Wartorn: Resurrection w-1

by Robert Asprin

  "You don't consider yourselves wizards above all? Interesting. I would've thought that would come first."

  The male wizard chewed at his lower lip. "We are, of course ... loyal... to our arts as well."

  Deo nodded. "And that doesn't conflict with your loyalty to your state? Well, I suppose it needn't necessarily. Forgive me. I've never met a magician, outside of carnival hucksters. You are, frankly, fascinating."

  He was using his charm, Radstac noted. How effortlessly the Petgrad noble could put another at ease, even under conditions like this. It was impressive.

  "I imagine you're valuable assets to your military," he went on. "From the stories we've heard about what the Felk have done in the north"—he grunted a wry laugh— "I wish we had a company of wizards for ourselves."

  The female wizard glanced shyly around. "You're not... bandits?" she asked softly.

  Deo laughed aloud now, the sound rich and infectious.

  "Some of us are," he said. "But others among us have other purposes. Toward those purposes I must now ask you questions."

  Radstac's palm rested on her sword's scratched pommel. Her colorless eyes watched the pair carefully. It was unnerving, though, not knowing what telltales to look for, not knowing what magic the two mages might furtively enact.

  At the first sign of anything untoward, she would naturally lop off their heads.

  "Tell me," Deo said gently, "what sort of magic is it that you work?"

  He simply waited for their answers. And after a moment's reluctance they divulged. Deo nodded, listening. A polite, attentive audience.

  "Now, what exactly is Far Speak and Far Movement magic?" the nephew of the premier of Petgrad asked.

  RAVEN (4)

  LOYALTY, SHE HAD found, was a complicated thing.

  She had sworn allegiance routinely to Matokin while at the Academy. It sometimes seemed like a daily exercise, like the spells she and her fellow students had practiced so repetitiously. But she had also privately dedicated herself to the Felk emperor, not least because he was, she continued to believe, her father.

  Raven had also sworn to carry out her duties when she personally received this assignment from Lord Matokin himself. That meeting had been the single greatest thrill of her young life. She had been charged with, among other responsibilities, spying on the Felk war commander.

  But, now that she was here at General Weisel's side, didn't she also owe him some measure of loyalty? He had, after all, taken her into his confidence and shown as much faith in her talents as Matokin had demonstrated. Maybe more.

  But Weisel had talked treason, hadn't he? She had to report to Matokin. When she at last resolved to do so, she was ashamed that she had hesitated so long.

  Weisel had given her new orders. She would carry those orders out. But first, she would find Berkant, the Far Speak mage.

  She was getting used to traveling with the army, though the sight of so many troops and so much

  mobile equipment was still very impressive. She found her way through the camp to the mage's tent. Scuttlebutt had it that the army would mobilize tomorrow, once the portals had been arranged. The soldiers would be Far Moved the remaining distance to Trael, and they would invade and capture the city.

  Raven knew the real plan, though. Weisel had entrusted her with the knowledge. He had even recruited her to play a key role in the incredible scheme. She couldn't help but glow a little from that.

  Nevertheless, she had to speak to Lord Matokin.

  "Mage Berkant," she said, presenting herself, "I am Raven, newly arrived from the Academy, and I—"

  "I know who you are," the wizard said. "Come inside."

  His tent was small but private.

  "I must communicate with Lord Matokin." She had brought along the scroll that contained her orders, just for good measure.

  "Very well. It will take a moment to arrange."

  Berkant seated himself on a folding chair, taking up a piece of fabric and squeezing it tightly in his hand. Raven understood. Though she certainly couldn't perform anything as complex as a Far Speak spell, she at least grasped the principles. That cloth no doubt came from an item of clothing that belonged to the wizard who Berkant was communicating with.

  Raven wondered when she would be able to resume her studies of magic. She had so much left to learn. But... wasn't this much more exciting than being at the Academy? Here she was participating actively, not just passively absorbing. She was caught up in a fascinating intrigue that involved the two most powerful men in the whole empire, Lord Matokin and General Weisel. Her life certainly wasn't boring these days.

  Berkant's face gradually lost all expression. His eyes stared dully forward. When he spoke, it was as if with another voice.

  "Raven, I have been expecting your report." She felt a fierce stab of guilt. She should have done this days ago. "I-I am sorry, Lord. I—"

  "What have you to tell us?" Matokin, speaking through Berkant, cut her off.

  Raven scrambled to get her thoughts together, realizing she should have rehearsed this ahead of time. "General Weisel first questioned me about Far Movement magic. But he had already deduced that my knowledge of such powerful spells was very limited."

  "Raven, Lord Abraxis is here with me. He wishes to know why the general was interested in Far Movement."

  So, she was in the "presence" of both the emperor and the chief of imperial security once again.

  "The general seemed to want some firsthand knowledge of that particular magic," she said carefully. "He seemed to think it would aid him in employing it in the field." Which, she silently added, still made sense to her.

  "I see." It was as if someone else were moving Berkant's lips. The effect was eerie.

  "Also, Lord," Raven said, her hands bunching into little fists, "General Weisel has made some unusual comments."

  "Regarding what?"

  "Regarding ... you." Why did it feel like she was betraying the general? She was only doing her duty.

  Unexpectedly, Berkant's face twisted with laughter. His chortles filled the tent. Raven stared, confused.

  Finally he said, "I doubt very much, young Raven, that anything the good general might say about myself would surprise me. Let us just put it down to hasty words, shall we?"

  "As you wish, sir," she said.

  "Is there anything else?"

  Raven caught herself just before she spoke. If her news wasn't important enough for Matokin to even listen to, she didn't see why she should say anything further.

  "Nothing, Lord," she heard herself say.

  "Carry on, then." Berkant's hand opened and the piece of cloth fell into his lap. He blinked, recovering

  himself

  "My thanks, Mage Berkant," Raven said. "Only doing my job," he said, waving her off. Yes, she thought, exiting the tent. So was she.

  SHE HAD PLANNED to inform Matokin about Weisel's unorthodox scheme involving the Far Movement portals. She had even meant to tell the emperor about her part in the plan. But Lord Matokin seemed uninterested in what she had to say. She felt silly now for having fretted so much about making the report.

  Why wasn't her father showing her more attention? She had certainly thought this assignment was an' important one. Maybe Matokin had plans for her that she couldn't even guess at. Maybe. But why not tell her now?

  Raven realized with a start that she was virtually pouting. That was an adolescent pursuit. It was beneath her. She was nearly two tenwinters old, an adult.

  As an adult she had adult responsibilities. That meant serving Weisel as much as it meant serving Lord Matokin. It was time she got on with her duties to the general.

  She sought out the unit of Far Movement mages. Weisel had written her an order that gave her the authority to use these powerful wizards' abilities. Moments later a portal was being opened for her.

  Knowing what Weisel planned to use these portals for made stepping into this one a particularly unnerving experience. But she needed only to tap her strong sense of
discipline to make herself put one foot in front of the other.

  The air rippled before her. She walked directly into the distortion, finding herself suddenly swallowed by a new reality. This new world was a milky white, and her eye could not fix on any single feature. The landscape rolled and roiled, as if it were made of mist. She had no sense of the dimensions of the place, which was especially disturbing. Distances might be infinite or tiny. There was no horizon line, no sky, not even any evidence of ground, other than the fact that her feet didn't plunge into nothingness beneath her.

  She had passed through a portal when Lord Matokin dispatched her from Felk. She had experienced this before. She followed the instructions she had been given, keeping her eyes ahead and carefully walking a perfectly straight line. Ahead, she could just make out the second portal, which appeared as another ripple.

  Despite the cautions, she couldn't help but let her eyes stray a bit. At the Academy, she had never learned anything about the nature of portal magic. It simply wasn't part of the curriculum to explain the underlying principles of the arts. Instructors only showed the students how to perform feats. Knowing how something was done was different from being privy to the technique that allowed one to do something.

  But the Academy, which Matokin had founded, was interested only in producing functional magicians. Nothing else mattered. Raven, as she neared the second portal, allowed herself to silently question the wisdom of that.

  As disorienting as this place was, there was something that was even more disturbing about it. Raven's steps slowed involuntarily. She looked slowly around. Something, she was almost certain, was watching her!

  Her heart was beating fast. She peered into the eerie, misty surroundings, expecting at any instant to see eyes staring back at her. She realized she had stopped walking. That was a mistake. She wasn't supposed to dally.

  The sense of being observed only got stronger. Panic was trying to overtake her, but she wouldn't let it. Her ears suddenly pricked up. She thought she heard something, but it was as distorted as everything else here.

  Her head whipped around, trying to pin the source. Every impulse told her to get moving, to make for the exit portal. This was dangerous. Back at the Academy, the students told stories to each other about how some people disappeared when they stepped into a portal, never coming out the far side.

  The sounds were growing closer, it seemed. It sounded like ... like ... voices. A whole horde of voices. Closing in around her.

  She turned suddenly and hurled herself toward the second portal, hands outstretched, a cry of fear just behind her lips. She expected a thousand hands to seize her before she reached it.

  Instead, she broke through into a clearing in the woods. There were trees, sunlight, solid ground, all the comforts of reality that she had always taken for granted. Panting, she staggered, nearly collapsing to the ground.

  Hands did catch her now, and for a moment she felt true terror, but she shook it off. She straightened both herself and her new clothes. A wizard in a robe was peering at her.

  "Had a bad journey?" he asked.

  She blinked back at him.

  "It happens sometimes," he said philosophically, shrugging. "What was it—voices, or did you actually see something?"

  Another mage stood with him, no doubt the Far Speak wizard who helped coordinate the portal opening. A small party of soldiers sat around a cooking fire, one or two of them eyeing Raven curiously, but none coming forward.

  "See something?" Raven asked.

  The Far Movement mage shrugged. "It happens. Strange shapes, sounds."

  "I... thought I heard voices," she admitted.

  "Maybe you did," the Far Speak mage said, sounding just as casual about it.

  "Who knows what goes on in that other place?" the first mage continued. "Most of the time, you walk through a portal, ten steps, and you've crossed a huge distance. No problems. Sometimes, though, you'll hear or see something. We're not supposed to talk about it, of course. Don't want to scare the troops." He glanced sourly at the soldiers by the fire. "Scary, wasn't it?"

  "I'm perfectly all right," Raven said, a bit icily.

  The Far Speak wizard was now ogling her. "I don't suppose you're here to entertain us, are you? It's lonely being a scout."

  Raven sighed, disgustedly. If this was what being attractive did for a woman, maybe Weisel hadn't done her a favor by having her made over.

  "I am General Weisel's personal liaison to the magic-using units of this army," she said, proudly announcing her new title for the first time. Weisel had appointed her to the post last night. The soldiers all looked her way now.

  The Far Movement mage shrugged again. It seemed to be a habitual gesture. "What does that mean exactly?" he asked.

  "It means this army is dangerously divided. Magic-users and non-magic-using troops are indulging in a useless bigotry that will only undermine our glorious cause. I have been appointed by the general himself to act as an intermediary, a first step toward repairing an ancient, stupid prejudice. I expect the full cooperation of every person in this army."

  She spoke with impressive authority. She felt, at that moment, that she radiated the air of the officer she now was.

  The ranking soldier stood and approached. "Do you have orders to back that up?" She asked it neutrally, careful not to make it a challenge.

  Raven produced the document Weisel had drawn up. The mages and the soldier all studied it.

  The soldier saluted. "How can we serve you?"

  Raven liked the reaction. "I have orders for this squad. And for the other scouting parties that have been sent ahead to observe Trael's defenses."

  The soldier snorted. "Defenses? They've got maybe a few dozen troops. This place'll rumble easier than U'delph did."

  "The general has heard your reports," Raven said. She turned her eyes on the mages. "He has decided to use the portals."

  The Far Movement mage nodded this time, instead of shrugging. "We've been waiting for that order,"

  he said.

  "But why didn't the general just relay it?" asked the Far Speak wizard. "Why send you?"

  "Because General Weisel isn't planning to Far Move the army," Raven said.

  "Then... what does he want to use the portals for?" The Far Movement mage suddenly looked uneasy.

  Raven explained the plan in the simple terms that Weisel had spelled out. By now the rest of the soldiers had gathered around, listening intently. One or two gasped as she spoke.

  "That's ... risky," said one mage.

  "That's not how die magic is meant to be used," said the other.

  Raven alone kept her composure. "Those are the general's orders. He guessed there might be some reluctance, which is why he sent me. I will be visiting the three other scouting parties. You will all take up new positions just on the outskirts of Trael. When you've received the signal through your Far Speak mage, you will obey those orders. Any questions?"

  They had none.

  Raven ordered the mages to arrange her transport to the next scout camp. She hid her uneasiness about passing through the portals again so soon after that last disquieting episode. She could still hear those voices, in her head.

  But she squashed her fear, and stepped through when the portal opened. Loyalty could serve as well as bravery.

  BRYCK (5)

  HE LOOKED AWAY from the naked backs that the soldiers were methodically flogging. The sounds of hide whips impacting flesh and bone, and the attending cries for mercy and shrieks of agony, echoed across the plaza even as his eyes furtively roved the crowd. Bryck was vaguely repelled by the violence of the punishments being meted out; but these were, after all, only whippings. No one was being butchered. Acts of inhumanity were inevitably measured against the annihilation of Udelph. That was his standard.

  Nonetheless, it was difficult not to feel a little pity.

  The turnout was sizable, though attendance wasn't mandatory. Everybody liked a show though, Bryck thought with a callous cyn
icism that would have once shocked him. In bygone days when he was a husband, father, noble, playwright, he had somehow always managed to see the better side of people.

  No. No point in taking a revisionist view of his past. He had almost always been able to find the comical side—of people, of events. But humor had such amazing scope. Humor had the capacity to contain horror, sadness, murder, epic tragedy. Some of his most beloved theatricals embraced such subjects but did so in that special way that permitted laughter. That had been his gift.

  Still, he was hard-pressed to imagine what sort of slant would make humorous this row of ten stripped bodies being beaten bloody by whips. The Felk soldiers had erected a long horizontal crosspiece and shackled each of the criminals with his or her hands well above the head, backs exposed to the two floggers that were working their way inward from either end. They were professionals, not sadists. Bryck had counted them delivering equal numbers of blows to each offender. It was a high count, but it was equal.

  He blended easily enough in the crowd. He no longer radiated a forceful presence, no longer drew attention automatically. The extrovert in him had gone grey and numb.

  So, almost invisibly, he slipped away through the grimly watching faces. He could still hear the blows as he left the plaza behind. The Callahans under those whips had all committed various offensives against the Felk laws of occupation. The charges had been read by an officer of the garrison at the start of the proceedings. Most of the people had been caught transacting illegally in coin. No doubt displays like this would deter other potential offenders.

  Lately the Felk had stepped up their enforcement efforts. The patrols through the city weren't strictly for show anymore. Bryck wondered if these Callahans were stirring up trouble, causing the Felk to clamp down. But, as it had been from the start, he had no way to accurately gauge what effect his efforts to sabotage the Felk occupation were having.

  He passed the door of a shop where, during that Lacfoddalmendowl festival, he had branded a sigil onto the wood. The door was gone now, replaced with boards. He had discovered that at virtually every site where he had left it, the brand had been defaced or removed completely. Apparently the Felk had taken note.