Oracle

by David Dickie

  Daesal said, “At the cost of many lives, I am afraid. But if the Kethem Navy sinks the black ship, Oracle will go down with it.”

  “If they can find it. I’ve heard them. They can’t track it, can’t detect it with any of their spells,” replied Grim.

  Daesal leaned back frowning. “Then what do you suggest we do? They have almost a full day’s head start on a boat that moves faster than anything we could lay our hands on. There’s no catching them, and once they reach the black ship, there’s no telling where it will go. We have no way to get to it. If we did, we don’t have any way to attack it. It’s impossible.”

  Grim smiled at her. “Daesal, if there’s one thing you’ve shown me, it’s that nothing is impossible. I have assets in the area.”

  Stegar blinked. “Assets?”

  Grim laughed. “In a manner of speaking. We need to find Alan and Lug.”

  Daesal and Stegar exchanged glances again. Stegar said, “They are probably back in the dormitories. It was a long night.”

  Grim nodded. “Let’s go.”

  It was a fifteen-minute walk to the buildings, and it was a quiet one, each of them wrapped up in their own thoughts. Grim was trying to weigh things in his head. He was contemplating something crazy, suicidal, dumb. It went against his grain to walk into something with low odds of success. Flashes of Aurora came and went, and he put them to the side. He owed her a debt, or her memory at least, but he wasn’t going to kill himself because she’d sacrificed herself. No, there was a much more pragmatic reason. If the ohulhug overran Pranan and Kethem, life as he knew it would be over. The shadow guild might be the lowest rung on Kethem’s social hierarchy, but it was better than being a slave, or more likely dead. That made any shot at stopping this worth taking.

  When they reached the dorms, Grim led them to Alan and Lug’s room. He knocked. There was a muffled, “Enter,” and Grim, Daesal and Stegar walked in. Alan was in bed, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Lug was standing guard with his sheathed swords at the ready. Alan rolled out of the bed, dressed in a rough cotton nightshirt. He looked at the three of them and his drowsiness disappeared. “Grim, Daesal, Stegar. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” His voice was guarded, and Grim could understand why.

  “Nothing to worry about, Alan. This isn’t about your plans for Daesal and Stegar. Not directly, anyway. I need your help.” Grim saw Lug relax a bit.

  Alan frowned. “Certainly. In what way?”

  “You said that if Daesal and Stegar found out too much, you were going to extract them. Extract them how?” Alan looked uncomfortable. Grim sighed. “Ok, here’s the deal. We just found out the secret of the black ship. The ohulhug have their hands on Oracle, one of the human gate-forged soul artifacts, and they’ve been using it to pull information from other universes that allow them to build weapons that could decimate both our races. That’s the short version. We can give you the long version later, but right now, we need options.”

  Alan looked shocked, then frightened, then determined. “That would explain many things. The elves have a network of individuals in our employee in Pranan and Kethem. They take gold and a geas not to talk about any of their dealings with us. We have a small group of them here, posing as farmers who have brought food on a wagon and are staying a few days before returning to the farm. There is a portable teleportal hidden in the floor of the wagon.”

  Grim nodded. That was more or less in line with his expectations. He’d never heard of a portable teleportal before. The human teleportals, and the ones he’d seen the great trolls use, where massive stone platforms that weighed several tons. But the elves went far beyond human capabilities in the magic arts, and he thought they might have something like that.

  “How does it work? What other teleportals is it connected to?”

  “It’s triggered by the person standing on it, like all teleportals, but it only has one destination.” Alan shrugged. “To keep it small, some sacrifices had to be made.”

  “And its destination is?”

  “A teleportal nexus in the Evael,” said Alan.

  Grim nodded. “Good. And do the elves have an embassy in Nyquet?” Alan nodded. “And the nexus, you can get to Nyquet from there?” Alan nodded again. “Then I need to use it to get there via the Evael, and there’s no time to waste.”

  Alan looked at Grim without comprehension. “For what purpose?”

  Stegar said, “Grim, if you’re thinking you’ll be there before the… steamboats, all well and good, but what are you going to do then? They’re full of armed ohulhug. You can’t stop them by yourself.”

  Grim shook his head. “I don’t want to. The steamboats are not the problem; Oracle is the problem. You heard Fayyaad. They need to stop in Nyquet for fresh water to power the steam engine. They have to be covert to do that. If people see high ohulhug, or too many armed low ohulhug, it will get confrontational. So they can’t have too many guards, too many ohulhug above decks. As it is, the strangeness of the boats will attract comment, but most will assume some new kind of spell. Armed ohulhug will cause outright alarm. It will be the perfect time to sneak on board, when they can’t have many eyes watching the pier. And then, when the steamboat meets with the black ship... a one-way ticket to the real star of this drama, Oracle.”

  Stegar said, “Grim, you’d be one man on a ship full of psychotic killing machines whose favorite game is ‘how many times can I stab a human before he dies.’”

  Daesal said, “And, even if you were to find your way to the sword, if you touch it, you’ll be corrupted.”

  Alan said, “I have to agree with your two friends, Grim. I will go with you to the Evael. I will talk to the council of elders, and we can pick one of our bravest warriors, loaded up with Elvish magic, perhaps even a true soul sword to counter the effects of Oracle.”

  Grim held up a hand. “A fine offer, and I appreciate it, but I do have this.” Grim pulled the amulet from under his shirt. “It’s a soul artifact whose entire job is to prevent harmful magic from affecting me, and I know first-hand it can stop gate spells and items. I keep telling you, I’m not a hero, never was, never will be. But you don’t need a hero for this job. You need a thief. That, I can do.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Alan was off finding the “assets,” with Lug in tow. Daesal and Stegar were still in the room with Grim but sensed that he was busy. Grim was trying to coax the amulet into talking with him. “Come on, talk to me. I need to know you can do this.”

  Nothing.

  “Don’t be a ninny. Or are you afraid one of the gate-forged swords is too much for you to handle?”

  “No,” popped into his head. If Grim had been hearing it, it would have sounded sullen.

  “Good. So you can keep Oracle from influencing me.”

  There was a pause. Then, “For a while. It will drain me quickly, and when the chaos that was bound to this amulet with me is gone, I will be as well.”

  Grim almost smiled. Devices did not react to being called cowards. Nor did they worry about self-preservation. “I see. We’ll have to limit the time Oracle is in contact with me in that case. How long can you hold it off?”

  “Hours, but each minute is a year off my lifespan.”

  “I will try to be fast, I promise. So, how do I destroy this thing? Or can I just toss it into the sea?”

  “Tossing it into the sea will not destroy it, and if someone knows it is there it is possible they can use spells to find it, to pull it from the bottom. I would not recommend it.”

  “Then … what’s the play?”

  “The only way to destroy a gate-created soul artifact is with raw chaos or a gate.”

  Grim frowned. That was the fire spider nest or the mudrake den; neither choice was one any sane person would take. “You protected me from chaos,” said Grim. “Can’t the swords do the same?”

  “That is my function. Other gate artifacts can withstand small amounts of chaos, but with a sufficient quantity some will get through and join wit
h the material of the artifact. Even a small amount that gets past its defenses will be enough.”

  Grim thought about what Ziwa had told him. “And when we’re talking about sufficient quantities, we’re talking enough to create an explosion?”

  “Any quantity of raw chaos is enough to cause an explosion.”

  “And this quantity would cause an explosion that is how big, exactly?”

  “‘Exactly’ is difficult to know. I can give you a range.”

  “Good enough.”

  “Five to eight miles from the center of the occurrence, anything above ground will perish. Eight to fifteen miles, survival is possible with sufficient shelter. Beyond that casualties will be minimal.”

  That was more or less what Grim expected from the things Ziwa had told him, but it still hit him in the gut. Destruction on that scale was almost impossible to comprehend. “So, let’s try plan b, the gate. How does that work?”

  “You can reverse the joining process. The soul goes wherever souls go, the chaos is forced back into the pool that it came from. Deconstruction is easier than joining the two. It takes no preparation, just knowing the correct commands.”

  “And do you know these commands?” asked Grim.

  “No. I know something of the process because some of it was explained to me before I made the transformation. But I do not know the details.”

  Grim thought for a few moments. The fire was burning. He couldn’t wait. But the only World Gate he could possibly get to in any reasonable time would be the one in the ruined temple between Struford and Eleyford. That one was locked, and Ziwa had the only key. That, and he had no idea what the commands to unbind a soul artifact were. Ziwa might.

  But If he only had hours before the sword took him over, there was going to be no time to find Ziwa, no time for the two of them to get to the gate at the ruined temple, no time for her to unlock it with the master gate key, no time to unbind the artifact before he was turned. Then Grim slapped himself in the head. He knew someone who knew the commands, had access to a gate. Alan, the elves. And they had a vested interest in destroying the thing. That could work.

  “Ok, good to know. I have access to a gate and the commands needed to deconstruct the thing,” said Grim.

  “Is that the local one?” asked the amulet.

  Grim stopped dead. “The local one?”

  “There is a gate in the vicinity. It is the only thing I can feel from the outside world, a tiny pull that tells me when there is gate activity near me.”

  Grim’s brain was frozen in shock for a moment. Then the cogs began to turn. “Damn it. I should have put two and two together. Of course there’s a gate in the vicinity.”

  “What?” said Daesal, and Grim realized he’d spoken those words out loud.

  “Nothing other than the old saying, when the wind blows, it blows hard. We have another problem. Brandin has a World Gate.” Daesal and Stegar were both speechless with shock. “Ok, I don’t have time to deal with this, but you two do. While Alan is rustling up a teleport pad, we three need to find Brandin and have a chat.”

  Stegar frowned. “If what you say is true, Brandin has power at his fingertips that the high council of Kethem would envy.”

  Grim laughed. “So do I. Have that kind of power, that is, not the envy part. The last guy with a gate learned that the hard way. Maybe with Brandin, it will go better. He doesn’t seem as bent as the last one. Fire’s burning. Let’s go.”

  Stegar laughed. “You’ve kind of got that man-in-charge thing going for you, Grim.”

  Grim blinked. “I guess I do. Giving orders like a Holder.” Grim flushed. “No offense intended, Daesal.”

  “None taken,” she answered.

  It didn’t take long to walk to the temple, find out that Brandin was back at his residence, then to walk there and ask an acolyte on duty if Brandin would be kind enough to see them. “Tell him it’s about Pellen Barso,” added Grim.

  The acolyte looked a little confused but sent a messenger. A few minutes later, the messenger returned.

  “Master Brandin will see you in the library,” said the acolyte. Grim assumed it was the same room Brandin had entertained he and Rotan in the day before.

  “Is that where he usually receives guests?” asked Grim.

  The acolyte nodded. “More often than not. I will lead you there.”

  The acolyte led them to the room and bowed. “Master Brandin is waiting for you inside.” Then he turned and left.

  Grim, Daesal and Stegar walked in, Grim first. Brandin was sitting in a large armchair with a book. He stood and bowed, then waved at other chairs scattered in the same area. “Please, have a seat.” He seemed calm enough, but there a barely discernible edge to his voice. Grim glanced at Daesal, who was frowning. That was enough to tell Grim that Brandin was more than a little on edge.

  The three of them sat as Brandin had suggested. “I understand you wanted to ask about Pellen Barso,” said Brandin. “I’m not sure what more I can tell you. I’m not an expert in people from that time.”

  “Really?” said Grim. “To even know the name of a head priest at a temple from that long ago is pretty remarkable feat. Given, you know, the ohulhug overrunning the place, destroying the temples, burning the documents, all that sort of thing. How did you hear about him in the first place?”

  Brandin weighed his words carefully. “You know we have one of the finest collections of pre-Fall books anywhere in Pranan. I must have read it at one time or another. I don’t recall the book, but there are so many of them.”

  “True enough,” said Grim. “So the enclave used to be a Storm Bull temple, right? Before the ohulhug tore through the place?” Brandin nodded, watching Grim carefully. “Pretty impressive temple, I have to say. Marble, not from around here. Must have been expensive. Funny they would do that for this place. You’re at least two days away from any of the City-States. Why did they decide to build a temple here, in the middle of nowhere?”

  Brandin shrugged uncomfortably. “It was before my time. I couldn’t say.”

  Grim stared straight into Brandin’s eye. “Do you bleed?”

  For the first time, Grim saw confusion instead of caution in Brandin’s face. “What do you mean?”

  Grim brandished a dagger. “I mean, if I stuck you with this, would you bleed?”

  Brandin’s eyes were on the dagger, but he didn’t look fearful. More angry. Grim heard a gasp from Daesal and a grunt from Stegar. Brandin’s voice was a little hard.

  “I’m sorry. It’s a paralysis spell. I want to know what you want, why you are asking these questions, why you’re threatening me.”

  “Maybe because we know you’re four centuries old,” said Grim calmly. The amulet had prevented the paralysis spell, but Grim didn’t want to let on that he could move yet.

  Brandin closed his eyes. “Who else knows?”

  “Just us three,” said Grim.

  Brandin opened his eyes again. “No one left behind to tell the tale? What if I decided to kill you all?” But he looked sad, not dangerous.

  Grim pulled out the artificer’s weapon. Brandin’s eyes widened as he realized the paralysis wasn’t working on Grim.

  “Lightning stone,” Grim said. “Nasty piece of work. You see the ohulhug I hit with it? Eyeballs literally boiled out of his head. A bad way to go.” Grim was a little worried. He knew beheading worked but wasn’t sure about the lightning stone. But the only other option was to run over to Stegar and try to draw Stegar’s broadsword, which was too heavy for Grim to wield effectively anyway.

  Brandin was looking incredulous. “How… how?”

  “How did I know you had spell defenses, or how did I avoid them? Well, one is common practice, and this is your standard meeting room. The other is my business.” Grim walked up to where Brandin was sitting. “Hold out your hand.” Brandin just stared at him. Grim hefted the lightning stone a few times. “Hold out your hand,” he said again.

  Brandin held his hand out. Grim, moving s
lowly enough that Brandin wouldn’t think Grim was trying to stab him with it, put the point of the dagger against Brandin’s thumb and pressed. A little line of red appeared around the point, and when Grim pulled it away, a small bead of blood formed where the skin had broken. Grim frowned.

  “Ok, didn’t expect that. So you’re not using a World Gate to suck the life essence out of people in order to prolong your own existence? But, obviously, you are four hundred years old, and you have a World Gate. So this must be some kind of variation on that trick. Tell me about it.”