Hard Magic: Book I of the Grimnoir Chronicles

by Larry Correia

  After the pilot had left, Sullivan closed his eyes and went back to resting under the shade of the Tempest’s broken wing. Jane had Mended him, but he could still feel the wounds. Most men would still be incoherent with pain, but he was used to it. Him and pain were old pals.

  He opened his eyes to see Lance Talon and Heinrich Koenig standing over him. Lance scratched his beard. “Just thought you’d want to know, Faye’s still out.”

  Sullivan sat up, groaning. “Jane know what’s wrong with her?”

  “Nothing, far as she can tell. Nothing physical at least. I’ve heard of Actives putting themselves in a coma, using too much Power,” Lance was concerned. He’d taken a real liking to that girl. “I’ll let you know.”

  “I’d appreciate that. She saved my life.”

  “Saved us all,” Lance said. “Hell, from what I heard, she maybe did in the Chairman. In that case that crazy Okie probably saved the whole world. Kill the Chairman . . .” He snorted. “I never figured she’d keep that promise!” Lance limped up the ramp, laughing as he went.

  Heinrich was still there, not speaking. His face was nearly as grey as his ripped up coat. “Yeah? Spit it out, Fritz.”

  The Fade smiled as he sat down on the remains of the landing gear. “I am supposed to give you something. When we boarded the Tokugawa, Delilah knew she was not coming back.” Heinrich held out a Grimnoir ring.

  Sullivan didn’t take it. “That her father’s?”

  “No. She kept that one. Said she was intending to earn it. This is Pershing’s. I picked it up after you threw it down. When I’d told her what happened, she made me promise to make you take it back.” He held it out. Sullivan took it slowly. “She was very adamant.”

  “Delilah and her promises . . .” he said softly as he curled his fingers around the little piece of black and gold. And Sullivan always kept his promises. He would not let her down this time. That was the end of it. “Sorry, got something in my eye.”

  Heinrich rose. “She was a remarkable woman. I’ve known thousands who shared her final curse, and only the very best of them were strong enough to think of anyone other than themselves . . . I offered to end her suffering, but she wanted her death to have meaning . . . I must go check on Faye.”

  Meaning. He’d survived Rockville. He could survive anything.

  Sullivan shoved the ring back on his pinky.

  ***

  Faye was in the place with the big glowing thing in the sky, which was apparently what the Power looked like in real life, two big shapes stuck together, all made of bunches of little complicated shapes, with dangling arms connecting to every Active in the world. It still reminded her of that drawing of a jellyfish that she’d seen in a book. Instead of Mr. Sullivan’s wasteland from the big war, she was sitting on a haystack, watching the cows wander in on their own from the corral because they knew it was milking time. Crows were landing on the barn roof, and the air smelled like it had just rained, and above it all was the Power. Her place was a lot nicer than Mr. Sullivan’s.

  The last time she’d been here, in the dream world, not on the Vierra farm, she’d thought that this was hell, and she’d been condemned there for breaking the commandment about not killing folks. Well, since then, she’d killed so many people that she’d lost track, but they’d all been bad, and she’d done it all with her God-given abilities, so she figured her and God were square.

  Her body was back in the real world, but she’d fried her brain map like an egg. She did not know if she would ever wake up. Might as well get comfy.

  She watched the Power for a while, as it consumed the magic of the Actives who died. The Power had planted the seeds, the Actives had grown the crop, and now it was time to harvest. The Power wasn’t scary. It was just a big critter. It wasn’t good, or bad. It just wanted to live, same as anything else, and it did it through people like her. It was silly to be scared of the Power. In fact, it was scared itself. She could see that now. Something bad and hungry was hunting it, and the Power was afraid.

  “You see it too, Traveler?”

  The Chairman was sitting on another bale of hay, dressed in a robe just like when she’d seen him last, only he had his hands back. “No fair, I thought you was dead.”

  “I am.” The Chairman turned his head, and she could see right through him. She should have been scared of ghosts, but she wasn’t. Nothing could hurt her here, in the place where the dead came to dream. He bowed his head slightly. “Congratulations.”

  “You shouldn’t have killed my Grandpa. Serves you right.”

  “Revenge is as good a motive as any. Nobler by far than most,” the haunt said. He went back to the Power. “I tried to prepare the world, to create a society that would be ready. I failed. Now what will you do without me?”

  Faye thought about it. She knew he was talking about the other thing, the hungry thing. “When it shows up . . . it’ll get dealt with.”

  “You will need to be strong. Stronger than you are now. Perhaps in the future you will look back and regret your decisions, but I doubt that. May I leave you my final poem?”

  “Sure.”

  “A second sun at night

  from the ocean consuming

  Life as oars to water

  leaving no trace behind.”

  “Pretty,” Faye said.

  “Farewell, Traveler.” The Chairman’s form dissipated on the wind.

  Epilogue

  Now is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.

  —Winston Churchill,

  longtime critic of the Imperium upon hearing

  of Chairman Okubo Tokugawa’s demise, 1932

  New York City, New York

  3 MONTHS LATER

  He had to admit, this really was a pretty spectacular office. From the top of the Chrysler Building he could see the dirigibles docking at the Empire State Building, and every inch of the place was pure, polished opulence. “I’ve got to hand it to the old coot. He certainly knew how to live.”

  “Yes, Mr. Stuyvesant,” the new UBF vice president of finance said as he flopped onto the overstuffed leather couch. “You know why your grandfather used to say that he liked this building the best?”

  Francis Cornelius Stuyvesant II turned from the glass wall, picked up the bottle of fine wine from his marble desk, and walked over. “No, why is that, Mr. Chandler?”

  The accountant laughed as he held out the empty glass. “He said it was because it was pointy.” Francis poured him another refill. “Can you believe that?”

  He sat on the couch, uncomfortable in his new tuxedo. He’d inherited the most powerful company in the world. He’d gone toe to toe with the most dangerous wizard in history. He’d survived direct hits from two Tesla superweapons. He was a telekinetic and also happened to be a member of a magical secret society. “I can believe just about anything.”

  Chandler inhaled the drink in one gulp and gave a contented sigh. “Well, now that we’ve gotten the legal aspects taken care of, and all the papers are signed, UBF is all yours, Francis.” The accountant usually only called him by his first name after he’d had a few too many. “What’re you going to do now?”

  Francis swirled the wine around but didn’t really feel like drinking. “I don’t know . . . I’ve got so much responsibility. I can run this company the way I always thought it should have been run.”

  The accountant shook his head. “I meant about the other thing.”

  The five UBF men who’d survived the Tokugawa had all been paid buckets of money and sworn to secrecy. “Well, in the papers I’m a famous billionaire playboy. I suppose it isn’t really practical for the head of UBF to go out and battle evil . . . Hmmm . . . Maybe I could wear a disguise when I fulfill my Grimnoir duties . . . Like a mask or something.”

  “That is perhaps the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Chandler laughed. “You’re a hoot.”

  Francis grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, that is pretty ridiculous. So,
what are your plans now that everything is under control?”

  “Me? I’m a bookkeeper who drinks too much, is always in a foul mood, and hates coming to work. But since you’re paying me lots of money because of my refreshing honesty, I’m not going anywhere.” He stood and walked to the door, but paused on his way out. “Though I have given some thought to trying my hand at writing . . .”

  Francis chuckled. “Good night, Ray.” The accountant gave a little salute with two fingers and closed the door behind him. It was a rare man you could trust with either a Thompson or a general ledger. Francis stayed on the couch, enjoying being alone and the quiet lights of the city. “It’s been a long day . . .” he muttered to himself.

  “No kidding!” Faye said as she appeared directly in front of him.

  “Gah!” he spilled the wine all over his pants. “Don’t do that!”

  Faye clucked disapprovingly and put her hands on her hips. “It ain’t my fault you don’t have a head map. Sheesh. Look at that, you’re gonna be all stained.”

  It was then that he realized Faye was wearing an honest-to-goodness evening dress. And her hair was done up. And she was wearing jewelry. And lipstick? How scandalous. “I . . . I . . .” He was speechless. “Well . . .”

  “Yeah, I do clean up pretty good, huh?” Faye smiled. “Jane helped me.” She twirled for him. “Not bad for a hick, huh?”

  “Not bad at all,” he answered truthfully.

  She beamed at the compliment. “Like I was saying though, super long day. Rumor is that there’s Iron Guards up to something in Alabama, and Lance is gonna go check it out, but then some Active kids got rounded up by a mob for nothing but being Active since folks are still all riled up at us, and they’re having a sham trial, so Heinrich’s going down there to help ’em, and Jane and Dan’s wedding is coming up next week, and they said you have to come, don’t care how busy you are, and Mr. Browning says hello from France, and his telegram said that he’d be honored to be in charge of the American knights, but the stupid elders still won’t give up Mr. Rawls, and still nobody knows where Mr. Sullivan went off to but he said it was real important so it must be, and that reminds me, Mr. Southunder called and said thanks for the new fancy blimp, and—”

  Francis put his finger on her lips. Nothing stopped Faye when her head got to spinning. “We’re going to be late for the play.”

  “I can fix that real quick!”

  He was hesitant. After she’d Traveled an entire dirigible, Faye had slept for a week straight. Her Power had been severely overtaxed, nearly burned out, and she was still recovering. It turned out that even Faye had limits. “Can’t we take the elevator?”

  Faye’s grey eyes twinkled. The Traveler may only have worked her way back up to a small part of the magic she’d tapped during the battle, but nothing could keep Faye down for long. She took his hand. “Elevators are for chumps!”

  END

  Glossary