” Lincoln said under his breath, and began pacing out its distance as he walked its length, imagining the same span up top, in the fields. Sure enough, just as he was imagining coming to the foothills that led up to Poleyna’s cave, so the corridor ended at a pair of braced, wood doors. Two different designs were carved on each, but somehow they dovetailed, as if they slotted purposely together and yet were happy to remain apart. Lincoln stopped in his tracks, sure that he’d seen the shape before.
“What an odd tree,” Belzarra muttered, and pushed the door open.
Lincoln walked through and into a very strange room.
23
The Portal Room
The square floor was the color of a rolling ocean swell and was devoid of any furniture, making their footsteps echo as they walked in. In its center, a raised circle, like someone had laid a large, gold coin down, sat around a foot high. A column of light rose from the coin-like platform—like light from a porthole—yet none was there. It rose up to the room’s ceiling which, like the floor, was square in shape, but painted the color of a fine, spring night, complete with stars, comets, and swirling nebulas brimming with vibrant brushstrokes. Mirroring the podium and above the shaft of light, the semblance of a giant lens was embedded partly in and partly out of the ceiling.
Each of the four walls had a slightly different design painted on to it. The one opposite Lincoln and Belzarra was nearly entirely taken up by a full moon, its grays and shining whites forming a vivid representation of craters, ridges and mountains. Even though over the other side of the room, Lincoln could almost feel the moon’s presence straining to burst through. The walls on either side depicted a first quarter moon and a third quarter moon respectively, each intricately painted as well. Without looking, Lincoln knew the wall he had his back to would show a new moon, a fresh moon.
Both Crags and Thadius were pacing around the gold platform. The latter had his hands behind his back and his spectacles perched on the end of his nose as he glanced at the surface of the golden dais. Crags, on the other hand, was looking up and into the giant lens like a gawking child. Lincoln let the doors click shut, breaking the silence. Thadius looked around.
“It’s breathtaking,” he announced, reverently. “It’s unbelievable. My portal is a mere toy compared to this. This...this could...could go anywhere, but the mana used must be phenomenal...endless. Don’t you see? Don’t you understand?”
“Understand what?” Lincoln asked.
“I’m not sure it should…” Thadius was clearly of two minds. “I think it’s evolving.”
“Evolving?”
“It feels too new and yes, growing. It has a presence—like a dungeon core. It’s attempting to gain some sort of sentience. I’m sure of it. It’s almost like a mother portal calling to its children.” Thadius took a few steps back as if a further perspective would clear his mind. “But where is it drawing the mana from?” he asked.
“Sentient?” Lincoln wasn’t sure when he’d lost his ability to communicate, but he was fairly sure he could string more than a couple of words together before he’d entered the room. Thadius was right, it did h
ave an overbearing presence. He shook his head to try and clear his mind, walking up to the coin-like dais, he saw its surface was a swirl of hieroglyphics that became ever smaller as they reached the platform’s middle. Looking up at the lens, he gasped. It was living, differing scenes washing over it like clouds on a stormy day: dark lands, wastelands, deserts, jungles, temples, caverns. It depicted people: soldiers in gleaming armor, a stream of deathly pale ghost riders with their eyes bound, a tribe of warriors like The Thrace, and gentler folks, peaceful folks tending fields, fishing and the like. “What is it? Is this even normal: the scenes, the people?”
Thadius cleared his throat. “No, but it’s a portal, but as I’ve said, like none I’ve ever seen before. I believe it is searching the lands—all of them, trying to find its kin. It’s alive and not only that, it’s leeching mana, natural mana, and we need to understand where from.”
“Certainly not from the air in here,” Belzarra said, running her finger along the depiction of the full moon. “If anything, it's leaking mana into this room—the air is thick with it.”
“How then?” Lincoln asked. He’d begun to feel its power. It almost tempted him to fall to his knees, such was its dominance in the room.
Belzarra's finger reached the center of the wall and she gasped, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. She staggered and fell back, her legs clearly unsteady. “He’s right, it’s trying to tame its kin.” Then her eyes came back to stare straight at Lincoln. “The mana, it's draining the mana from the portal in Tanglewood. I can sense my taint.”
Thadius shook his head. “No, no, that’s impossible, not possible, not feasible. Even the one in Shyantium was nothing like this—just a simple stone disc with a pair of golden rings—no lens, no visions. This can’t be—portals can’t suck in their own mana—they can’t power themselves. Even with my portal, there had to be someone there feeding it mana.”