Footwizard

by Terry Mancour

  “Glory is a poor coin for that bargain,” she warned.

  “What else do I have to do?” I demanded. “I’m only going to be around for a few more decades, at best. I should make the most of it.”

  “Of course,” she conceded. “I’m of like mind. It’s time to shake things up, Minalan,” she said, her voice growing in confidence. “But I don’t act from a desire for glory. I act to correct the errors of my people, to atone,” she said, intently. “The universe may not be fair, but that is no reason for me to accede to its unfairness. I will right the wrongs the Alka Alon have committed,” she vowed.

  “And I will advocate on behalf of the entire world,” I agreed. “The Alon, the human colony, the Met Sakinsa, the Vundel, all of it. We are all of Callidore, and we all deserve to persevere, as long as we are able.”

  “You do realize how utterly narcissistic that sounds,” Lilastien said, as she finished her drink and held her gourd out for more from Wideleaf’s vessel. “To think that you even can save the world is severely narcissistic. To feel you’re duty-bound to save the world? That’s a pure expression of ego.”

  “That’s what wizards do,” I replied, with the utmost sincerity. “Wideleaf? Another?” I asked. It was a really good martini. “I’m not alone in that egotism,” I pointed out, philosophically. “Your people took steps to save the world,” I reminded her. “They took all of their best weaponry and hid it away from themselves. Wasn’t that a self-important, narcissistic expression of ego?”

  “That was a collective decision,” she argued, “not an individual decision. A matter of consensus. Perhaps a bit self-important,” she conceded, “but I think it denotes a greater sense of self-knowledge than . . . what?” she asked, as she studied the expression on my face, which had changed with a sudden thought I’d had. A realization. “What is it?” Lilastien demanded.

  “Lilastien, I . . . I know how to open the vault,” I realized, quietly . . . and finished my drink in one draught.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Defending the Vault

  These Enshadowed are starting to annoy me.

  from the Expedition Book of Anghysbel,

  Recorded By Dr. Lilastien

  “You . . . you do?” Lilastien asked, skeptically.

  “I do,” I affirmed. “One of my hosts was Raer Rinthon,” I explained, an excitement growing in me. “The designated executioner of the Alka Alon Council, at the time when it was last opened, four hundred odd years ago. That’s where your king was executed. And the king of the Karshak. And where Davachan was sentenced.”

  “I remember old Rinthon,” Lilastien nodded, her brow furrowed. “He died a few centuries after that. Duty-bound old coot,” she recalled.

  “You have no idea. He could be trusted never to reveal what he saw. He never did. But he was there. He watched the Aronin do it. I watched the Aronin do it,” I corrected. “I can open the vault.”

  Her eyes got a bit wider. “Do we need a crew?” she asked, setting down her gourd.

  “No, no, it’s easy enough, if you know how to do it,” I assured her. “In fact, we should go there directly,” I decided. “It’s possible the Enshadowed are there already. If they figure it out . . .”

  “We cannot permit that,” she agreed, firmly.

  “I know. It was one of the Aronin’s greatest fears.” Before we could continue, an eyestalk and a voice gourd descended back down to our level.

  “The Grandfather Tree appreciates you informing us of your plans,” Deeproot said. “He is gratified that you survived the challenge of the Yith. He is hopeful that you will find some remedy to the coming crisis. Indeed, he suspects you may be successful. And he has agreed to let our folk take temporary refuge in your lands to escape the eruption,” he added.

  “Which means I’ll have to open that vault,” I agreed, standing. “And the sooner I get to it, the better. I’m still in shock, now,” I explained. “I don’t know how long that will last, but eventually it will wear off.”

  “Agreed,” Lilastien said, handing me my plasma rifle. “Let’s go there directly. Thank you, Fathers of the Leshi. And thanks for the drinks.”

  “Everything turned out all right,” Bomoadua said, as she escorted us back to the entrance of the Leshwood. It was interesting, seeing the grove first thing in the morning, with a martini buzz. Many of my hosts were impressed at the sight of the moving trees, and Prince Maralathus was delighted to see his old friends the Met Sakinsa again. The grove he was familiar with was somewhat different than the Leshi, due to magic. Indeed, he marveled at how the Leshi had developed without magic.

  “I wouldn’t quite say that,” I sighed. “I did die, after all.”

  “Which means you should take it easy, today,” Lilastien countered. “Your heart attack was mild, but it happened. I should take you back to the Cave of the Ancients and put you in bed, on monitors, and watch you carefully for a few days.”

  “We don’t have the time,” I pointed out. “We only have a week or two left before the passage back to the Magelaw will be too dangerous to travel. Every day here counts.”

  “Not if you collapse and have another cardiac event,” Lilastien argued. “We can go to the vault, but I’m going to be scanning you the entire way,” she promised. “The moment I see a problem, we stop, and I call for help.”

  “You really are a good physician,” I said, with a sigh. I knew she was right. I felt fine – actually, I felt like nine kinds of hell, after my eventful night, but in general I felt fine. “I’ll let you know if I have any chest pains, dizziness, or the like. Farewell, Bomoadua,” I said, as we reached the sentry trees. “Thank you for your help. May the rest of your summer be fruitful,” I said, knowing from the Alka Alon prince in my head that that was the proper parting phrase.

  “May your journeys be successful, animals,” she said, thoughtfully. “Thank you for what you have done. And for what you will do.”

  “I like her confidence in me,” I said, as we walked back to where the horses had been tied. The morning sun was lancing through the eaves of the Leshwood, now, and the entire vale seemed to throb with the fecundity of the forest. “The Met Sakinsa are always truthful and never duplicitous. I appreciate that, in a species. You, on the other hand,” I pointed out, “have a tendency to keep things to yourself.”

  “The Alka Alon have had our troubles,” she admitted, as she mounted her horse. “But we do try to do the right thing, usually. That’s why I’m trying to amend our wrongs.”

  “I wasn’t speaking of the Alka Alon in general,” I explained, as I swung myself into the saddle. “I was speaking of you, personally. One of my hosts was a Karshak named Umank. You treated him for burns in New Leiden after a bad fire. One involving Charles Avital. And the Enshadowed,” I reminded her.

  “Oh . . . oh!” she said, as she recalled the incident. “Umank? The stonesinger? That poor Karshak! Wait, you saw me, then?”

  “I did,” I nodded. “Umank told you about the Enshadowed sabotaging the reclamation project. You told him to keep it to himself,” I accused.

  “I . . . that’s right, I did,” she sighed. “And for good reason.”

  “I’d love to hear it,” I prompted.

  “Umank was not aware of the other factors involved – not the Alka Alon, but the human factors,” she explained. “There was a faction within the Colonial Defense Force and the colonial administration that was plotting something. They saw the emergence of rajira in humanity as a threat and the control the Vundel had over the colony as unacceptable. They didn’t particularly like the Alka Alon, either.

  “Your people tried to keep the knowledge of that plot from us, though we had already figured it out. But neither side really knew who to trust. I was quietly exchanging information with some of my friends in the colonial government and the military about the Enshadowed, and they were passing me information about their rogue faction.

  “It was a delicate balance during a sensitive time . . . but no one suspected the Enshado
wed would strike against Perwyn, and after that, things went into the chamber pot. I told Umank to be quiet because I didn’t want to put his life in further danger,” she explained. “In the end, I evacuated him back to a quiet little refuge in the Kulines for recuperation and rehabilitation.”

  “I suppose it was complicated,” I agreed. “I just wanted to hear your reasoning. And I thought you should know.”

  “Thank you. And you weren’t wrong to suspect me. That was a different time. A very interesting time.”

  “Like this one?” I asked, nudging the horse forward.

  “In a lot of ways,” she agreed. “This time, I know who I’m working for and which side I’m on.”

  We rode through the Gouge that morning, and it was a lovely day. The vegetation changed radically, as we crossed into the wide gulch, and soon we were skirting the Plain of Pillars. Lilastien and I mostly kept quiet, more for the chance of reflection than out of caution. We were about to stop at a spring and refill our water bottles when a bolt flew out of nowhere and into the neck of my horse.

  I hate having a horse slain out from under me. It’s terrifying. It’s happened more than once, and every time it happens, I respond with a mixture of rage and fear. To have it happen when you aren’t expecting it is twice as disconcerting. As the animal tried to scream, a second shaft pierced its eye, and I threw myself from the saddle. Getting your leg pinned under a dead horse – or being kicked and trampled by a dying horse – is even worse that losing your mount in the first place.

  Lilastien’s mount took a shaft in her haunch and reared, sending the sorceress sprawling into the grass. She rolled expertly away and came up to a kneeling position, her plasma rifle in her hands.

  That looked like a good idea, I decided, as my hands found the familiar grips of my weapon. Andrews had used them extensively, on Terra, and I found myself peering around the spring with a newfound knowledge, using the electronic sighting of the plasma rifle with new facility. The next shaft that flew told me where the attackers were, behind a boulder. In a moment a gurvan’s head and shoulders appeared from behind it on the screen, crossbow in hand. A moment after that he took a bolt of superheated plasma in the face.

  “Got one!” I called, my adrenaline propelling me to crawl forward behind my dead horse. I scanned the horizon for new targets as Lilastien’s rifle belched fire.

  “I got mine,” she agreed. “How many?”

  “Let’s find out,” I said, rolling to one side of the dead horse for a better angle. I had to crawl on my belly until I could see two gurvani corpses lying on the ground. But there was a third cautiously crouched behind the boulder. Along with an Alkan male.

  “Two more,” I called. “Enshadowed and maragorku.”

  “We can take them,” she said, confidently. “Pincer move?”

  Andrews had a problem with that. “Let’s try to draw them out,” I suggested. “You cover me, I’m going to sneak off and flank them.”

  She nodded. “One of your hosts?” she asked.

  “Several of them. It’s a little odd.”

  “I know. But useful. Go!” she called and began firing to keep their heads down. I kept my head down and belly-crawled about forty yards, until I had a much better vantage point. The side of the maragorku sniper’s head was visible, in the telescopic sight. Andrews’ memory told me how to adjust the beam settings for a more precise shot. I took careful aim, and as the gurvan squinted in the morning sun, I blew his face off with a careful squeeze of the trigger.

  “Got ’em!” I called to Lilastien. Then I called to the Enshadowed, in Alka Alon. “Lay down your arms and surrender!”

  He took a few moments to consider the situation. I put a shot into the top of the boulder for incentive. “I will not make the offer twice!” The Alkan words felt strange, coming out of my mouth, but my accent was perfect, I knew.

  “I will comply,” the Enshadowed said, standing in the open with his spear held point-down. I rose from my crouch and moved forward, never letting his face move from my screen. A moment later Lilastien joined me.

  The transformed Alkan looked tall and gangly, compared to the Tera Alon form Lilastien had developed and used. I’d faced them before in battle myself, as well as those experiences my long-lived Alon hosts had with them. I could tell this one was young, and there was a look of fear on his face.

  “You weren’t supposed to have magic,” he complained, as he handed his spear to me.

  “I’m sneaky, that way. This is humani technology, not magic. I accept your surrender. What is your name?” I demanded, not letting my rifle fall. That was hard to do with a spear in my other hand, but I was feeling motivated.

  “Belimiel,” he sighed, keeping his hands clear of his body. His bow lay on the ground next to the three smoldering gurvani. He looked more scared and disappointed than ready to fight, but I wasn’t taking any chances. “I didn’t really want to come, but I was ordered to.”

  “What were your orders?” Lilastien asked.

  “To guard the trail against anyone who might interfere,” he said, reluctantly.

  “Interfere with what?” she demanded, pushing the barrel of the rifle into his face. “What are they doing?”

  “We discovered location of the lost vault,” Belimiel said with a sigh. “But I will not show you where it is. Alas, we could not open it. I was to guard the trail while Harinlon led a raid on the Kilnusk to get better tools.”

  “The Kilnusk are going to kick your ass,” I said, translating the human idiom into Alka Alon.

  “Did he leave behind any other guards?” Lilastien asked.

  “There are two gurvani there,” he admitted. “But you will never find the place. It’s well-hidden. Should you do, you will never get beyond the door. It is vast,” he boasted, as if he’d made it himself. “Beyond the craft of men to breech. Particularly without magic. But we shall prevail,” he promised.

  “No, you won’t,” I assured him. “I’m a clever fellow and a fast study. I didn’t even know Alka Alon until today. I’m sure I can figure it out.”

  “You think yourself superior to the greatest Enshadowed captain of all the hordes of Korbal?” he asked, with undisguised arrogance.

  “Easily,” I snapped. “When did Captain Harinlon leave for his raid?”

  “Last night,” Belimiel said. “He should be returning any time. Then he will defeat you. He has—”

  “Shut up,” I ordered, thinking. I was getting advice from many of my hosts about what to do, and it was confusing. Thankfully, Lilastien pressed on.

  “Who are the others in your party?” she asked, moving a little closer to him. “What were your orders?”

  “Harinlon, Rindenmel, Lamarthus, and Gindomel,” he admitted. “We all had different tasks. Lamarthus was eaten by a . . . he got eaten. He was to contact the lizard people in search of ancient relics of their race. He got eaten,” he repeated. “Harinlon was tasked to find and open the council’s vault. I am his aid, and a specialist in ancient works. Rindenmel was given the task to contact the vassals of the Formless. He goes now to lead the reinforcements here. And Gindomel was given the task of hunting the Spellmonger and retrieving his ball of irionite.”

  “Reinforcements?” I asked, sharply.

  “After our initial expedition penetrated the valley,” Belimiel explained, fearfully, “if we were successful in our tasks, we would send for them. They await just beyond the wastes. Five hundred gurvani, heavy infantry, and a dozen of my comrades to lead them. They are to take control over the valley and secure it for Korbal’s use over the winter,” he said, his fear turning to defiance.

  “They plan to take over the vale?” I asked, surprised.

  “And recapture the dragon, yes,” he answered.

  “I don’t think that’s going to go well for you,” I smiled. “It appears only Rindenmel and Pritikin were successful, then. I am the Spellmonger, and the Magolith is quite intact. What about your own irionite?” I asked him.

  He startled.
“What use is irionite in the realm of the Jevolar?” he asked.

  “That’s not the question I asked you,” I observed. I lowered my rifle and examined his spear. Prince Maralathus certainly appreciated it, and from his memory I was informed. It was about five feet long, the blade about a fifth of the length. It came to an elegant point and had a razor-fine edge to it. The entire thing was metal, and beautifully contrived.

  “This is an ancient weapon, isn’t it? House of Mayobaris if I’m not mistaken. Forged just after your people came here, in the eastern realms. A noble’s weapon. A dueling spear, not a war spear. A family heirloom. A token of pride in your lineage.”

  “Y-yes, yes, it is,” he agreed, confused. “It was my great-grandsires. How do you know . . .?”

  “Only someone as young and foolish as you, Belimiel, would take such a fine weapon into a mission where he might lose it. Or see it dishonored. Say, by being made party to a surrender. You know your ancestors broke their spears before they would surrender, so as not to shame the spirits of the weapons?”

  “Please don’t break my spear!” he begged.

  “I won’t . . . but you are unworthy of it. If a mere boy takes a weapon like this into the field, when another would have sufficed, he likely has brought along his irionite, even though he was told it wouldn’t be useful. I’ll ask you again: what of your irionite?” I said and turned the spear to point back at him.

  With a disgusted sigh he dug into a pouch around his neck and reluctantly presented me with a centimeter-wide sphere. I took it unceremoniously, without even being cautious. It was inert. I tucked it into my own pouch.

  “What are we going to do with him?” Lilastien asked. “We aren’t really prepared for taking prisoners of war.”

  “Tie him up,” I instructed her, as I raised my rifle again. “We will leave him here. If the stora don’t find him, his bold captain will, when he returns.”

  “What?” he asked, alarmed.