Finally, he readied himself to interrupt. If he had lungs he might've sighed, even if that would've only been a learned trait meant to demonstrate solidarity with his human peers.
“Tay-lore,” Zabe called from the adjacent room. “I see you—come in here. What’s on your mind?”
He stepped into the room. “Pardon me. I do not mean to intrude, but I found news of our enemies while going about my usual surveillance.”
Claire asked worriedly, “Good news or bad news?”
“Neither, I suppose. But it is of interest, I am sure. The tarkhūn seem to be at war with different factions of the vyrm again.”
“The Black,” asked Zabe.
“They are always at odds with the Black it seems, but this is more than that. The tarkhūn have been targeting different rogue cults operating within the species.”
“You mean the factionless?”
“It appears to be more than that,” Tay-lore paused insightfully. “They have been trying to locate the Followers of Krakkath and also eradicate something called the Seekers of Maetha.”
“You mean the Rovers,” Claire asked.
Zabe shook his head. The topic had long been an area of interest for him, and seeing the unaligned vyrm in the wastelands of Desolation had been the highlight of their last joint trip to the realm. “Both predate the Sh’logath cult founded at the Plains of Neggath, They are older than Nitthogr and Basilisk and have been around for eons.”
Claire looked hopeful. “Could this be an indicator that the vyrms’ hearts and minds might be changing—turning away from the Devourer?”
Zabe grimaced and shook his head. “No. The religion has always been about Sh’logath, but there existed an earlier version that was slightly altered by the revelations of the Thousand Elders. Think about Earth’s long history with Judaism and their whole cultus before the arrival of the Christ and the emergence of his followers and church as they moved the religion forward.”
Claire nodded, though she could feel that Bithia had so many questions about that particular segment of history. She didn’t have many answers, but had always intended to delve more seriously into a study of faith, but she’d never made it a high enough priority to sufficiently answer those questions that her Prime mind yearned for answers to.
“Do you think this means they could be mobilizing for war? Are we in any danger,” she asked Tay-lore.
“No. I do not believe so,” he stated. “I just thought you would want to know. There are indications that some tarkhūn have visited your home realm. Nitthogr was clever and knew how to disguise his activity enough that we have difficulty detecting any of the movement or communication from the Black. The tarkhūn are less adept. I would not dare to guess at what is happening within the factions—I only know that there is activity, and much of it is hostile.”
“Thank you, Tay-lore,” Claire said.
He did his best attempt to nod appreciatively and returned to his station. Deep down, he knew that he could have sent the information remotely, but deep down he craved contact and his station was lonely whenever Sam Jones was gone.
***
Shandra led the way through the topmost section of the tower. A newly installed metal door barred their path and she touched her thumb to the sensor. It clicked and unlocked, allowing them access to the room. “All members of the royal family and certain members of the military and councils have programmed access,” she promised, although her tone of voice didn’t seem to indicate it was a fact that pleased her. “This is why I was late, yesterday. I got so caught up in our work and I quite lost track of time.”
Sam walked in a loop and examined the ancient set of mirrors. “I didn’t think vanity would be welcomed amongst the Veritas… I mean, you’re pretty and all, but…” He trailed off and watched her try to conceal a slight blush.
“These are a set of very powerful artifacts,” Shandra replied. “From this room, and with these mirrors, one could access any of the known portals through the Tesseract.”
He raised his eyebrows and gave them a second look. “You mean during the right lunar or solar alignments?”
She shook her head. “No. These can send a traveler through to anywhere. It is a one-way trip, but it defies the normal requirements of portal travel.”
Sam examined the different engravings on the different mirrors and arrived at one with no glass. “So I can return to Earth whenever I want?”
Shandra nodded slowly. “Yes, but return would still follow the regular astronomical requirements.” She indicated the glassless mirror. “We took measurements for a new cutting and the Earth mirror will be fully repaired by this afternoon. Are you eager to return?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Not really. Everything that’s important to me now is in the Prime. I guess I have a few friends back there, but my life is here, now.”
“Good. Earth is important and planeswalking is more dangerous than people realize. Some clerics have long believed it was the constant travel that corrupted Nitthogr and Basilisk prior to their great fall. Earth has always been relatively off-limits because of the will of the Architect King. The mirrors shouldn’t be used lightly.”
Shandra’s face softened when she looked at the Earth-man. “The Prime would hate to see you return to Earth… I mean, I don’t know much about history, but I’m sure your research is important. Maybe our paths will continue to cross as you remain in your studies?”
Sam nodded. He looked at the blonde cleric who was so passionate about her work. It seemed like every month he had fewer and fewer reasons to ever return.
Chapter 4
Caivev crept down the steep bank of The Crag, a deep ravine a few clicks from the Hidden Temple where she could translate from one destination to the next. She stepped onto the platform and activated the portal that would allow her to planeswalk to the sylvan realm where her allies waited. She glanced around and tried to shake the uneasy feeling that plagued her.
Chalking it up to nerves, she ventured on ahead. She’d already used a two step-portal transition and shifted between two other dimensions in order to obfuscate her true destination in case any enemies followed.
Caivev activated the intermediate portal with a drop of her own blood and stepped through. Immediately following the piercing agony of her body disintegrating and rematerializing on another plane, she was finally greeted by the warm smells of the heavily wooded realm. From her spot on the giant stone disk protruding from the dirt of the forest glen, she could see vyrm forces leaving their wooded havens to greet her: the five members of the Black’s council approached and a huge contingent of vyrm soldiers following behind.
About halfway through the clearing, she slowed her gait. An odd noise caught her attention and she turned back towards the old ceremonial site where she'd arrived. Some kind of barely audible whine emitted nearby as if it came from a power supply.
With her hackles suddenly raised she caught sight of her contact in the distance. Mumbling every curse word she knew beneath her breath, Caivev raised her disruptor at them and watched them through the magnification of her scope. The five paused, understanding that she was checking them out.
Caivev raised an arm in salute to test them. Her welcome party each raised a return arm of salute. She cursed again and noted that they’d walked past some sort of painted line in the grass meant to mark a location. They were supposed to raise two arms in double salute to verify their identity.
“Shades,” she whispered, knowing her meeting had been compromised. Caivev sprang to her feet and dashed back towards the portal location. Her assailants scrambled after her.
The shrill noise grew louder as she approached. Before she could get to the gate, a crackling blue orb of energy zapped her and flung the woman back to the dirt.
She suddenly recognized the noise: a forcefield generator. Caivev snapped her disruptor to attention and fired off a few shots at her pursuit. The shots flew wide except for one which blasted the dirt
y tarkhūn into a steaming pile of meat.
The shrill whine grew exponentially louder and a burst of static echoed around her. Finally recognizing that their leader was under attack, the nearby members of the Black leapt into position and fired at the remaining four shades, but a larger protective dome that popped up on the paint markers turned back their blaster fire. Ricochets flung wide and some wild bolts fragged their own troops.
Caivev cursed again and dove for cover, trying to find her remaining attackers in her sights. She suddenly felt out of sorts—like she’d been drugged while someone screamed into her ear. The pain in her brain made her vision seem to shudder. Every fear and failing in her memory suddenly drilled its way into the forefront of her mind.
“Get out of my head, lich,” she cursed at the tarkhūn psychic. Caivev groaned and then turned her thoughts inward and mentally thrust them at the vyrm telepath who she assumed hid nearby.
Her head cleared immediately as the psychic hold crumbled. The lich obviously didn’t expect an opponent who possessed training to resist psionic attacks.
The four enemies were on her in a flash, regardless, even as the larger of the two barriers overloaded and crackled, winking out of existence under the barrage of heavy blaster fire. The remaining shades deactivated the last forcefield, dragged their captive onto the platform, and then leapt into a different dimension with their victim in tow.
***
Jackie flung the cold, wet towel overhead as she collapsed into a heap outside the Guardian Corps’ training gym. Every part of her ached, but the training made her happy—even if it meant she had to face her gaffes and work with Harken and Wulftone.
She'd pretended like nothing had happened, and Wulftone, to his credit, played along. Jackie bit her lip in consternation. That little kindness tore her up even more! How could she not just fall into the guy's arms?
Glancing over her shoulder she caught sight of Harken heading towards her. Harken with his stupid, handsome dimpled chin. From the corner of her other eye, she saw Wulftone also headed her direction.
“Dear Lord,” she whispered. “This is how my life ends.”
Walking up ahead in the distance she spotted Claire and Zabe wearing some goofy looking getups and harnesses. They could’ve been rolled in butter and wearing breadcrumbs for all she cared! Jackie sprang to her feet and jogged towards them, pretending not to notice either of her two suitors.
She waved to Claire and Zabe as she closed the distance. “Hey! What are you guys doin? Where ya goin?”
Jackie rocked eagerly on the balls of her feet while Claire turned to greet her. Her friend immediately caught the look on Jackie’s face and the way she refused to turn and see if either Harken or Wulftone had followed told her everything.
Claire tried to signal her friend that it was safe but the two guys watched from a distance. “We were just headed spelunking,” she said.
“Is that like snorkeling? Can I come—I’ve got to get out and do something outside of the gym. You know, expand my horizons.”
"It's cave exploration," Zabe said.
“Of course you can come,” Claire interjected, looking over her friend’s shoulder and throwing an arm around her to give her an excuse her watchers would accept. “We’re headed this way.”
“But I thought it was going to be a…” Zabe stopped when Claire gave him a sharp look. He didn’t quite know what it meant, except that he’d been overruled and any argument would be futile.
“Right this way, I guess?”
***
Caivev quickly realized her captors didn't intend her any ill will, but neither did they relax their hold on her. With her familiarity of planeswalking, it seemed obvious within a few quick trips between the dimensional gates that they headed for a gate that would take them to Limbus.
The shades made perfect abductors. They used their camouflaging and disguise abilities to perfectly blend in with the surrounding populations as they ferried their captive between different portal locations. They were not, however, good conversationalists and switched into obscure languages when they chose to communicate so that Caivev could not eavesdrop on them.
When they finally arrived at Basilisk’s city, a seed of dread lodged in her belly. The journey took two days, and the sudden thought of a confrontation and conversation with the tarkhūn leader unnerved her greatly. She sighed and began the long trek up the winding hillside as her “guides” forced her along the trail that would end in their leader’s sanctum—and possibly her death or imprisonment within a case of living stone if he chose to petrify her.
The shades did not parade her as a trophy, but Caivev couldn't help but feel as if she was one. As they passed through the city, thousands of sets of eyes peered out at her from the darkness of vyrm dwellings.
She grimaced as they reached the edge of the sculpture garden. Several new acquisitions ringed the edge of his collection and she paused to take it in. A completely normal family from the Prime stood locked in stony repose; their clothing indicated they were commoners and nothing indicated anything special about them. Chuckling and shaking her head, she knew it was difficult to understand why the eccentric tarkhūn leader did the things he did—or whom chose to imprison and for what purpose.
Caivev could see her enemy in the distance where he hunched over one of his high-tabled games. She hadn’t conversed with him in years—since prior to Nitthogr’s final push to take the Prime. Before that, relations had been tense, but hadn’t yet bubbled up into war, again.
Basilisk called to her and beckoned. The shades departed and left them alone.
Caivev knew that would hardly be the case and assumed he had at least a dozen bodyguards hidden among the stone figures. She hardened her heart and proceeded through the maze of statues with her head held high and her dignity intact.
Basilisk leaned over a nearby place-setting of food and wine and motioned for his guest to move closer. "You and I have much to discuss," Basilisk stated warmly.
Caivev kept her temperament cool and slid into a high stool. She adjusted her place setting and served herself. Basilisk did likewise.
“There were easier ways to call me to a diplomatic parley, you know.”
Basilisk raised an eyebrow mischievously and sipped from his goblet. “I hardly think so. Especially not after I had all your tribal chiefs killed.”
Caivev paused mid-bite and glared at him. Her piercing look demanded more information.
“They exercised too much autonomy. You might not have known that they’d begun running their own operations against me independent of your authorization. In fact, they’d just recently tried to kill me on three separate occasions.” He touched his chest with mock indignation.
She wore her best poker-face, but this was new information to her. Caivev didn't reward him with any response, instead, she ate a few bite-sized pieces of fruit. "These rousch-berries are certainly ripe for this time of year."
Basilisk grinned. He enjoyed playing this game with her; she was better at it than she gave herself credit. "I couldn't let them entertain the idea that they might be able to survive without you, my dear. Or worse, that a coup might be a good idea." He sipped deeply from his cup.
“What is it that you brought me here to discuss?”
“So many things, Caivev. Primarily, I’m concerned that the Black felt they could operate in such independence of their leader.”
Caivev watched him over the rim of her cup as she took a deep draught. It was obvious he wouldn’t give up this topic.
Basilisk leaned across the table and refilled her cup from the table’s pitcher. “It seems to indicate that your attention is greatly diverted to something else.” He folded his hands and waited for an answer.
She sipped from her glass again; glad to finally be heading towards the real topic. “There was no question in there,” Caivev stated coyly.
Basilisk grinned. “You know how deeply my curiosity runs. What are you up to?”
This time Caivev grinned. “Don’t your spies know everything?”
“Humor me.”
“To what end,” she toyed with him. “What is in it for the Black?”
He stood and motioned for her to join him at a nearby gaming table. Basilisk reset the pieces to the strategy game and moved his piece first. Caivev faced him and moved a piece. Another move. A move. A countermove. They positioned pieces quickly, decisively. And almost as quickly as it began, Basilisk ended it. "You are mated."
Caivev frowned, but she had expected nothing less from the master gamesman.
“Again.” Basilisk did not ask, he commanded and reset his pieces.
Move. Move. Move. Move. Again his knights captured her queen.
“You play too disciplined,” he said, resetting the game again.
Move. Move. Over and over. He won again.
“Predictable. Since when has Caivev, a potential Dunnischktet, ever played the game so safely?”
Caivev growled with frustration and reset the pieces. She moved her pieces quickly and furiously, nearly slamming them down on the tiled squares.
Move. Move. Loss.
She glowered and grumbled, resetting again—silently cursing Basilisk’s smug, gloating smile.
Move. Move. Move. Counter-move. Move. Faster and faster they acted and reacted. She recklessly challenged his openings and sacrificed pieces. Move. Move. Stop… the table was cleared of pieces except for the two most powerful units on either side. The game had stalemated.
Basilisk grinned and leaned close. “There is the risk-taking zealot I knew you were.”
Caivev glared across the completed set. Her original question still lingered in the air. Why should she share any information with him? She bent over and batted his piece off the table anyway, despite the tie.
“Alright. I will tell you why I brought you here.” Basilisk chuckled with genuine mirth.
“The Black lives in diaspora, scattered through the multiverse. What I wish for the Black is the same thing that I desire for the Tarkhūn. I would like to arrange an armistice of sorts—no, a true peace. My ultimate goal is the reunification of the vyrm peoples. Restoration to their ancestral lands here in Desolation.”
Wolves of the Tesseract Collection Page 29