by C. M. Carney
After smelling all the stalks, he decided on one. Smellify revealed the eyestalk could fire a single shot of Disruption, a chaotic spell that was particularly effective against Order Magic constructs. Steve stood back, stance wide, hands holding the stalk-like a pistol and activated the ability.
A beam of deep orange light exploded from the eyeball and hit the crystal of the wall. For a moment, nothing happened, but then, just as the beam blinked out, an imperfection appeared at the impact point and piled outwards, like heat melting ice.
Steve jumped in joy and turned to grab the hilt of the sword. By the time he turned back, the hole had healed itself. Flashes of orange light pulsed through the crystal changing its color from murky to clear and then back to murky. The surface shimmered again, and the hole grew, before snapping shut again. The shimmering light inside the wall faded, and it was solid once more.
“Murgle Gurgle,” Steve grunted and kicked the wall, a dull crack announcing his smallest toe had snapped. He dropped the sword and hopped up and down cradling his injured toe when the wall shifted again. The crystal did not part, but it turned clear revealing the indistinct silhouette of a tall man.
Steve froze, fearful that the man would prevent him from bringing the loot to the Master when the wall pulsed and parted. Steve grinned in recognition and waved at his savior. Then his eyes widened, and his joy leached from him.
Before Steve could speak, a flare of chaotic energy blasted into him and punched him into the back wall. Something cracked in Steve and he fell forward, bounced off the chest and fell back against the wall. A moment later the dim spark in his eyes went dark.
A few seconds passed before unseen hands lifted the black blade and returned it to the chest. The lid slammed shut, and the figure departed. As soon as its foot was past the threshold, the opening snapped shut, leaving a smooth patch of milky white crystal.
Several moments later the wall turned translucent. Had anyone born witness they would have seen Steve’s body slumped against the wall, the last bläärt from his vat. Then the wall turned opaque again, sealing Steve in darkness.
38
Right before the sound of Grandmaster Odymm Tal’s voice in his head woke him, Lex was snoring. It was the deep snore that rose in both volume and intensity until it startled the sleeper awake. He’d been dreaming about his wedding to Yrriel, which was odd considering the relationship bore no official designation. To Lex, their fling was much more than a friend with benefits arrangement, but Yrriel, who counted her birthdays in the hundreds, had a more fluid definition.
Had he been fully awake, Lex would have scowled at his neediness.
In the dream, Gryph took the role of best man, Vonn flirted with several elf maidens. Simon was there too, back in his floating skull iteration, as was Seraphine, still wearing Furrick’s body which in turn wore a flowery dress. Even Steve the bläärt was there, in the role of ring bearer. Finally, Errat insisted on officiating the service, which was both alarming and so very Errat.
“Hello friends, we are gathered here today to celebrate the conjoining of friend Lex and friend Yrriel,” Errat began. “When Errat first did hear about Lex and Yrriel, over several flagons of honey mead, I was confused and a little disturbed. Until that moment, Errat had no knowledge of the mating customs of non-warborn. But Lex told me in intimate detail about he and Yrriel’s ‘first time.’ To celebrate their love, I would like to tell you that story today.”
In the dream, panic rose inside Lex, and he ran in bad slo-mo rom-com style towards Errat, desperate to stop the tale from being told. Around him, the others all smiled wanly as if everything was completely normal. Lex was a hand’s length from Errat when he woke from the dream with a snorting spasm and fell from his bed.
“Ouch,” Lex muttered, his legs tangled in his blankets. Then Odymm Tal’s voice screamed in his head.
Attention all crew, please assemble on the bridge immediately!
Lex yelped and stood. The blankets tangled tighter about his feet and he toppled face forward again. After several more grunts, a few swears and one off-balance punch at nothing, Lex finally extricated himself and a minute later he was through the door, walking in pace with Vonn.
“You look like hell,” the wily rogue said.
“And you look…” Lex began, eyeballing his friend’s perfect hair and pressed clothes. “Perfect. How in the hell do you do that?”
“Tier Ability,” Vonn said, offering no further explanation.
“Of what skill? Douchebaggery?” Lex suspected Vonn was screwing with him, but without his Analyze skill, he could not prove the theory. Vonn shrugged, somehow both confirming and denying Lex’s comments without admitting to either. “What do you think is going on?”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Simon grumbled from behind them. “This Tal guy must be some kinda jerk, waking people up in the middle of the night.”
“You’re undead,” Lex responded. “You don’t need sleep.”
“I don’t need it but doesn’t mean I don’t like it.”
The lich teen’s expression went sour and Lex realized the kid was grasping at anything that let him feel human. Before he had any time to ponder, Seraphine joined them. Lex gave her an odd sideways glance, the image of her in Furrick’s body and a dress rushing back to him.
“What?” she snapped.
Lex just shrugged noncommittally. He had zero plans to explain himself, suspecting it would undermine his already fragile authority. Thankfully, their arrival at the bridge averted further explanation.
Jurredix stood at the control panel staring at the viewscreen. The ship still flew through the eddies and whorls of chaotic space. The archon had insisted they stay hidden within the nebula-like clouds on their journey to Harlan’s Watch, even if it slowed their pace.
We’re not at Harlan’s Watch. Why did Tal summon us? The uncertainty filled Lex with dread.
Lex found Tal standing before the Order Engine, deep in thought, his unfocused gaze staring at Errat. A chill flashed through Lex on seeing the Grandmaster. Whatever internal debate the man struggled with was unlikely to bode well for Errat. The swoosh of the closing doors broke the Grandmaster’s musings, and he turned to them with a forced smile.
“Thank you for coming, my friends. I am sorry to interrupt your repose, but I believe I have come up with a plan to stop the Princes.”
Exhalations of relief flowed through the group, each of them unaware until that moment, just how tense they’d been. The sparkle of joy in Tal’s eyes faded a bit as he walked towards them, and an icy claw snagged Lex’s heart.
“There is a spell taught to Grandmasters of the Circle upon their ascension to the position. We call it Anchor of Order, and it is the foundation that allows an Order Lance to exist.” Tal spread his arms to encompass their surroundings. “Essentially it is a complex order matrix that feeds upon and transforms chaos into order mana. That mana is then used to power and protect the lance.”
The concept was fantastical, almost unbelievable, but it explained how the Lords of Order had kept the Princes at bay for untold eons, despite their power disadvantage. The anchor allowed the Lords to turn their weakness into a strength.
Lex’s mind played over the possibilities. Though he loved the idea of a fleet or Order Lances going into battle against the Princes, Lex doubted that was the Grandmaster’s plan. Even if they had the material to make more, they did not have the time. Then a thought occurred to Lex, and a grin crossed his face.
“You want to use Anchor of Order as a weapon,” Lex said.
“I plan to use four Anchors of Order as weapons. One for each Prince.”
“You can do that?” Simon asked, his voice filled with awe.
“I can, but there are complications.”
“It will take time and power,” Vonn offered.
“Yes, and therein lies the problem,” Tal said, his gaze turning to Errat. “I will need to cast Anchor of Order four times in quick succession. The only way to generate enou
gh mana and ignore the spell’s considerable cooldown period is to use the Order Engine.”
Lex and the others all turned to Errat. The warborn looked peaceful, like a sleeping child, if that child were seven feet tall and 275 pounds. The chill that had been seeping through Lex since Tal’s summons had awoken him, became a clutching claw, and in its talons, it held Lex’s heart.
“But, if you use the engine, Errat will die.”
“Yes,” the Grandmaster said, never taking his eyes from Lex.
*****
Lex walked the hallways of the Order Lance alone, his mind a cacophony. For a moment he wondered if the lance’s protections had eroded. It would explain the mishmash of thoughts flowing through him. But then he admitted his mind just worked that way, especially when faced with an impossible decision.
A dull sensation took him like someone had pulled a thick warm blanket over his perception, and Lex wanted nothing more than to bury himself in its comforting folds and hide. The choice was obvious. Billions of lives saved at the cost of one. He knew what logic demanded, what Gryph would do, what Errat would insist upon.
So why can’t I do it? Why can’t I make the hard choice?
It would be at least an hour by Jurredix’s estimation before they reached Harlan’s Watch. Lex resented the time, for the more he considered the problem, the murkier it became. He wanted to curse Tal for insisting the choice was Lex’s alone.
He put one foot after the other and his pace became hypnotic. It was only when a foul odor wrinkled his nose, that he realized he’d let his mind fall into a trance. The stench was potent and familiar.
“Steve?” Lex asked, his voice tentative, like a man trying to tempt a stray cat with food. He looked around. The corridor looked no different from any of the dozen others he’d wandered through. The only difference here was the smell. Lex scowled and sniffed. The rank odor of moldy socks and old mushrooms filled his nose. He tracked the stench to a small storage closet. Inside he found the discarded grate of an air shaft. The stench wafted from the thin passageway and Lex gagged.
Why is it so much worse? Smells like something died.
“Steve?” Lex called again, concern grabbing ahold of him. He jumped up, pulling himself up by the lip of the air shaft. The passage was far too small for Lex to fit through, but several dozen feet further down the passage, a second grate leaned against the side of the shaft, at the exact place where a small, blue kleptomaniac would leave it while searching a secret room for loot.
“What the hell did you get yourself into, you little gremlin?”
A few minutes later Lex stood in front of a blank wall. If his calculations were correct, the hidden room was on the other side. But there was no door, no obvious panel or other controls. He considered getting Vonn but knew the rogue would say his Quest to Find the Missing Steve was nothing more than a delaying tactic, something to pull Lex’s attention from the decision he knew he’d have to make. A decision that would mean the death of a friend.
Lex punched the wall, bloodying his knuckles. Then he collapsed to his knees and began to weep. When the wall before him began to shimmer, Lex thought it was distortion brought on by his watery eyes. But when he wiped them clear, he saw Steve slumped against the back wall, his dead eyes staring at Lex.
"Dammit Steve," Lex mumbled. From Steve’s body position, it seemed obvious the little bastard had fallen from the air shaft in the ceiling. Did he break his neck? Lex wondered what he should do, when the crystal shuddered to opaque again, stealing Steve from him. "Goodbye Steve, we hardly knew you." Lex sighed and a moment of clarity filled him. It was time to return to the bridge. Time to say goodbye to Errat.
*****
When Lex got back to the bridge, it was empty. Where is everybody? Assuming Jurredix’s estimates were accurate, they were only minutes out from Harlan’s Watch.
“Hello? Anybody here?” He got no answer. His hand went to the shaft of his hammer. For several heartbeats he stared around the bridge, waiting for something, anything, but the hum of the Order Engine was the only sound. For several long heartbeats he surveyed the room, searching for hidden dangers. When nothing jumped out at him, he sighed, felt foolish, and forced himself to relax.
Perhaps this is the universe giving me time to say goodbye, Lex thought. He climbed the stairs and looked past the spinning arms of the engine. He looks good. Lex smiled, but something tickled the edge of his mind. Errat’s face looked smooth, healthy. The rictus of pain that had distorted the warborn’s features was gone, leaving an almost peaceful smile.
The tickle grew insistent and Lex’s eyes were drawn to the wound in Errat’s side. He’d expected the ragged wound to look awful and infected, but it did not. It was clean. Gone were the root-like tendrils. The raw edges were gone and with it any hint of chaotic infection.
“What the hell?” Lex said. Something was very wrong here. His mind raced, trying to play out various scenarios that could explain the evidence of his eyes. Tal had claimed the Order Engine would slow the infection. He’d never said anything about curing it.
Yet, warborn were a hardy people bred for war. Perhaps their healing abilities were even greater than advertised. Lex considered himself an optimist, one who liked to see the good in people. But he was no fool, even though he often played the role.
Trust your instincts, the phantom voice of Vonn said in his mind. Normally that voice berated and mocked him, and though Lex knew the voice was powered by his own asshole subconscious, he trusted this Vonn.
Lex walked to the Order Engine’s control panel and before he could second guess himself, tapped a few of the runes. The hum faded and the rotating arms slowed. The shimmering time dilation field popped out of existence and Errat sat up, his eyes swimming with a mixture of relief and fear. Then he spoke.
“Friend Lex. Be warned, chaos has taken ahold of...”
Before Errat could finish, a crimson bolt of chaotic energy slammed into him, knocking him unconscious. Lex spun and raised his hands, blue-white Order Magic swirling around them. Before he could launch the bolts, a powerful blast of chaos punched him in the chest and surged through his body. He grunted in pain and fell to the ground, frozen like a tased man.
A silhouette stood over Lex and terrible understanding filled him.
“I’d hoped to avoid such unpleasantries, but your curiosity has forced my hand.”
Then, the darkness took Lex.
39
Lex floated on the frothy surface of nothingness. Indistinct sounds that might be voices drifted to him. He tried to ignore them and the pounding in his head, but both grew in volume and intensity, one compounding the other.
“Lex, wake up.” The voice sounded like a drunk man speaking through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. It was familiar, and he suspected he should pay more attention, but he felt sleepy and wasn’t in the mood. “Lex!” the voice said again, this time in a harsh whisper that demanded attention.
“What?” Lex asked. He tried to open his eyes, to lift his head, but both weighed heavy. Memories trudged through the morass of unconsciousness, demanding attention. Steve was dead, Errat was not infected, and the archon was a traitor. “Jurredix is…” Lex began, his eyes snapping open to find the archon staring down on him from less than a foot away.
“What?” the archon asked. “What am I?” A malevolent smile crossed his face, so odd, so unnatural on the liquid crystal mask the archon called a face.
“A giant asshole,” Lex finished, proud of his wit.
“They've called me worse,” the archon admitted, shrugging casually that was disturbing from the normally stoic automaton.
Lex struggled but several dark orange bands of mana surrounded him like a strait jacket and held him tight to one of the high-G acceleration chairs. The others were all constrained, including Odymm Tal, his head slumped forward onto his chest.
“What did you do to him?”
“We’ve had a philosophical disagreement.”
“You just used a contraction
,” Vonn said. “Archons do not use contractions.”
“You’re correct, of course,” Jurredix said, smiling at his purposeful use of yet another contraction.
“You’re not just corrupted by chaos,” Lex began as partial understanding came to him. Before he completed the thought, Tal stirred, drawing Jurredix’s attention. It took the Grandmaster less than a second to assess the situation and white light flared beneath the bands of crimson energy restraining him.
The straps shredded like tissue paper under the onslaught of a playful kitten's claws and Tal jumped to his feet, covering the distance between him and Jurredix in a flash. Tal hit Jurredix with a mana enhanced blow and a loud crack echoed through the room.
Lex and the others struggled against their bonds, but none freed so much as a toe. An appreciation for the Grandmaster’s power filled Lex and with it came a bit of hope. Then, in an instant, that hope faded.
Jurredix threw his hand forward, and it flared with magma colored power. Tal lurched mid-swing and stumbled. The glowing chaotic mass near his sternum raged to brightness, and the Grandmaster screamed. He fell to the deck and writhed in agony as rivulets of chaos expanded outwards from the core.
“Baelmaera! You deceived me,” the Grandmaster said through gritted teeth. His anger at himself was clear. “Back in the pocket dimension, you let me think I’d contained you.”
“Yes. It was nothing to implant my spore inside you and hijack your memories. You mortals are so easy to deceive. You create half the fiction with your wants and desires and the rest with your fool belief in your heroic superiority.”
“Release Jurredix!”
Baelmaera leaned close to Tal, the visage on the archon’s face one of pure hatred. “He is long gone. I hid inside his spark, consuming him from the inside. He never even suspected until the end.”
Tal raged, but Baelmaera twisted her archon hand and the chaotic spore inside Tal spasmed and then grew. Tal’s screamed again, his voice broke and he passed out.
