by Garon Whited
It was time to make things a bit more personal.
Sunday, June 20th
Fine, I didn’t get much else done. At least I’ve established that the vast majority of the crystal is simply there to facilitate optical interaction with entangled photons. The actual “processors” are too small to see; the thing is a quantum computer core.
What I want to do is go back in time, find someone at the university when it was open, and get them to explain how the hell they do this.
Breathe. Keep doing that. Calm down. I’ll be fine.
Look on the positive side. I spent all night examining and experimenting with the thing, but I did discover what it was and some of the basics of how it works—no, strike that. I think I understand some of the basics of what it does, but have no idea how it works.
Wonderful. Technology sufficiently advanced to be magic.
I’m going to need more sarcasm.
I think I also know why I didn’t get anything out of the computer when I powered it up. The computer itself wasn’t working properly. In order to do anything, the central processor has to be accessed via laser light; instead of lots of wires running into a silicon chip, I should have seen a webwork of laser lights going through the crystal. There weren’t. Ergo, time and decay had damaged the laser units in the computer.
See? Damaged machine. Not my fault at all. I feel at least somewhat better about it.
Also to the good, it’s easily complex enough to house a… well, I don’t know what to call it, but it should make a good home for a personality fragment.
Tort met me in the bathroom; she was up before me to use the tub before I polluted it. She finished quickly when the sunrise started. I scrubbed under the waterfall while she went about the rest of her morning routine. Afterward, she traded me a towel for a kiss and told me about the aging experiments with the dazhu. In her expert opinion, and T’yl’s, we could quickly increase the size of a herd.
“What do you mean by ‘quickly’?” I asked. “This week, or this year?”
“Within a few months, I think.”
“I didn’t think it would be that fast.”
“Once you pointed out the change in thinking—how to get the most age possible into an organism, rather than offsetting my own—I realized we could do the spells backward.”
“Backward?”
“Perhaps I should say we can use them backward. Instead of one creature contributing some of its aging to another, or several, we can instead use several creatures to contribute age to a single creature. It works,” she said, “and we have several grown dazhu aging a calf very quickly.”
“Keep an eye on it,” I cautioned her. “If it’s aging supernaturally fast, it will need to eat enormous amounts if it’s not going to starve… and then there’s the possibility it may get some age-related problems much more quickly than normal… it may even grow deformed if—”
“Rest assured, my angel, that we are keeping a close eye on it. We have started with six dazhu, and we will either add more in the next attempt or reduce the number appropriately.”
“Sounds good.”
“I also need to ask, my angel,” she added, “about a certain dark circle.”
“Dark circle?” I asked, running a cleaning spell over my armor. I wanted to just wear clothes, but with assassins wandering about, you never know when it’ll come in handy.
“There is a brown, dead area just to the south and slightly west. It is approximately a hundred paces across, slightly elongated but basically circular, and seems to harbor no life whatsoever.”
“Oh,” I said, in a small voice. “That dark circle. Yeah. My bad.”
“You were hungry?” she guessed.
“That’s where I ate the local dazhu,” I explained. “I think I ate the life of everything in the area, really. Plants, animals, insects, the works. I don’t know if I did anything to the ground itself, but it’s possible. We should have someone check, though. If nothing will grow there, maybe Amber can bless it, or something. If not, we may need to dig it up and fill in the hole with fresh dirt from somewhere else.”
“I see,” she said, faintly. “Very well. I shall have some of my people look into the matter. You have a number of small people who want to talk to you this morning.”
“My spider collection crew?”
“Yes,” she agreed, and shivered. “They have an impressive number.”
“I’ll take care of it right after breakfast.”
And I did. The morning meeting went quickly and I made it a point not to hurry anyone on their projects. Maybe if I didn’t make them work so hard and fast, I might have more time for the things I need to do, too. I also recalled Tyma’s accusation and the my Gilgamesh concern.
After collecting my spiders, setting them to work, and adding to their rations, Bronze and I started taking kids down the Kingsway. I could probably have let them ride her on their own; Bronze wouldn’t have minded. On the other hand, I wanted to be there for safety. I recall a time Bronze stepped in a gopher hole and flipped. An accident wasn’t likely on the roads, but if there was an accident, I could take the brunt of it and the kid could survive.
A quick run down the Kingsway, a high-speed turn around the open area just inside that gate, and back up the Kingsway… I spent the morning taking kids for rides; Bronze and I enjoyed it. We did have a few who made it down the Kingsway and decided that was enough, thank you, and can I get off now? Most of them took the full ride down, around, and back up.
Every time we made the trip up or down the Kingsway, I noticed a boy slowly trudging his way up the sidewalk. He was dirty, skinny, and dressed in what were probably described generously as hand-me-down clothes. He didn’t even have shoes; he had rags wrapped around his feet.
With the rides done, I dismissed the kids to go do whatever kids do, then went back down the Kingsway at a much slower pace. Bronze and I halted next to the kid.
“Good morning,” I offered.
“Good morning,” he replied. I think he was about Tianna’s age.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to see the King of Karvalen.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
“Where are your parents?”
“Dad died in the mountains. Mom got sick. All that’s left is me.”
“And what’s the King going to do?” I asked, curious.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, “but he’s the King.”
“Well, it’ll take you a while on foot,” I noted, “and your feet look like they’re bleeding. Would you like a ride?”
“Okay.”
I climbed down, lifted him up, and bounced up behind him. Bronze moved upward with her best paso largo gait. We entered the upper courtyard and circled to enter the great hall.
“Hmm,” I said. “You’re pretty dirty. You should probably clean up before you see the King.”
“You think so?”
“He avoids being dirty whenever he can,” I assured him.
“Okay.”
Very agreeable young man, I thought. I showed him to the men’s common bath. He was reluctant to strip down—well, it was a local thing, not a common custom, yet—but pushed through it. He seemed to feel much better after soaking in the hot water for a while. I surreptitiously ran a cleaning spell over his clothes and did some basic mending. I also sneaked a healing spell onto his feet.
Whenever people looked at me, I pressed a finger to my lips and shook my head. Fairly quickly, I was suitably ignored.
After he soaked and scrubbed, I asked him if he was hungry. I was sure of it, having seen and counted his ribs. He agreed, so we went to the kitchens. I loaded up a wooden tray with bread, meat, cheese, and vegetables, snagged a jug of water, and we went back into the great hall to sit on the edge of a firepit for our lunch.
He kept looking at me while we ate.
“What?” I asked, munching on a piece of cheese.
“Everyone kept
bowing at you,” he said.
“You noticed that?” I asked. He nodded.
“Is that because you’re a knight?”
“Nope.”
We were silent a little longer while we ate.
“Why?” he finally asked.
“Because I’m the King,” I admitted, still chewing. I worked a tough bit of gristle around in my mouth and shredded it. People were obviously careful to put only the best possible dish in front of me at the dinner table. Maybe I should tell them not to bother.
The kid’s eyes widened, then he nodded.
“Okay. What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Good answer.”
We finished lunch and I waved at a passerby to take the tray to the kitchen. I can ruthlessly abuse my power like that.
“Do you know what you want to be?” I asked.
He looked at me with an expression that I can only describe as pitying.
“I’m seven,” he said. He struck me as damn precocious for a seven-year-old.
“Good point,” I admitted. “All right. I’ll have you job shadow someone for a week and we’ll work through various occupations.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Come with me.”
He hopped to his feet and followed me. Since she wasn’t in Karvalen, we went up to Tianna’s room.
“What’s your name, anyway, kid?”
“Loroth.”
“You can stay here, at least for tonight, Loroth. If you get lost, ask someone where my chambers are. Those are mine, right there, and pretty much everyone knows it.”
“Okay.”
“For now, though, let’s go find Thomen.”
“Okay. Who’s Thomen?”
“For the next week, he’s your teacher.”
“Okay.”
I sent a magical message to Tort; Thomen might need the help. I didn’t mention anything about the idea that the two of them might manage to bond a little by acting in loco parentis to a kid.
With Loroth in Thomen’s hands—Thomen’s reluctantly agreeable hands—I went down to the training auditorium. I’ve been putting my knights through hell pretty much ever since I woke up; I should really see if I was up to speed, myself. It was also a good idea to get a feel, personally, for just what sort of skills they developed. Besides, my exhibition with the twins made me wonder if I was missing out by not getting more martial practice. I used to do this every day, then we relocated to Karvalen, and the meetings started to get longer, and other projects started taking up my time…
It took a little bit to convince them that I actually wanted to be hit. I’ve explained it before, but they just don’t want to. It’s a fake fight with wooden weapons but real armor—not a problem. Eventually, they got into the spirit of the thing. We finally got everyone lined up and they tried to keep three people at a time on me. I’d “kill” someone and he would go to the back of the line while the next guy in line leaped into the melee.
They were good. A few of them even hit me hard enough that I noticed; with real weapons, those would have been at least serious injuries. But I had them keep coming, regardless. It wasn’t about whether or not I would go down under enough enemies; I knew I would. It was about pushing my boundaries and getting my body to remember things my head already knew. It was also about experiencing the capabilities of my knights.
It occurred to me that I don’t have an army. I have a militia, of course, but that’s not the same thing. I wonder if I need a standing army, or if I can get by with rotating some of the militia into training every day? Item for Kelvin, which I suggested to him the next time the rotation brought him into the melee. He recommended a standing army—a real one. Knights served as the only professional soldiers, backed by a trained militia, in the defense of Mochara. If we were going to attack anything, though, we might need something more than just defensive troops.
We spent a good portion of the afternoon working up a sweat. I know I was sweating; the rest of them had lengthy rest breaks. I still feel as though I acquitted myself well. The whole line cycled through several times.
Yeah, it did me good. When we started, three guys was about all I could handle, even with my unnatural daytime advantages. After a couple of hours, I was starting to wonder if I should have four.
This is a major improvement. Most people don’t get the difference; what’s one more guy when there are already three? It’s a huge difference. Why? Because.
Get to the point you can fight three guys and have a chance at winning. Then add a fourth guy. You’ll see what I mean.
I congratulated everyone on a job well done and thanked them; they gave me a salute. I then returned them to their regularly-scheduled interpersonal combat and other abuses.
On my way up to shower, I met my guys; they did look amazingly high-tech and dangerously sinister in the black armor. The faceshields were especially nice, since they were just mirrors from the outside. The laminate they were made of was set up to be a one-way window, making the wearer an anonymous, faceless creature. I liked it. They could have starred in any movie full of CGI robots and explosions. They seemed to like it, too. It was much lighter and more comfortable than the tinware.
Torvil started following me around—I could tell them apart by voice. Kammen went off to find other people who needed armoring. Seldar vanished; I suspect he had a date and the other two were helping him make time for it.
They’re good men.
I spent the rest of my afternoon working with that crystal. If I was going to put a warrior spirit into it, I needed to work out some sort of mechanism of action. Did it talk to the subject? Did it copy itself into the subject’s subconscious? Did it achieve a telepathic communion?
I didn’t like the idea of an unsupervised device copying a warrior spirit into people’s heads. Call me touchy, but I don’t like people messing with my head, either. Malana and Malena seemed all right, and their practice with various other weapons was also coming along, but I still had some reservations about copying a few facets of my mind into theirs. There might be long-term effects and I didn’t want those to crop up unexpectedly in everybody. One error in the original would be copied everywhere, so I couldn’t afford either A: errors, or B: copies. Since there was no way I could be certain there were no errors…
So, if I built the crystal into, say, a bed, someone could lie down, go to sleep, and have hours of frantic fighting in their dreams. Afterward, they could spend some time working on mastering what they just had downloaded through a dream, and then go back to the bed for another dose. This would let them progress at their own pace, thoroughly subsuming whatever got imprinted before having to deal with any more. And they wouldn’t have a potentially-defective personality fragment living in their heads. If it turned out to have some sort of unpleasant side effect, I could fix the main unit, rather than have to examine everybody’s brains individually.
As a refinement, if I could build, say, four beds into a single unit, lay them out like an “X” with the heads of the beds meeting in the middle, and put the crystal there… could they all share a sort of headspace encounter together and be trained together? That would divide the voltage—or the attention—of the crystal-spirit among them, and they would definitely have people to practice those lessons with.
Just call me overcautious and let it go.
Dinner was pleasant and uneventful. Loroth was there, sitting next to Thomen, and seemed perfectly at home, which I found vastly amusing for some reason. Thomen even seemed to be enjoying himself. Maybe he and Loroth were getting along better than expected.
I excused myself for sunset, and people again pretended not to notice. Decent of them.
A goblet of blood later, I found myself called away to the conference room—the one with the sand table and the magic mirrors. The apprentice wizard on duty down there got an urgent call for the King and sent a message. He got out of the chair when I entered th
e room.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, sitting down. It was Banler.
“Good to see you,” he said. “Shame about the circumstances.”
“Problem?”
“Could be,” he replied. “Just got word that some ships are headed your way.”
“Oh?”
“Couldn’t make out much in the moonlight. I keep a small watchpost on the south end of the Eastrange—one of the rocky islands, where the mountains vanish under the water. They reported about the ships going by, well to the south, just after sunset, headed east. Probably four ships, but my sentries tell me they couldn’t be sure. Too dark to identify any flags or banners, either.”
“Is there anywhere else they could be going?”
“If they were headed to Kamshasa, they would be much farther south. I suppose it could be a trading convoy headed for the plains to collect fifty thousand dazhu pelts, but I doubt it. What do you think?”
“I think you’re right,” I sighed. “Well, I’m glad to know in advance. Thank you. I appreciate this.”
“Seemed the neighborly thing to do,” he said, chuckling.
“Have you told Mochara?”
“Yep, first thing. Thought I’d mention it to the King, too, once they were warned.”
“And I appreciate it. We’ll make sure everything is ready to welcome them.”
“I better warn you about something else, then,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“Diplomats left here this morning, headed for Mochara. Wexbry, Philemon, and me, as before, but there’s also some perfumed twerp from the Brentwood, too.”
“Brentwood?” I repeated, frowning.
“Let me see… back in the day, it was where the old Duke Brenner had his seat. Still a nice place, I understand. Prince… Leomund? Leoman?” He turned aside and I heard him talking to someone out of view. “Prince Leomund,” he said, nodding. “No major ambitions, so far as I know, but he’s sending someone anyway. Probably just to look around.”
