Entropy's Heralds: Pilgrims Path Book 3

by Vic Davis

  “Yes, thus it was,” confirmed That Which Sublimates. “We did not have much time to experiment. The heretics had expeditiously positioned themselves to confront us before we had time to organize.” The thought provoked an infuriating rise of anger within the Aldruathezai general. The heretics had somehow managed to predict the exact conjunction of their piercing of the veil. The Heretic Which Computes was clearly responsible for such treachery.

  There had been a time when the Heretic Which Computes had been the most renowned Technologist of the Aldruathezai rivaled only by the Master Engineer the Heretic Which Trembles. Together they had formed a cabal and fractured the eternal peace: the foundations of the Aldruathezai’s most cherished and unassailable philosophies. They had dared to question the Prime Precept: the collapse of the universal wave function. Their heresy had spread like a poison through the warrens of Aldruathezai thought. Then they had fled.

  That Which Sublimates shook off the cold anger. Its two lieutenants, confined for so long in close yet infinitely folded proximity, recognized the mood immediately and shuddered. That Which Sublimates announced, “We can wait no longer. There is nothing more that we can do to ensure our personal security while the third seal is solved. Send out orders to lock down every slip point into Instrumentality’s node. Then order the computation started. We will emerge from our prison and set things right.”

  “Will the absence of the Baloris be an issue?” asked That Which Contrives.

  “No, four will suffice. They have been attuned to our wills for so long that I think only one would actually be needed,” replied That Which Sublimates.

  “Should we perhaps leave one cohering to do our bidding while we are insensate?” wondered That Which Exfiltrates.

  “No, I think not,” replied their general. “Feed them all into the computation. We cannot trust these slave creatures to be anything other than crude tools that we have fashioned out of necessity. Dissolve them all now into the third seal. Let their information do what it was groomed for so long to do. Six of their cycles is nothing. We will be free and unstoppable; then we will have our revenge. Nothing can save them.”

  Chapter 19

  A Tight Spot

  “It might not look like much, but it will get the job done,” assured Stinky. There were some muffled mutterings among the group of onlookers. Malador seemed to bristle at the suggestion that the craftsmanship was anything less than exceptional.

  Pilgrim noticed Vinks had a restrained expression on its form walls as it hovered observing the vehicle: four wagons arranged in a long rectangle connected by flexible guide cables of flow, each wagon mounting a flow pillar in its bed to which the artifact pieces had been attached. Pilgrim had to admit that the ensemble did not look like much.

  “The wagons are all reinforced,” added Malador still somewhat insulted by the muted reception to the vehicle’s unveiling. “The lead wagons carry a small arsenal of grenados. Fusiliers could be mounted as well.”

  Breaker smiled on its form walls. “If we are in a position to have to fight from this vehicle, then we have failed in our mission. But I approve of the intention to at least provide some defensive armament. The real test will be to see if the void storm’s effects are negated or at least significantly diminished for those travelling within.”

  “The theory our design is based on lacks rigor,” bemoaned Stinky. “And any semblance of practical testing has naturally been impossible. But if you enter the interior space, you will immediately perceive a change in the ether. And the use of talents is suppressed still as well unfortunately. That seems to be impossible to remove with any reconfiguration of the geometry of the artifacts.”

  The idea made Pilgrim uneasy. “Then we will be helpless inside?”

  Breaker made a dismissive gesture with a guide tendril. “Yes, but our enemies will be worse than helpless outside during the storm. They might not even venture out to confront us if we can load enough source-charge canisters into the slip point before you detonate them with your lash.”

  “We should be careful with such excesses,” warned Stinky. “The relationship might be exponential rather than linear. We could make the node impassible even to our vehicle or in a worst-case scenario uninhabitable. As it is though, I think we have enough available to reproduce twice the previous storm at the very least.”

  Pilgrim watched Vinks grimace. The scavenging operations for source-charges or even charge lance ammunition had been unproductive in Urta’s Rest. The Council army that had marched out to capture Baloris had stripped everything from the city’s arsenals and magazines; most of those had been subsequently lost in the storm. They had enough for one good void reaction, and they would need to save those canisters for the slip point into Instrumentality’s node.

  Pilgrim hovered into the center of the rectangle to test the change in the field of the ether. A prickly sensation of crossing an invisible barrier gave way to a feeling of sudden disorientation. Pilgrim steadied itself and the discomfiture passed; looking back at its group of friends, Pilgrim noticed a slight blurring of the ether: a subtle distortion that marked the edges of the safe space within. Such a phenomenon had not been evident with the cages that Breaker had shown Pilgrim in Privil’s Landing.

  Pilgrim tried to use a talent. A lash would be inappropriate, perhaps even dangerous. It attempted to speed up its processing and reconnoiter outside its core: nothing happened. A feeling of helplessness swept over Pilgrim; it was unnerving not to be able to use its talents on demand. The trip in this vehicle will be an anxious disconcerting experience, thought Pilgrim.

  “Have you tried to use one of your many talents,” jibed Breaker.

  “It’s the same as with that cage in Privil’s Landing,” confirmed Pilgrim.

  “I could have told you that,” signaled Stinky. “I tested it myself. Try as I might, I could not generate even the smallest of shields. I wish we had more time to study this.”

  “Time is exactly what we do not have,” announced Vinks. “We must be away from this place at once. I have ordered the army to form up outside of the city and prepare to march to the slip point. We will have a final command meeting outside the gate that will also function as a communal banquet before this final campaign is launched. See that you all are there. We must finalize some of the details for our strike into the enemy’s core nodes. I will see you all at the beginning of the next quarter of a cycle.

  “Oh, chief engineer, you and your team must see that this vehicle is moved to the road in working order.”

  “We have a team ready for just such an exercise, general,” replied Stinky. “Lieutenant Malador has performed ably and will supervise the maneuver closely.” Malador was pleased by the impromptu commendation. Pilgrim searched for Xodd to try and catch its reaction, but the large ovoid was seemingly nowhere to be found. Odd thought Pilgrim, it had been there just a moment ago.

  The gathering broke up immediately, each member having tasks to accomplish before the final command banquet. Xodd hovered suddenly into view from behind a pile of supply crates that had been feeding parts into the construction of the storm rider vehicle. Something strange was going on, thought Pilgrim. Xodd was searching for someone: there in the corner was Baloris signaling with a few of the technicians. Codex and Voor were nearby but seemingly not paying attention. Baloris suddenly hovered away and out one of the side entrances to the fabrication hall. Xodd followed discreetly behind.

  Pilgrim was just about to hover after Xodd when a guide tendril touched its ovoid form: a soft tap from the familiar form of Stinky. “We should go and fetch the remaining artifact weapons, Pilgrim. Zuur should have finished up by now too.”

  Pilgrim watched Xodd disappear after Baloris. “Something odd is going on with Baloris and Xodd.”

  “No doubt: we should keep a lookout on those two. But come, we have little time.”

  Pilgrim reluctantly followed Stinky out of the fabrication halls and into the main command complex where they found Zuur being its usual amic
able self.

  Zuur’s Big Boss was clearly displeased. “We are ready to leave this place. Never before have I encountered such a wasteland of gastronomic knowledge. It has been unpleasant working with the patterns that they have available.”

  “You’ve finished your preparations for our little banquet then?” inquired Stinky.

  “We have. It will not be enjoyable. They will wish they had consumed field rations instead.”

  “Lucky for us, we don’t have to consume anything,” chuckled Pilgrim. “Still, I wouldn’t begrudge our comrades a good meal before we launch ourselves on this final phase of our campaign.”

  “It will be satisfactory,” signaled Zuur’s Little Boss. “That is the best that we could do.”

  They waited around with little to do until the banquet started. Stinky hovered back and forth lost in deep thoughts, perturbed by a nagging worry that the storm rider vehicle might not work as it had been designed to do. Pilgrim attempted to reach a mediational recovery state hoping to detect Etheria’s whispers; there were none. Zuur’s Big and Little Bosses reposed quietly in the back of the room, in a manner reminiscent of the way that they once did when they had operated their old tavern, Bosses Palace, in Mim’s Reach.

  Almost a quarter cycle passed; Stinky halted suddenly. “Well, let’s grab up our equipment and get this show on the road, as— Mistress used to say,” signaled Stinky trailing off with a tone of sadness. The former chief engineer of the Hegemon had rallied itself commendably since the devastating loss of its friend and constant companion Mistress, known to most as the Hegemon. Still, the wounds were deep.

  Pilgrim located the artifact weapons and handed Stinky a flow control pistol. Big Boss took the single remaining, half depleted rifle; Pilgrim then grabbed the other flow pistol. They headed off to the banquet site: a cluster of crude, temporary structures erected just outside the gate that commanded the road to Instrumentality.

  They found the festivities already in progress. Vinks motioned for them to seat themselves in their places of honor to one side of the general’s own resting spot. Breaker, Tencius, Bleaks, Steadfast and Lacks were already present and engaged in animated conversation. On the other side of Vinks were seated Xodd, Groz, Mong, Malador, Block, The Old Alchemist, and Grivil. Voor and Codex were conspicuously set apart from either faction residing in the first row of the area designated for the leaders of the various remaining mercenary units, adjutants, and other important personages in Vinks’ army. Pilgrim noticed Baloris had been relegated to a distant row almost as if it were only an observer to the formalities.

  Pilgrim took a place next to Breaker and asked: “Baloris must deem this an insult. I hope that the former Endarch isn’t sensitive to such slights.”

  “Far from it,” responded Breaker. “It actually requested to not be assigned a place of honor. It’s kept to itself lately. I don’t see that it can do much harm, and I’m not convinced given our current plans that we even need it. But we should be mindful of betrayal. It wants something. I’m not certain what that is.”

  “I’m pretty certain that it doesn’t simply want revenge on the council, although I doubt it would be displeased with such an outcome. It gives me the creeps honestly.”

  Pilgrim was about to tell Breaker about the conversation Baloris seemed to be having with the Council technicians without Codex’s supervision, when Vinks rose from its resting place to address the gathering. “Good. We are all here now. Time is of the essence, but I think it is important that we gather ourselves together to celebrate what we have accomplished and commit ourselves to the task that lies ahead.

  “And make no mistake, the path that we now embark on is one of utmost danger and potential ruin. We will be facing impossible odds. Not that we have not done so many times before: many of you have been with me since we launched our initial campaign to capture Timathur. Your numbers have dwindled since then, even as we won spectacular victories or accomplished amazing feats breaking out of enemy encirclements.

  “Those of you who have joined us on the way deserve no less praise. Our defense of Privil’s Landing, our recent victories on the Pilgrim’s Road and the capture of this Council stronghold, Urta’s Rest, prove your valor and martial mettle.

  “Now we embark on the final phase of this glorious campaign. We are outnumbered, lack a solid logistics train, and can expect no reinforcements.”

  A signal from the crowd coming from an area occupied by Tencius’ Hegemon Commandos rang out: “That’s just the way we like it, general!” A round of laughter followed.

  Vinks enjoyed the outburst. “Yes soldier, that is exactly how we like it. And I know that you will all do your duty. Look to your comrades on either side of you. You fight for them. You trust them to guard your flanks, to follow you into the breach, to refuse to yield when all seems lost and hopeless. This is who you fight for.”

  Vinks paused to compose itself and collect its thoughts, then continued. “I will not lie to you. I respect you too much. Shortly we march to our doom. But we will make such havoc on the way, overcome every foe and through the sheer power of our wills, reach Instrumentality. We will destroy the council. For the Hegemon!”

  There was a wild round of cheering that continued for some time. Vinks motioned with two guide tendrils for silence and the raucous applause gradually subsided. “We march on Instrumentality on the next quarter cycle. Until then, consume this source together, relish your friendships, and be merry.”

  Pilgrim pretended to consume the source feast brought out for their enjoyment. Zuur had obviously put some effort into the undertaking and Pilgrim did not wish to hurt any feelings, since the Djenirian was a notoriously cantankerous creature.

  Slowly the gathering began to break up. The mood gradually became somber: an ominous expectation of great hardships to be endured lurking in the near future. Pilgrim left its place of honor and chatted briefly with old semi-acquaintances that still survived: soldiers of the Hegemon Commandos, members of the various heavily depleted mercenary companies.

  Krix, now in command of the three dozen or so fusiliers that composed Alacrity, greeted Pilgrim warmly. “Adjutant Pilgrim, I have not had the chance to thank you for saving us on the rooftops. Alacrity would be no more were it not for your intervention.”

  “Your soldiers fought bravely Master Sergeant Krix. I’m only sorry we could not have done more.”

  “I still can’t believe Decius is gone,” admitted Krix somberly. “I’ve assumed command of the company, but we can barely field two working platoons. Still, we will give the enemy the most destructive charge lance volleys that we are able to muster; crack sharpshooters and veterans are all that remain. We are eager to have a chance to avenge our fallen.”

  “My hope is that we will destroy the council—”

  “Is what they say really true: the real force behind the council are three ancient entities trapped in a prison forged before the Great Desolation was made? It seems hard to believe.”

  Pilgrim signaled with a passionate tone, “All you need to do is remember those Omegas. They are abominations created by the direct influence of those Demon Princes struggling to escape their bondage. They will lay waste to everything, consume or enslave everyone. We have a chance to stop this, but the price will be steep.”

  Krix laughed. “We will pay it. We want vengeance for the Hegemon, for Decius, and for our lost comrades.”

  “You will have it, if it is the last thing that I do,” promised Pilgrim uncertain if such an oath was wise. Krix was pleased with the response and bid Pilgrim farewell.

  Pilgrim scanned the area to find Stinky; there was no sign of him anywhere. An odd feeling that someone was watching came over Pilgrim. Out of the corner of its transom, Pilgrim caught a flash of someone creeping stealthily around the gathering area: a glimpse of a lone source-being hovering covertly while still trying to observe its target. Pilgrim recognized the ovoid’s form walls: Baloris.

  The former Endarch flittered nervously here and there no
t signaling within anyone in particular, constantly in motion. Something was off even more so than normal with Baloris; a nervous energy radiated from it in a most conspicuous manner. Their transoms connected briefly; Baloris recoiled as if some inner thought of duplicity had accidently been revealed. It fled the gathering making its way back toward the nearby gate and the city; Pilgrim excused itself and followed at a discreet distance.

  Baloris followed the main road up toward the citadel. At each point the guards briefly asked questions then permitted the former Endarch to continue on its way. Pilgrim followed at a careful distance hoping to remain unobserved; if Baloris was aware that it was being stalked, it gave no obvious sign. It appeared more anxious to arrive at its destination than lose any pursuit.

  The entrance into the citadel was unguarded. The complex had been thoroughly combed, and anything of value transferred to the staging area outside the city walls, including the disassembled storm rider vehicle: not a trivial task. Fortunately, a special exit consisting of a broad tunnel and two massive, hardened flow doors had been created by the citadel’s builders to move large objects in and out of the subterranean construction areas.

  Baloris was heading directly to the fabrication halls, observed Pilgrim. A small group of ovoids were gathered in a large antechamber to one of the unused construction bays; they greeted Baloris enthusiastically. Pilgrim hovered closer cautiously, hoping that their animated conversation would distract them from noticing its approach. Finding cover just outside the room’s open doorway, Pilgrim attempted to eavesdrop on the signaling but could not make out any of the symbols being exchanged nor could it identify Baloris’s accomplices.

  The group came to some type of an agreement on whatever it had been discussing. Baloris opened the door to the fabrication hall, entered, then closed the door quickly behind itself. Its accomplices departed through another door on one of the adjacent walls: a supply or equipment room perhaps.